In the end, Kotarou wasn't able to go back to that tacky coffee shop for over a month and a half. It wasn't that he was avoiding the barista. His work just suddenly piled up without his noticing.
He'd been so inspired by that chance encounter that he skipped the bookstore altogether and went straight home to begin developing an entire story out of it while it was still fresh in his mind.
Sakurada's smiling face was embedded in his memory. His fine chocolate brown hair, Kotarou imagined running his fingers through it and feeling its softness. Those hazel eyes, if you looked closely, you will find hints of green dancing just around the pupils. His gaze will tantalise you.
But then his editor suddenly called to check on the next instalment of his ongoing series so Kotarou had to pull four all-nighters in a week for two weeks to finish it. He realised he'd been neglecting pretty much everything else around him.
My brain is squeezed dry, Kotarou thought as he sighed. I haven't bathed in a week. I don't remember consuming anything, either, aside from coffee.
My eyes hurt.
His editor just left with the manuscript so he allowed himself to collapse on the sofa.
Well, it's not like I promised to go back to that tacky coffee shop, anyway.
Kotarou passed out.
-----
It was around 5:30 in the afternoon the next day when he finally awoke. His body ached and he found himself sprawled on the floor.
Ow. What the hell? I must've overslept.
He tried to get up but was only successful in smacking his head on the centre table.
"Argh! Who put that thing in there?!"
He rubbed the sore spot with his fist. He exhaled irritably and rolled out of the way before he was finally able to leave the floor.
Already grumpy first thing in the morning? [Morning = he just woke up] Aloud, he said, "Milk. Milk is the answer."
He brushed his teeth to get rid of that awful taste in his mouth and washed his face. Then he chugged down an entire carton of milk from the fridge.
Pause. What's next?
He needed to bathe. He thought he could kill people with his stench.
Four rubber ducks swam with him in the tub. The classic yellow, another was blue, the other pink, and the last was black. He'd always wanted rubber ducks as a child but that didn't happen-he didn't understand why his parents were so against them. And so, Kotarou religiously fulfilled his childhood frustrations as an adult.
Today, however, he wasn't paying any attention to his bathing buddies. His mind was back on Sakurada. Sakurada...what was his first name? His tag didn't say. He thought about how to develop the character based on what he saw of the barista. It was a favourite game of his to develop a personality background for a character and see how far the difference was in real life.
He just finished his work so he could afford a little fun. He might propose this new character to his editor. Perhaps a new project altogether.
Sakurada.
"Sakurada," he tried the name out loud and felt the taste of it in his tongue.
Engulfed in a blinding light. Embraced by his own naïveté. That was the kind of person he projected to Kotarou. Brave young soul who thought he could rescue his princess despite all odds. He will have many challenges along the way that will make him realise of his limits. Oh, he will get a happy ending. But he will have a hard time getting it.
