"If I don't make it through the battle with Muzan, will you miss me, Sanemi?"
Giyuu and Sanemi lay side by side on their futon, their naked bodies glossy from the sticky summer heat, their bed linens resting in heaps around their feet. The evening air was still and thick with moonlight. Cicadas serenaded them with their seasonal song.
Sanemi play punched Giyuu in the cheek. "Don't ask stupid questions right after sex."
Giyuu grabbed Sanemi's hand. He kissed his palm and pressed it against his cheek. "I want you to miss me so much that you swear off sex and romance for the rest of your life."
"You don't ask for much, do you?"
"No, wait. I want you to miss me so much that you become a hermit who lives deep in the woods and communes only with the animals of the forest."
"That's just a variation of the first one, isn't it?"
"I want you to miss me so much you cry every day for two months straight. No. Three months."
Sanemi rolled on top of Giyuu and nuzzled his face in the sweaty nook above his shoulder. He twizzled his finger in Giyuu's ear. "Don't tell me what to do."
Giyuu grabbed Sanemi's twizzling hand and smacked Sanemi in the head with it. "Or, how about this? I want you to miss me so much that you find me in the next life and fall for me all over again."
Sanemi let his body float on the tide of Giyuu's breath. He listened to his heartbeat, drank in his scent. Sanemi didn't know if it was the sweltering heat or the mischief of moonlight or the inebriating bliss of two bodies pressed together, but Sanemi wanted very much to oblige that absurd request. He felt like he actually could.
"You better remember me, asshole." Sanemi tugged Giyuu's hair.
"I could never forget you."
Sanemi smiled. All his life, Sanemi believed he could only be conquered by weapons and warriors. He trusted that his training would always give him the upper hand. But those words – they bent his knee. He wanted to love this man - this smart, silly, sarcastic man - now and forever.
"Fine," Sanemi said. "I'll find you."
+++
So, Sanemi. What brings you here?
My doctor said I had to go. She won't give me my antidepressants unless I do.
That's the only reason?
Do I need a better one?
Let's start here then. What are you feeling right now?
Yup, you're a therapist alright.
Intimidating question?
Intimidating? Nah, just predictable. What am I feeling right now... Honestly? I'm lonely. That's all. Pretty standard, right?
Are you in a relationship?
Not at the moment.
Dating?
Of course. My right hand and a bottle of lotion can only satisfy so many needs.
...
That was a joke.
I'm aware. Anyone you're interested in?
Sure, I guess. But. He's always there. In my mind. In my thoughts. In my touch. In...everything.
Who is he?
He is...the love of my life.
And this man, the love of your life, does he know how you feel?
No. Not yet.
You haven't told him?
Well. I need to find him first.
+++
Sanemi Shinazugawa had a rough night.
It wasn't that he had to forcibly remove that greasy, 6-foot American sack of dicks from the Kabukicho host club. Bouncing was his job, and he didn't hate popping an angry upper cut on some meaty asshat mouthing off at the bartender.
It wasn't that some shit stain bartender had discovered he had slept with the boss' spoiled mistress and tried to blackmail him. Sanemi always made sure to have a few grade-A secrets in his back pocket to keep other people's sleazy selfishness in check.
It wasn't even that his motorcycle crapped out on the expressway halfway home, forcing him to wait on the side of the road in that freezing-ass downpour until the tow truck arrived. Shit happens, he knew. Boy, did he know.
What made this a rough night was the young man that Sanemi had met earlier that evening in a narrow and lonely alleyway a couple of blocks from the host club.
"Stand in the light," Sanemi said.
The young man stepped into the spray of amber light pouring from the streetlamp above. Raven hair, a little messy and tied into a loose ponytail. Sapphire eyes. Lean and muscular. Physically, this college brat fit the bill for sure.
Sanemi stared hard into the kid's wide blue eyes. He touched that flawless cheek. The young man shivered at the tenderness of his caress.
"Want to go someplace private? I live nearby," the young man said, pink sprouting on his cheeks.
"No thanks. Nothing personal." Sanemi let his hand fall to his side. He turned and sauntered down the alley, away from those befuddled eyes and that probably bruised ego.
"What the hell?! You made me come all the way out here for this? What the fuck is wrong with you!? Creepy ass motherfucker!" the young man yelled.
Sanemi heard the frustrated shouts, but they didn't turn his head or slow his pace. He grabbed the ever-present pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. He tapped one out and slid it in his mouth before he realized he didn't have a light. "Fuck." He sighed.
How many times had he arranged to meet men in dark alleys just to leave them confused and angry? Enough times for him to lose count. It was creepy; Sanemi knew it was. And probably horribly unfair to the men who were expecting to get at least one quick fuck for their trouble. Should he keep doing this? Was the search worth the hurt it was causing others, and himself? These were questions Sanemi refused to ask himself, much less answer.
"No big deal. He'll be fine," he told himself. The words he always used to sand down the spiny edges of his disappointment. Words that were faded and worn from overuse.
Sanemi spent the balance of his evening pounding down drinks and arrogant assholes; it was either that or think about how Fate had punked him yet again. Or how no matter where he went or who he met or how much they liked each other, a hollow space still roared inside him, an empty room reserved for a single soul. A someone he was determined to find, but had begun to wonder if he ever would.
Sanemi had a rough night. He really hoped it wouldn't be another rough life.
+++
When Sanemi awakened, he prayed he would be in his own place, showered, and in his own bed. He blinked his eyes into focus – a herculean task considering the arid orbs they had become. Sanemi swore he could hear his eyeballs scraping their sockets as he scanned his surroundings.
One out of three isn't bad, he thought.
Sanemi had managed to make it home, but not to his bedroom. His body was currently draped over the black leather couch like a knitted throw. His cheek drowned in a puddle of drool on the cushion, while his lower body dangled over the back. Sanemi tuned into the sensations around his feet; had he the presence of mind to at least remove his shoes? He flipped on to his back, stuck his feet up in the air. He had. But the rest of last night's ripe and rumpled attire remained on his foul and filthy body.
Sanemi sat up and wiped up the puddle of drool with his sleeve. His head pounded and spun, a combination that summoned a tsunami of nausea. His body begged him to lie back down, but he didn't. A tiny, vague worry niggled persistently at his mind; it was like a cluster of rebel cells in his brain knew something the rest of his brain didn't, and they weren't talking.
Sunlight screamed through the large, curtain-less bay window that watched over the living room. Sanemi squinted at the light; it seemed aggressively bright for morning. Was it morning? What time was it anyway? Did it matter? He was fairly certain he had nothing planned for the day.
But that persistent niggle insisted otherwise. Sanemi finally rummaged around his person for his phone and consulted his calendar.
On the lock screen, a reminder: interview for study on past life recollection, 1pm.
Sanemi looked at the time: 12:30. If he left right now, he could still make it.
Sanemi groaned and flopped back on to the couch. He was tired. He was grimy. He had a raging hangover. He didn't want to go talk to some greasy Poindexter with a smarter-than-thou attitude who'd probably peer over his Coke-bottle glasses and wonder what size straight jacket he wore. Sanemi only signed up for the interview because he figured it was a good way to cross paths with other people who remember past lives, and among those other lightweight crazy people might be the one he was looking for.
"But what are the odds, really?" Sanemi thought to himself. "As good as zero."
Sanemi dragged himself off the couch. He schlepped to the kitchen, splashed water on his face, gave his mouth a good rinse, ran a wet hand through his recalcitrant locks. Grabbed his keys, his phone.
"Still. What have I got to lose?"
+++
"Come this way, please."
A perky and petite undergraduate assistant led Sanemi down a stuffy, tired beige hallway, past a few closed doors and into a boxy, windowless conference room. A snowball microphone and a laptop sat in the middle of a round table that played host to four office chairs. The table was massive and oppressed the space, inhibiting easy movement around the room. The assistant flicked on the fluorescent light, and after blinking a few times, it offered a dim, sterile glow. Are they conducting interviews in here, or eliciting murder confessions? Sanemi wondered. It had that kind of vibe.
The assistant stood in the doorway, her expression pinched in distress, her hand hovering near her nose. "Have a seat. The interviewer will be here shortly." As Sanemi passed her, she tried and failed to suppress a gagging sort of cough. She bolted as soon as he was in the room.
"Am I really that rank right now?" Sanemi smelled inside his shirt. "Oof. I probably should've cancelled this thing. Oh, crap. Is that a curry stain?" He licked his thumb, wiped the stain, and succeeded at making it larger and more pronounced. He sighed. "I should've stayed home."
Sanemi plopped himself in a chair, used another as a footstool. He dug into his jacket pocket and produced his trusty pack of cigarettes. He assumed smoking wasn't allowed inside the building, but between the acrid smell of a cigarette and his rotten milk musk, he figured the smoke would offend less.
He took a long drag on the cigarette and puffed smoke circles into the air to entertain himself. Sanemi wasn't the least bit surprised this research project was housed in the university's mental health facility or that the interview was being conducted in this glorified broom closet. He knew what he sounded like when he talked about past lives. He knew it was crazy to waste his life searching for someone he loved in one of them. He knew it was time to get a real life with a real job and a real relationship. This was his third life since he had been a demon slayer. He was already 27 years old.
Sanemi sucked down the last of his cigarette. Puffed a few more smoke circles. "What the fuck am I doing here?"
Sanemi heard a gentle knock on the door. He quickly snuffed out his cigarette and put his feet on the floor. "Sorry about the smoke. I..."
A man entered. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
This voice...this voice...the silky shape of it, the warm depth of it...so familiar...so near. It radiated through Sanemi's flesh like hot soup on a winter night. It made him shiver with excitement. It paralyzed his mind. Was it really? Could it be? Finally? Here? Now? Sanemi was afraid to turn around, to look at the man this voice belonged to. What if he was wrong? What if, yet again, it wasn't him.
But that voice...Sanemi stood up and turned toward its owner.
Raven hair, short and stylishly messy. Sapphire eyes. Creamy, clean-shaven skin. Tall-ish frame, slender, but with muscular curves his white oxford shirt and jeans couldn't hide.
This man looked like so many of the others he had met, but somehow Sanemi knew. He knew. How did he know? He honestly didn't give a shit. This man wasn't like the others. This man was the one he had been looking for.
"Giyuu!"
"Tomioka-san, yes. Did one of the assistants tell you I'd be conducting your interview?" Giyuu transferred his clipboard from his right hand to his left, stepped toward Sanemi and offered a handshake. "You must be Shinazugawa-san. Thank you for coming today."
Sanemi dropped back into his chair, his eyes wide, his mouth wider. His brain struggled to process the answered prayer that had strolled so casually into the room. Despite having fantasized about this moment hundreds – no, thousands of times, Sanemi didn't know what to say; he didn't know what to do. He was utterly and helplessly stupid with joy.
Puzzled, Giyuu withdrew the extended hand that Sanemi, in his giddy delirium, had failed to shake. "Uh. Are you okay?" Giyuu asked. "You seem a little, um. Disoriented."
Giyuu's question snapped Sanemi's mind back into the room. Frantic thoughts yapped like rabid Chihuahuas in his head. He's real. He's right in front of me. So close I could touch him. Should I touch him? I should say something first - I love you? Please marry me? Maybe I should ask him to lunch first. He's SO close. I really want to touch him.
Sanemi suddenly became acutely aware of Giyuu's expression - pinched in distress, hand hovering near his nose - an exact duplicate of the one the assistant had earlier. He looked at himself in his mind's eye: unwashed hair, greasy hangover glow, clothes that looked and smelled like they'd been washed by diseased raccoons.
Of all the fucking days... Sanemi groused to himself.
As his gaze lingered on Giyuu, Sanemi became acutely aware of something even more distressing than his sad state of hygiene. There was no light of recognition in Giyuu's eyes, not even the slightest twinkle.
"Don't you recognize me, Giyuu?" Sanemi asked.
"Tomioka-san. I'm sorry. Should I? Have we met before?" Giyuu asked.
"Yes! It's me. Sanemi. Look closely."
Giyuu squinted a little at Sanemi. "Shinazugawa Sanemi...Shinazugawa..." Giyuu shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't remember you at all. Where did we meet? Maybe that'll jog my memory."
Sanemi sat there like a toddler who'd been handed an investment portfolio. What was he supposed to do with Giyuu's reaction, or rather failure to react? Sanemi had always known that his reunion with Giyuu might fall far short of the many detailed and romantic scenarios his desire had scripted, but he was certain as sunrises that when they finally found each other, Giyuu would remember him. He had to. He promised.
"You said you could never forget."
Giyuu shrugged. "I'm sorry. I really don't remember."
Sanemi bore his eyes into Giyuu's hoping the sheer force of his will would awaken Giyuu's memory. But those big blue eyes remained blind to their past.
"Are you sure you're okay, sir? We can reschedule if needed," Giyuu said.
Sir? Addressing him like a stranger – the formality gutted Sanemi; his entire body screamed in pain. Why did Fate feel the need to slice him up like a slab of tuna? All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around this boy, to feel his breath on his neck, to lose his fingers in his hair, to hear him say his name with that intimate familiarity only love allows. But Sanemi was nothing more than the 131st person passing through a turnstile, a meaningless number, arbitrary and forgettable.
Sanemi looked into those kind blue eyes again. This wasn't the response Sanemi had hoped for, but he wasn't ready to give up. He just needed to find a way to get Giyuu to remember. Maybe if he behaved a certain way, said the right things - showered - then maybe Giyuu would remember. He had to try.
Sanemi stood up. "Actually, I'm not feeling well at the moment. Can I come back later today?"
"I'm booked for the rest of the day, but if you want to come this evening the other post-doc can handle--."
"I'd rather do it with you. Uh, the interview," Sanemi said, his Freudian slip showing.
"She's just as competent."
"I'd feel more comfortable with you. With a man, I mean. It's important that I feel comfortable, right?"
"Understood." Giyuu took out his phone, swiped and tapped. "I'll schedule you for tomorrow then. Same time?"
"Yes. Perfect. Thank you." Sanemi plowed through the chairs between him and Giyuu. He grasped Giyuu's hand in both of his. "Thank you for your understanding. I'll make it worth your while."
He's here he's real I'm touching him, Sanemi thought, pure joy percolating throughout his body, his smile so warm it could melt a thousand jaded hearts. "See you tomorrow. For sure, you, tomorrow, right?"
Giyuu nodded, and Sanemi nearly bounded out of the room. Giyuu stood there, his head tipped sideways, his mind grappling with the questions this man had left in his wake, like what had caused Shinazugawa-san to blush and bounce like a smitten school girl? Why did he keep calling him by his first name when they had never met before? And most puzzling of all, why was his hand still tingling from his touch?
Giyuu stared at his hand, open and closed it a few times as if he wasn't sure it was his. "Odd," Giyuu mumbled to himself. "Very, very odd."
+++
Sanemi Shinazugawa's file lay open atop Giyuu's desk. Giyuu had suddenly decided that it would be good form to familiarize himself with the study participants before he interviewed them. This most recent one, for instance, looked like an indigent who was perhaps participating for reasons irrelevant to the project. What those reasons might be, Giyuu had no viable theories, but in the name of reliable research, he was willing to take extra precautions.
Giyuu read through the various intake forms this potential participant had filled out. "Bouncer...moved a lot...never married...sounds like a bit of a nomad..." Giyuu said to himself. "How'd he do on the psych evals?"
"Tomioka-saaaaan. Tomioka-saaaan." The sing-song voice drifted into Giyuu's office like a feather on a spring breeze. A petite, purple-eyed woman floated in behind it.
Giyuu didn't notice Shinobu's entrance, swallowed up as he was by Shinazugawa's file. Shinobu grinned; she had spotted her rube. She slinked ninja-like to Giyuu's side. She leaned over, whispering distance from his ear.
"WHATCHA LOOKING AT?!?"
"Aaaaaaa!" Giyuu screamed like a woman. His folder went flying, his beverage spilled, his focus (and possibly knee) was shattered.
"Ow! Jeezus, Kocho. You scared the crap out of me."
"Heh. Worth it," she said. "How'd the interview go? Have you scheduled their physical yet?"
Giyuu rubbed his knee as he gathered his scattered papers. "He rescheduled for tomorrow."
"Was that his file you were so absorbed in?"
Giyuu popped the last paper back into the folder, handed it to Shinobu. "I wouldn't say absorbed." He went to work on the spill.
Shinobu opened the folder and read the name at the top of the form. "Shinazugawa Sanemi, huh? I see."
"Do you know him?"
"Define 'know'." She handed the folder back to Giyuu and headed for the door.
What the hell does she mean by that? Giyuu wondered, but refrained from asking. Ever since day one of his post doc at the clinic, Shinobu said annoyingly cryptic things all the time, things that made him feel like she could see into the future and deleted browser histories. He was never in on the secret. He hated feeling so out of the loop. But she was the principal investigator on this project, and one of the smartest people he'd ever met. He knew better than to nitpick her idiosyncracies. He was certain he'd die in that battle.
Shinobu stopped in the doorway. "Can you ask this Shinazugawa-san something for me?" she asked.
"Sure. What is it?"
"Ask him if he remembers the insect pillar. And if he does, send him my way, would you?"
"Insect pillar? What's that?" Giyuu asked.
Shinobu angled herself to hide the frown dimming her expression. They had worked nearly two years now, and Giyuu still didn't recall a single thing about their demon slaying past life or what a great – or was it only? - friend she was to him. She could still make an ass of him here in the present, and it still brought her a measure of joy. But the imbalance in memory somehow made teasing him feel a little hollow – or was it ignoble? – especially when he stared at her with those wide, clueless eyes. Their interactions were like a jigsaw puzzle with the center pieces missing. They felt unbearably incomplete.
She sighed. "Long story. Good luck with the interview." She waved as the door shut behind her.
"Thanks," Giyuu replied. He returned his attention to Shinazugawa's file, but couldn't reconstruct the focus that Shinobu had smashed to bits. Giyuu put the file away. He decided he was getting worked up over nothing. The twinge of familiarity, the hot unease, even the inexplicable tingling he felt all had pedestrian explanations – that man was clearly unstable; he was inappropriately casual and assertive; he desperately needed a shower. It was no wonder Giyuu had experienced such odd reactions. The situation was odd.
Yes, that's all this is. Giyuu thought to himself.
But, there was one strange sensation Giyuu couldn't explain.
Ever since he'd read the name "Shinazugawa Sanemi," seeing Shinobu made him think of butterflies.
+++
Hope. Sanemi didn't need it anymore.
For most of his life, Sanemi had tempestuous relations with hope. One might call it an unhealthy affair. Sanemi clung to the hope that he would one day find Giyuu, and they would be together again. Insane and improbable as it had seemed, that hope was his reason for getting up in the morning, for moving forward, for not giving life the finger. But that very same hope sharpened the blades of disappointment and enabled them to butcher his resolve over and over again. Things were different now. He actually found Giyuu.
Sanemi no longer had to hope Giyuu was in this life. He didn't have to hope that the next lookalike would be the real thing. Giyuu was real, and he was within reach. Sure, Giyuu didn't remember their past life together, but that was a flea bite compared to the emotional tumor of life without him. Sanemi would find a way to overcome it. He would make Giyuu remember, no matter what.
To that end, Sanemi knew he had to do a few things and do them just right. First, he needed to show Giyuu he was actually an attractive, respectable, and pro-hygiene human being and not the bipedal compost pile he was the day before.
Sanemi stood his naked, freshly-showered self in front of his sparsely populated closet and scrutinized its contents. He examined each shirt and pair of pants and agonized over which looked best on him, which would make him look like he cared about his appearance, but wasn't trying too hard to impress, and which would most likely make Giyuu helplessly hot for him. Regular jeans? Black jeans? Dress shirt? What color? Belt or no belt?
"Jeez. When did I grow a vagina?" Sanemi shook his head at himself, but in reality, he didn't mind the anticipation zotting through every atom in his body. He didn't mind the smile that set up permanent camp on his face. He didn't mind feeling so fua-fua that he thought he might float away like an emancipated balloon. Giyuu was real, and he was within reach. And soon they'd be together.
All Sanemi had to do was get Giyuu to remember. How hard could that be?
Sanemi knew that was the other thing he had to do just right. He suspected that if he came on too strong and bombarded Giyuu with too much information, he might freak Giyuu out, and he'd shut down. Accessing Giyuu's memory would be a delicate operation. If Sanemi wanted in that room, he'd have to pick the lock, not kick the door down. That wasn't going to be easy for him; Sanemi preferred kicking down doors. He wasn't a tip-toeing kind of guy.
Clothes selected, hair coiffed, Sanemi took one last look at himself in the mirror. He barely recognized the man that was staring back at him. He didn't just look clean and stylish. For the first time in a very long time, he looked genuinely happy.
Sanemi grabbed his keys and wallet and headed out the door to what he hoped – no, knew was a new beginning. Giyuu was real, and he was within reach.
__GIYUU'S RESEARCH JOURNAL_____
I don't believe in past lives. From a scientific standpoint, it makes no sense. You'd have to also believe in ghosts and ghouls and all manner of supernatural (hokey pokey) in order for that to work. The atoms that compose our bodies may get recycled in a sense, but how could they possibly contain any data from a past life, and how could those bits and bytes be compiled into accurate recollections of experience? They can't. So then, what reincarnates an individual, memories and all? You're left with that mystical mist known as the soul, a concept that conveniently defies empirical examination, and thus can be neither proven nor disproven.
The people we've interviewed for this study don't really add credibility to the existence of past lives. At best, they can recall inconsistent scraps of lives they could've collected subconsciously from TV shows or books, if they even read them.
That was probably a condescending comment.
Not untrue, but condescending nonetheless.
I should be nicer.
I've always understood the allure of past lives. It's a form of immortality. Who doesn't want that? Cosmic do-overs? Sign me up. And past lives can explain those profound and inexplicable connections we feel to people sometimes, the thunderbolt of love at first sight, those "I feel like I've known you forever" feelings. Even I've had those gut-level, irrational impulses. But I think a simpler explanation exists, one that doesn't require what is essentially magic.
Was that condescending, too? Sorry.
Which I guess begs the question: if I don't believe past lives are an actual thing, why am I doing this research?
Simple. Memories are fascinating. Whether what we remember is real or fake, our memories tell us something about who we are and who we want to be. Memories are colored by our desires and fears. They are shaped through the details we recall (or fail to recall). They are threaded together by a brain that wants to be more than a mindless critter scuttling around the earth, that wants, in other words, to be fully human. It might be safe to say that brains create memories, and memories create people. Change the memories, and you change the person.
Perhaps on some level, those with past lives are trying to alter their self or construct a new one by changing their memories. If so, then the question becomes, why try to change your past in order to improve your present or future? Is that ever a good idea? What makes fixating on the past less scary than dealing with the present?
I'm hoping these interviews will provide some answers. Maybe they'll completely shift my worldview. Anything is possible, I suppose. We shall see.
Today I'll be conducting my first unsupervised interview with a study participant. His name is Shinazugawa Sanemi. A bouncer, 27 years old, single. Should be interesting.
+++
Sanemi arrived at the clinic 20 minutes early. He saw the undergraduate assistant at the front desk and approached her.
"I have an appointment with Tomioka-san for the past lives project," Sanemi informed her.
She tapped a few keys on her keyboard. "Shinazugawa Sanemi?"
"That's correct."
When she looked up at Sanemi, she tried and failed miserably to hide her shock. "The same Shinazugawa-san from yesterday?"
"Yes. My apologies. I wasn't feeling well," he said.
She gawked at him with the same wide, brazen eyes of curious four year olds. "Wow. You're so...you're not...you don't... Wow," she stammered. She quickly collected the composure Sanemi's improved appearance had scattered like a confetti bomb. "I'm Yamamoto Maaya. Did I properly introduce myself yesterday?"
"No, you didn't. But I was a wreck yesterday," Sanemi replied.
"You're certainly not one today, though, are you?" She flicked a coy glance at him. "Right this way please."
Maaya's reaction pleased and displeased Sanemi. If he could have this effect on her, there was a good chance he might have the same effect on Giyuu. But it also meant he was truly a magnificent bucket of dog dookie last time. It was definitely one memory he didn't need Giyuu to recall.
Maaya led him to the same depressing room that he had met Giyuu in the previous day.
"Your interviewer should be here in a few minutes. Can I get you anything while you wait?" Maaya asked. Her eyes took a quick jaunt around his person.
"No, thanks. I'm good," Sanemi replied.
She let her gaze land directly in his, her smile an invitation. "I'll be right out front if you need anything," she said, closing the door behind her.
Sanemi glanced around the tight, windowless room. "This room has all the charm of a coffin," Sanemi muttered to himself. "It'd be nice to be someplace more date-like." Sanemi took out his phone. "There's gotta be a pub or café nearby."
A knock at the door announced Giyuu's arrival. "Excuse me. I apologize for my tardi -" Giyuu's eyes expanded into saucers at the sight of Sanemi. "Shinazugawa-san?"
Sanemi extended his hand, grinned at Giyuu's gaping gaze. "Yes. Thank you for rescheduling."
Giyuu shook Sanemi's hand. "No. Thank you for participating."
Sanemi held on to Giyuu's hand. "Is something wrong? You're staring."
"Uh what? No! Sorry. You just look very different from yesterday. I hardly recognized you haha." Giyuu laughed stiffly then spun away from Sanemi to hide the chagrin raging in his cheeks. Giyuu stared at his hand, opened and closed it a few times. "Shall we get started?" He took a seat.
"Yeah. About that." Sanemi sat in a chair and rolled it close to Giyuu's. He leaned forward, cornering Giyuu. Giyuu inched his chair back until he smacked into the wall. Sanemi detected a distinct flicker of scared rabbit in Giyuu's eyes. Pick the lock; don't kick the door down, Sanemi reminded himself.
Sanemi yielded a little ground to Giyuu. "Would you mind if we did the interview someplace a little less, I don't know, claustrophobic?" he asked.
"Oh, well, I need to record the interview, and all the equipment is already set up..." Giyuu replied.
"I don't feel very comfortable in here. And unfortunately, I forgot to eat lunch. I could really use a little something to eat," Sanemi continued.
"Privacy might be an issue elsewhere..."
Sanemi began to pack up the recording equipment. "There's a café across the street. Or I noticed a few tables in the courtyard. We can talk there." Sanemi opened the door. "Let's go."
"Shinazugawa-san." Giyuu stood up.
"Call me Sanemi."
"Shinazugawa-san," Giyuu huffed. "The set-up we have here is adequate. If you're hungry, I can have Yamamoto-san bring you something or there's a vending machine—"
"Vending machine? No. Fuck that. Come on. Let's go somewhere more comfortable."
"I'm sorry, Shinazugawa-san, but you can't just come in here and start moving things around. We have a research protocol—"
"God you're a pain in the ass. As usual."
"I'm a pain in the ass? As usual?"
"Oops. Sorry. Forget I said that. Come on. I'm really hungry."
Giyuu's mind became a tea cup ride of dizzying thoughts and queasy feelings. He didn't like how unsettled he felt. He didn't appreciate how unflappably forward this guy was. Most of all, he didn't like how curious he was about this intensely irritating man.
"You do want to do the interview, don't you? I promise it'll be worth your time," Sanemi said.
"Fine," Giyuu conceded with a sigh. "Downstairs. In the courtyard."
"Great!"
Sanemi held the door open for Giyuu. Giyuu exited and locked the door.
"What a pushy little-" Giyuu grumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing. Careful with the equipment please. In fact, let me carry it." Giyuu grabbed at the microphone and laptop. Sanemi relinquished it.
"Eeesh. Uptight, aren't we? We need to get a beer into you." Sanemi turned around, mumbled to himself, "Among other things..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"This is my job, Shinazugawa-san. I would appreciate it very much if you took this interview seriously."
"I'm taking this more seriously than you might imagine," Sanemi said. He faced Giyuu. "I'm determined to ensure we both get what we want out of this."
Just what do you want out of this? Giyuu wondered. Giyuu didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid – and his racing heart confessed -- eager to find out.
+++
"How's this spot?" Sanemi gestured to a table that was tucked behind a wall of shrubs and offered a measure of privacy. A large oak tree loitered nearby and cast dappled sunlight around them. The space felt intimate, romantic even. "Nice, right?"
"It'll suffice," Giyuu responded, his attention tangled in the recording equipment.
Maaya Yamamoto showed up with a couple of bento boxes and bottled waters. She set them out on the table. "I'm sorry it's not much, but it should keep you from starving." She made sure her eyes met Sanemi's. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Some beer would be nice," Sanemi said.
"No beer," Giyuu said in his best exasperated parent voice. "That'll be all. Thank you, Yamamoto-san."
"I'll bring some right away," Maaya tossed a smile at Sanemi before she left.
Sanemi dug into one of the bento boxes. "A little booze wouldn't kill you. In fact--
"Shall we commence the interview?" Giyuu sat down across from Sanemi.
Sanemi sat on the slender edge of his chair. His right leg jackhammered into the ground as he contemplated questions he had no good answers for. How should he start? What exactly should he say, and how much? Sanemi knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to bust in like a hero and save his fair princess from the silent darkness of ignorance, then ride off into the scarlet skies of happily ever after. How badly could things go if he said straight up, "Giyuu, we were lovers in a past life. Wanna grab a drink after this?
That would be creepy, wouldn't it? It would. Don't be creepy.
"Let me get a few formalities out of the way," Giyuu said. "First, I want to assure you that everything you say will be kept private. These recordings will be identified by a subject number; no personal identifying information will be stored with your responses, and your responses will not be shared with any other organizations or research projects without your express consent."
Sanemi let his eyes explore Giyuu's face as he rattled off the preamble to the interview. Ah, he's kinda cute when he's being a stiff-ass dweeb. Sanemi smiled to himself.
"There will be two follow-up interviews, as well as a physical exam," Giyuu continued.
"A physical exam?" Sanemi asked. "Why is a physical exam necessary?"
"Sometimes illnesses can cause the brain to function abnormally, resulting in hallucinations and dementia and such."
"Oh, I see. You think this past life stuff is just a mental illness. In other words, you think I'm crazy."
"No, not crazy per se."
"What then?"
"I think this research might tell us something about how memory and even imaginative thinking work."
"Still sounds like you're saying 'crazy'."
Giyuu finally made solid eye contact with Sanemi. "I sense you're taking offense where none is intended, Shinazugawa-san. Nevertheless, I sincerely apologize if my views have made you feel judged in any way."
"Call me Sanemi."
Giyuu returned his gaze to his clipboard. "Is it okay if we get back to the interview?"
Sanemi leaned back in his chair. He didn't like the towering walls of professionalism Giyuu was hiding behind. Giyuu clearly wasn't going to willingly emerge from behind them. He wasn't even going to peek out a window unless Sanemi opened it.
So Sanemi opened it. "What would you do if I told you that you were in one of my past lives?"
Giyuu sighed and rubbed his temples. He stopped the recording, started packing up the equipment.
A bolt of panic surged through Sanemi. "What are you doing?"
"If you're not going to take this seriously, if this is just some sort of game to you, Shinazugawa-san, then it's best we just stop here and not waste any more of our time."
Sanemi jumped to his feet. His chair screeched backward and clanged loudly as it fell to the ground. The courtyard fell silent, heads turned in their direction. "I am taking this seriously!"
"Can you please not make a scene?" Giyuu said, his face aflame with embarrassment.
Sanemi lowered his voice to a pleading whisper. "Don't go, Giyuu. Please."
Giyuu took a deep breath. He set the equipment back on the table. "Please call me Tomioka-san." He gestured to Sanemi's chair. "Fine. Let's continue."
Sanemi nodded. He picked up his chair, sat in it like a good student. He watched Giyuu as he set his space back in order.
What sort of torture is this, Sanemi thought. He's so close I could touch him – that soft, pale skin, that thick black hair, that sculpted body. But those endless blue eyes don't see me. Nothing in him remembers. He won't let me behind those walls.
'Please call me Tomioka-san', he says. He's sitting three feet from me, but his heart's a million miles away.
What do I do?
"Shall we begin?" Giyuu asked.
This is torture.
+++
Giyuu was riveted. He'd interviewed several people for this project, and even though the majority of them claimed to be royalty or warriors or some other sort of important someone, none of them told tales like Shinazugawa-san did. The people, the world, the events - he described them in such detail, Giyuu felt like a 5-year-old at story time. Whether Sanemi was making it all up or his mind had gone off the rails, it was impressive. Giyuu couldn't get enough.
"And you survived that battle?" Giyuu asked.
"Yes, minus a few fingers," Sanemi replied.
"Were you the only – what were they called?" Giyuu flipped through his notes. "Where...oh – pillars that survived?"
"No. One other did."
"Were you two close?"
Sanemi smiled. "Very. We were lovers."
"Oh? Tell me about her."
"Him."
"Whoa. Wasn't that hard back then?" Giyuu asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
"We found a way."
"What was he like?"
"Hmm. Let me think."
Giyuu felt Sanemi's eyes on him. They held him in a gaze so tender it made Giyuu tremble inside. He spoke with a tone so wistful Giyuu felt like he might cry. "He was strong and brave. Moody and quiet. Stubborn. Clueless as fuck sometimes."
"Clueless? How so?" This man has a hole inside him - the thought entered Giyuu's mind unbidden. Why does it pain me so?
Sanemi leaned on the table, his longing pouring across it. "He didn't see things that were right in front of him."
"Can you give an example?" Why am I drawn to his empty spaces?
"There are too many to choose from."
"He sounds like a handful." Like I'm supposed to fill them?
"He was a pain in the ass. I wanted to spend forever with him."
"You didn't?" Why does this feel like...
"Fate didn't cooperate with my plans."
...torture?
"Oh..." Giyuu found himself sinking into a strange melancholy, like a coin tossed into the ocean. It swallowed him up in blue; he couldn't see the bottom. What is this feeling? Why am I feeling it? Why is it so strong? It didn't make sense, this aching in his chest, and Giyuu really hated when things didn't make sense.
"Oi, Giyuu. Giyuu..."
Sanemi's voice yanked Giyuu back to reality. Giyuu blinked a few times and realized Sanemi was standing and waving his hand in front of his face. "You okay? You were gone for a second there."
"Tomioka-san." Giyuu slid his chair back. He needed distance between himself and this man, miles and miles of distance if possible. "Please call me Tomioka-san."
"Are you always this formal?" Sanemi flopped back into his chair, his expression soured with frustration.
"I find that in most situations it's best to conduct oneself in a professional manner, in this sort of situation in particular," Giyuu replied. He stopped the recording and began to pack up the equipment.
"Yeah? Why is that?"
"It's simply prudent."
"You really are a pain in the ass sometimes, Giyuu."
Giyuu slammed his hand on the table. "How many times do I have to-"
Giyuu became acutely aware of the many eyes in the courtyard that were suddenly fixed on him, especially Sanemi's. Giyuu looked at his hand as if it had acted on its own. He slid his hand into his lap, took a deep breath. Reclaimed his chill. "Call me Tomioka-san. Please."
Sanemi smiled, just a little. Something had snuck past Giyuu's wall. "Okay. Tomioka-san."
Giyuu's phone chimed at him. He glanced at it. "Oh, no! I almost forgot! I have to pick up the cake."
"Cake? You celebrating something?" Sanemi asked.
"Sorry! I've really got to go." Giyuu trotted off quickly, putting as much space as he could between him and that man, that irritating, disrespectful, intriguing man. He stopped abruptly. Crap. Shinobu.
Giyuu turned and called out to Sanemi. "The principal investigator on this study said you should go see her if you remember what the 'insect pillar' is."
Sanemi's mind exploded with shock. "Did you say 'insect pillar?"
"Yes."
"What's her name?"
"Shinobu Kocho," Giyuu said. "Yamamoto-san can tell you where her office is." Giyuu ran off.
"Insect pillar, Shinobu Kocho, huh?" Sanemi said, a smile erupting on his face. Maybe Giyuu didn't remember him right now, but Sanemi felt like Fate had finally blessed him with an opening, a way to move things forward. At the very least, seeing Kocho would give him a reason to come to Giyuu's workplace before the next interview. Sanemi would take whatever help he could get. He was not going to let Giyuu slip away, not without a fight.
+++
I found him, you stupid shrink. I found him.
You're sure it's him?
Never been more sure of anything in my fucking life.
Does he remember you?
He hasn't changed much. Well, I mean, he's got a bigger stick up his butt than he used to, but we can work on that.
So, he remembers you?
He's a research physician. I wouldn't have guessed that for him. Although I suppose I did imagine him doing something nerdy.
Sanemi, you haven't answered my question. Does he remember you?
He looks the same, too. Except he keeps his hair shorter.
Sanemi...
He will remember me, okay? I'm not going anywhere until he does.
What if that isn't what he wants? He has a whole life without you in it, and he might be perfectly happy—
Why did I find him? Why did our paths finally cross if we weren't meant to be together again?
Life doesn't always make sense.
He will remember me. And we will be together.
What makes you so sure?
Because...he promised.
People can't keep promises they don't remember, Sanemi.
I found him for a reason. I remember for a reason. It's so we can be together.
But—
End of discussion.
+++
Life happens on the atomic level. Humans experience it as clunky corporeal masses motoring toward, away, around, and with each other, but in reality, it is the love life of infinitesimally tiny specks of energy that drive the whole of existence. Atoms find each other and create; they break up and destroy. They search for the partner that enables them to form a sturdy relationship, a relationship that only the most stubborn or reckless forces can destroy.
This is what love is, Giyuu mused as he walked up the stairs to his third-floor apartment, in a narrow Shinjuku building. Two quantum lovers sharing their very selves so that they can become a something that neither of them could be alone. It's something so ordinary it happens countless times a day. And yet, when it happens, it's nothing short of miraculous.
Giyuu unlocked the door to his house. He was happy to be home. He liked that the place was clean, but peppered with signs of life – a cup half-filled on the coffee table, a laptop open on the desk, a jacket tossed on the back of the arm chair. He liked how it often smelled of laundry and cooked rice. Most of all, he liked what these two quantum lovers had managed to become. It was worthy of celebration.
Giyuu set the cake on the entryway table and lay a bouquet of lilacs next to it. He took off his shoes and coat, sniffed the air. Salmon and daikon. His favorite.
Giyuu smiled.
"Sabito, I'm home."