One Heartbeat

It took another several months before Kei was able to move back home. Even so, there were a few changes made in order for him to do so.

They made the guest bedroom into his room. It was in a part of the house that didn’t get too much sunlight, but the shade trees made it so that he could keep the curtains and windows open, which he liked. The room was a little smaller, too, but he didn’t really need that much space… anymore. The desk was really the only piece of furniture he kept; the guest room already had a futon bed that could be converted to a sofa and back again. Everything that was in the guest room was moved into their bedroom; maybe one day he’d be able to go through Tetsu’s things, but not yet.

There were a few things of Tetsu’s that he kept with him. Most of it was clothing (they were roughly the same size), but he’d also kept the laptop and phone, as well as his pillow and favorite blanket. Along the windowsill, he’d placed a line of toy dinosaurs, a few of which Tetsu had given him. Well, they were more dragons than dinosaurs, but it didn’t matter.

He’d done as Tadashi had suggested and started a journal. The only difference was that it was a private Facebook page, entitled KuroTsuki, and only a few people were able to see it. And really, a few meant everyone they knew from their high school volleyball teams. He started with what he’d told Tadashi at the family gravesite, and then posted memories, pictures, and little stories. At first people just left reactions, but then they also started leaving little comments. Eventually, the page became more of a memorial than a journal, and it made Kei happy to see everyone’s memories and stories of Tetsu.

The week before Tetsu’s birthday, he showed up at the Sendai City Gym, wearing Tetsu’s Nekoma jacket. The Frogs were practicing, and he watched them play for a little bit as he changed into his volleyball shoes. It had been almost three years since he last played. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too rusty. When the current set was finished, he walked over to the sidelines and quietly joined the team.

“Have room for another middle blocker?” he asked Kyotani. Mad Dog nearly jumped off the bench with surprise, but smirked as he calmed down.

“Nope! We’ve got all the middle blockers we need,” he said sarcastically. Which was pretty much what Kei expected of him.

“Lies!” another familiar voice shouted from across the court. “We held your spot for you, Tsuki!”

“How the hell did you hear me from way over there?!” Kyotani hollered.

“I didn’t!” Koganegawa shouted back. “I merely guessed what you were going to say! Was I right?”

“Close enough,” Kei yelled over Kyotani. Mad Dog glared at him, and then his face relaxed into something resembling friendly concern.

“You sure you want to come back? Are you ready?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Kei replied kindly. “Thanks for asking.”

“Just so you know, we’ll sub you out if you screw up.”

“Says the man who can barely keep the ball in the court fifty percent of the time,” Kei snapped back.

“Nice burn, Tsuki!” Koganegawa said as he jogged over to them. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Koge.”

With that, they waited while Kei stretched, and then he jogged out onto the court, and he started playing. It was rough. He knew it would be. But he kept it together long enough to play a full set, and then another. Afterwards, he said goodbye to everyone. They had a game coming up, and they wanted him back, but he didn’t want to make any promises. He agreed to another practice in a few days, and they accepted that much.

Once he was home, he changed into his sleep wear, sat down on the futon, and wiped away the tears. Several times during practice, he could’ve sworn he’d seen Tetsu in his peripheral vision. A slight glance in that direction proved he wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t! There was also a moment when he heard Tetsu’s voice, cheering for him, yelling that he was the best damn middle blocker ever. He nearly called it quits right then and there, but he buckled down and concentrated on his blocking, tuning out nearly everything else. Maybe he wasn’t ready, after all.

Rising from the futon, he went to the desk and opened the laptop. The background picture was the one they took the day Tetsu left Tokyo to move to Miyagi. It was the four of them: Bokuto, Akaashi, Tetsu, and himself. They were all smiling, arms around each other’s shoulders, and laughing at whatever joke Tetsu had told them. It was really the last picture they’d taken of the four of them together.

Clicking on the internet icon, he brought up the memorial page, and wrote about going back to practice. Naturally, Akaashi and Bokuto replied first, congratulating him on his achievement, and offering support in the form of coming to the Frogs’ next game. Offline, they texted him in their group chat, and made extra certain that he was okay playing volleyball again.

He was about to close the laptop for the night, when a random pop up notification appeared. None had appeared before, but then, looking at the time, it seemed this message was set to pop up every night around 2am. Usually he was offline and on his tablet in bed by 2am, and likely even asleep. But tonight, he stayed up longer than usual, chatting with Bokuto and Akaashi.

[Add notes and letters to the box. Write in journal. Call Kei in the morning.]

“Box? Journal? What does that mean?” he asked himself. As far as he could recall, there hadn’t been anything in Tetsu’s belongings that looked like a letter box or a journal. But then again, he really hadn’t been looking for anything of that nature in the first place.

“Well, guess I’m not going to sleep until I find this box and journal,” he muttered, getting up from the desk and going to the closet.

There really wasn’t much of Tetsu’s things in the closet. It was mostly a mix of their clothes and shoes, gym bags, and extra pillows and blankets for when company stayed over. His eyes caught sight of Tetsu’s backpack and suitcase, but he disregarded them automatically. They had been with him when he died, and Kei hadn’t looked in them since they’d been given to him.

However, after a cursory search through the guest room, he returned to his bedroom empty handed. Sitting down at the desk, he searched through the drawers. In the very back of one of the bottom drawers, he found an old, beat up, journal, and put it on top of the laptop keyboard. Just looking at it, he knew it had to be at least a decade old. He could just make out the faded shape of a cat and a crescent moon on the front cover. Still, he had a feeling this wasn’t exactly what he was looking for, and now he had to look in the one place he didn’t want to look.

Back inside the closet, he pulled out the backpack and suitcase, laying them out in front of the futon on the floor. Slowly, he sat down in front of them and stared hard. He had no doubt that the box and journal he was looking for was likely tucked into the suitcase, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it. Not yet. That said, if he wanted to find out why Tetsu had that reminder on his laptop, he needed to open the suitcase.

With shaking fingers, he unlatched the suitcase and pushed up. Inside were the clothes Tetsu had taken with him, thrown in there like he’d been in a hurry. In one corner, Kei found part of what he was looking for: the box. It was made of teakwood, and wasn’t very big, but it was latched closed. Little corners of paper stuck out from the seams. The journal he found tucked in the laptop pocket of the backpack. This one was only slightly newer than the one on the desk, but it was in much better shape, and the picture on the front was clearer: a little black cat and a crescent moon, connected by a swirly little trail of stars.

Opening the box, he saw little scraps of paper amongst larger envelopes. The scraps had lyrics written on them, and Kei recognized several of their favorite songs. Another piece of paper had the names of the songs written down, and at the top, ‘Playlist’ was in bold lettering. The envelope on top had his name on it, and the date. It was the last one Tetsu had written. Quickly, he closed the box and set it aside. He wasn’t going to read anything else in that box. Not now. That left the two journals. But instead of opening them, he reached for his phone.