her velvet smoke

Oikawa moved out of Tokyo, and Winter rushed in almost immediately, taking his place although it would be nice to have him back. Warm autumn colors vanished and were replaced by the vast whiteness of powdery snow. Then, that too soon disappeared, and murky slush filled the spaces of every sidewalk crevice. December turned into January. January turned into February. Time continued to pass, and little things—like photographs of him, objects he left behind in my apartment—began to hurt less and less. Time didn't heal all wounds, but it sure helped.

When I would go days without seeing people, I wondered who would be the last person to see me alive. It might just be the grandma who lives next door. Besides the regulars who visited the bar, she might be the only person who sort of grasped my existence: me, that depressed kid who lives next door and hangs up your laundry. Or it could be the waiter at the cafe across the street. In the blistering windchill, the only thing that would get me out of my apartment was a warm cup of coffee.

In the cold days of February, cold shadows consumed me. What if I died a spontaneous, miscellaneous death in here. Who would come and find me?

Look at me, being a ray of sunshine. Ha. Life is awesome!

Depressive thoughts continued entering my mind, then:

"Hey, hey! Open up the door, Iwaizumi!"

"We brought food. We miss you. Where have you been, my guy?"

I could practically feel Kuroo and Bokuto leaning against the door, faces pressed against the peephole. "Door's unlocked!" I yelled back.

I was practically absorbed into the couch, covered in the dust of stale crackers and curry chips. Kuroo had on an expression that practically yelled: Sir, excuse me? What the actual hell are you living in? Are you alright? Bokuto was simply smiling, amused at the scene.

It was a valid response. Kuroo and Bokuto came dressed in neat coats and turtlenecks, carrying a dainty basket filled with hot takeout. It was almost infuriating, how easy it was for them to look genuinely put-together during the dismal reality of these cold months. I, on the other hand, was unapologetically in my underwear and had gone two days without showering. Did I smell? Probably. I reached for the deodorant I'd left on the coffee table.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a mess," I amused, but deep down, I was a bit embarrassed at my own life, this chaotic, sad frenzy I had created for myself.

I put on my pajama pants. Then, the two men pulled me out of the couch and dragged me into the kitchen. I apologized for the mess.

"Nah," Kuroo replied, "You're fine. We're all drowning in some way. It's Winter. Things always suck ass when it's cold, but I promise you, it'll get better. Now, let's eat. My stomach needs food, and yours needs... some nutrients... anything but those expired potato chips you've been munching on."

We were snacking on pickled cucumbers and miso soup when Kuroo pointed at the polaroid of Oikawa taped onto the kitchen wall. "Talked to him recently?" he asked.

"A bit, but he's been busy, so not really, I guess."

The truth was, Oikawa and I tried our best. Occasionally, we sent letters to each other, and whenever he got a hold of the telephone, I would be the first person to call. It went on for a while, but like the circumstances of adulthood, busy schedules and personal matters distracted us from one another. Distance didn't help either. A day without calling became a week, and then a month. I missed him... but both scenarios were painful. Some days, this current numbness was better than hearing his voice and knowing that he was in a different country. Other times, I wondered how it would feel if we were actually together, doing the whole long-distance thing. But then, I thought about Ainu and felt guilty again. This cycle repeated itself.

Kuroo set down his chopsticks and tapped his fingers on the table, looking away for a brief moment before locking his eyes with mine. "Do you love him?"

Bokuto gasped, and Kuroo smacked his arm. "It's a serious question," he whispered to the gray-haired fool.

I thought about it.

"Define love," I replied, like an asshole.

"Well, only you know your feelings, Iwaizumi... but it hurts seeing you hurt. We're your friends. We'll be here whenever you need us, but I've noticed how much it's affected you since he left."

"I guess I do love him."

Bokuto's mouth dropped wide open.

"I'm trying not to, though... not as much, at least... not until things are right. When the time is right. I'm rambling at this point." I couldn't find the right words to express this emotion Kuroo wanted me to elaborate on, but I knew it. I just wasn't ready to fully confront it.

Bokuto moaned, that theatrical gasp. "At this point, I'm invested in this love story... but Iwaizumi, you need to distract yourself. Clean your room. Come out with us. Bring someone over, if you'd like. There's no use moping around your dirty apartment. Truly. No hate, no shade... but you're a bit of a mess right now."

He was right. "Fine, let's do it. Let's turn my life around."

"Wait really?"

"Yes. Before I change my mind, I'm ready to leave this hellhole of an apartment."

We washed our bowls, and immediately, my two friends helped set my place back up into what it was before a mountain of garbage took up the living room... I took a shower and finally shaved. Threw my dirty clothes into the laundry. Changed into a clean shirt and trousers. It may be a facade, but for the time being, a presentable part of myself had emerged out of the depths of depression. It felt quite nice. I actually looked quite handsome too.

For once, I felt a bit alive again.

~

Bokuto chose a club in a part of Shibuya I rarely got to explore; it was a needed change of pace. It was nice knowing that there was still so much of Tokyo I had yet to discover. Young people filled the club, sweaty bodies dancing below the hazy, red lights. People with neon hair and abstract tattoos. People with tight dresses and tall heels. People who punched the air as they jumped up and down. I wondered what these dancing fools were all like outside of the club. Regular office workers, perhaps. Young people trying to survive the city and only finding freedom in dance music and overpriced mixed drinks. In the darkness of a club, humans found the bravery to kiss one another, laugh until intoxication rumbled through their movements. I could see why people come here, and I could see why I always agree to tag along.

I gulped down another shot, and Kuroo pulled me onto the dance floor. We were trapped in a world of bodies merging with one another. Bokuto was being his wild self, and a circle had formed around him as he swung his arms around. Kuroo swayed in a shy yet collected manner. He was a good dancer, and every few minutes or so, another woman would approach him. He would always refuse their requests, saying that he was dating someone. If they asked, he would describe Kenma and all of his quirks and mannerisms, from the games he played to his strategic way of achieving his goals. The women would eventually get bored and head back into the pool of bodies. Kuroo continued bobbing his head up and down.

Overwhelmed by the sweat and noise of the club, I headed outside to the smoke lounge. I searched through my pockets, hoping that a cigarette might appear, but then, a woman beat me to it.

"Do you need a cigarette?"

"Please."

She gently placed the Marlboro between my lips. Her two fingers touched my mouth. It was a bold move, especially for a stranger, but for some reason, I didn't mind it. Her touch reminded me of Oikawa's. Confident and flirtatious... yet still gentle enough to feel relaxed and at-ease around. She pulled out an orange lighter, covered in stickers, and lit our cigarettes.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Ito Sara. I wouldn't mind if you just called me Sara, though. Yours?"

"Iwaizumi."

She pushed a strand of her long hair away from her face, revealing light freckles and supple, rosy cheeks. Sara was stunning, the kind that never goes unnoticed, and like Oikawa, I could tell that she was well aware of this fact. We sat on the ground, feeling the rush of nicotine. I watched the cars drive by as she played with the hole on her tights. I could feel our bodies leaning into one another.

"Are your friends in there as well?" Sara asked, trying to carry on the conversation.

"Yeah, but I'm not much of a party person. Somehow, though, I always get dragged along, so I'm always in it for the ride. The fear of missing out gets to me."

"Oh, I can relate," she chuckled. "I get dragged into these nights far too often, and as per usual, I always end up in the smoking area where we can actually talk and hear each other, and I always end up chatting with people like you, but I don't mind it. I kind of enjoy it. It reminds me that we're still young. I like to relish in the fact that we're not fourty and still doing this shit... These nights of getting drunk and carrying our wasted friends around Tokyo reminds me that I still have time to figure my shit out."

"God, I feel that too. I've been beating myself up for not having my life together. It's easy to fall into that trap, but I wonder if those corporate adults are actually happy, so yeah, you're right... I guess there is something quite nice about going out and just breaking free from every ounce of professionalism we have in our bodies. Wow, why am I telling you this? I just met you."

"No, let it out, Iwaizumi." she exhaled a puff of velvety smoke. "It makes me feel better too. I'm just like you. Another clueless adult in this big, big city. What do you do for a living?"

"Bartender. You?"

"Assistant art teacher, but that's not my goal. I would love to open my own studio one day, but hey, I'm only twenty-two."

I thought about Ainu, who is our age and already opening multiple galleries around Asia. Meeting Sara was a breath of fresh air, someone who carried similar dreams but was still on the road to her goals. She wasn't there yet, but she had her mind set on the destination. Sometimes, I'd forgotten how normal people my age were supposed to be like Sara... like us. A bit clueless. Hungry. Young and yearning for something in life.

The remnants of acrylic paint clung onto Sara's jacket and boots. I noticed swatches of paint on her arm and hands.

"You have the artist look... and personality. I could see that happening for you."

"What about you, Iwaizumi? Do you have any dreams?"

I thought about it.

"I would love to open my own cafe or bar one day. Something that's mine. Bring in musicians and artists. Make drinks for my friends. A space that I get to build and cultivate... but for right now, I'm broke and just trying to survive on a day to day basis, but since you brought it up, I think I'll keep this dream in the back of my mind more often."

"Hell yeah. Big dreams, penniless pockets. Baby steps. I could so relate." she tossed her cigarette out into the street and looked up at me. "Sometimes, I don't ever want to grow up. The space between our teenage years and being an actual adult is such a strange place. You get what I mean? Do you ever feel this way?"

"Oh, all the time." I glanced at Sara, and her cheeks turned a bit rosier than before. "Let's toast to our fleeting adolescence over a shot of tequila? What do you say?"

"Oh sure. Back into the sweaty hellhole we go!" she chimed, pulling me up from the ground. Then, we raced past the bouncers and back into the club, her hand holding mine.