Chapter Text
Tohru Adachi’s existence was repetitive, but he knew nothing else. The desk-sized television crackled; tonight, he expected, would be all re-runs.
More often than not, he was a passive agent in how his day-to-day life operated. On this quiet evening, in his sparse room in a tidy apartment, he exercised his nightly routine: rote memorization and academic application, another installment of an unending study session.
There was one thing, though, that Tohru could say was his choice, about that room. There was a television, something Tohru had insisted on, after months of intermittent debates with his parents. Shouldn’t I get extra credit for playing ‘debate club’ at home, too? It was the defense of allowing for a unique state of relaxation that finally won things over: he claimed that regular television programming wasn’t engaging enough to take away his attention, but rather, more of a means of keeping himself on time and on rhythm. It’s barely more distracting than letting me have a clock in my room! Of course, he had his own motive. Occasionally, there was something on TV that he could use to connect with someone, when they were talking about something other than test results or post-secondary goals. Usually, though, there wasn’t, and Tohru had to put on something that was reliable.
There was a police procedural he liked to catch, a western import from the 80s. It was about this gruff older man, who was implicitly a military veteran, and his ‘sidekick’, a wise-cracking younger man. The two never really tended to solve much, they more often ran in brandishing guns and quipping at each other and the criminals, no matter how dire the situation was. They always had this smirk, which created this distance between them and the violence going on around them.
The funniest thing about it, if you bothered to watch it every day, was that every character acted in their expected trope, no matter how grave, or emotionally trying, the case would be. The quips would never be that funny, and the violence never got too extreme, but nothing ever felt appropriate for what was going on around them.
Dissonance… I think that’s a word for… when people behave differently than they evidently should? There’s a ‘dissonance’ between how they should be behaving in a crime scene, and how they do… this dissonance is made by the TV show being trash… see, I can totally learn better, having a TV around!
One of the careers his parents batted around to him was a police officer. He liked the idea of it, but had trouble understanding why… he didn’t particularly care about public safety. Besides, a jackass joking through a crime scene is fine on a TV show… if I behaved like I do as a cop, I’d get discharged!
Tohru went through the regular musings that he did as a bid to distract himself from how numbing the studying was. In-between practicing formulas or hopping chapters in his history book, he let his mind wander to what his parents wanted. In the past few years, he realized that what they wanted was simple:
My parents want me to succeed. They’ll never admit that they don’t know what success looks like, and I’ll never ask them to explain it.
His parents cared about grades, because the common consciousness knew that grades would equate to success. But, what was lined up for him after? What was he really doing for himself, being the only kid in his grade stuck, watching some police procedural from the 80s and trying for university-level mathematics?
Sometimes, he’d work himself up. Most of the time, he’d think up a snide comment, and disregard it all. This night, though, turned out to be a lot less of a re-run than he had any reason to expect: a knock on the door sent him standing. Peeking through the peep-hole of the apartment entrance door, he saw two men, clad in modern police uniforms.
Neither of them are smirking, and neither has a gun out… Tohru observed, must be serious business!
Most people felt a need to either appease authority, or oppose authority, a simple sink-or-swim dichotomy. Tohru, for reasons he had no ability to articulate, reflexively took a third option: antagonizing authority. With the exception of his parents, he regularly challenged authority. Maybe I need people to prove why they should talk to me, the way society says they should.
When he swung the door open, he smirked at the two officers: “I don’t suppose I have time to flush anything, right?”
The officer to Tohru’s left furrowed his brow. The officer to Tohru’s right feigned a chuckle. Tohru couldn’t tell which response he respected more, or which one he would have made, were he in their position.
“I trust this is the Adachi residence.” The officer on the left stated. Tohru observed a hint of grey in his hair, and assigned this officer to be the gruff veteran of the pair.
Tohru nodded affirmatively. “The name’s Tohru Adachi. So, I hope so, or else we’re gonna be having to write up a kidnapping charge.”
“Please.” The officer on the right pleaded. Huh, Tohru considered, he looks younger, but he’s not as funny as I thought he’d be. Maybe the comparison doesn’t work.
“Please?” Tohru scoffed, “I mean, you’re welcome. How can I help you?”
The officer on the left huffed, and raised a hand. Tohru, in some part, expected to be smacked across the face, some old-school, TV-in-the-80s-cool way to humble him. Instead, the hand clasped Tohru’s shoulder, and lightly, affirmatively shook him.
“Young man, your parents were involved in an accident,” the officer on the left stated, “they were involved in a collision. They did not… they did not make it. I am sorry.”
Tohru hated that his first response was to parse the man’s unique phrasing for a retort. Tohru hated that his first instinct was to continue studying. Tohru hated that the officer on the right had nothing to say, not a joke, not a quip, not anything at all.
Tohru smirked and said nothing. His repetition was broken, and he didn’t know how to function without it.
For all the education that Tohru had, he had no real knowledge of legal procedures, especially in the case of child custody, wills, and inheritances.
His parents were, if anything, proactive. That’s something that Tohru affirmed that he would remember about them: they were hardworking people who had their lives in order. They had their lives so in order, that they had the time to micro-manage mine! Tohru shuddered, and tried to banish thoughts like that, at least for now.
In the ensuing weeks, the Adachi family residence was temporarily occupied by his paternal grandparents. They ensured that his life stayed in order, especially, or exclusively, in an academic sense. In these few weeks, Tohru grew a kinship with his father that the two had never had, when the latter was alive. Was my dad raised this strictly? Or, are they just following the template that my parents left behind for them?
In the aftermath of his parent’s deaths, he realized just how little he knew about his extended family. His maternal grandparents were apparently long-since deceased, and his paternal grandparents let it slip that they didn’t feel ‘up to task’ for raising a teenager. This led to the news that Tohru would be sent to live, until he finished his education, with his mother’s brother, in the small town of Inaba. This uncle, a man he had never met, gave his first impression by bawling for the entirety of the funeral. Tohru wanted to approach, wanted to greet him, but he was able to justify in his mind, not doing so. Come on… crying doesn’t give me any material to work with!
It would be April when he would move, just a few school days out of March break. He supposed that this would probably bring the least interruption to his education while also paying a minimal service to his supposed social life, something he figured was well thought-of when his grandparents negotiated the transfer of custody. This would allow him to say goodbye to his peers and his teachers. Each day building up to this had him feel mostly nothing, but on some days, the nothing was tinged with bitterness, and on other days, it was tinged with melancholy.
On the fourth of April, with one week remaining before his transfer, he had his final day in his academy. Stepping into his homeroom, Class 2-C, for the last time, felt frustratingly empty. He couldn’t conjure up memories tied to this room. He couldn’t separate the memories in 2-C from 1-D, the year before. He knew that his next classroom would look the same as this. The only difference would be the people, and no matter how much he tried, whether the day was bitter or melancholic, he couldn’t work up a memory about the people.
Most of the day went as could be expected. Tohru diligently took notes on the lessons presented, because if he didn’t, what the hell else was he going to do, all of a sudden? Sometimes, he caught people taking glances at him. That never used to happen, or I never used to see it happen, but for the past few weeks, he noticed it.
People hadn’t been cruel to Tohru in the previous weeks. In fact, people never were cruel to Tohru, a boy who never caused any bigger waves than the occasional sarcastic answer to a question from the teacher. People were trying to be nice, now, when they could. To be rude to someone, or to be kind, you’d have to hold an opinion about them, or have some sort of familiarity with them, something to know what rudeness or kindness looked like to them. People didn’t grasp that, with Tohru; all they could reason from his behavior was that he studied often, and occasionally watched the same TV as everyone else. Ever since his parent’s crash, people felt something toward him: an impersonal pity.
Sitting, in a state of anxiousness for the inevitable spotlight, he remembered the interactions he had recently.
The class representatives came to him the day he returned to school. They both vowed to help him with anything he needed. He said, “Thanks,” and thought, you still can’t cheat off my homework, though.
Some of the kids he played soccer with when he was too young to study approached him. They said that it had been a long time, but they’re here, if he needs to talk. He said, “Thanks,” and he thought, maybe, in another life, we’d have something to talk about. Your parents are alive, and my aim is kind of shitty.
Just earlier on the same day, his homeroom teacher took him aside, and told him that he was one of the brightest students he had the joy of teaching. He said, “Thanks,” and thought, no wonder I was so good to teach. I taught myself all of the tough stuff.
Near the conclusion of the school day, the inevitable happened. “There is… one last thing I must discuss with the class,” began the 2-C homeroom teacher, Mr. Kamon, “I regret to inform you that one of your classmates, Tohru Adachi, will not be returning to this class, as of tomorrow.”
Tohru wondered how people were supposed to respond to this. Come on, teach… did you expect groans? Maybe someone to cry? Hell, maybe I’d been bullied this whole time… you left enough time for the crowd to applaud!
Over the sound of rustling papers and adjusting chairs, Mr. Kamon motioned, “Please, Mr. Adachi, come to the front of the class. I implore you to say goodbye to your peers.”
Lazy, rhythmic applause filled the classroom, as Tohru rose. He walked to the front of the classroom, occasionally glancing to the side. Nobody kept eye contact with him, but he wasn’t especially trying to cause that to happen.
He came to Mr. Kamon’s side, and pivoted around to face the class. He let his eyes wander, and eventually settled his focus on some grammatical poster in the back of the classroom. “Thanks for everything,” Tohru said to his class, referring to nothing in particular, to nobody in particular, “make sure to stay in touch.”
Tohru Adachi looked out to a crowd of faces that were looking down. In this moment, an idea flickered in his mind. All these people… some part of them really cares about me. With this realization, there was a pang in his heart. Could I ever care about any of them? All of this time not caring about them… did they care about me? Tohru was suddenly faced with a weight. He was suddenly faced with an awareness. He wanted to escape… he looked over to Mr. Kamon with an expression that he would never admit to showing: one of pleading.
“I applaud your resolve,” Mr. Kamon declared, “your dedication to your education is astounding and admirable. I truly believe that you have a bright future ahead of you. Your parents, they… did a lot for you. I trust you to carry their torch, Tohru Adachi.”
Tears welled in Tohru’s eyes, and he averted his gaze from the crowd. Whatever was welling up in him, the regret, the loneliness, the lack of nothing, he didn’t have the tools to handle it. So, Tohru went with a reliable defense: he mustered up a smirk, and said, “thanks, I’ll… be sure to keep my drive… I’ll steer myself in the same direction as my parents…”
Part of him thought he would get a laugh. Another part of him thought he would be struck. He returned to his desk, and nobody had anything left to say to Tohru Adachi.
On the day it was time to go, he wished his grandparents well, denied a ride to the train station, and decided to experience the city for himself, for the last time in awhile.
He was unused to this freedom, and didn’t have the knowledge or money to really know what to do in the city. It was a nice thought… maybe the boonies is more at my speed for now… drifting down the streets, impersonally weaving through crowds and dodging around pedestrians, he came disappointingly early to his final destination, the train station. With a need to justify his declaration that he would ‘experience the city for himself’ one last time, he decided to enter the closest chain convenience store, a Moel location.
Hey, if Inaba really is as far away as I think it is, they might not have one of these yet!
The convenience store was cool and inviting, the silent clerk seated behind the counter, watching a television that was situated in the corner of the store, fixed to the ceiling and angled down towards the customers. It played a loop of ads, peaking Tohru’s interest by emitting a high-pitched, girlish giggle.
A beautiful young woman, probably some idol that Tohru hadn’t heard of around his own age, frolicked in water, splashing and being splashed by someone off-screen. He realized how he may have looked, wandering into a store and immediately leering at an ad with a pretty girl… he snuck a glance at the clerk, and realized that they were staring, too. Bored people and perverts look the exact same, depending on what’s on TV.
“Enough with the diets! No more going to the gym!” the cheerful pop idol chirped, as she held the can of MahaQues to her cheek, “here’s something even I can handle!”
Tohru was left to consider his thoughts on the ad. Goddammit, are we really supposed to think she looks like that ‘cause she drinks the right soda?! He considered something again… the dissonance that he saw on TV. We see a beautiful woman, someone special. If she started drinking the same stuff as the rest of us, she’d probably end up looking like the rest of us!
At the same time, Tohru had to ask himself: why do I care? Why am I hung up on this? Maybe the drink is good. Maybe it’ll make me feel, I don’t know, skinny?
With that, Tohru’s brief adventure, his last one in the city for quite some time, begun and ended with a trip to the convenience store. The fruits of his labor was a couple of bottles of MahaQues to sip on over the train ride.
Look at me, falling for commercial advertisements… what would mom and dad think? I told them I was too smart for TV! Tohru considered, with a warm smile. He popped the tab on the MahaQues, a satisfying pop followed by an inviting fizzing noise. Tohru touched the can to his lips, and threw his head back alongside tipping the can forward heavily, chugging the drink down.
Tohru didn’t feel full, or that he got any more nutrition. Maybe he felt just a bit skinnier.
I guess I’m a MahaQues guy now… Tohru walked down the street, looking past and through the bystanders, scanning them, seeing if anyone else was trying the same drink. Maybe it’s ‘cause the girl was hot. Maybe it’s because I hate my body, or something.
Yeah, that’s a start. If I see someone drink a MahaQues, I can just ask, “what’s the worst thing about you?”
Tohru’s people watching in the city could only last for so long, before it was time to take his luggage and get on his train.
The modern infrastructure of Japan was something that Tohru hadn’t much appreciated, before it was time for him to ride a train into the countryside. With a look out his window, he could identify the sudden and stark shift from a high-tech metropolitan zone, to rolling hills and country fields.
Tohru wanted to say that he didn’t know why he had such a disdain for the countryside, but he knew. His mother didn’t talk about much, and she especially didn’t talk about much that would incriminate her as a smalltown-raised woman. She spoke disparagingly of farmers and labourers, of the ‘uneducated majority’ that existed outside of the cities. Maybe my new classroom won’t be the same as the old one… if mom was telling the truth about Inaba, I might need to invest in an abacus. Hell, the way she talked, there might not even be a classroom at all, just a farmhouse and an unemployed, rambling farmer’s son.
God, why do I have to think like this? He admonished, gazing back out the window. Maybe things have changed. Maybe mom would’ve liked what Inaba is, after all these years…
Although Tohru’s interest had mostly laid with the scenery, he soon came to an observation about the other passengers. Unsurprisingly, the train depleted, but what was interesting is how steadily it depleted. Once the stops were out of the vicinity of the city, only a handful of people, at most, would exit. Soon after, it became a drip of one or two people, usually together, leaving at the same time.
A different kind of man than him may have been able to strike up conversation on the train. A different kind of person would have relished the opportunity to talk to someone who they may, well, who they probably wouldn’t, ever see again. Tohru wasn’t a man like that. On occasion, he would scan the train, to see if anyone was drinking a MahaQues. Maybe, he would keep an ear out, and listen to hear if anyone was discussing a shitty 80s cop procedural. Nobody did so, and thus, Tohru experienced the ride in silence.
When it came to Tohru’s stop in Inaba, he was unsurprised that he was the only one to step off. Wheeling a suitcase behind him with the sparse belongings from his city-life, he rolled off the train, and basked in the orange glow of sunset.
The exterior to each train station stop looked roughly the same, from the city all the way to the boonies. When he stepped off, he looked into a sea of rustic charm, from this last vestibule of city-style design. While he hadn’t ever been to a town’s one and only train station, he had been to an airport terminal before, so part of him expected a bigger pool of people greeting each other, as illogical as he may now realize that to be.
Walking down the ramp, he came face-to-face with a man who had parked himself and his old, beaten down car, painted an ocean blue with obtrusive rust spots pooling across its body. The man, Tohru’s uncle, his mother’s brother, was someone he had last seen cupping his face, tears leaking between his fingers. The man, a head shorter than Tohru, beamed up at him with a smile. The hand that he had last seen soaked in tears was now outstretched to him. “Toh-ruuu A-da-chiii!”
Tohru hesitantly shook his hand, as if worried that it would still be wet. “Un-cle Mat-su-na-ga, it’-s a plea-su-re!” Tohru responded, mimicking Uncle Matsunaga’s over-pronunciation of Tohru’s own name. The tone, which could be interpreted as either mocking or playful, served a secondary purpose… it still felt alien, saying his mother’s maiden name aloud.
“Thanks for making it out so late!” Uncle Matsunaga said, still clasping Tohru’s hand, “I would’ve offered to pick you up, but I only take my ‘ol wagon out for limited runs… she doesn’t do well on long trips, and gas gets real expensive out in the city, ya know?”
“Can’t say I do… but, hey, gotta treat the ‘ol wagon well!” Tohru teased, “or else she might risk becoming blue!”
Uncle Matsunaga nodded, making Tohru feel as if his Uncle received Tohru’s joke as fact, and that fact as wisdom. Tugging Tohru by the hand, Uncle Matsunaga pivoted the two to face the car. “Please, get in! Throw your luggage in the back… or maybe, the trunk! See, there’s so many options! My car is deluxe!”
Faced with a deluxe amount of options, Tohru heaved his luggage into the backseat, and got in the passenger seat at the front. The seat felt cramped, the car meant for someone of Matsunaga’s height and certainly not that of Tohru’s, and his feet were competing for space with a number of oddities– a user’s manual for the car, a few reusable shopping bags, and a mess of coupons and newspaper cut-outs. Uncle Matsunaga stared at the road, steadfastly and attentively.
“I’m a great driver!” Uncle Matsunaga affirmed, “Please, relax!”
Tohru looked from the road, and then back at his uncle. In just a moment, the man’s face had shifted from the jolliest grin he had seen in some time, to a concentrated scowl. Is this guy playing it up? Tohru considered, … does he think that I’m vulnerable enough, that he needs to play it up for me?
The two engaged in small talk for much of the ride’s duration. Something Tohru began to notice was that, whenever he made a joke, it was a toss-up over whether Uncle Matsunaga would laugh uproariously but ignore the statement and move on, or he would pay attention to the statement, but respond with complete seriousness.
Soon, the temperament of the Matsunaga station wagon became audible, with the engine groaning and the car shivering. “Oh, yes…” Uncle Matsunaga whispered to himself, “gas… it’s been a long time…”
“Glad it’s been awhile, or else I’d have to roll the windows down…” Tohru joked. Maybe a bit more age-appropriate material for the geyser.
“I have to refill the car!” Uncle Matsunaga declared, as if the revelation was sending the two on a grand quest. “Sorry, Tohru! We’ll be getting home a bit later!”
Tohru nodded in response. He didn’t have much to add, especially since he was fairly certain that the extra time spent filling the car wouldn’t amount to much, considering that everything appeared to be on the same road, it’s not like they’d have to hunt down a station.
Lo and behold, only a couple of minutes later, Uncle Matsunaga pulled the car into a Moel gas station parking lot. An attendant dashed to the car to greet the two, and Uncle Matsunaga simply withdrew a wad of cash, and plopped it in the hand of the attendant. “Please, fill it up! And, Tohru…” Uncle Matsunaga turned back to the young man, “I’m going in for snacks! Can I get you anything?”
Tohru considered for a moment. “Yeah, can you get me a MahaQues?”
Uncle Matsunaga beamed. “Oh, yes, they have that! It’s my daughter’s favourite.”
Before Tohru could even consider inquiring about his daughter’s motives for drinking MahaQues over any other beverage competitor, he was interrupted by the upbeat chirp of the Moel attendant. “I’ll fill it up right away, sir!”
Pleased, Uncle Matsunaga wandered into the convenience store attached to the Moel station. The attendant peered through the open driver’s side door, and waved to Tohru. For a moment, Tohru was abrasive… the attendant looked off. They were adrogynous, their hair looked like it had been run through with a few cycles of bleach. Nevertheless, their smile pierced through as troublingly honest. Tohru waved back, a smaller, softer wave.
“So, are you passing through?” The Moel attendant inquired. “Believe it or not, there’s plenty to see in Inaba!”
Something about this person… made Tohru want to be honest. “Nah, I’m not passing through. Today’s the first day of the rest of my life!” Tohru smirked. “It’s moving day! I’ll be in Inaba for… at least the next couple years. So, what’s the ‘plenty to do’ here? Assuming I don’t want to start a farm, that is.”
The Moel attendant giggled with a hoarse undercurrent. “Depends on what you want out of life,” they cryptically responded, “sounds like you’re looking for something modern? A brand new Junes popped up, so you might wanna check that out!”
Tohru considered it for a moment. Without the presence of his parents, or his grandparents… Uncle Matsunaga didn’t seem much like the micro-managing type. Maybe he should visit Junes… his mom would’ve been shocked to find out that Inaba had gotten one.
“Thanks,” Tohru replied, with a rare earnestness. “I’ll be sure to check it out. I’m glad Inaba has a welcoming crew working out of their one and only gas station.”
The Moel attendant outstretched a hand. “I hope you get to see Inaba for all it really has. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do, see it for yourself.” The sudden change in gravity on the topic of Inaba tourism caught Tohru offguard, but he nevertheless met the Moel attendant’s hand with his own.
It felt cold and alien. The handshake couldn’t have been done sooner, when Uncle Matsunaga came back, a shopping bag full of MahaQues in hand. Breaking the handshake, the Moel attendant’s hand turned to a wave, and they beckoned, “Feel free to say hi! Come again, to Moel!”
The two took off in the Matsunaga station wagon, the engine soothed and Tohru cooled by the cold bag of loose MahaQues cans that had been placed on his lap. Continuing down what Matsunaga would inform Tohru is the Central Shopping District, he pridefully pointed toward the Yomenaido Book Store. “That’s my home… my very own store! You know, ‘yomenai’, we say that’s the family name of the owner, as a joke. It means ‘can’t read’!”
Bursting into an uproarious laughter at a joke he doubtlessly heard from himself at least a hundred times, Tohru parted his lips to begin responding, but nothing came out. Instead, at the moment he wanted to speak, Tohru was grappled with a wave of conflicting, intense feelings: nausea, aching muscles, a palpable anxiety. He nearly wretched in the car, and begun growing pale… ill.
He shivered in his seat, and Uncle Matsunaga, too, grew pale, out of concern. “Oh, Ayane said that driving was a bad idea, I’m sorry, Tohru!”
Tohru could barely muster, “Thanks,” and thought, don’t feel bad. I thought cars were normal. Pity me for my intense, stomach-churning, sudden-onset-illness instead.
The car drove faster, and Tohru dozed off. Although the ride wasn’t over yet, it was now over for Tohru, who snored the rest of the drive to his new home, the sights and sounds of an evening in Inaba evading him. Tohru didn’t resist the oncoming sleep, he embraced it.
Inaba was new, even if everything in it looked so old. For once in his life, there wasn’t repetition. He would hold onto this feeling, this alien feeling of opportunity, and find himself in it. It’s what he owed his parents, or maybe, what they would’ve needed him to owe them.