Always, omi

Part10

09/10/20

Dear Atsumu,

It's been so long since I wrote a letter. Sometimes I forget that writing these letters was some sort of therapy to regain my memories; I don't think it's working. I still don't remember anything, but it's become a hobby now. I guess I'll just have to keep it going.

Two days after my last letter, the doctor told us it was okay to go home. A lot of things happened after that, but I barely remember them. It was mostly your work finalizing the papers and prepping things back home for my arrival and I guess I slept most of the time because the clearest thing I can remember was you pushing me on my wheelchair outside the hospital doors and into the van.

I felt like an alien visiting someone else's house for the first time when I entered our apartment. Days have passed since then and by now I can almost memorize the details of our place in my mind. The pictures of us on the walls, the customized snow globes on the top of the drawers, my paintings and your sketches. Also, I gradually got up off my wheelchair on my own, and I started using crutches, but I'm practicing to walk on my own now, too. These days I can manage to walk with a little wobble (the first attempt, I almost fell but you were quick to catch me).

There was also a balcony right by our lounge and you told me I used to go there to clear my mind. We spend most nights after dinner seated there, talking and talking, as if that's something we hadn't done for the past months. You seemed to be happier these days, too. You're always smiling and joking and clinging to me. This confuses me because sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with my face buried in your chest and your arms around me, and I can't see your face but I can hear your quiet sobs. And as if you could sense it, you would embrace me tighter and stop crying. In the mornings after that, I never get the chance to ask you about it because you would smile so widely at me.

Last night, you woke me up at 2 A.M., saying that a meteor shower you've been waiting for would appear in the skies. You were too excited that I couldn't help but get up on the bed and go to the balcony with you. We waited and waited. I told you maybe you had it mistaken for another day. I felt sorry seeing you look disappointed. Just as we turned around to go back inside, something caught your eye.

"Omi-kun, look, a falling star!" You exclaimed so loudly I think the neighbors must've heard it. I looked up and saw the bit of light cross the sky.

"Omi-kun, close your eyes and make a wish." You said as you reached for my hands and we closed our eyes at the same time to cast our wishes.

There was silence for a moment. You probably knew what I wished for. It was something to be expected. I wished for my memories back.

When I opened my eyes, you still had yours closed. I felt you tighten your hold on my hands. I got worried when I saw tears escaping your eyes. When you opened them, you smiled at me and asked me what my wish was. I told you right away. That I wanted my memories back so we can go back to what we were. You asked me if I wasn't happy with what we are now and I immediately said no. That I just wanted to make everything else okay again, for the sake of everyone around me, especially you.

"We're doing just fine now, aren't we?" Then you grinned and pulled me in for a hug. "Omi-kun, let's stay like this for a moment." You said the words so gently. I couldn't help but nod and hug you back as we watched the skies. I pretended I didn't feel a drop of your tear fall on my arm. You keep crying these days, but I guess I'll wait until you open up to me and tell me the reason why.

I searched the sky for a new sign of shooting stars, but found none. So I closed my eyes and placed a new wish on all the stars that night. I wished for you to be happy, always. You deserve to be happy, Atsumu.

Later, when we were back in bed, I asked you what you wished for. You said you didn't want to share it because it is said that if you revealed your wish to someone, it wouldn't come true. I didn't ask further. I'd like to think of our wishes as the only secrets we keep from each other.

Always,

Omi