Freedom of Self

Chapter 7

Arata woke up well rested, his head clear and the ache in his muscles just a faint memory. His mouth felt dry as he yawned and stretched in his single bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. The young man propped himself on one elbow, still rather sluggish, and cocked his head to check the time. Though he couldn't remember when he dozed off, he must have gotten at least ten hours of sleep.

He plopped back down on his pillow and suddenly noticed he was wearing a different pajama top than the one from yesterday. Puzzled, Arata sat up again and saw the T-shirt in question draped across the back of his desk chair. Getting up, he grabbed the fabric and found it still rather damp with sweat.

The young man was filled with a sense of dread as he remembered Matsushita-san's dedication and patience from last night.

Despite his insistence, the man had refused to leave until he had prepared Arata some food for the next day. Sure enough, as he trudged to the kitchenette, the young man found his wok on the stove and caught a glimpse of a few onigiri wrapped in foil on the countertop, accompanied by a note.

I can't believe it, he thought, mortified, his palms clammy as he grasped the piece of paper. I must have passed out when he was cooking. Did he change my clothes as well?

Reluctant, Arata rubbed his face in the other hand and read silently:

Good morning,

Please rest well today. Reheat the vegetable stir-fry and eat plenty, I hope the food is to your liking. Drink hot tea with honey and take the medicine if you are feverish.

Excuse me, I took the liberty of taking the key I found on your desk and locking the door when I left, then I slipped it into the mailbox.

Let me know if you are unwell.

Matsushita.

How embarrassing, the young man winced, studying the note carefully. He smiled a bit at Matsushita-san's formal language, almost sensing an awkwardness behind the large kanji thrown on paper.

Arata's stomach rumbled lowly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He chuckled to himself and turned on the gas, doing as instructed in Matsushita-san's note. The vegetables began to sizzle in the wok as he took out a large bowl from the cupboard. The young man lifted the lid and the familiar aroma of sesame oil came wafting through, serving as a reminder of how famished he was.

"Are these really my vegetables?" he thought aloud, in awe of the fantastic flavor.

Pleased his appetite returned, Arata devoured the meal prepared for him and already planned to have the leftover curry for lunch.

With his stomach full and his spirit lifted, Arata checked his temperature and observed it was still slightly raised so he took the medication and slipped back into bed with a warm cup of tea, as advised. Although most of his symptoms had been alleviated, knowing the condition he had been just a day before, he couldn't act carelessly.

Sipping on his tea, Arata swiped open his phone and willed himself to write a thank-you message to the man to whom he owed his good health. Glancing at the status bar at the top of his screen, he noticed that nobody had contacted him the days he had been sick.

Going to his messages and pressing 'Compose', the young man sighed deeply and raised his index to start typing but the words didn't come. Arata had so much to say to Matsushita-san and the gratitude in his heart was genuine, yet he couldn't figure out a way to put his thoughts in order.