14 Years

“For example,”

Kaizuka Inaho laced his fingers together and placed them lightly on the table of the visitation room.

The chessboard had long since completed its duty for the day. The game, absent its black king, remained frozen mid-position.

Slaine leaned back in his chair, sensing that Inaho’s deliberately measured tone—and the soft, rhythmic tapping of his thumbs—meant the story would not be brief.

“For example, in the morning, I’d try to guess what kind of egg dish you’d want that day and have it ready by the time you woke up.”

Dashimaki tamago. Scrambled eggs. Fried eggs, omelets, egg sandwiches. The dishes Inaho had once listed, one by one, revived their flavors in Slaine’s memory.

“If we went on a picnic, I’d pack a basket full of sandwiches with your favorite fillings.”

That scent, that color—once, he had picked up a jam sandwich from a Tupperware in the courtyard.

“For dinner, I’d cook something elaborate, exactly the way you like it.”

There was that one time—a surprise delivery, disguised as a “care package,” of meat dishes reheated with unusual care. Slaine had been so caught off guard he hardly remembered the taste.

But he remembered that they had finished it all, together.

“I’d buy nice glasses and share a drink with you.”

That had never happened.

“In spring, we’d go cherry blossom viewing.”

Ohanami—what kind of flowers did one watch at such an event?

“In summer, let’s go to the sea.”

The last sea he saw was at night. What hue did the ocean wear in daylight?

“In autumn, we’d browse a bookstore and then sit together in a café.”

He had learned more about philosophy than he’d ever imagined.

But in truth, he preferred stories—and poetry.

“In winter, we’d bring out a kotatsu, and eat oranges while watching the snow fall outside the window.”

The word “mikan” furrowed his brows.

A small orange.

Inaho blinked his right eye once, a bittersweet smile pulling at his lips as if to say, That was long ago.

Silence fell between them. The list was complete, it seemed.

Since the impasse showed no sign of breaking, Slaine finally asked the question himself.

“…So, what exactly are you trying to say?”

Inaho reached for the bishop still left on the board and gently placed it beside the lone knight on e4.

“Let’s live together.”

It had taken him a long time to say that one line.

But now, Inaho smiled with the warmth and wear of his years.

Fine creases gathered at the corners of his gently narrowed eyes.