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"There was no certainty to the future. There was a long, dusty road and a world that had ended before either of them were born. But they had themselves, and they had each other, and some days, they had hope."
Kougami sighed, set the book down. No matter how many times he turned the faded pages, immersed himself in this ruined future Earth, it always burned deep. He could lose himself days at a time in the world, in the characters, in their search for a little piece of the universe that wasn't broken. He rested his head on the countertop, staring at the rain washing down the large windows of the bookshop he helped run with it's owner, Aoyanagi Risa, a young, pretty, former literature teacher. The bookshop was warm, comfortable, quiet. Aside from a couple teenagers in the young adult section, and Makishima, who never seemed to want to leave, the shop was empty, and Kougami was brewing coffee at the machine they kept behind the counter, shared with regulars, but mostly used so that the shop's three employees could stay awake in the slow, meandering afternoons.
He turned the book over for the hundredth time, staring at the tiny black and white photo, two sentences of about the author. The photo was a young man, eyes sunken, thick black hair falling over thin rimmed glasses. "Ginoza Nobuchika," it read, "is a former law student at Tokyo University. Some Piece of the Universe is his first novel."
Only novel, Kougami reminded himself. He had found this five years ago when it was brand new, and he had never found out anything more about the enigmatic, beautiful former law student who had published one book and disappeared. One book that didn't even offer him much of an ending. An empty, forlorn road in a chaotic world, two people being hunted down for the sins that exiled them from the one source of stability. Characters he came to love across 300 pages, five years, left with an uncertain future. He kept hoping for more, some explanation, some sense of closure for these characters who felt more real to him than most people he knew.
"That old thing again?" Makishima interrupted him, running long fingers over the worn back of the paperback. "I don't see why you can't move on from such a lackluster novel."
Kougami rolled his eyes, moved the book away from the white haired man.
"It doesn't even have an ending." Makishima continued, his hand moving toward's Kougami's. "Why don't you try something with substance? Asimov, or Phillip K. Dick? I'd even settle for Harlan Ellison if you're so desperate for the esoteric."
"You claim this doesn't have an ending and yet recommend Phillip K. Dick." Kougami deadpanned, moving the book, and himself, away from Makishima's touch.
"There's a difference between an open ending and no ending." Makishima sauntered behind the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee. Kougami winced at his familiarity with the shop, acting like he belonged there.
Kougami stepped away, didn't dignify him with a response. He sat on the small stool near the cash register, took the paperback in hand again. He couldn't start reading it again, had to let the ending, or lack thereof, percolate in his mind. Wonder if they had found anything, out there in the wild. Wonder if they even survived. He had found a theory once, online, that the characters had been killed. That the open road was their version of heaven. It made sense, even if he didn't like to think that they had not been able to leave the city.
And it wasn't like the author had ever confirmed anything. No one had been able to find him. He had gone silent, after releasing the book, to rumors he was dead, using a pseudonym, or even in jail, according to an American youtube star who had posted a video about the novel. Popular theory was that the photo wasn't even of the author, that it was a girl in an idol band, or a famous actor or politician.
Kougami didn't care. He just wanted to know how it ended. If it ended. Or if the author meant for there to be no clear answer, or if they were dead, if anyone was right, or wrong. He must have read the book a dozen times in five years, as often as his hands could run over the worn pages, the nondescript cover.
He closed the shop, turned down the lights and cleaned the shelves, placing books where they were meant to be. He loved this time of night, when it was just him alone with the books, the shop that smelled like coffee and old pages, still warm despite the pouring rain. He picked up his book, stuffed it inside his thick green coat and pulled the hood on, walked out into the night.
There was an alarmingly huge dog outside his apartment building. That was new. Dogs weren't allowed in the complex. So it couldn't have belonged to anyone there. The dog ran up to him, wet with rainwater, and butted it's head against his hand until he scratched gently behind it's ears.
"Dime, stop that." A voice came out of nowhere, and Kougami finally noticed the dog's owner, a rail thin man in an oversized, dark coat. His voice was weak, small, but it held an air of authority that the dog immediately listened to, trotted back to him.
"I'm sorry. Dime usually avoids strangers." He offered, his hand resting on the dog's head.
Kougami offered a small smile, stubbing out his cigarette, shrugged. "I don't mind. I like dogs."
His owner relaxed some, shoulders sagged. In the dark, Kougami couldn't see much of him, a mop of long, rain damp black hair, pale skin. Slight under his huge, dark coat. There was an instinct to protect him, to get him out of the cold and the rain.
"I should get Dime home." The man turned away, massive dog at his heels.
"Hey, um, come inside. Dry off some first." Kougami offered, smiled, he hoped the gesture was relaxing. "I swear I'm not some crazy serial killer or something. Just a bit wet and miserable out here, and I'm sure it's not doing you or Dime any favors."
The man looked at him, confused, then concerned. "Dime will kill you if you attempt to hurt me." He mumbled, his voice still small.
"Figured as much." Kougami smiled. "I'm just upstairs, come on."
Kougami led them into the apartment complex, glancing around to make sure no one noticed the huge dog, who followed obediently even without a leash, and let him into his apartment, shed his coat and set his book on the counter. It was a small apartment, one bedroom and stacked high with books. Kougami moved enough of them that both sides of the sofa could be used, and turned on the heater.
"I can, um, make some tea, or coffee, but it's probably late for coffee." Kougami smiled, when he saw that Dime had immediately gone to curl up against the heater.
But the man was still standing in the doorway, more alarmingly pale in the light. He held on to himself, shivering, but he kept the soaked through coat on.
Kougami walked over, reached out. "Hey. Why don't you get out of that, try and warm up?"
"I don't even know your name." The man protested, overgrown black bangs dripped cold water onto his elegant cheekbones.
"Kougami Shinya. I help run the bookshop down the street." He smiled.
And the man let him slide the coat off his shoulders, revealing an equally oversized, though not nearly as wet, dark green sweater. "Gino." He offered, a small cough escaping him.
"Just Gino?" Kougami guided him to the sofa, rested his coat on the heater to dry.
"Just Gino."
There was something familiar about the soft, sallow face that watched Kougami as he made tea. Something about those golden green eyes, now that he had tied his long hair back, revealed them. Kougami felt welcome under his stare.
"I've got chamomile tea. Is that good?"
He simply nodded. Something else had caught his attention, the battered paperback book on the counter. Kougami grabbed it, brought it over with the teacups.
Gino, just Gino, took the book from his hands, turning it over and over, skimming his eyes over the back cover. And Kougami realized where he had seen those eyes, in black and white, every time he turned the final page.
"Gino, is that short for something?" He probed, not wanting to go straight for an accusation, an assumption.
"I, um, yes." He coughed, again, into his pale hands, the book resting in his lap. "Ginoza Nobuchika." He smiled, faint. "Did you read it?" Offered the book back.
Kougami tried not to notice that his hands were shaking.
"I love it."
"Thank you."
'No, really. I do. I mean, you can see how many times I've read that thing." Kougami tried not to laugh at himself, how he ended up sitting on his sofa, sharing tea with the reclusive writer who had dragged him into a world he wanted to know so much of.
"I'm glad." Ginoza whispered, cradling his tea in both hands. "It's good to know someone enjoyed it."
"Not just enjoyed." Kougami smiled. "I try and get every person who walks into my shop to read it. It's incredible." Kougami knew he was probably unsettling the slight, almost frail man, but it was hard to hold it all in, now that he had the writer sitting beside him.
But Ginoza just shook his head.
"What?"
"Nothing." Ginoza set the tea cup down, too quickly, stood. "I should go."
Kougami's heart sunk. He had scared him off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, you know, go fanboy on you or whatever."
"You didn't." Ginoza coughed. "It's me. I just, I need to go."
"Are you okay? Can I call you a cab?"
"No. Thank you, Kougami, for the tea, and the warmth." Ginoza went to the heater, pulled his coat on once more. "Come on, Dime."
And he was gone.
Kougami put the tea mugs in the sink, curled up in the sofa and picked up the book again, turning the familiar pages.
"It had always been, and it would always be, the city told them. It reassured them, kept them from the world that had died, that had left them behind. The city would protect them from the uncaring world."
He lost himself in the city's underbelly, in it's secrets. He immersed himself in a world destroyed, and in the two people who knew what the residents had given up for safety. And by the time they ran away into the unknown, dawn was rising, Kougami was surrounded by cigarettes and empty mugs.
He pulled himself from the sofa, changed his clothes and made coffee, knew he had to open the bookshop again. Risa was at a conference, placing orders and listening to speeches on trends in publishing, and Hinakawa was still a student, only worked part time. So it was up to Kougami to open the store, turn on the heater and the coffee pot. Fortunately, the shop remained empty most of the morning. He could just sit, go through a couple more pots of coffee, page through House of Leaves for a second time, to try and make sense of it's intricacies.
Ginoza was there when he looked up, standing in front of the counter, in the same oversized dark coat, Dime sitting beside him.
"Danielewski?" Ginoza asked, in that same soft, strained tone.
"Ever read it?"
"It's dense, and terrifying, and I love it." Ginoza smiled, soft. "I like this shop."
"I'm glad." Kougami set the book down. "Coffee?"
"I can't." Ginoza answered. He sat in one of the reading chairs, and Dime laid down beside him.
Kougami joined them, pulled up a stepladder meant for the taller shelves and sat on it. "You came back."
"Dime wanted to leave the room."
"The room?"
Ginoza didn't answer, tugged his coat closer to himself, and there was that shiver again, wracking through his thin form.
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." He dismissed.
They talked about books for a time, ones they liked, ones they didn't like, and when the afternoon came, and students and window shoppers began to meander through the shop, Ginoza disappeared.
But he was back the next day, and Kougami made him tea, they talked again, through the morning, and he disappeared once more.
"You have an admirer." Makishima pointed out one evening as he intruded on Kougami's reading.
"What do you mean?"
"The man with the dog. He's in here every day demanding your attention."
"So are you."
"But you talk to him." Makishima smiled, slow, predatory.
Kougami rolled his eyes. "Jealous?"
"Intimately."
Kougami ignored him once more. And by the time he closed the shop, said goodbye to Hinakawa, the rain had stopped, replaced by a deep, unrelenting cold.
Kougami wondered about his new companion. About Ginoza, his quiet, his shivers. His shaking hands and the seeming ever present cough. He never talked about a home, just a room. And he left as soon as there were people in the shop, never said goodbye.
But when they talked, he was so kind. He listened. He talked about books, but never about his own, and Kougami knew better than to ask. They talked about Dime, and about Kougami's shop, and places they wanted to see. As it turned out, neither had ever left the county. Ginoza wanted to see London. Kougami wanted to see New York. They talked, half-heartedly, about going one day. There was an odd implication that they would go together.
He was there, sitting on the step leading up to Kougami's apartment.
"Hey, Gino." Kougami tried to smile, it sunk when he saw how pale he was, his eyes dark and sunken. Dime ran up to Kougami when he approached, whined.
"Kougami." He struggled to stand, and Kougami held his hand out to steady him. He could feel how slight his arms were when he held him. There was a book in his arms, unmarked, hardcover.
Kougami led them inside, sat Ginoza by the heater. "I'll make tea."
"No. Sit with me, please?"
Kougami sat, concerned.
"I, um, I brought this for you." He held out the book. Some Piece of the Universe, the cover said. It had never been printed in hardback.
"It's the copy my publishers sent me, when the editing process was complete. I want you to have it."
Kougami stilled, holding the book in both hands. "I can't. This is yours. This is, Gino, this is too special to take from you."
"There's something I never told you, Kougami." Ginoza pulled his knees to his chest, rested his head. "The reason I never wrote again."
"Gino?"
"I'm dying. My heart is failing me. And there's no hope, anymore, of a transplant. That window of time passed a long time ago. That's why I've been out with Dime. I wanted to spend time with him." Ginoza whispered, looking anywhere but at Kougami. "I, I'm sorry. I never meant to get close to you."
Kougami went still, he could almost feel the color draining from his face.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to go back to the hospital. And a doctor is going to inject me with something that will stop my heart. I don't want to suffer. I need to do this on my terms. I thought I was finally alone, I wouldn't have to hurt anyone."
"Where will Dime go?"
"A shelter. He's a good dog, someone will want him." Ginoza whispered.
"I'll take him." Kougami offered, immediately. He'd have to find a new apartment, sure, but he would manage. Dime needed it. Ginoza needed the assurance that he would be cared for.
Ginoza buried his face, shoulders shuddering, and Kougami realized he was crying.
"I was supposed to be alone." Ginoza gasped out, "I didn't think anyone knew me, anyone remembered. No one was going to miss me. I'm sorry, Kougami. I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this."
Kougami gathered Ginoza into his arms, held him tight. He tucked his face into the crook where his neck met his shoulder, breathed in the rainwater, the medicated sterile scent of days spent in the hospital.
Ginoza sunk into it, arms winding around Kougami.
"Stay here tonight." Kougami pleaded, against his skin.
He did. He let Kougami take him to the bedroom, give him warm pajamas and a cup of tea, honey sweet. Dime jumped up onto the bed, curled close. Like he knew what was happening.
They sat in the bed, wrapped in blankets when snow started to fall. And Ginoza leaned on Kougami, held his hand, took in his strength and his warmth. Neither of them slept, neither of them could. The looming threat of morning hung over their heads, in some ways a literal executioner's ax.
"There's just one thing, Ginoza." Kougami finally said, when the exhaustion of three am hit, and his inhibitions were low.
"What is it?"
"Your book. How does it end? What does that mean?"
Ginoza was silent, a long while, his eyes falling closed and Kougami thought he might have fallen asleep.
"It means there is hope. No matter what happens, there's hope. Even if you can no longer hope for yourself, someone will hope for you, that there is something better." He answered, finally, Kougami's hand in both of his.
"Someone on the internet thinks it's heaven."
"Would that be a heaven you would want to go to? An open road and an uncertain future?"
Kougami leaned in, took Ginoza's jaw in his free hand, and kissed him. It was slow, and chaste, and he wasn't sure it was what he meant to do, but he did.
When he pulled away, Ginoza's eyes were filled, glistening, with unshed tears. "Don't do that."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't fall in love with me."
But they were kissing, again, tangled in each other, with the certainty that it would end, that this was the only chance they had.
He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, but he woke alone. Ginoza was sitting on the floor in front of the heater, with Dime's head in his lap.
"It can be heaven, if that makes you feel better." He told Kougami.
"You have to go."
"I do."
"Can I, um, come with you?"
"Please don't. Let this be how you remember me, Kougami. I don't want you to see the real thing."
For a long time they stood in the doorway, holding each other, Kougami's hand threaded in Ginoza's long hair. They kissed, so long that neither was sure whose tears stained their cheeks.
"Goodbye, Kougami."
"Goodbye."