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You remembered that the microphone was practically screeching, yet everybody was laughing. Even though to this day you still felt, perhaps the eight of you shouldn’t have opted for the all you can drink package—or you should’ve just insisted on the non-alcoholic one, after all—the others seemed to be having fun, even as the words spilling out of Hatano’s mouth were no longer in sync with the lyrics on the screen, or when the blinking red and green light spots that were spinning around the karaoke room hurt your eyes.
“Tazaki-san.”
Jitsui’s voice was almost inaudible in the sea of noises; politely, he asked you to pass the other mike and you wondered if he’d sing along. Anything to stop my ears from bleeding, you recalled he said, with a smile that was so sweet that you nearly forgot he just insulted Hatano’s singing. Jitsui then rose from the sofa, effortlessly joining the other man in this strange rock song that never actually fit his face. (Everyone had always been full of surprises, indeed.)
Your head already been a little light—not that you had intended to drink much, but Amari kept on ordering more beer, like he couldn’t care less about the waiter who wore a sour expression every time he had to come in with a full tray in his hands, and someone kept shoving a glass to you. Next was losing count of how many cigarettes you’ve had, but you remembered the last one was offered by Kaminaga, who leaned in from the opposite side of the table; he and Miyoshi were the one who suggested the D Division to go to karaoke. When Hatano and Jitsui’s song had finished, he switched off the disco light and picked up the mike.
You liked him quite a lot. He was the friendliest out of the special investigation team members; after becoming an alien to your own country for having studied in England for so long, he made you feel back home. From time to time the man would also share bits of when he was living with his uncle, helping him to run a photo studio in London; naturally, the two of you grew closer.
Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you
You lifted your gaze, meeting his eyes from across the table. Kaminaga was staring at you, and he didn’t even bother to hide his smile. His voice was soft and mellow, unlike the usual chirpy tone you used to hear when he spoke to girls on the phone. Months working in the same office room, you’ve heard Kaminaga humming, murmuring words that you weren’t able to make out, tilting his head from side to side and tapping shoes along a melody that only he could hear. But it was the song you first heard coming from his lips, with a gaze that was asking, Would it be a sin, if I can’t help falling in love with you?
Odagiri was the one who handed you the other mike, and you sang along with him. Kaminaga crooned gently as the eight of you walked to the station after; his hand discreetly searched for yours.
“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, meeting his playful gaze as you squeezed his hand back.
“I’m serenading you.” Kaminaga laughed, then for a moment his expression turned serious. “Is it working?”
The thought of teasing him a little crossed your mind, but his eyes were wide and expectant like a puppy and you immediately felt weak. Letting your fingers interlocked, you borrowed a line from the song, “Then shall I stay to listen?”
Fukumoto cleared his throat, urging the others to walk faster. Kaminaga’s grin was boyish, and the two of you parted with the others at the next crossroad. He took you to a bar and you talked and drank and laughed until the sun peeked from below the horizon. When it was only the two of you walking home, Kaminaga pulled you out of streetlight reach and sent humming melodies to your lips.
It was the song you first heard, and it kept on rewinding inside your head.
Since Kaminaga and you moved in together, the sunny days off were always looked forward to—times when none of you were busy with a case and relaxing at home was no longer a myth. You liked watching him sleep while the first colors of morning sneaked into the room through the slit in the curtains, as you carved every valley and shadow of his face into your mind. When he woke up he’d smile at you brighter than the sun itself, whispering good morning to your neck in a tickling breath and you got reminded of how you fell for him.
Draping an arm over the other, while your hearts synchronize their beats and your legs tangled under the cover; Kaminaga would usually refuse to get out of the bed, until it’s at least too late for breakfast yet also a little too early for lunch. But you didn’t mind—you never did—as long as it’s Kaminaga and you know there’s nothing else in the world you’d rather be doing. He’d be playing with the buttons of your pajama shirt, teasing the hem of your briefs when you still had them on, or stealing innocent kisses while repeating a melody.
Once you said, “You’re always singing that song.”
“’Cause it’s our theme song,” he replied, with a tiny laugh that sent flutters to your chest.
He and you would fill each other in on the tiny stories you two had been missing over the week, and you’d make a plan on how to spend the weekend together. At one point the two of you finally got up, went to the kitchen and fumbled around looking for food. Today he found white bread in the freezer, as well as a pack of frozen vegetables. You took out the butter and the eggs that were left, heating the pan while he hummed as he prepared clean plates. You weren’t sure what it would be, but none of you really cared; what matters the most was the person you’re eating with, after all.
At times, Kaminaga would take out his camera and the two of you walk to the park; you feeding the pigeons and he taking pictures of any object he found interesting (most of them were you, in hundreds different angles and he wouldn’t stop babbling about how you always looked good in any photo and how much he loved you). Other times you two would choose to stay at home, doing the weekly cleaning that often got neglected and Kaminaga’s phone playing his and your theme song in dozens different versions, whilst he pretended the vacuum cleaner was a cello and sang along to them, Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes.
When you sang with him too he’d take your hand and kiss the back of your fingers, asking for a slow dance. It was only the two of you in the living room, with a duster still sitting on the bookshelf and a dirty rag crumpled on the coffee table, but nothing made you happier than the way you’re holding each other, and his voice when he kept rewinding like a cheerful tape, “Some things are meant to be—well, don’t you agree, Tazaki? Call me a damned romantic but from the moment you and me entered the same room, I know it’s gonna be us.”
You chuckled; Kaminaga might be a little too flirty to anyone, and at times unbearably cheesy, but you know his heart was yours, and no one in the world could snatch him away from you.
It was the song you heard again and again, as he couldn’t help but to fall in love, and you did too.
“Sing for me?”
The sky was grey, and you could feel infinitesimal droplets of water starting to fall, biting down your skin like cold needles. But it was a welcomed distraction, and a tiny smile crept over your lips as you brought a hand to Kaminaga’s cheek, caressing his eyelid with your thumb. He nuzzled against your palm, inhaling the smell of gunpowder and dirt.
“Don’t cry,” you said, “I hate seeing you cry—” The sentence was cut off by a sharp coughing fit that made your insides jumped.
“Don’t speak!” Kaminaga snapped, though you know he didn’t mean to. “I’m sorry, but you’ll be alright, you’ll be alright—the paramedics are on the way—you’ll be alright, for God’s sake, tell me that you will!”
Without answering, you met his gaze instead, exchanging countless possibilities of words and meanings, yet he grasped the one thing that you really wanted him to know; I love you.
Kaminaga sniffled as his hand that was pressing on your stomach trembled slightly, and you looked down only to find the wound opened in your abdomen had created a pool of red. At first it had hurt so much, as if gravity was squeezing your soul out, but all you could feel now was just intermittent piercings, permeating your senses. At some point you started to wonder whether those trainings of administering pain worked well, or it was just you losing consciousness.
“I’m going numb, Kaminaga.”
“Hold my hand,” said Kaminaga quickly, “I’m here.”
Languidly you lowered the hand that was on his cheek, feeling every joint and muscle in your body went limp as you slowly covered his hand with yours, squeezing it without strength. You’ve always prepared for the worst in this line of work, but you just never thought that your time would come so soon. You simply hated the fact that human was so powerless against fate, and that Kaminaga had to witness you dying. A part of you wanted to apologize—for going before him, for not being able to go on that trip to Europe you two had always been planning, for there would be no one who’d walk through the crowd with him anymore, taking photos of the city and feeding the wild pigeons.
Ever since the train accident that took Miyoshi’s life last winter, Kaminaga had grown uncharacteristically wary—of course he would, Miyoshi was one of his best friends, and he wouldn’t stand losing you too. He would send you messages when any of you came home late, asking if everything was going well even if he knew it was. He turned very clingy in every chance he got; making sure you know you meant the world for him, repeating the song like a mantra; I can’t help falling in love with you.
Such a shame that it wasn’t a ridiculous accident that was taking your breath right now, but your own imprudence and a little miscalculation. Perhaps you should’ve listened to Amari when he said better not to touch work at all on a day off, and you should’ve known better not to tail someone without a full preparation. That was foolish, Tazaki, you should’ve just gone straight home from the grocery, even if a passerby looked like a suspect of a case you’re working on.
Kaminaga coughed, probably trying hard to fight back his tears. In between sniffles he tried to make his voice heard, “Take my hand, take my whole life too.”
He sang, he really sang for you. There was a sudden urge to laugh, and you failed to hold a chuckle even though the base of your throat tasted like blood and the burning in your stomach stung. Kaminaga didn’t conceal the agony on his face, but as if he got reminded of something, the man smiled and you felt like ready to take another bullet anytime, as long as you could see the curve of his lips and you know he was safe.
“For I can’t help falling in love with you.”
The lyrics brought to you the imagery of how you two first met as chosen candidates for the D Division. Moments when he and you grew closer wound back in the refrain, and you recalled when he would happily be assigned in the same team as you, when he ceaselessly reminded you not to skip a meal, when the two of you sneaked out of pile of reports, buying a lunch in the nearest convenience store and dropped by bars after a long day of work.
Your nape felt comfortable on his arm, and you began to lose the feeling of the hard asphalt underneath you. You didn’t know how it feels to be dying, but this was perhaps the closest you could ever to. When you stared at each other one more time, you knew the ambulance wouldn’t arrive on time and there would be no miracles of true love that could save a dying lover. You knew you’d draw your last breath on Kaminaga’s lap.
Your eyes felt heavy, and gradually you gave up on trying to hold them open.
“Don’t.” Kaminaga stopped singing for a moment, face void of any expression, as if the drizzle had washed away all of his emotions.
“Can’t help it,” you said with a smile, your eyes surely closing, “can’t help it like I can’t help falling in love with you.”
You heard him repeating the second verse. Kaminaga’s voice was tender like the first time you heard him singing that song for you, and little by little as he continued—singing your theme song, your serenade, your lullaby—you drift away to eternal sleep.
It was the last song you ever heard.