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Shoya’s problems feel like snow.
They’re small and little, piling up on his front door. They make everything covered in white, so it’s hard to see where he’s going. At first, it’s a D on his final exam. His mom scolds him for that, but he doesn’t blame her, because he knows it’s a disappointing sight, too. Then it’s a phone call to his mom from school, talking about how he got into a fight with Kazuki and Keisuke and how it’s his fault. He lies that he pushed them away for being too chicken to do any more daredevil stunts with him.
It’s only a partial lie.
She grounds him regardless of whether he tells her the truth, because he knows she would have to anyway. And not before long, Shoya is looking at the dinner his mom made for him with too much love and feeling sick to the core.
She’s talking to him like any other day, wearing that kind smile on her face when she looks at him. And when she isn’t, there’s a content look in her eyes as she puts the wooden spoon down. How can she still do all of that when he’s over here: sitting at her dining table, in her house, under her roof, eating her food, taking up space?
It becomes a conviction quickly after: Mom, you’ll be happier without having somebody useless to take care of, right?
Because he has nothing to offer. Average or below grades, no extra circulars or friends to hang out with. He doesn’t even have a crush on a girl. What can he offer to be worthy of her love? All he did was waste her money on albums of bands he doesn’t even listen to anymore. He made her drive to the city with his spoiled ass in tow so they could buy the new video games everyone was always talking about.
He always asked for too much and had nothing to give back.
So then, it becomes a solid fact: Mom, you’ll be happy if I’m not a burden to you anymore.
Shoya takes that fact and holds it closely to his heart.
Kazuki keeps spreading rumors about how bad of a bully Shoya was when they were in elementary school, forcing Shoya to push everyone away. Because what use were friends if all they saw was a cruel child? What was the point of having friends if all they asked him was: “Is it true?” Why would anyone want to be friends with a person like him, anyways?
And the others, Miki, Ueno, and Keisuke, didn’t talk to him anymore, either. Miki is still the same old goody two-shoes president, last time Shoya heard of Ueno, she was getting into dating, and Keisuke is basically Kazuki’s right hand man. But it doesn’t matter where they are today, because it’s a fact that they contributed to writing those notes on his desk, ignoring him, and leaving him behind.
Shoya stops reading his textbook (not that he was really paying any attention anyways) and feels heat crawling into his eyes.
If he left, they wouldn’t care about it. Because they don’t care about him.
He won’t hurt them.
That’s good. He thinks, finally able to read where he left off.
They have free time right now, but Shoya doesn’t want to read. So he grabs his pencil and begins sketching random things.
He’s not an artist by any means. All he can really draw are stick men and aliens, so he draws one of the former. The stick man’s face isn’t happy. His mouth is frowning when he sees four other stick people: one has glasses, the other has a flag in his hands, the third has cat ears, the last one is shorter and a little more wider than the others.
Shoya draws another stick figure: this one has spiky hair, but her hair is only black at the roots before turning blonde, and the other has a black bob cut. When he puts a large “X” on the first four, he draws a tear at the corner of the first stick man.
But he’s still not smiling.
It isn’t until he draws an “X” over the last two stick women that the first stick man smiles.
But besides him, the rest of the stick men aren’t smiling.
So Shoya draws a box around the first stick man. He’s still smiling, even as the box is shaded in. The other stick people’s faces change into smiling men and they stay the same when Shoya erases the box with the first stick man completely.
If I was dead, everyone would be happier. Shoya thinks, a small smile on his lips at the sight of the happiness on those other stick people.
It doesn’t really occur to Shoya that he can hurt himself to avert the pain until he accidently slips and scrapes his elbow on the concrete. It burns when he cleans it with alcohol and he hides it from his mom with long sleeves so she doesn’t worry.
And then he remembers looking at people around him, noticing their eyes glancing in his direction, their mouths moving, their fingers pointing, their feet stopping when they see him falling like an idiot.
Shoya digs his fingernails into the palm of his hand, red crescents mark his skin.
Mom is going to see this and get sad. He realizes once he notices the crescents refusing to disappear. She doesn’t need to know I’m hurt, she’s already got a lot on her plate.
So Shoya hides his pain and puts that energy into cutting himself. He doesn’t even entertain the idea of putting it on his arms, knowing that if his mom sees it, they will kill her. So he takes that blade and presses it along his thighs. The pain flares instantly, opening old wounds and pouring the crimson that he’s all too familiar with. He winces at each tiny slit, but each one is for every mistake he’s made:
This one is for looking at Kazuki on accident. A whimper escapes his lips as the blade cuts a nearby scar.
This one is for getting the answer wrong. He can’t remember which class it was in, but he remembers the embarrassment.
This one's for being a burden on Mom. He makes a slit that he knows will hurt. To remind him that he needs to find a way to disappear.
This one is for saying the wrong thing to that student I bumped into. A shallow cut this one is. But then Shoya changes his mind, he makes another that is longer. He doesn’t deserve to choose the easy way out.
He drops the blade on the floor, his breathing coming in and out in sharp breaths. He feels tears fall down his face and it takes all his strength to not cry out on the floor right then and there.
Shoya can’t help it.
He runs into the bathroom and locks himself in a stall. His breathing is coming in and out quickly, almost too sharp for him to catch any oxygen. He takes the sharp scissors he stole from the classroom and cuts at his arms. He doesn’t imagine the consequences, just the pain.
But it isn’t there.
“N-No…” Shoya whimpers, his voice meek. He tries again and feels only a small sting before it fades away. The blood drips into the toilet, diffusing into the water.
He cuts his arm again. The smell of blood is sharp.
And again. It makes his head dizzy.
And again.
But he doesn’t feel anything.
The sting of a slap is sharper than the cuts on his thighs.
“You stupid motherfucker!” His sister raises her hand before it trembles, falling down to her side. She eventually falls down too, her frame shaking too hard to be sitting up right.
Shoya hears her crying become animalistic, a deep pain in the form of a wail filling the room. Mom isn’t home yet, the blood is drying on his skin. His sister sobs on the floor at his feet.
He feels tears fall down his own face. He wipes them away, only to be replaced by more tears.
I’m sorry. He wants to say, but it’s replaced by his own whimpering. He wants to shut it off, wants to cut his throat out and throw it away. He’s not allowed to cry. He hurt his sister and his mom is going to be hurt too. Why aren’t you happy?
“You can’t hurt yourself, Sho Sho.” His mom is holding his hand. She used to do that a lot when he was younger, because he couldn’t stand by her side in one spot for too long. Now he can’t even look at her in the face. “Promise me you won’t do it again.” Her voice is gentle but firm. He flinches, shrinking into himself.
“I—” Shoya stops, feeling his words catch. He inhales sharply, a half-sob breaking into his words, “I’m not a burden to you?”
He tears his arm away from his mom, wiping his tears away and lowering his head. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to get hit again. If he got hit again, then he would know he was wrong. If he got hit again, it would really solidify the fact that he hurt his family.
But he didn’t do any of this to hurt them. He thought…he thought they would be happier if he was gone. If they knew that he understood he was wrong, they would be happy knowing he was aware that he was a waste.
“No.” His mother whispers, her voice barely audible. She barely manages from crying, hugging Shoya tightly. She was probably scared that if she didn’t hold onto him tight enough, he would think about going somewhere else she couldn’t hold him. “Of course not, Sho Sho. You’re my baby, you and your sister always come first.”
Shoya counts the yen in his hands, the increasing number alleviating his pain. His room is less compact, his futon and some other useless things being the last thing he owns. Because he knows a way out now: suicide.
He’s been thinking about how to do it for a while, ever since he entered highschool. To save his mom from being traumatized, he shouldn’t hang himself. To keep himself from feeling slow pain, he’s not going to cut himself. ( You should jump off a building, I’ll bet it’d feel good.) So to make it quick and easy, Shoya is going to jump from a bridge. It’ll be the greatest test of courage yet.
It’ll be his final.
Because maybe, just maybe, keeping him alive until he was in highschool was a mistake.
He still hasn’t changed, so why would his family want him?
Despite everything, the snow never really stops piling up. Shoya still walks to that bridge, looking over the water. He left money for his mom, paying her back for all those albums, those clothes, the amount of times she fed him. Maybe it’s not a perfect number, maybe the money he left her won’t ever really reach how much she has spent on him, but that white packet by her pillow is a start.
He looks over the water, imagining standing on the edge. The cars whip passed him, uncaring and ongoing. If he fell, exactly how quickly would he die? Does he even deserve a quick death?
After all, he bullied Shoko and stole her childhood from her. Surely…
Oh. He realizes, blinking from shock when he hears fireworks. Right. I never…really gave Shoko her notebook back.
Does Shoko hate me enough to kill myself?
He can’t read the look in her eyes when she gets the notebook, but it’s not hatred. It’s not anger.
How strange.
And then Shoya does something even more stranger:
“Nishimiya…” He points to her. “Can you and me, can we be friends?” His hands clasp together, waving forward delicately.
Shoya stiffens, turning around to slap his face and berate himself.
But then Shoko mentions that she feeds the fish. So they do just that, sharing bread in a bag to feed to the carp, their mouths stealing the pellets hungrily. And then Shoko does something equally as strange as Shoya asking to be her friend: her pointer and middle finger extend outwards, a small smile on her lips before she walks away.
See you later.
When Shoya returns home, it’s to his mother’s cooking, Maria’s chattering, and a calendar that’s been taped and labeled with the rest of the days of the month.
I should buy a new calendar. Shoya realizes. Then he looks around, the empty space more on par with a storage room than a bedroom. Actually, I should buy a futon. A phone. And a bike, too.
Eventually Shoya does get a hold of those things. He takes up work at his old place, too. They’re happy to take him back in, letting him start whenever he wants. He chooses the earliest time he’s available.
That would be next week, on Wednesday. He makes sure to be there.
Eventually he strives to become better. Because he knows better now.
So when he clings onto Shoko’s hand, begging her to grab onto the railings, he holds on. He feels himself slipping, he feels his strength weakening. But if he holds out for just a few more seconds, for a minute if he has to…
Maybe…just maybe Shoko will choose to live.
She grabs onto the rails, Shoya’s relief is overwhelming. But then he’s screaming as he falls. Falling from a high height is strange. It feels like he’s both simultaneously being pushed down and ascending. Well…he supposes that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
He sees Shoko’s terrified expression fade away with the darkness. He hears a splash, feels the cold water of the river…before his vision fades and he feels only warmth.
Dying feels warm, Shoya realizes. Warm, but empty.
Eventually, Shoya begins to live. And it’s with Shoko’s hand in his as they walk through those doors to meet their classmates.
Maybe he took his whole teenage years discovering how to live, but he has it now. And he won’t let it get drowned in snow. Because snow only lasts for so long before the sun has to melt it away. And maybe he isn’t perfect: he still thinks about dying from time to time and his scars won’t fade away, but he’ll continue to keep living.
And it’s not just for Shoko. It’s for himself, too.
Because he wants to live. Both the good and bad. Because he deserves that just as much as anyone.