Her: I made bento. In your briefcase side pocket.
Him: (Glancing at the kitchen counter) Where's your share?
Her: On the second shelf of the refrigerator.
He: When heating, use medium heat, one minute and thirty seconds. Leave a seam in the lid.
Her: I know.
(He stands up. The legs of the chair scrape against the floor.)
He: (tying her shoes in the entrance hall with his back to her) If you have a headache——
She: Just take the medicine from the blue box, one pill at a time, and record the time.
Him: (Fingers not stopping tying shoelaces) There is also.
She: ... If you feel flustered, do abdominal breathing and count to one hundred. If you can't finish counting——
Him: (turns around)
Her: (holding the edge of her apron) - Just call you.
(The morning light moved across the porch just in time, dyeing half of his figure pale gold. The dust slowly settled in the beam of light.)
Him: (very softly) Yeah.
(The sound of a key turning. The moment the door is about to close.)
She: ... Be careful on the road.
Him: (voice seeps in through the crack in the door) Chapter 3 of the textbook, read it before evening.
(The door lock locks. Silence returns to the apartment.)
Her: (Standing alone in the entrance hall, facing the closed door)... Okay.
——The so-called reconstruction is never a grand declaration.
It was in the broken daily life that I learned how to place two pairs of bowls and chopsticks.
How to remember each other's medication times,
How in the silence of the forty-seven-minute drive,
Let the heartbeat gradually adjust to a dull and tenacious beat of the same frequency.
"Her and Him Reconstruction Day" - Shirabu Kenjiro x her, the first twenty-four hours of learning to survive on the rubble.
