The sound of the alarm clock pierced through the quiet of the morning, its shrill beeping bouncing off the bare walls of Satou Nakamura's small apartment. He groaned, one hand emerging from under the crumpled sheets to silence the clock. His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the faint sunlight filtering through the thin curtains.
The apartment was as plain as his life had become: a futon on the floor, a single dresser, and a small table with an empty cup and a day-old bowl of instant ramen. The air smelled faintly of it, too—a reminder that he had skipped dinner again. It wasn't intentional, just something that happened when you lived alone and your days blended together.
He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. His body ached, as it always did after a shift. Working nights at the graveyard wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills. Barely. It wasn't that Satou lacked ambition—it was more that ambition had slipped away from him over the years.
He glanced at the photo on his dresser. It was old, the edges fraying slightly. In it, he stood smiling next to her—his lover, the one person who had made everything feel a little brighter, a little more worthwhile. But that was a lifetime ago. The smile he once wore in that photo felt like it belonged to someone else.
Satou tore his eyes away from the photo and got up, stretching out his long limbs as he padded over to the tiny kitchenette. A cracked mug sat by the sink, next to an unopened box of instant coffee. He sighed, filling the kettle with water and setting it to boil.
The day was like any other. He had the entire morning and afternoon to himself, a brief reprieve before his night shift at the graveyard began. It was a routine he had long grown used to—wake up, eat, kill time, and then head to work. Simple, predictable, and lonely.
The kettle whistled, pulling him from his thoughts. He poured the water into the mug, stirring in the cheap coffee grounds as he leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the wall. Outside, the distant sounds of the city filtered in through the window: car horns, the chatter of people, the occasional bark of a dog. Life moved on without him.
Afternoon
By noon, Satou found himself wandering aimlessly through the small, cluttered convenience store at the corner of his street. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he pushed a basket in front of him, not really paying attention to what he was picking up. A couple of instant ramen cups, a pack of cigarettes, some discounted bread—essentials for a man living alone.
As he stood in the aisle, staring at the rows of snacks and drinks, he caught his reflection in the glass of the refrigerator door. His dark brown eyes stared back at him, tired and empty. He was tall—taller than most at 6'4"—but even that didn't seem to matter. His height, his weight, his presence—it all felt inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
He sighed and grabbed a bottle of water, tossing it into his basket before heading to the counter.
"Satou-san, working tonight?" the cashier asked, a girl in her early twenties with bright pink hair and an easy smile. She always made small talk when he came in, her cheerful voice a stark contrast to the dull monotony of his day-to-day.
"Yeah," Satou replied, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat and forced a small smile. "Same as always."
"Well, don't work too hard! Those ghosts will still be there tomorrow," she joked, handing him his change.
Satou nodded, giving her a half-hearted wave as he left the store, stepping out into the bright afternoon sunlight.
Evening
As evening approached, Satou found himself back in his apartment, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across the room. His unopened pack of cigarettes lay on the table next to him, and the ramen cup he had for dinner sat half-eaten.
He stared at the clock. 8:00 PM.
His shift started at 10, and yet, time seemed to drag. Two hours before he'd head back to the cemetery, back to the rows of headstones and the silence that had become his constant companion.
Satou reached for the pack of cigarettes, turning it over in his hands. He hadn't smoked since she left. It had been her habit, not his. He had promised himself he'd stop after what happened, but now, staring at the pack, the weight of his loneliness settled in. He ripped the pack open and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with an old, half-empty lighter.
The first drag filled his lungs with warmth, a fleeting comfort in an otherwise empty apartment. He exhaled, watching the smoke curl up toward the ceiling, dissipating into nothing.
"What am I even doing?" he muttered to himself, resting his head back against the wall.
The weight of her absence lingered, even now. The echoes of what could have been haunted him more than the graveyard ever could.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen: a reminder for his shift.
"Time to go," he mumbled, stubbing out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair and slipping it on. The cold night air was waiting for him, along with the dead who wouldn't care if he showed up a little late.
With one last glance at the photo on his dresser, Satou left his apartment, locking the door behind him. The night felt like any other—at least for now.