I

Yuri watched as the fat landlord unlocked the door to her new apartment.
The building was a grey monolith in the district, an uninspired new build, only a year old.
She stepped into the infant building’s belly and looked about her. The room had a certain charm to it. It had the plain wooden and sliding door aesthetic of an old Japanese building, but the most up-to-date conveniences. A brand new fridge, a brand new flat-screen TV, and a mood/ambiance light that even doubled as an imitation fireplace. Yuri had questioned the odd addition.
“It’s simply a matter of leisure, young lady.” The landlord had chortled. “When I brought these flats, they were boring and empty shells. Now they’re boring empty shells with a tiny bit of personality in them!” He beamed quite happily to himself, a prideful smile that bubbled with the ego of a money making man.
Yuri went over to the faux fireplace. The landlord gave her the remote that had been on the coffee table behind her. “Try it!” He said.
She did. The display on the LED screen burst into flames, flickering gently, almost like the real thing. In fact, Yuri could almost feel the heat come off it.
“That’s its standard mode! You play around with it, you can get some lovely colours from it.”
She did so, pressing buttons and changing the timer on the changes. She kept it at an ambient purple, green, blue cycle, slowly melting into the next colour with little to no obviousness in the transition.
“I do love this place.” Yuri said, half to herself, half to the benefit of the fat landlord.
The fat landlord wiped off the excited sweat that had formed on his brow on a handkerchief he had.
“I’d say it’s better than TV. You can cool down when you come back from work.” He paused a moment, looking at Yuri, who was beginning to get hypnotised by the colour changes. “Say, where did you say you were going to work? You look rather young to be owning your own apartment.” He spied her quizzically.
Yuri, half fascinated by the light changing from a pale purple to a deep shade of blue, half looked at him.
“Inheritance money. I still intend to work.”
The fat landlord’s eyebrows raised, then he stuttered.
“I’m sorry I asked. Where will you be working?”
Yuri turned to him fully.
“You’re asking a lot of questions.”
“I’m concerned you won’t be able to keep up rent! Do you know how hard it is to keep tenants in Tokyo? I’ve got a business to run with my properties, and I can’t keep affording losses!”
Yuri now faced him.
“Don’t worry about that Inaba-san, I’ll keep up with the rent.” Yuri smiled reassuringly, the fat landlord scratching his head.
“Well. I hope you enjoy it, however long you live here. I’ll let you get settled. Need any help with anything, just call me, let me know, I’ll run here as fast as possible!” The fat man waddled out into the later evening air, the dazzling sunset leaking into the darkened room, then disappearing again as the front door shut it out again.
Yuri looked back into the colour changing light, getting lost in the transition. It gave her a good pause.
The trip from Hokkaido to Tokyo had been a heavy one. As the train pulled in to the transfer station, she almost felt like staying on it, waiting for it to go back the way it came.
To go back to Eiko Yoshinobu.
Still, she moved forward. It was what Eiko wanted. And it was what she wanted.
She had unpacked her clothes and was now in the bedroom, looking at the half filled wardrobe that swallowed most of the wall. Some of her clothes were the ones that had remained from that night years ago. There were a few new additions however, her body outgrowing some of the older ones due to Yuri’s growing taller. Surprisingly to her, she had grown several inches more than the 5 ft 2 average. It made clothes a challenge, but, luckily for her, her slim figure made sure that she was an easy fit, even in sizes slightly smaller than the normal.
Still, that was not her main concern.
On order, from a local tech shop, was her computer.
She had ordered it when she was still in Hokkaido, some weeks before she moved up. She asked the store to hold it while she made arrangements to leave. It was the first thing she had done before even organising everything else, even accommodation.
That was something that both amused and frightened Yuri.
She was so hell-bent, so determined to do this, she had already begun to overlook the details. Still, everything had seemingly fallen into place for her, from the blessing of Eiko, to the fat landlord, Mr Inaba, thinking it was ‘A wonderful gift to have young people living under his roofs.’ That man was permanently jolly, a permanent bubble of happiness around everything he did. She had begun to wonder if he was truly that happy, or just putting it on. She wondered, even, if he would contact her for advice, when everything was set up. It amused her slightly, the idea she may be helping the people closest to her.
The thought plunged deeper.
Who did she have close to her?
Eiko Yoshinobu was in Hokkaido, Mr Inaba lived in an apartment on the other side of Tokyo. Her mother and father were both dead. Her school friends, all had forgotten her, so it seemed, if the lack of contact was anything to go by. She remembered how quickly everything had spiralled, how fast everything changed. Had she alienated her friends? She was not in any way popular, but she was not disliked by any means. Still, it was a long time ago, and they were all young. With her brain now, and her persona and experience, she did not doubt that she must have done something upsetting in her youth, during her time of grief.
She remembered vaguely the time when she had been in class, and the news had begun to get around that things were going bad for their family. After the sympathy wave had crashed against the shore, and the harsh jokes by the older kids had begun about her father’s obvious buffoonery, she had become very angry. She remembered a close friend, it may have even been Akiko, urging her not to take it personally, that they were just big bullies. It did not help.
Yuri then realised something more. How little she remembered of her childhood. Apart from the major events, her father disappearing, her mother dying, a vague recollection of helping others, she could not recall any other memories from her past, let alone remember what had happened in those chaotic years before her departure to Hokkaido. Those three memories had burned into her mind, specifically for one reason or another, and now it had led all the way back here.
Back to Tokyo where she had left so many years before.
Back to where this life all began for her.
The thought of being back here made her head swirl slightly, a rush of nausea overcoming her. She felt anxious. Her hands trembled slightly. A sweeping bought of loneliness kicked in, something she had not felt for many years.
Her time in Hokkaido had spoilt her.
Attention, care, love.
It was all so alien to her. She was so used to everything leaving, everything dying around her, that this was the first time she realised she had willing left a happy and warm place. Was she turning into a glutton for agony?
She fell onto her side, the empty suitcase splayed open at the foot of the bed. Raising her head slightly, she looked into the suitcase, the pouch that had hidden her money all this long tightly shut. She looked at it for a while, her mind questioning whether she should open it or not. If she opened it, should she go out and spend it? Give it away to charity? Throw it down onto the streets for people to pocket for themselves?
She lifted herself up with her elbows, crossing her legs and lifting hem into the air.
She spent the better part of the day looking at the money, then, to the corner of the room where her computer was going to be placed on the desk.

Morning.
The sun spilled into the drawn curtains that lined the kitchen. The lights on the display still ran through its programmed cycle with the same smooth, unnoticeable change they had before. However, the pale light of the morning managed to dull the vibrancy, their warmth lost to the morning’s glow. The kitchen looked dull in this light, almost stock white, the pale greys of the worktops, the off-whites becoming pure whites.
Yuri snored in her room, unaware that she had fallen asleep.
She had spent the evening looking at the money in the briefcase by the light of a bedside lamp. At one point, she had opened up the pouch and thumbed the notes. The wad of money looked larger than she remembered it, even though she had not added much to her carrying amount. The deep trains of thought that she kept riding on, in her eyes - the residue of Eiko’s nihilistic philosophy on life – led into deeper ideas, and recollections of vague memories. All these trains seemed to criss-cross with each other, their point of meeting crashing into a vivid flash of a moment in time from the past.
If Yuri was awake, she would forget.
She found a refuge in her dreams. And whether real or imagined, the memories were something she treasured with every burst.
There was a knock at the door.
Yuri’s head snapped up, her eyes puffy and closed still with sleep. An unflattering trail of drool attached itself from her mouth to the bed sheets. She shook her head.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” A voice called through the door. “It’s your delivery from Techiba! We’ve got a computer to deliver!”
The computer.
Yuri wiped her mouth, and looked down and realised she had fallen asleep in her clothes. And, with a loud roar of her stomach, she realised that she had not eaten for a while. Not that that mattered to her now. Her computer was here.
She ruffled her hair, trudging up to the door.
Just as she opened the door, the delivery man on the other side’s balled up fist fell through the air, pawing it. His mouth opened up in surprise.
“Oh! Someone is in! Sorry, miss, can I have your signature?”
He handed over the form. Yuri stamped it first, then wrote her name on the line below. The delivery man took back the paper and tinkered with something on his little tablet. Behind him was a trolley, branded with the Techiba logo, a bright blue circle with a large, italics T rising over the dark outline of the Tokyo skyline. He lifted the lid off of it, digging deep to the large package that bore Yuri’s address and name. “One HP computer with monitor.”
He hefted the box out of the tin pulling trolley, his knees trembling slightly as the package turned out to be heavier than he first expected. Yuri grabbed the bottom on her end, she too struggling with the weight.
“We’ll take it through to the bedroom.” Yuri said, a strain in her voice.
The pair took careful steps, navigating their way into the bedroom and dropping it on the bed. The delivery man placed his end down after Yuri, and clapped his hands together, puffing out his chest slightly.
“Say, thanks miss. This is a nice place you have here! For such a young lady too!” He looked bemused, but overall impressed.
To Yuri she did not care what people thought. She only thought of functionality over style. Style was a bonus to her. “Must be pretty expensive.” The delivery man mused.
Her eyes widened.
“Inheritance. Just about enough.” She said, a caution creeping into her voice.
The delivery man took a look round. For Yuri, he stared a second too long.
Then she remembered. She left the money on the bed. “All finished?” She said quickly.
The delivery man stopped his suspicious scan of the room, shaking his head as if clearing it of 1000 thoughts.
“Yes. Sorry miss! Think of me, standing in a young girl’s room, poking his head about!”
The delivery man chuckled, shuffling closer to the bedroom door.
Yuri, in a panic, followed him, nudging him back into the living room then back to the door.
“You must be very busy with all your other deliveries! Thank You!” She said breezily.
The delivery man seemed to come to his senses.
“Ah! Yes! How could I leave all this tech out the front like this! Anyone could grab it. Well, goodbye miss!” He bowed slightly then left.
Yuri bowed too, and just as he left shut the door on him, turning her back to it and falling against it, her full weight on it. She felt as if he was about to smash it down, storm in, knock her down, rob her. How could she have been so foolish? She could hear the delivery man’s trolley squeak away, and when he was out of earshot, she locked the door tight. She made her way back into the bedroom, and shut the door. In a flurry, she bundled the money envelope back into her suitcase and zipped everything back up, sealing the suitcase and throwing it up into the top of the wardrobe. She slide the wardrobe shut and leant her head against it, taking in a few sharp breaths. She was mad at herself, more than anything.
As she turned around, she half expected to see the delivery man there again, a crazed look in his eye as he loomed over her, his lips salivating at the idea of ¥2,500,000, hot breath coming in rasping waves over her face. She would have to be more careful.
Still, she shook the thought out of her head, making her way to her computer box. She feverishly peeled it open, the bedside lamp’s yellowish glow casting manic shadows across the wall behind her. She gently lifted out the monitor. Then she pulled out the cables and the tower. Satisfied all the bits were in there, wishing she would not have to order any extras from there, if not only to risk prying eyes spying her for money, she placed the tower and monitor onto the desk. She begun to unwind everything, and plug it into where it needed to go. The screen cable clicked into its slot, the power cable slipped into the wall socket, the jack slipped into its place on the back of the tower with ease. It all came together naturally, like it was meant to be.
Yuri, connecting the cables to their destined ports, felt a great sense of completeness.
The first steps to her achieving the next part of her goals was coming together in front of her, by her hands.
She had never felt so in control, that control giving her comfort.
As she clicked switch on the plug on the wall, and pressed the ‘On’ button on the tower, the computer hummed into life. In an odd, abstract way, Yuri felt as if she had given life to the computer, her hand gently resting atop the tower as the BIOS screen flickered up, then a loading spiral as it awaited the operating system to be installed.
She smiled, a feverish joy beginning to sweep over her.
It was happening.
It was starting.

Yuri left the flat little after that. In fact, she only ever left the computer to go to the toilet and fall on the bed to sleep. Her obsession with her blog became life itself.
She had found a popular social blogging site ‘ChitChat’ while in Hokkaido, while browsing in the internet café she had told Eiko about. She read through all of the rules, the regulations, read a few blogs, laughed and cried, smiled and frowned at the various stories people placed online. She wondered how much of it was true. How much of it was real? These people hid behind pretty profile pictures, or blank slates with no picture at all, behind weird, wonderful, funny or creepy usernames, setting up blog titles to entice certain audiences. She looked up the section ‘Life and Lifestyle’ mostly, trying to see if anyone had taken her ideas. Mostly the section was dedicated to homemaking tips, or conversations about dating and balancing work and social lives in the busy hustle and bustle of modern Japanese life. Yuri was shocked to see that her idea had not been tapped into.
So many people on this blog site were asking for support, but no one was offering to help them.
It felt odd, like fate was guiding her to click ‘Start My Blog’ and begin her crusade to help people. She felt like the chosen one, the individual people needed without even realising it. As she clicked away on her keyboard, typing with a feverish clatter, ensuring everything was perfectly spelled out, perfectly arranged like a set of flowers at the centre of a dinner table. She needed to make sure it was appealing. She needed to come across as caring, but not nosy, understanding, but not faking sympathy for blog clicks. She opted not to use her real name, nor her real photograph. She wondered for a moment what she could use as a display name and picture. After a good hour spinning in the office chair on one leg, occasionally flopping into bed from the chair, groaning that the process was not writing itself, she finally came up with a genius idea.
The appeal of mothering figures, or, in Western terms, an ‘Agony Aunt’ was high. People loved adult figures telling them what to do, seeking some kind of support from a mothering figure. In fact, there was an ‘Agony Uncle’ counterpart for men to write for magazines. The more she researched this facet of glossy magazines, the more she became enthralled with it.
The way the Western world did it was fascinating.
People would send in their questions, some most personal and deep, either about health; sex, romance, grief, all kinds of things, and then the best would be picked for the writer to answer. The writers tended to be either celebrities, or guest columnists, but mainly they were faceless people, generic looking in some ways, or had no appearance before. Yuri began thinking that these Agony people, these characters, were a perfect disguise to hide herself under.
She decided on a name.
‘Auntie Suzi’s Advice.’
She found a picture of a relatively older looking woman, and used that as her profile picture. Who could tell? She just had to speak with the wisdom of a long life, and so far, even though she was just about to become 20, her life had offered her more wisdom than many probably would have garnered by 51.
With trembling hands, she clicked the ‘Ok’ button, when the website asked her to verify the information.
It took it.
She squealed with excitement as the blog forum lay empty in front of her, on screen, just wanting to be filled by comments and answers. The website asked her ‘Type here a little bit about your blog!’ She once again dove into her typing, fingers drumming loudly against the keys as she clattered out a few words, then paused, looking back over what she had written. She would then give a satisfied nod, or rock back and forth in anticipation of the next word or phrase that was spilling from her fingers to screen. Her introduction was modest, but boastful in some ways. She wrote that she had years of experience dealing with life and all it had to offer and throw at her fictional Suzi, and that she was the biggest help with the biggest heart. Then, a plea for questions from those in need of advice.

Her first question had been rather pedestrian.
Feverishly refreshing the page, she spent the rest of the day seeing if anyone was watching her blog, looking at the analytics to see if they had changed.
At one point, she thought that she had nearly 45 hits, but no one was asking her anything. She almost tore her hair out thinking that people were skimming over her blog and not bothering to ask her anything. Then she realised that the line showed how many times she herself had accessed and viewed the site. Heaving a sigh at this revelation, she decided to order her food for the month, to be delivered to her door, and make a pot ramen. It was nearly 7 pm, and she had not eaten since 11 that morning. Noticing the hunger pangs, her natural need for sustenance overtook her obsessive urge for followers on her blog.
She stood in the kitchen by the window as the water boiled on the hob. She looked out over the city. Her apartment was fairly high up, so she got a good view of the rooftops and lights of the city’s grand expanse. She could even see Tokyo Tower, a large pin in the far distance, but she could see it all the same. In the sea of busy, rushing lights, and monolithic blocks of buildings and clumps of stores and shopping malls, someone must be out there, alone, wishing to seek the advice of someone. Surely, in all of Tokyo, one of the largest metropolitan cities in the world, someone needed some kind of help! The frustration – bordering on feeling neglected – made her forget that her noodle water was boiling and ready to go. In an almost childish strop, she dumped the noodles in, ignoring the hissing splash as water sloshed over the sides of the pan and fizzled out into quick streams of vapour on the hob’s heat. She threw in the opened pouches of vegetables and seasoning, letting the now reddened froth simmer down while the noodles rolled in the pot. Just as the water calmed, the gentle bubbling creating an ambience in the kitchen, Yuri staring out of the steamed up window, a new sound caught her attention.
It was a ping, not unlike a tiny bell being rung weakly by a limp hand. Yuri, taken out of her daze, slowly turned her head, back to where the source of the sound came. It came from her bedroom.
From her computer.
She left the hob, quickly striding across into her bedroom, her computer screen glowing in the dark room, save for the lamp light that she had backlighting her.
She sat down in the office chair, slightly rolling off into the wall. Correcting herself, she wiggled the mouse and looked into the monitor like she had never seen it before.
On her page, in the message box, a little red ‘1’ had appeared, the clear little mail sign now pure white. She grinned. Hovering her cursor over it, the text that popped out from it read ‘1 New Notification!’ She clicked it. She scanned the words several times, then let out a squeal of joy, spinning herself around, her arms high in the air.
The notification proudly boasted that ‘Singreen1212’ had messaged her blog and was awaiting a response.
She clicked on it, sending her to her initial blog post, then Singreen’s post.
She scanned over the comment several times, her eyes flitting through the details, studying the symbols to ensure that they were really there, that they were really intended for her.
The message read:

‘Dear Suzi,

I am an incredibly shy young man, only in high school, and I have a major crush on a girl in my year.
I’m worried though she doesn’t notice me, and that she is far out of my league.

Any advice on how I can talk to her comfortably, maybe ask her on a date?

Thanks! (O.O)
SINGREEN’

Yuri looked at the message for a good few minutes, trying to decipher it. She was taking in the tone of the writing, the way that this person, a young man in high school, was regarding her. She presumed due to her older, feminine appearance online, and the way the boy had specified how to ask her out on a date, meant that this man must have been looking for the experienced and sage advice from an older woman.
The question now was for Yuri, how she could give some convincing advice, like an older and experienced woman.
A thought struck her.
She had never had a boyfriend.
She had never really kissed anyone either.
She had remained untouched, maybe through her unconventional life as a young adult. While her peers had the luxury of being able to date and mingle in the playground of the romantic world, she had been stuck in the northern island of Hokkaido with an elderly woman, helping around a hotel. She had no doubt heard some of the guests have sex, and no doubt had had to clean up condom wrappers and odd stains when washing the sheets, but it never was so obvious to her. The cold process of work made sex a grievance, not a thing to be held in any regard.
She brought her knees to her face, resting her chin on them while staring at the comment. She then clicked her fingers, beginning to feel a surge of inspiration flow through her.
Feverishly, she replied:

‘Dear SINGREEN,

While at your age, I avoided boys, I must admit that it’s becoming common for younger people to fall in love quickly…’

She paused.
Looking at the screen she re-read the intro to her reply several times.
She was trying to give the boy advice, not a lecture! She quickly erased what she had written before and began anew.

‘Dear SINGREEN,

I think the best thing to do is find a way to introduce yourself. If she doesn’t already know you, try bumping into her. And, be yourself. No girl likes a fake.

Don’t do anything flashy, or something that may make you come across as too keen. You want to be her boyfriend, not her stalker!

If you find a way in, you will be able to know each other more. The most important thing is not what you think about them, but what they think about you! Don’t waste your energies if it is obvious she’s not interested. Someone will always come along eventually!

Many Thanks,
Auntie Suzi’

She re-read the paragraph over a hundred times.
She kept asking herself; ‘Does this answer the question?’, ‘Am I being vague?’, ‘Am I coming across too lightly?’ She sat, her knees hoisted back up to her face, her lips pursing slightly as she read out in her head the reply multiple times.
She decided it was good enough.
Now was the time, make or break.
She nearly fell off the chair in the rapid way she moved forward, clicking the ‘Reply’ button as if the speediness of the reply might help validate the advice. She stared at the screen.
Nothing else happened.
Of course it would not. Yuri knew that the boy had to try out her advice first, but she wondered if he would ask her anything more. Her concentration, the force at which her brain had worked, she could swear she could smell her overworked brain burning.
That was until she remembered.
The noodles!
Spinning around on the chair, she saw the kitchen steamed up, a light haze of smoke billowing from the pot she had left boiling on the hob. Bolting through the bedroom door, she heard the clanging of the fire alarm just begin. The rest was a flurry of activity.
She lifted the pan off the hob, turned off the hob and set the cold water in the tap going, quickly filling the now dry pan with water again. She placed the pan into the sink letting the water flow over it. All to the blaring wail of the apartment’s fire alarm. She looked on hopelessly as the noodles, now fused to the bottom of the pan, sank under cold water. Letting out a sigh, half in relief, half in frustration, she leant against the countertop behind her, taking a moment for everything to process.
There was a loud banging on the door.
“Hey! Your alarms going off! Is there a fire? I’ll call the fire department!” The voice cried through the door.
Yuri’s eyes bugged out.
In a clamour, she jumped up several times, finally catching the button to turn off the alarms wail. Silencing it, she looked at the door. She walked up to it, looking through the eye piece to the person on the other side.
Through the fish eyed lens, she could see a young man, probably only a bit older than her, his face warped into an ugly bulge. Taking the latch off, she half opened the door, poking her head out.
“Hey! Are you okay?” The young man said, slightly startled by the strange girl’s manner of answering the door.
Yuri was struck dumb with embarrassment, not really knowing what to say.
“Uh, I’m, sorry. I burnt my noodles.”
The young man’s right eyebrow arched.
“You burnt, noodles?”
Yuri bowed her head slightly, feeling stupid for saying it.
“I left them boiling for too long. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” She said.
“No! It’s okay. I just didn’t want the place to burn down, or anyone to get hurt. Just checking to make sure you were okay. I saw you move in the other day.” He paused a moment. “I’m Tanaka by the way.”
“Yuri.” She said blankly.
“Well, Yuri, it’s nice to meet you. Anyway, as I was saying, we’ve been wanting to welcome you to the flats, but you’ve been so reclusive. None of us seem to have seen you leave for a few days!” He said with a cheery concern.
Yuri nodded.
“I’ve been busy with something. But, I appreciate the thought of the gesture at least.” She smiled. “But, I am fine Tanaka, and I promise not to burn this place down.”
Tanaka smiled back.
“My first name is Yukio. Please, call me by that if you wish.”
“Okay, Yukio. Where do you live?”
He pointed up.
“Apartment above, with my mother.” His smile weakened.
She could tell it was not an ideal situation. Maybe the mother was ill? Or maybe this Yukio was a mummy’s boy, or maybe she was secretly abusive to him. The train of circumstances whirled in Yuri’s brain as Yukio Tanaka studied her.
Yukio was transfixed. She must have been just around 20, and it flared up his curiosity. How could such a young girl own a place like this? The landlord had been rather open that she had money away, some kind of inheritance. But, meeting the girl, she did not seem someone who came from riches, not if her underfed figure was anything to go by.
Yuri noticed he was studying her for a little too long. She also noticed the pit in her stomach from where all the excitement had worn off. In fact, she felt like she would pass out, her head swimming, the lights spilling in from the open door turning into a wave that cascaded over her, the form of Yukio becoming a curved oil slick. She leant against the door.
“I really must sort out my dinner now. But thank you for checking on me!” She said, a polite, fake smile betraying her sudden feeling of illness.
“That’s fine! Sorry for disturbing you, but as long as you’re okay.”
He seemed oblivious to the faintness overtaking her. Still, she wondered if he was really looking at her in any sort of way. He did seem to be taking his time looking at her, taking in her features, or maybe he was just taken back by the surreal nature of their conversation. Either way, she made her apologies and shut the door in his face.
Yukio backed up from the door, a feeling of bewildered enticement coming from the newcomer to the flats. She seemed like a girl of many secrets, something he found most alluring. As he ascended the stairs, he let the events of his strange encounter with Yuri play over in his mind, wondering if there was anything he could have done differently.
Each playback seemed perfect him.

Next Chapter: Part 3 - Petals: II