A Disgusting Guy: Chapter 3

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Shimanto River

The content warning is in the footnotes.⁰

Kazuya drove his car into an empty lot near a crossroads and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel with a heavy sigh. He had left the condo early that morning and had been driving for six hours straight. He had prepared himself for a long journey, and if things had gone according to plan, he could have endured it. He wasn’t normally short-tempered, but still...

"Which way should I go from here? Right, left, or should I just roll a pen and decide?" he muttered irritably, making no effort to hide his annoyance. In the twilight, the overgrown grass beyond the headlights looked ominous.

"Hold on... just give me a minute. This map is confusing, and there are too few signs for such a popular tourist spot," Miura said as he turned on the interior light. He unfolded the map with a rustling sound and began to leisurely examine it, which only made Kazuya angrier.

"Give it to me," Kazuya said, grabbing the map and placing it on the steering wheel. He must have unknowingly pressed something, as the car horn blared, startling him.

"What are you doing?" Miura asked in a mocking tone. Kazuya looked down, trying to hide his flushed face, and muttered over the map.

"If you wanted to go, you should’ve at least checked the geography beforehand. I didn’t want to come to a place where there’s no cell signal. I was planning to spend this summer relaxing at home with a good book... but you just had to go ahead and book a cottage without asking."

Miura shrugged and responded with a half-hearted "yeah, yeah."

"If you really wanted to go that badly, you should have just gone alone. But no, you had to whine about not wanting to take the train, so now I’m stuck taking you. You could at least do a decent job as the navigator..."

Kazuya looked up at the click of a lighter, only to see Miura ignoring him, staring out the window with a cigarette in his mouth. Angered, Kazuya snatched the cigarette from Miura’s lips and stubbed it out aggressively in the ashtray.

"Smoking is off-limits, remember? Are you trying to wreck your body even more? Stop giving me more work."

"...You’re just so damn loud," Miura grumbled, his voice full of annoyance as he glared at Kazuya with disdain. His insolent attitude and arrogant gaze were enough to make anyone seethe. Kazuya folded the map in half and shoved it in Miura’s face.

"Anyway, the reason we got lost on a road that’s not even on the GPS is your fault. Take responsibility."

Miura took the map and slowly traced the route with his finger, starting from the highway and onto the national road, following it to their destination. Beginning in Osaka, he navigated past Hyogo Prefecture at a snail's pace.

"Have we crossed the Seto Bridge yet?"

"Not yet. Stop rushing me."

Kazuya was exasperated by Miura’s inability to even catch the sarcasm and sank back deeply into the driver’s seat.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

"Shimanto River?"

It was early May, the pale green of the cherry blossom leaves shining brightly. Kazuya was reading a novel on the living room sofa when his roommate, Keiichi Miura, suddenly said he wanted to visit Shimanto River in Shikoku.

"Shimanto River, huh…" Surprised that Miura was talking about a trip, Kazuya nodded and said, "That sounds good."

It had been eight months since Kazuya had started living with Miura in his three-bedroom condo, but he had never seen Miura go out for anything other than grocery shopping. Since Kazuya wasn’t the type to go out unnecessarily either, they often spent entire days off just sitting around together. There had been more than a few times when Kazuya found Miura’s self-assigned role as housekeeper, gleefully cooking and doing laundry, irritating. But there was nothing he could do about it. After all, the condo was Miura’s property, and Kazuya was the one freeloading.

If Kazuya didn’t like it, he could just leave, but a small promise held him back. Miura had bought the house on the condition that Kazuya live with him. Kazuya considered it his own fault and endured it, but Miura’s devotion sometimes became so suffocating that he felt overwhelmed.

Since Kazuya didn’t want Miura to be cooped up all the time, he had even suggested, "Why don’t you go out sometimes?" Miura would only smile and say, "Yeah, maybe," but he never actually went out. So it was a surprise when Miura, usually so reclusive, suddenly said he wanted to go on a trip. Naturally, Kazuya had no reason to object.

"Go and have fun."

Miura’s eyes widened in surprise, and he shrugged slightly.

“What are you talking about? You’re coming too. You’re free in August, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“I’ve booked a cottage for August 3rd, 4th, and 5th, so keep those dates open,” Miura said.

Kazuya found himself standing up from the sofa in shock.

“Keep those dates open? Does that mean I have to go too?” He couldn’t hide the truth slipping into his words—he didn’t want to go.

“Of course! You expect me to take the train all the way to the mountains in Shikoku by myself? I’m still recovering, you know. Show me some kindness,” Miura replied.

Kazuya was at a loss for words. He couldn’t argue back. Since they had started living together in this almost forced manner, Kazuya had stopped holding back with Miura like he used to. To be honest, he felt like he couldn’t survive otherwise. Miura would push his limits, and dealing with him properly was exhausting.

But when Miura brought up his illness, Kazuya felt at a disadvantage. Even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t say anything. Miura had been hospitalized until seven months ago for a chronic illness that was difficult to cure. He would have to manage his health carefully for the rest of his life to prevent his condition from worsening. This meant avoiding strenuous activities and fatigue, and eating nutritious food. Miura often used his frail health as a way to coerce Kazuya, his eyes slightly narrowed as he waited for Kazuya to agree. But Kazuya didn’t want to make any promises. If he nodded now, he would really have to go on a trip with Miura.

Kazuya pretended the conversation hadn’t happened and casually picked up the book he had left on the table, feigning forgetfulness. Even though he ignored Miura, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched, which bothered him to no end. He could hear Miura’s small sigh in his ears.

“It’s a promise then,” Miura said before walking away. Kazuya felt a bitter sense of frustration lingering in the air.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It turned out that the unpaved road, which Kazuya had been convinced was the wrong one, was actually the national highway. After getting lost and arguing, they finally arrived at the cottage just after 8 PM. They checked in at the office, where an old man handed them the keys and reassured them, “The roads here are tricky, so lots of people get lost.”

The cottage marked "05" was located on flat land facing the south, away from the river. It was a log cabin, and upon entering, Kazuya was greeted by the faint smell of wood. The room was medium in size, with a small unit bath and a tiny kitchen near the entrance—enough to prepare simple meals. Near the entrance was a simple wooden table with chairs, and at the back were two single beds, side by side, made of wood. The room was almost barren in its simplicity. As Kazuya tossed his luggage into the closet, he muttered to himself, “I knew there wouldn’t be any internet, but there’s no TV either.”

“Of course not. You don’t need that stuff out here,” Miura replied.

Kazuya wasn’t complaining about the lack of amenities; he was just making an observation. Miura, having claimed the bed on the right as his territory, lay down on it, still in his shirt. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the sheets like a contented cat. Kazuya thought he had fallen asleep when suddenly Miura got up and opened the window.

“The AC is on,” Kazuya pointed out.

Miura responded by turning off the air conditioner. After a soft hum, the machine fell silent.

“It’s cool enough without it. Come here, Kazuya,” Miura said, beckoning him like one would call a dog. The gesture irritated Kazuya, perhaps because of all the arguing they had done earlier. Ignoring him, Kazuya continued unpacking his bag.

“Come on. I know you’re mad, but hold it in. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

Miura’s snide comment made Kazuya pause. He turned around to see Miura sitting on the windowsill, his hands resting on his knees, eyes closed.

“I can hear the water, the wind, the owls, and the frogs,” Miura said.

“That’s because we’re in the countryside,” Kazuya replied curtly.

Miura slowly opened his eyes and gave a soft smile. “It feels like I’m back in Kasumino village, even though I never really liked that place.”

Miura muttered, then walked over to Kazuya. “Tomorrow, I’m going to take a nap by the river, and then go fishing.”

Miura’s face lit up like an excited child before a field trip. Seeing his innocent expression, Kazuya’s anger began to dissipate.

“You didn’t bring any fishing gear,” Kazuya pointed out.

“We can rent some at the office,” Miura replied nonchalantly. Kazuya wondered when he had noticed that.

“If we catch something, we can grill it right there. It’ll be delicious,” Miura said, already daydreaming about tomorrow. Kazuya left him to his plans and pulled out a change of clothes and toiletries from his bag.

“I’m taking a bath first,” Kazuya announced.

“No, you’re not,” Miura said.

Kazuya turned back, confused as to why he was being stopped.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” Miura said.

Kazuya instinctively threw a fist, only to see Miura’s hand flat in victory.

“I’m first,” Miura said with a grin as he grabbed Kazuya’s change of clothes.

“Hey, what are you doing? Those are mine!” Kazuya protested.

“Come on, they’re about the same size,” Miura replied.

“I don’t like it! Besides, I didn’t bring any extra clothes,” Kazuya argued.

“I’ll lend you mine,” Miura said, waving his hand as he disappeared into the bathroom.

“You bastard!” Kazuya shouted after him.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The start of a terrible day and the worst morning. Kazuya silently ate the breakfast laid out on the small table. Across from him sat the cause of all this misery, calmly moving his chopsticks.

Kazuya noticed out of the corner of his eye as Miura set his chopsticks down on the tray with a sharp clink.

“Still mad? You really hold a grudge, don’t you?” Miura’s voice carried a tone of amused disbelief, which only fueled Kazuya’s pent-up anger.

“Whose fault do you think it is? Because of what you did... we were completely misunderstood!” Kazuya exploded.

“Why do you care? We’re in a place where no one knows us,” Miura replied nonchalantly.

“I care! I’m not stepping foot outside this cottage today or tomorrow,” Kazuya declared, rudely slurping his tea. When he got no response, he looked up to see Miura smiling.

“Don’t be so angry.”

“You’re the one who made me angry!” Kazuya shouted, slamming his hands on the table before burying his head in them. Even though he normally woke up at the slightest sound, the long drive had exhausted him so much that he had slept through the night.

The cottage they were staying in offered a room service breakfast, delivered to the room at 8 AM if you confirmed by phone. If it was inconvenient, you could ask for a different time. It was a luxurious service.

That morning, Miura had answered the call. Half asleep, he told the person on the other end, “I’ll leave the door unlocked, so just bring it in.”

A young woman had delivered the meal. It was the sound of the door opening that finally woke Kazuya up. Feeling cramped and groggy, he slowly sat up, his foggy mind wondering why he was sleeping in such a confined space.

“Good morning. Here’s your breakfast,” the young woman, wearing a green apron, said cheerfully as she entered the cottage and placed two servings of breakfast on the table with a bright smile.

"Ah... thank you," Kazuya said, still not fully understanding the situation.

“Hm... what’s going on?” Miura, who had taken the call, unlocked the door, and then crawled into Kazuya’s bed for a nap, woke up at the sound of their exchange and slowly sat up. The sight of Miura, half-sitting up in the same bed, made the girl’s face instantly tense with fear.

“Uh... excuse me,” she stammered before quickly rushing out, her hurried footsteps echoing emptily in the room.

“What was with that girl?” Miura muttered, shaking his head as he buried his face in the pillow again, clearly still tired. Kazuya looked down at the man lying next to him in disbelief.

"...Why are you in my bed?" Kazuya asked, too bewildered to even shout.

"I guess I must’ve been sleepwalking," Miura replied nonchalantly. Leaving Miura in the bed, Kazuya ran to the bathroom, turned the faucet all the way on, and let the hot water pour over him until he finally found his voice.

“Stop messing around!” he yelled, remembering the incident and feeling a wave of gloom wash over him.

"Let's walk upstream along the river today," Miura said, completely unconcerned with Kazuya’s distress and instead sounding cheerful.

“After all, this is ‘Japan’s last clear stream.’ Did you know that? Some famous scholar said the only reason the Shimanto River stayed so clean is because the area is so sparsely populated, but that’s still impressive, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care about that. If you want to go out, go by yourself,” Kazuya retorted immediately. The silence that followed created a strange atmosphere, and when Kazuya glanced up, he found Miura’s narrowed eyes fixed on him. Kazuya’s back stiffened reflexively. Miura’s angry eyes—then and now—always made him uneasy. The silence felt like needles pricking him.

“If you keep being stubborn, it won’t stop at just sleeping next to you,” Miura warned in a low voice.

“Don’t be stupid,” Kazuya replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I’ll force myself on you.”

“Go ahead, try it, if you think you can with another guy,” Kazuya shot back, but cold sweat ran down his spine. Though he had responded boldly, he had no idea what Miura might do next, and the fear paralyzed him. Miura stood up slowly, stepping closer. What if he really did something? The anxiety whirled around Kazuya’s mind. He felt fingers touch his shoulders from behind and gasped.

“I was wrong this morning,” Miura said. Kazuya’s ears were still ringing, but it seemed Miura was apologizing.

“I’ll be more careful from now on, so don’t be so angry. Don’t sulk,” Miura continued.

“I’m not sulking. I’m not a child,” Kazuya protested, though inwardly, he was relieved that Miura had apologized.

“We’ve come all this way, so let’s not fight. Let’s have a good time, okay?”

“...Yeah,” Kazuya replied.

Miura’s presence retreated from his back, and finally, Kazuya could breathe properly again. The situation was stressful, to say the least. He wanted to go home as soon as possible. But even if he did, he wouldn’t be free. Miura would still be there.

“This is unbearable,” he muttered, the words disappearing as they left his lips.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Miura walked ahead at a slow pace, and Kazuya followed a few steps behind. They walked along a narrow forest road without lanes, heading eastward, following small blue signs that read “Shimanto River.” On the right side of the road, there was a green, rusted guardrail, and beyond it, glimpses of the river sparkled through the gaps in the trees.

On the left side of the road, the hillside was lined with stone walls, likely cut into the slope to make way for the road. Large trees grew over the top of the stone walls, extending their branches to create a welcoming shade. The road gently sloped, and as they rounded a bend, the view opened up. The road split in two directions; taking the left path led to a small bridge.

It was the same bridge Kazuya had seen online before coming here. The stone bridge without railings was called a “chinka-bashi,” a sinking bridge, and such bridges could be found in various parts of the Shimanto River basin. In Shikoku, where summer typhoons often pass through, the increase in rainfall often causes the river’s water level to rise, leading to floods. With few dams to regulate the water level, the river has to quickly push the water out to the sea. A bridge with railings would obstruct the flow and be more prone to damage. The chinka-bashi, which submerges during floods, was a design born out of harmony with nature, as described in the pamphlet they received when they checked into the cottage.

Perhaps finding the bridge without railings unusual, Miura kept stopping in the middle of the bridge to peer down at the river below. Each time Miura stopped, Kazuya slowed his pace to avoid catching up.

“Kazuya, come here,” Miura called, beckoning from the center of the bridge. Kazuya had no choice but to walk over quickly. When he reached Miura’s side, Miura pointed downstream.

“Look, you can see another bridge just like this one. I wonder how many there are.”

Kazuya could see a small chinka-bashi in the distance, about the size of a pinky finger, as the river snaked its way downstream.

“There must be about a hundred of them along the river,” Kazuya guessed.

“Wow, that many? Amazing,” Miura murmured before suddenly grabbing Kazuya’s right hand.

“What’s up?” Kazuya asked. Miura’s grip was strong, and Kazuya could feel the heat of his hand.

“Walk beside me. We can’t talk if you stay behind.”

“...Fine,” Kazuya agreed, but when he tried to pull his arm free, Miura didn’t let go.

“Let go, I’m not a child,” Kazuya demanded. Miura responded with a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s not about being a child or not,” Miura replied.

“Then what is it?” Kazuya asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Miura said, and then suddenly released Kazuya’s hand and continued walking. Since Miura had told him to walk beside him, Kazuya had no choice but to comply. The path beside the bridge didn’t lead down to the riverbank, so they walked along the river, looking for a place to descend. A jeep with out-of-town plates passed them on the road. The path gradually moved away from the river, leading into a more secluded mountain road.

Just as they lost sight of the river, fields of green rice paddies spread out on either side of the road. A gentle breeze rustled the blue-green rice stalks, creating a soft, swishing sound.

“It’s the ‘Aotakaze,’” Kazuya murmured.

“What’s that?” Miura asked, stopping in his tracks.

“That’s what you call a breeze like this. Usually, it’s a term for the wind that blows earlier in the season, but it’s the wind that sweeps through the green rice paddies.”

“Huh... as expected of a teacher,” Miura remarked.

The soft wind blew across the countryside, where the strong sunlight shone down. Kazuya walked on, listening to the sound of the water as he passed road signs. The water, which had sounded close, was actually farther away than expected, and as Kazuya looked down, he could see his short shadow following him closely.

When the rice paddies ended and they entered a grove of large trees, Miura sat down on a low stone wall shaded by the trees. His white shirt rose and fell slightly with his small, rapid breaths.

“I’m a little tired,” Miura said, reaching out to take Kazuya’s hand and squeezing it. His palm was hot, and Kazuya noticed the faint beads of sweat on the back of Miura’s neck.

“A hat...”

“What?” Miura prompted him to continue.

“I should’ve brought a hat,” Kazuya said.

Miura looked up and gave a faint smile. “Yeah, you should have.”

They stood still, neither moving nor speaking. The landscape around them seemed frozen in time until the sound of an approaching car engine snapped them back to reality. The car passed by, then suddenly screeched to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Teacher? Is that you, Mr. Sugimoto?" a girl called out, leaning out of the car window.

"Wow, it really is you! What a coincidence!" she exclaimed.

"Takimoto Yukari?" Kazuya recognized one of his students as she eagerly jumped out of the car. He felt a moment of panic, unable to immediately switch to his teacher persona. She was wearing a white T-shirt and beige shorts, her long legs healthily tanned. Her long hair, tied in a ponytail, had a few strands sticking to her face. Her large, expressive eyes were fixed directly on her homeroom teacher.

"I'm here with my cousin and some friends—there's four of us. Are you here for sightseeing too, teacher?"

"Uh, yeah..." Kazuya responded, glancing nervously at Miura. He wasn’t sure how to explain this man to his student. He could tell her the truth—that Miura was his roommate—but the idea of two grown men, both around twenty-eight, living together sounded strange.

Miura smiled at Takimoto with a gentleness Kazuya had never seen before. "Brother, is she one of your students?"

Kazuya almost choked on his breath at Miura's words.

"Wait, so he's your brother, teacher?" Takimoto asked, making it difficult for Kazuya to deny the lie. He hesitated before answering vaguely, "Well... yeah, kind of."

"So you're here together as brothers? You two must be really close," she commented, noticing Miura’s sly smile as he glanced up at Kazuya, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Takimoto then turned to look back at her friends in the car. "Teacher, how far are you planning to go?"

"We were thinking of heading down to the riverbank, but it’s a bit farther than I expected," Kazuya replied.

"In that case, why don't you come with us? The riverbank is still a bit of a distance away, but our car’s big enough to fit two more people," she offered.

"That would be great, thanks," Miura jumped in before Kazuya could decline. "I'm a bit tired."

Miura got up and started walking toward the car as Takimoto motioned him over.

"Hurry up, teacher!" Takimoto called, waving her hand enthusiastically. Kazuya was confused about what Miura was planning. Was he really tired, or was he up to something? Catching up, Kazuya nudged Miura lightly, but Miura only responded with a pale smile, barely curving his lips.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The large four-wheel-drive Jeep, which Takimoto said belonged to her cousin, rattled along the unpaved farm road, shaking from side to side. Inside the car were Takimoto’s cousin, a college student named Kawanishi, who was deeply tanned, Saito, a bespectacled guy with a nervous demeanor who was Kawanishi’s friend from the same university, and Kunimoto Misa, a female college student who was Saito’s senior in their club. Even though Kazuya was Takimoto’s homeroom teacher, the rest of the group was clearly unsettled by the sudden appearance of a stranger in their car. Despite the close quarters, Kazuya could feel their distant gazes.

Kawanishi, who seemed to be the cheerful type, tried to lighten the mood with a few jokes as he drove. While this eased the tension a little, Saito and Kunimoto remained aloof. Kazuya, trying to be polite, offered constant smiles but regretted his impulsive decision to get into the car. He shrank into his seat, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Miura, on the other hand, seemed entirely unaware of the atmosphere—or perhaps he was aware but simply didn’t care. He sat comfortably in the third-row seat, casually looking around the car’s interior.

For Miura, having unexpectedly found a ride when he was tired must have felt like "good luck." But his blatant lack of consideration made Kazuya, sitting next to him, feel embarrassed and almost nauseous, as if he were seasick. Miura’s bold gaze met Saito’s when he turned around. From the moment they got into the car, Saito had made no effort to hide his annoyance. Yet, to Saito’s surprise, Miura smiled lightly, a disarming expression on his face.

"I really appreciate the ride. I was feeling a bit unwell and had to sit down," Miura said.

Saito’s rigid expression softened slightly, and Kunimoto, who had been sitting in the front seat, turned to look at Miura.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Her initially cautious eyes now looked directly at Miura, showing concern.

"I haven’t been in the best of health since I got sick a while ago. Resting at home would’ve been best, but I really wanted to come here, so I persuaded my brother to bring me along," Miura explained.

"That sounds tough," Kunimoto said, lowering her gaze. The mood in the car darkened, but this time for a different reason. The somber atmosphere was broken by the energetic high school student.

“So, how old are you, Keiichi?” Takimoto asked.

“Twenty-six,” Miura lied, making himself two years younger than he actually was.

“Really? You look older than the teacher! You don’t look alike at all,” Saito observed, causing Kazuya’s fingers to tremble. But Miura, unperturbed, brushed it off with ease.

"People say that a lot. Maybe I just look old for my age," Miura said, turning to glance at Kazuya, who was visibly flustered, and smiled thinly as if he was enjoying the situation.

"Where are you staying, teacher?" Takimoto asked.

"At a cottage across the river," Kazuya replied quickly.

"Oh wow, those cute little cottages! Lucky!" Takimoto exclaimed.

Kunimoto suddenly clapped her hands. "Hey, why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? We’re making curry, and it’s no problem if there are a few more people. It’ll be more fun with a bigger group, don’t you think?"

Encouraged by Kunimoto’s excitement, Saito finally smiled and agreed. Kazuya began to worry about the prospect of crashing their cozy camping trip and wondered if he should decline. But before he could decide, Miura accepted on their behalf.

"That sounds great. We’d love to join you," Miura said.

Kunimoto beamed, and Miura returned her smile. Then, out of nowhere, Miura said something that caught everyone off guard.

"Actually, I was supposed to bring my girlfriend along too."

"You have a girlfriend, Keiichi?" Takimoto leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. Even Kazuya, who lived with Miura, was hearing this for the first time. Kazuya stared at Miura, silently demanding an explanation, but Miura ignored him.

“Yeah,” Miura replied, lowering his head shyly with a gentle smile. “She couldn’t come because of work.”

Kunimoto’s expression shifted to one of disappointment. Kazuya couldn’t help but wonder how Miura, who hardly ever left the house, had met someone. And why hadn’t he mentioned any plans to bring her on this trip?

“Really? What’s she like? I want to know!” Takimoto pressed eagerly.

Miura thought for a moment before answering, "She’s smart, looks good on the outside, but she’s a bit mean."

“What? That sounds awful!” Takimoto said, clearly baffled.

“It’s fine. I love her anyway,” Miura replied, locking eyes with Kazuya. When Kazuya glared at him in response, Miura simply grinned and let out a faint whistle.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

After parting ways with the campers, Kazuya and Miura slowly made their way down along the river. Miura wore an old straw hat that Takimoto had given him and had rolled up the cuffs of his jeans. He hopped along the shoreline, stepping over the large, round stones that lined the water’s edge. Occasionally, he’d miss a step and dip his shoe into the water, letting out a small yelp each time, yet he kept going. His persistence, despite the mistakes, was like that of a child who doesn’t know any better.

As Kazuya walked along the safer, dry path, he thought to himself that he was like a guardian looking after a child named Miura. They had walked quite a long distance, taking their time to reach the area under the sinking bridge. When Miura sat down in the shade of the tall grass near the bridge, Kazuya sat down next to him.

Miura’s shoes, long unwearable, lay discarded at his feet. His bare toes, oddly pale, seemed to underscore just how unwell he really was. He lay down, covering his face with the straw hat. Occasionally, the sound of cars passing over the bridge drifted by, but the only sounds that truly reached Kazuya's ears were the flowing water and the distant calls of birds. As he watched the shimmering green surface of the river, it felt as though time might come to a standstill. For a moment, Kazuya lost track of where he was, but seeing Miura beside him reminded him of his place.

“Why did you lie?” Kazuya asked, watching the frayed brim of the straw hat sway gently in the breeze.

“Lie?” Miura's voice came from under the hat.

“You told my student you were my brother.”

Miura lifted the hat slightly with his fingers. “Oh, that. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You lie without a reason?” Kazuya pressed.

“Shut up for a bit,” Miura snapped. He had a habit of abruptly ending conversations when they became inconvenient, a frustrating trait of his. Miura was a master at getting under Kazuya’s skin.

Silence settled between them as they lay side by side, each lost in thought. Kazuya mulled over the awkwardness in the car and Miura’s lies, and the pained expression on Miura’s face as he looked down at the stone wall.

Kazuya glanced at the man lying quietly beside him. If he said he was going back to the cottage now, what would Miura do? Would he insist on coming along? Sensing movement, Miura half-sat up, the straw hat slipping onto his lap.

“Where are you going?” Miura asked, his voice weak and uncertain.

“Am I not allowed to go into the water?” Kazuya responded, his tone challenging. Miura relaxed, a faint smile appearing on his face.

“Take off your shoes,” Miura instructed, pointing at Kazuya’s feet.

“Yeah, I will,” Kazuya replied.

“I’ll help you with that,” Miura offered.

“No, I can do it myself,” Kazuya said hastily, bending down, but it was too late. Miura was already untying Kazuya’s shoelaces with meticulous care. He then slowly removed Kazuya’s socks as well. The whole process made Kazuya feel uncomfortable. Miura placed the removed shoes neatly beside his own, lightly tapping Kazuya's calf.

“Go ahead, enjoy the water.”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The water was cold, slipping through Kazuya’s toes. He cupped some in his hand, raised it to his mouth, and took a sip. It had a gentle taste, as if infused with sunlight. The droplets that fell from his hand caught the light before vanishing back into the river. Kazuya had never found water so simple yet so beautiful before. Even in the height of summer, the water was cold enough to make his submerged feet feel like they were freezing. The distorted reflection of his body in the flowing water looked strange, as if the pale, wrinkled feet weren’t his own.

Surrounded by water, wind, and air, Kazuya felt as though his small body might simply float away. He spread his arms wide, stretching his entire body and breathing deeply with every cell.

When he turned around, Miura was watching him. Kazuya hadn’t noticed him there and felt uneasy under Miura’s unyielding gaze, as if he were being seen naked. Uncomfortable, he turned his back on Miura.

‘I want to go somewhere,’ Kazuya thought, a desire he had harbored ever since he had reunited with Miura. The irritation of having Miura so close, the annoyance of being constantly interfered with—nothing had changed since the past. From the moment they met until now, Kazuya had always wanted to get away from Miura. It felt ridiculous. How could he still be thinking the same thoughts after all these years?

‘I want to get away from him,’ he thought. ‘If I ever get the chance, I’ll leave right away. I want to go somewhere he’s not.’

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Kazuya and Miura arrived at Takimoto’s riverside camp a bit earlier than the agreed time. Kazuya, feeling that it would be rude to just eat and leave, handed Takimoto a contribution of drinks. In that brief moment, Miura disappeared, and when Kazuya looked around for him, he found Miura helping the others with the meal preparations. Seeing Miura getting along with people he had just met felt strangely out of place, as Miura had never been very social with anyone besides Kazuya during their school years.

By the time they started eating by the river, the surroundings had grown dark. The lights of other campers dotted the riverbank. To Kazuya’s surprise, Miura fit in naturally with the group, though he rarely initiated conversations. Still, for some reason, the discussions revolved around him. Kazuya, who had never seen this sociable side of Miura, was taken aback by his unexpected social skills. Meanwhile, Kazuya himself felt like nothing more than a silent observer, contributing little more than a polite smile as everyone else chatted away.

After dinner, they brought out a watermelon. Kazuya didn’t particularly like watermelon, but he accepted a slice when offered. The red triangle of fruit tasted sweet with a hint of that familiar green flavor. As the cleanup wrapped up and Kazuya considered heading back to the cottage, Takimoto stopped him.

“Come join us for fireworks, teacher!” Takimoto said, holding up a paper bag overflowing with fireworks.

“It’s been ages since I’ve done this,” Miura remarked, placing a hand on Kazuya’s shoulder as he peered into the bag.

“There’s nothing else to do back at the cottage,” Miura added, pulling out a sparkler firework from the bag without waiting for permission.

“Hey, you shouldn’t just take someone else’s stuff—” Kazuya started to protest, but Miura ignored him, lighting the firework with his lighter.

“Here’s yours, teacher,” Takimoto said, handing Kazuya a firework, seemingly unconcerned with Miura’s actions. As Kazuya stood there, unsure of what to do, Miura tapped him on the shoulder.

“Bring it over here. I’ll light it for you,” Miura offered.

“But—”

“Hurry up, mine’s almost out,” Miura urged.

Kazuya reluctantly held out his firework. Miura tried to light it with the last bit of his own firework, but it sputtered and didn’t catch. Miura’s firework dimmed, sending off one last spark before going out, the blackened remains falling to the ground.

“It’s your fault for taking so long,” Miura said, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he pulled out his lighter. The wind made the lighter’s flame flicker, so Miura cupped his hand around it, lighting Kazuya’s firework with the practiced ease of someone lighting a cigarette.

The firework crackled to life, sending bursts of soft orange light into the air.

“That one’s always been my favorite,” Miura said. It was a simple firework, just emitting light without changing colors—not red or blue, just plain.

“It lasts the longest. The fancy ones look nice, but they burn out too quickly,” Miura added, suddenly grabbing the firework from Kazuya’s hand. He waved it back and forth, the light leaving faint trails in the darkness.

“I used to try drawing shapes with these. But nothing complicated works—at best, you can manage circles or triangles...”

Miura continued playing with Kazuya’s firework until the very end. Without offering an apology for taking it, he casually tossed the burnt remains aside and went over to Takimoto to grab a new firework. Although Miura offered Kazuya one, Kazuya shook his head and declined, saying, “I’m fine.” Miura tilted his head in curiosity but continued playing with the fireworks alone. Takimoto and the others were having a great time, laughing and enjoying themselves, but Kazuya felt out of place. He wanted to leave, but it seemed rude to do so during such a lively moment.

Unable to leave and not fitting in with the camping group, Kazuya ended up staying by Miura’s side.

“You look like you’re having a terrible time,” Miura murmured. Kazuya clenched his jaw, uncomfortable with how easily Miura could read his thoughts, and stared at the dying embers of the fireworks.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

When the fireworks ended, Kazuya thought they could finally head back, but Miura started an in-depth conversation with Kawanishi. Although Kazuya couldn’t make out what they were talking about, even Saito, who had been wary of Miura at first, now listened intently, his expression serious.

As Kazuya debated whether to head back alone, Takimoto, who was standing beside him, nudged his side and whispered in his ear.

“Your brother is really cool, teacher.”

That’s only on the outside, Kazuya thought. On the inside, he’s a malicious and unruly child.

“He must be super popular,” Takimoto added.

“I wouldn’t know,” Kazuya replied curtly.

“You two are so different. You always seem like the type to stay at home and read books, but your brother looks like the kind of guy who would just pick up and travel the world on a whim.”

Miura was surrounded by people he had just met, smiling and chatting as if he had known them for years. This wasn’t elementary or middle school—no one here knew Miura’s true nature except Kazuya. Only he could accurately judge who Miura really was.

“Wait, you’re married?” Kunimoto’s surprised exclamation made Kazuya turn around. Miura nodded nonchalantly.

“I was, but it only lasted a little over two years,” Miura said.

“But why…” Kunimoto started, but then she seemed to realize she was prying into something private and quickly shut her mouth. Miura, however, didn’t seem to mind and continued.

“She cheated on me, but if I’m being honest, it was my fault. I married her even though I didn’t love her.”

“I can’t imagine marrying someone you don’t love,” Kunimoto murmured, her voice soft and pensive.

“That doesn’t sit right with me,” Kawanishi said, his clear eyes fixed on Miura. “I still have ideals when it comes to love and marriage.”

“Ideals alone won’t get you far,” Miura responded coldly. Kawanishi scowled, clearly offended, while Miura smirked at his reaction.

“Sure, it’s best if you can be with the person you love most, but think about it. If the woman you think is your destiny doesn’t give you the time of day, what do you do? Naturally, you start looking at the second or third best options,” Miura explained.

Kawanishi fell silent.

“So, is the person you’re with now the one you love the most?” Takimoto asked.

Miura pondered the question for a moment. “Maybe, maybe not… I’m not even sure myself.”

Kazuya wondered who Miura was referring to as his “destined woman.” After all, Miura had gone so far as to buy a condo just to live with him, but Kazuya wasn’t a woman, so he couldn’t be the one Miura was talking about. What did Miura really want? Even if Kazuya accepted their relationship as a close friendship, where would that lead? What Miura seemed to want went beyond friendship, closer to something one might seek from family.

Suddenly, it hit Kazuya. The answer had always been there, but he had just realized it. Miura’s lie about being his brother wasn’t just a whim. Maybe Miura truly wanted to be his brother.

“Oh!” Takimoto suddenly exclaimed.

“What’s wrong?” Kazuya asked.

“I forgot my flashlight back at the crossroads,” Takimoto said, a note of panic in her voice.

“What? We really need that!” Saito muttered.

“It’s not far; I’ll go get it,” Takimoto said, standing up.

“It’s dark now, so it could be dangerous. We’re heading back anyway, so we’ll go with you part of the way,” Miura offered.

Kazuya quickly stood up as well. “Thanks for everything,” he said, turning to the group to say his goodbyes. When he looked back, Miura was already walking alongside Takimoto, not even bothering to offer a word of thanks for all the food they had enjoyed. Frustrated by Miura’s rudeness, Kazuya hurried after them. They walked together in silence until they reached the crossroads. Takimoto insisted on retrieving the flashlight alone, but Miura stubbornly insisted on accompanying her. When Kazuya offered to go too, Miura brusquely told him, “You should head back.”

Too tired to argue, Kazuya finally gave in and returned to the cottage alone.

Despite being in a strange place, the solitude was surprisingly calming. It had to be because there was no one in the bed next to his. Kazuya decided to take a bath and go to bed before Miura returned. He quickly pulled out his change of clothes and hurried into the bathroom, turning the shower on full blast.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

When Kazuya was a child, his mother used to let him rest his head on her lap as she gently stroked his hair until he fell asleep. At some point, he had stopped sleeping on her lap… The sensation of someone stroking his hair stirred these old memories. This isn’t a dream, he realized, as he slowly woke up. Miura was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at him, gently running his hand through Kazuya’s hair.

“You’re late,” Kazuya said, turning away from Miura’s large hand and glancing at the clock on the wall. It had been over three hours since he had returned. After getting out of the bath, Kazuya had noticed Miura still hadn’t come back, but he hadn’t worried and had just gone to bed. He must have fallen asleep in the meantime.

“We talked for a long time,” Miura murmured.

“With whom?”

“Your student,” Miura replied.

Kazuya pushed Miura’s hand off his head and sat up.

“She told me what kind of teacher you are at school. You never talk about work with me, so it was interesting to hear. You’ve always been good at making a nice impression. Apparently, you’re really popular with the students. No surprise there—you’ve always been good at keeping up appearances,” Miura said, his words tinged with venom.

“Don’t be so confrontational,” Kazuya replied.

“Your school is a private prep school, but it’s not that strict about academics or rules. It sounds pretty laid-back. And you’re popular with both the boys and the girls. She say you always rank in the top three in student popularity polls,” Miura continued.

“That’s just because I’m one of the few young, unmarried male teachers,” Kazuya responded.

Miura leaned over him, placing his hands on the wall by the bed, closing the distance between them. Kazuya noticed a faint smell of alcohol on Miura’s breath.

“Have you been drinking?” Kazuya asked.

“Just a little. When I went back to the camp…” Miura admitted.

“You know you’re not supposed to drink,” Kazuya scolded.

Miura narrowed his eyes and exhaled softly, the scent of alcohol mingling with his breath. “Do you really care about me? Or are you secretly hoping I’ll just die soon?”

Miura flicked Kazuya’s chest, right over his heart. Kazuya gasped, and Miura didn’t miss the reaction. Miura leaned in closer, their faces almost touching.

“Get off me, you’re heavy,” Kazuya protested as Miura’s breath brushed against his ear.

Miura whispered, his voice dripping with insinuation, “Apparently, there are also many girls who want to be embraced.”

“What are you talking about? They’re all high school students, and they’re my students. Only someone as twisted as you would think of something like that,” Kazuya retorted.

“Yeah, I might be twisted,” Miura conceded.

Miura pressed his body against Kazuya’s in a way that felt unnatural, almost predatory. Suddenly, he bit down on Kazuya’s earlobe, startling him and making him jerk upward. Pushed against the wall with no escape, Kazuya tried to push Miura away, but Miura used his weight to press Kazuya harder against the wall. A shiver ran down Kazuya’s spine—both from the physical sensation and the revulsion at the fact that Miura was licking him.

“Stop it!” Kazuya demanded.

But Miura, having tired of Kazuya’s earlobe, let his lips trail down to Kazuya’s neck. His fingers traced slowly up and down Kazuya’s spine, even through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, which he wore as sleepwear.

“You smell good. You just took a bath, didn’t you?” Miura murmured.

“Get off me!” Kazuya insisted.

“Come on, just bear with it for a bit. I haven’t done anything yet,” Miura said.

“You are doing something,” Kazuya retorted, feeling the malicious fingers teasing his body, enjoying his reactions.

“I haven’t done anything at all since we got here. You know what I mean. It’s not like you’ve been getting any action either, right? Are you just jerking off in the bath or something? That’s gotta be boring,” Miura said.

Kazuya’s face flushed with embarrassment. How could Miura say something so crude?

“Want me to take care of it for you?” Miura offered.

“No! I don’t want anything from you!” Kazuya snapped as Miura’s fingers slipped inside his underwear.

“I’ll do it. That college girl was pretty interested, wasn’t she? Kept glancing over at me. If I’d really tried, I probably could’ve gotten her tonight,” Miura said.

“You’re the lowest,” Kazuya muttered.

“Don’t act all high and mighty. You were staring at your students’ legs, too. There’s nothing wrong with being turned on by that. It’s normal,” Miura said, pulling out thoughts Kazuya wished would stay buried. He was being tortured, mind and body. If he stayed here, who knew what Miura would do to him? Desperate, Kazuya shoved Miura aside and tried to get out of bed, but Miura dragged him back before his feet could touch the floor. He was pulled into the space between Miura’s legs, where Miura wrapped his arms tightly around him from behind. Miura’s hands roamed over Kazuya’s chest, searching for something that wasn’t there, as his lips pressed against Kazuya’s neck. The sensation was deeply unsettling, and Kazuya’s heart raced with a mix of fear and revulsion.

“If you do anything more,” Kazuya said, struggling to keep his voice steady, “I’ll never forgive you.”

Whether Miura was startled by the seriousness in Kazuya’s voice or not, his fingers slowly retreated. Kazuya slipped out of Miura’s grip and jumped over to the other bed. He wanted to get out—get into his car and drive away, leaving Miura behind forever. Miura sat against the wall, knees drawn up, looking like a scolded child, glancing up at Kazuya with a sigh.

“Why did you have to be a man?” Miura muttered, a hint of sadness in his voice. Kazuya glared at him, refusing to let Miura’s pitiful demeanor affect him.

“Why couldn’t we have met as a man and a woman? It would’ve been simpler. I’m confident I could’ve made you fall for me. And if not, I could’ve just forced myself on you and made you stay with me by getting you pregnant or something,” Miura said, his words terrifying. He then laughed as if suddenly realizing the absurdity of what he had said.

“If you’d been a girl, I would’ve had you back in middle school,” Miura added with a smirk.

“Even if I were a girl, I’d still never like someone as selfish and violent as you,” Kazuya retorted.

But it seemed like Miura wasn’t listening. “I would’ve taken care of you, made you happy, and cherished you,” Miura said wistfully.

This is madness, Kazuya thought. Miura’s behavior had grown increasingly erratic over the past year. His dull, unfocused eyes remained fixed on Kazuya, not moving.

“Maybe I’m just drunk,” Miura muttered as he sluggishly stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. Kazuya didn’t even want to hear the sound of the shower, so he pressed his hands tightly over his ears. All he wanted was to go home, but he knew that even going home wouldn’t solve anything. Miura would still be there, no matter where he went. He wished Miura would just disappear—drown in the river, fall off a cliff, suddenly succumb to his illness. Kazuya’s mind filled with fantasies of Miura’s death, each one involving Kazuya standing at the edge, watching with a strange smile, somewhere between relief and satisfaction. These were dark, foolish thoughts, but Kazuya couldn’t stop them. The nightmare felt endless. Should I kill him? Kazuya wondered. End it all at once. The thought scared him—he was terrified of what he might actually do.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Kazuya slipped out of the cottage early the next morning, just before six. He quietly gathered his things and dressed, making sure not to make a sound. Gripping his car keys in one hand, he crept along the dew-covered path away from the cottage and hurried to the car he had parked a short distance away. He didn’t feel guilty about running away. He had no obligation to stay with someone who treated him like that. He didn’t even want to see Miura’s face again. He had left some money on the table to cover travel expenses.

Kazuya had planned to drive straight home. But the river had been so beautiful the day before that it felt like a waste to leave without seeing it again. So, without any real destination, he drove along the river road, pressing the accelerator harder as the empty highway stretched out before him. When he found a path leading down to the riverbank, he parked on the roadside, where no other cars were in sight. Slowly, he descended the worn concrete steps, a can of coffee he had bought along the way in hand. The river, glowing green in the early light, was empty and peaceful.

Kazuya tilted his head at the sound of rustling leaves. To his right, a bamboo grove stretched down to the water’s edge, the young bamboo bending gracefully, their tips brushing the surface of the river. The countless leaves rustled in unison with each breeze, creating a soothing sound. It was an astonishingly tranquil scene. Kazuya closed his eyes, letting the gentle wind brush against his face.

He wanted to forget everything and merge with the air around him, leaving behind all the unpleasant memories.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Kazuya had no intention of returning to the cottage.

No matter how beautiful the place, he could never fully escape the ties to the world he wanted to leave behind. Even in moments of peace, thoughts of Miura crept back into his mind. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining what Miura would do after discovering his absence, running scenarios through his mind, each one shaped by Miura’s unpredictable personality.

He knew the man would be shocked to find him gone. Then, he’d get angry—furious, really—and after raging, he’d start searching frantically, like a child lost in a crowd, desperately, almost pathetically. He’d go around asking the group at the campsite, "Have you seen Kazuya?" When questioned, Miura would probably answer truthfully, "We had a fight." It would be the worst-case scenario.

Or perhaps, there was another possibility. Maybe Miura would remain surprisingly calm, see the money Kazuya left on the table, and realize what had happened, smirking bitterly. He might accept the situation and head home early. Kazuya picked up a small white stone with his fingers and tossed it into the river. The stone traced a small arc in the air before creating a tiny ripple that vanished far away. At the same time, a high-pitched bird chirped and flew into the sky.

But Kazuya knew Miura wasn't the type to be so level-headed. He knew this because he understood Miura well—he hadn’t changed since the day they met. Miura was selfish, rough, and completely thoughtless about others. He never reflected on his actions and always demanded, "Be kind to me."

In the end, what made Kazuya hesitate to leave was the presence of Takimoto's camping group. He didn't want to be seen as the cold-hearted brother who abandoned his sickly sibling over something as trivial as a fight. It also made him feel guilty about leaving.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Kazuya wavered, unsure of what to do. In the end, he returned to the cottage. Even after parking the car, he hesitated inside for a long time. He knew he would be blamed, scolded, and they would surely argue. The anticipation weighed on him. He glanced at his wristwatch; it was 8 p.m. It was too late to return to the apartment now—he wouldn't get there until midnight. He sighed, grabbed his bag, and with a heavy heart, reached for the doorknob of the cottage. Just as he was about to push the door open, it silently swung open from the inside. Miura stood in front of him, and Kazuya was so surprised that his heart nearly stopped.

"You're late," Miura said.

"Ah, yeah..." Kazuya replied, unable to say anything more as Miura turned his back and walked into the room. Kazuya had braced himself for a confrontation about being left behind, but Miura's lack of further reaction left him disoriented.

It was as if Miura was greeting him after a brief trip to buy cigarettes. Kazuya didn't realize at that moment what it meant that Miura had opened the door just as he reached for the knob. He was just relieved that nothing more had happened.

Miura walked slowly to the bed and slipped under the covers. He must have been sleeping until just now. Kazuya glanced at the old clock—it wasn’t even nine yet. He reminded himself that Miura wasn’t a child. Miura could go out alone, and the four campers they met yesterday were by the river. Miura’s world didn’t revolve around Kazuya. Kazuya figured Miura must have been annoyed that he’d gone home first, so he went out alone, got tired from playing, and decided to sleep early.

This thought lightened Kazuya's mood. Honestly, he was mentally exhausted too. He decided to sleep and opened his bag to take out his underwear. As he turned around, he noticed Miura watching him. Kazuya quickly averted his eyes, trying not to appear unnatural, and after a moment, glanced back—Miura was still watching. Lying under the quilt with one hand propping up his cheek, Miura didn't miss a single move Kazuya made, as if trying to sniff out something.

The silent pressure of Miura's gaze made it hard for Kazuya to breathe. He rushed into the bathroom, but even there, he felt Miura's eyes boring into his back. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

When Kazuya came out of the bathroom, Miura was in the neighboring bed, facing away from him and covered with the sheets from head to toe. At that moment, the room’s landline rang. Kazuya hurriedly picked up the receiver.

"Mr. Keiichi?" The voice was somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Miura was already asleep.

"Sorry, who is this?" Kazuya asked.

"Is this the teacher? When did you get back?"

The mention of "teacher" made Kazuya realize it was Takimoto. How did she know the number here?

"Where have you been? Keiichi was in a panic because you weren’t around. We couldn’t reach you because there’s no signal here. Keiichi was running around looking for you everywhere, and finally, he turned pale and collapsed."

Kazuya froze, still holding the receiver. This was the worst-case scenario he had imagined.

"We thought about taking him to the hospital, but Keiichi insisted he was fine and didn’t want to go. So we brought him back to the cottage. Is he okay?"

"Yeah...he’s already asleep," Kazuya said, glancing at the unmoving lump of sheets beside him.

"Keiichi was overreacting, but leaving him alone after a fight was pretty immature, wasn’t it? Have you made up yet?"

"Yeah, we have. Sorry for the trouble."

"It’s fine. Well, see you later, Teacher."

Kazuya hung up the phone. Miura’s back, the one that had collapsed in a panic, didn’t move an inch. In the end, all Miura had said to him was, "You’re late."

◇:-:◆:-:◇

When Kazuya woke up the next morning, one plate of breakfast was left untouched on the table, while the other tray was empty. Miura had already eaten. His luggage was packed and placed on the bed, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

Kazuya had finished his lonely breakfast by the time Miura casually returned. Kazuya didn’t know how far or how long he had walked, but sweat ran down Miura's forehead from under his straw hat. Miura entered the room, completely ignoring Kazuya as if he were invisible, and walked past him, placing the straw hat he had received two days ago on the side table.

Kazuya couldn't even muster a "Good morning." As soon as they were alone, the atmosphere between them became strangely tense. It was the first time they had such an awkward morning. Conscious of Miura's silent disregard, Kazuya prepared to leave. When all that was left was to lock the cottage door, Miura picked up his luggage and walked out as if waiting for that moment. He headed straight for the car, leaving Kazuya to check out on his own, naturally assuming that holding the key was Kazuya's job.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Miura sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Kazuya was relieved not to be blamed, but the atmosphere was unbearably tense. The road was familiar, so they wouldn't argue over directions.

Kazuya couldn’t figure out what Miura was thinking. Was he angry or not? The uncertainty gnawed at him. Kazuya had been afraid of being blamed, but now that he thought about it, Miura had no right to accuse him. It wasn’t unjustified for Kazuya to act as he did. No matter how many times he told himself this, something still didn’t sit right with him.

It was a quiet drive, as if they were carrying a ghost. The weather was exceptionally good again today, and the Shimanto River flowing alongside the highway shimmered in a translucent green, reminiscent of jade.

“What a beautiful place,” Kazuya muttered, trying to sound casual, though he was, of course, hoping for a response. There was none. Miura's head, tilted against the car window, didn’t move an inch.

“We should come back again sometime,” Kazuya added, though it felt like he was talking to a statue.

“I’m never coming back here,” Miura suddenly spat out. He pulled out a cigarette from somewhere and placed it in his mouth. The click of the lighter followed, and soon the car filled with the smell of tobacco smoke.

“Yesterday, I remembered something from years ago. After our junior high graduation, you suddenly disappeared. I searched for you...searched and searched...but I couldn’t find you.”

Kazuya couldn’t even muster the strength to scold Miura for smoking, as he usually would. He couldn’t find his voice.

“I thought you were only gone for a while and that you’d be back for the high school entrance ceremony. I never imagined you wouldn’t contact me.”

Miura's tone wasn’t accusatory, but Kazuya knew he had no right to offer any excuses. After all, he had abandoned Miura back then.

“I’m not trying to bring up the past but thinking about it now is pointless. You hated me, didn’t you? Even though you taught me so earnestly, celebrated our success together, and were always by my side, you still hated me.”

Cold sweat trickled down Kazuya’s back. He wanted to tell Miura to stop talking, to let the past stay in the past.

“If you hated me, you should have just said so. If you had, I wouldn’t have clung to you. Or maybe, as someone who prides himself on his generosity, you couldn’t bring yourself to say ‘I hate you’ to me?”

Miura pressed his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray.

“It’s ridiculous. Yesterday, I had nothing better to do, so I spent the whole day thinking about that nonsense.”

He lit another cigarette.

“You’re cruel,” Miura muttered softly. It was a casual remark, but it pierced Kazuya’s heart like a needle.

“I...”

Kazuya started to say something but stopped. The car entered a tunnel, and in the darkness, the side window reflected Miura’s face, tears streaming silently down his cheeks, his lips tightly sealed.

Miura was crying, quietly and unnoticed, like a child, like an adult.

The car emerged from the tunnel, and the tear-streaked face disappeared from view, but Kazuya’s heart, gripped by an invisible hand, continued to throb with pain.

Footnotes

0. Content warning: r*pe mention.

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