Smiling at the Moon: Volume 2 - Chapter 3 - part 7

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Yamada lay face down in the attic, coughing violently. He tried to suppress it, but the dust made it impossible to stop.

"Are you okay?"

Michihiko rubbed his back until he finally calmed down. Using the candlelight, he walked towards a wooden box by the wall. Unable to see well, he kicked something that felt like a photo frame.

"I need to extinguish the light, just in case."

When the light went out, it became darker than outside. Hands reached out from the darkness and hugged him tightly. He could feel Michihiko's heartbeat pounding against him...

After reading Mori's email, they immediately hid in the attic of the storehouse on the same property. As they pulled up the hidden stairs, voices started coming from outside, chilling them to the bone.

With a coat over his kimono, the upper half of Yamada's body was warm, but his feet felt freezing, likely due to the wooden floorboards. It was still snowing outside, and a bit of snow had fallen as they moved from the separate building to the storehouse.

"They won't find us here. We're absolutely safe."

Michihiko whispered softly, and Yamada clung to the man trying to protect him.

"The Motohashi gang went to the university and asked Mori about the house in Shizuoka. Mori ran away, but a friend from his car club, who once went go-kart racing with him, accidentally mentioned this place. That's what Mori wrote in his email."

Michihiko gently stroked Yamada's hair.

"I thought about how they found out, and it was probably the truck driver. I mentioned Mori's grandmother's house in front of him. It's no wonder the gang questioned him after we got off. I was careless."

Caught up in sex like monkeys, Yamada had pushed aside the reality of being hunted, possibly even killed.

"We had a close call. But we'll be fine if we stay here. They won't find the hidden stairs to the attic. Are you cold? You can cling to me more."

…They heard shouting from outside. The gang probably chose the early morning when everyone was still asleep for their attack.

Huddling together, they held their breath, waiting for the gang to leave. The voices didn't fade, as they seemed to be searching not just the detached house but the main house too. There was a sense of people entering the storehouse below, but since there was nothing there after the items were removed, they left quickly.

Thin light started to filter in through the small attic window. Dawn was breaking.

"They know we're not here, but they won't leave. There are a lot of them. They might use the detached house as a base to search the area. They must have noticed the futon left out, realizing we were there until recently."

Michihiko muttered. As it got lighter, the attic's contents became visible. There were bamboo baskets, wooden boxes, an old sewing machine, and a pillar clock, all haphazardly arranged.

Yamada's foot fell asleep from staying in the same position, so he stretched his right leg, hitting something. It was the photo frame he had kicked earlier. To avoid stepping on it again, he picked it up.

Inside the heavy metal frame was a monochrome wedding photo. As he was about to put it aside, Yamada noticed something. The kimono the bride was wearing looked familiar. Michihiko, who had been staring out the window, noticed Yamada holding the photo and gasped. The pattern on the kimono in the photo matched the one Yamada was wearing.

"Is this a woman's kimono?"

Yamada looked up accusingly, and Michihiko averted his eyes, looking uncomfortable.

"I think it's an old bridal outfit."

"You knew?"

He didn't deny it. Michihiko had known and still made him wear it.

"So, you want to make me your bride?"

Yamada joked, but Michihiko responded seriously, "Will you be my bride?"

"Shinji, will you marry me?"

Michihiko hugged him so tightly it hurt. Yamada felt dizzy.

"When I found the kimono, I wanted you to wear it. I wanted to be your first man, and for your first time, I thought you should be like a bride."

The dim light was a relief; Yamada felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"You really thrusted into your virgin bride like that?"

"Because Shinji, you were such a pervert."

"You're the one who was pervert, aren't you?"

Despite the dire situation, they kissed and got aroused. Even though Michihiko had penetrated him so roughly, Yamada craved more. Just as he licked Michihiko's lips, they heard the storehouse door creak open.

Sitting on Michihiko's lap, Yamada gasped.

"…Damn it, this is ridiculous. They told us to search the mountains, but we're surrounded by mountains. I can't stand this."

The low, gruff voice belonged to Nishida, a mid-level yakuza from the Motohashi gang.

"Yeah, really."

The young man's voice was familiar, but Yamada couldn't place the name. Maybe he was a junior member.

"We should just leave that cheap thug alone."

"Exactly."

The young man echoed.

"Yamada just ran off with a gun. It's crazy to mobilize so many people for one minor thug. Soichi must be out of his mind."

Nishida let out a long, deep sigh.

"This is ridiculous."

Judging by their tone, it seemed the two were slacking off in the storehouse to avoid searching the mountains.

"The boss's son makes money through stocks, right? I haven't seen him much at the office."

The young man spoke.

"That money is shady. Recently, one of his stock manipulators ran off, and he lost millions."

The young man gasped.

"Stocks are just paper. Earning steadily is best…"

A noise interrupted them, as the photo frame Yamada placed on the box fell. They saw a mouse scurrying behind the sewing machine.

The two men talking below fell silent.

"Hey, did you hear that noise upstairs?"

Nishida's voice was tense. I instinctively tightened my grip on Michihiko.

"Yeah, I heard it. Maybe it was a rat."

"Or maybe someone's up there."

"I don't know..."

The younger one seemed unconcerned.

"See if there's a way to get into the attic."

Michihiko's grip on me tightened. The younger man, following Nishida's order, started poking at the attic floor with something, making thudding sounds.

"I don't see any entrance. Let's just leave."

With another series of thuds, the hidden stairs partially opened.

"Whoa, something just opened!"

"Pull that hanging door thing down!"

"It's too high. I need something to hook it with..."

I could see something like a shovel being used to hook and pull down the hidden stairs through the small opening.

"Hide," Michihiko whispered in my ear.

"What..."

"Get in the wooden box behind us."

The box was large but barely big enough for one person.

"What about you..."

"I'll be fine. Just hide."

"I don't want to..."

"Do as I say! I'll handle the rest."

Michihiko pushed me into the box and closed the lid.

"Stay here until everyone leaves."

He whispered from outside the box.

"The stairs are down! You go up first!"

"Sorry!"

Michihiko's voice echoed.

"I'm coming down, please don't hurt me!"

The sound of creaking footsteps. Before they could come up, Michihiko descended into the storehouse himself.

"You're the guy who was with Yamada."

I heard Nishida's voice.

"Yes," Michihiko replied, his voice trembling.

"Where's Yamada?"

The menacing voice of the middle-aged yakuza rang out.

"He's not here."

"What do you mean he's not here?"

"I don't know where he went. He said he'd leave alone and went outside."

Feigning fear, Michihiko lied smoothly.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

People gathered below the storehouse. Judging by the voices, there were about six or seven men. Among them, I recognized Kato's voice. He was the one leading the hunt for me.

Michihiko told them, "Shinji said he was going to Osaka," prompting most of them to scatter towards the nearby bus and train stations under Kato's orders.

Left behind were Kato, Nishida, and the young member who had been with them.

"What should we do with him?"

The young man asked Kato. Michihiko pretended not to know anything. In the box, I clenched my fists, praying for Michihiko's release.

"What should we do..."

As Kato's footsteps receded, they abruptly stopped.

"He was hiding in the attic, right?"

"Yes."

"And no one else was there?"

My heart pounded.

"Yeah, pretty sure."

"What do you mean pretty sure?"

Kato's irritated voice made the young man hastily reply, "No one else was there."

"Did you check properly?"

"Well, he came down on his own, so..."

"You idiot!"

Kato's angry voice echoed.

"He could be hiding someone! Go check!"

"Sorry!"

Hurried footsteps approached, and someone climbed the hidden stairs. I took out the gun from my coat, gripping it with both hands.

The attic floor creaked under the weight.

"Cough, cough..."

A loud bout of coughing. Once it subsided, the footsteps resumed.

"There's no one here..."

The disgruntled voice muttered as the footsteps circled the attic before descending. I sighed in relief inside the box.

"He's not here. We're clear."

They didn't find me. Good. Now if only they released Michihiko, everything would be fine. I felt a wave of relief when I suddenly heard a phone ring.

"Hello, Kato here. What? What do you mean? Explain! Do you know who it is? You don't? What are you idiots doing? I'll kill you!"

After yelling into the phone, Kato ordered, "Get the car!"

"What? A car?"

"Hurry up! We're going back to Tokyo right now."

"Uh, okay. What about him?"

"Bring him outside!"

Kato's words filled me with dread. Were they going to take Michihiko to Tokyo? Or just beat him up and leave him?

I couldn't decide whether to stay hidden or come out. If it was just a beating, it might be better to endure. If they were taking him to Tokyo, I had to stop them.

As the storehouse emptied, I carefully opened the box lid and crawled out. Moving on all fours, I approached the small window. I cautiously opened it and peeked outside.

Kato, the young man in a tracksuit, and Michihiko were walking along the side of the dilapidated main house. Michihiko's hands were tied behind his back.

It seemed they were indeed taking him. Just as I gripped my gun tightly, Michihiko was shoved by the young man. If only they would leave him...

Bang, bang! Two loud, cracker-like sounds echoed.

"...What?"

Kato and the young man walked towards the gate, leaving Michihiko lying on the ground.

"No way..."

I scrambled down the stairs, ignoring the pain in my injured left foot. I tried to run but stumbled, the engine of a car roaring away in the distance. As I stood up, my coat tangled, and I shrugged it off in frustration.

I crawled to Michihiko, who lay on his back in the snow, his clothes soaked with blood from chest to legs.

"No, no, no..."

"Shin...ji..."

Michihiko's trembling voice spoke.

"Michihiko... I don't want this..."

Tears blurred my vision.

"It's... okay. It doesn't... hurt much... call an ambulance."

I ran back for my coat and grabbed Michihiko's phone. Dialing 119, I could only manage to say, "Just come quickly!" Michihiko took the phone from me and gave our location, his voice faltering.

"An ambulance will be here soon."

He nodded weakly. Watching the blood flow from his thin body, I pressed on his wounds with my hands, trying to stop the bleeding. Warm blood seeped through my fingers, staining the snow red.

"Sh... Shinji..."

His lips moved; eyes closed.

"What?"

"Ki...ss me."

I kissed him, feeling his cold lips. His mouth curled into a small smile.

"Michihiko..."

There was no response.

"Michihiko, hey!"

He didn't open his eyes.

"No, no, no, Michihiko. Open your eyes! Don't die, please, don't die!"

He... was dead. He might be dead. No, he wasn't. Michihiko can't die. That can't happen.

Suddenly, white flecks crossed my vision. More and more followed, fluttering down. A chill ran down my spine as I looked up. Snow was falling.

Snow began to cover Michihiko. My mind flashed to my father's body, buried in snow.

"Nooooooo! Aaaahhhh! Aaaahhhh! Aaaahhhh!"

I screamed at the sky.

It was noisy inside the ambulance. Yamada sat at the rear, draped in a coat over his kimono, and watched as Michihiko was treated.

"Blood pressure is sixty by palpation."

"Saturation is dropping. We need to intubate."

Tears streamed uncontrollably from Yamada's eyes. He couldn't even make a sound. By the time they reached the hospital, Michihiko was being carried away while receiving chest compressions.

Yamada collapsed in the entryway of the emergency room as the medics hurried away.

"Are you alright?"

A young woman, probably a nurse, spoke to him.

"Are you a friend of the emergency patient? Are you injured?"

The blood from Michihiko splattered on his kimono and stained his hands red, though it was less noticeable on the dark fabric.

"Would you like to wash your hands?"

Yamada shook his head. The nurse noticed his limping left foot and brought a wheelchair when he resisted, she brought crutches instead.

They moved from the entryway to a bench in front of the emergency room. The nurse said, "Please wait here," and left. Yamada sat there, staring blankly at the dirty wall.

Michihiko might die. But he might survive. Still, he felt like Michihiko was going to die. So much blood had poured out.

Nausea welled up, and he vomited, bringing up only stomach acid since he hadn't eaten much.

No, no, no. Yamada cradled his head in his hands. He didn't want to sit here, waiting for Michihiko to die. He didn't want to hear anyone say, "He's dead," or "We're sorry for your loss." If anyone said that, he would cut their throats, one by one.

But if it came to that, he would have to acknowledge it. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to accept it. He didn't want to stay in this place, where such a declaration would be made.

Yamada stood up with the crutches and slowly walked out of the hospital. Not knowing where he was, he walked aimlessly down a big road. Michihiko might have already died at that moment. Just thinking that made tears flow endlessly.

A strong wind blew, opening the front of his kimono. The bright red undergarment fluttered like blood. Michihiko had said something crazy about being a bride. Yamada had never seen such a fool. From the first time they met, he had been a fool. Pants pulled down, exposing himself and crying.

Thinking of the past made the air feel heavy. His whole body felt crushed, making it hard to breathe. His chest hurt. Hurt, hurt...

His crutches slipped, and Yamada fell. Someone asked, "Are you alright?" but he ignored them.

He wanted to go somewhere. Somewhere he didn't know. Somewhere no one knew him. Somewhere he could never find out what happened to Michihiko.

If no one told him Michihiko was dead, he could keep believing he was alive. Even if he thought he was dead, not hearing it would make it less real. As long as he didn't see Michihiko's dead body, he wouldn't truly believe it. Walk, walk, walk... Driven by something, Yamada stood up, using the crutches. But where to go? Where could someone like him go?

Ah, he found it. A place that suited him. Yamada approached, opened the sliding door, and entered. A young policeman inside turned around, startled.

Yamada pulled the gun from his coat pocket and placed it on the desk with a dull thud. The bullets rolled off the desk, making a light metallic sound as they hit the floor.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

At the home improvement store, Yamada was choosing a shovel for snow removal when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Yamada?"

He turned to see a beautiful woman with long hair and a child.

"It's you, Meirin!"

"Yeah, it's me! How have you been?"

Meirin, wearing a warm pink down jacket, looked a bit plumper.

"Weren't you deported to China?"

"I came back."

With a clap of her hands, she handed Yamada the child.

"Watch him for a moment, okay?"

"Hey, Meirin, wait..."

The child, about three years old, had blue pants and a face somewhat resembling Ryota's. He stared up at Yamada for a while, then seemed about to cry and ran off.

"Hey, wait!"

Yamada chased after him and picked him up, causing the child to cry loudly for his mother.

"Quiet down. I'm a friend of your mom!"

People around them started to stare, making Yamada uncomfortable. Meirin returned with a man.

"Brother!"

The man, one eye damaged, looked different but sounded the same.

"It's me, Ryota!"

"You're alive!"

Yamada clapped Ryota's shoulder roughly.

"Of course! Lost an eye, but I'm still working."

"You were always tough."

Seeing Ryota's familiar face and healthy appearance, Yamada felt tears welling up. Ryota seemed to feel the same, sniffing and suggesting they talk somewhere private.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Meirin and her son left first, and Yamada entered a nearby café with Ryota. Ryota had survived, undergoing multiple skin graft surgeries for his burns and spending about a year in the hospital. After being discharged, he left the yakuza, saved money by doing various part-time jobs like cleaning and working at convenience stores for a year, and then went to China to bring back Meirin and their son Tadashi.

Since they returned, they had moved back to their hometown and were living with Ryota’s mother.

"I used to wish my mother would die. I didn’t plan to have anything to do with her anymore, but she took care of me so well while I was in the hospital. She wasn’t exactly praiseworthy, but some things you just have to accept. Now she helps a lot with the kid too."

Ryota scratched the back of his head. He now worked full-time at a pachinko parlor, and Meirin taught Chinese at a culture school. Together, they were able to support their family of four.

"When did you get out, brother?"

Yamada hadn't met anyone except his lawyer while in prison, but Ryota seemed to know about his incarceration.

"About three months ago."

Yamada took a sip of his coffee.

"Did you come back here right away?"

"No, I’ve been here since last month. I’m staying at my dad’s house."

"You mean the head of the Shima clan?"

Yamada kicked Ryota's leg under the table.

"My real dad's house."

"You had a family home here? First I've heard of it."

"Really?"

Yamada pulled out a cigarette from his pocket.

"Oh, you can't smoke here."

Yamada clicked his tongue and put the cigarette away. "This no-smoking everywhere is such a hassle," he grumbled. After getting out of prison three months ago, he initially stayed at a capsule hotel but quickly became homeless. Without a fixed address, it was hard to find decent work. Fortunately, being young, he was prioritized for day labor jobs. He saved up some money and eventually returned to the countryside.

He had noticed his father’s house was still standing, so he secretly lived there for a while. One day, he ran into his aunt at the front door. It turned out she had been managing and cleaning the house since his father's death, despite her husband's objections.

"How long were you in for, brother?"

"Three years and six months."

Ryota sighed. Yamada had almost forgotten the exact charges, which included a firearms violation among other things. He hadn't appealed, so his sentence was confirmed in the first trial.

"Have you contacted Michan?"

Yamada gulped.

"I don’t even know where he is now. He probably graduated and is working somewhere."

His hands started trembling, so he quickly hid them on his lap.

"Michan's in Tokyo. He works for a company called Bargains, which I hear is pretty good."

"He was always smart."

Yamada let out a thin breath.

"Yeah, he went to a good university."

"But he was a crybaby."

"Don’t be so harsh, brother."

Ryota and Yamada laughed together.

"Are you going to contact him?"

Yamada shrugged.

"If he's working for a good company, it's probably best he stays away from someone with a criminal record like me."

Ryota gave a troubled smile.

"Michan isn't the type to care about that. He was hanging out with us yakuza even in junior high school."

"But his perspective might have changed now that he's an adult."

Ryota fell silent. Yamada looked out the window. People change. Ryota had become law-abiding, and Yamada was no longer a yakuza.

In prison, there was plenty of gossip from other yakuza on short-term sentences. That’s how Yamada learned that Soichi had been shot. It happened in his apartment, by a former Motohashi gang member named Saotome, who had switched to the Maruyama group.

It was impressive he managed to get at Soichi in such a secure building. But hearing that a stock manipulator formerly with the Motohashi gang had been picked up by the Maruyama group made it make sense. Kimijima, who had sought refuge with the Maruyama group, likely facilitated it.

Soichi was shot the same day Michihiko was. The attack on Soichi intensified the conflict between the Motohashi gang and the Maruyama group, leading to a two-year war. Six people died, and eventually, the neutral Futaba group mediated a settlement with money. Now, on the surface, things seemed calm. Soichi survived and was rumored to be plotting revenge against the Maruyama group.

For Yamada, who had been excommunicated and moved away from Tokyo, the yakuza's bloody conflicts felt like distant events.

A clinking sound brought him back. Ryota had set his coffee cup on the saucer and met his gaze.

"Brother, I nearly died. I feel like I was reborn."

Ryota scratched his short sideburns.

"I have a kid now… Meirin named him Tadashi, hoping he’d grow up to be a good person. I can’t let him turn out bad."

Ryota seemed happy bearing the responsibility of his family. They talked about Meirin’s spicy cooking, Yamada's pointless prison life, annoying customers at Ryota's pachinko job... They chatted until dusk.

When Ryota mentioned dinner time and suggested Yamada join them, he declined.

Thinking the topic had changed, Ryota suddenly brought up, "About Michan..."

"I sometimes keep in touch with him. I think he's waiting to hear from you."

Yamada looked down at his feet.

"Yeah... I might contact him someday, but until then, don't tell Michihiko we met."

"Brother, you said you didn't know how to contact him."

Ryota's voice had a slight accusatory tone.

"If I want to talk to Michihiko, I can ask you, right?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

After hesitating, Ryota spoke.

"Michan lives in your old apartment."

"My apartment?"

"Yeah, after you went to prison, he took over your lease."

Yamada's face tightened. "Why?"

"Michan didn’t know where else you’d come back to."

Ryota left, urging Yamada to contact Michan soon. Yamada walked home slowly, holding a shovel with a hardware store sticker. The cold made his left ankle hurt, still weak from a fracture.

He had planned to shovel snow during the day but was delayed. The old house creaked with even a small amount of snow.

Yamada threw the shovel in the yard and grabbed a bottle from the cupboard, pouring himself a cup of sake. Drinking on an empty stomach made the alcohol hit fast, soon making him feel light-headed. Lying down, the ceiling seemed to spin.

He recalled how his father often drank and passed out, too.

Ryota suggested he reach out to Michihiko, but Yamada didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t seen Michihiko since he was hospitalized. He had only glimpsed Mori during the trial. Without an appeal, the trial ended quickly, and Michihiko remained hospitalized throughout.

The lawyer had told him, without being asked, that Michihiko nearly died but survived. Yamada had been overjoyed to tears but had no intention of meeting him. He wanted to see his face but didn’t want to meet him.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

With no academic qualifications or skills, and now a criminal record, finding decent work was almost impossible for Yamada. He decided to start a handyman business, putting up a single sign to get started. Initially, he had no job requests and earned daily wages by helping with moving for Ryota's acquaintances. This connection led to more small jobs. Through Meirin's "Foreign Wives' Association," he also began helping foreign wives with shopping and teaching basic Japanese, scraping together enough income to barely get by.

In February, Yamada was asked to accompany a foreign wife's son to Tokyo for his university entrance exam. The boy, who had come to Japan as a middle schooler, spoke Japanese well. At eighteen, Yamada thought he could handle the trip alone, but his mother insisted Tokyo was too dangerous. She couldn't go because of her limited Japanese, so she asked Yamada, who had lived in Tokyo, to accompany him.

The university was in Ueno, not Motohashi's territory. It was just a one-night, two-day trip, so Yamada agreed. The day before the exam, they visited the university and then returned to their hotel. After an early dinner, the boy stayed in his room to study.

Yamada took his wallet and went to Ikebukuro. Meirin had asked him to buy some items from a Chinese grocery store. He handed the note from Meirin to the store owner and did the shopping. By the time he was done, it was only 8:30 in the evening. The night was still young.

He wanted a drink but didn't know of any quiet bars where he could drink alone. The bars he did know were mostly in Kabukicho, Motohashi's territory, which he wanted to avoid. Low on money, he considered buying alcohol at a convenience store and drinking in the hotel. As he walked back towards the station, a large poster caught his eye.

It was a promotional poster for the pro wrestling event 'Kingdom.' He approached it to check the participating wrestlers. Some faces hadn't changed in three years, while others were new. Today's date was listed in the schedule. He remembered the Festival Hall in Ikebukuro was the venue.

Yamada glanced at his watch. Kingdom was broadcast live. If he returned to the hotel, he might catch the end of it. He quickened his pace towards the station but stopped when he noticed a crowd watching a street television. The live broadcast of Kingdom was on, showing an intense match.

Yamada was riveted to the large screen, surrounded by others watching the broadcast. Just as the match reached its peak, a commercial break interrupted.

"Damn it!"

"Come on!"

Yamada and another person muttered simultaneously. He turned to see a woman with long hair. Recognizing her, he muttered, "Oh."

The woman, Reika, noticed his reaction.

"You're Yamada, aren't you? How have you been?"

Reika, who worked at an S&M club and was Soichi's former lover.

He swallowed hard.

"Hey, long time no see..."

This woman was connected to Soichi. He didn't want to get involved with her.

"Where are you living now?"

Yamada took a step back.

"Sorry, Reika. I quit the gang. So..."

"Oh, I see! I broke up with Soichi too."

Reika shrugged cutely. Relieved that his information wouldn't get back to Soichi, he felt a bit more at ease.

"I'm working a daytime job now. Look."

She showed him her nails, decorated with black polish and small jewels.

"Cute, right?"

They looked more garish than cute, but he nodded, "Yeah, I guess."

"I'd love to grow them longer, but it gets in the way of work. After turning thirty, I wasn't getting many clients. Younger girls were coming in, and I couldn't compete with their smooth skin. Breaking up with Soichi, my money source, made me realize having a skill is better."

The broadcast resumed, showing the wrestling match, but the transmission ended without a clear resolution due to the time limit. Reika, frustrated, said, "Unbelievable!" Then she asked Yamada, "Wanna grab a bite? I'm hungry."

When Yamada admitted he didn't have much money, Reika shrugged, "Me neither. That's why I couldn't buy the Kingdom ticket."

After checking their wallets, they decided on a nearby fast-food place.

Reika had broken up with Soichi shortly after Yamada went to prison.

"He was shot, and then he changed. He got paranoid, surrounded by bodyguards. He was in pain, but his paranoia got extreme. Even during sex, Kato was watching us. I didn't mind being watched, but it hurt that he didn't trust me. Eventually, he said he didn't need me and ended it."

Reika picked at her fries with her black-tipped fingers.

"He was a pervert, but I kind of liked him."

She licked her greasy fingers, eating fries one by one, like a meticulous cat.

"Didn't he seem like he thought giving people stuff was enough?"

"Yeah, kind of..."

Yamada remembered the absurdly expensive gifts Soichi gave without asking.

"A sad man."

She muttered and asked Yamada for a cigarette.

"It's not menthol."

"That's fine."

She smoked the cigarette Yamada gave her, savoring it.

"Soichi probably never realized people thought of him that way."

"If he didn't realize it..."

Yamada's muttering made Reika tilt her head.

"If he didn't realize it, wouldn't that be better?"

"You're silly."

Reika sighed.

"A man who can't understand others or trust them can't be happy. Plus, he's a yakuza and a pervert. It's laughable. He might as well shove his own dick up his ass. Saves everyone the trouble."

She laughed genuinely. After chatting for an hour, they parted ways in front of the store. Reika mentioned she was dating a younger police officer, "He's muscular but a masochist."

It was past ten. Yamada entered the station to wait for a train. He thought about many things while standing still. Soichi, who Reika called pitiable, had never seemed that way to Yamada. He had admired him but never pitied him.

Now, from his new perspective, he felt Soichi might indeed be pitiable. No longer involved in the yakuza world, Yamada felt detached from it. The emotional ties had been severed, for better or worse.

After standing there for about 30 minutes, Yamada moved to the platform for the opposite direction and boarded a train. The Ohkubo station hadn't changed in four years.

Without a clear plan, Yamada walked to his old apartment. New convenience stores and buildings had popped up, but the street's atmosphere remained the same. Savoring the familiar surroundings, he stopped in front of a monthly parking lot. Blinking repeatedly, he saw a familiar red car. Yamada entered the lot.

The low-riding car with custom wheels and exhaust was unmistakably his. He had assumed it would be gone while he was incarcerated. Yet, there it was, in excellent condition, without a trace of rust and polished to a shine even under the streetlights. The once-punctured tire was fully inflated.

Feeling like he'd been tricked, he realized there was only one person who could have maintained his car so meticulously.

The touch of the car made his fingertips tingle. He wanted to see him, wanted to meet him...

Overwhelmed by his feelings, Yamada ran. As the familiar apartment building came into view, he saw that the lights were on in the room he used to live in. Michihiko was there. Yamada was about to rush into the building but stopped himself. What would he do if he went to the room and met Michihiko? What would he say?

He sat down on a planter in front of the apartment, holding his head in his hands, telling himself to calm down. Why hadn't he tried to meet Michihiko when he found out from Ryota that he could contact him?

He didn't want to involve Michihiko in his life anymore. Because of him, Michihiko had gotten hurt and nearly died. As an ex-yakuza and a criminal, it wasn't right for him to be around Michihiko.

But Michihiko was still living in his old apartment, keeping his car polished and waiting for him. Maybe it would be better to tell him to give up and forget.

"Shinji?"

Yamada's body stiffened.

"Is that you, Shinji?"

He was called by his name again. Slowly raising his head, he saw a man standing about three meters¹ away. The man wore jeans and a sweater, with a coat over them, and held a plastic bag from a convenience store. His hairstyle was different, and he looked more mature.

Yamada swallowed hard. He still hadn't figured out what to say. His first words in four years were elusive. Should he be serious, smile, or what? Michihiko, too, just stood there silently, looking down at Yamada with an intense gaze.

"Hey," Yamada finally forced out, raising his right hand.

"It's been a while," Michihiko replied, not moving closer.

"I had some business nearby, so I thought I'd drop by."

Michihiko's mouth twitched slightly.

"Really?"

After a short silence, Michihiko asked, "What kind of work are you doing?"

"Handyman stuff. Helping people move, things like that."

"I see..."

The awkward exchange continued, feeling like they were meeting for the first time.

"I heard you got a job too. Ryota told me."

"Yeah. It's a foreign company, very busy."

Yamada didn't want to ask these kinds of questions, but he did anyway, leading to more silence.

"It's cold here. Do you want to come up and talk?" Michihiko asked hesitantly.

"No, that's okay. I have to get back to my hotel," Yamada said quickly. As he spoke, a chill ran down his spine, and he sneezed loudly. Sniffling, he tried to stop his nose from running.

"How about a family restaurant? There's a 24-hour place nearby."

"Really, I won't stay long."

Despite his words, it was cold. The night was deepening, and the wind felt even colder. Running his fingers through his hair, Yamada scratched his head.

"I went back to the countryside. My dad's house is there."

"Yeah, I heard from Ryota."

...Despite telling Ryota to keep quiet, he had apparently spilled everything to Michihiko.

"I'm not planning on coming back here. If you're living in my old place because of me, you can move somewhere you like."

Michihiko didn't respond.

"And the car, it was you, right? Keeping it clean. Thanks. If you're using it, it's yours. If not, I'll take it back. Just parking it must be costing you money. I'll pay you back, even if it's bit by bit."

Michihiko stayed silent. Yamada asked again, "What about the car?"

Michihiko's breath was visible in the cold air.

"Did you come here to talk about that?"

"Well, yeah, that's part of it."

The plastic bag in Michihiko's hand rustled. His hands were shaking.

"I want the car. And I'm not moving. I like that apartment."

"If that's what you want, it's fine."

Yamada stood up from the planter. He felt like he'd said what needed to be said.

"See you."

As he tried to walk past Michihiko, he felt a grip on his arm. The touch made him flinch, and the hand quickly released him. The fingers slowly clenched in hesitation.

"Can I visit you?"

"What?"

The question, asked in a childlike voice, took him back to their school days.

"Can I come on my days off?"

Unable to respond, Yamada looked down. He saw Michihiko's shoes, similar in quality to the expensive ones Soichi had once given him. Yamada took a deep breath.

"Don't come."

Michihiko looked like he was about to cry.

"Hang out with your university friends or work colleagues."

"Am I a bother to you?"

"It's not that. You shouldn't be involved with me anymore."

A tear fell from the corner of Michihiko's eye.

"Was it that bad?"

"What?"

"Was being with me that bad?"

What was he saying? Yamada's jaw almost dropped.

"It's not about that."

"Then why are you abandoning me? Why won't you see me? Is it because I forced myself on you and you hated it? Is that why you don't want to see me?"

"It's not that..."

"Then explain it in a way I can understand!"

Michihiko's frustrated tone grated on Yamada's nerves.

"I've told you! Stay away from me. It's for your own good!"

"Don't decide what's good for me by yourself!"

"Should I go to your company and tell them? That you have a criminal ex-yakuza friend?"

"Go ahead and tell them."

Michihiko's challenge came out defiantly.

"Tell them I had sex with a criminal ex-yakuza too. I don't care what anyone thinks. I can even quit my job."

"Are you an idiot?"

"I don't want to be called an idiot by someone as useless as you!"

Anger flared up inside Yamada, and he shouted.

"Shut up, you annoying bastard! It would have been better if Kato had killed you!"

He threw the bag of Chinese groceries Meirin had asked for at Michihiko's contorted face and ran. The moving scenery irritated him. His head felt like it was boiling, steam of anger ready to escape his ears. But by the time he reached the station, the anger had subsided somewhat, and he started regretting his harsh words.

It wasn't a joke; Michihiko had almost died protecting him. He should never have said he wished he had died. It was unforgivable.

Yamada sat on the steps at the station entrance, gripping his phone. He had bought a new one two months after his release, having lost his old one. The new phone only had numbers of Ryota, Meirin, and some work contacts. The contacts from his yakuza days were gone.

But he still remembered Michihiko's number. He dialed it several times but couldn't bring himself to call. Sending a message would have been easier, but he only vaguely remembered Michihiko's email address.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed, startling him. Seeing the number, he was shocked again. It was the number he had hesitated to call. Michihiko couldn't possibly know his new number, but...

After about ten rings, he answered. No one spoke.

"Michihiko?"

He heard a faint sobbing sound, and his chest tightened with guilt.

"Sorry about earlier. I went too far."

There was no response, but he continued.

"It must have been awful when you got shot. It was my fault... I shouldn't have said I wished you had died."

Even though there was no response, the call wasn't disconnected. Michihiko was listening.

"Sorry. I just wanted to say that." Yamada said.

Michihiko remained silent, and the silence stretched on. Yamada waited for Michihiko to say something, anything, but nothing came.

"Can you hear me? Say something," Yamada urged.

After a long pause, Michihiko finally spoke. "I'll return it."

"What?" Yamada asked, puzzled.

"The bag with the Chinese writing on it. There’s a lot of stuff in it."

"Oh..." Yamada realized it was the ingredients Meirin had asked for.

"I'll bring it to you," Michihiko offered.

Yamada looked down and mumbled, "You don't need to come. I'll pick it up. Just leave it on your door handle."

"I want to see your face and return it," Michihiko insisted.

Yamada couldn't respond. It seemed better not to see each other anymore.

"Do you hate seeing my face that much?" Michihiko asked.

"It's not that..." Yamada began.

"If this is the last time, I don't want to remember your angry face. I don't want that to be my last memory of you," Michihiko said, his voice breaking.

Michihiko was crying. Hearing an adult man cry pained Yamada, but he couldn't help but listen. He didn't want his last memory of Michihiko to be a tearful face either.

"Okay, walk towards the station. I'll head that way too. We should meet somewhere in between."

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Yamada retraced his steps slowly, and they met in front of the parking lot where Yamada's car was parked. They stood about a meter² apart, and even in the dim light, Yamada could see Michihiko's eyes were red from crying.

"Sorry for making you come out," Yamada said, extending his hand for the plastic bag, but Michihiko didn't hand it over.

"I want to talk," Michihiko said, looking down.

"There's nothing left to talk about," Yamada replied.

"Maybe not for you, but I need to talk. I promise I won't get emotional this time. Let me say what I need to, and then I'll give up."

What was there to talk about now? Michihiko wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" Michihiko asked, his voice shaky.

"Yeah, but it's just accompanying a student for an exam," Yamada explained.

"Accompanying?"

"A foreign high school student has an exam here. I just take him to the venue and back."

Silence fell between them again. To break it, Yamada took out a cigarette from his pocket. The nicotine helped ease the tension and awkwardness.

Michihiko watched him silently, eyes full of unspoken words. Feeling uncomfortable, Yamada said, "If you want to say something, go ahead."

Michihiko looked down, the plastic bag rustling in his hand.

"I want to talk, but it feels like I'll just end up blaming you for everything," Michihiko admitted.

"I don't mind."

Michihiko took a deep breath.

"After I got shot, I was in the hospital for about six months. My stomach wound wouldn't heal. I don't remember much from the first month, but I kept dreaming about you. Every time I woke up, I wondered why you weren't there."

Yamada could imagine the look on Michihiko's face during those times, even without seeing it.

"I heard you turned yourself in for the gun charge and were in detention about three months into my hospital stay. I couldn't talk for a while, and my parents didn't tell me. But Mori found out."

Yamada's throat was dry. He wanted something to drink, but there were no vending machines in sight.

"Why did you turn yourself in? You could've buried or thrown away the gun."

"It wasn't that simple. I needed to sort things out properly," Yamada said, scratching his head.

"You knew you'd be detained. What if I had died while you were in there? We'd never have seen each other again."

Unpleasant memories surfaced. The noisy ambulance, his blood-stained hands, and the quiet hospital corridors...

"If I were in your place, I wouldn't have turned myself in. I would want to stay with you. I couldn't understand what you were thinking."

"But..." Michihiko continued.

"I couldn't ask why you weren't with me. You were in prison, no visits, no letters. So I kept wondering. Did you hate it that much? Did you leave because I forced you? Nothing made sense."

Michihiko's words were full of blame, and each one stung.

"When Ryota told me you were out, I wanted to see you. But I thought you'd be annoyed if I showed up. I was scared you'd tell me you hated me. I kept my phone with me all the time, waiting for your call. But it never came. I felt like you really didn't want to see me. I regretted everything about that night. But today, you said it wasn't like that."

If only he had said he hated him, maybe Michihiko would have given up.

"You say it's for my own good not to be involved with you, but that's not true. I don't care about the yakuza or your record. I don't judge people that way. You don't need to worry about that."

Michihiko's tone was almost like he was lecturing him. Then, silence again. Maybe the conversation was over.

"Give me the bag," Yamada pointed at the plastic bag.

"Why?" Michihiko asked.

"I'm leaving. Are you done talking?"

Michihiko shook his head. "I haven't heard what you have to say."

"I have nothing to say. Give me the bag!"

Michihiko didn't hand it over. Maybe he never intended to. Yamada turned to leave. He could buy Meirin's ingredients tomorrow.

He barely took a few steps before Michihiko grabbed his arm and dragged him into the parking lot, pushing him against his car. Michihiko hugged him tightly, making it hard to breathe, and kissed him roughly. Yamada tried to push him away, but Michihiko held his head firmly, kissing him deeply until Yamada felt dizzy.

Michihiko's aggressive movements softened, and his tongue moved slowly, sensually. A shiver ran down Yamada's spine. He tried to push Michihiko away, but his strength was no match. His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, with Michihiko following him down.

In the narrow space between parked cars, Michihiko kissed him passionately, holding Yamada's face in his hands.

"You're looking at me like you love me," Michihiko said calmly.

Yamada's cheeks twitched.

"You look like you love me so much. Why?"

Yamada closed his eyes, and Michihiko bit his nose, making him open them in pain.

"If you love me, why won't you stay with me? Why won't you see me?"

"I don't know!" Yamada snapped.

"It's your own feelings. I'm not a mind reader. You have to tell me what you're thinking," Michihiko said, tears falling on Yamada's face.

"Do you know how much this hurts me?"

Michihiko's voice trembled.

"Even if you hate me, I can't hate you. Even if you say you don't want to see me, I want to see you. I regret what happened, feeling miserable, thinking I should've died. Do you understand? Help me, please!"

With his face pressed against Yamada's neck, Michihiko sobbed. The sound resonated in Yamada's chest, making him feel the same pain.

"Because..."

My lips tremble.

"You almost died back then, didn't you?" I heard Michihiko sniffling.

"I didn't want to hear that you were dead. Even if you had died, I didn't want to hear it. So... I wanted to go somewhere where I wouldn't have to hear about it. Because... it's unbearable."

"What... is that supposed to mean?" Michihiko glares at me.

"If I knew you were dead, I'd be devastated. You were on the brink, and if you actually died... it would have destroyed me. I couldn't handle that..."

"Coward!" Michihiko shouts.

"You just don't want to feel sad? You coward!"

"I can't help it!" Tears stream down my cheeks.

"I just didn't want you to die. I couldn't bear it..."

I gasp for air.

"You know I love you. I love you so much. You know that. If I didn't, I wouldn't have done anything with a guy."

I hold my head in my hands and look down.

"When my dad died, I thought even a scumbag like him deserved a better death. Even though I didn't kill him, I felt guilty. If it was that bad for him, imagine you. If you died, I'd go insane. I don't want that. That's why I can't be with you. If something like that happened again, I wouldn't be able to handle it."

I'd rather avoid what I don't want to lose. If I don't know something, it can't hurt me. As I crouch and shiver, my face is forcibly lifted. I hate showing my tears, but when I try to cover my face, Michihiko pulls my hands away.

Something soft touches my cheek. A clean, white handkerchief. Michihiko gently wipes my tears and presses it to my nose. As he continues to gently clean my face, I feel like a small child. Embarrassed, I look down again, but then I'm unexpectedly embraced. It's not a tight, forceful hug, but a gentle one. I stay still in Michihiko's warm, which smelled of masculinity, like a warm nest.

As I start to relax, I slowly reach out and place my hand on Michihiko's back. He holds me a little tighter.

"It's pathetic, isn't it?" I mutter. I've always looked away from inconvenient things and run. Even nearing thirty, I haven't changed. It's the worst.

"But I love you," Michihiko says softly into my ear.

"Don't be afraid to love me. It's okay. I won't get hurt again. You won't feel lonely. Even if I die first, you won't regret being with me. You won't regret loving me."

Michihiko strokes my cheek and smiles.

"Welcome back," he says gently, and my fingers tremble.

"Welcome back to me."

Tears well up and spill over. Michihiko holds me close, patting my back like a child.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Yamada's car had been stopped in the middle of a poorly paved one-lane road for about fifteen minutes. Endless rice fields stretched out on either side. In the moonlight, a sign indicating a dead end about twenty meters³ ahead was visible.

"Where the hell are we?" Yamada asked, getting no reply from Michihiko.

"I said, where are we?" He banged on the side window, yelling.

Michihiko snapped back, "I don't know!"

"You were looking at the map, weren't you?" Michihiko pointed accusingly.

"You stopped the car here!"

"I didn't want to stop here. We ran out of gas..."

"If the gas was low, you should've refueled earlier, idiot!"

"You said it would still run even if the empty light came on!"

"There's a limit, you know!"

As the car turned into nothing more than a metal box due to running out of fuel, the same topic was intermittently repeated inside. Irritated by the futile conversation, Yamada threw the weapon he had in his hand, the road map. Michihiko raised his voice and shielded his face with both hands.

"What are you doing?"

Michihiko glared at him resentfully.

"If we had taken the regular roads like I said, instead of the highway, we wouldn't have gotten stuck in traffic, and we'd be at the campsite by now."

Michihiko retorted, "If you hadn't made the wrong turn first, I wouldn't have suggested the highway. I told you we should get a GPS, but you said the map would be fine."

"A GPS is expensive! I just moved here and don't have money."

"I said I'd buy it."

"This car is mine!"

"Then drive this tacky car yourself!"

Yamada unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked Michihiko's shoulder with his right foot.

"Ouch, hey..."

Michihiko hit the driver's door. Yamada got out of the car and ran in his flip-flops.

"Hey, wait, Shinji!"

Ignoring him, Yamada jumped over the dead-end sign, seeing the road continued beyond it.

The fields on either side turned into a forest. The moonlight disappeared, making the path dark, but he could still see the edges of the road.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and under his arms. Running, he breathed out hot air. Even at night, the air was humid, and the wind was warm. Unidentified insects buzzed, and eerie bird calls echoed. His old leg injury throbbed. This was the worst trip ever.

Last month, in early June, Yamada moved from the countryside to Tokyo. Michihiko wanted to change apartments when renewing his contract and persuaded him to live together. There were more job opportunities in Tokyo, and though he was hesitant about living together, the practical benefits, like splitting rent and utilities, convinced him.

Living together was a bigger adjustment than dating, but so far, it was working. Yamada was sloppy in daily life, but Michihiko was meticulous, handling cooking, laundry, and cleaning. Yamada felt like he had a perfect wife within three days of moving in together.

Michihiko had suggested a trip, calling it a "honeymoon." Despite the term making Yamada uneasy, he was eager to travel. He missed his school trips due to lack of money and had never been on a real trip.

Michihiko initially mentioned going overseas, but Yamada had no money or passport. However, he could take time off, so they decided to drive to Karuizawa, staying at a campsite wouldn't cost much. But from the start, things went wrong: they took the wrong road, got stuck in traffic, couldn't reach the campsite, and now they were out of gas. Moreover, Yamada couldn't drive his own car. Three days ago, he had been caught speeding, accumulated enough points from past violations, and had his license suspended.

The path opened up ahead, and just as he saw something, a hand grabbed him, spinning him around.

"You'll get lost in a place like this."

To a man in his thirties on a straight road, what could be considered getting lost? Yamada roughly shook off the arm and was suddenly pulled close and hugged. Michihiko's chest smelled of sweat, and Yamada's heart raced. His hand gently stroked Yamada's head.

"I'm sorry. Don't be mad."

...If you're going to apologize, don't do things to make me mad in the first place! Michihiko was the one who had said, "You can't drive because you don't have a license," and didn't let Yamada take the wheel. Yet now, telling him to drive himself was nothing but mockery. And despite having a small dick, he had the audacity to call someone else's beloved car tacky. What a jerk.

"I don't want to fight on our first trip together."

He kisses me, trying to please me. The needy, sweet kisses make me realize how foolish it is to stay mad, and I quietly respond to his kiss. By the time the long kiss ends, my irritation has oddly subsided. Yet, the thought of the journey ahead makes me anxious. I recall the phrase "Airport Divorce," where newlyweds, tired of each other on their honeymoon, come back and separate immediately. The mood dampens significantly... Honestly, I just want to go home.

"Hey," Michihiko entwines his fingers with mine in a rather suggestive way.

"We don't have to go to the campsite anymore, do we? It's dark, and we don't know the way. Let's just sleep in the car tonight."

Hungry and having settled for convenience store bread for dinner, I felt it would be quicker to just sleep in the car rather than go through the process of finding a gas station, buying gas, looking for the campsite, and setting up the tent.

"...Yeah, you're right."

Even in the dim light, I can see Michihiko smile with relief. He squeezes my hand gently and then looks into the distance.

"What is it?" I ask.

He shushes me, then whispers, "Can't you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"The sound of water."

I close my eyes and listen carefully. Sure enough, I hear the gentle sound of flowing water.

"There must be a river nearby. Maybe over there," he points towards an opening in the forest and starts walking, still holding my hand. We follow the sound and find more rice fields. It's disappointing, but the sound of water grows louder. The land beyond the fields dips down, and there's a small hill leading downward.

Unable to resist, we descend the slope. The narrow, dark path only fits one person at a time, making it hard to see ahead. I lead the way, relying on my intuition, while Michihiko exclaims behind me, "This feels like an adventure!"

The sound of water gets closer, and eventually, the path opens up to reveal a river. The river isn't wide, maybe ten meters⁴ across, with large rocks along the banks and in the water, causing the flow to meander. The greenish-blue surface shimmers faintly under the moonlight.

The gentle sound of the water is soothing, and the occasional splash suggests there’s fish in it. Moonlight casts deep shadows on the rocks, and tree branches dip into the water, swaying in the breeze. It feels like something out of an old story where a river nymph might appear.

I approach the water and dip my fingers in. It's cold. As I splash my face, I feel an urge to swim. The water doesn't seem deep, and there's no sign of houses upstream or downstream. I strip off my aloha shirt, knee-length shorts, underwear, and flip-flops.

"What, Shinji!" Michihiko looks bewildered as I dive into the water. The pressure of the cold water against the warmth of the night feels exhilarating. I glance back and see Michihiko standing there, looking dazed.

"You're not coming in?"

He looks around nervously, then awkwardly undresses, stepping into the water with hesitant steps. When I splash water at him, he stumbles and falls in with a splash.

As I laugh, he retaliates, splashing water back at me. We end up playing like kids, splashing each other. Finally, I pick up a big rock from the riverbed and toss it near him, creating a big splash. His panicked reaction is hilarious.

While playing in the water was fun, soon our bodies began to feel cold. Climbing back onto the shore and trying to put on my clothes, I noticed that the large rock I absentmindedly touched was warm. I climbed up the rock, still completely naked, and lay down on the flat top. Soon, a large dark shadow followed.

Michihiko, also naked, snuggled up right next to me. Michihiko's body, like mine, felt cool.

"This is fun, isn't it?"

Michihiko tilted his head happily. It's stupid for a grown man to swim naked in the middle of the night. But no one is watching anyway. As long as it's fun. Michihiko, a high-earning salaryman, might be considered crazy if he told anyone about this.

“The dragon on your back is smiling at the real moon,” he said, tracing my back with his finger. The touch was both sensual and ticklish, making my lower body tingle.

“It’s not smiling, you idiot. It’s roaring. How many times do I have to tell you?”

I sat up, and he grabbed my hand.

"It's strange how being with you is so much fun."

Michihiko stared at me earnestly.

"Even if it seems silly, it's strangely enjoyable. It's enigmatic, isn't it? Even when we’re angry or fighting, I still want to be by your side."

Saying this, Michihiko smiled.

"I'm glad I met you in junior high school. Thank you for being by my side in my life."

My chest tightened. It wasn't painful, but rather, I felt like crying from happiness and involuntarily looked down.

"Please continue to stay with me... I want to be with you."

His fingers drew me closer. Still looking down, I pressed my face against Michihiko's neck.

"You're the only one who says things like that. Fool."

Tears welled up, and I tightly pressed my face against Michihiko's neck.

"Shinji, are you crying?"

I didn’t respond.

"Shinji, you're quite the crybaby, aren't you?"

When Yamada raised his head, there was a perfectly round, unblemished moon over Michihiko's shoulder. Contemplating that a smiling dragon would be more fitting for a half-baked person like himself than a roaring one, he held onto what was most precious to him and stared fixedly at the pale blue moon.

 

THE END

Footnotes

0. Content warning: violence.

1. Around 9.8 feet.

2. Around 3 feet.

3. Around 65 feet.

4. Around 33 feet.

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