Secret: Chapter 1 - Part 1

T.N: I will keep certain terms in the original Japanese. I will also keep the order of their names Last Name First Name like in Japanese. I think you already know the meaning of these words, but I will still give the English definition for those who don’t.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate).

3. 先輩 (senpai): This term is used to refer to someone who is senior to you in a particular context, like in a school club, workplace, or other organizations. It's used to show respect to someone who has more experience or has been in the organization longer than you. The opposite of senpai is 後輩 (kōhai), which refers to juniors or newcomers.

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

At the beginning of June, Utsumi Keita bought a freezer. The store said it would be delivered by five in the evening, but the delivery didn't arrive at his apartment until well past eight that night.

“Sorry it’s so late. We’ve been swamped with air conditioner installations since the start of the month, and those take quite a bit of time,” said the delivery man, a man in his mid-forties, with a greasy face and a forced smile.

“Are you living alone?” the man asked.

Keita nodded slightly without saying a word.

“By any chance, are you into fishing?”

“No.”

After placing the freezer next to the microwave, the man wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his light green work uniform.

“Not many people buy freezers, you know. When they do, it’s usually a fish market or a restaurant. I remember another customer who bought a freezer once. He said he liked fishing and used it to freeze his catches as mementos. So, what are you going to use this for?”

Keita paused for a moment and then muttered, “I like frozen food.” 

Handing over the signed receipt, the man shrugged, “Eating too much of that stuff isn’t good for you, especially when you're young.”

Keita wondered how the man’s face would change if he told him the truth. But if his plan went as imagined, one word here could lead to troublesome complications later.

The man would eventually testify to the police, his greasy face flushed, his words tinged with contempt for social evils, though his eyes would shine with curiosity. “At first, I thought it was a joke. I mean, who would believe someone bought a freezer to freeze a person?”

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Even after the sun had set, the temperature didn’t drop much. The gaudy brightness of the downtown area amplified the muggy summer night heat. Just walking made sweat trickle from his forehead and down his back. The heavy backpack dug into his shoulders. Textbooks and binders... he felt a reckless urge to throw them away, but the rational part of him whispered that he needed them for tomorrow's classes.

Turning left from the main street into an alley, the atmosphere changed drastically. The lights were fewer, and there were more men walking around.

"That street over there is famous for having a lot of those kinds of places. It’s not as big as Shinjuku’s Ni-chome, though," a man had once told him. While he couldn't deny being curious, it never went beyond that. With a partner of his own, he had thought the idea of cruising in a male pleasure district had nothing to do with him. He had a sense of pride, believing he wasn’t attracted to men in general but loved a particular person.

A chuckle rose from deep inside as he realized what he was doing now: looking for someone to offer him a place to sleep for the night. He didn’t care if it involved sex. 

To be honest, he didn’t enjoy sex. It was painful, and just when he’d finally get hard, he would quickly ejaculate. The pleasure didn’t last. The timing was always off, and even if he climaxed, his partner often didn’t, making it a chore to keep going. He'd be told to moan and had to fake enjoyment. The memories alone made him feel hollow. He wasn’t seeking pleasure. He just wanted a place to stay. He didn’t need feelings. What was there to expect from such debauchery? Perhaps he wanted to become ruined, to break down.

A light bump. His arm brushed against someone’s as they passed. The touch of clammy skin sent a shiver down his spine.

“Sorry,” he mumbled insincerely, the lingering discomfort sticking in his mind.

“No, it’s my fault,” said a man in his fifties, slightly overweight, with red eyes, perhaps from drinking.

“Are you a student?” he asked, his voice sticky, his eyes slowly moving up and down Keita’s body.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Want to go somewhere? I’ll get you whatever you like.”

He wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t interested in this middle-aged man who referred to himself as “boku.¹” Although he thought he could have sex with anyone who’d let him stay over, this guy was a no-go. It was a visceral aversion.

“Come on, let’s go,” the man insisted, his moist hand gripping Keita’s upper arm. The slimy touch made Keita recoil in disgust, roughly shaking him off. The man’s goofy expression turned menacing in an instant. His eyes narrowed, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“You think you’re something special, huh?”

The loud voice made a few passersby turn their heads. The man spat on the roadside, glared at Keita once more, and walked away. His open display of disdain and desire was easily understandable. In a minute or two, the man and the bystanders who had glanced back disappeared, as if nothing had happened.

Keita started walking again, wondering why he was so determined to keep going. He was tired and thirsty. He wanted to sit somewhere and have a drink. Acting on impulse, he pushed open the door of a bar on his right.

“Welcome,” said the bartender.

The interior was dim and not very spacious. Besides the long counter, there were five round tables. About seven or eight customers were inside, some standing against the wall, talking. As soon as he entered, Keita felt like everyone was staring at him. It made him uneasy, but the thought of finding another place was too much of a hassle, so he quickly walked to the counter. Sitting down on a stool where he was no longer visible to the patrons, he felt somewhat relieved. The music playing in the background was old. There was something melancholic about the Western songs from the sixties.

"Welcome."

From behind the counter, the bartender greeted him. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a deeply chiseled, handsome face and a thin beard that suited his chin. If this man invited him, Keita thought he might consider sleeping with him.

"What would you like to order?"

"A beer."

The man disappeared from view. Keita leaned both elbows on the counter, trying to piece together everything in his mind. Things had become unclear as he walked.

"Hey, you."

Turning around, he saw a man in a short-sleeved shirt and slacks standing behind him. He looked a bit older than Keita, of average build, with an unremarkable face. His eyes were small and far apart, reminding Keita of a crucian carp he'd seen abandoned by the roadside on a hot, muggy summer day when he was in elementary school. He’d squatted down to look at it, only to be startled by maggots crawling out of its milky eyes.

"Waiting for someone?"

Keita shook his head. The man eagerly sat in the empty seat next to him, smiling with his crucian carp face as he said, "You’re cute." The beer he ordered was placed in front of him, and Keita pretended to focus on it, ignoring the man.

"First time here?"

A hand on his shoulder made his skin crawl with irritation. He looked at the man’s face again. No matter how hard he tried, all he saw was the "crucian carp." It no longer looked human.

"Sorry."

He brushed the hand off his shoulder dismissively.

"Sorry doesn’t explain much. You look pale. If you’re not feeling well, why don’t we go somewhere else to rest?" The crucian carp's eyes narrowed lewdly. Just as Keita was about to leave the bar, the bartender who had taken his order approached and led the crucian carp man to a corner of the bar. Soon, the bartender returned to Keita’s side.

"Can I ask you something?"

The bartender spoke to him, watching his expression.

"It’s your first time here, right?"

Keita nodded.

"To be honest, this bar is popular with gay men. Did you know that?"

"Yes."

The bartender sighed with relief.

"Most of our customers are regulars, and they’re decent folks. But if someone you’re not interested in approaches you, it’s best to politely decline from the start. Say you’re meeting someone or anything like that. It’s kind of an unspoken rule here."

"Sorry. I think I’ll leave."

The bartender quickly waved his hand.

"That’s not what I meant. I just thought you might not know. If you don’t mind the atmosphere, you’re welcome to stay. We’re happy to have solo drinkers, too."

Keita hesitated about leaving but was held back by the half-full beer. He decided to finish his drink before heading out. As he drank, the reason he was in an unfamiliar gay bar drinking beer became hazy again. He couldn’t go back to his apartment. Why? Because there was a corpse there.

Staring at his hands, he marveled at how unreal it felt, considering how easily he had killed someone. He’d wanted to kill that man for a long time, his murderous intent ebbing and flowing like waves. The urge had been strong, but it never pushed him to act until it finally did.

His head ached, and everything seemed foggy. He forgot what had triggered the murder again. He didn’t regret killing him, but stuffing the body in the freezer was a mistake. It made staying in the apartment unbearable. Living with a frozen corpse was masochistic without love. Why had he bought the freezer? Because he enjoyed the spice of reality in his fantasies.

...Ah, he remembered the spring that triggered his impulse.

“You talk about writing a novel but never submit anything. You’re just intoxicated by the idea of being an aspiring writer. Saying you’re aiming to be a novelist sounds impressive, even if you never write.”

If it had only been about losing love, he could have controlled his impulse. But having his very identity denied had plunged his mind into darkness. His senses and emotions rekindled, tears welled up in his eyes, his fingers trembled, and his heart ached as if being squeezed. ...It was unbearable. He couldn’t think about it. That’s why he “forgot,” but it all came back again.

He felt someone sit on the stool next to him. When their eyes met, the man nodded slightly.

He looked to be in his mid-twenties, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, a casual outfit in a place where many wore suits. Keita couldn’t judge; he was dressed similarly. The man’s hair was neither short nor long, and his face had no distinctive features. The average features somehow seemed attractive upon closer inspection.

"Good evening."

"Hello," Keita replied, looking down. He didn’t want the man to see his tear-streaked face or ask for an explanation.

"You're quite late today," the bartender called out to the man next to Keita.

"I was busy with work."

"You start at nine in the morning. It’s already past eleven."

The bartender looked concerned.

"An employee called in sick. They were short-staffed and needed help."

"Helping others isn’t bad, but you’re working too much."

"I’m fine. Just a bit tired."

"You..."

"Thanks for worrying."

Listening to their conversation, Keita met the man’s gaze again. The man's large, dark eyes stared at him unblinkingly like a small animal’s.

"Mitsuru," the bartender called, making the man blink.

"Don’t stare like that. You’re making him uncomfortable."

The man’s face showed sudden anxiety. His previously unwavering gaze started to waver like a kite with a cut string.

"Sorry. You just seemed...um, you wear glasses. Are your eyes bad?"

Not sure if the question was directed at him, Keita asked, "Me?"

"Yes, you. You’re wearing glasses."

"My eyesight is bad. I've worn glasses since elementary school."

The man smiled warmly.

"Glasses suit you. I... I had a classmate who was very kind to me before I started junior high. He wore glasses, too."

Gesturing animatedly, the man spoke with a hint of excitement. His manner of speaking was odd, but his good intentions were clear. Keita wondered if he could have sex with this man. Among those who had approached him, this man seemed the most decent. If he had to grade him, he’d say 'acceptable.'

"I really liked that boy," the man was saying when a voice interrupted from behind.

Turning around, Keita saw a man around the same age as the one next to him, wearing a khaki T-shirt and with short hair.

"Sorry to interrupt. Mind if I join the conversation?" The short-haired man apologized without any hint of guilt and glanced at the man Keita had been talking to.

"I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Mind if we chat?" His straightforwardness drew Keita in. He liked people who spoke clearly, and this man was also good-looking. When he glanced at the man next to him, he saw a sad, abandoned puppy-like look in his eyes.

"Come on over," the short-haired man urged, sensing Keita's hesitation. The man beside him stayed silent, even as Keita was being led away.

"Sorry," Keita apologized to the short-haired man. "I’m talking to this person right now."

The man backed off easily, saying, "Well, if you change your mind, come find me. I’ll be over there." Even though the man next to him looked sad and seemed to want to continue talking, he said nothing, and an awkward silence ensued. Keita began to regret not going with the other man.

"Um," the man finally spoke. "Do you have someone you like?"

It was a direct question. Keita answered, "No." It wasn't a lie. He thought the conversation might pick up from there, but silence fell again. Despite the clear mutual interest, they weren’t moving forward. Keita had finished his beer and was about to stand up and grab his backpack when another beer was placed in front of him.

"I didn’t order this."

"The guy next to you sent it over," the bartender said with a smile. Now feeling obligated to stay, Keita said, "Thank you," and the man nodded slightly.

"The guy next to you is Sugiura Mitsuru. He’s a serious and kind guy but very shy and introverted," the bartender introduced the man.

Keita, who also tended to be introverted, found it particularly annoying to see someone else’s shyness tonight. Perhaps it was self-loathing. He quickly drank the free beer and asked the bartender, "How much do I owe?"

Despite showing signs of leaving, the man next to him took no action to stop him. Without any further ado, Keita left the bar.

Outside, the stagnant air was filled with the sounds of passing cars and distant laughter. As he kept moving his feet, the reality of being there began to fade, the surrounding noise amplifying the sensation. What was he doing again? A corpse, a freezer, the night. Right, he was looking for a place to stay. He didn’t mind having sex if it meant having someone beside him, a place to lie down and sleep until morning.

His body jerked as a strong grip grabbed his arm, jolting him back to reality.

"Hey," he said, initially thinking a drunk had accosted him in the dark.

"I have a cousin working at that bar. I usually just have one drink and leave without talking to anyone," the voice made him realize it was the man who had sat next to him.

"I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so..."

In the car's headlights, he saw the man's trembling mouth and desperate face.

"I just… I was curious and followed you…"

Touched by the man's awkward display of affection, Keita felt a twinge of empathy. Not being particularly smooth himself, he felt pity for the man.

"I’m weird like this... strange..."

Keita could see the man was fumbling, and while it might have been irritating, he found it more pitiable at the moment. If this man could offer him a place to stay for the night, Keita might as well go with him. If sex was on the table, he could oblige without much trouble.

"I don’t have a place to stay tonight."

The man tilted his head in confusion.

"If you let me stay over, we can have sex. I’m not very experienced, so I might not be good at it, though."

The man's eyes widened in surprise, and he mumbled, "Really? You'd... have sex with me?"

"If I can stay over."

The man looked down. Although he didn’t say yes or no, his grip on Keita’s arm tightened. When he finally looked up, he said clearly, "I want to do it with you."

"I don’t like being alone at night. After we’re done, can we stay together until morning?" Keita added another condition.

The man bent his back slightly, peering into Keita's face. "You’ll stay with me until morning?"

"Yeah."

The man whispered, "That makes me happy." The deal was sealed. His companion for the night would be this awkward man. The grip on Keita's arm tightened, and when Keita said, "You're hurting my arm," the man quickly let go. His clumsiness was glaringly obvious.

"I don’t know this area well. Some hotels might not accept two men. Do you know any places?" Keita asked.

The man hesitated. "I don't know..."

Keita sighed quietly. Walking around an unfamiliar area to find a hotel was the last thing he wanted. He had mostly stayed with his ex in his own room and rarely used hotels. The ones he knew were far from here. Taking the train to a familiar hotel seemed pointless. He glanced up at the man.

"Do you live alone?"

"Are you talking about me?"

"Who else would I be talking to?"

The man awkwardly smiled along with Keita’s chuckle.

"I live alone."

"Then can I come over?"

The man looked shocked. Keita frowned.

"If you don’t want to, we can find a hotel."

"No, no," the man quickly denied. "You want to come to my place?"

"Yeah, I guess."

The man smiled, saying, "That makes me happy." Not even an hour had passed since they first met, yet they’d already agreed to have sex. There was no emotion or charm to it—just raw impulse and Keita’s terms. Even so, the man’s reactions kept snagging on Keita's mind, like a stream cluttered with rocks.

"Shall we go? Which way is your place?" Keita prompted.

The man hesitated, looking around nervously. When he finally started walking, he stopped after just a few steps.

"What’s wrong?" Keita asked, looking back.

With a despairing expression, the man muttered, "I don’t know where we are."

It turned out they were just ten meters to the left of the bar, around a single corner.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

The man's apartment was a 15-minute train ride away, just one stop before the final stop of a private railway line. It was about a 10-minute walk from the station, situated along a one-way road in an old, five-story reinforced concrete building without an elevator.

As soon as you entered, there was a small kitchen, and beyond that, a 10 square meter room with a wooden floor—a compact one-room apartment. Despite its small size, the apartment was surprisingly tidy, not what you’d expect from a man living alone.

A mattress-only bed came into view. He was going to have sex with this man on that bed. A bed offered as the price of sex. Even though he had agreed to it, his feet suddenly felt heavy. The man's sluggish movements, which had irritated him before, now filled him with an odd tension, even though nothing had changed.

To distract himself, Keita looked around the room. On the wall opposite the mattress was a large steel rack filled with DVDs. There were no books. Whenever Keita visited someone’s place, he would first check out their bookshelf—books offered a glimpse into a person's character.

This man didn’t read. That’s the kind of person he was. A boring guy... that’s what Keita honestly thought.

“Please, have a seat.”

Feeling it was awkward to just stand there, Keita sat down in front of a small, square wooden low table.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No... actually, yes, I will.”

“Is water okay?”

“Sure.”

The man returned to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of mineral water. Keita drank half of it, and even the remnants of his fading intoxication seemed to disappear. For a moment, he wondered where he was. An unfamiliar room, dark eyes watching him.

That’s right, he had no place to stay, so he ended up in a stranger’s apartment, agreeing to sex as a condition. Keita glanced at the mattress. How nice it would be if he could just sleep there without having to go through with the sex.

The man stood up and came to sit beside him. The proximity was natural, expected even. But as the man drew closer, Keita felt strange. The man's clumsy way of speaking didn’t match the act of sex. This feeling... yes, it was discomfort. He felt a twinge of it. When the man touched his ear, Keita flinched, and the man quickly withdrew his fingers, as if startled.

“Sorry, do you not like your ears being touched?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. Go ahead, don’t worry about it.”

The man seemed hesitant and didn’t touch him again. Though they were close enough that Keita could hear his breathing, the man just stayed there, still. It was frustrating; he couldn’t exactly tell him to hurry up, but continuing like this was unbearable.

“Hey, do you mind if I take a shower? I’m sweaty.”

The man quietly murmured, “Go ahead.” Keita quickly escaped to the bathroom. The moment he was alone, he let out a long sigh. If they were going to do it, he wished the man would just push through, even if it made him tremble a little. But the man’s awkward hesitation was suffocating.

Keita stripped and squatted in the bathtub, letting the hot water rain down on him as he stared at his wet hands. These white hands—they were the hands of a murderer.

The one who had tormented him had died so easily. He had mixed store-bought sleeping pills into coffee, waited for the man to fall asleep, and then strangled him with both hands. Afterward, he tied the body into a small bundle with a rope, stuffed it into a large, semi-transparent garbage bag, and shoved it into the freezer, turning the power on. He could faintly hear the hum of the machine, the sound of the body freezing. Look, it’s gone. This way, it wouldn’t rot or smell.

He couldn’t clearly remember when he had killed the man. A week... two weeks? Maybe about a month had passed. He was so caught up in the act that the surrounding memories were blurry.

Immediately after the murder, he felt a rush of relief, like he had discarded a heavy burden. But as the night wore on and the sound of the freezer became more pronounced in the stillness, a nameless fear began to creep up from his feet.

He started to wonder if the man might not actually be dead, because it had been too easy to kill him. Once the thought took hold, his imagination ran wild. He hadn’t confirmed that the man’s heart had stopped. He had just assumed he was dead because he stopped moving. Even if he wasn’t dead, being in the freezer for so many hours would surely have done him in. But what if, like in the concept of cryogenic sleep, the man could be revived if thawed correctly?

Stupid, he laughed to himself. That’s just something from a novel.

The freezer door suddenly swung open. The tightly bound man tumbled out, ripping through the plastic and tearing off the ropes, standing up with a gaze full of hatred. He was furious, of course—he had almost been killed.

The man chased after him, and Keita fled to the bathroom. There was a knock on the door. Keita covered his ears and bowed his head.

“Can I come in?”

The rain of hot water poured down on him. The narrow space, the cream-colored walls. Whose voice was that? His back trembled.

“N-no, don’t.”

“I’m just leaving a towel. I won’t look.”

He sensed the door opening. Keita pressed himself against the narrow tub’s wall. The shower curtain was pulled back, and the man glared at him with burning eyes before the door closed again. The sound of the pouring water was deafening, like a torrential downpour. He stared at the unfamiliar shower curtain. Where was this place?

Remember. This was the apartment of a stranger. There was no freezer, no corpse. What a powerful imagination. Keita looked up and laughed, his shoulders shaking. ...He almost let his imagination kill him.

The night he killed the man, Keita had packed textbooks, notebooks, and his wallet into his backpack and went to a friend’s house. He was too scared to be alone. He hadn’t returned to his apartment since. Occasionally, he had nightmares. In them, his lover sought revenge, driven by the power of Keita’s imagination. No matter how much he tried to escape, the hateful and malicious eyes always caught up with him, and he would be killed. Fear, pain—it was unbearable. Was this guilt? Was this normal? But after killing someone, could the word “normal” even apply?

He woke up from his nightmares in a sweat, relieved to find it was just a dream, but still shaken. There was always someone next to him, and he was deeply comforted by the fact that he wasn’t alone. This was the real world. The fear belonged to the dream. If he had stayed in that apartment alone, tormented by such nightmares, he would have gone insane. The friends who had kindly let him stay at first began to grow weary of his presence as time passed. He bounced from one friend’s house to another until finally, he ran out of places to go.

He had no place to stay tonight, so he just walked and walked. If it was just sleep, he could sleep outside. He didn’t care who it was, he just wanted someone by his side while he slept. That’s why sex was included. It was his connection back to reality.

After a quick rinse, he left the bathroom. He hesitated about whether to get dressed or not. In the end, he put on his clothes. When he returned to the room, the man immediately went into the bathroom in his place. Keita watched his hurried retreat with cold eyes. He invited the man because he didn’t want to sleep alone, yet now he felt relieved to be by himself.

When he sat down on the mattress, it sank slightly under his weight. The springs were soft, and lying down felt like being absorbed into the sheets. When he closed his eyes, he could smell the scent of someone unfamiliar. It was a sweet, childlike smell. His sleep had been shallow for a long time, both before and after he killed the man. He woke up multiple times in the middle of the night, haunted by the recurring nightmare. Whether alive or dead, that man continued to affect him, deep in his mind and soul.

As he lay still, drowsiness crept in. He blinked repeatedly and finally gave in to his desire to sleep, thinking that the man would probably wake him when he came out of the bathroom.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Keita propped himself up on the mattress, hugging his knees as he gazed at the sunlight filtering through a gap in the curtains. His brain cells were still asleep, slow to process the situation and draw any conclusions. At least, he hadn’t had a nightmare last night. His throat felt dry. He wanted some water. As he got up from the mattress, his right foot stepped on something hard.

“Ouch.”

Startled, he stepped back to see a towel blanket move, and a man's foot emerged from the edge. Seeing the man rubbing his calf, Keita remembered the conversation at the bar and their agreement to have sex. …But he had no memory of anything after lying down on the mattress.

“Sorry, I stepped on you.”

The man furrowed his brow but groggily scratched his head and said, “It’s okay.” When Keita remained frozen, the man repeated, “Really, it’s fine.” It seemed that they had just fallen asleep without doing anything.

“I thought you would wake me up even if I fell asleep.”

Feeling awkward, Keita scratched the back of his head, even though it didn’t itch.

“I called out to you, but you didn’t wake up, and you looked so peaceful.”

The walls must have been thin because he could hear the morning news program from the next room. He didn’t feel like having sex at all, but he didn’t want to back out either.

“Should we do it now?”

The clock on the mattress-side table showed 7:30 a.m.

“I have to get to work,” the man said as he slowly got up.

“Oh, right.”

“Could you leave with me?”

“I’ve got a class starting first period too.”

“Are you a college student?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm,” the man murmured as he changed into jeans and a black T-shirt in front of Keita. At first glance, he seemed skinny, but now Keita could see he had a nicely toned back.

They both washed their faces quickly and left the apartment together. The road to the station was busy with commuting salarymen and students, and Keita walked beside the man in silence. Unable to stand the quiet any longer, Keita apologized, “Sorry.”

The man stopped walking.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For falling asleep first last night.”

The man smiled softly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But…”

“Really, it’s fine.”

With that response, Keita felt like all the blame was on him.

“So, um... are you enjoying the school you got into?”

The question came out of nowhere.

“You mean college?”

“Oh, yeah, college.”

Keita thought the man’s roundabout way of speaking was odd, but he answered anyway.

“College is... normal.”

“Hmm,” the man nodded. Since he had asked, Keita felt obliged to return the favor.

“What kind of job do you do?”

“I’m working part-time.”

Keita had assumed the man had a steady job, but now that he thought about it, he realized that the man’s T-shirt and jeans weren’t exactly office wear. He definitely wasn’t a salaryman.

“I thought you might be a civil servant.”

“Do I seem smart?”

The man looked pleased, which Keita found amusing. It wasn’t so much that he seemed smart—more that his seriousness and slightly off-kilter attitude made him seem like a stiff bureaucrat. They arrived at the crowded station. Keita bought a ticket, but the man just stood by, not purchasing one.

“Aren’t you taking the train?”

“The bus is more convenient to get to work,” the man replied. He stared at Keita, making it hard for him to pass through the ticket gate. A twinge of guilt welled up in Keita’s chest. He wondered what he should do that night.

He glanced up at the man. Despite being awkward, he was serious and hadn’t tried anything while Keita slept. The man wasn’t bad... not amazing, but not bad either.

“We could try again tonight.”

“Try again?”

Frustrated by the man’s slowness, Keita cut to the chase.

“We didn’t do it last night. So, should we do it tonight instead?”

It finally seemed to click in the man’s slow brain, and his ears turned bright red.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

After Keita confirmed it, the man smiled.

“I thought you didn’t like me. So, I’m really happy.”

The man’s shift ended after 10 p.m., so they agreed that Keita would come to the apartment at 11.

Even after Keita passed through the ticket gate, the man stood there, watching him. When Keita glanced back one last time, the man was still there, looking like a loyal dog.

As Keita descended the stairs leading to the platform, he wondered how old the man was. His way of thinking and speaking seemed so childish. Maybe he was about the same age. Lost in thought, Keita suddenly realized something. The bartender had told him the man’s name once, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember it.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Footnotes

0. Content warning: NSFW, violence.

1. In Japanese, the choice of personal pronouns can convey a lot about a person's character, social status, and even their intentions. “Boku” (僕) is a relatively casual and modest way for men to refer to themselves, often used by younger men or boys. It's considered polite and somewhat humble, but also youthful.

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