Secret: Chapter 1 - Part 2

 The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

As soon as Keita opened the door marked with the “Literature Club” plate, he was hit by the stuffy, stagnant air. Leaving the door open, he headed straight for the window on the opposite side. Pulling back the faded curtains and opening the window, the loud chorus of cicadas rushed in. His bangs stirred in the breeze. The newly created draft flowed directly through to the open doorway.

Keita lay down on the old spring couch in the roughly 10-square-meter club room, surrounded by bookshelves. Third period had been canceled. There were plenty of cooler places he could have gone—like the library or a café—but he chose this air conditioner-less room because no one else would come here.

He had loved reading books since childhood. As he grew older, it was only natural that he began to want to write, to become a writer himself. In high school, he seriously aimed for a literary debut while still in his teens. But he always quit halfway through his writing projects, frustrated when the words didn’t flow as he wanted. His desk drawers became filled with unfinished manuscripts. He graduated high school, wondering why things hadn’t gone as he expected, and entered university. He joined the Literature Club, surrounded by friends with the same aspirations, but for some reason, he still couldn’t complete a single piece. He was almost 21 now. Whether he did something or nothing, time passed steadily by.

Sweat trickled down his forehead. It was unbearably humid. He wiped the sweat with his fingertips and then thrust his hand high towards the ceiling. An extraordinary hand. The hand of a murderer. A heinous criminal.

The man he had killed, Yanagisawa Toshihisa, was an actor in a theater troupe. Last year, one of Keita’s seniors in the Literature Club, Ikeda, had co-written a script with a friend who was a playwright for the troupe. This led to Keita being roped in to help, and it was then that he met Yanagisawa.

Keita’s first impression of him was that he was the complete opposite of himself: a "cheerful man." He was talkative and laughed often. Yanagisawa was 26 years old, making him the third oldest among the 15 members of the young theater troupe. He played a crucial role as the troupe's mood maker, sometimes completely changing the atmosphere of a performance with just a few words. Keita was strongly drawn to Yanagisawa’s powerful personality and unwavering sense of self, but it never went beyond admiration.

It was on the final night of the performance, after the wrap party. On their way back from the second round of drinks, Keita and Yanagisawa were walking side by side on a deserted sidewalk, chatting. Yanagisawa, slightly drunk, spoke passionately about his love for acting. Looking back, it was all just empty ideals, but at the time, Keita was moved by what seemed to be Yanagisawa’s stoic and sincere dedication.

Yanagisawa confessed his love as they parted ways. Keita immediately understood from Yanagisawa’s serious expression that he meant it romantically. Before he could feel any repulsion towards the idea of being in love with another man, his body heated up at the abnormal situation of being confessed to by the same sex. There was a sense of longing for a world he didn’t know, an attraction to being part of a minority, and a strange, inexplicable feeling of superiority that came with it. More than whether or not he actually loved Yanagisawa, Keita was excited by Yanagisawa’s overwhelming presence and the “unordinary” nature of it all.

Without ever knowing a woman, Keita was introduced to men. Even the rough, painful sex that overwhelmed pleasure was something he endured desperately. Over time, his body got used to accepting a man, and he learned how to pleasure with his mouth and move his hips while on top. Eventually, Yanagisawa began to spend more and more time at Keita’s apartment, and after half a year of what felt like living together, Keita began to see things he hadn’t noticed before.

Yanagisawa often spoke about his dream of going to America and becoming an actor who could make it on the world stage, but he never took any concrete steps towards that goal—he didn’t study English or gather materials about the industry overseas. While it seemed he genuinely wanted to make it internationally, his dreams never materialized into action.

Although he was friendly, Yanagisawa was fickle and never stuck with a job for long, so he was always strapped for cash. He began asking Keita to lend him money, and Keita, unable to refuse, would give him a thousand or two thousand yen. Yanagisawa never paid him back.

Members of the theater troupe had a quota of tickets to sell for performances. Keita sold Yanagisawa’s share of tickets to his university friends and acquaintances. But whatever remained unsold, Keita bought himself. This meant he attended the same performance multiple times. Once the feverish period passed, Keita’s lover, who claimed to want to be a world-class actor, began to seem smaller and smaller on stage.

By the time Keita realized he had been intoxicated by the forbidden nature of homosexuality, he was already too deeply involved with a man who only talked about his dreams. Keita believed he could change Yanagisawa, knowing his strengths and weaknesses intimately. He began pushing his own ideas on the older man, who particularly disliked being interfered with by others. Even when Yanagisawa resisted, Keita insisted it was for his sake. This one-sided display of concern only fueled Yanagisawa’s resentment, and their relationship began to deteriorate.

It was towards the end of February. Keita had woken up that day with a heavy head. By the time he started his part-time job in the evening, he was shivering with chills, and a persistent cough wouldn’t stop. The store manager took pity on him and sent him home around 8 p.m.

Keita stumbled his way to his apartment, and when he looked up at his window from the sidewalk, he saw the light was on. Yanagisawa was there. It had been almost ten days since they had seen each other, after Yanagisawa said he wanted to focus on rehearsals for an upcoming performance. Keita had wanted to see him and talk, but tonight, he just wanted to be alone. He sighed at the bad timing.

The door wasn’t locked. Yanagisawa never locked the door, so Keita didn’t think much of it. But when he noticed a pair of unfamiliar shoes in the entryway, his heart sank. Yanagisawa had let someone into the apartment while he was out. It wasn’t uncommon for members of the troupe to visit Keita’s place to talk to Yanagisawa. Keita trudged wearily through the kitchen and into the 10-square-meter back room, where he was stunned by what he saw. …His lover was having sex in Keita’s bed, frantically thrusting in his favorite position, with the other man on all fours.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Keita’s shout startled Yanagisawa, who quickly pulled himself out of the other man, hastily covering his still-erect crotch with a towel blanket. “W-Weren’t you supposed to be at work?” he stammered. As the realization that Yanagisawa was cheating sank in, a wave of fury surged through Keita like gasoline poured on a fire. Without a word, he dragged the other man off the bed and threw him out of the apartment. Then he turned to Yanagisawa, who was avoiding eye contact, and demanded answers.

“What the hell were you doing while I was out?”

“…Using your place as a hotel was wrong of me.”

That wasn’t the issue. The real problem was why he had sex with another man while he was supposed to be in a relationship with Keita. Yanagisawa didn’t understand that at all.

“What the hell do you take me for?”

Yanagisawa didn’t answer, his gaze shifting nervously. When an exasperated Keita shouted, “Say something!” Yanagisawa finally opened his mouth.

“Maybe… maybe we’re just not working out anymore.”

Keita felt as though he had been struck in the head, his fevered mind reeling.

“W-Why…”

In an instant, their positions were reversed. Keita collapsed to his knees, and Yanagisawa, now emboldened, lit a cigarette at the bedside.

“There’s no benefit to me being with you, Keita. I’m not stimulated by you anymore.”

Keita hadn’t been with Yanagisawa for the sake of gain or loss. He had been with him because he loved him. The way Yanagisawa reduced their relationship to something transactional, implying Keita was worthless if he didn’t serve a purpose, made his chest ache.

“…No, I don’t want this.”

Keita bit his lip and murmured, "I don’t want to break up."

The moment their eyes met, his chest trembled. Yanagisawa stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, then approached Keita and slowly kissed him. As Yanagisawa began unbuttoning his shirt, Keita recalled the image of Yanagisawa having sex with another man and tried to resist, shaking his head in refusal. But Yanagisawa pulled him forcefully closer.

"Don’t be so coy," Yanagisawa whispered, simultaneously gripping Keita’s crotch tightly.

"N-no, I don’t want to," Keita protested.

"You coming home early left me like this," Yanagisawa said, pressing his half-erect penis against Keita.

"I really don’t want to. And I’m sick…"

Even as Keita pleaded, trembling, Yanagisawa merely responded with a dismissive "Hmm." Worse still, he began without hesitation, saying, "Exercise might help you feel better."

Yanagisawa tried to enter Keita without using a condom, despite having just been with another man. When Keita resisted, Yanagisawa slapped him. Keita couldn’t remember being hit, even by his parents, since he was a child. Shocked into submission by the violence, Keita went silent, and Yanagisawa took advantage of that to force himself inside. Although his body was accustomed to the act and he could feel pleasure, Keita felt a deep sense of emptiness, as if he had become nothing more than an object.

After Yanagisawa had finished inside Keita, he left before the last train. Keita spent the next two days bedridden. On the fourth day, Yanagisawa, who hadn’t called even once, showed up out of the blue. Without any preamble, he tried to undress Keita, and when Keita resisted, he was slapped again. Yanagisawa stripped him naked and entered him once more without a condom. As Keita lay face down, crying, Yanagisawa coldly said, "If you love me, let me do what I want." Yanagisawa was taking advantage of Keita’s love for him, and Keita knew this relationship was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to defy Yanagisawa. He continued to give his body and money whenever Yanagisawa demanded.

Keita constantly wondered if Yanagisawa really loved him. But he clung to the kindness Yanagisawa had shown at the beginning, and the warmth he felt, even when the sex was rough. He kept hoping that one day Yanagisawa would stop hitting him, like in the old days.

However, hitting only created subservience and resentment. His body obeyed, but his heart was breaking. All that accumulated were doubts and distrust. Still, Keita couldn’t leave. If he broke up with Yanagisawa, all the violence and time he had endured would lose their meaning. But that wasn’t the only reason. Keita had completely missed the "right time" to break up.

One night, despite usually leaving immediately after sex, Yanagisawa fell asleep beside him, probably because he was tired. Watching Yanagisawa’s sleeping face, Keita suddenly thought about killing him. If he killed Yanagisawa, those eyes would never open again. Those hands would never hit him again, those lips would never insult him. The happy memories they had shared wouldn’t be worn away by the fatigue of their current relationship.

Since he couldn’t stand up to Yanagisawa in reality, Keita killed him countless times in his mind—pushing him off a cliff, stabbing him with a kitchen knife. In his fantasies, Yanagisawa, barely breathing, would cry and beg for forgiveness, and Keita would revel in a sense of superiority. But reality never matched up to these fantasies. In reality, Keita was hit, raped, made to submit, and had his pride and love trampled on.

Keita finally bought a freezer. It was a physical manifestation of his fantasies. Half-jokingly, half-seriously, he thought about killing Yanagisawa and storing his body in it. When Yanagisawa saw the freezer in the room, he furrowed his brow and asked, "What are you going to do with something this big?" On especially bad nights, Keita would kill Yanagisawa in his fantasies. Looking at the freezer and the sleeping pills, he realized that carrying out his plan would be simple. Watching the back of the man who treated him so cruelly, Keita found a bit of comfort in thinking, "Your life is in my hands."

That night, for some reason, the sex was rougher than usual. Keita managed to climax once, but after that, he couldn’t find the slightest thread of pleasure, and it ended with just friction. Maybe it was the unbearable heat from the night before that had kept him from sleeping well, but after it was over, Keita was hit with an overwhelming wave of drowsiness. After dozing off for about an hour, he woke up to find Yanagisawa still naked, sitting on the floor reading something. Keita thought it was the script for a play, but then he realized it was his unfinished novel.

He had written about ten pages of it on manuscript paper before losing interest. He had thought that with a short story, he wouldn’t get bored halfway through, but he just couldn’t come up with an ending.

"What are you reading?" Keita asked. Yanagisawa immediately tossed the manuscript into the air. The white sheets fluttered and scattered around the room.

"It’s boring," Yanagisawa muttered, lighting a cigarette. Keita bit down hard on his lower lip and hurriedly gathered the scattered pages.

"I never expected you to understand it," Keita said, his words apparently rubbing Yanagisawa the wrong way because he kicked Keita in the back. Keita fell forward, hitting the floor face-first.

"Your writing is as stuffy and boring as you are. When you said you wanted to be a novelist, I thought you’d be an eccentric and interesting guy, but I was wrong. You’re just average, after all."

Keita’s hands, clutching the manuscript, began to tremble.

"You say I’m all talk, that I never take action, but what about you? You say you want to be a writer, but you’ve never even submitted anything. You’re just intoxicated with the idea of ‘aiming to be a novelist,’ aren’t you? You think saying that makes you sound like you’re doing something meaningful, don’t you?"

Keita’s teeth chattered in rage. Yanagisawa looked at him with mocking eyes.

"Instead of wasting your time writing trash, maybe you should start thinking seriously about your future. You’d probably make a good salaryman. It’s important to know when to give up."

The thought terrified Keita—wearing a suit, going to the office at the same time every day, living like a cog in a machine, a life buried in monotony. He hated the idea. Writing, even if it was bad, was still better. Writing novels…

As Keita stared at the floor, Yanagisawa suddenly grabbed his penis through the hem of his shirt. He yanked roughly, taking hold of Keita’s scrotum as well, and Keita’s hips jerked back in a strange posture.

"Man, you really are boring. Don’t you have any redeeming qualities? At least get better in bed or something. Can’t you do something about your premature ejaculation? It’s such a buzzkill when you finish first."

"Let go of me!" Keita yelled.

"You like blowjobs, right? Come on, I’ll suck you off," Yanagisawa said, pulling Keita’s hips towards his mouth. As Keita looked down at Yanagisawa’s foolish face, with his nostrils flaring while he sucked him off and jabbed his finger into Keita’s anus, he thought, "Die."

Die, die, die, die! Keita chanted in his mind until Yanagisawa finally let go of his cock. The spring of his impulse snapped. His fantasy was about to become reality. Keita wiped his saliva-covered penis with the hem of his shirt and went to the kitchen to make coffee with the sleeping pills.

…He awoke to the sound of clattering. He had been about to make coffee, so why was he staring at the ceiling? When he sat up, a figure standing by the bookshelf turned and said, "Sorry, did I wake you?" The light streaming in from behind was blinding, and Keita squinted. It was Ikeda-senpai, who was only 150 cm tall (4’9’’) and was half-jokingly called "Middle Schooler" by everyone.

"Man, how do you sleep in a hot place like this?"

It was just a dream. The vivid emotions and sensations had made it hard to distinguish between dream and reality.

"It feels like it’s been a while since I last saw you, Senpai. You haven’t been coming to the clubroom lately," Keita said.

"I’ve been busy with job hunting. But I managed to get a job offer from a trading company."

Ikeda narrowed his eyes, almost as if trying to scare Keita, saying, "You’re going to have a hard time next year too." But even hearing that, Keita couldn’t imagine himself job hunting next year. More than anything, the word "work" didn’t resonate with him at all.

“…What about your writing?” Keita asked.

Ikeda had entered several literary competitions for new writers, but none of his submissions had been successful. Keita had read some of his manuscripts, but they weren’t interesting, and he honestly hadn’t known how to give feedback.

“I’ll keep writing while I work. Dreams alone don’t pay the bills. But maybe someday I’ll turn professional,” Ikeda replied, surprisingly relaxed about the whole thing. Keita found it strange that he could be so laid-back. He thought Ikeda was already behind, even as a college student. Perhaps Ikeda lacked the passion for writing.

“Oh, by the way, there’s talk of collaborating on another script. It’s for the same theater troupe we helped before. Want to join in?”

Keita’s heart skipped a beat.

“You seemed to enjoy it last time. I thought I’d had enough of scriptwriting after one try, but just hearing about it made me want to do it again. Apparently, this one’s a comedy. Think about it, will you?”

But Keita shook his head.

“I really don’t know anything about writing scripts. And I’m not too fond of the theater people... Sorry.”

“Ah, I see,” Ikeda murmured, looking a bit disappointed, but he didn’t press the issue. After finding the book he was looking for, Ikeda left the clubroom, leaving Keita alone again. Sinking into the sofa, Keita let out a deep sigh.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

In the morning, Keita had told the man, "I'll come by tonight." But as the day went on, the discomfort of having sex with a stranger gradually welled up inside him. He considered not going at all, but as night fell, he started to waver again. He didn’t want to return to his apartment. He had exhausted his options for staying at friends' places. Staying at a hotel would mean being alone, which he hated. In the end, he found himself needing to find a stranger who would let him stay over.

Compared to finding someone new, he figured that this man was a better option. At the very least, he had the restraint not to touch someone while they were asleep. Accepting that sex was inevitable, Keita finally boarded the train, long after their agreed meeting time of 11 p.m.

It was a 15-minute train ride. By the time he left the station platform, the date had already changed. The route to the man’s apartment was simple, so he remembered it easily. He climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and stood in front of the man’s door.

Worried about the neighbors, Keita hesitantly knocked on the door.

“…Yes?” A muffled voice came from the other side.

"Um, it’s me," Keita replied. He hadn’t given his name before, so he couldn’t expect the man to recognize it even if he said it. All he could say was "it’s me." The door slowly opened, and the man stared at Keita’s face. Instead of looking happy, his eyes were filled with sadness. That must have been because Keita was so late.

"Sorry for coming at this hour," Keita apologized.

The tall man lowered his gaze, looking downcast. "I thought you weren’t going to come."

Even though it was true, Keita couldn’t bring himself to admit it. "I got caught up reading a book and lost track of time. I’m sorry."

"Go home," the man said softly, but clearly. When Keita looked up, the man had a tired expression on his face. "I don’t want to be with anyone right now."

Instinctively, Keita glanced at his watch. "But the last train has already left…"

The man narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. "You can’t go back?"

Keita had no intention of going back to his apartment. If he couldn’t stay here, and staying with friends was out of the question, he would have to find a hotel. But he couldn’t remember if there were any hotels or internet cafes around the station. The worst-case scenario would be sleeping outside…

The man pressed his temples with both hands and closed his eyes. After a moment, he slowly opened them again.

"If you can’t go back, you can stay here. But don’t talk to me. I’m not feeling well tonight."

It seemed like it would be better if he left, but the thought of being stranded in an unfamiliar place in the middle of the night was too daunting.

"Okay, come in," the man finally said, gesturing for him to enter. After some hesitation, Keita followed him into the room.

"You can sleep over there," the man pointed out.

Even though he had been told to go home, the man was now allowing him to stay out of kindness, so Keita felt it would be wrong to take the bed.

"If I sleep there, you’ll have to sleep on the floor. That’s not right, so I’ll sleep on the floor," Keita said.

"I’m not going to sleep," the man murmured. He walked straight to the far end of the room and opened a large window. Turning back slowly, he said, "I’m going outside. I want to be alone."

The man stepped out onto the balcony, sat down with his knees drawn up, and hung his head like a scolded schoolboy. Keita realized that the man’s desire to be alone wasn’t just about avoiding conversation; he didn’t want to be around anyone at all. In effect, Keita had driven the man out of his own room. Feeling guilty, Keita approached the window.

"I’m really sorry," he said.

But then he remembered the man had asked him not to talk, so he quickly looked away from the hunched figure outside and returned to the room.

Keita sat down beside the mattress. The man hadn’t closed the window, so it remained open. The white curtains billowed like waves as the wind blew in. Keita wasn’t sleepy, but he lay down on the floor, as he had nothing else to do. Even though he had been told to sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to crawl under the sheets. The lights were still on, and he wasn’t sure if he should turn them off, so he decided to leave it to the man.

He stared blankly at the large shelves in front of him. They were neatly lined with DVDs. Keita wasn’t much of a movie watcher, but he recognized that all the titles he knew were romance films.

About an hour later, the man came back inside from the balcony. Keita quickly closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He wanted to make sure the man didn’t feel the presence of "someone else" any more than necessary.

He heard the creaking of the floorboards getting closer. The man stood by Keita’s head. For some reason, he didn’t move away. Keita’s body tensed, fearing that the man might take advantage of him while he was "asleep." He had been prepared for this, and he wouldn’t say no, but he didn’t like the idea of being assaulted while he slept.

A finger touched the corner of his eye and removed his glasses. Something soft and light was gently draped over his tense body—a smooth fabric. At the same time, the room went dark as the lights were switched off.

With his poor eyesight and without his glasses, Keita was nearly blind in the dark. After a while, his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, and he could vaguely make out the outlines of the walls and large furniture.

The man was sitting at Keita’s feet, his rounded back hunched over. Suddenly, the space in front of the man grew faintly brighter. A flickering light pulsed weakly in the darkness. Though no sound accompanied it, it seemed like a television.

Keita stared blankly at the flashing television too. The man remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the screen. Keita began to wonder what was so captivating, becoming curious about what the man was watching. He raised himself up slightly, glancing around the blurred room. Even when he touched the floor with both hands, nothing felt familiar.

"Hey," he called out quietly, causing the man to jump visibly.

"Where are my glasses?"

The man retrieved the glasses from the table and handed them to Keita. The first thing Keita saw in clear focus was the television. He had been wondering what program was on, and it turned out to be an old black-and-white movie.

"Did the light wake you? Sorry," the man apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful.

"It’s okay. I don’t mind the light," Keita replied.

The TV didn’t have any headphones attached. The man must have muted the sound out of consideration for Keita. Even if he could read the subtitles, watching a silent movie seemed rather dull.

"You can turn the sound on. I can sleep even if it’s a bit noisy," Keita offered.

But the man shook his head. "It’s fine."

Keita looked more closely at the black-and-white film and noticed it wasn’t subtitled—it was dubbed.

"It’s not much fun watching a movie if you can’t hear the dialogue," Keita said.

"It’s fine," the man repeated. "I’ve seen this movie many times. I know what happens next. The two of them go through something difficult, but in the end, they find happiness."

As he spoke, the man looked down.

"When something bad happens… or has happened, I watch this. Because in the end, they always find happiness."

The man curled up tighter, hugging his knees. From the moment Keita arrived, the man’s expression had been dark. It wasn’t just because Keita had been late—something else had happened. Keita didn’t know what it was, and the man didn’t seem inclined to talk about it. And Keita wasn’t close enough to him to pry.

The man raised his head and looked at Keita. His sad, tearful eyes held Keita’s gaze, and Keita couldn’t look away. He felt that if he did, he would somehow hurt the man. After a long, heavy silence that seemed to press down on Keita, the man spoke.

"How do you see me?"

"See you…?"

As Keita hesitated to answer, the man smiled bitterly.

"Do I seem crazy, or clueless?"

Keita thought the man might be a little different from most people, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that, so he vaguely replied, "Not really."

The man averted his eyes, and Keita wondered if he should have denied it more clearly. But before he could say anything else, the man looked up again and forced a smile.

"I’ll turn off the TV. Goodnight. Just a little longer, and it’ll be morning. Oh, and I have to go to work in the morning."

There was no reasoning behind the impulse. If there was any, it was perhaps the simple fact that he thought the man was sadder than himself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Keita asked, looking directly at the man.

"Sometimes just talking about what’s bothering you can make you feel better," he added.

The man shook his head. "It’s my fault," he said, his eyes welling up with tears. It was the first time Keita had seen an adult man cry so openly, but he didn’t find it pitiful. Keita placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, intending only to comfort him, but the man flinched as if he’d been touched by something hot and instinctively took a step back. Keita apologized reflexively, "Oh, sorry," but inwardly, he couldn’t understand why the man would be so startled by something so minor. Then he reminded himself, Well, we’re strangers after all. They had only met the day before and hadn’t had any deep conversations. Maybe being comforted by someone he didn’t know well just felt creepy.

Unable to see well in the dark, Keita held his wristwatch up to the light from the TV. It was just after 3 a.m. He planned to leave at 6 a.m. By the time he reached the station, the first train should be running. He wondered what time his classes started tomorrow. It was a trivial thought, but it nagged at him, so he pulled his backpack closer to check his planner.

The man grabbed his arm. Startled, Keita turned to see the man’s panicked face illuminated by the flickering light.

"Are you… leaving?"

"No, I’m not," Keita reassured him, adding, "There’s no train right now." The man sighed in relief but couldn’t take his eyes off the backpack Keita had pulled toward him. The grip on Keita’s arm tightened as the man gradually pulled him closer, eventually wrapping him in a tight embrace. Even though they were embracing, there was nothing sensual about it; it felt more like being clung to by a child. The hug was forceful, without any concern for the other person’s feelings, as if the man was imposing his own emotions.

"Can I… can I kiss you?" the man asked.

Keita doubted that it would stop at just a kiss. It felt like one thing would lead to another, ultimately ending in sex.

"…Sure," Keita agreed, though not eagerly, thinking it might happen closer to dawn. The man lifted Keita’s lowered chin, and their lips met. The man’s lips were thin and cold. They parted briefly before kissing again, the man nibbling on Keita’s upper lip, then his lower lip. Despite his expectations, the man was surprisingly skilled at kissing. After several kisses, the man pulled Keita onto his lap, seating him astride his legs.

Although the man embraced Keita, he didn’t go beyond kissing. The tension in Keita’s body eased as the lukewarm kisses continued, and he began to relax. Resting his cheek against the man’s shoulder, Keita stared blankly at the flickering TV. He wondered what he was doing, sitting on someone’s lap like this.

He’s an odd man, Keita thought. He hadn’t realized it at first, but maybe the man wasn’t quite right in the head. Not that it mattered. It had nothing to do with him. Keita began to feel a bit sleepy. The steady rhythm of the man’s breathing and the monotonous TV lulled him. He stifled a small yawn and closed his eyes.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Footnotes

0. Content warning: NSFW, r*pe.

Previous TOC Next