Secret: Chapter 1 - Part 8

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Keita, who had been crouched on the floor, finally managed to stand up with Sugiura's support. Still holding his hand, they exited the police station.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding, and the cicadas' incessant buzzing filled the air. Is it summer now?

"Mitsuru, Takanori mentioned you have a reading and writing disability. Can you explain exactly what that means?" Hayakawa asked.

Sugiura hesitated, "Well, it's just..."

Seeing him struggle, Enomoto stepped in to explain. "Mitsuru has a type of congenital condition that makes reading and writing difficult. It's unrelated to intelligence. As far as I know, he can only write in hiragana and can't read or write katakana or kanji."

"Really? Sugiura Sr. never mentioned that. Can’t it be improved with practice?" Hayakawa asked, tilting his head.

"I told you, it's congenital. In other countries, with specialized training from a young age, people with this condition can manage well enough in daily life," Enomoto replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Hayakawa sighed softly. "Did you know about this from the start? About Mitsuru?"

Enomoto looked down. "I had a regular customer at the shop who knew about these things. Mitsuru must have been around seventeen or eighteen when I started to suspect it."

"I see. Given that... maybe it can’t be helped," Hayakawa muttered, and the conversation fell silent. They continued walking in silence until they reached the parking lot. There, they parted ways with Hayakawa, and Keita and Sugiura sat in the back seat of Enomoto's car. Enomoto didn't start the car right away but instead muttered sarcastically, "We got dragged into his delusion and ended up playing along with a fake confession."

"This was a huge inconvenience for us," he added.

"I'm really sorry," Sugiura apologized in a voice that was barely audible.

"And why the hell did you think it was a good idea to take the blame for him?" Enomoto snapped.

Sugiura squeezed Keita's hand tightly. "Keita said he didn’t want to go to prison. But wrong is wrong, so I thought maybe I should take the punishment and reflect on it instead of him..."

"Your way of thinking is messed up," Enomoto said harshly. "Taking the blame doesn’t solve anything. If you really cared about him, you should have convinced him to turn himself in. What you did was just self-serving."

Sugiura hung his head as if struck by the words. Finally, the car started moving, and the three of them remained silent until they arrived at the apartment. Keita kept his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the scenery through the windshield. After they got out of the car, Sugiura rushed to the driver's seat and apologized, "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused today."

Enomoto gave a slight nod. "Did Hayakawa give you the documents?"

"Yeah," Sugiura replied.

"What are you going to do?" Enomoto asked.

"He said he'd talk to my father again. But I might just go ahead and do it. If cutting me off makes my father feel more at ease, then maybe it's for the best," Sugiura said.

"Are you really okay with that?" Enomoto asked, his voice full of concern.

"It’s sad, but it can’t be helped. I’m the one at fault," Sugiura replied, glancing at Keita from the corner of his eye.

"You’re going to lose your family because of some delusional man with a twisted mind," Enomoto muttered, his tone bitter.

Sugiura tilted his head and smiled faintly. "It's okay... because I have Keita."

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Inside the apartment, boxes from the move were piled up like towers, creating a cluttered mess. As soon as the front door closed, Sugiura embraced Keita. Reflexively, Keita shoved him away, squeezed past the boxes, and leaped onto the mattress, pulling a towel blanket over his head and curling up tightly.

"Keita," Sugiura called out, but Keita didn’t respond. His mind was buzzing. What is this?

"Keita, why are you mad?" Sugiura asked, shaking him gently through the blanket. "It turns out that you only imagined you killed someone. Now you don’t have to worry about anything anymore."

That can't be right. I definitely killed him. I strangled him. The memory is so vivid. Can it really be a delusion? Am I imagining all of this? His body trembled as Sugiura shook him, making it even harder to understand what was real.

"Get away from me!" Keita shouted, and the shaking stopped.

"Why are you so angry? There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore," Sugiura's voice was sad and confused. But Keita didn’t have the energy to comfort him. A reality that felt like a delusion. Was it just a hallucination? Then where is the real thing?

Under the towel blanket, Keita stared at his hands. Are these real? They must be. They move on my command. But what if what I’m seeing is just in my head? What if I can't even trust what I see?

"Do you hate me now?" Sugiura’s voice trembled.

"Shut up. You're annoying," Keita snapped.

He touched his own face. If something has a shape, it must be real, right? But then where did the feeling of tightening the rope, of squeezing with my hands, come from? Wait, did I use my bare hands? Either way, the sensation is still on my fingers. If that’s the case, even things that I control with my own will might just be hallucinations.

"Don’t yell at me... Don't be mad. If there’s something you don’t like about me, I’ll change it," Sugiura pleaded, his voice breaking into sobs.

His crying was grating on Keita's ears. This is not the time for that. The blanket's edge was being tugged, adding to his irritation.

"Do you hate me because I can’t read or write? Is that why you’re upset? I can usually write my name and address, but I’ve been slacking on practice lately. I’ll get back to it, I promise. I’ll practice as much as it takes. I want to be able to read books, especially the ones you write, Keita. I want to know everything you’re thinking, all the things you write about..."

My senses can't be trusted. The voice in my ears, Sugiura’s voice, is it real? Is it just a product of my imagination? A vivid delusion? Is the situation I’m in right now a delusion? Maybe Sugiura Mitsuru doesn’t even exist. A chill ran down Keita’s spine.

"When I learn to read and write, I’m going to go to culinary school. I’ll get my chef’s license. And I want a driver’s license too. Let’s go to the beach again, and this time, I’ll have a real license..."

Did I create this man in my mind, someone who fits my needs? Yanagisawa called me boring and uninteresting. He hit me, insulted me, and treated me like dirt. It’s strange to think that someone could love me. It’s also strange that he would say "I love you" over and over again, just like I wanted.

The blanket was ripped away, and Sugiura’s distorted face loomed over Keita.

"Don’t ignore me. Say something. Talk to me. I can’t go on if you hate me."

Keita looked at the crying man objectively. With his senses, touch, sight, and hearing all unreliable now, how can I even begin to judge what's real? My head hurts. No matter how much I think about it, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s an illusion. ...I just want to be alone. Maybe I think these things are hallucinations because there are other people around. If I were alone, completely alone, maybe I wouldn’t see these visions.

As he tried to get up and leave the room, a scream-like "No!" stopped him. He was grabbed and pushed back onto the mattress, with Sugiura pinning him down. The touch of fingers made him realize what was coming. "No!" he shouted, but Sugiura didn’t stop. His jeans were pulled down, and without any foreplay, Sugiura entered him, making his body stiffen.

This is the worst. The absolute worst... I hate it when it’s rough like this. The assault on his body made him writhe. He pulled at Sugiura’s hair, hit him, and kept repeating, "No, no," until he suddenly realized that this was "reality." Hallucinations are supposed to create memories that fit what you want, right? You wouldn’t imagine something unpleasant. The fact that I feel violated, that I’m truly repulsed by this, means this is reality.

Once he realized it was real, he felt relieved. Despite being violated, he felt relief. Oh, so this is how little I matter. Yanagisawa was right—I’m a hopelessly dull and worthless person.

Something wet touched his neck. In reality, Sugiura was sobbing, his breath hitching as he cried.

“Do you hate me? Do you hate me even more because I’m so rough?” 

He's crying in reality. If reality and delusion are mixed, what kind of man is this?

“…Someone I was with before told me that I was an idiot for not being able to read or write. That’s why I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to find out how stupid I really am.”

He hugged Keita tightly.

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you don’t hate me. Please, please make a face like you’re enjoying this…”

His movements became more intense. Between the pleasure, the fatigue, the delusions, and the reality, Keita, being shaken back and forth, let go of his consciousness before Sugiura could reach his climax, drifting into a world between dreams and reality.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

When he woke up, he saw the ceiling and the towering stacks of boxes close to it. Whether it was reality or a dream, the scene continued unchanged. The curtains were swaying, perhaps because the window was open. The loud noises outside… the sound of cicadas… reached his ears. The sun was still high, and the shadows cast by the light were short. His entire body was covered in sweat, making him feel sticky and uncomfortable. He sat up halfway and realized he was completely naked. The distinct sensation of something trickling down his insides sent a shiver down his spine. His groin was still dirty with semen, and he couldn't tell whose it was.

From between the piles of boxes, Keita could see Sugiura's back. He was standing there, also naked. Something shiny was clutched in his right hand. Slowly, Sugiura turned and began to approach Keita, holding the knife out in front of him.

Keita stared blankly at the scene, like a picture, wondering if Sugiura was going to kill him. If it were Yanagisawa, maybe, but Sugiura coming at him with a knife was something that couldn’t happen in reality. There was no reason for it. So, this must be a hallucination.

Sugiura crawled onto the mattress and pointed the knife at Keita’s throat. When Keita moved slightly, the blade trembled. Sugiura brought his lips close. Keita’s mouth opened automatically, accepting the man’s tongue. The sensation from this hallucination made Keita shiver, and he could hear the wet sound of saliva mixing.

“If you hate me, why do you let me kiss you?”

Keita stared at the knife pointed at him as if it were someone else's problem.

“Is it because you’re scared of the knife?”

Keita couldn’t understand where this was going. What was the connection between his hallucinations and reality? On closer inspection, Sugiura’s eyes were bloodshot.

“Did you hate kissing me so much that you hate me even more now?”

The words made no sense.

“Are you going to leave me and love someone else?”

A single tear rolled down from Sugiura's red eyes. The knife, once pointed at Keita, was now turned toward Sugiura’s own throat, drawing an oval shape against his skin.

“Is it okay if I die?”

This is a delusion… no, a hallucination. Even knowing that, it sent a chill down Keita’s spine.

“I'm committing suicide, so you don’t have to worry about anything, Keita. I’ll just die on my own. But I’m scared, so please stay with me until the end.”

Sugiura closed his eyes. People don’t die from hallucinations. Even if I thought I killed someone, like with Yanagisawa, they seem to keep living, unaffected by me… at least, that’s what it seems like. But...

“W-wait a minute,” Keita said, trying to stop him. Sugiura opened his eyes, the knife almost at his throat.

“Stop. Even if you’re going to die, don’t do it in front of me. Even if this is a hallucination, I don’t want to see you die.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” Sugiura said.

“But you’re holding a knife. The real you wouldn’t do something like this.”

Sugiura looked down, seemingly troubled.

“Give it to me,” Keita said, holding out his right hand. Sugiura hesitated for a moment but didn’t hand over the knife.

“If I die, I’ll be at peace. I won’t have to cry because I think you hate me. Every time something bad happens, I think about when I should die. But my dead grandmother told me I shouldn’t do that, so I held on. But I’m tired of it. I hate it. I hate this brain that you hate.”

When Keita moved closer, Sugiura gasped and pulled away, scared.

“D-don’t come near me. It’s dangerous.”

Keita moved closer, and Sugiura hurriedly threw the knife away. Keita hugged him. His skin was wet, radiating heat, and there was the scent of sweat.

“Is this real?”

Keita looked up, running his fingers through Sugiura’s hair and seeing his bloodshot eyes.

“Ever since we left the police station, my head’s been messed up. But maybe it’s always been messed up, and I just didn’t notice. After all, it seems like I didn’t kill Yanagisawa. I don’t really get it. What are you, Sugiura? Are you real? Or just a hallucination? Are you really here, in front of me? You say you love me, but is that true? Or am I just imagining a lover who loves me?”

Sweat trickled down Keita’s forehead, and he felt its realness. He wiped it with his finger and tasted it. It was salty. So, it’s real? But I can’t trust my senses.

“If this is all a hallucination, I don’t understand. If killing was a delusion, then where does reality end and delusion begin? I’m scared. Tell me. I used to be able to switch between the two, but I really think I killed Yanagisawa. If that’s the case, where’s the line between what’s real and what’s not?”

Keita grabbed Sugiura’s arms and shook him. Sugiura’s red eyes looked down, troubled.

“I... I can’t understand what’s in your head, Keita. I can’t see inside,” Sugiura whispered.

“Then what am I supposed to do? If I have these vivid sensations and memories in my head, how can I tell what’s fake and what’s real? I’m scared. I feel like someone is tricking me.”

A brief silence followed. Keita was talking about the difference between delusions and reality, but Sugiura asked, off-topic, “Do you hate me?”

Keita’s temper flared. 

“Forget that! Just tell me how to distinguish between delusion and reality!” 

“What do you think of me?” Sugiura asked. Keita felt drained. He knew Sugiura could be this persistent, but it was frustrating at such a tense moment. 

“I love you! I’ve told you that over and over again. How many times do I have to say it?” Keita shouted in frustration.

“But I’m really stupid. I can’t even read katakana or kanji, so I can’t read newspapers. I can’t even do basic math,” Sugiura said.

“None of that matters!” Keita snapped.

“It doesn’t?” Sugiura looked at him, surprised, eyes wide.

“Has it ever been a problem when we’re together? No, right? So it’s fine,” Keita said.

Sugiura hugged him tightly, so tightly that Keita could barely breathe. When he gasped, “I can’t breathe,” the grip loosened just a little, but Sugiura’s arms still held him close.

When Keita tried to speak, Sugiura kissed him. When their lips parted, Keita tried to speak again, but Sugiura kissed him again. Keita gave up trying to argue, and after a while, he just surrendered and kissed back.

Finally, their lips parted, and Sugiura’s large hands gently cupped Keita’s head. His eyes were filled with joy.

“Keita, I love you. I love you so much. More than anyone in the world.”

“Enough already. Just help me figure out what’s going on in my head,” Keita pleaded.

“I’m fine with it. Even if you have delusions, it doesn’t bother me,” Sugiura said.

“But it does! You even turned yourself in for a murder you didn’t commit!” Keita pointed out.

“That’s true, but it didn’t hurt. I can do anything for you, Keita,” Sugiura said, resting his forehead gently against Keita’s.

“If you’re scared of your delusions, just think about me. Think about how much I love you, and how much I want to kiss you. Then, whether it’s a delusion or reality, it’ll be the same. The same, so you won’t be scared.”

Sugiura’s words were reckless—blurring the line between delusion and reality—but somehow, the fact that he wasn’t bothered by Keita’s delusions was comforting. Keita’s tension melted away, leaving him almost light-headed. A tear slipped down his cheek. Maybe if he focused on loving this man, he’d really be okay.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the floor. Keita, holding on to the man who was both a dream and reality, nuzzled his face into Sugiura’s shoulder.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Footnotes

0. Content warning: NSFW, r*pe, su*cide mention.

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