Secret: Chapter 2 - Part 1

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Spring is a time of change, when people move and routines shift. New faces started showing up at the bar, and the crowd gradually changed. It had been almost fourteen years since Enomoto Takanori had started running the gay bar, and what was supposed to be a temporary gig had turned into a long-standing career. Despite the transient nature of the business, he found it suited him surprisingly well. Though there were regular customers, the clientele was generally young, and at thirty-seven, he felt a bit past his prime. Still, there were plenty of men who showed interest in him.

The door creaked open with a groan. Enomoto, standing behind the counter and picking up an empty glass, instinctively said, "Welcome." The person who entered was his younger cousin, Sugiura Mitsuru. When Enomoto muttered, “Oh, it’s you,” Mitsuru smiled with an easy, carefree expression.

Enomoto handed Mitsuru a wet towel as he sat at the counter. Mitsuru, who had just turned twenty-nine this year, stood at 185 cm (6′1″), about 10 cm (4 in)  taller than Enomoto. His face was small, with a gentle expression, and his dark, large eyes left a strong impression. Mitsuru had become more handsome as he aged, looking better now than when he was younger.

“It’s been a while. Wasn’t the last time you came by in January?” Enomoto asked.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Mitsuru replied, nodding. “I’ve been busy studying, so I haven’t been going out at night.”

This year, Mitsuru had graduated from a correspondence high school and was set to start culinary school in April.

“So, what brings you here today? Did you have a fight with Keita or something?”

Mitsuru laughed. “We don’t fight. Keita is kind, so even if he gets mad, he forgives me right away.”

Mitsuru had been living with his younger boyfriend, Utsumi Keita, for four or five years now. When Enomoto first learned about their relationship, he hadn’t expected it to last this long.

“Keita’s on a business trip today. I felt lonely being at home alone.”

“Oh, at this time of year? Public servants sure are busy.”

A young man, probably around twenty-two or twenty-three, approached Mitsuru and asked, "Is it okay if I sit here?"

“You can sit, but if you’re looking for company, I’m not available. I have a boyfriend,” Mitsuru said straightforwardly, causing the young man’s face to tighten before he turned away. Enomoto covered his mouth with his hand and chuckled.

“Why are you laughing, Takanori?” Mitsuru asked.

“I just thought that was an impressively blunt rejection… If you want to have a little fun while Keita’s away, I won’t tell anyone,” Enomoto teased.

Mitsuru shook his head seriously. “I’d never cheat. I’d never do anything to make Keita sad.”

Enomoto’s younger cousin was straightforward and intense when it came to love. In relationships, balance is key—if one person is too passionate or too indifferent, things tend not to work out. Mitsuru had a tendency to overwhelm his partners with his one-sided devotion, which often led to the end of relationships. But then he found a partner who matched his temperament, and that person became more than he could have ever hoped for.

“Takanori, you’ve never had a serious relationship, have you?” Mitsuru asked.

Enomoto smiled. “I’ve told you before, I’m a free love kind of guy.”

A ringtone interrupted their conversation. Mitsuru quickly grabbed his phone, his face lighting up with joy like a dog receiving a treat, and he hurriedly stood up.

“Did you finish work? Is it raining over there? It’s not raining here. I’m at…”

His voice turned soft and affectionate as he spoke, walking out of the bar. Enomoto watched him leave and sighed. The uncertain, shy teenager Mitsuru once was had grown into someone confident and sure of himself.

The flow of drink orders and customers slowed. As he stood there, Enomoto’s thoughts drifted back to the time when he had reunited with fifteen-year-old Mitsuru at their grandmother’s funeral.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Enomoto’s maternal grandmother had passed away when he was twenty-three. She had been bedridden for a month before she died in late May. Around that time, Enomoto had quit his job after working for a year at a company he joined after college. It was a well-known company, but its old-fashioned, top-down management style and the meaningless overtime wore him down until he finally handed in his resignation.

Enomoto had always liked his grandmother, who spoke gently and kindly, so he had been concerned when he heard she was unwell. He had been considering visiting her, but her condition worsened, and he never got the chance to see her one last time. “Well, she was seventy-six, after all, and at least she didn’t suffer for long,” his mother had said matter-of-factly, but hearing this, Enomoto shed a few tears.

The funeral was led by his aunt Haruko’s husband, Sugiura Itaru, who had lived with his grandmother. Enomoto noticed his cousins, Midori and Itsuki, in the family section, but Mitsuru was nowhere to be seen, which puzzled him. Although he only saw Mitsuru, his uncle’s eldest son, during holidays, he remembered him as a shy child who often hid behind others.

“Mom, where’s Mitsuru?” Enomoto whispered to his mother as they left the funeral hall.

“He’s at home,” she replied, frowning.

“At home? But it’s Grandma’s funeral…”

“Apparently, Itaru told him not to show his face in public. He’s been on edge since Mitsuru failed his entrance exams,” she explained.

Enomoto had heard that Mitsuru had failed his high school entrance exams that spring. His mother had mentioned it when she called to inform him about their grandmother’s declining health. Mitsuru had taken exams for three different schools and had failed them all. Enomoto wasn’t surprised; he had often heard from his mother that Mitsuru was quite different from his siblings, who were much more capable. He remembered her saying things like, “Even in fifth grade, he still couldn’t recite the multiplication tables,” or “Even in middle school, he struggled to write simple kanji from the lower elementary grades.” It was shocking how poorly he performed.

“That’s what happens when you try to do something beyond your abilities. I heard he was barely keeping up with middle school studies. Itaru has a lot of pride and doesn’t want to admit his son isn’t capable of more. But Haruko is also to blame for pushing him too hard. It just ends up making Mitsuru feel even more miserable,” his mother said with a sigh, brushing her hair away from her face.

“Is Mitsuru really that… lacking?” Enomoto asked.

His mother sighed again, sounding exasperated. “He’s almost sixteen and can’t even write his own address in kanji… It’s not normal.”.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

After the funeral, there was a family-only gathering at aunt Haruko’s house. Even at that meal, Mitsuru was nowhere to be seen.

“Takanori-kun, you got a job at Masuda Trading, right?” uncle Itaru called out from across the table. Apparently, Enomoto’s mother hadn’t told the relatives that he had quit his job, which was a relief. If they found out the truth, there would be endless prying questions. Enomoto nodded vaguely, replying, "Yes, that's right." 

Uncle Itaru, a slim, high-strung man who worked as a lawyer, was highly knowledgeable and sharp-minded. He never hid his intellect and education, and Enomoto had always found his uncle's demeanor off-putting.

“That’s a good company. I know someone who’s an advisor there, and their performance has been on the rise. But you went to M University, right? That places you below S University and T University, so it can be tough to get ahead. It’s more merit-based now, so it’s not as bad as it used to be, but still.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Enomoto responded, though his temples twitched with irritation. While M University might not have as high of a reputation as S or T Universities, it wasn’t so inferior that it should be considered "second-rate."

“You should have done more research on the downsides of your choice before deciding on a company. Otherwise, you’ll find that your chances of advancement are significantly limited. Some young people find the company alumni associations burdensome, but those vertical connections are important.”

Three years ago, when Enomoto had just begun his job search in earnest, uncle Itaru had offered to help him find a position, suggesting it to Enomoto’s mother. But knowing that accepting his uncle's help would mean a lifetime of owing him, Enomoto had politely declined. He suspected his uncle resented being brushed off and was now seizing the opportunity to humiliate him in front of everyone.

Enomoto took a long drink from a nearby beer, sighed, and then casually asked, “Speaking of which, how’s Mitsuru doing, uncle?”

He deliberately stepped on a landmine, and he knew it. He could see his mother, sitting across from him, turn pale. The expression on his uncle’s face froze instantly, revealing his one weakness.

“Mitsuru’s in high school this year, right? I didn’t see him at the funeral hall. Is he not feeling well?”

Enomoto pretended to be clueless, even though it was well-known among the family that Mitsuru had failed his entrance exams and was now shutting himself away in his room.

“He’s just got a bit of a cold,” aunt Haruko, who was sitting next to Enomoto’s mother, replied in a strained voice. Enomoto didn’t like his uncle, but his aunt was a good person—unlike his lively mother, Haruko was gentle and kind. For her sake, Enomoto swallowed his more pointed remarks.

“Is he in his room? Maybe I’ll go check on him.”

There was an eight-year age gap between him and Mitsuru, so they’d never really played together. Enomoto didn’t particularly want to see Mitsuru, but since he’d disturbed the mood, he needed an excuse to leave the table.

“Itsuki, can you show me where Mitsuru’s room is?”

He called to Mitsuru’s younger brother, who was sitting beside him. Without changing his expression, Itsuki muttered “Sure,” and stood up. Itsuki was three years younger than Mitsuru and had just started his first year of junior high. He had passed the extremely competitive entrance exams and had been admitted to an escalator school that would take him through high school as well. He was tall and slender, with a long face and well-defined features. In another seven or eight years, Itsuki would likely grow into exactly Enomoto’s type.

“Please don’t mention my brother in front of my father,” Itsuki said, walking ahead of Enomoto without looking back. His tone was mature, far beyond his years.

“Father doesn’t like him. He’s going to be in a really bad mood later.”

“Oh, sorry about that.”

For a kid, he was surprisingly cool. In fact, he reminded Enomoto a bit of uncle Itaru. The thought that Itsuki might turn into a man like that someday sent a shiver down Enomoto’s spine. He appreciated men with pride, but not arrogance.

“That’s the room,” Itsuki said, pointing to a door at the far end of the second floor before disappearing into his own room. 

It would have been easier just to turn around and leave, but after being shown the way, Enomoto felt obligated to at least take a look. He doubted he’d have much to say to Mitsuru, whom he barely knew, so he planned to make a quick exit with a simple “Long time no see, how have you been?”

Enomoto lightly knocked on the door.

“…Yes,” came a muffled voice from the other side.

“Mitsuru, remember me? It’s your cousin, Takanori.”

Silence. He knew Mitsuru was in there, but there was no response.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Mind if I come in?”

No answer. Just as Enomoto was about to assume he was being ignored, the door suddenly opened. There hadn’t been any sound beforehand, so the abruptness startled him.

“Takanori-san?”

The younger cousin he hadn’t seen in years was no longer the child who used to hide behind others. Though shorter than Enomoto, Mitsuru was still around 170 cm (5′7″)  tall, with the supple build of someone transitioning from adolescence to adulthood. His face, small and delicate, resembled his mother’s, aunt Haruko, but his large, dark eyes were swollen and red.

“What happened to your face?” Enomoto asked, perplexed.

Mitsuru looked directly at him and quietly replied, “I’ve been crying a lot.”

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Enomoto spent less than thirty minutes in Mitsuru’s room. Although Mitsuru had physically grown into an adult, his way of speaking was still childlike. During their conversation, Enomoto learned that it was Mitsuru who had taken care of their grandmother when she left the hospital after being told she didn’t have much time left. This was something even Enomoto’s mother hadn’t mentioned.

“I was really happy to be able to take care of Grandma because she was always so kind to me. I’m glad I could stay by her side,” Mitsuru said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed with a gentle expression. If Mitsuru was so fond of their grandmother, why hadn’t he attended her funeral? Enomoto remembered his mother’s words: “Itaru said he shouldn’t show his face in public.”

Enomoto felt his anger flare up again at uncle Itaru’s arrogance and obsession with appearances. Mitsuru, who had loved their grandmother and cared for her until the end, was the one who should have attended the funeral, not a man who seized the opportunity to attack his nephew during a meal in remembrance of the deceased.

“Your father told you not to go to the funeral, didn’t he?”

Mitsuru’s face tightened, and he averted his eyes from Enomoto. He didn’t deny it.

“He said I’m an embarrassment… that I’m stupid and it’s shameful to let me be seen in public. He said that if I were at least average, it wouldn’t be so bad, but I’m below average. I think so too,” Mitsuru said, looking down.

“Being a year behind in high school is rare, but it’s not unheard of. You can work hard and prove them wrong next year,” Enomoto encouraged him, but Mitsuru just lowered his head even further.

“I don’t want to study anymore,” he muttered quietly. “I’m stupid. No matter how much I study, I just can’t do it. Even if I study for hours and hours, even if I stay up all night, it’s no use. My head starts to hurt, I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I get so tired I can’t move.”

Enomoto thought Mitsuru was exaggerating.

“My mom said it’s in the numbers—my intelligence is just low. No matter how hard I try, I’m just not good enough. My dad won’t accept it, though,” Mitsuru said with a sad smile.

“I’m not good at studying, but at least I’m healthy. I don’t even catch colds. So I said I wanted to work in a factory or somewhere that doesn’t require reading and writing, but my dad wouldn’t allow it. He said I was just lazy and didn’t want to study.”

What kind of household is this? Enomoto clenched his teeth in anger. Instead of worrying about appearances, they should be thinking more about Mitsuru’s future. He wants to work. He’s trying to move forward in his own way. Are they planning to keep him locked away forever, like some dirty secret?

“You see those people suffering from illnesses on TV, right? It makes me really sad, and I always end up crying. When I see that, I wonder if I could give them my body instead. I feel like they could do so much more for others than I ever could,” Mitsuru said, looking off into the distance. Enomoto felt a pang of pity for his younger cousin, who was essentially saying he was worthless.

“I don’t want anyone to hate me, and I don’t want to cause trouble for anyone. But I don’t know what to do.”

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Two days after the funeral, an acquaintance approached Enomoto with an offer to manage a gay bar. The manager they had lined up for the bar, which was set to open the following month, had suddenly backed out, and they needed a replacement. They were in a bind, and Enomoto agreed to take the job, figuring it could be a temporary gig until he found a new full-time position.

To his surprise, Enomoto found that he was well-suited to the nightlife industry. He enjoyed interacting with people and drinking, and he especially appreciated that men came to him at the bar without him having to seek them out. He was constantly pursued, and Enomoto reveled in his newfound freedom, taking home different men each night and indulging in a carefree sexual lifestyle.

About two months after Enomoto started managing the gay bar, at the end of August, he was enjoying a drink with a particularly charming customer, contemplating whether to take him home that night. Then his smartphone started ringing with an unfamiliar number. Assuming it might be a prank, he considered ignoring it, but he figured it could be a customer, so he answered it just in case. The noise of the bar made it hard to hear the person on the other end, so Enomoto handed the bar over to his employee and stepped out through the back door.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Even though Enomoto could hear the sound of traffic from the other end, the caller didn’t say anything. It wasn’t just the noise in the bar that was causing the problem; the other person wasn’t speaking.

“Who is this? If this is a prank, I’m hanging up,” he said, feeling annoyed that he had gone out of his way for nothing. Then, in a faint voice, he heard the words, “Help me.”

“…Who is this?”

“Help me…” The voice was trembling, as if the person was crying. 

It was a voice Enomoto recognized.

“Mitsuru, is that you?”

“Please… help me.”

Two days earlier, Mitsuru had had a fight with his father and run away from home. He had bought a random ticket and boarded a train, ending up somewhere he didn’t recognize. As his money ran out and he started contemplating suicide, he found the piece of paper with Enomoto’s phone number in his wallet and called from a public phone.

On the day of the family-only gathering after the funeral, Mitsuru had seemed so pitiful that Enomoto had given him his phone number, telling him to call if anything happened. He had thought about his unfortunate cousin for a day or two afterward, but his life soon became so busy that he had completely forgotten about it.

Even though Enomoto asked where Mitsuru was, the boy kept repeating, “I don’t know.” Enomoto told him there should be a sign with the location written on it somewhere near the phone, but Mitsuru said he couldn’t read it. 

Enomoto snapped, shouting, “Just tell me the prefecture or the city or something,” before remembering what his mother had said about Mitsuru being unable to write his own address. Getting nowhere, Enomoto finally told Mitsuru, “Just find a police station and call me back from there,” before hanging up.

Two hours later, Enomoto received another call on his smartphone. Mitsuru was in a port town about 80 kilometers (49 mi) away from his family home, in the neighboring prefecture. It was less than an hour’s drive, so Enomoto went straight to pick him up after finishing work. At the small police box, Mitsuru was sitting in a corner, wearing a navy blue tracksuit with his head bowed. Apparently, he had been drenched when he arrived and was lent the clothes. Although the rain had stopped, Enomoto noticed that the roads were still wet as he drove.

If Mitsuru had run away from home, his family must be worried. When Enomoto told him, “I’m going to call your aunt,” Mitsuru, crying on the other end of the phone, pleaded, “Please don’t tell them.” He had been extremely agitated and mentioned that he had been thinking of ending his life, so Enomoto decided not to contact the family right away, figuring it would be better to convince Mitsuru first and avoid further distress. He decided to go and pick Mitsuru up alone for the time being.

After thanking the officer at the police box, Enomoto took Mitsuru into his care. Figuring Mitsuru must be hungry, he took him to a 24-hour diner. Even as they ate, Mitsuru’s face remained pale, and he wouldn’t speak a word about why he had run away from home. Still, it was obvious that something had happened between him and uncle Itaru.

“You’re still a minor. Your family must be worried, so I’m going to contact them,” Enomoto said, glancing at his watch. It was already 9 AM, and with his work schedule turning his days and nights upside down, Enomoto was ready to call it a night. He stifled a yawn as he kept his eyes on Mitsuru, thinking that no matter how much Mitsuru resisted, there would be no resolution without a conversation with uncle Itaru—though Enomoto silently admitted to himself that he’d rather not have to deal with it.

“Please teach me,” Mitsuru suddenly said. “Teach me how to live on my own.”

In the end, Enomoto contacted Mitsuru’s family. Despite Mitsuru’s strong objections, Enomoto believed the best course of action was to send him back home. He could have called Mitsuru’s house directly, but there was a chance uncle Itaru would answer, and Enomoto preferred not to talk to him. So, instead, he called his own mother, asking her to act as an intermediary. He asked her to inform aunt Haruko that he had found Mitsuru and was taking care of him.

About an hour after making the call, Enomoto’s mother called him back. Mitsuru, who seemed to have stayed up all night at the police box, was now lying on the diner’s sofa, fast asleep.

"Something feels off," his mother said. "Aunt Haruko seemed relieved that Mitsuru was found, but she said, ‘We can’t bring him back home.’ Apparently, Itaru is furious and said, ‘Don’t ever let him set foot in this house again.’ She asked me what to do. I told her, ‘Mitsuru is still a minor, and there’s no way he can live on his own.’ Then she asked me if we could take care of him for a few days while she tries to convince Itaru.”

It seemed that the relationship between uncle Itaru and Mitsuru was even more strained than Enomoto had imagined.

"I hate to ask, but could you take care of Mitsuru for a while?" his mother asked.

“Me?” Enomoto replied in surprise.

“Just for a few days. You have plenty of space in your apartment, don’t you? We could take him in, but I’ve never really talked to him since he grew up. Plus, since he called you for help, I think he’d feel more comfortable with you.”

Enomoto felt like his mother was dumping Mitsuru on him. He couldn’t help but think, “Why me?” but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He felt pity for Mitsuru, who had no one else to turn to, not even family members he barely knew.

Because of that one small note with his number, Mitsuru ended up staying with Enomoto for a few days. During his student days, Enomoto had dabbled in stocks for extra money and had made a fortunate investment, which he used to purchase a condo. With plenty of space, it wasn’t a problem to have another person stay over.

When Mitsuru first arrived at Enomoto’s apartment, he spent all day in the room he was given, doing nothing but sitting there, as still as an ornament. Though he resembled a small animal waiting for its owner, he refused to come out even when aunt Haruko came by to check on him, choosing instead to hide in the bathroom.

Enomoto had worried that Mitsuru’s presence would disrupt the solitude he cherished as much as he enjoyed being around people, but Mitsuru turned out to be a surprisingly quiet child. He barely spoke, didn’t make a fuss, and was as unobtrusive as air—his presence in the corner of Enomoto’s vision was never a bother.

A month passed, but it seemed that negotiations between Mitsuru and uncle Itaru were at a standstill, with no sign of Mitsuru returning home. Instead, aunt Haruko began sending a monthly allowance to Enomoto with a note saying, “I’m sorry for the trouble, and thank you for taking care of him.” At first, Enomoto shrugged it off, thinking it was just a very serious situation. But as time went on, he couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease.

He began to wonder if he’d be stuck taking care of Mitsuru indefinitely. While Mitsuru was quiet and unobtrusive, having him around all the time was inconvenient, especially since Enomoto could no longer bring men home as he used to. What annoyed Enomoto most was the feeling that uncle Itaru had offloaded an unwanted burden onto him. He felt as though Mitsuru had been abandoned, much like elderly relatives left on a mountain to die.

Although Enomoto had no personal stake in the conflict between Mitsuru and uncle Itaru, the thought of abandoning the boy halfway through didn’t sit well with him. But if things continued like this, Mitsuru might end up staying in Enomoto’s apartment indefinitely, like a house spirit.

After much deliberation, Enomoto realized that if he could help Mitsuru become independent, he could send him off with a clear conscience. Going back home wasn’t the only option. After all, Mitsuru had initially asked him to teach him how to live on his own.

Determined to help Mitsuru stand on his own feet, Enomoto started having him help around the house—cooking, laundry, cleaning. Although Mitsuru had taken care of his grandmother at home, he had never done any household chores. At first, he made a series of blunders that seemed straight out of a comic strip—like mopping the floor without wringing out the mop, soaking the place, or adding too much detergent to the washing machine and flooding the laundry room with bubbles.

At times, Enomoto thought even a grade-schooler might be more capable. Mitsuru was clumsy and inept, but with time, he began to handle chores competently. He even showed a particular knack for cooking. While his first attempts at making tamagoyaki ended up looking more like scrambled eggs, he eventually mastered the art of creating a beautifully golden, fluffy omelet.

As Mitsuru got the hang of housework, Enomoto noticed his demeanor changing. He began to smile more, showing expressions appropriate for his age. He followed Enomoto around, calling out his name like a puppy. Though Mitsuru was physically mature, his mind was still that of a child—endearing, but not at all enticing.

Once Mitsuru was comfortable with the household routine, Enomoto suggested, “Why don’t you try getting a part-time job?” This was the second step toward independence. Mitsuru’s eyes lit up as he asked, “Can I really work?”

Even for a part-time job, a resume was essential. When Enomoto had Mitsuru write one on his own, he was left speechless by the result. What was scrawled on the paper could barely be called writing. Weak lines resembling gossamer threads crossed the margins like squirming worms. Although Enomoto had heard that Mitsuru could only write in hiragana, the sight was still shocking.

“You need to practice your writing,” Enomoto said, handing him a notebook. Mitsuru obediently began practicing, filling thick notebooks at a rapid pace, but his handwriting never improved. Even when Enomoto guided his hand, the moment he let go, Mitsuru’s writing reverted to its original state. As Enomoto continued living with Mitsuru, he began to wonder if Mitsuru was truly as unintelligent as he appeared. Although Mitsuru struggled with reading and writing, he could engage in conversations with clarity and occasionally made astute observations. The disparity between Mitsuru’s cognitive abilities in verbal communication and his abysmal skills in reading and writing was as vast as the difference between a mountain peak and a deep valley.

Honestly, there were times when I suspected that Mitsuru was just messing around with his sloppy handwriting, but his face was nothing but serious. 

After about a week, Enomoto gave up on having Mitsuru write anything and filled out the resume himself. Mitsuru took it to various job interviews, but was rejected at every turn. No matter how simple the job was, even if it was something like assembling boxes, he was turned away the moment they found out he couldn't read or write. The reality was harsher than Enomoto had imagined, and while he felt at a loss, Mitsuru was even more depressed. When he hid his illiteracy, he was hired on the spot, but it was quickly discovered, and he was fired by the third day.

Enomoto asked some acquaintances if they could give Mitsuru a job at their companies or shops, but the responses were not encouraging. Illiteracy was still a significant barrier. Some acquaintances were willing to give Mitsuru a chance, but they worked in the same industry as Enomoto, so he decided it would be better to keep Mitsuru where he could keep an eye on him. This decision was made around the end of November, nearly three months into their cohabitation. Enomoto had reservations about exposing a minor to his world, but he thought that as long as he, as Mitsuru’s guardian, looked out for him, it would be fine. Mitsuru needed to learn the value of work through experience, or else he might never become independent.

Mitsuru was happy to help with Enomoto’s work. But just like with household chores, at first, he was hopelessly clumsy. Maybe it was because he was nervous, but he broke dishes, glasses, and even after being taught how to do it, he would still mix up the drinks when serving them. Even the staff members who had been understanding of Mitsuru’s situation were left in disbelief.

Every time the sound of breaking dishes echoed, a vein would twitch on Enomoto’s forehead, but he held back his anger. He had learned from teaching Mitsuru household chores that when he got angry, Mitsuru would shrink back, and his mistakes would only multiply.

Through much patience and sacrifice, Mitsuru slowly got used to the work. Once he learned something, he was inherently diligent, so even if he was slow, he never cut corners. Gradually, he gained the trust of the staff because of this trait.

Even someone as oblivious as Mitsuru noticed on his first day that the bar where Enomoto worked was not ordinary. Not a single woman ever came in, and when he saw two men sitting in a corner of the bar with their arms around each other, kissing, even a preschooler would have questions.

One early morning at 4 a.m., when they were walking side by side down the freezing cold, still-dark sidewalk after closing the bar, Mitsuru quietly asked a question. It was the beginning of winter, and their breath was visible in the cold air.

“Why do only men come to Takanori-san’s bar?”

Enomoto could have explained the bar's theme before letting Mitsuru work there, but he had intentionally chosen not to. He didn’t want to give Mitsuru any preconceived notions. He wanted him to experience the atmosphere firsthand and then decide whether to continue working or not. Enomoto had anticipated this question, so he wasn’t surprised.

“That bar is for gay men. Do you know what ‘gay’ means?”

Mitsuru tilted his head.

“I’ve seen it on TV. It’s when men love other men, right? I kind of had a feeling that’s what it was.”

They walked on in silence. Enomoto maintained a calm exterior, but inside, he was uneasy. He couldn’t predict what Mitsuru might say next.

“Why do you work at a bar for gay people, Takanori-san?”

“Is it wrong for me to work at a gay bar?”

He asked back, and Mitsuru looked down, seeming troubled.

“It’s not wrong. I was just wondering why.”

Mitsuru’s question had no hidden meaning. After spending so much time together, Enomoto knew that Mitsuru, unlike his uncle, didn’t speak with insinuations.

“After I quit my job, an acquaintance asked if I could manage the bar. It seemed they were short-staffed. And I’m gay too, so I thought it would be a good fit.”

If Mitsuru continued working at the bar, it was only a matter of time before he found out about Enomoto’s sexual orientation. Enomoto had accepted that, and if Mitsuru ended up saying he couldn’t stand it, Enomoto was prepared to send him back to his family, no matter how much Mitsuru protested. After all, Enomoto had done so much for him that he felt it was only fair to have that right.

Even though Enomoto was determined, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy when Mitsuru didn’t respond.

“Do I gross you out?”

Finally, Enomoto broke the silence. Mitsuru tilted his head slightly, ambiguously.

“No, you don’t gross me out. But it’s kind of strange. Like you’re from another world.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I’ve never seen a real gay person before. I thought they were people on TV or in some special place. But I don’t get why you’d like men when there are women around.”

Enomoto gave a wry smile. He had thought through this question thoroughly during his teenage years.

“You can’t read or write no matter how much you study, right? It’s the same thing. Even if there are women around, I can only like men. It’s a kind of prank by the gods.”

He compared Mitsuru’s situation to his own, speaking in a somewhat harsh tone. The barb seemed to hit its mark, as Mitsuru fell silent. They returned to the apartment in silence. Despite having drunk quite a bit at the bar, Enomoto still felt like drinking more. As he took out a bottle of vodka from the cupboard, Mitsuru came over to him.

“I’m not giving you any. You’re still underage,” Enomoto warned, and Mitsuru drooped like a wilted flower.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I’m sorry for saying something so awful. No matter how much I practiced, no matter how many notebooks I filled, I couldn’t learn to write. And when I tried to read, my head would hurt and I’d feel sick after staring at the book for too long. My teachers kept asking me why I didn’t get it, why I couldn’t do it, and it was really painful. You must have felt the same way, right? No matter how hard you tried, it didn’t work out, and it hurt a lot. So I’m sorry for asking why.”

Mitsuru’s sincere words made Enomoto’s chest ache.

“Don’t apologize. I won’t lie and say it didn’t bother me, but I’m comfortable with it now. If anything, I’m glad I ended up liking men.”

“Really?”

Mitsuru muttered, looking down with his dark, dog-like eyes.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to say that I’m glad I couldn’t read or write, like you?”

Enomoto fell silent. He couldn’t bring himself to agree.

“I wish I had been born a long time ago. Like in the time of Peking Man or Australopithecus. Back then, people didn’t know how to write, and I wouldn’t have been so different for not being able to read or write.”

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Footnotes

0. Content warning: depression, su*cide mention.

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