Secret: Chapter 2 - Part 3

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Mitsuru quit his part-time job at the bar. No, Enomoto made him quit. Then, he forced Mitsuru to find his next job on his own. For about a month, Mitsuru wandered around with a resume that Enomoto had written, and eventually, he landed a dishwashing job at an Italian restaurant in the suburbs.

July was coming to an end. Mitsuru had turned 17, and a full year had passed since he had been staying at Enomoto's apartment. Every month, aunt Haruko would send money to Enomoto, but the talk of taking Mitsuru in never came up. In the beginning, aunt Haruko would visit Mitsuru once or twice a month, but Mitsuru adamantly refused to see her, so she hadn't shown her face since early spring. What could he say... Mitsuru was being quietly abandoned by his family under the guise of indifference.

True to his word, Enomoto hadn’t kissed or had sex with Mitsuru since that day. Even when he felt Mitsuru's gaze on him, he ignored it and went about his routine as usual. At first, Mitsuru’s gaze was so intense it hurt, but as the days passed, its force seemed to weaken, and recently Enomoto often wondered if Mitsuru was trying not to look at him.

Since he stopped sleeping with Mitsuru, Enomoto’s lifestyle had returned to what it used to be. He would casually hook up with men at the shop or outside. Sometimes, he'd end up with the worst men—rough and bad in bed—and at those times, he would think that Mitsuru was better... but he'd quickly brush those thoughts away. He knew that if he reached out to Mitsuru with a casual attitude, it would give him false hope, and that was the one thing Enomoto’s reason would not allow.

Summer passed, winter came, and spring arrived. As the third summer he spent with Mitsuru was about to end, an unusual customer came to the shop. He was a man Enomoto had never seen before, in his late twenties, tall, with sharp, well-defined features. His short hair suited his handsome face so well that you could easily believe he was a model.

Enomoto had been watching the man attentively since he sat at the counter. He was curious to see what type of man would attract someone so good-looking. Various men approached him, one after another, but he rejected them all.

“Planning to spend the night alone?” Enomoto asked when the crowd of men had dispersed. The man blushed slightly and confessed in a low voice, “I like blond hair and blue eyes.” Despite his good looks, he was an endearing guy.

Enomoto mentioned that there was a bar not far away that was popular with foreigners. The man said he had been there but didn’t like the vibe, so he ended up here at a place he didn’t know. Sensing that the man wanted to talk rather than just find a hookup, Enomoto decided to keep him company. Besides, looking at such a pretty face made him feel good.

The man’s name was Saeki, and he was temporarily back in Japan from America, where he lived. Since his life was based in the States, he didn’t know any other gay people here. He laughed awkwardly, saying that all his friends in his hometown were straight, so even though he had fun with them, something felt off.

Even Enomoto, who considered himself to be pretty open-minded, had never been with a foreigner. Out of curiosity, he asked what it was like, and Saeki, who apparently didn’t mind dirty talk, openly shared his experiences. As the rumors suggested, they were “big and supple,” and just imagining it made Enomoto’s lower body tingle. He started thinking that maybe he should try being with a foreigner at least once.

Saeki taught Japanese at a language school in America and lived with his blonde, blue-eyed boyfriend, who was a salaryman. They had traveled together during the first half of the summer break, then split up to visit their respective families. Saeki was clearly in love, bragging that they did it every other day.

“Every morning, I read the newspaper to him in bed. It’s our routine.”

“Nice,” Enomoto replied.

“Yeah, he picks up the news even while he's sleeping.”

“Does he have trouble reading?”

“Yeah, but he insists on the newspaper, even though I think TV news would be easier. I’m sure he’s just being spoiled,” Saeki said with a grin.

If his boyfriend struggled with English, he was likely European with blonde hair and blue eyes... Enomoto was impressed in a different way.

“What nationality is your boyfriend?”

“He’s American, of course.”

“Oh, but if he has trouble reading...”

“Oh, he’s dyslexic.”

“What exactly is dyslexia?” Enomoto asked.

Saeki looked surprised. “You don’t know? It’s when someone has difficulty reading and writing, regardless of intelligence. It’s a type of learning disability, and they often feature it in documentaries over there. There are even kids with it at my language school.”

The image of Mitsuru popped into Enomoto’s mind.

“Isn’t reading and writing something that people with normal intelligence can do naturally?”

“Some people can’t. My boyfriend can read and write, but it takes him time. Dyslexia is famous for mirror writing, but for him, the letters appear distorted, which makes it tough.”

“Distorted?”

“Yeah, like the letters are written on top of waves.”

“It’s not an eyesight problem?”

Saeki gave a wry smile. “It’s not the eyes; dyslexia is related to the brain.”

“But it doesn’t affect intelligence?”

“No, it doesn’t. The difficulty lies outside of intelligence. ...You’re asking a lot of questions. Are you interested in this topic?”

Enomoto scratched his cheek with his finger. “Well, I know someone who can barely read or write. No matter how much he practices, he can only manage hiragana. Even that is pretty shaky…”

“Really?” Saeki responded.

“But that guy said his IQ was low, so maybe that’s why.”

“If your friend is truly dyslexic, then that IQ score might not be accurate.”

“Why’s that?”

Saeki shrugged. “If he’s shaky with hiragana, he might not be able to read the test questions properly.”

Enomoto was shocked. It was the first time he realized how Mitsuru’s complaints about not being able to read or write might actually be affecting him. After thinking for a moment, he asked, “Hypothetically, if my friend had a reading and writing disability, could it be cured?”

Saeki replied, “There’s no cure for it.”

"It's not an illness, you know. Plus, they have a unique way of perceiving things, so even if they practice the same way as other kids, they won't be able to read and write like them. That's why kids with dyslexia get special programs at school. At our language school, we also make accommodations like extending test times."

Enomoto pressed his hand to his forehead.  

"So... when you say they have a unique way of perceiving things, what exactly do you mean?"  

Saeki pondered for a moment, then groaned.  

"It's hard to explain. But people like that, they seem to perceive things in a three-dimensional way. For example, they can see something from the front and, in their minds, view it from different angles like a 3D image. But this can vary a lot from person to person. Anyway, when letters look like they're shaking, distorted, upside down, or doubled, telling them to read and write is impossible. I mean, we can't read letters like that either. But for these people, normal letters naturally appear that way to them."

The more he listened, the less Enomoto understood. When he fell silent, the conversation shifted to other topics. Even while talking to others, Enomoto kept replaying his conversation with Saeki in his mind.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

The next day, Enomoto woke up a little after 4 PM. When he went to the living room, Mitsuru was watching TV. Normally, he’d be working at this time, but today was the restaurant's day off.  

"Takanori-san, is there anything you want to eat?"  

About six months ago, Mitsuru had started cooking seriously at home. He seemed to have picked it up from watching at his part-time job, and his dishes were mainly Italian. Enomoto had taught him some simple recipes, but Mitsuru had quickly surpassed that level. The food tasted good, and more importantly, his plating had a sense of style. It was colorful and beautiful. At this rate, Enomoto thought Mitsuru might make it as a chef, so he suggested that he attend culinary school, but Mitsuru declined. With his head down, he mumbled, "I don't want to study anymore."

"Anything’s fine, just something light."  

Since Mitsuru started cooking, Enomoto had given him a wallet with money for groceries. Mitsuru wasn’t good at handling money, so he usually wouldn't shop unless Enomoto was with him. Thinking that Mitsuru needed to become more independent, Enomoto forced him to take charge of it. Even at the store, Mitsuru was most uncomfortable in the supermarket. He’d say, "I don't want to put too much in the basket and not have enough money when it’s time to pay," so Enomoto taught him a trick. "Always pay with a 10,000 yen bill, no matter what you're buying." Groceries would almost never exceed that amount. By shopping with this method and exchanging the change for larger bills, Mitsuru became comfortable shopping at the supermarket.

"I think I'll make Japanese-style pasta."  

Mitsuru murmured as he stood up and grabbed his wallet.  

"Are you going shopping now?"  

"Yeah."  

"I need to talk to you. Is that okay?"  

Mitsuru seemed to tense up slightly.  

"Is it a bad time?"  

"No, it's fine. I have something I want to talk about too."  

Mitsuru sat back down on the sofa, and Enomoto sat across from him. He wanted to tell Mitsuru about his conversation with Saeki, but he didn’t know where to start. After work, he had searched the internet for information. There wasn’t much about reading and writing disabilities, but what little he found described characteristics that all seemed to match Mitsuru, sending a chill down his spine.

"Uh... well, it's about reading. Do letters ever look strange to you?"  

Mitsuru tilted his head with a puzzled expression.  

"I’m not sure what you mean by strange. How?"  

"Well, for example, do they look wavy, like they’re written on top of waves?"  

"Small letters just look like solid black blobs to me."  

This time it was Enomoto’s turn to tilt his head.  

"Small letters turn into a black mass. I can read larger letters, though."  

Saeki's story and the information Enomoto found online didn’t quite match this, but the difficulty in reading seemed to be a common point.  

"A customer at the shop told me something. He’s lived in America for a long time and said that there are many people over there who are smart but can't read or write."  

"I'm not smart, though."  

"Even so, there might be a reason why you can’t read or write. Maybe with special practice, you could learn to read."  

Saeki's story had been eye-opening for Enomoto, but Mitsuru's reaction was lukewarm.  

"Practice again?" he said in a suspicious tone.  

"I only know what I've heard, so I’m not an expert," Enomoto admitted.  

Mitsuru, who had been listening with his head down, muttered, "It's okay."  

"Why not? If we investigate properly and you learn to read and write, you won’t have to struggle with finding part-time jobs anymore."  

"No matter how much I practice, I won’t be able to read or write. I’m too dumb to learn. I know that. Besides, when I practice reading, my head hurts, I feel sick, and I get really tired. I don’t want to do anything that tiring anymore."

Enomoto felt irritated by Mitsuru’s defeatist tone.  

"What kind of attitude is that? If you don’t make an effort, you won’t get anywhere."  

"I’m fine being lazy. I can still work part-time even if I can't read or write."  

Mitsuru stubbornly refused. Enomoto knew that Mitsuru was generally quiet but also knew that once he made up his mind, he was unyielding. This realization frustrated Enomoto. He thought he had found a way to help Mitsuru cope with his difficulties, that he was offering this advice out of kindness, but if Mitsuru wasn’t motivated, there was no way forward.

There’s no point in trying to guide someone who has no will to move forward. The thought "I don't care anymore" crossed Enomoto's mind. Mitsuru was choosing his own life. Even if he didn’t make the best choices, that wasn’t Enomoto’s responsibility.

Silence settled over them. The tension in the air made Enomoto unconsciously reach for a cigarette.  

"I'm thinking of living on my own," Mitsuru murmured suddenly, surprising Enomoto.  

"At first, I might need your help, but I want to live by myself."  

Enomoto had always thought that independence was necessary for Mitsuru, but he hadn’t expected him to bring it up. It should have been a joyful moment, yet Enomoto felt a twinge of sadness. Was it like a parent bird watching its chick leave the nest? It didn’t quite feel like that, but Enomoto couldn’t find the right words to describe his feelings.

"That’s fine, but why all of a sudden?"  

"It’s not sudden. I’ve been thinking about it for a while... and I decided I could do it."  

"I support your independence. What about the apartment? Do you think you can find one yourself? If not, I can go with you on my day off."  

Suddenly, tears began to spill from Mitsuru’s eyes.  

"Hey, what’s wrong?"  

Mitsuru covered his face with both hands.  

"I love you, Takanori-san."  

With his head down and voice small, Mitsuru continued.  

"Even though you said we can't be lovers, I still love you. But it hurts to see that you don't feel the same way. It breaks my heart. That’s why I need to leave and live alone."

It was ironic that Mitsuru’s desire for independence was driven by his heartbreak over Enomoto. Half a month later, Mitsuru rented an apartment close to Enomoto's place. The security deposit and key money were paid using the leftover funds from the living expenses aunt Haruko had been sending him each month. With this step toward independence, Mitsuru cut off financial support from his mother.

Mitsuru didn’t tell his mother about his new address, so aunt Haruko called Enomoto. After much hesitation, Enomoto gave her Mitsuru’s address and cell phone number. Knowing how adamantly Mitsuru had refused to see his mother, Enomoto advised her not to visit suddenly and to have a thorough conversation with Mitsuru over the phone instead.

Aunt Haruko thanked Enomoto profusely for taking care of Mitsuru for the past two years. "It’s thanks to you, Takanori-san, that he was able to become independent. Thank you," she repeated tearfully.

Enomoto almost retorted, "Wasn't it your and your husband’s responsibility to help Mitsuru become independent?" but he bit his tongue. Even though Mitsuru had resisted, they had had plenty of chances to bring him back. But saying anything to people who hadn’t taken those opportunities was pointless now.

In the early days of living on his own, Mitsuru frequently called Enomoto. Those calls gradually decreased, and instead, Mitsuru started coming to the shop as a customer. He even dated a man he met there, but the relationship didn’t last long. Mitsuru was often the one being dumped, and every time he muttered, "I wonder if it's because I'm stupid," it pained Enomoto to watch.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

The door to the shop opened, and Enomoto thought it was a customer, but it was Mitsuru. He came back to the counter, clutching his cellphone tightly, and shivered slightly. "It's pretty cold outside," he said softly.

"Did Keita say anything?" Enomoto asked.

"Mm... just work stuff. Then he said he was already sleepy and hung up," Mitsuru replied.

Enomoto chuckled. "He’s being cold with you, huh?"

"I think he's really just tired. He said he was exhausted. If I were with him, I could give him a massage or something."

"If you did that, you might end up getting excited and wearing him out in a different way," Enomoto teased.

Mitsuru caught the implication and quickly retorted, "I’d never do anything Keita doesn't like."

Keita had a tendency to blur the lines between reality and fantasy when he got too deep in thought. When they first started dating, Mitsuru had been caught up in one of Keita's delusions, which had escalated to the point of involving the police. Mitsuru was infatuated with Keita, but Enomoto wished they would break up soon. Once something like that happens, it’s likely to happen again. Enomoto was worried that Mitsuru might get caught up in something strange again.

But despite that, the two continued dating, and Mitsuru started to change bit by bit.

"I guess I'm not as stupid as I thought," Mitsuru said one day, about six months after he and Keita started dating. Keita had gone back to his parents' house, and Mitsuru came to the shop alone.

"I'm not stupid, but apparently, I'm a severe case," Mitsuru added.

Enomoto didn’t understand what he meant, so he had Mitsuru explain from the beginning. It turned out that, at Keita's urging, Mitsuru had gone to a specialized institution and taken some tests. The results showed that his IQ was average, but he had a severe reading and writing disability.

"You mentioned it before, Takanori-san. It seems I really do have that," Mitsuru said.

When Enomoto had first brought it up, Mitsuru hadn’t shown much interest, so this was progress.

"And I might start attending a correspondence high school in the spring," Mitsuru continued.

This surprised Enomoto so much that he almost dropped his empty glass.

"They say that even someone like me, who can’t read or write, will be taken seriously."

"Well…"

"Keita has been looking into a lot of things. He knows more about me than I do. To be honest, I don't really care about going to high school, but I can't say no because Keita is so determined. And he’s really scary when he gets angry."

Enomoto had also thought Mitsuru should engage with others more. While Mitsuru had experienced love, he had no friends. Even when Mitsuru was living with Enomoto, no friends ever came to visit, and he never talked about going out with anyone. Enomoto wanted Mitsuru to interact with more people, not just the person he was in love with.

But no matter how much Enomoto tried to explain this, Mitsuru never seemed to understand his perspective. "He doesn’t want to, and given his handicap, it’s just something we have to accept," Enomoto had thought, resigning himself to the situation. Unlike Keita, he hadn’t tried to tackle that part of Mitsuru head-on.

Mitsuru sighed deeply. "What if I try my best, but still can't keep up with my studies? Keita would be disappointed in me, right?"

"If you try your best and still can’t do it, just be honest and tell him," Enomoto advised.

"Really?"

"Keita won't get mad at you. But if you lie and say you can't do it without even trying, then yeah, he might dump you."

In the end, Mitsuru did enroll in the correspondence high school. Studying seemed tough, but Keita helped him, and Mitsuru said he was starting to understand the material better. Keita had enlarged copies of all the textbooks, adding furigana above the kanji and katakana. It seemed that Keita’s efforts were considerable. Even when Mitsuru couldn’t read the textbooks, Keita would read them aloud to him. "When I was in elementary school, I always felt like I didn’t understand anything, but now it all makes sense. Being able to read is so much easier," Mitsuru began to say with a smile.

At Keita’s suggestion, Mitsuru also switched to using a credit card for shopping, so he no longer had to stuff his wallet with cash.

Mitsuru might not have noticed, but Enomoto knew that Keita didn’t like him. Keita still held a grudge from the time Enomoto had teased him a bit when they first met. Keita was a persistent guy. Although Enomoto didn’t particularly like Keita either, he had to admit that Keita was the perfect match for Mitsuru... or rather, there was no one better suited for him. Even though Enomoto found Mitsuru endearing, he had never gone that far. Keita was thinking ahead, planning for the future, and truly considering Mitsuru’s well-being. People like that were rare.

When Mitsuru first said that meeting Keita was "fate," it might not have been wrong after all.

"By the way, when does the vocational school start?" Enomoto asked.

"Uh, April 3rd."

"That’s coming up soon."

"Yeah. I’m nervous about whether I can keep up with the studies, but I’ve started to get the hang of it, and I’m really looking forward to it. Plus, Keita said he’d help me."

Enomoto placed a beer in front of Mitsuru. "If you’d figured out how to read and write when you were in elementary... no, even middle school, maybe you wouldn’t have had such a hard time."

Mitsuru showed a thoughtful expression, then shook his head. "No, I’m fine with how things are. If I hadn’t fought with my dad and run away from home, I wouldn’t have gotten close to you, Takanori-san. And if I hadn’t found this shop, I wouldn’t have met Keita. I’m fine with things the way they are. I might be a bit slower than others, but this is good."

Mitsuru smiled brightly. Seeing that smile made Enomoto feel a warmth in his chest. Mitsuru would be fine now. He could manage on his own without anyone worrying.

"You’ve changed," Enomoto remarked.

"Really? I don’t think I have," Mitsuru replied.

You definitely have, Enomoto thought to himself. Compared to when Mitsuru only relied on love, he had grown much stronger. With his growing abilities, the praise he received, and the love he felt, Mitsuru had gained confidence and no longer referred to himself as "stupid."

Maybe the catch that got away was bigger than I thought... Enomoto mused, but he had no intention of competing with Keita. He didn’t have the patience or commitment to stick with someone for years, relying solely on love.

"Maybe it’s time for me to find a cute younger boyfriend too," Enomoto said.

"Didn’t you just say you believed in free love?" Mitsuru pointed out.

"Maybe I’m starting to think it’s time to settle down," Enomoto grinned mischievously.

"Hey, Mitsuru, there’s something on your eyelashes," Enomoto said.

"Huh? Is there?" Mitsuru rubbed his eyelids like a cat.

"Close your eyes and look up," Enomoto instructed.

As Mitsuru obediently closed his eyes and tilted his chin up, Enomoto quickly leaned in and kissed his defenseless lips.

"Takanori-san!" Mitsuru cried out, realizing he had been tricked.

"It's your fault for letting your guard down. Don’t worry, though. I won’t tell Keita," Enomoto said, softly stroking Mitsuru’s cheek and smiling gently.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Footnotes

0. Content warning: Ableism.

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