Utsukushii Koto: Volume 1 - Part 3

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At 8 p.m., just as Matsuoka stepped out of the bath, a message arrived. It was from Hiromatsu: “I just got home. Eating a convenience store makunouchi bento.”

Matsuoka replied, “I had gyūdon on the way home.”

As he watched TV, another message came in.

“Isn’t it kind of gutsy for a woman to go to a gyūdon place alone? That’s amazing. I go sometimes too… end of the month, usually.”

It was a comment that hinted at his sparse end-of-month finances. Since sales was commission-based, the more contracts you landed, the more you earned. Compared to other departments, they were better off financially.

“He’s so painfully honest…”

A guy who admits to going to gyūdon shops because he's broke at the end of the month—if anything, that’s the kind of image you’d want to avoid. And yet, the lack of pretense made Matsuoka chuckle.

He thought back to the copying incident that morning and sent, “Hiromatsu-san did something really good today.”

In no time, he got a reply: “What do you mean?”

Matsuoka wrote back, “Try asking your heart.”

And then: “I don’t know.”

The fact that Hiromatsu himself didn’t even realize the significance of helping with the morning copies only left a stronger impression on Matsuoka. That ability to just brush off his own good deeds—it was oddly… cool.

Matsuoka replied, “If you don’t know, that’s fine.”

Hiromatsu followed with, “Did you see me somewhere today?”

Matsuoka paused, then wrote: “Secret.”

The reply came back quickly: “That’s not fair. I wanted to see you too.”

Matsuoka set his phone on the charger and lay down on his bed. Maybe it’s time to let ‘Yoko Eto’ disappear, he thought vaguely.

The email exchanges were fun, but the feeling that it was time to move on grew stronger by the day.

He wanted to be friends with Hiromatsu. But if he got rid of Yoko Eto, then he’d have to interact as Yosuke Matsuoka instead. And after getting so close already, the idea of starting over from scratch felt exhausting. He sighed quietly.

How did things get like this…?

No matter how he looked at it, the fault lay in his inability to firmly say no at the start. The realization left him steeped in self-loathing.

By mid-October, the parks and roadside trees he passed during his sales rounds had started to show signs of fall color, a clear reminder that autumn had arrived. It had been nearly two months since he started exchanging emails under the name “Yoko Eto.”

That day, even after he got home, not a single message came from Hiromatsu. If he’s busy with work, then sending a lighthearted message might be annoying, Matsuoka thought, and decided not to send anything himself.

The next morning, he woke up to his alarm clock but stayed in bed, waiting to see if his phone would ring. At 7 a.m., the usual morning call came, but Hiromatsu’s voice lacked its usual energy.

“You’re up early today. Were you already awake, maybe? I’ll email you tonight. Well then…”

No playful teasing. No light banter. Matsuoka could tell immediately—something happened. But since Hiromatsu didn’t bring it up, he decided not to push and waited until the evening.

At 8 p.m., an email finally came from Hiromatsu. Matsuoka had been thinking about it all day and opened it immediately.

“I want to see you.”

That was all it said. Just that he wanted to see her.

No matter how many times he said it, Matsuoka had no intention of ever meeting him while cross-dressed again. So he replied simply: “I can’t meet you.”

Another message came: “I really want to see you.”

Hiromatsu had always been respectful and well-behaved. His sudden persistence felt strange. It wasn’t just that he wanted to meet—Matsuoka wanted to understand why he felt the need to.

So he wrote: “Did something happen?”

The reply:

“Yoko-san… are you watching me from somewhere?”

Normally, listening to people’s complaints was the last thing Matsuoka wanted to do—but this time, he wrote: “If it’s okay with you, I’ll listen.”

Hiromatsu was different. If something bad had happened, he wanted to comfort him. If something upsetting had occurred, he wanted to tell him that good things would come next.

But the reply took a long time. An hour… then two passed. Matsuoka started thinking the day would end without even a “good night” message. Then, finally, just before midnight, a message arrived.

“Something unpleasant did happen today, but I’ll keep it to myself. If I talk about it, it’ll just sound like complaining. And if I start going on about things you don’t know much about—like stuff at my company—it wouldn’t be fun for you to read, and it wouldn’t be pleasant either. Please forget the message I sent earlier. I won’t say I want to see you ever again. If you’ll still message me after this, I’d be really grateful.”

It ended so cleanly, it almost deflated Matsuoka.

He’d been bracing himself for something heavier. But after rereading the email a few times, something stood out.

“I won’t say I want to see you ever again.”

Hiromatsu had written that line as if he already knew Matsuoka didn’t want him to say it. As if he’d sensed it from the tone, from the silence.

Matsuoka felt guilty toward someone who was clearly feeling down, someone who had said he wanted to see him. But it was time to end “Yoko Eto.” It was easy to forget while replying naturally as himself, but what Hiromatsu liked was Yoko Eto, not him.

The idea of someone being hurt over not being able to meet a fantasy—it felt too ridiculous.

“Let’s stop emailing each other. I haven’t told you before, but I’m in love with someone else.”

Sending this wouldn’t sever their connection entirely. Even if they had to start from scratch, if Matsuoka made the effort, they could become real friends. He believed that—and hit send.

Less than five minutes later, his phone rang. It was the morning call ringtone. He knew right away—it was Hiromatsu.

He hesitated for a long time, but in the end, he picked up.

“Sorry to call so late. It’s Hiromatsu.”

His voice sounded far more subdued than usual.

“Thank you for picking up. I won’t send you any more emails or call you again, so don’t worry. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised when I read your message. I figured you probably had someone you liked.”

Hiromatsu spoke quietly, almost too calmly.

“I just… I wanted to tell you how I felt in my own voice, not through an email. So I’m really grateful that you‘re listening.”

Holding the phone, Matsuoka swallowed hard. Even though he already knew what the next words would be, his heart was pounding.

“I love you.”

Hiromatsu let out a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Not that I needed to say it. I’m sure you already knew.”

The silence that followed was long. Matsuoka couldn’t do anything but wait for what would come next.

“I know I’m causing you trouble. I’m sorry. Thank you for everything up until now… really. Well then—”

Even after saying goodbye, the call didn’t disconnect. Matsuoka couldn’t bring himself to hang up, either. As he waited to see what the other would do, he heard:

“Um… would you mind being the one to hang up?”

Following his request, Matsuoka ended the call.

And the moment the line went dead—when that feeling of connection disappeared—he was surprised at how lonely he felt.

It was strange, considering he was the one who had initiated the goodbye. But there was no denying it—that was how he truly felt.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, as soon as Matsuoka arrived at work, he found out the reason behind Hiromatsu’s recent odd behavior. It was posted on the first-floor bulletin board. Even though internal emails were standard now, this company still did things the old-fashioned way—announcements were posted publicly. One of their colleagues had once smirked, “It’s practically a public shaming.” Promotions weren’t the only things posted; demotions were, too. And today’s notice was one of the latter.

"General Affairs Department – Motofumi Hiromatsu. The above employee is hereby assigned to Koishikawa Research Facility, effective October 25th."

Matsuoka read the line over and over again. The Koishikawa Research Facility, as the name implied, was primarily a research and development division. For anyone who wasn’t a technical employee, being sent there had no meaning. In other words, for general staff, it was a de facto demotion. People got shuffled there and then quietly laid off.

If I’d known…

Matsuoka regretted cutting ties with Hiromatsu the day before. He’d told him he had someone he liked—lied to him—when all the man had wanted was comfort, when he’d been pushed into what was essentially an exile. Instead of being there for him, Matsuoka had turned him away with a lie.

His chest ached. If he’d known this was coming, he wouldn’t have told him to stop emailing. He wouldn’t have claimed to be in love with someone else. He might’ve even been okay meeting one last time while cross-dressing. If seeing “her” would’ve soothed Hiromatsu even just a little…

He thought he heard Fukuda’s voice and turned. He was greeting one of the receptionists, walking through the lobby, passing the bulletin board, and heading toward the elevators.

“Morning,” Matsuoka called out, making eye contact—but Fukuda ignored him completely.

“Hey, Fukuda.”

Only after Matsuoka called his name did Fukuda finally stop.

“What? I’m in a hurry.”

They were supposed to be the closest among their cohort, and yet Fukuda’s tone was icy. What’s with the attitude? Matsuoka thought with a quiet click of his tongue.

“I just wanted to talk a bit. Wanna grab dinner tonight?”

“Ah—yeah, I’ve already got plans tonight.”

The rejection was immediate.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Got plans then too. I’ve been busy lately—no free time. Must be nice in Sales, huh? Seems pretty relaxed.”

Relaxed? Matsuoka bristled. What the hell makes him think Sales is easy? That needling tone only grated on him more.

“Then when do you have time? A month from now? A year?”

Fukuda’s face clearly soured.

“Since we’re doing this—let me be straight. Right now, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Did I do something to you?”

They hadn’t even spoken much in the last few weeks, hadn’t contacted each other. Matsuoka couldn’t think of a single reason to be hated.

“I like you, honestly. And I admit you’re one of the most capable people in our year. But just because you’re good at your job doesn’t mean you get to push around the people below you.”

Matsuoka blinked. “Huh?”

“You took sides with that girl and lied—said she did something she didn’t. And in front of everyone, you humiliated my girlfriend.”

And there it was. Fukuda was talking about the false accusation incident with Okayabayashi from half a month ago.

“You mean the thing with the document copies?”

“Yeah. That turned into a mess, you know. She cried, said she wanted to quit her job. And when I asked her about it, she said you’d been cold to her for a long time.”

Matsuoka furrowed his brow sharply. Cold? How could he have been cold when he barely interacted with her? He spent all day out doing client visits—there wasn’t even time to deal with someone in admin. People like her—who could casually pin blame on others—had no guilt about lying. She’d twisted the story to make herself look innocent, made it sound like Matsuoka was the villain.

In these situations, pushing back or denying it too forcefully would only make things worse. Fukuda would just get more defensive.

So Matsuoka looked away—and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I didn’t think I was being that harsh,” Matsuoka said. “Lately I’ve been out on the street a lot, barely even had a chance to talk to her. But… if I made her feel bad, then I’m sorry. That was my fault.”

By taking the humble approach, the cold edge in Fukuda’s demeanor softened just a little.

“As long as you understand, it’s fine. She’s sensitive, you know—just try to be more mindful with her going forward.”

Matsuoka didn’t believe for a second that a woman who could throw her coworkers under the bus was “sensitive,” but he left that unsaid. There was no point arguing with a guy wearing love-tinted glasses.

“I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s okay now.”

With each repetition of his apology, Matsuoka could feel Fukuda’s distrust thawing. He glanced at the clock—less than five minutes until work officially started.

“Oh, right—there was something I’d been meaning to tell you. About Okayabayashi-san. Something’s been bugging me about her, and I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything, but… it felt wrong not to.”

He let the implication hang in the air, then theatrically raised his arm and checked the time.

“Whoa, look at the time. Guess we’ll have to talk about it some other day.”

“Hey—wait, hold up.”

Fukuda took the bait instantly. As Matsuoka turned toward the elevator, he could sense Fukuda coming after him.

“Don’t leave it hanging like that! What about her? What happened?”

“But it’s work time now, isn’t it?”

“Then let’s grab dinner tonight or something—you can tell me then.”

Fukuda had just finished claiming he was too busy to hang out, but now he’d apparently forgotten all about it.

“Oh? I thought you were busy tonight?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll make time. Come on.”

While they were talking, 8:30 rolled around. Start of business hours. The two of them hurriedly stepped into the elevator.

“I’ll text you after work,” Fukuda said, giving Matsuoka a confirming pat on the shoulder.

Getting off on the fifth floor, Matsuoka made it to his desk with a one-minute delay. The moment he put down his bag, he walked straight over to Hayama in the admin office.

“…Hey, I wanted to ask you something. You free for lunch today? My treat.”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Not too hot, not too cold… Late October was the season Matsuoka looked forward to most. Unlike summer, he didn’t have to be disgusted by the smell of his own sweat, and unlike winter, he didn’t have to freeze.

In the lightly chilled air, he walked side by side with Fukuda. When he suggested going to an izakaya, Fukuda casually remarked, “Man, I’m totally broke this month.”

Matsuoka could’ve offered to treat, but Fukuda had the bad habit of forgetting anything he borrowed while never forgetting what he lent. So Matsuoka lied: “Same here,” and steered them straight to a gyūdon joint.

As soon as they sat down, before they even had water, Fukuda jumped in with, “So, about my girlfriend…” straight to the point.

“Don’t rush,” Matsuoka said. “Let’s order first. Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you too. Mind if I go first?”

Fukuda didn’t insist on going first, instead falling silent. After ordering a large gyūdon and a beer, he immediately circled back: “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Clearly, he just wanted to get Matsuoka’s topic out of the way so he could talk about his own.

“You know in General Affairs… that guy you hate, Hiromatsu? He’s being transferred, right? That’s basically a demotion, yeah?”

In a breezy tone, Fukuda replied, “Yeah, that’s right,” brushing his bangs back with his hand.

“It’s based on his performance and work attitude, but I think HR made the right call.”

Performance aside, when it comes to work ethic, he’s better than you, Matsuoka thought silently.

“But Hiromatsu’s not that old, right? Thirty-three or so, from the looks of it?”

“Thirty-three,” Fukuda confirmed.

“From a financial standpoint, wouldn’t it make more sense to let someone older go? It’d save the company more.”

“Who knows,” Fukuda muttered indifferently. “That’s HR’s call.” He shrugged.

“But it’s your job as his supervisor to report on his conduct, right? So you must’ve written up something pretty harsh.”

“Oh, so you figured that out?”

Fukuda glanced sideways at Matsuoka with a pleased grin.

“This made me realize—HR really does read those reports. I seriously couldn’t stand the guy, so I went pretty hard on him in the evaluation.”

Matsuoka felt a surge of anger. You don’t get to play with someone’s entire life just because you like or dislike them. And yet Fukuda spoke about it like it was nothing. Matsuoka kept his expression neutral and responded only with a quiet, “Huh.”

“It’s an obvious demotion. Even he’s feeling it this time. I kind of feel sorry for him, y’know?”

You’re the one who put him there, Matsuoka wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him.

“Oh, right. There’s a farewell party for Hiromatsu the day after tomorrow. One of the guys who worked under him is organizing it. I didn’t think we needed to throw him one. I mean, it’s a demotion—making a big deal of it just seems sarcastic, right? So I kept my mouth shut, but there’s always some do-gooder who can’t help themselves. Ugh. End of the month, I’m broke, and now I have to waste money on his send-off. It’s so unfair.”

And now he’s calling that unfair? Matsuoka was left utterly drained. He seriously questioned the judgment of the General Affairs department head who made this guy a section chief. Even if Fukuda could handle the work decently, as a human being, he was a zero. Zero.

Their gyūdon arrived, pausing the conversation. Hungry, Matsuoka dug in, but either because of the anger boiling inside him or the sheer distaste in his mouth, it didn’t taste like anything. Fukuda downed half his beer and exhaled with a loud “Phaaah!”

“Speaking of Hiromatsu—there’s one thing that’s been bugging me,” Fukuda said. “A while back, one of the admin girls said she saw him walking with a really beautiful woman. And not just a little pretty—apparently, she was stunning enough that even another woman would stop and stare.”

Fukuda smirked as he spoke.

“When they asked him about it, he just said she was a ‘friend.’ They kept pushing—like, ‘If she’s that hot, show us a pic!’ But even though I know he must’ve taken one, he swore he hadn’t and refused to show anything.”

There’s no way that earnest guy—who had told him he was in love with him—would be walking around with another woman. That “beautiful woman” was without a doubt him.

“Come to think of it, there’s no way someone like Hiromatsu could land a girl like that. His face is whatever, his hair’s lame, and he wears the same old suit year-round. I’m guessing she’s a hostess or something. And he’s just a client. That’d explain why he won’t show a picture, right?”

Matsuoka’s stomach churned. How much further does he plan to drag Hiromatsu down?

“Oh, I know—at his farewell party, I could totally mess with him about it. Get him wasted, push him to call her, and then fish for what she does for work. Oh man, that would be hilarious.”

He slammed his empty beer glass down on the counter. Fukuda turned in surprise.

“What the hell was that?”

“Ah, sorry. Just out of beer.”

The second glass came quickly. Matsuoka downed it in one go.

“Where’s that farewell party being held?”

“The place? Some Vietnamese place on Higashi-dōri called Mua Xuan or something. Why?”

“Eh, we’ve got a farewell party coming up too. Just curious—for reference.”

“It’s supposed to be pretty good,” Fukuda added, and then finally brought up what he’d been dying to say. “So, about my girlfriend…”

“You mean that thing I mentioned this morning?”

“Yeah, that.”

Matsuoka exhaled quietly through his nose. Over lunch, he’d treated Hayama to a meal in exchange for some intel. Turns out, Okayabayashi was still seeing Yoshida from Sales—and stringing Fukuda along on the side. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Her real “main guy” was a club host. She was so obsessed with him that she ran out of money, and now she was selling the brand-name items gifted by both Yoshida and Fukuda to keep up appearances. It was so shameless it was almost laughable.

If all she were doing was playing men for fun, it might still be forgivable. But the kicker? She apparently gossiped about their sex lives too. Said the host was by far the best, Yoshida was decent, and—though Matsuoka hadn’t wanted to know this—Fukuda was quick to finish and boring in bed.

Matsuoka couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy. If he hadn’t gotten involved with Okayabayashi, maybe no one would’ve found out how lousy he was in bed.

“Come on, don’t keep me hanging. Just tell me.”

Fukuda’s impatience pushed Matsuoka over the edge. He had hesitated at first, debating whether to show him the mercy of silence. But after hearing the way Fukuda talked about Hiromatsu—so casually cruel—he lost any desire to be kind.

He didn’t know how much of what Hayama said was true. Didn’t know—but at this moment, he didn’t care. He was ready to be the irresponsible one, and spill everything he’d heard.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Matsuoka stood in front of a shuttered storefront, two buildings down from Mua Xuan, the Vietnamese restaurant on Higashi-dōri.

This really is the last time I’ll dress like this, he told himself.

The floral-print dress was simple, but the silhouette was beautiful. He’d chosen a cardigan that screamed “cute” from every angle. He wanted to create a woman so perfect that out of a hundred men, all one hundred would think she was adorable.

He’d never gone shopping for private reasons during work hours before. But otherwise, there wouldn’t have been enough time after work to pick out clothes.

He'd rushed into a shop that looked stylish and had elegant, cute outfits on display. It was the first time he’d bought women’s clothing in person, but he didn’t hesitate.

“I want to buy something for my girlfriend’s birthday,” he said. “She’s about my size. Just something really cute.”

The clerk didn’t seem the least bit suspicious. She smiled sweetly and said, “You’re such a thoughtful boyfriend—she’s lucky to have you,” and helped him choose the clothes.

On the day of Hiromatsu’s farewell party, Matsuoka rushed through work, went home, and scrubbed himself clean. He spent a full hour on makeup, putting every technique he had to use. If he went too heavy, he’d look flashy—like a hostess. So he focused on bringing out his eyes and double eyelids, aiming for drop-dead beauty.

Wearing the floral dress and full-on beauty makeup, the woman staring back from the mirror was flawless. She was far cuter than any model in the women’s magazine he’d referenced. So beautiful it was almost frightening. But still not satisfied, he practiced smiling in front of the mirror, over and over, with total focus.

He left the apartment at 8 p.m. and arrived at Higashi-dōri around 8:30. Hiding in the shadows of a nearby building, he called Fukuda’s cell.

It was last-minute, but he asked if he wanted to grab drinks. As expected, the voice that came through the noisy background said, “I told you, didn’t I? Tonight’s the farewell party.”

“Oh, right. What time do you think it’ll end?”

“…Maybe in thirty minutes? Where are you right now?”

“Hm? The signal’s kind of bad. I can’t really hear you… ah—uh…”

Pretending not to hear, Matsuoka cut the call. When Fukuda inevitably tried calling back, he ignored it and turned his phone off.

He approached the restaurant and staked out a spot a little ways off, waiting for the farewell party to end.

Fifteen minutes later, a large group came spilling out of the restaurant. Among them, holding a huge bouquet, was Hiromatsu. Fukuda was there too.

Once everyone had gathered outside, Matsuoka straightened his back, took a breath, and walked toward them.

He gently took hold of the arm of the man with his back turned.

Hiromatsu turned around—and when he saw Matsuoka standing behind him, his eyes widened in shock. The bouquet slipped from his hands.

A younger colleague nearby quickly picked it up. “Hiromatsu-san, are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

The group stirred noisily, all eyes suddenly on them. Matsuoka, unfazed, pulled Hiromatsu out of the circle with firm determination.

“Yoko-san… why are you here?”

Hiromatsu looked at him with a face full of disbelief. When Matsuoka leaned in like a cat nuzzling close, the man tensed up completely. He took Hiromatsu’s trembling hand and wrote on his palm:

Just happened to be passing by.

He glanced toward the group they’d left behind. Everyone was watching them with blatant curiosity. Matsuoka turned to them and flashed a dazzling smile. A few of the men grinned back dumbly.

“Would you spend a little time with me?”

He wrote that down and squeezed the arm he’d hooked around Hiromatsu’s.

“Ah, um… today was my farewell party. I’m, uh, transferring, and… oh, I guess the party’s already over now…”

He fumbled, completely flustered.

“I think I’ll be fine. I just want to go back and thank everyone.”

Hiromatsu turned to rejoin the group, but Matsuoka squeezed his hand tightly. Hiromatsu hesitated for a second—then, gripping back with equal strength, led Matsuoka with him into the crowd.

“Thank you all so much for today,” Hiromatsu said. “I’ll do my best at the new workplace. If you ever stop by the Koishikawa Research Facility, please don’t hesitate to say hi.”

But no one was looking at Hiromatsu. Everyone’s eyes were on her—the woman beside him.

Their curious stares were met with a sweet, composed smile. Matsuoka, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed on Hiromatsu, like a woman clearly smitten, to make their relationship unmistakably obvious.

“I’ll take my leave now. Thank you very much.”

Hiromatsu concluded his speech. Just then, the young man who’d picked up the fallen bouquet spoke up.

“Um, Hiromatsu-senpai, is the person with you… your girlfriend?”

Matsuoka saw Hiromatsu open his mouth, clearly about to deny it—so he gently pressed his fingertips to his lips. Then, turning to the group, she offered a radiant smile.

The crowd erupted.

“She’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anyone this beautiful,” one of the female staff murmured, her heavy eye shadow suddenly feeling inadequate.

“So tall, and so fair… like a model, seriously.”

Even the male employees joined in, pelting Hiromatsu with rapid-fire questions.

“How did you two meet?”

“How long have you been dating?”

As the questions started to pile up, Matsuoka made a slightly confused face and leaned her head lightly against Hiromatsu’s shoulder. The crowd instantly fell silent.

Without speaking, Matsuoka gently tugged his arm—Let’s go. She looked up into his eyes, silently conveying her intention. Hiromatsu got it.

“She seems to be in a bit of a hurry. Sorry, everyone.”

No one stopped them as they left—still hand-in-hand.

Footsteps approached from behind. When they turned, it was the same young man from before, bouquet in hand.

“You forgot this.”

Strangely, he offered it to Matsuoka instead of Hiromatsu. She accepted the flowers and gave him a dazzling smile—and that alone was enough to turn the boy’s face bright red.

In the distance, Fukuda stood frozen in place, stunned and speechless. His gaping expression made Matsuoka sneer inside: Serves you right.

Tomorrow, all of General Affairs would be buzzing about “Hiromatsu’s girlfriend.” The plan had worked. The whole charade—this final act of cross-dressing—had started out as a way to humiliate Fukuda after the cruel things he’d said. And it had worked perfectly.

Let them all believe she was beautiful. Let them all envy Hiromatsu for dating her.

As they turned a corner and left the crowd behind, the noise faded—and suddenly, the hand he was still holding became awkwardly noticeable. Matsuoka loosened his grip, but Hiromatsu didn’t let go.

“Where shall we go?”

Although there were countless bars in the bustling district, Matsuoka had deliberately chosen a 24-hour coffee shop. Despite having initiated the invitation himself, he now wished to avoid creating any more of that overly flirtatious atmosphere.

The shop was full of younger customers, a bit more rowdy than expected. They picked a quiet, tucked-away booth, but the background noise still buzzed around them.

While Hiromatsu went to order coffee, Matsuoka leaned in and looked closely at the bouquet. It had a soft, gentle fragrance. He lowered his nose like a puppy and gave it a few investigative sniffs—only to look up and see Hiromatsu smiling as he returned.

“You can have those flowers,” he said.

Matsuoka didn’t nod—just stared.

“It’s okay,” Hiromatsu added, smiling. “I already received the thought behind them. Please keep them in your room, Yoko-san.”

There wasn’t much point in someone like him receiving flowers… but it felt like Hiromatsu wanted to give them to him. So, Matsuoka nodded.

Matsuoka set the bouquet down on the seat beside him and took a sip of coffee. He realized that his stomach had been growling for a while. No wonder—he hadn’t eaten dinner. He’d been so focused on perfecting his makeup that he’d completely forgotten.

Hiromatsu had just come from a farewell party, so he likely wasn’t hungry. Matsuoka hesitated—eating alone in front of him felt awkward—but hunger won out.

“Would it be okay if I had something to eat?”

He wrote the message on a note and passed it across the table. Hiromatsu immediately stood up, flustered. “What would you like? I’ll get it for you.”

“It’s fine, I’ll go myself, don’t worry,” Matsuoka wrote back. But Hiromatsu remained firm. “No, please—I’ll get it.”

If he pushed back too hard, things might get awkward. So Matsuoka gave in and asked for a single hot dog. He was still hungry, but ordering two or three felt unladylike—and it wasn’t right to make Hiromatsu pay for all that.

While Hiromatsu was at the self-serve counter, Matsuoka absentmindedly watched his back. That’s when someone spoke to him.

“Hey.”

A tall, light-haired guy, clearly younger. His shirt had a strange pattern, but it suited him. Not a bad sense of style.

“You here alone?”

When dressed as a woman, Matsuoka was used to getting approached. Usually, it happened while walking, so he could ignore them and keep moving. If they were persistent, he’d just say, “I have plans,” and they’d back off.

He glanced toward the counter. He couldn’t speak—he’d told Hiromatsu he was mute. If Hiromatsu overheard him now, the lie would unravel.

“If you’re alone, wanna grab a drink? I know a nice place.”

He tried putting on a troubled expression, but the guy wasn’t backing off. Just as he reached for his notepad to write that he already had company—

“Do you know him?”

It was Hiromatsu’s voice.

When Matsuoka looked up, Hiromatsu was already sitting across from him with the tray. The younger guy frowned and muttered, “You should’ve just said you were with someone,” and left.

Hiromatsu let out a relieved sigh. “Here you go. Please, eat.”

He pushed the tray toward Matsuoka, who gave him a small bow in place of thanks and picked up the hot dog. His stomach growled, but it was surprisingly hard to eat—mostly because the man across from him was staring at him way too intently.

Just one hot dog made him feel full. He wiped his mustard-stained fingertips with a napkin.

“So… why were you out in the city today?”

Hiromatsu had clearly been waiting for him to finish eating to ask.

“No real reason. Just had free time.”

Matsuoka scribbled on his notepad.

“Were you meeting someone?”

He slowly shook his head.

“You finding me tonight… that was really just a coincidence?”

He nodded firmly.

“Then why… in front of everyone, did you pretend to be my girlfriend?”

He didn’t know how to answer. So he wrote vaguely: “No real reason.”

“You pretended to be my girlfriend just because? You didn’t forget that I told you I liked you, right?”

The words hit him like a slap. Only now did Matsuoka realize how suggestive his actions had been. He’d cut things off unilaterally, then tonight had swooped in and clung to Hiromatsu like nothing had happened.

No wonder he’s upset…

“I’m sorry,” he wrote quietly and passed the note across the table.

Hiromatsu read it, then slumped forward, elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands.

Now he felt even worse. Matsuoka had no idea what to do. And writing another “I’m sorry” wouldn’t help.

Unable to stand the awkward atmosphere, he began rubbing the insides of his knees together beneath the table. If he could, he’d go home right now and disappear.

“To be honest… I don’t know what to do.”

Hiromatsu finally looked up. Matsuoka was relieved, if only slightly, to see that he didn’t seem angry.

“I was really happy when you came and spoke to me. When you pretended to be my girlfriend… it felt like I was dreaming.”

He reached across the table and grasped both of Matsuoka’s hands. Matsuoka’s back tensed in surprise.

“What do you think of me?”

It wasn’t the kind of question you could answer with a yes or no—and with his hands held, he couldn’t write anything either. All he could do was gaze at the face across from him.

“You said you liked someone. Are you in a relationship with that person?”

Matsuoka shook his head. He hadn’t even thought through the meaning behind that gesture.

“You’re not? Then… is it unrequited?”

Since he had already denied being in a relationship, all he could do now was nod.

“Why haven’t you told them how you feel? Someone as beautiful as you—anyone would…”

Hiromatsu trailed off mid-sentence, his brow furrowing in thought, his gaze dropping.

“Do I have a chance?”

The look in his eyes was frighteningly serious.

“Do I have a chance for you to love me?”

Before Matsuoka could react, Hiromatsu continued, his words coming faster and faster.

“If you didn’t like me at all, you would’ve ignored me when you saw me on the street, right? But you didn’t. Doesn’t that mean—even if just as a friend—you care about me, even a little?”

His grip tightened. Matsuoka’s fingers were now pressed against Hiromatsu’s forehead, as if in prayer.

“You know how I feel. Even so, that’s okay. If you’re ever bored, or lonely, please call me. Just… let me continue liking you. Let me want to see you.”

Then, he added:

“And… if one day your feelings reach that person you like, and I become an obstacle, please tell me. If that happens—I’ll give up on you. For real, this time.”

Matsuoka felt a sharp ache in his chest, as if those words were meant for him. If he had truly been a woman, in this moment, he wouldn’t have hesitated—he would have said yes without question.

What kind of woman wouldn’t be moved by this kind of pure-hearted devotion?

Swept up in the heat of his feelings, a faint doubt flickered through Matsuoka’s chest. They only ever exchanged messages. This was only the fifth time they’d met in person. And yet, where did this overwhelming love come from? They had chatted, yes—but never really shared their deepest feelings.

And still, this man said he loved him.

He knew it was unnatural to keep meeting in this disguise. He’d told himself not to see Hiromatsu anymore because of that. But now… he wanted to know. Even if it meant turning a blind eye to how unnatural it was, he wanted to find out. Where did this man’s feelings come from? How deep did they run?

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