Utsukushii Koto: Volume 1 - Part 6

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Hiromatsu invited Matsuoka out for dinner three days after they had spent the night together. Even though it was the end of the year and work was unbearably hectic, Matsuoka didn’t say no. More than that—he even went so far as to take three hours of personal leave, despite the displeased look from his boss, just so he could go home, change, and put on his makeup.

All day, Matsuoka had been restless with anticipation, unable to think about anything but seeing Hiromatsu. They exchanged emails every day, kept in constant contact, but that wasn’t enough anymore. Even Matsuoka had begun to question himself for meeting Hiromatsu again in the guise of a woman. He knew—eventually, he’d have to tell him the truth. He couldn’t pretend forever. Still, he hesitated. Meeting as a woman was fun. And if it was fun, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t hurt to keep it up a little longer.

The dinner reservation turned out to be at a modest Italian restaurant that, Matsuoka could tell, Hiromatsu had done his best to pick out. When they were handed the wine list, Hiromatsu furrowed his brow in distress, clearly unsure what to choose, and Matsuoka had to bite back laughter again and again because he found him so ridiculously cute.

The meal was delicious. Their time together was easy, natural. So even after 9 p.m., when they left the restaurant, they wandered the streets aimlessly, reluctant to part ways. When they happened to pass near the love hotels, Matsuoka’s heart skipped a beat, but Hiromatsu didn’t seem to even glance in that direction.

At the station, in front of a crowd of people, Hiromatsu kissed him goodbye. Matsuoka had never understood the kind of people who kissed in public, and now, as one of them, he finally realized: when you’re caught in that kind of emotion, when the impulse comes boiling up from within, shame or embarrassment doesn’t even factor in. It isn’t something you can stop.

After they parted, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on his lips, Matsuoka received another email.

I forgot to say this earlier. Let’s go to the shrine together for New Year’s.

Just reading the word “hatsumode” made his heart skip.

When should we go? he replied.

Hiromatsu quickly responded: How about the third or fourth? I’ll be heading to my parents’ house for New Year’s. What about you, Yoko-san?

The message deflated him. Matsuoka’s own parents were planning to spend the New Year holidays at a hot spring, indulging in luxury and relaxation. They’d invited him to come, but he’d turned them down. At his age, going with his parents just didn’t sit right—and besides, part of him had hoped to spend the end of the year with Hiromatsu. But if he was going back home, that wouldn’t happen.

He couldn’t very well interfere with Hiromatsu’s time with his family. At the same time, if he said he wasn’t going anywhere, there was a chance Hiromatsu might cancel his trip just to stay. So instead, Matsuoka lied: I’m going back to my parents’ too.

So I guess the next time I’ll see your face will be after the New Year, Hiromatsu wrote back, almost cheerily. The disconnect between their desires was infuriating. Matsuoka was frustrated, knowing he wanted more than Hiromatsu seemed to, so he replied curtly: I guess so.

Sensing something wrong, Hiromatsu asked: Are you angry?

Matsuoka ignored it and shut off his phone.

An hour later, when he turned it back on, there were ten unread messages—all from Hiromatsu. The first read: Why are you angry? From there, they spiraled: Was I thoughtless? Did I say something that upset you? and on and on, ending simply with: I’m sorry.

Matsuoka sighed. If he left this alone, Hiromatsu probably wouldn’t sleep tonight. So he sent a reply: I’m the one who should apologize. The response came almost immediately, as if Hiromatsu had been staring at his screen the whole time: I’m so relieved.

It was already past midnight when Matsuoka finally sent the usual Goodnight message, and the trivial exchange ended for the evening. Still in his makeup, still dressed in women’s clothes, he sat on the sofa in a daze.

He wasn’t a child. He understood—at least vaguely—how much Hiromatsu had been restraining himself. A man past thirty who was in love and knew the other person felt the same wouldn’t just ignore desire. Matsuoka had felt that kind of gaze on him too, but Hiromatsu had never once suggested they go to a hotel. And even if he had, Matsuoka was sure he would’ve turned him down.

But kisses felt good. He didn’t dislike being touched. Still, even if their feelings were mutual, there was an undeniable difference between a man’s and a woman’s body. Someday, he would have to say it. That he was a man. He’d always known. That was why he’d even tried meeting Hiromatsu as himself. But Hiromatsu hadn’t recognized him.

If only he’d fall even more in love with me, Matsuoka thought. So much that it wouldn’t matter if I’m a man or a woman. If only he’d love me enough to see past it.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The first time Matsuoka saw Hiromatsu after the New Year was on the third. They had arranged to meet in front of the bustling station, and the moment Matsuoka spotted the man running toward him from the ticket gates, something in his chest leapt with anticipation. It had only been a week since they’d last seen each other in person—hardly any time at all—but even though they exchanged emails and phone calls daily, seeing him face-to-face felt different. Incomparably so.

“Happy New Year,” Hiromatsu said, smiling broadly. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were flushed red from the cold and exertion—it was clear he’d run to avoid being late—and the sight was so endearing it made Matsuoka want to wrap his arms around him on the spot.

From the station to the shrine, they walked hand-in-hand. As the crowd thickened, they linked arms instead. Hiromatsu didn’t talk much, but Matsuoka didn’t mind. Just walking together was enough. After traversing the long path lined with vendors, they offered their prayers and drew their omikuji.

“What did yours say?” Hiromatsu asked, trying to peek. Matsuoka quickly evaded him and checked it in secret. Suekichi—barely good fortune. The love fortune said “Difficulties present. Wait for the right timing,” and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He tied it promptly to the nearby tree designated for unlucky fortunes.

Hiromatsu, on the other hand, showed him his result. Daikichi. And under the love fortune it read, “Proceed and it shall be well.” Same romance, same relationship—and yet, how could the outcomes be so different?

On the walk back along the shrine path, pain began to creep into his feet. His awkward gait gave him away, and Hiromatsu quickly had him sit on the stone curb near the entrance. The culprit was obvious—those sharply pointed heels. After walking the long gravel path, a blister had formed at the base of his big toe.

“You didn’t have to push yourself until it got this bad,” Hiromatsu said with concern. But today, more than anything, Matsuoka had wanted to wear those heels.

Originally, he had planned to wear a kimono. After all, New Year’s shrine visits practically called for one. But renting one meant having to figure out how to put it on. Even if he practiced enough to manage it alone, the neckline would expose too much. He considered wrapping a fur stole around his neck to hide it, but that would mean having to keep it on the entire day without ever taking it off. Surely Hiromatsu would have loved to see him in a kimono, but in the end, Matsuoka gave up on the idea.

Instead, he decided that if he couldn’t wear a kimono, he’d at least dress in a way just as pretty. The velvety, deep green one-piece dress with a white coat over it, matched with dainty high heels, gave a beautifully coordinated impression. He’d worried they might hurt his feet, but he couldn’t bear to ruin the silhouette with clunky loafers.

As Hiromatsu stood in front of him, visibly troubled, Matsuoka took his hand and wrote in his palm, “It’s fine, I can still walk.”

“But it hurts, doesn’t it?” Hiromatsu asked. Even when Matsuoka shook his head, the other man continued to frown. Then, without warning, he crouched slightly and scooped Matsuoka up into his arms.

“Just hang on until we get through the rest of the path. Once we hit the main street, we’ll find a cab.”

Without waiting for a reply, he walked off, carrying Matsuoka in full view of the crowd. Embarrassed beyond words, Matsuoka threw his arms around Hiromatsu’s neck and buried his face there.

They flagged a cab once they reached the road, and Hiromatsu said, “It wouldn’t feel right going out to eat when your feet hurt like this.” So they decided to call it a night. Even though the back seat had enough space for three adults, they sat close together, shoulders touching.

Hiromatsu walked him to the front of his apartment. Only after he’d done so did Matsuoka realize his mistake. It felt too cold to let him go just like that. Under normal circumstances, this would be when he’d say something like, “Would you like to come in for tea?”

But the apartment was strewn with signs of Matsuoka’s real life—suits, an attaché case, men’s shoes by the door. There was no way he could let Hiromatsu in.

Like a loyal dog, Hiromatsu stood patiently, waiting for his next cue. Matsuoka took his hand and wrote, “Thank you for today. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hiromatsu said, giving him a gentle pat on the head. His smile was warm and kind. Matsuoka found himself gazing at that face, entranced. If I were really a woman, he thought, I’d probably be inviting this man into my room right now. And surely, he’d be wondering what kind of sex they might have.

While they were still gazing at each other, he said, “I want to see your room, Yoko-san.”

“Sorry, I didn’t clean up today.” Matsuoka wrote.

“Just a little.”

“I’m sorry.”

A firm refusal. Hiromatsu didn’t press the matter any further. Instead, he embraced Matsuoka tightly and kissed him. Matsuoka had wanted the kiss, so he wrapped his arms around the man’s back. The coarse feel of his lips—something as mundane sent a shiver down his spine.

Even after the kiss ended, they remained locked in an embrace. The gentle strokes across his back felt comforting.

“When I went back home to my hometown,” Hiromatsu murmured softly, “they asked me, ‘Isn’t it about time you got married?’ But that happens every year. This time I told them I was in love with someone. That I was in love with someone I wanted to marry.”

Matsuoka’s body trembled.

“I bragged about how this woman was beautiful both inside and out.”

The smile on Hiromatsu’s face—so open and almost innocent—gnawed at the guilty in Matsuoka’s heart.

“That’s how serious I am.”

He wouldn't let go, just kept holding him. Eventually, Matsuoka wrote “I’m tired” to make him stop. Once he was alone in the room, he sat down, dazed.

Hiromatsu was thirty-four. He wasn’t at an age to be dating someone casually. It wouldn’t be surprising if, once they were involved, talk of marriage followed.

Even if Hiromatsu wanted to marry him, it was obviously impossible. They liked each other, kissed, even had sexual interest—but marriage was a different matter. If Hiromatsu ever said he wanted a normal family, one with children… would it be better if they broke up?

He loved Hiromatsu. Being with him was fun, made his heart race, and above all else, he was kind. It didn’t matter if he was a little weak or cowardly. He didn’t care whether Hiromatsu was good at his job or not. Hiromatsu said he loved him. Matsuoka loved him too. So why would they have to break up?

A message notification chimed. That familiar sound made Matsuoka flinch so hard it was almost ridiculous.

“Is your foot okay?”

The gentleness in the words hurt.

“About what I said earlier—I wasn’t joking. I just wanted you to know I’m that serious about you, Yoko-san.”

It felt like a final blow.

“I love you. I don’t even know how many times I’ve said it anymore.”

He scrolled through the message, reading that ‘I love you’ part again and again.

“Would you still say you love me even if I were a man?” Matsuoka whispered to himself, knowing there was no one there to answer.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It was Thursday when Matsuoka first realized something was off. Hiromatsu always sent an email after getting home from work, without fail—but this time, midnight came and went, and nothing arrived.

At first, Matsuoka assumed he was just busy and let it be. But on Friday, and even into Saturday, there wasn’t so much as a single message. Not a call. Not a text.

Every week, without exception, he would ask if Matsuoka had any weekend plans. Do you want to go somewhere? How about dinner? That invitation was so reliable Matsuoka had come to anticipate it, and kept the weekends as open as possible. Even when work left him exhausted, he’d make the effort to meet up.

But this—this was the first time since they began seeing each other that there hadn’t been any contact at all.

Worried, he sent a message: Are you busy? Several hours passed without a response, and the silence only grew heavier. Hiromatsu wasn’t the kind of person to ignore a message. The thoughts began to spiral—Maybe he’s injured. Maybe something happened. What if he’s collapsed somewhere and can’t move? It was nothing but a loop of worst-case scenarios.

That evening, Matsuoka put on his makeup carefully and went out. Snow was falling, the kind that made everything painfully cold. But he bore it, even though he always wore skirts when seeing Hiromatsu, and the cold bit relentlessly at his bare legs.

They had started dating at the end of December. Now it was the end of February—nearly two months. And still, he hadn’t found the courage to tell Hiromatsu the truth. Every day, he thought about it—When should I tell him? How should I say it?—but he could never quite commit. He couldn’t find the timing. And in the time he spent hesitating, they’d grown far too close.

Matsuoka knew Hiromatsu’s scent. He knew the way he kissed. He knew how he stroked someone’s back with those long, gentle hands. He knew he was the youngest of three brothers, that his older siblings were both married, that he’d always been described as mild, slow-moving, a little absentminded. He really had no hobbies—no interest in movies, music, or sports. And when he was asked what he cared about most right now, he’d look straight at Matsuoka and say, “You.”

It was so sincere that sometimes, Matsuoka felt like biting him out of sheer frustration. Because he knew—knew without a doubt—that he was the only thing Hiromatsu was crazy about.

Matsuoka got off at the station near Hiromatsu’s apartment. He sent another message from the train, but still no reply.

Standing at the door of his apartment, Matsuoka could hear the television from inside. But that didn’t mean he was home—Hiromatsu often left it on when going out somewhere nearby. Still, he pressed the intercom.

There was the sound of scuffling from inside.

“Yes?”

The door opened.

No major injuries. His color looked fine. It was the usual Hiromatsu. But the moment his eyes met Matsuoka’s, his expression twisted. Normally, he’d flash a warm smile and ask What’s wrong?—but not this time. This time was different.

Matsuoka held up a note: I sent you an email but didn’t get a reply.

“Ah... yeah. I’ve been busy. Sorry.”

The way he mumbled it, stumbling over his words, made it sound more like an excuse than anything else.

I thought maybe you were sick or injured. I was worried, Matsuoka wrote.

“Sorry. Really.”

He bowed his head.

You look well. I’m relieved, he wrote again. But Hiromatsu just kept his head lowered.

It was cold. Bitterly so. And as Matsuoka stood there, staring at Hiromatsu’s bowed head, he found himself thinking: Let me in already.

“I’m sorry you came all the way here, but… could you go home?”

Matsuoka froze.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

No invitation inside. Just a dismissal—go back out into the freezing night. Matsuoka couldn’t believe it.

“I really am…”

The door closed—shut without even waiting for a reply.

He stood there, motionless in front of the door, stunned. He’d been here many times before, and Hiromatsu had always seen him off, even walked him to the station. But tonight… nothing.

Fury boiled up. So much so that he didn’t even notice the cold anymore on the walk back. He turned off his phone, deciding that even if an apology came through, he wouldn’t answer. Not a word.

But even after he got home, there wasn’t a single message. No apology. Not even a simple Thanks for coming.

Matsuoka began to feel the stirrings of dread. He couldn’t make sense of the sudden shift in Hiromatsu’s behavior. The last time they had met, everything had been normal. They had kissed like always, parted with a mutual “I love you.” But now, nothing. And the more he thought about it, the clearer the single, horrifying possibility became—his blood seemed to drain all at once.

What if he’s figured out I’m a man?

If that were true, the silence made sense. The sudden disappearance of messages, the rejection at the door—it all fit. He must be furious. That’s why he wasn’t contacting him anymore. But how had he found out? Matsuoka had been careful—he hadn’t done anything clumsy or careless.

Sure, they’d kissed, embraced more times than he could count—but he’d never let Hiromatsu touch his chest. He was meticulous about skincare, especially his face. He always wore turtlenecks or scarves, always hid his neck. He’d been vigilant. And yet, somewhere along the way, Hiromatsu must have noticed something. Maybe their growing closeness had made him careless. Maybe he'd let his guard slip without realizing.

He was hated now. Just thinking that made his vision darken. He couldn’t even bring himself to remove his makeup, or change out of his clothes. He simply sat, stunned, in the middle of his room.

I should’ve erased Yoko Eto before this all got out of hand.

No matter how long it took, he should’ve found a way to approach Hiromatsu as his true self. But how could he have gone back to the beginning, after coming this far? After growing used to being told he was loved, used to being held like it was natural, to kissing him like breathing?

Even when he was worn out from long days at work, when all he wanted was to stay home on the weekend, he would still go out if Hiromatsu invited him. Their outings were fun, yes—but Matsuoka had grown to love staying in just as much. There was one time, as a joke, he’d sat in Hiromatsu’s lap—and the man had looked so ridiculously happy that it became a routine. Whenever he wanted to see that smile, he’d sit there again. They would kiss, hold each other, and eventually Matsuoka would drift off on his lap. It wasn’t just once or twice—it happened often enough to feel normal. And he could sleep like that only because he trusted Hiromatsu. Trusted that he would never take advantage of him, even in sleep.

He loved how Hiromatsu, though clumsy with words, would always do his best to talk to him. Stories from childhood, from college… it felt like peeking into the private archives of someone who mattered to him. Hiromatsu would sometimes ask if he wasn’t boring him, but Matsuoka had never felt that way. Not once.

He didn’t go out just because he was called. He went because he wanted to. Because being with Hiromatsu made him feel safe. Even when things were hard, just seeing him helped him forget.

Maybe he was just busy. Maybe he was in a bad mood. Maybe none of this was about discovering the truth. Maybe this panic was all in his head. After all, anyone could have moments when they needed to be alone, when they didn’t want to be touched.

Still, it consumed him. His mind fixated on that single fear, until everything else was crowded out. Did he find out I’m a man? Or did something else happen?

Matsuoka reached for his phone. He decided to send one more message. Something direct. Something he had to ask:

What are you angry about?

He sat for thirty minutes, turning over wording after wording in his head. In the end, he settled on something plain, something simple. He sent it. Not even five minutes later, the reply came:

Yoko-san, aren’t you hiding something from me?

The moment he read it, Matsuoka began to tremble. So it’s true. He found out. He had no idea how to explain something like that. How was he supposed to explain himself? And even if he could find the words, was this really something that could be forgiven?

He shut off his phone and shoved it out of sight. He couldn’t bear to see it. I’m sorry—just those words felt impossible to send. Even if he believed that Hiromatsu wouldn’t be cruel, wouldn’t lash out or insult him… he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t face even gentle disappointment.

If this had been a joke, or some casual fling, he could have said it—I’m sorry. But this wasn’t that. And because it wasn’t, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

On Monday, Matsuoka went to work still sleep-deprived. No matter how much he thought about it, there was never any resolution. It was like being caught in an infinity loop, returning to the same point over and over again. Mondays were always a drag, but it was the first time he truly didn’t want to go to work.

He showed up just in time for the morning meeting and, as usual, rushed out into the cold with snow lightly falling. He ran around on sales calls, shivering in the bitter air, but maybe his lack of motivation was showing—no one seemed very responsive, and he had trouble closing any deals. It wasn’t until late in the day that he finally secured one new client and returned to the office, where a note had been stuck to his computer.

1:00 PM – Call from Mr. Hiromatsu at Koishikawa Research Institute.

The moment he read it, the blood drained from his face. Just yesterday, after endless deliberation, he’d decided it would be best to keep his distance from Hiromatsu, who was clearly angry. And yet—Hiromatsu had called.

“Hey, did he say anything?” he asked, recognizing the handwriting on the note as Hayama’s.

Hayama paused typing, turned around, and said, “He just asked if you were in. I told him I could take a message, but he said it wasn’t urgent and hung up.”

“Got it,” Matsuoka replied and sat back at his desk. But all he could do was stare blankly at his screen, fingers unmoving.

“Matsuoka, aren’t you supposed to finish that contract today?” one of the senior staff called out beside him, and Matsuoka hastily snapped into action. He managed to get the draft done, but upon checking it, found typos and miscalculated figures. By the time he corrected everything, the section chief had already gone home, which meant the task was automatically bumped to tomorrow.

It was past six when he finally finished. He could’ve gone home, but he stayed. There was desk work piling up, and more than that, he didn’t want to be alone. Over the course of the next hour, coworkers gradually trickled out, and by the time Matsuoka left, only two people remained.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby. The reception desk was unmanned, the lights dimmed. The high ceiling echoed with every footstep and voice.

“He probably already left. Sales people usually go straight home after fieldwork,” came an unpleasantly familiar voice. Fukuda.

Matsuoka hadn’t spoken properly to him since the incident at the gyūdon shop, when he’d revealed what Fukuda’s girlfriend had been up to. Now Fukuda was tucked behind a rounded pillar, talking to someone.

“How’s it going, working in a completely different department?” he was saying.

The man with him was tall, but facing away, so Matsuoka couldn’t see his face—and his voice was too low to catch.

Hoping to pass unnoticed, Matsuoka started walking past, pretending not to see them. But Fukuda spotted him anyway.

“Hey, isn’t that Matsuoka?”

Once spoken to, ignoring him would just seem rude. Matsuoka turned back with a polite smile.

“Ah, Fukuda. You’re working late today.”

Fukuda walked over quickly.

“We had a meeting. But you’re pretty late too for someone in sales.”

“Had some desk work to finish,” Matsuoka replied.

Fukuda laughed. “Still, with all that slacking off during the day, I guess it evens out in the end, right?”

The comment grated. But reacting emotionally would just make it worse, so Matsuoka let it slide with a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Later,” he said, trying to make his exit.

“Wait,” Fukuda called after him.

“What, you need something?”

“There’s someone who wants to talk to you. Remember Hiromatsu, from General Affairs?”

The moment the man stepped out of the shadows, Matsuoka froze. Hiromatsu stood there, stiff with tension, staring at him as if stricken—his expression unreadable, somewhere between panic and restrained fury.

“Nice to meet you… well, not exactly, but I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves. I’m Hiromatsu, from the Koishikawa Research Institute.” Hiromatsu bowed his head slowly.

“I tried calling earlier this afternoon, but it sounded like you were out on business.”

“Ah, yeah.” Matsuoka's voice trembled as he answered.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Could I have a bit of your time?”

The tone wasn’t forceful, nor was it an order. And yet Matsuoka couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He followed behind Hiromatsu, feeling very much like a condemned prisoner being led to the gallows. The only difference was that, unlike a prisoner, he wasn’t prepared at all to face the verdict.

Hiromatsu chose a coffee shop near the station. Matsuoka knew it was reputed to serve good coffee, but since it was on the opposite side of the station entrance he usually used, he’d never gone inside.

Even after they sat down facing each other, silence hung between them. “Would you like something to drink?” Hiromatsu asked. Honestly, water would’ve been more than enough, but Matsuoka ordered a blend just to have something to say.

“Didn’t you approach me once at the station?”

The question caught Matsuoka off guard.

“I might have.”

He feigned ignorance, though of course he remembered. His throat was parched despite the cold outside. He reached for his water, but his fingers trembled too much to grip the glass properly, so he gave up.

“I know it might be rude of me to show up out of the blue and ask something so forward, but… what exactly is your relationship with Yoko Eto-san?”

The question didn't immediately register, and Matsuoka tilted his head. Hiromatsu rephrased.

“Are you and Yoko-san… seeing each other?”

“What do you mean, ‘seeing’—”

“I mean as in dating. Are you romantically involved?”

Matsuoka had no idea what prompted this line of questioning. He was completely lost.

“I don’t know anyone named Yoko Eto.”

The lie made Hiromatsu’s expression falter, just slightly.

“You live in Room 502 at the Brides Mansion in Ogawamachi, don’t you? I checked the employee directory. Isn’t that the same place Yoko Eto lives? Aren’t the two of you living together?”

Only then did the full picture become clear. Hiromatsu hadn’t realized that Matsuoka and Yoko Eto were one and the same.

“The other day, I happened to be passing near her apartment when I saw you going into the building. I always thought she lived alone, so I was surprised. You two look a lot alike, so at first I assumed you might be siblings. But your surnames are different. That’s when I started to think… maybe you’re living together.”

So that’s what had upset him. His hands, clenched together on his lap, were damp with sweat. Anyone would be furious to learn that the woman they were in love with—someone they wanted to marry—was living with another man.

“To be honest, I’m in love with Yoko-san. But it feels like one-sided love. I don’t really know how she feels about me. That’s why… if you could just explain your relationship with her, I think I could find a way to make peace with it.”

Matsuoka was deeply relieved when the coffee arrived. As long as he was drinking, he didn’t have to speak. He sipped it slowly, trying to figure out how to wriggle out of this mess. Hiromatsu hadn’t figured out he was actually Yoko. But he was convinced there was some other man—Matsuoka himself—involved. He had to correct that misunderstanding somehow, but had no idea how.

He could say they were siblings, but the different last names would ruin that. Then, suddenly, a word came to him—cousin. If they were close cousins, it wouldn’t be strange for them to visit each other’s homes.

“I’m Yoko Eto’s cousin,” he said at last.

Hiromatsu didn’t respond immediately, though he must’ve heard.

“We’ve been close since we were kids. We still visit each other’s places. She had to suddenly move out of her old apartment, and until she finds a new one, she’s staying with me.”

Matsuoka’s nerves buzzed. He’d just explained that they were cousins, but the mistrust in Hiromatsu’s eyes didn’t fade in the slightest.

“How long has that been going on?” Hiromatsu asked quietly.

“About a month,” Matsuoka replied, trying to sound natural.

Hiromatsu bit his lip and lowered his gaze. “Even if she suddenly had to move out, I don’t think most women would choose to live in their male cousin’s apartment.”

He had a point—objectively. But Matsuoka had no alternative reason to justify Yoko Eto living in his place. He had no choice but to stick with the lie.

“I really am her cousin—”

“Your story contradicts itself.”

The words were calm, but firm, and landed with a sting.

“You told me you didn’t know anyone named Yoko Eto. But now you’re saying she’s your cousin and that you live together. I can’t trust anything you say.”

It was an entirely fair judgment. There was no refuting that.

“Even if you and Yoko-san were involved, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Hiromatsu said. “I came here prepared for that possibility. So please, I’m asking you—don’t lie. Just tell me the truth.”

Matsuoka found himself wondering—if I tell him we’re dating, will he give up?

“Do you really love her that much?”

Hiromatsu’s face reddened slightly. “I think she’s an incredible person.”

“She can’t even speak.”

“Even with a disability, she’s strong enough that it never seems like a handicap.”

“She’s pretty flaky. Acts like a saint to everyone.”

There was a pause before Hiromatsu replied, his voice steady. “Everyone has flaws. I don’t intend to deny any part of her. If those flaws are a part of who she is, then I want to love all of it.”

Hearing love said so plainly made Matsuoka’s skin burn with embarrassment. His face flushed, and he looked down to hide it. The way Hiromatsu spoke—so direct, so sincere—hit hard.

“You really mean that? You’d love her no matter what?”

His voice trembled a little.

“As long as she’s herself, I’ll love her,” Hiromatsu said.

Matsuoka closed his eyes. At some point, he knew he’d have to take the plunge. He leaned back into his chair, releasing the tension in his body.

“Maybe you should be saying all this directly to her,” he said.

Hiromatsu looked troubled by that. After a brief silence, he murmured, “I don’t want to fight with her. If I can understand the truth—even if it hurts—I think I’d prefer not to see her again.”

Matsuoka shrugged. “That might be fine for you, but what about Yoko? Saying you don’t want to argue is just a way of avoiding her, isn’t it? No one likes conflict, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

He stood up.

“If you want more answers, talk to Yoko yourself. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

Leaving his share of the bill on the table, Matsuoka exited the café. Hiromatsu didn’t come after him. On the way to the station and even on the train, Matsuoka clutched his phone the entire time. It wasn’t until he’d stepped off at his station and was crossing the street that his phone finally chimed.

"It’s been a while."

The email had a strangely distant, formal tone.

"I’m sorry for the other day, for turning you away when you came to check on me. I have something I really need to ask you. If it’s not too much, would you be willing to meet?"

Matsuoka’s ploy—provoking Hiromatsu as himself—had worked, and the result had come back around. He started typing a reply immediately, then hesitated.

Just earlier, he’d heard I love her over and over. It had been enough to give him confidence. But if he told Hiromatsu that he was Yoko Eto—would the man still say those words? Would he still mean them?

That certainty was already starting to wither.

Matsuoka tucked the phone back into his pocket and headed home. While he continued to stew in indecision, another message came in from Hiromatsu.

"You might be angry at me. But even if it's just once, please meet me and let me talk to you."

That was what Hiromatsu had written. And just moments earlier, Matsuoka had truly intended to talk. But when it came down to it, the moment he had to reply, fear crept in.

"There’s something I’ve been hiding from you. I know I need to meet and talk about it face to face, but I’m so afraid that once I do, you’ll hate me."

He hit send. Almost immediately, a response came back, sharp and swift like an arrow.

"No matter what you tell me, I could never hate you."

There it was, plain and clear: the strength of Hiromatsu’s feelings. And still, Matsuoka couldn’t help but press the point.

"I know I’m the one at fault. And I understand—at least in my head—that if you ended up hating me because of it, it would be deserved. But... I’m still terrified."

Another reply came right away.

"Even if you were a criminal, even if you carried something terrible, I still wouldn’t be able to hate you. I’d still want to be by your side. I’d want us to face it together."

Maybe—maybe—this man really would be okay. Maybe he really loved him. Loved him so much that... maybe he could forgive.

"People often tell me I’m pretty. I suppose you like my face too, don’t you?"

He knew he was being clingy. Still, he hit send.

"I think you're beautiful, yes. But more than your appearance, it's your heart that draws me in. That honest, strong, and gentle heart of yours."

Matsuoka read the message slowly, over and over again, letting the words soak in.

"I love you too. But what if I were an old lady of eighty, or a small child, or someone completely unworthy of you—would you still love me?"

The reply made him laugh a little.

"Even if you were an old lady, or a child, or anyone at all, I know I’d still find you—and love you."

So many words. Words full of love, each one giving him a little more courage. Matsuoka finally wrote back:

"I want to see you too. Please meet me. When we do, I’ll tell you everything. Honestly, and completely."

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The meeting place was the hotel lobby, and Matsuoka had been the one to choose it. He’d reserved a room upstairs, but decided to meet down below first. Their meeting time was seven o’clock, but he couldn’t wait—by six thirty, he was already there, sitting on the lobby sofa. But even sitting still didn’t help; every time the front entrance opened, he reflexively turned his head. At first, the anticipation of seeing Hiromatsu again had been exhilarating, but the closer it got to seven, the more a heavy dread started to settle in.

He wanted to run. The thought of simply getting up and leaving crossed his mind more than once. But in the end, he stayed put.

At five minutes to seven, his phone rang. It was a message from Hiromatsu: “I’m still stuck at work. I’ll be about thirty minutes late. I’m sorry.” Matsuoka replied, “Don’t worry. Please take your time and come safely,” and leaned back into the sofa. As he stared at the screen, a quiet thought drifted in—this would be the last message he’d send as Yoko Eto.

He’d chosen a hotel for two reasons. One: he couldn’t very well appear in public while dressed as a woman and have this kind of conversation. Two: he had considered what might come after. If Hiromatsu accepted him, if even then he still wanted him… then Matsuoka had decided he would sleep with him. He’d prepared everything necessary for sex between two men. He hated himself for it, but it was the truth.

He had a feeling Hiromatsu would accept him. This was the man who’d said he’d love him even if he were an old lady or a child—if it was “me.” Hiromatsu wasn’t the kind to go back on his word. Even so, there was a sliver of fear he couldn’t shake.

At about quarter past seven, a flurry of footsteps echoed in the lobby. Turning to look, he saw Hiromatsu rushing in, scanning the lounge with a troubled expression. His eyes darted from face to face, clearly unable to spot Yoko Eto.

“Good evening,” Matsuoka called to him.

“Ah, um…”

“You’re here to meet Yoko, right? I’ll take you up to her.”

“O-okay.”

Hiromatsu, still catching his breath, followed Matsuoka into the elevator. Even as the doors closed, his breathing was uneven, and beads of sweat shimmered on his forehead. Knowing Hiromatsu had rushed like that for their meeting filled Matsuoka with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness.

“Is Yoko-san in the room?”

Matsuoka didn’t answer. Sensing he wouldn’t get a reply, Hiromatsu didn’t press further. They exited the elevator and reached the room. Once inside, Hiromatsu looked around, then turned to Matsuoka, confused.

“Where is she?”

The way he was blatantly searching for Yoko Eto stung, even though Matsuoka knew it was only natural.

“I’ll explain everything. Please, sit.”

Hiromatsu did as told and sat in the nearest chair. His gaze was tight with unease.

“To get straight to the point—‘Yoko Eto’ as you know her… isn’t coming.”

Hiromatsu jumped up, almost lunging toward him.

“Why? I came here to meet her. She promised—she said we’d meet.”

“Calm down. Sit,” Matsuoka said, pressing him back into the chair.

“I had a bad feeling,” Hiromatsu muttered. “I was nervous. I kept thinking, what if something’s wrong, what if she doesn’t show…”

Trying to offer some comfort, Matsuoka reached out and gently patted his shoulder. But when Hiromatsu looked up again, his gaze was sharp.

“Who are you?”

The words caught in Matsuoka’s throat.

“I came here to meet Yoko. So why are you the one here? Did she say she didn’t even want to face me directly?”

“No, that’s not it. But—”

“Then why? Are you her boyfriend?”

He had meant to take more time explaining. But Hiromatsu was too shaken, his emotions spiraling fast.

“I’ll tell you,” Matsuoka said quietly. “But… can you listen calmly?”

The lips that had looked like they still had something to say finally closed without forming words. The moment had arrived. Matsuoka took a long, steadying breath.

“There is no such woman as Yoko Eto in this world.”

“That’s a lie. I met her—many times, I…”

Hiromatsu started to speak, but Matsuoka cut him off.

“I am Yoko Eto.”

Hiromatsu frowned, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’m the one. I dressed up as a woman and called myself Yoko Eto.”

Hiromatsu stared, mouth slightly agape, wearing the expression of someone who had just been handed an impossible riddle.

“That first time we met… I just happened to be dressed like a woman. And then I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth, not until now.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hiromatsu muttered. “The face is different.”

“It’s the same. Maybe I look different without makeup, but it’s the same face.”

“And the hair…”

“It’s a wig. I couldn’t grow it out, so I wore a wig. That’s why I always told you not to touch my hair.”

Hiromatsu continued to stare intently, then shook his head.

“No, it’s still a lie. She was… smaller, softer, and her voice…”

“I told you she couldn’t speak because if I talked, you’d realize I was a man.”

Hiromatsu winced, crumpling into himself as he pressed his hands to the table and clutched his head.

“This can’t be true. I… I can’t believe it.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s the truth.”

He sat there, shoulders sagging, silent. Matsuoka began to explain everything—how they met, how things progressed—each detail only the two of them could possibly know. If he laid it all out plainly, he thought, surely Hiromatsu would understand. That he was Yoko Eto.

But gradually, Hiromatsu stopped reacting, stopped responding even with a nod. Matsuoka started to feel lost.

“If you really can’t believe me,” he said, “I’ll become Yoko Eto right here. I didn’t bring my makeup, but if I go home and get it, I can show you.”

“…That won’t be necessary.”

Hiromatsu’s voice was faint, as he turned down the offer.

“I understand now that you’re her. That makes sense. It explains everything I couldn’t make sense of before.”

At least he now seemed to believe they were one and the same.

“I never meant to deceive you. But things happened the way they did, and I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I’m sorry. I was afraid you’d find it pathetic—me having a hobby like cross-dressing.”

Hiromatsu didn’t lift his gaze.

“I’m really sorry. But I was serious about you… I was always serious.”

There was no reply.

“I dressed like a woman, but I’m not transgender. I don’t even think I’m gay. Back then, I was just burnt out at work. Dressing up helped me relieve stress.”

“…Can I have some time alone?”

Hiromatsu finally raised his face and met his eyes.

“Just… let me think for a bit, by myself.”

Matsuoka left him in the room and went down to the tea lounge on the first floor, ordering a coffee. He couldn’t just stand in the hallway like an idiot.

He had expected this to some degree, but the actual impact on Hiromatsu was clearly worse than he’d imagined. Of course he's shaken, Matsuoka told himself. Finding out the woman you’ve been dating is actually a man… it’s not something you can just swallow easily.

If the roles were reversed, he would’ve probably reacted the same. Still, all he could do now was hope Hiromatsu would eventually accept it—and then, they could move on.

After about twenty minutes, he returned to the room—and was stunned. The lights were off. The room was empty.

He’d left.

Realizing that Hiromatsu had gone ahead without even a goodbye left him hollow. Matsuoka checked his phone, but there were no messages. In a rush, he called. Hiromatsu answered after five rings.

“…It’s Matsuoka.”

On the other end, Hiromatsu said nothing for a moment.

“If you were leaving, you could’ve said something.”

“…I left a note…”

His voice came hesitantly from the other side of the line.

“…I left a note on the table.”

When he looked for it, he found the note left on the table—written on the hotel’s stationery. “I’m very sorry, but I’m going to leave first.”

“I truly apologize,” Hiromatsu said from the other end of the call, as Matsuoka stared down at the memo.

“I know I should’ve said it to your face, but… I just couldn’t. It was too painful to look at you and talk.”

“But…”

“Well then… excuse me.”

The line went dead with a click.

“Hey—wait a minute!”

Matsuoka had been the one to call, and yet it was Hiromatsu who’d hung up first. Even if everything had been said, it still felt rude.

He was irritated, but thinking about what Hiromatsu was going through—the weight of the truth he now had to process—he decided to let it go.

After all, Matsuoka himself still carried more than a little guilt for deceiving him.

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