Utsukushii Koto: Volume 1 - Part 8

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Matsuoka regretted it so much it was almost ridiculous—he should never have slept with Hiromatsu. And yet, as time passed, he began to think maybe that awful ending had actually been for the best. It left no room for lingering attachment. The sex had been terrible, and the lack of care in Hiromatsu’s attitude had left him thoroughly disillusioned.

Looking back with a clearer head, he could admit he’d been in the wrong too. Continuing to meet Hiromatsu while cross-dressing, letting himself get swept up in the attention, starting to genuinely fall for him even though the man never once doubted he was anything but a woman. And then having the nerve to believe the relationship could continue, even after revealing the truth. He knew better—he understood the difference between what people say and what they actually mean. From a practical standpoint, it was only natural things had ended the way they did.

Sometimes things spiral out of control so fast, you don’t even see it coming—just like how there are good stretches at work and bad ones. But if you stay put long enough, most things eventually pass. And once they’re far enough behind, you won’t even remember exactly what went wrong. This felt like one of those things. He figured the only thing to do now was wait it out and let time take care of the rest.

A week after cutting ties with Hiromatsu, in mid-April, Matsuoka threw away everything related to his cross-dressing—clothes, shoes, wigs. Altogether it filled two large garbage bags. He was half shocked, half hollowed out by the sight, and for some reason, it made him laugh. But clearing every trace of that past from his apartment felt like pressing a reset button inside himself, a way to return to the life he’d had before.

From that day forward, he threw himself into work. He doubled the number of client visits he made compared to his coworkers, and his performance skyrocketed. He was out from morning until late at night, racing around like a man possessed, so much so that a colleague asked, “You’ve been pushing hard lately. Got some big expenses coming up?” He deflected it with a vague smile.

Matsuoka didn’t expect to forget what had happened with Hiromatsu so easily. But he wanted to forget—desperately. That’s why he buried himself in work, trying to distract himself, but even that wasn’t enough. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how exhausted his body was by the end of the day, the memories came creeping back whenever he let his guard down. It was always right before bed. And once he slipped into that spiral of self-loathing, the night would stretch out, long and unbearably heavy.

Even after Golden Week had passed, even through the rainy season and well into summer—when the TV wouldn’t shut up about the end of the monsoon and the sun was so blinding it gave him headaches—nothing really changed.

But at least his efforts bore visible results. In both May and June, Matsuoka topped the department in number of contracts closed. His supervisor praised him, and while part of him was glad, he couldn’t feel happy without reservation. No matter who he talked to or how often he laughed, he could always feel the hole left behind. That drafty space in his chest would quietly, persistently lower the temperature of everything he felt.

In mid-July, Hayama—the administrative assistant for the sales department—returned from a temporary assignment at the Koishikawa Research Facility. At the end of April, the facility had reached out, saying that two new hires had already quit, leaving them short-staffed. Until an employee on maternity leave returned, they needed someone to cover for two months. They specifically requested someone experienced, not a first-year, and so the one tapped was Hayama—Matsuoka’s peer and a seasoned veteran.

Before being sent off, Hayama had grumbled constantly: “It’s far, it’s unfamiliar, and I hate the idea that I might never come back.” The name "Koishikawa" alone made Matsuoka’s stomach sink—he couldn't help but think of Hiromatsu. Still, he kept his expression neutral and reassured her, “It’s just two months. It’ll go by in no time.”

That day, Matsuoka had been out on sales calls from morning until after lunch. He had originally planned to keep visiting clients for a bit longer, but the heat was so overwhelming that he gave up halfway through and returned to the office. He immersed himself in the mountain of paperwork piling up on his desk, taking comfort in the cool air conditioning. And then—

“Matsuoka-kun.”

A voice he hadn’t heard in nearly two months called from behind.

When he turned, there was Hayama, standing there with a familiar expression on her face.

“Ah, so you’re back.”

“Yep. Looking forward to working with you again.”

Something about Hayama’s appearance had changed. Her makeup used to be more sharply defined, but now she gave off a softer impression.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at Matsuoka’s chin.

“Pretty good, huh? I’d been wanting to try it once.”

He ran his fingers lightly along the trimmed stubble on his chin.

“It does suit you, I guess…”

She trailed off a little.

“I cut my hair too. I thought I’d go for a more rugged summer vibe. Reactions from clients are split, but it’s a good conversation starter.”

“I liked the old look better,” Hayama murmured, and then, seeming to remember she was on tea duty, asked, “For the three o’clock break, coffee okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered without thinking, only to remember after that he’d been avoiding coffee lately because of his stomach. By then she was already gone from the floor, and he chased after her to the kitchenette tucked in the corner of the hallway. She must’ve heard his footsteps—she turned around before he could say anything, kettle in hand.

“What’s up?”

“I’ll pass on the coffee. Could you make it tea instead?”

“Okay,” she nodded, then peered closely at his face.

“You don’t look so good.”

“Really?” he said reflexively, touching his cheek.

“I didn’t notice earlier because of the goatee, but you’ve lost weight, haven’t you? I heard you were top in contract acquisition in May and June. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

As he always did, Matsuoka just smiled vaguely.

“There’s even a rumor among the girls that you’re getting married. The way you’ve been working lately, they say you must be saving up for a wedding.”

He shrugged.

“If only I had someone like that. Right now, I’m just a guy on fire for work. I’m actually enjoying closing deals.”

Hayama paused her hand over the teapot, looking like she was thinking something over.

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

“That’s right. Can you believe it? A catch like me left out in the cold. Women these days, no eye for quality.”

Hayama laughed out loud.

“There are plenty of girls in admin who like you, you know. But since you’re always out on sales calls, they never get a chance to talk to you.”

He could tell which girls liked him. He was sensitive to that kind of aura. Even when one of them worked up the courage to talk to him, he always deflected it with some light banter. He just couldn’t bring himself to date anyone—he wasn’t even close to being in that place emotionally.

“You know,” she began, “I actually have a really sweet friend I’d like to introduce you to.”

He’d been careful to steer clear of any talk of romance, and now here it was, blindsiding him—he cursed himself inwardly.

“She’s three years younger than me and works for a mail-order company. She’s cute, sweet, but super shy, and I don’t think she’s ever been in a relationship.”

Hayama looked at him with serious eyes.

“Matsuoka-kun, would you be willing to meet her?”

Given his usual tone, it wouldn’t have been strange if he’d jumped at the idea. That made it all the more crucial to find a graceful way to say no.

“She’s a close friend, and I wouldn’t want to introduce her to just any guy. But I’ve always thought you’d be a good match.”

“Well that’s a lot of pressure. I might seem smooth, but I’m actually pretty flaky… and besides—”

He was about to rattle off a list of flaws when Hayama cut him off.

“You’re kind, Matsuoka-kun. You joke around, but you’re actually really sincere.”

He fell silent, and Hayama quickly added, “Ah, but don’t worry! If you’re not interested, it’s totally fine. I haven’t said anything to her yet. I was just thinking… maybe you two would get along.”

The whole conversation had started to drift into that quiet zone where refusing would feel like a personal insult.

"How about just meeting her, at least? It’s not like I’m asking you to date her right away. She might not be comfortable with that either, so maybe we can start by having dinner with a few friends together."

If it wasn’t just the two of them, he might be able to manage it. The thought of compromise drifted through Matsuoka’s mind. If he met her once, he could say he’d done his part. Later, he could always decline politely with a “I don’t think we really clicked.”

“…Alright then. I guess, since the opportunity’s there, I’ll meet her,” Matsuoka murmured.

“Really?” Hayama beamed, clearly pleased.

“Yeah. Ask her about her availability and let me know once you’ve got a day set. I’ll make sure not to schedule any overtime that day.”

The conversation reached its natural pause, and Matsuoka left the kitchenette and returned to his desk. He felt a bit weary at the unexpected turn that had ended with him being set up on a blind date—something he’d brought upon himself—but as he mulled it over, it no longer felt like such a heavy deal.

He hadn’t had a meal with anyone in a while. No one had invited him, and he hadn’t been in the mood, either.

It had just been work, day in and day out. He was pushing himself hard, hoping the effort would accelerate his forgetting—but the results hadn’t been what he’d hoped.

Maybe it was better to leave things to time, to let them naturally fade. Having a girl introduced to him might simply be one of those natural turns, part of the tide. Talking to someone totally new—someone with no connection to anything—might not completely help him move on, but it could at least be a change of pace.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It was three days ago that Hayama had mentioned wanting to introduce him to a girl. Apparently, she had reached out to her friend immediately, and by the next day she’d already set a dinner date for “Friday evening, starting at seven.”

On the day of, Matsuoka finished all his work by six-thirty and left the office together with Hayama. It was already growing dim outside. The absence of direct sunlight made the heat a little more bearable, but the humidity clung to the skin with a suffocating persistence, the kind that made one want to scratch at their throat. Matsuoka found himself restless with the craving for a cold beer.

The meeting place was an Italian restaurant in a lively shopping district one stop from the office. The interior, done in rustic terracotta brick and designed to evoke a garden, had an elegant charm. It was crowded with couples and young women dining together. Inside, it was packed, but since they had a reservation, they were promptly guided to a four-person table without having to wait.

Glancing around, Hayama murmured, “Looks like she’s not here yet,” and exhaled lightly. When her eyes met Matsuoka’s, she pointed at his small, oval-framed glasses.

“I’ve been wondering—do you have bad eyesight?”

"They’re just for show," Matsuoka replied, adjusting the glasses slightly. "My face looks unbalanced with a goatee, so these help."

"I think they look good on you," Hayama said, though she frowned slightly. "You’ve got a beautiful face, Matsuoka-kun, so anything suits you—but it’s not really how I pictured you."

"Maybe I’m trying too hard?" Matsuoka joked, making Hayama laugh out loud.

As they were chatting, a waiter in black approached and said, “Your guest has arrived,” leading a girl with long hair to their table. She wore a black knit top and jeans—a casual look—with a canvas bag slung over her right shoulder. If she knew she was being introduced to a man, her relaxed outfit suggested she wasn’t too concerned with making an impression.

“Sorry, I was so busy I just came straight from work. I didn’t have time to go home and change… I’m sorry.”

Matsuoka glanced at her now and then, careful not to make it feel like pressure, but the girl didn’t look at him at all. She spoke only to Hayama.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hayama replied. “Okay, let me introduce you. The guy sitting across from me is Yosuke Matsuoka—he’s in the same department as me and works in sales.”

Only then did the girl finally look his way. Matsuoka offered her his best smile—the one reserved for important clients.

“Hello, I’m Matsuoka.”

She lowered her eyes and gave a small bow.

“This is Fujimoto Mako-san—she’s my junior from university.”

“…Hello.”

Her voice trembled, her eyes dark and wide. She had delicate features, but perhaps because she was nervous, her cheeks were stiff and tense. If she couldn’t even manage a polite smile, this might be more of a challenge than he expected… Matsuoka thought to himself.

Fujimoto started to sit next to Hayama, but was gently redirected with, “Mako, sit over there,” and took a seat beside Matsuoka instead.

Then Hayama’s phone rang. “Sorry, just a sec,” she said, stepping away to answer it.

The moment they were alone, Fujimoto’s entire presence bristled with tension.

“Nervous?”

He tried to open with a soft question, but she just stared straight ahead and shook her head.

It was the first time Matsuoka had ever met a girl this unused to dealing with men. Her attempt to act tough came off awkwardly painful—so much so that he couldn’t help but feel curious.

“You know, I just got dumped the other day.”

He caught the glance that flicked toward him. Matsuoka gave a strained smile.

“It’s not like it means anything special,” he said, “but don’t worry about me—just enjoy yourself. Seeing someone else having fun or looking happy, it kind of lifts my spirits too.”

Those large, absorbing eyes stared at him with quiet curiosity. The gaze made him start to feel awkward in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and to avoid seeming unnatural, he looked away and said, “Hayama is taking her time, isn’t she?” steering the girl’s attention elsewhere.

“Wanna pick a drink while we wait? Which one looks good?”

He’d just opened the menu when Hayama returned, chatting as she slid back into her seat. “Let’s go ahead and get started.”

Even after they’d ordered, Hayama kept glancing toward the restaurant entrance, unable to settle down.

“Is someone else coming?”

When Matsuoka asked, Hayama started to say, “Well—” but then suddenly let out a small “Ah!” as her face lit up with a smile.

“There he is.”

The man being guided toward them by the waiter made Matsuoka gasp. His eyes forgot how to blink. He stared.

“Hiromatsu-san, over here,” Hayama called, lifting her hand.

Why is Hiromatsu here…?

Why? Why?

Question after question ricocheted through Matsuoka’s mind. His heart thundered painfully as the man drew closer. His hands, clenched tightly on the table, began to tremble. He forgot entirely about how badly it had ended between them. All he could think was—maybe he came to see me.

Hiromatsu glanced briefly at Matsuoka, but only offered a polite, distant nod.

“Sorry I’m late. The traffic was terrible…”

“You’ve been busy with work, right? Sorry for springing this on you last minute. Go on, have a seat.”

Hiromatsu sat down next to Hayama and set his commuter bag at his feet.

“Mako, you haven’t met him before, right? This is Motofumi Hiromatsu-san. He was a colleague of mine when I was assigned to the Koishikawa research lab.”

Introduced by Hayama, Hiromatsu smiled at Fujimoto. “Nice to meet you.”

“And this is Fujimoto Mako-san, my junior from university. Sitting next to her is Yosuke Matsuoka-kun—he works in sales at my company.”

“Eh—”

Hiromatsu gave a startled little cry and widened his eyes.

“You know Matsuoka-kun, Hiromatsu-san?”

“Ah… well… I mean… sort of…” His vague, halting answer made Hayama tilt her head curiously.

Hiromatsu wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes were actively avoiding him, so conspicuously it was almost funny. His lowered forehead practically had ‘this is bad’ written across it.

“Good to see you again,” Matsuoka said, cold eyes fixed on the man across from him, delivering each word slowly, deliberately.

Until Hayama had introduced him, Hiromatsu hadn’t realized it was Yosuke Matsuoka sitting there. There was no way he could believe now that Hiromatsu had come to see him—not anymore.

“Hiromatsu-san used to work in General Affairs at the main office. I’ve got a friend in that department, and through that connection, we crossed paths a bit. You took down a message for him once, Hayama, remember?”

“Huh, did I?” Hayama tilted her head again.

Under the table, Matsuoka was nervously rubbing his fingertips together, trying to act casual as he asked, “Hey, Hayama… are you dating Hiromatsu-san?”

His voice was light, feigning curiosity. At the question, Hayama blushed slightly, her cheeks turning pink.

“Well, yeah… something like that.”

The world seemed to go dark around Matsuoka, as if all color had suddenly drained from his surroundings.

“…Oh. I see.”

The words faded off into a whisper.

Right in front of him, Hayama placed a hand on the shoulder of the man beside her. Hiromatsu hurriedly lifted his head. He looked at Matsuoka for the briefest of moments—then quickly looked away.

Before long, the beer was brought out and the four of them raised their glasses for a toast. Matsuoka mustered every muscle in his face to smile as cheerfully as he could and clinked his glass with a “Cheers.” He took a single sip, then quickly set the glass down on the table. His right hand was trembling involuntarily, and he felt like he might spill it if he kept holding on.

The women took the lead in choosing the dishes. Each time they asked him, “How about this one?” Matsuoka replied with a distracted, “Sure,” barely looking at the menu. After they finished ordering, Hayama started chatting with Fujimoto. Hiromatsu, poor at conversation, fumbled awkwardly whenever Hayama tried to draw him in, and Matsuoka deliberately spoke in a way that would make it hard for the conversation to continue—because he didn’t want to talk at all. While the two men remained cold and unengaged, the women lit up talking about clothes.

Matsuoka stared intently at Hiromatsu’s hands, which were resting on the table, fidgeting with the empty beer glass—gripping and releasing it.

When the food arrived, to be honest, he felt relieved. As long as he pretended to be eating, he could stay silent without it seeming odd. When someone voiced admiration for the vivid colors of the dishes, he echoed it with a casual, “Looks good,” and began dishing some onto his plate—but all he did was poke at it with a fork. He barely ate anything.

“Matsuoka-kun.”

At the sound of his name, he looked up in a rush to see Hayama.

“You okay? You’re not eating much.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just that having a cute girl sitting next to me makes me nervous.”

Cracking a light joke, Matsuoka added, “This looks good,” and took some marinated vegetables he had no interest in eating.

“This place has a nice vibe. How’d you find it?”

“A junior at the office told me about it—said it was a good spot.”

“That must’ve been Saito, right?”

Surprised, Hayama’s eyes widened.

“How’d you know?”

“He just seems like the type who’d be obsessed with food.”

“You’re awful,” she said—but she was laughing.

“Saito-san’s one of my juniors. He’s a bit chubby, but he loves eating out. He’s really knowledgeable about restaurants and stuff.”

For Hiromatsu, who didn’t know the context, Hayama kindly explained. Watching the two of them sitting side by side, chatting so easily, Matsuoka felt a surge of irrational irritation. He didn’t want to see them. He didn’t want to be in the same space. That feeling swelled all at once, and he was just about to push back his chair when—

“How long have you and Hiromatsu-san been dating?” Fujimoto asked Hayama.

Her voice brought him back to reality.

“About a month, I think?”

A month ago—That was right when he’d been drowning himself in work, frantically chasing contracts like a man possessed, desperate to forget. And during that time, Hiromatsu had already moved on to someone new.

“When I was sent to Koishikawa on assignment, I had a really hard time adjusting and got pretty down. Hiromatsu-san was the one who comforted me back then, and… that’s when I started thinking I liked him.”

Hayama looked up at Hiromatsu, seeking confirmation. The man gave a small “Yeah” in reply.

“He’s not much of a talker, but don’t let that bother you, okay?”

When Matsuoka stood, his chair scraped back louder than expected. All three of them turned to look.

“I’m just going to the restroom.”

He stepped away from the table and made his way to the restroom in the back of the restaurant. Once inside a stall, he locked the door behind him, then slumped down to the floor with his back against the wall.

He wanted to cry, but no tears came. It felt like he was falling into a pitch-black hole. That bastard, he muttered to himself. He’s only nice on the outside, Matsuoka thought. He’s weak and cold… and yet, because he couldn’t bring himself to hate him, here he was, feeling this miserable.

Five minutes, ten… after sitting still for a while, he slowly got to his feet. Whether he blamed it on drinking too much or eating too much—it didn’t matter. He was going to leave. He didn’t want to sit at that table any longer.

As he stepped out of the stall, he saw someone at the mirror. The moment he realized it was the man he had been trying—until just moments ago—to hate, Matsuoka drew a sharp breath. Hiromatsu was looking at him, but said nothing. After a long, stifling silence, the man’s lips finally moved.

“I thought you were someone else.”

Probably referring to the impression he got when he first saw him at the restaurant. Matsuoka smiled faintly, only with the corners of his mouth, and lightly pushed up his non-prescription glasses.

“I didn’t think you and Hayama-san knew each other.”

Hiromatsu said quietly. Matsuoka lowered his eyes and shut them. He clenched his molars tightly, then raised his head. He wished every trace of emotion would vanish from his face.

“You knew I worked in Sales at the main office. You knew Hayama was sent from our department to Koishikawa. Didn’t it ever cross your mind we might know each other?”

“I don’t hear much about the main office…”

Matsuoka let out a short laugh through his nose.

“Even if you weren’t interested, you could’ve at least taken some precautions.”

The man in front of him slowly lowered his head.

“There’s nothing between us anymore, but even so—running into each other like this isn’t exactly pleasant.”

Hirosue took a shaky breath before responding, “That’s…”

“You could’ve used your head a little.”

He spat the words out and turned to leave—when a voice called after him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Is this all my fault?” Hiromatsu’s voice followed him. “You’re saying that because I didn’t know her social circle and ended up running into you, it’s all my fault? Even tonight, I only came because she called last-minute for drinks with some colleagues. She said they were coworkers, so I assumed it would just be some girls.”

There was a flicker of anger in his voice. That forceful tone—if Matsuoka responded in kind, it would surely spiral into an ugly argument.

“I get what you’re saying, but let’s be honest—you had more information than I did. I didn’t know Hayama was dating someone. I didn’t know that someone was you until you sat down in front of me.”

Matsuoka ran a hand through his hair and tousled it roughly.

“Whatever. None of it matters now. It’s just tonight. We’ve had our history, but let’s call it even. I got introduced to Fujimoto-san tonight too. And you know, I think Hayama’s a great person—considerate and kind.”

He felt like he’d managed to wrap things up neatly. As if to show that the only reason he’d been uncomfortable was the shock of being blindsided, and that he had no lingering attachment to Hiromatsu himself.

“…You’re cold.”

Matsuoka couldn’t believe his ears. The words, more piercing than anything else, struck him deep in his chest.

Someone who had gone off and gotten a new lover so easily while Matsuoka had been struggling just to forget—he had no right to say something like that.

“Wouldn’t it be weirder if I didn’t move on? Or what—you want me to still be in love with you?”

He half-hoped Hiromatsu would lie and say yes. But the man remained silent. Leaving behind someone who had become a closed clam, Matsuoka walked out of the restroom.

“W-wait—”

In the narrow corridor leading back to the restaurant hall, his arm was grabbed. The force, the heat—the sheer fact of being touched sent a jolt through Matsuoka, shaking him to his core.

 

“About what happened between us… You haven’t told her, right?”

In an instant, all the heat, all the emotion drained from him. So this—this was the one thing Hiromatsu had chased him down to say.

“Of course I haven’t!”

He snapped, wrenching his arm free, and returned to his seat.

“You took a while. Didn’t you run into Hiromatsu-san?”

Hayama’s voice. He ignored it. But guilt hit him immediately, and he replied.

“We passed each other in the hallway.”

To cover up the awkwardness of trying to ignore her, he added a smile. Hayama herself didn’t seem to notice the delay in his response, or the subtle tension behind it.

She really doesn’t know anything, does she… Matsuoka thought, staring hard at Hayama as she chatted cheerfully with Fujimoto. A dark impulse stirred. What if I just told her everything? Ugly thoughts swirled at the bottom of his chest. What kind of face would Hayama make? Would she be disgusted with Hiromatsu for sleeping with a man, even if he’d been drunk? Or would she despise Matsuoka himself, for having been in love with a man?

“Is there something on my face?”

Hayama tilted her head.

Matsuoka looked away. “No, nothing.”

He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of expression he’d been giving her. He didn’t want to carry around bitterness or jealousy—yet those emotions bubbled up anyway, uninvited.

There was a scraping noise from across the table as a chair was pulled back. Hiromatsu had returned. Just seeing the two of them sitting side by side sent a stabbing pain through his chest. It was the perfect image: the chosen and the not chosen.

Just get through tonight. Once it’s over… he told himself, trying to pull his mind away from the unbearable reality in front of him. He turned to Fujimoto beside him.

“So… what do you do on your days off?”

His sudden question startled her—her shoulders gave a little jolt as she answered in a small voice.

“I clean… or go shopping…”

“You don’t go out to have fun?”

“Not really…”

Whether out of frustration with Fujimoto’s reserved responses or an urge to help move things along, Hayama jumped in.

“She likes aquariums. You said the dolphins were cute, remember?”

“Oh yeah? Want to go together sometime?”

Fujimoto suddenly fell silent. It didn’t matter if she said yes or no—any answer would’ve been better than silence. Silence was the hardest to deal with. It made the whole table feel painfully awkward. Matsuoka let out a wry smile, unsure how to steer the conversation now.

“Ah, not that I’m trying to force you or anything.”

Trying to smooth things over, he watched as Fujimoto looked up at him with anxious eyes.

“Just the two of us?”

At that, Hayama jumped in again. “Then why don’t the four of us go? Right?”

Matsuoka felt a chill.

“Ah, but…”

He glanced at Hiromatsu. He meant it as a silent plea—please stop her. But the man just frowned deeply and looked down, showing no intention of helping.

“But figuring out a day that works for all four of us is kind of a pain, isn’t it?”

He tried to steer it away gently, but Hayama countered without missing a beat.

“But we all have weekends off, right?”

“So, four’s fine with you, isn’t it?”

Pressed by Hayama, Fujimoto gave a small nod. The conversation had progressed as if the four of them would go together, but the topic shifted soon after, and in the end, they never settled on a specific date.

Matsuoka tried several times to say, “I’m going to head out,” but always stopped himself. It would be rude to Fujimoto if he left early. If I can just hold out a little longer… he thought, squirming inside. Eventually, it was time to leave the restaurant.

Since Fujimoto was the only one whose train ran in the opposite direction, they walked her to the subway station. Once her figure disappeared, Hayama turned to Matsuoka, pressing her hands together as if in apology.

“Sorry. She was a bit aloof, huh? She’s a good person, though…”

“I don’t mind,” Matsuoka muttered, giving a little shrug. The street in front of the station was still bustling, despite the hour. He checked the time—it was past 9 p.m. As he looked up to say, “Well, I should get going,” he saw Hayama murmuring something to Hiromatsu in a low voice. Her slender fingers were lightly holding onto the cuff of Hiromatsu’s suit sleeve.

“I’m heading home.”

Hayama let out a surprised “Huh?”

“It’s still early. Wanna go to another place?”

“I’d just be a third wheel. Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you Monday.”

He lifted his right hand in a casual wave and turned his back on the two of them. He walked away at a brisk pace—just fast enough to not seem unnatural. He entered the platform of the train line he always used.

A train had just departed, and the platform was nearly empty. With some time before the next one arrived, he sat on a bench. Though he had been facing forward at first, his gaze slowly dropped until he was staring down at the tips of his shoes.

He’d regretted accepting Hayama’s invitation a million times over. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way her fingers had clutched Hiromatsu’s sleeve as they said goodbye. Five months ago, he had been the one in that position. It should have been him reaching up to touch his cheek, wrapping his arms around his neck, waiting for that clumsy man to hold him tightly.

If he had never revealed he was a man… would he still be in that spot? But it wasn’t something he could’ve kept hidden forever. And the longer the deception lasted, the deeper the wounds on both sides would have been.

How much did Hayama like Hiromatsu? No matter how strong her feelings were, he was sure his own were stronger. He had more passion, more intensity—he knew it. But in the end, the one who got to choose was Hiromatsu. And Hiromatsu didn’t choose him.

So then what about Hiromatsu? Did he love Hayama more than he had loved Yoko Eto? …He didn’t think so. But maybe that was just his own wishful thinking.

Something welled up from deep in his chest, and his tear ducts began to burn. He understood—he really did—about not being chosen, about being rejected. But still… why did he have to find out about the new lover, too? Why this, on top of everything else?

He took off his glasses, now fogged with tears, and covered his face with both hands.

Every morning, seeing his own reflection in the mirror made him feel miserable. No matter what he did, Yoko Eto’s traces lingered in his face. That’s why… he’d cut his hair, grown a goatee, and started wearing glasses. He tried to change his appearance as much as possible—just to avoid being reminded of Yoko Eto, or of Hiromatsu.

He laughed while crying. In a way, he had to admit—it had worked. After all, when they saw each other again for the first time in three months, Hiromatsu hadn’t even realized it was him.

A train entered the platform and roared off into the distance, leaving behind its echoing rumble. As one train after another passed by, the tears on his cheeks slowly dried. And still, for a long time, Matsuoka couldn’t bring himself to rise from the bench.

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