Utsukushii Koto: Volume 2 - Part 7

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May had been full of pleasant, fair-weather days, but the moment June arrived, it began raining almost every day, with an odd chill that lingered in the air. Whenever it rained, making deliveries on his motorbike required extra care not to get soaked. And with the added cold, Hiromatsu came down with a poorly timed seasonal cold. Just as he was finally recovering from it, July rolled in—and with it, the sun turned harsh, the temperature and humidity spiked, and his air-conditioner-less room grew increasingly stifling each night.

When he’d first moved back to the countryside, he had barely noticed the presence of his smartphone—he’d forget where he’d even left it. But lately, he carried it with him everywhere. Even when it didn’t ring, he would open it several times a day, checking for missed calls or messages. He was hoping—expecting, really—that Matsuoka might reach out to him.

In mid-May, Hayama had contacted him, asking if he might be willing to attend her wedding. He would have liked to see her in a wedding dress, but he hesitated to give an answer. He worried that the groom might not like the idea of having his fiancée’s former boyfriend show up to the ceremony. When he voiced that concern honestly, Hayama had laughed softly on the other end of the line and said, “I haven’t told him we used to date. But even if he found out, I don’t think he’d care. He’s really laid-back.”

“One of our wedding guests can’t make it, so there’s a seat open. When I told him that, he said, ‘Then why don’t you invite someone you want to see?’ Since you’ve moved back home, I thought this might be the last chance we’d have to see each other. That made me want to see you.”

Hearing her say that made Hiromatsu want to go too. So he replied, “I’d be happy to attend.” But then he wondered—would Matsuoka be at the wedding as well? Hayama and Matsuoka had joined the company in the same year and worked in the same department. They were close. It was very likely he’d be invited. He wanted to know, but asking, “Is Matsuoka-san coming?” outright felt too forward, so he tried to probe gently instead.

“Are a lot of your coworkers coming?”

“For the ceremony, it’s just a few of my superiors and a few of the girls. It’s not a huge wedding. Most of the people from the sales department are just coming to the after-party. That’s actually better, since you can talk more freely there.”

So just her superiors and the women were invited. That almost certainly meant Matsuoka wouldn’t be at the ceremony. There was no chance of seeing him at the venue. He might show up to the second party, but Hiromatsu, being from a different department, would feel out of place there. That was probably why Hayama had invited him to the ceremony itself.

Once he had the excuse of traveling to Tokyo for the wedding, his desire to see Matsuoka grew stronger by the day—so much so that it surprised even him. He often found himself thinking about the time, not too long ago, when they’d met after work and gone out for dinner. Just eating together, chatting about nothing in particular… Those small, ordinary moments had been so genuinely enjoyable. But he also knew it would be cruel to try to meet again as just friends after Matsuoka had cut off all contact, saying he didn’t want that kind of relationship.

And so, he kept waiting, hoping that Matsuoka might be the one to reach out. Even if he couldn’t say “I want to see you” himself, if Matsuoka were the one to say it, then he’d have a reason to meet him. That would mean Matsuoka was willing to see him—even as a friend. And right now, with the upcoming trip to Tokyo, there was a perfect opportunity. All he could do was wait, endlessly, for some message to arrive—and before he knew it, the day before Hayama’s wedding had come. The ceremony would take place in the late afternoon, so Hiromatsu planned to leave early the next morning.

That night, Hiromatsu poured himself a rare cup of sake for a solitary drink. The alcohol settled in pleasantly, and as his sister-in-law watched him climb the stairs unsteadily, she looked on with concern, asking if he was sure he should be drinking so much. Ignoring her, he returned to his room and immediately grabbed his phone. Then he began typing a message to Matsuoka.

“It’s been a while. I’ll be in Tokyo tomorrow for Hayama-san’s wedding. I plan to stay over the weekend, so if you have time, I’d like to see you and talk a little.”

He had agonized for a long time over what to say, and in the end, he chose honesty—“see you and talk a little.” But even as he sent it, he wondered if a message like this would only confuse Matsuoka again. Would it hurt him? Would he get angry, asking why Hiromatsu was contacting him when he was supposed to be moving on? And yet—he wanted to see him. He wanted to talk. It wasn’t that he liked Matsuoka as a romantic partner anymore, and still, he didn’t understand why he was so hung up on him.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. He’d become so preoccupied with Matsuoka that he hadn’t been able to sit still. At one point, he even waited for him at the station during his usual commute home. Though “waited” might be too much—it was only from the opposite platform, watching him silently. Even then, he hadn’t known what his feelings were. And because he didn’t know, he hadn’t been able to call out to Matsuoka. He’d simply watched him go home every day, hoping that by looking at him, some kind of answer would rise up from within.

So what was it now? What was this desire to see him? It felt too heated to be called “friendship.” He had rejected Matsuoka twice, said he couldn’t handle it physically, and yet now—could he still be saying he loved him?

Even as he tried to sort through his emotions, no answer came. In fact, he didn’t even know what kind of answer he was looking for. The more he thought about it, the more his head hurt. Seeing him would be simpler. But to see him, he had to make contact. He had to send the message. Saturday was the day of the wedding, so that was out of the question. But Sunday—he wanted to see him then. It was a weekend, though. Matsuoka might already have plans. Still, if Hiromatsu said he wanted to see him, he felt like Matsuoka might cancel whatever those plans were and come anyway. But even someone who always prioritized him might not be able to change plans at the last minute. Which meant—he had to do it today.

For the past few days, he had hesitated, unable to bring himself to press the send button. Now, riding the momentum of his drunkenness, he finally did. He pressed the closed phone to his forehead and waited for a reply. Then, almost too quickly, the incoming message tone rang out and his heart nearly stopped. He fumbled to open the phone—only to see, “...What?” The message had bounced back with a send error. Since he had replied using one of Matsuoka’s old messages, there was no way the address was incorrect. Just to be sure, he tried sending it again. The result was the same. Even when he sent it from the registered address in his contact list rather than replying, it came back with an error.

The drunk boldness that had allowed him to finally send the message drained away in an instant. Why wasn’t it getting through? Hiromatsu gripped his phone tightly. He needed to confirm what he was now beginning to suspect—so he called. He had the sense that he would regret it whether he called or not, and if that was the case, he figured it was better to do it than not. The call connected. But the voice that answered wasn’t Matsuoka—it was a complete stranger.

There was no mistaking it now. Matsuoka had changed his email address and phone number. And he hadn’t told Hiromatsu. Thinking about it rationally, it made sense. Matsuoka had said he wouldn’t call or email anymore. Of course he hadn’t sent his updated contact information.

All this time, Hiromatsu had believed that as long as he pressed that button, he’d be connected. That if he could just work up the nerve, meeting Matsuoka again would be simple. But now that he couldn’t reach him, the distance between them had suddenly widened into something immense. Only now, far too late, did he truly understand just how serious Matsuoka had been when he said, “I won’t contact you anymore.”

Maybe Matsuoka was trying to forget him. No—he was trying to forget him. And faced with that reality, Hiromatsu could only stand there in stunned silence, utterly alone.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

On the day of the wedding, Hiromatsu left the house in the morning and arrived at Tokyo Station just before noon. It had been raining back home, but here the sky was perfectly clear. Still, perhaps it had rained a little earlier, as small puddles remained here and there. He took a train to the business hotel where he planned to stay. Check-in wasn’t available yet, so he left his luggage at the front desk. The wedding would begin at 5 p.m., and the venue was about fifteen minutes away by train from the hotel. As long as he returned to the hotel and got ready by three-thirty, he would have more than enough time.

He could have picked a hotel closer to the venue, which would have been more convenient. But he had purposely chosen one a little farther away—because about a five-minute walk from that hotel was the apartment where Matsuoka lived.

Matsuoka hadn’t given him his new phone number or email address. He had deliberately made it impossible to contact him, made it clear that he didn’t want to see him. Stirring that up again wasn’t right. Besides, Hiromatsu couldn’t offer anything just because he had a sudden impulse to say “I want to see you.” It wasn’t like he could give Matsuoka any kind of outcome that would make him happy.

Even so… a voice inside whispered that maybe just seeing his face would be okay. Then he asked himself—if that’s all he did, just saw his face, would that really satisfy him? Even if Matsuoka looked at him like he was a bother, would simply seeing him be enough to dispel this tight knot in his chest?

The area around Matsuoka’s apartment rang with the loud hum of cicadas. Near the bike parking area, several large trees buzzed with their chorus. From outside, he looked up at Matsuoka’s window—his curtains were open. He felt like someone was inside. But even when he made it all the way to the front of the door, he couldn’t bring himself to press the buzzer… because he was afraid. If Matsuoka looked at him with those eyes that said “Why are you here now?” then he wouldn’t be able to say a word. He still felt like Matsuoka might have feelings for him, but he knew that was probably just a delusion. Matsuoka could already have a new lover, and things might be going well. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. These past four months, he had no idea what Matsuoka’s life had looked like. He had changed his number and his email, and that was all Hiromatsu knew.

Then—click. The sound of a lock turning. With no time to brace himself, the door to Matsuoka’s apartment opened, and Hiromatsu reflexively stepped back. And then came the second surprise—it wasn’t Matsuoka who stepped out, but a young woman he didn’t recognize. …Could she be his girlfriend?

“Um, did you need something from this apartment?” the woman asked when she noticed him.

“Ah… no, it’s nothing.”

She locked the front door and walked toward the elevator. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, with short hair and a cute face. So Matsuoka had found someone. Unlike himself, still living a frozen kind of life back in the countryside, Matsuoka’s time was clearly moving forward.

His fingers trembled. Matsuoka had said he loved him, but they hadn’t been dating. At least, that was how Hiromatsu had thought of it. So then why—why was he this shaken just because his friend had a girlfriend?

What had he even come here to do? He had come to see Matsuoka. That was the goal. Whether or not Matsuoka had a girlfriend didn’t matter. In fact, if he did have one, then he could leave the romantic part to her, and the two of them could finally just be friends. That would be the best-case scenario. And yet, he couldn’t shake this feeling of unease.

But still, he didn’t know for sure. He hadn’t confirmed anything. Maybe she was just an acquaintance. His legs moved. He started to run. He caught up to the woman who had been waiting at the elevator.

“Um, excuse me.”

The woman turned around slowly.

“Oh, you’re the guy from earlier…”

“Wh-what is your relationship with Yosuke Matsuoka-san?”

She furrowed her brow and tilted her head. “Huh?”

“You… you know Yosuke Matsuoka-san, right?”

“Who’s that?”

She looked genuinely confused.

“But you just came out of his apartment, didn’t you?”

“That’s my apartment.”

Now it was Hiromatsu’s turn to tilt his head in confusion.

“Ah, but… it’s unit 502, right?”

“I’ve been living there since May. Maybe you’re thinking of the previous tenant? I sometimes get mail for a man by that name.”

“Ah… I see. I’m terribly sorry.”

Hiromatsu left the apartment building with his tail between his legs. Not only had Matsuoka changed his number and email, it seemed he had moved out entirely as well. Was it intentional? Or just a coincidence? If it were a weekday, he might be able to catch Matsuoka by waiting at the station nearest his office—but today was Saturday, and tomorrow would be Sunday. He had to return home on Sunday. Even if he extended his stay by one more day and left on Monday, waiting for Matsuoka to finish work would make him miss the last local train. There would be no chance to see him. What about Tuesday? But he had responsibilities back home. He couldn’t leave his house that long.

“What should I do…” he muttered, though he already knew there was nothing he could do. That much was painfully clear.

Back at the hotel, he lay there, tormented by the thought of whether there was any way left to get in touch with Matsuoka. There was at least one, though it would cost time—he could stay until Tuesday and wait outside Matsuoka’s company. But it was possible that Matsuoka, working in sales, would head home straight from a client site instead. Plus, there were still people at the company who knew him, and for someone who had been laid off, it would be uncomfortable to be seen lingering around. It would be hard to endure the unspoken looks of “What’s he doing here now?”

Then there was asking someone. But Hayama, the bride, would surely be busy on her wedding day. It would be selfish to ask her for Matsuoka’s contact information. The other option was Fukuda—his former boss, and someone who knew Matsuoka—but after transferring to Koishikawa, they had barely spoken. Besides, he had never been particularly well liked by Fukuda to begin with.

Maybe, instead of going through other people, it would be faster just to attend the wedding afterparty. Matsuoka would probably be there. Even if they weren’t in the same department, someone might still say, “Hey, come join us.” Or maybe he could just take the initiative and say he wanted to go. It wasn’t like they’d tell him not to come.

As he ran through all the possibilities, the time for the ceremony crept up on him. He changed into his suit and fixed his hair. The stubborn cowlick at the back of his head refused to go down, and he struggled to get it under control. After some effort, the unruly hair was finally tame enough to look presentable, and he left the hotel. Though it had been sunny during the day, clouds now blanketed the sky in a heavy gray. It looked like rain.

He had left early to make sure he wouldn’t be late, but while lost in thought, he missed his stop on the train. He scrambled to turn back.

After finally getting off at the right station, he found the interior under construction, with only one exit open—and of course, it led him in the opposite direction from the hotel. Between overshooting his stop and now taking this detour, time kept slipping away. By the time Hiromatsu arrived at the venue, it was three minutes before the reception was scheduled to begin. Most of the guests had already checked in and entered the hall; only the reception staff remained in the lobby.

As he hurriedly scribbled his name into the guest book, Hiromatsu spotted Matsuoka’s name three lines above his own. His hand froze in place. The man he had longed to see was here. Hayama had said only her superiors, and a few female coworkers were invited to the ceremony, but Matsuoka had been invited from the start.

“Um… the ceremony is about to begin,” the receptionist said gently, prompting him to move again. Flustered, he finished writing, took his table card, and headed toward the main hall where the event was taking place. The doors were already closed. When he opened them quietly, the guests were all seated. Not knowing where he was supposed to go, he stood awkwardly in the entrance until a staff member approached and guided him to his seat. As they walked, the lights dimmed. It seemed the bride and groom’s entrance was about to begin.

“Here’s your seat,” the staff member said, indicating a round table for about ten people. It was too dark to see clearly, but it looked like most of the guests at the table were women. The attention of everyone at the table turned to him—the late arrival—and he felt his face burn with embarrassment. As he went to pull out his chair, his foot caught on nothing, and he stumbled forward awkwardly. “Ah!” he let out unintentionally, and someone across the table let out a stifled laugh. His face flushed even deeper.

No sooner had he taken his seat than a fanfare blared through the hall. The double doors, lit by spotlights, swung slowly open. Hayama entered, dressed in white, alongside the groom.

As the spotlight lit the room a little more, he could finally make out the faces at the table—and Hiromatsu caught his breath. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The person he had spent so much time trying to figure out how to contact was seated right next to him. His hair was just slightly shorter, the goatee along his jawline unchanged. He looked thinner than before.

 

“It’s been a long time… Matsuoka-san,” Hiromatsu said quietly.

Matsuoka cast him a brief glance, then dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Good evening.” His voice was calm, but held a polite detachment. In the dim lighting, his expression was unreadable, yet the tone he used felt unmistakably formal—like speaking to someone he barely knew.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The table where Hiromatsu was seated was mostly made up of people from sales—five men and five women. Though he had seen some of their faces before, the only one he had ever actually spoken to was Matsuoka. He had expected, being seated beside him, that they would have plenty of time to talk. But Matsuoka was deep in conversation with a young man on his right, barely acknowledging Hiromatsu. To make matters worse, the man seated on Hiromatsu’s left was a friendly, slightly older gentleman in his mid-fifties who struck up conversation frequently. Apparently, he had been Hayama’s supervisor back when she worked in the inventory control department, before transferring to sales, and he seemed uncomfortable being surrounded by younger salespeople. Upon learning that Hiromatsu had been at the Koishikawa Research Institute, he perked up with a sense of familiarity, saying he’d once been temporarily assigned there for a few months.

Hiromatsu wanted to talk to Matsuoka, but the inventory man’s stories dragged on. Since the guy kept talking on his own, all Hiromatsu had to do was nod occasionally, but the topics kept jumping one after another, with no end in sight.

It wasn’t until the middle of the reception that the man finally stood up—perhaps to use the restroom. The young man Matsuoka had been chatting with turned his attention to an older man across the table. With both of them momentarily free of conversation, Matsuoka began quietly eating, not speaking to anyone.

“Um… want some beer?” Hiromatsu asked, reaching for any excuse to start a conversation. Matsuoka glanced at him and replied, “Sure, thank you,” holding out his half-empty glass.

“You look well,” Hiromatsu offered.

Matsuoka took a single sip of the freshly poured beer and set the glass down.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied. His answer was curt, so much so that it left Hiromatsu feeling awkward. That distant, overly formal tone from earlier hadn’t changed. The cold attitude made it harder to keep talking, but something in him pushed forward.

“I didn’t expect you to be here, Matsuoka-san.”

“Hayama and I entered the company in the same year. I didn’t know you’d be attending either.”

Even if the tone was distant, Matsuoka wasn’t shutting him out completely—he was at least replying.

“After I decided to attend Hayama-san’s wedding, I sent you an email and called. But I couldn’t reach you.”

“Oh, I got a new phone.”

“Why?”

There was a slight pause, and then Matsuoka let out a small laugh.

“What would you do if you knew the reason?”

Hiromatsu hesitated for a reply, and Matsuoka continued, “I dropped it and it broke. There was a phone model I wanted, so I switched carriers too,” he said casually.

So it hadn’t been an intentional effort to cut him off. But as Hiromatsu was fumbling for his next words, Matsuoka turned away and said, “Hey,” calling out to the man beside him, leaving Hiromatsu behind. Just then, the older inventory man returned, and despite Hiromatsu insisting he knew nothing about golf, the man launched into a long story about it, and once again Hiromatsu lost his chance to speak to Matsuoka.

The bride and groom left the hall for their outfit change. Almost at the same time, Matsuoka also rose from his seat. Hiromatsu apologized to the endlessly talking inventory man and hurried after him. He had assumed Matsuoka had gone to the restroom, but he wasn’t there. Hiromatsu had come straight this way—if Matsuoka had left already, they would have passed each other. It didn’t make sense. Had he gone home halfway through the ceremony…? As that worrying thought crossed his mind and he was heading back toward the hall, a faint whiff of cigarette smoke drifted in from the right.

He recognized the scent. Peering quietly into the recessed hallway to the right, Hiromatsu spotted a small smoking area at the far end. Matsuoka stood there, leaning lightly against the wall beside an ashtray, smoking a cigarette. The hall wasn’t strictly non-smoking, so if someone wanted to smoke, they could. In fact, the man who had been seated next to Matsuoka at the table had been a heavy smoker.

Matsuoka tilted his head back, letting the smoke curl toward the ceiling. He’d mentioned once that he smoked, but also said he rarely did. The only time Hiromatsu had ever caught the scent on him was when Matsuoka had come by his apartment once, saying he’d brought cold medicine.

Matsuoka’s face as he smoked looked languid, almost like someone else entirely. Hiromatsu found himself staring. When they had spent time together, Matsuoka had always been cheerful and full of energy. That was the only image Hiromatsu had ever known.

Matsuoka took his time finishing the cigarette, then stubbed it out and dropped it into the ashtray. Only then did he turn toward Hiromatsu—and when their eyes met, Matsuoka’s expression visibly flinched. With an awkward look, he lowered his gaze and walked past without a word.

“Hey…” Hiromatsu called out.

Matsuoka stopped after taking three or four steps—but only for a moment. Then he resumed walking and returned to the hall. He must have heard Hiromatsu’s voice. He had stopped walking, after all. But he didn’t look back. He left, ignoring him completely.

In front of others, he might still give the bare minimum of polite replies, but maybe this was how Matsuoka really felt. That he no longer wanted to speak to Hiromatsu. That he wanted no further involvement.

It felt like the ground beneath him had given way, like he was falling into some dark depth. So this was what it meant to be completely discarded. And he’d come all this way, thinking only of how much he wanted to see him—how miserably pathetic. Matsuoka had cut off contact, changed his phone, his email—there had been signs. But Hiromatsu had chosen to ignore them.

He couldn’t afford to stay away from the table for too long, so he returned to the hall. Hayama, having changed outfits, was now onstage with her groom, slicing into the wedding cake.

The ceremony continued steadily, sliding past the surface of his awareness. The man sitting beside him felt impossibly far away. He had wanted so badly to talk, and now he couldn’t even remember what it was he wanted to say. He had no idea how to approach Matsuoka now, after being so clearly shut out.

It was only because Matsuoka had liked him—had said he loved him—that Hiromatsu had been able to speak to him at all. Now, the man sitting beside him seemed polished, clean-cut, handsome—like someone from a different world. Maybe Matsuoka had always been that kind of person. Maybe it had been strange from the start, that he had once said he loved Hiromatsu.

Even with the present sitting right next to him, Hiromatsu dredged up old memories. Matsuoka catching snowflakes with his mouth, blushing boyishly when he got flustered. Were those moments fake? No. That had been Matsuoka, too. But the one now, cold and silent beside him—that was also Matsuoka. His chest ached sharply. His throat was dry.

While he was reeling from the line now firmly drawn between them, the ceremony ended. After receiving farewell greetings from the bride and groom, the guests exited to the lobby. Hiromatsu, with the gift bag in hand, scanned the room for Matsuoka.

It’s no use, whispered the timid voice inside him. After being ignored like that, it’s obvious—he’s done with you. It’s better not to see him anymore. It ended that day in March. Let it go. He dropped his gaze. …But if he had truly let it go, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be searching the room for Matsuoka.

"Um, Manager Matsuoka, you're coming to the afterparty too, right?" A young man’s voice called from behind, prompting Hiromatsu to turn around. Matsuoka stood behind a column to the right, surrounded like the center of a bouquet by the girls who had been seated at their table.

“Don’t call me ‘manager.' It makes my skin crawl,” Matsuoka said with a wry smile.

“I’m not stopping. It’s intentional harassment,” the young man replied smoothly, and Matsuoka gave him a light tap on the shoulder. Their easy banter made it clear they were close.

“I’m going to the second party. I told Hayama I’d show my face,” Matsuoka added.

The relaxed, friendly atmosphere was just intimidating enough to make approaching them difficult. Among the girls encircling Matsuoka, one of them was gazing up at him with a dreamy look in her eyes. Realizing this, a flicker of unease stirred in the pit of Hiromatsu’s chest.

“You know, I’ve been thinking—Hayama-san isn’t really the type to go for looks, is she?” the young guy remarked without hesitation, prompting the girls to object with a chorus of “That’s not true!”

Indeed, the groom wasn’t quite what you’d call conventionally handsome—he’d need a little help in the looks department to be called that—but...

“He just seemed like a really kind person, didn’t he? Warm and easygoing. I really like that kind of vibe,” Matsuoka said, almost wistfully.

“Well yeah, he did have a laid-back feel to him,” the young man agreed. “Oh right, the second party’s venue is kind of far, so we arranged for a few cabs—three, I think...”

If he let this moment slip, there might not be another chance. And with people around, Matsuoka couldn’t openly ignore him. Hiromatsu stepped forward toward the group from Sales. One of the girls who had been with Matsuoka noticed him and gave a friendly smile before he could say a word.

“You were at the same table, right?”

“Ah, yes,” he nodded.

Matsuoka turned toward him and looked his way.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you,” Hiromatsu said.

The group turned their attention to Matsuoka just as a hotel staff member called out, “Is there a Mr. Shinozaki here?” The young man who had been seated next to Matsuoka raised his hand with a casual “Yep, yep.”

“The first cab’s here. What about you, Manager Matsuoka? Should we have you head out with the first group?”

“Yeah, I’ll go ahead,” Matsuoka replied, a perfectly polite smile fixed to his face, as if sculpted there.

“I’m heading to the afterparty now. Let’s talk another time, okay?”

It was a graceful dismissal. Then the girl beside Matsuoka turned to him and said, “If you’d like, would you like to come to Hayama-senpai’s second party?”

“He’s in a different department,” Matsuoka interjected calmly. “The after-party is mostly for us salespeople, so it might be a bit awkward for him.”

“Oh—right. I’m sorry,” the girl said, flustered, quickly bowing in apology.

But to Hiromatsu, it just felt like another excuse. Another way to distance himself from Hiromatsu.

"When can we talk next?" Hiromatsu asked, but no reply came. He had no way of contacting Matsuoka—he didn’t know Matsuoka’s phone number, email address, or even his new address. Even if he wanted to arrange another opportunity, unless Matsuoka was willing, it would be nearly impossible.

"I'm staying in town tonight," Hiromatsu added. "So after the afterparty—even if it’s late, I don’t mind..."

Matsuoka tilted his head. "I’m not sure what time I’ll be getting back. I’d feel bad making you wait."

"Then tomorrow is fine. I’ll be here until four—"

"I’ve got plans starting in the morning," Matsuoka cut him off.

Every attempt was deflected, calmly, evasively, like there was no foothold to grab onto. Then Matsuoka leaned toward the group of girls and whispered, "Go ahead and take the cab first." They nodded and headed toward the hotel entrance.

"Near your apartment, there’s a business hotel called Velda. I’m staying there, room 305. It doesn’t matter what time... I’ll—"

"You want me to come by after the second party?" Matsuoka asked, looking him straight in the eye.

"I’m not going," he said. "Even if the party ends early, I’m not coming. I don’t want to."

"Why not?" Hiromatsu asked.

Matsuoka gave a small, strained smile. "Because I don’t want to. Isn’t that enough of a reason?"

With that, he turned on his heel. Hiromatsu watched him walk away, watched him get into the waiting taxi, and then stood there with his head lowered, unable to move for a long time.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

While he was still in town, Hiromatsu stopped by a familiar izakaya he used to frequent and drank alone. He ordered sake from the start, fully intending to get drunk. But even as the effects of the alcohol began to take hold, it didn’t help. A dense cloud of melancholy closed in on him, dragging his mood down deeper and deeper.

“Hiromatsu-san, are you all right? Should I call you a cab?” the proprietress asked with concern.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he replied, waving her off as he staggered out of the shop. He began walking toward the station. He felt like walking forever—right off the edge of the world. Walk and walk, until he became a stick and collapsed. He was overwhelmed by a strangely fleeting, destructive urge. Right now, dying didn’t even scare him.

But that self-destructive impulse began to fade along with the alcohol. Walking, as it turned out, was tiring, and no matter how badly he wanted to forget, he couldn’t. He recalled the look in Matsuoka’s eyes when he was rejected—sharp, absolute—and pain tightened around his chest like a vice. It was so pathetic, he started to tremble. He felt utterly humiliated.

Matsuoka had cut him off, and he’d made sure Hiromatsu saw it, plain and clear. The signs had been there all along, but Hiromatsu had bulldozed forward, convinced by the delusion that maybe Matsuoka still liked him.

Eventually, he came across a station along the line and boarded the train. As it clattered down the tracks, tears welled up and spilled over. It wasn’t that he’d been dumped. He was the one who had ended things. All that had happened was that he’d been ignored, treated coldly. And yet, here he was—crying. Was that really something to cry about? It felt pathetic. He wasn’t a child anymore.

Ashamed to be crying, he hung his head—and eventually nodded off, missing his stop. He doubled back and finally arrived at his station. The scenery was vaguely familiar. Having booked a hotel close to Matsuoka’s old apartment, even though he knew Matsuoka no longer lived there, the surrounding memories still hit hard. It was unbearable. He ducked into a nearby convenience store and bought three single-serve cups of sake.

Like some delinquent kid, he plopped down just outside the store and cracked one open. He hated the feeling of his buzz beginning to wear off, hated the clarity creeping in, so he forced himself back into drunkenness. His head hung loose like a stretched-out rubber band. In that slack, hazy state, he found himself wondering: what had he really been expecting from Matsuoka?

Had he come all this way just to force a friendship on someone who’d made it clear he didn’t want one? Matsuoka had told him again and again that he loved him, that he wanted to be his partner. And now, somehow... it was only just sinking in. Only now did Hiromatsu finally begin to understand how Matsuoka must have felt. And it was no wonder Matsuoka had grown tired of someone like him.

A single tear dropped. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he reached up to wipe his cheek. Then he noticed—it wasn’t tears. It was rain. He’d thought it might start before the ceremony, and now it had. Hiromatsu scooted back, tucking himself under a small overhang. His feet still stuck out and got wet—but he didn’t care. It wasn’t cold, not really. He opened the second sake cup.

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