Utsukushii Koto: Volume 2 - Part 8
He woke up to a thudding sensation.
His face hurt. He saw red carpet and people’s feet.
“Are you okay?!”
Someone’s voice.
“Sorry, but… could I ask for a hand
after all?”
It was Matsuoka’s voice. But even
that quickly faded. His body felt like it was floating. As he stared at his own
legs swaying like konnyaku jelly, a faint smell of cigarettes reached him.
“Are you sure we don’t need to call
an ambulance?”
Someone else’s worried voice.
“He’s probably just drunk, but… if
it looks like he needs to go to the hospital, I’ll call the front desk.”
Matsuoka again. That rising
sensation—was he ascending to the heavens? The thought melted into drowsiness.
Overwhelming sleepiness dragged him under.
There was a loud thunk as a
door closed. Curled up like a cat on the dark green carpet, he shivered
slightly. His jacket was peeled away. When his tie was slipped off, the relief
around his collar was immediate. As his clothes were removed, one layer at a
time, he realized for the first time that he was soaked.
Lifted up in just his underwear, he
was laid somewhere higher. Something warm was draped over him, and the comfort
of it brought a sense of relief. Something cold touched his cheek—water, he
realized—and he brought it close with both hands. He brought it to his mouth.
The moisture slipped down his throat, clearing the fog in his head just a
little. When he tried to drink a second mouthful, his fingers trembled and some
spilled.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Footsteps scrambled toward him, and
a towel wiped his mouth. Hiromatsu grabbed that hand.
“…What?”
His vision swam. A blurry face that
looked like Matsuoka’s came into view. It had to be Matsuoka.
“…You said… you wouldn’t come…”
It was a bitter accusation.
“…You said…”
His hand was shaken off.
“I wasn’t planning to. I was on my
way home and happened to see you passed out outside a convenience store. The
clerk was at a loss, so I brought you back to the hotel. That’s all.”
Matsuoka turned his back on him.
Hiromatsu cried out, “Don’t go.” His own voice rang in his skull, nauseatingly
loud. He pressed both hands against his ears.
“D-don’t go… please… I’ll be fine
after I sleep… and then I’ll talk. So just… don’t go. Don’t go. Let me sleep a
little, and then…”
Sleep dragged him down. Nausea, and
a faint, stinging pain in his chest. A dark veil fell over his eyes, everything
became blurry, and Hiromatsu slipped under, as though falling into a void.
◇:-:◆:-:◇
A small rustling sound and a burst
of bright light woke Hiromatsu. He cracked his eyes open. A silhouette stood
against the backlight. The figure stood for a while, gazing out the window,
then let out a sigh and slumped against the wall across from the bed, legs
stretched out with an ashtray piled high with cigarette butts pulled close.
His shirt was wrinkled, his tie
loosened. Matsuoka sat there, red-eyed and dazed, smoking a cigarette. At
times, he buried his fingers into his hair, clawing through it roughly before dropping
his head. The thin threads of smoke drifted lazily up to the ceiling between
his fingers.
When Hiromatsu shifted his weight,
the bed creaked beneath him. At the sound, Matsuoka’s bowed head slowly lifted.
His gaze met Hiromatsu’s. Hiromatsu sat up. The simple act of moving sent a
wave of nausea churning through his gut. A brutal hangover.
Sitting on the bed, he realized for
the first time that he was down to just his boxers. He vaguely remembered
drinking at his usual izakaya, then catching a train… stopping at a convenience
store, maybe. Everything after that was blank. Rain—it had been raining, he was
sure.
He had no idea why Matsuoka was in
the room. After the second round of drinks, Matsuoka had said he wouldn’t come
to the hotel. He wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t talk to him—that’s what had driven
Hiromatsu to drink himself into oblivion. But now, waking up, he was here. He
couldn’t make sense of it. And yet somehow, despite it all, the one thing he’d
wanted—to be with Matsuoka, to talk to him—had come true. Like magic. Though
it felt like a sick joke.
“Ah… um, you can take the chair if
you want.”
He gestured toward the room’s chair.
“My legs are tired,” Matsuoka muttered, pulling one knee up to his chest.
“So when you said you’d sleep for a bit,
you meant all night?”
There was a sharpness to the words
that prickled.
“Uh, well… sorry. What do you mean?”
Matsuoka scowled, his brows drawing
together in irritation.
“I remember drinking at the izakaya,
and going to the convenience store… Did I say something?”
With a sigh of exasperation,
Matsuoka murmured, “Forget it,” and dropped his head again.
Did I do something while drunk that
pissed him off?
Watching Matsuoka slump in disappointment made Hiromatsu’s heart falter. But
this—this might be his one chance to talk. Matsuoka was here, after all. He
couldn’t hesitate. He’d wanted Matsuoka to come because he’d wanted to talk.
And now, even with a pounding hangover clouding his thoughts, he couldn’t let
the moment slip away.
“I’ve been helping out with the
family business since I moved back home.”
He decided to start with his current
life.
“It keeps me pretty busy, but since
it’s all family, the work’s not stressful. Back when I was working in the city,
I used to get scolded a lot. Not that it wasn’t deserved…”
Matsuoka remained bowed, offering no
response.
“My brother has three kids. The
oldest really clings to me—he’s a second-grader. Kind of reminds me of you,
actually. I don’t get paid for helping out, but they said they might start
giving me something starting next month. Probably about what a student makes at
a part-time job here, but in the countryside, that’s enough to live on.”
The sunlight had shifted—the angle
through the window changed.
“I’ve got a lot of friends back
home. In May, one of my best friends got married. We drank until morning that
night. Honestly, I hardly ever think about life in the city anymore. But I
always wondered what you were up to, Matsuoka-san.”
“…So what?”
The silence finally spoke.
“Because I was on your mind, what?
You wanted to see me? Is that it?”
The follow-up came quickly, but
Hiromatsu couldn’t answer. Yes, I wanted to see you. Yes, I wanted to talk.
But he had nothing more to give. Unable to say anything, he sat in silence as
Matsuoka ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Just give me a break already…”
Matsuoka groaned, his voice low and
raw.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone?”
Matsuoka’s voice trembled, on the verge of breaking. “Don’t come back into my
life just because you’re feeling nostalgic, or because you’re thinking of me,
or because you miss me a little. If it’s only sentimentality, please—I’m
begging you, don’t.”
Hiromatsu had no reply. The pain in
Matsuoka’s voice was real. All too real.
“You always stop there,
Hiromatsu-san. You say you care, you say you’re curious, you’re ‘thinking about
me’… but that’s as far as it goes.”
And he was right.
“I hoped… I hoped that maybe this
time it would be different. But in the end, it’s just like before. I’ll always
just be that friend you ‘think about’ sometimes. We’ll just end up repeating
the same cycle again.”
“Please think about me for once…”,
Matsuoka whispered, the words dissolving into the air like smoke. And Hiromatsu
realized—he had thought about Matsuoka, constantly. But only from the
selfish standpoint of wondering whether Matsuoka still cared for him. He
had never truly examined what Matsuoka’s “I don’t want to be friends”
had meant. What it cost him to say that.
He remembered how Matsuoka wouldn’t
speak to him when they’d met again, how his coldness had stung. He thought he’d
been resented or dismissed. But maybe Matsuoka had only been trying not to get
hurt. Trying not to expect anything.
Silence filled the room. Matsuoka
lit another cigarette.
“You know,” he said, voice low and
calm, “I think, at the end of the day, you just can’t be with a man.”
The cigarette burned quickly to ash.
He tapped it into the tray.
“You said it yourself—that there’s
no future between us. And I believed you. That’s why I gave up.”
Then he laughed, bitterly.
“So… did you get a girlfriend back
home? If you did, just go ahead and marry her. That way you’ll forget all about
me. I’ll just be that annoying guy who wouldn’t let go.”
Hiromatsu didn’t answer. Would he
forget? If he married someone, would Matsuoka’s presence just… disappear?
Or would it remain, a quiet ache, like a trace of something once pure, a faint
aftertaste of longing?
He recalled his sister-in-law’s
words: “If someone’s on your mind, you should’ve just married them.”
Marriage, that supposedly life-altering choice, could be made based on
something as vague as “thinking about someone.” His brother had even suggested
meeting the woman who ran the new salon. If Matsuoka had been a woman,
everything would’ve been simpler. No one would’ve questioned it. But just
because he was a man, Hiromatsu had hesitated—even though Matsuoka had loved
him more than anyone ever had, even though he had never stopped thinking
about Matsuoka.
What was the problem, really? Was it
because two men couldn’t have children? But plenty of couples didn’t. Was it
about appearances? He had never cared about that before.
No. It wasn’t that.
Romantic love was supposed to be
about wanting the other person. And yes, Hiromatsu had wanted to see
Matsuoka. To talk to him. But he hadn’t wanted to sleep with him. That
part had always stopped him. Even though something like that had happened once,
he couldn’t picture it now.
If I could sleep with him, would
that change something? If I could go through with it, would I be able to love
him?
Hiromatsu rose and stepped in front
of Matsuoka, who was sitting slumped on the floor. Maybe the things he couldn’t
handle before—his aversion, his hesitation—maybe they’d fade if he got used to
them. Maybe he could learn to accept them. He crouched down, steeling himself,
and reached out to touch Matsuoka’s chin. His fingertips brushed against rough
stubble.
“…What the hell are you doing?”
“If I could… would that be enough?”
Matsuoka tilted his head, confused.
“What are you saying?”
“I mean… if I could sleep with
you—would that be enough?”
Matsuoka’s face went pale in an
instant. Then, slowly, it hardened into something sharp and angry.
“…You’re disgusting.”
His voice was low and venomous. He jerked
his chin away, shoved himself to his feet, and started for the door. Only then
did Hiromatsu realize just how awful his words had been. If he walks out
now, it’ll be over. Completely over. That much, he understood.
So he lunged forward and grabbed him
from behind.
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”
“Let go!”
Matsuoka thrashed wildly, but
Hiromatsu clung to him desperately. In the struggle, they lost their balance
and tumbled to the floor. Still clinging to his waist, Hiromatsu kept
apologizing over and over, desperation in every word.
“As you said, Matsuoka-san, I
haven’t been able to settle my feelings. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I
want to see you. When you act cold, it hurts. No one else ever gets under my
skin like this. So…”
Matsuoka sat curled into himself,
shoulders rounded.
“So what if you try just because you
feel something?” he burst out. “Then what? If it feels wrong, you’ll
decide it was a mistake, that you don’t want me after all, and throw me away
again!”
His hunched back trembled with
barely suppressed emotion.
“I won’t do that,” Hiromatsu said
quietly.
“Liar.” Matsuoka turned to face him.
“You always do this. You make
me think there’s a chance, even though I’m trying to give up. You make me hope,
just a little. Then you say it’s no good. You say it’s because I’m a man. I’m
not a masochist. Being rejected three times by the same person—I refuse to go
through that.”
His face was flushed with emotion,
the tip of his nose and his cheeks red. His eyes were glassy, the corners
glistening. Hiromatsu had never seen his face like this—so raw, so tangled, so
openly distraught. He wondered how it had come to this. And then he realized: he
was the one who’d brought Matsuoka to this point.
He thought, poor guy, like it
was someone else’s problem. And yet… he also felt an aching tenderness. Not
pity—something deeper. A sudden, overpowering thought struck him: he’s so
beautiful.
Hiromatsu reached out and touched
Matsuoka’s cheek. The softness, the warmth beneath his fingertips lasted only a
moment before it was slapped away.
Even so, he didn’t stop. He reached
again. Brushed along his cheek. Touched the tip of his nose. Ran his fingers
gently along his jaw. Then he gripped Matsuoka’s tense, rigid shoulders and
drew him in. He held him close.
Not roughly. The back beneath his
fingers was slender, but stiff with tension. The fabric of his suit, his
hair—everything carried the smell of cigarette smoke. There was nothing
feminine about what he held in his arms. And yet… this was Matsuoka, he
thought. And it was okay.
◇:-:◆:-:◇
With barely a word spoken between
them, eleven o’clock—and check-out time—was drawing near. Hiromatsu hurried to
gather his things and left the hotel. Matsuoka, utterly exhausted, came with
him.
Hiromatsu invited him to a nearby
open-air café. He would have preferred somewhere calmer, somewhere quieter, but
if they went all the way to the station, Matsuoka might just go straight home,
and that terrified him. They chose a table under the shade of a tree. Hiromatsu
ordered orange juice; Matsuoka chose iced tea.
The cicadas shrilled like a
downpour. Matsuoka, looking utterly drained, sipped at the straw of his iced
tea. What now? Hiromatsu didn’t know. He had no strategy—just the desire
to keep Matsuoka from walking away.
And then, out of nowhere, Matsuoka
broke the silence.
“…What do you even want,
Hiromatsu-san?”
Hiromatsu clenched his fingers
together atop the table.
There were still things about
Matsuoka that he couldn’t accept, and yet, he felt certain now that he held
romantic feelings for him. More than he had when he’d once wrestled with the
same uncertainty. But even now, he couldn’t be sure. Saying, “I think I like
you, so please be with me,” would only make it all repeat again. He knew
too well how cruel it was to raise someone’s hopes when he couldn’t promise
anything in return. And still…
“…Sometimes, when I come to the
city… I’d like to see you.”
“No.”
Matsuoka’s refusal was immediate,
without the slightest hesitation.
“How long are you going to keep
doing this? I don’t want to hope for anything from you anymore.”
He was right. Hiromatsu had no
counterargument.
“B-but… it hurts not seeing you.”
That was all he could manage to say.
His frustration at being inarticulate, unable to play this out smoothly, gnawed
at him. Matsuoka said nothing. The sun climbed higher, shadows thickened, and
condensation on the iced tea glass across from him dried completely. Only then
did Matsuoka speak.
“Three months.”
Hiromatsu looked up.
“From now, for the next three
months—if you come to the city during that time, I’ll meet you. But if nothing
has changed by then, I want this to end.”
He paused, then bowed his head
slightly. “Please—end it for good this time.”
He’d said before that he didn’t even
want to meet. Just getting this three-month grace period was already a
concession.
“In the meantime, I won’t reach out.
Work’s been busy, so I won’t be able to meet on weekdays. And even on weekends,
if I’ve got plans, I’ll say no. I’m not going to prioritize you anymore.”
His voice was firm.
“…And don’t touch me. No trying to
‘test it out’ by sleeping together. That’s non-negotiable.”
Hiromatsu could only nod and say,
“Okay.” Honestly, he had wanted to touch him. It felt like his
fingertips were finally starting to recognize Matsuoka as Matsuoka. Maybe now
he could reach him. But when the person himself says no, there’s nothing he
could do. He wouldn’t force it.
Matsuoka let out a long sigh, rested
his elbows on the table, and pressed his hand against his cheek. Even though
he’d granted Hiromatsu a second chance, he might already be regretting it.
There was no time to waste. Three
months—that was all he had. If he wanted to understand his own feelings, the
only way was to truly get to know Matsuoka.
“…Has anything changed since I went
back?” Hiromatsu asked, trying to shift the mood.
“Not really,” Matsuoka replied, eyes
down.
“Work stuff?”
“It’s busy. Most of the senior staff
quit. The new hires they send in are all useless. One of them pissed off a
long-time client and ruined a major deal. It’s a mess.”
Then, suddenly, he looked up.
“Fukuda quit.”
Hiromatsu’s head snapped up. “What?
Why? Did he get sick?”
Matsuoka gave a crooked smile.
“That would’ve been easier to
explain. No, he got fired—for embezzling company funds.”
Hiromatsu was stunned. Fukuda had
always been blunt, often quick to blame others, but he hadn’t thought him
someone capable of that level of recklessness.
“This year, a lot of people left the
company,” Matsuoka continued. “They cleaned up the finances properly for once,
and that’s how they found out. Turns out he’d been doing it for about three
years. Nasty stuff.”
Only four months had passed since
Hiromatsu had quit, and already so much had changed.
Their conversation lapsed into
silence. As Hiromatsu fumbled for something to say, Matsuoka drained the last
of his lukewarm iced tea. A waitress came around to their outdoor table,
cleared Matsuoka’s glass, and asked, “Would you like to order anything else?”
Hiromatsu swallowed nervously.
Matsuoka ordered the same drink
again. Hiromatsu had been tense the whole time, half-sure that once the first
glass was empty, Matsuoka would stand up and leave. So when he asked for
another, Hiromatsu exhaled in relief. At least until the next one was finished,
Matsuoka would still be here.
Matsuoka pulled a cigarette from his
jacket pocket and lit it, drawing the ashtray closer.
“Smoking again,” Hiromatsu remarked.
Matsuoka glanced up from under his
lashes. “Yeah.”
“Were you always this much of a
smoker?”
“It’s gotten worse… Stress, mostly.”
Watching the way Matsuoka smoked
made Hiromatsu want to try one too.
“Could I have one?”
Matsuoka blinked in surprise. “You
smoke?”
“I did a little, back when I first
started working.”
Matsuoka flipped open the case,
clicked his tongue. “Damn. I’m out.”
“Then… can I just have a puff of
yours?”
Matsuoka stared at the cigarette
between his fingers for a moment, as though puzzled by the request. Ash dropped
onto the table.
“Oh—if you don’t want to, it’s
fine.”
“It’s whatever,” he muttered, and
held it out.
Hiromatsu took it, brought it to his
lips, and took a drag. Before he could even register the taste, he was
coughing—violently, doubling over as he hacked and wheezed.
When he finally straightened up,
breath rasping, Matsuoka was laughing.
“…You didn’t have to laugh,”
Hiromatsu grumbled.
But Matsuoka’s shoulders kept
shaking with residual amusement. “Sorry. It just felt kind of fresh. Reminded
me of when I had my first cigarette in high school.”
“You were underage,” Hiromatsu
scolded.
“Everyone sneaks a taste around that
age, right?” Matsuoka replied coolly.
“I didn’t until I was an adult.”
“You’re so uptight,” Matsuoka
chuckled again.
Hiromatsu felt oddly frustrated to
be laughed at like that—but the smile on Matsuoka’s face was too rare and too
lovely for him to really be mad. When he handed the cigarette back, Matsuoka
teased, “Done already?”
He took the cigarette back and,
slowly, brought it to his lips. The movement was casual, but there was
something about the way his lips closed around the filter that struck Hiromatsu
as strangely sensual. He quickly looked away.
“You don’t need to force yourself to
do things that don’t suit you,” Matsuoka muttered.
“Seeing you smoking like some
disillusioned rebel just doesn’t fit.”
He smoked the rest of the cigarette
down to the stub, then pulled a portable ashtray from his pocket and tapped it
in. Hiromatsu found it strange—there was a proper ashtray right there. Why use
his own?
The shrill of cicadas rose louder.
“So hot…” Matsuoka mumbled, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his
hand. Hiromatsu reached into his pocket. He felt the texture of a handkerchief.
When he pulled it out, it was badly folded and full of wrinkles. Not the
cleanest-looking thing, but it had been washed.
“Here.”
He offered it to Matsuoka.
“What is it?” Matsuoka tilted his
head slightly.
“It’s wrinkled, but it’s clean. I
haven’t used it yet.”
Matsuoka stared at the crumpled
cloth in silence. Embarrassed by the sorry state of it, Hiromatsu made to pull
it back, but Matsuoka reached out and said, “Let me borrow it.”
He unfolded it and refolded it into
a neat square before wiping his forehead, then placed it beside him on the
table. His eyes flicked to the clock. The motion made Hiromatsu tense. Was he
going to say he had to go?
But instead, Matsuoka looked at him
and opened his mouth slightly.
“…I’m kind of hungry. Mind if I get
something to eat?”
◇:-:◆:-:◇
In the end, they lingered at the
café until around four in the afternoon. Even after finishing their meal and as
the sunlight began to tilt westward, Matsuoka didn’t say he was leaving. They
took turns sharing pieces of their recent lives—just small talk, no heavy
subjects.
As the time for the shinkansen
approached, Hiromatsu found himself wanting to stay longer. But he was also
worried about missing his train. He’d been glancing at the clock often enough
that Matsuoka must have noticed, because he finally asked, “When’s your train?”
“Five… I think.”
“Then you’d better get going.”
At that, Hiromatsu reluctantly rose
to his feet. He’d said lunch would be on him, but Matsuoka insisted on paying
his own share down to the cent.
“Oh yeah, where did you move to?” he
asked once they stepped out of the café. Matsuoka blinked in surprise.
“How do you know I moved?”
“I went by your place once. Someone
else was living there.”
“…I see,” Matsuoka murmured, voice
small. Then he told him the location of his new apartment—it was a little east
of Tokyo Station.
“I’m catching the Shinkansen from
there,” Hiromatsu said. “Let’s go together, at least part of the way.”
At his prompting, Matsuoka started
walking. They boarded a JR line that didn’t require a transfer. The train
wasn’t very crowded, so they found seats easily. Matsuoka settled into the seat
beside him, just slightly apart.
He slipped his fingers into his
chest pocket and fumbled around, then let out a quiet click of the tongue.
“Looking for a cigarette?”
“I forgot I was out. Not like I
could smoke on the train anyway.”
Matsuoka exhaled slowly.
“The one I shared with you at the
café… that was my last.”
“The one I choked on,” Hiromatsu
said sheepishly.
Matsuoka gave a short, amused laugh.
That cough attack really had caught him off guard—he’d forgotten how to handle
it. If he’d taken just another drag or two…
Then the thought struck him.
That last cigarette… Matsuoka had carefully put it into
his portable ashtray. Not the café’s tray, like the others. Just that one.
Because Hiromatsu had smoked from it—his lips had touched it.
No, it could have just been habit.
But until then, Matsuoka had used the café’s ashtray without a second thought. Only
that one cigarette, the one they’d shared…
A flush of heat surged up
Hiromatsu’s neck, flooding his face. He could feel it reach his ears.
Embarrassed, he raised his hand and covered his face.
The idea of Matsuoka holding onto
the cigarette because of the indirect kiss made his heart flutter in a way he
wasn’t expecting. He hadn’t confirmed anything, but somehow he was sure
of it. And it made Matsuoka, sitting beside him in silence, seem unbearably…
adorable. The word didn’t quite fit, but it was all he had.
“You okay? You don’t look so good.”
The question made him jerk upright.
He shook his head quickly.
“You’re all red. Maybe you’ve got a
fever. You were out in the rain yesterday…”
Matsuoka leaned in to look at him
from below, his face suddenly too close. The proximity made Hiromatsu tense,
and his cheeks flushed hotter. “I-I’m fine,” he said, pulling back hastily.
Matsuoka’s expression stiffened, and
he quietly shifted away. That reaction—that distance—stabbed at Hiromatsu. Had
he hurt him? Just now, by recoiling like that?
“It’s not that I don’t want you near
me…”
But Matsuoka only shrugged.
“Whatever. I don’t mind.”
…Did he really mean that?
Before, Hiromatsu might’ve taken the
words at face value. It would’ve been easier—for both of them. But now he wanted
to know what Matsuoka really felt. Precisely because he knew how gentle and
considerate Matsuoka was.
In the end, he couldn’t bring
himself to say, It wasn’t because I disliked it—it’s because I was too aware
of you. If he said that, it would only raise Matsuoka’s hopes again. But
wasn’t it better than letting him continue with the wrong impression, with the
hurt that came from it? He wrestled with it, going in circles, and in the end
said nothing.
He vaguely remembered standing
outside the convenience store last night, drenched in rain. If Matsuoka hadn’t
found him, he really might have gotten sick. But now that he thought about it,
Matsuoka’s new apartment was in the completely opposite direction from his old
place. There would’ve been no reason to pass by that street—unless he’d
been coming to the hotel.
Matsuoka had said he’d just happened
to see him and brought him along. But… maybe he had come to see him.
Even after saying he didn’t want to, even after telling him to leave him
alone—Matsuoka was always a little sloppy with those boundaries. If Hiromatsu
said he wanted to see him, he would come.
He glanced sideways. Matsuoka was
staring absently at one of the ads hanging in the train car, his mouth slightly
open, face unreadable. A wave of longing swept over Hiromatsu—he wanted to kiss
him. The thought startled him. His chest buzzed, and even though he wanted to
look, he couldn’t bring himself to keep watching.
This really feels like falling in
love, he thought.
Had Matsuoka always been like this? Had he been sending signs this whole time,
not just through words but gestures, glances, presence? And how many of those
had he failed to notice?
Thoughts swirling, unable to calm
his heart or mind, they arrived at Tokyo Station. Matsuoka was supposed to
transfer to another line. Hiromatsu could reach the shinkansen terminal by
walking inside the station.
But he didn’t want to part yet.
These feelings, just beginning to take shape within him, might disappear again
if they put too much distance between them.
“Well, I go that way,” Matsuoka
said.
As he turned to leave, Hiromatsu
reached out. “Wait.”
His train wouldn’t arrive for
another thirty minutes.
“You haven’t given me your phone
number or email yet.”
“Oh—right,” Matsuoka murmured.
“I’ll email it to you later.”
“No, tell me now.”
With a sigh that said you’re
hopeless, Matsuoka took out his phone.
“Does yours have infrared? That’d be
faster.”
“Ah, um… sorry, I don’t really know
how to use it.”
“Give me your phone.”
Matsuoka opened Hiromatsu’s phone
and started fiddling with it. Even though it was his own phone, Hiromatsu just
sat there, watching silently.
“I think it’s registered now,”
Matsuoka said, handing it back.
“Try sending me something to test
it.”
“Isn’t that Matsuoka-kun?”
A familiar voice interrupted them,
and both turned their heads. Not far away stood Hayama—and beside her, the same
man they had seen at the wedding, her husband.
Hayama left her husband and jogged
over.
“You’re here too, Hiromatsu-san?
What a coincidence!”
She sounded delighted. Matsuoka gave
a quick glance toward the man still standing behind her.
“That’s your husband, right?”
“Yeah, we’re leaving for our
honeymoon. It’s a late-night flight.”
“Where’s your luggage?”
“We sent it ahead already,” Hayama
explained.
“Where are you going again? I think
you mentioned it before.”
“England—ten days,” she said
brightly.
“Nice. A friend of mine went once
and said the Lake District was amazing.”
“Sounds like it is. I’m really
looking forward to it.” Then her eyes shifted back to Hiromatsu and lingered.
“Hiromatsu-san, thank you for coming
all that way for the wedding yesterday,” Hayama said.
Unlike the smooth-talking Matsuoka,
all Hiromatsu could manage was a simple, “It was a lovely ceremony.”
“So… you’ve two made up then,
haven’t you? I’m glad.”
“Made up?”
Before he could ask further,
Matsuoka cut in, “Hayama, aren’t you running out of time?” He steered the
conversation sharply.
“Ah, yeah.”
“If you keep talking to handsome
guys like us, your husband might get jealous.”
“Oh, stop,” Hayama laughed and gave
him a light smack on the shoulder.
“I’ll get in touch once we’re back.
See you.”
She returned to her husband, gave
one last wave over her shoulder, and then disappeared into the crowd.
“What did she mean, made up?”
Hiromatsu asked.
Matsuoka didn’t answer.
“I’m going now,” he said instead.
“You still haven’t answered me.”
Hiromatsu reached out and grabbed
his arm. Matsuoka flinched violently.
“I told you not to touch me!”
Startled by the volume of his voice,
Hiromatsu let go immediately. A few passersby glanced their way. Matsuoka
pressed a hand to his forehead.
“After you went back home, Hayama
asked me if we were still in touch. I couldn’t tell her I got dumped, so I said
we’d had a fight. She looked disappointed, said we’d seemed so close, kept
asking questions. So I told her it was something petty, and we just never got
the chance to make up.”
Matsuoka exhaled sharply, like he
was trying to force something down.
“I never thought you’d come to the
wedding. Let alone that we’d end up seated next to each other. It was just a
cover story, but Hayama must’ve gone out of her way to arrange it.”
Hiromatsu had wondered why he’d been
invited in the first place. Knowing that filled in the blanks.
“I know you hate lies…”
His voice was small, his head
lowered, shoulders trembling. Those tightly clenched fists, the way his head
bowed—it made Matsuoka look like a scolded child. Others probably saw him as
tall, good-looking, even cool. But to Hiromatsu, all he could think was adorable.
Matsuoka slowly raised his face.
“…Aren’t you going to miss your
train?”
The departure time was approaching.
He knew that. But he still didn’t want to leave. He wanted to keep talking. He
considered delaying his return by a day. But the ticket was already bought. If
he didn’t catch this shinkansen, he wouldn’t make the last local train. And on
Monday, he had to help with the family business…
“Wait here,” Hiromatsu said, and ran
to the ticket counter. He returned with a platform admission ticket and held it
out to Matsuoka.
“What’s this?”
“Come with me to the platform.”
“There’s not even fifteen minutes
left.”
“Even so.”
Matsuoka didn’t refuse. They passed
through the shinkansen gates and stepped onto the platform. Ten minutes
remained. Long lines were forming at each boarding point.
He’d brought Matsuoka here because
he didn’t want to part yet. And yet, standing side by side, he couldn’t say a
word. Could he tell him he liked him? Or was that still an illusion? If he
voiced feelings he couldn’t be certain of, he’d only hurt him again. So he
hesitated. Couldn’t say he liked him. Couldn’t say he wanted to stay.
He wished the train wouldn’t come,
but it did. It pulled into the platform, sleek and white. People began
boarding. Hiromatsu let others go ahead, turning to face Matsuoka.
“You didn’t throw it away because I
smoked from it, did you?”
Matsuoka blinked, confused.
“That last cigarette, at the café.”
Suddenly, Matsuoka’s face crumpled.
His mouth trembled, his cheek distorted with emotion, on the verge of tears. It
was a face that couldn’t lie.
The boarding chime rang out.
Hiromatsu looked around. No one else remained on the platform. He had to get
on—but he couldn’t leave Matsuoka here.
Without thinking, he grabbed
Matsuoka’s arm and pulled him onto the train. The doors closed behind them.
“Ah—”
The shinkansen began to move, slowly
at first, then faster.
“Wh-what are you doing?! I don’t
even have a ticket!”
Even as Matsuoka protested,
Hiromatsu couldn’t explain the impulse that had driven him to pull him onto the
train.
“I… I just couldn’t leave you.”
“What does that even mean…” Matsuoka
sighed, still pressing a hand to his forehead.
“And… my shoe…”
Looking down, Hiromatsu saw that
Matsuoka’s right foot was clad only in a sock.
“Weren’t you wearing both just now?”
“Of course I was. It came off when
you dragged me onto the train!”
The station was already fading into
the distance, Matsuoka’s abandoned shoe left behind. No ticket, and one socked
foot. As he stared at that flimsy-looking sock, Hiromatsu suddenly
remembered—vividly—something from long ago.
“When we first met…”
He spoke before thinking.
“You weren’t wearing shoes. I
couldn’t stop wondering about you, why you were like that… and I turned around,
and gave you mine. You walked around in those shoes that didn’t fit you, and it
was so cute…”
That was the moment he’d fallen in
love with Yoko Eto. And now, a force even stronger than back then was rising in
him, pushing him forward.
Hiromatsu slipped off his own shoe,
crouched down, and gently fit it onto Matsuoka’s right foot. His foot was
smaller, by two sizes at least—his heel didn’t quite reach the back.
“…Yesterday, I was planning to go
home.”
Matsuoka’s voice came from above.
“When I saw you at the convenience
store, I thought about ignoring you. You tell me to come see you and then
you’re not even there—I thought it was the worst. But when I got to the
station, I couldn’t make myself get on the train. Even though it was raining,
you were under the awning, and I figured the clerk would deal with you… so I
just stood there across the street for a while, watching you.”
He hadn’t been able to leave him
behind. So instead, he took that troublesome, drunk man and stayed with him all
night at the hotel.
“Are you getting off at the next
station?” Hiromatsu asked.
Matsuoka nodded.
“…Don’t get off.”
At Hiromatsu’s plea, Matsuoka looked
taken aback.
“Even if you say that, it’s not like
I bought a ticket.”
“I’ll buy it.”
“What are you so desperate about? I
told you—I’d see you if you came to the city.”
“Come with me. Just to the next
station.”
When he took Matsuoka’s arm, he
could feel the tremor running through it.
“B-but… I’ve got work tomorrow.”
I want to be near you. I want to
touch you. It felt
like falling in love. And if not love—what else could this be?
Hiromatsu reached out and touched
the faint stubble along Matsuoka’s jaw. That rough texture—because it was
Matsuoka. Whatever it was that had once made him recoil from it, he
couldn’t remember now.
Something was bubbling up inside
him. Even the air seemed to shift in color. He couldn’t look away from those
eyes. Every point of contact felt hot. Sound dropped away. And in that
moment—exaggerated or not—the person before him became his entire world.
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