La Vie En Rose: Chapter 2 - Part 1

The Older Lover

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Why would someone kill the person they loved...?

In the small interrogation room on the second floor of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters, Detective Ron Hamauzu sat across from Mizuki Yokotani, a murder suspect.

In late March, Rinako Mitsui, a 19-year-old part-time worker known as Rina, was strangled to death and thrown into a river. Rina was a habitual methamphetamine user. The suspect that emerged was Mizuki Yokotani, a 22-year-old member of the Matsuzaka gang and a methamphetamine dealer who had been in a relationship with Mitsui.

Yokotani was tall, with a small face and head. He wore loose-fitting clothes, both on top and bottom. His style was typical of young men seen around town; he did not look like a gang member at all.

They had been sitting in silence for about thirty minutes. Yokotani kept his mouth tightly shut, refusing to respond to any questions. Whether he was angry or just determined to remain silent, his expression gave nothing away.

That morning, Hamauzu's supervisor had suddenly instructed him, "You're in charge of Mizuki Yokotani's interrogation today." It was an unexpected promotion for the low-ranking Hamauzu. His boss had suggested that, being closer in age, he might get Yokotani to talk... but Hamauzu was 30 years old, eight years older than Yokotani. He wondered why he had been chosen, but the real reason became apparent soon enough. Up until now, the interrogation had been handled by a senior detective from a different unit. His boss and that detective did not get along, to the point where they would openly turn their heads away if they passed each other in the hallway. If Hamauzu, a lower-ranking officer, managed to get a confession from a suspect that the senior detective couldn’t, it would be a blow to the detective’s pride. Even if Hamauzu failed, just the act of sending him in as a replacement would be a clear message of his boss's disdain for the detective.

Regardless of the motives of those above him, Hamauzu considered it fortunate to be given a chance to interrogate Yokotani. After all, this case was deeply intertwined with his own private life—something he couldn’t tell anyone.

Hamauzu had a boyfriend named Yasuo Momota, a man six years his senior who worked as a manager at an outcall service, a type of escort service known as a "delivery." Momota was acquainted with the victim, Rina, and also knew Yokotani, who had been dating Rina. Thanks to this connection, the investigation was able to narrow its focus significantly, leading to Yokotani's swift arrest.

So far, so good, but the problem came afterward. Momota, in a misguided effort to help Hamauzu achieve a big career win, had become a methamphetamine dealer for the Matsuzaka gang. He did this to gather information on drug activities. With three prior convictions and some connections in the yakuza, Momota had little trouble infiltrating the gang.

When Detective Jingoro from the local precinct told Hamauzu that his boyfriend was being monitored as a meth dealer, Hamauzu, unaware of the circumstances, could hardly believe his ears. Upon confirming the information, an intense rage, more powerful than any he had ever felt before, surged through him. He never expected to discover "betrayal" in this way.

He had called his boyfriend to a hotel, interrogated him, threatened him, and finally learned the truth. When Hamauzu realized that everything Momota had done was for his sake, he felt an overwhelming love for the man standing before him. He resolved to protect him at all costs.

For now, Hamauzu wanted to cut Momota off from the Matsuzaka gang as soon as possible. After much thought, he decided to hide Momota in his brother's apartment. It was the only way to protect him from both the yakuza and the police. Hamauzu felt a duty to protect Momota with all his might. No, it wasn't just a duty. He wanted to do it. He didn’t want anyone to hurt Momota.

Then came the chance to interrogate Yokotani. Hamauzu was determined to get a confession of "murder" as soon as possible and to dig deeper into the suspicions of drug possession.

If Yokotani admitted to possessing drugs and confessed that the Matsuzaka gang was the supplier, it would lead to a raid on the gang's headquarters. They could then pile on charges of prostitution and illegal gambling, tightening the noose. Bit by bit, they would clip the gang's wings. The gang would weaken, and with any luck, be devoured by rival gangs. If the Matsuzaka gang ceased to exist, Momota would be free.

The suspect remained silent. It was late April, and though it had been sunny and almost summer-like yesterday, today was cloudy and a bit chilly. Staring at the gray steel desk, Hamauzu recalled how he had met his older boyfriend six years ago.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

[Six Years Ago] Winter

In early February, it was a cold day from the morning. Eight months into his assignment at the Nishi-Chuo Police Box, Officer Ron Hamauzu returned from his patrol to find his senior colleague, Officer Tadashi Jingoro, casually raising his eyebrows as he brusquely said, “There’s a 110 call from the South District.”

“South District...?”

Hamauzu had just come back from the South District.

“It’s from the convenience store ‘Bell’ in the South District. Seems like a salaryman and a student-type were having a fight. Go check it out.”

Even though he was told to go, his shift rotation with Jingoro had already ended. However, Hamauzu couldn’t just say to his senior, “It’s your turn now since it’s past my time,” so he just said, “I’m on it,” and got back on his bike. This had been happening a lot lately. At first, he thought it was because Jingoro was looking out for him, since he wasn’t yet used to the job, but now he realized he was just being given all the bothersome tasks.

Trying not to overthink it, Hamauzu pedaled his bike. No matter how positively he tried to think, he couldn’t reach a conclusion that would justify Jingoro’s behavior. It was better not to think about it.

When Hamauzu arrived at the ‘Bell’ convenience store, there were no signs of a scuffle by the time he got there. When he asked the store clerk, he was told that as soon as they threatened to call the police, both the salaryman and the student had panicked and run off.

As he grabbed his bike, he saw a small white shadow flicker across his field of vision. Just when he had been thinking about how cold it was, snow started falling.

Hamauzu’s mother had been a female detective, and she had died in the line of duty before Hamauzu’s second birthday. He had no memory of his mother, but he did remember that every time they visited her grave, fresh flowers were always placed there before they arrived.

“Who brings these flowers?”

When he asked his father, he was told, “They’re from someone your mother helped.” The flowers were still being placed there to this day. Even as a child, Hamauzu was deeply impressed by the idea that being a detective was a job that people appreciated so much.

Wanting to do something that would help people and hoping to be someone who would be remembered with gratitude like his mother, Hamauzu’s decision to become a police officer felt natural.

He considered becoming a doctor or a lawyer, but ultimately, he chose to become a police officer. His father had a stern look on his face, but he didn’t oppose the decision.

Becoming a police officer, Hamauzu found that the reality of the job was a bit different from his ideal. His senior, Jingoro, had been kind at first, but after Hamauzu made his first arrest in a theft case four months into his assignment, his attitude completely changed.

“It was just beginner’s luck.” 

“You think you’re hot stuff, don’t you? Arrogant bastard.” 

“Your attitude stinks. You’ve got no charm.” 

Hamauzu never argued back. He felt it would be foolish to react to such petty jealousy. But his calm demeanor seemed to irritate Jingoro even more.

While Hamauzu could handle the blatant insults, having Jingoro’s work dumped on him was a real nuisance. If he didn’t do it right, he would be the one getting scolded. But he endured that as well. Even when Hamauzu caught a bicycle thief but the paperwork was submitted under Jingoro’s name, he didn’t complain. There was only one thing that really stuck in Hamauzu’s mind.

“You’re not cut out to be a cop.”

Jingoro had said that while they were working together in the police box. Usually, Hamauzu would ignore such comments, but this time he couldn’t help but ask.

“Why do you say that?”

“You lack teamwork.”

His heart skipped a beat. Someone else had said something similar to him before.

“You’re self-centered, just going through the motions like a robot. And besides, you never come out drinking with us when we invite you.”

In the current strained atmosphere, going to a drinking party organized by Jingoro would clearly make him a target for everyone’s frustration. Besides, Hamauzu had a very low tolerance for alcohol and could get drunk on half a glass of beer.

“I’m not good with alcohol.”

Jingoro looked up at him with a sidelong glance.

“Even so, there’s such a thing as socializing. The guys at the dorm say you’re not likable. Cops like you, who are rigid and inflexible, end up being bosses who don’t understand their subordinates’ feelings and just shout orders all the time.”

Hamauzu recalled his past. When he was a university student, he joined a tennis club. He had played in high school and wanted to keep active to stay in shape.

The club wasn’t focused on serious tennis practice; it was more about having fun. Few members were serious about practice like Hamauzu.

Most of the members who were there to have fun also didn’t like alcohol, so even when invited to drinking parties, Hamauzu rarely attended.

Once, he was forced to attend a party as a favor for borrowing some notes when he was sick. He was laughed at for ordering oolong tea right from the start. Even when a girl sitting next to him tried to make conversation, it didn’t last. He wasn’t familiar with the popular music she was talking about. Hamauzu didn’t have any particular hobbies. As he hesitated, unsure of what to say, he found himself left out of the lively party conversation. After going to the restroom, the girl had moved to a different seat.

On the awkward way home, a friend told him, “You know, you should learn to read the room a bit.”

Even when told to read the room, he didn’t know how to do it.

He was aware that he wasn’t good at socializing, but he didn’t want to suck up to others, and he hadn’t tried to change that part of himself. He didn’t really mind being alone.

However, entering society had taught him that things couldn’t always be that way. If you don’t navigate things well, life gets more complicated. Unlike when he was a student, he couldn’t just ignore it. Sometimes, he had to pretend and go along with others.

Still, it felt wrong to suck up to colleagues or seniors he couldn’t respect.

As he came back to the corner near the police box, he saw a person standing on the middle of the bridge’s walkway.

“He’s still there...”

That person had been standing in the same spot since before Hamauzu went to the convenience store in the South District. It had been over thirty minutes. He couldn’t see the person’s face clearly from a distance, but it was probably a man. The bridge, nearly 50 meters long, was particularly cold. There was nothing to block the wind. On such a snowy, cold day, standing alone on a bridge for a long time was not normal. Every year, at least one or two people jumped off that bridge to commit suicide.

He couldn’t help but be concerned. Instead of turning the corner, Hamauzu pedaled his bike across the bridge.

The man stared blankly at the river and didn’t notice Hamauzu approaching. He looked to be in his thirties, with unkempt hair and a stubbly beard. He was wearing a fleece jacket over a sweatshirt, with sweatpants on the bottom. As Hamauzu got closer, he noticed a sour smell, like rotting garbage, despite it being winter. Maybe he was homeless.

When Hamauzu called out to him, the man turned around with a start. His face looked as if he was about to cry. That’s how Hamauzu met Yasuo Momota—an unemployed man with three prior convictions, penniless and contemplating suicide.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

"In the end, you're just all talk. Don't say whatever comes to mind when you don't even have the guts to take responsibility for someone's life."

Momota shouted with a look of despair at Hamauzu, who had begun trying to talk him out of suicide. The words pierced his chest. It's not right to die... He genuinely believed that. He hadn't meant to be dismissive, but that's how it sounded to the man. No, maybe it really was dismissive. All Hamauzu had wanted was for the man to change his mind about suicide.

After yelling at Hamauzu, the man started to walk to the other side of the bridge. It seemed he'd given up on dying there, but there was a feeling he might try again somewhere else. Ignoring that, knowing full well it might happen, wouldn’t that be a sin? Though he knew he didn't need to bear responsibility for what was in another person’s heart, that he needed to draw a line somewhere, he felt that if he turned a blind eye, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Before he could think things through logically, Hamauzu had already started running. He caught up to the man and called out, "I'll take responsibility... So, why not try giving it another shot?" The man squinted at him suspiciously.

…Momota, freshly out of prison and penniless, had eaten dinner with Hamauzu’s money and stayed in a love hotel paid for by him. And at the love hotel where the man was staying, Hamauzu had sex with him. Since he’d never even had an experience with a woman, it was all new to him.

Momota laughed loudly at the confused Hamauzu, who was still reeling from the sudden assault.

"In the end, you people sit up high and say, ‘Oh, how pitiful, how pitiful,’ from a distance."

"You know, offering your ass to a convicted gay man must be pretty hard on a police officer’s pride."

Each crude remark from Momota hit Hamauzu like a slap, as he tried to escape. He wasn’t doing this just for the sake of it. He was serious. Yet, it felt like Momota was pointing out some missing ‘something.’ He didn’t want to become a coward.

He had given himself to Momota because he felt a pride that he was ‘different from other people.’ But within minutes, that tiny pride was shattered. Sex between men had only pain and humiliation. It really hurt; it felt like torture, and he wondered many times why he had to go through this. Yet, he understood that unless he accepted this humiliation and stopped the man from taking his own life, he wouldn’t find any solace for the feelings he had plunged into.

Momota demanded Hamauzu’s body regularly, in exchange for “not dying” and “staying on the straight and narrow path.” There was no turning back now.

Did he really need to go this far? Suppressing the feelings that welled up, Hamauzu complied with Momota's demands. After about three months, Momota said, "That's enough" about the financial support. However, he continued to ask for his body, and about a year later, he suddenly said, "I love you."

Hamauzu was surprised. He had never imagined he was loved. The man said he loved him, became angry that Hamauzu hadn't noticed, cried... and then apologized.

Hamauzu felt guilty for not realizing Momota’s feelings. But even though they were having sex, how was he supposed to judge that the man liked him when he hadn't said "I love you" even once? And he didn't understand what it was that Momota loved about him.

…It was a hot, humid summer night. That day, Hamauzu, tired from work, ended up staying over at Momota’s house. Perhaps because the next day was a holiday and he felt relaxed, he dozed off and slept until morning. Initially, there were times he stayed until morning when he couldn't move, but after getting used to it, no matter how tired he was, he would return to the dorm after the act. Momota’s house was just a place for sex; the idea of staying over had never crossed his mind.

When he woke up, there was the pleasant smell of miso soup. After borrowing the shower, they sat across from each other at a small table and ate breakfast together. Freshly cooked white rice, grilled fish, fried eggs, pickles, and miso soup… He suddenly remembered the dining table at his parents’ house.

"Is it bad?"

Halfway through the meal, Momota asked with a serious expression.

"...It's delicious."

Hamauzu wasn’t a foodie and never cooked for himself, so he couldn’t judge the taste, but the food Momota made was better than the meals served at the police single’s dormitory.

"Then why the hell do you have that sour look on your face?"

A sour look... Being told that, Hamauzu suddenly became aware of his expression.

"I think I always look like this when I'm eating."

"If it's good, then look like it is! You had me worried it didn’t suit your taste."

Looking like it tastes good… Being told that, Hamauzu was puzzled. He had no idea what kind of face would look like that.

After returning to the single’s dormitory, he began studying for the selection exam for the detective training course, but what Momota had said kept sticking in his chest like a fishbone.

When he went down to the cafeteria around 8 p.m., it was nearing the end of dinner, so there were only a few people around. Among them, he spotted Jingoro. He seemed to be talking to a senior officer.

Hamauzu took a seat a little distance away and picked at the fried food-heavy dinner. He heard laughter, and when he looked up, he saw Jingoro laughing while eating. His expression was soft and seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself.

He realized that, aside from the comment about his expression, he hadn’t said much during the meal with Momota. Was that what a ‘face that looks like it's enjoying the food’ looked like? As he watched, the senior officer talking to Jingoro left. Having finished his meal, Jingoro stood up. But he left his tray behind and came straight over to Hamauzu.

“...What are you staring at?”

Jingoro's voice was low, his eyes sharp.

“Don’t stare at me like that. If you have a problem, say it out loud!”

The few people left in the cafeteria all turned their eyes toward Hamauzu.

"Sorry. You just looked like you were enjoying your dinner, so I ended up staring."

There was a snort of laughter from behind Jingoro, and suddenly his face turned bright red.

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m not mocking you.”

“The way you said that sounds like you are!”

“Isn't it a good thing to look like you're enjoying your food when it tastes good?”

Though Jingoro pursed his lips, he didn’t say anything more.

The first time they slept together, Momota grabbed the 24-year-old Hamauzu and said, “At your age, having experience with five or ten people is only natural.” Jingoro was turning 28 this year, three years older than Hamauzu. At that age, wouldn't he have had various romantic experiences?

“Could I ask you for some advice?”

Jingoro, who had been on his way out, turned back around with a forceful motion.

“I’m busy!” 

Hamauzu backed down with a "Got it. Sorry" after being shouted at. After returning his tray, Jingoro, for some reason, came back to Hamauzu's side. 

“Hurry up; I don’t have all day.” 

He stood with his arms crossed, looking down from above. 

“If you're busy, there's no need to force it...” 

Jingoro slammed the table with a bang. 

“I’m saying I'm willing to listen to you even though I’m busy. Show some gratitude.” 

What he said and what he did were completely mismatched. Regretting having asked for his advice due to Jingoro's arrogant and pushy attitude, Hamauzu felt he had no choice but to speak up, afraid he would upset him further if he refused. 

“Chief Jingoro, are you seeing anyone right now?” 

Jingoro gaped at him, mouth open, and furrowed his brows with a “Huh?” 

“Someone you’re dating. You don’t have anyone?” 

Jingoro shouted back with an awkward expression. 

“Why the hell should I have to tell you something like that?” 

“I have something I want to ask you about relationships.” 

“Before asking about someone else's, why not start with your own story?” 

Ah, so that’s how it is... Hamauzu thought, oddly convinced. However, he hesitated to talk openly about his relationship with Momota. Even if the terms were "rehabilitation" and "not dying," Hamauzu knew that sex between men wasn’t considered normal. And this was Jingoro, after all. He might spread it throughout the dorm, or worse, the entire workplace. 

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep this between us...” 

Even with that preface, he was sure it would get out. Still, Hamauzu wanted someone to hear the confusion swirling in his chest. 

“About a year ago, I found someone ho was about to commit suicide while I was on duty and managed to stop them. It was fine until then, but they told me I had to take responsibility for saving them. So...” 

He trailed off. Jingoro, looking annoyed, prompted him to continue. 

“So, what happened? Did they ask you for money?” 

“Well, money too, but they also asked me to have sex with them.” 

Jingoro gulped audibly, his eyes suddenly gleaming. Even though he tried to remain calm, his voice was shaky as he said, “And... then?” 

“I knew that kind of relationship wasn’t normal, but I thought it was worth it if they’d rehabilitate, so I went along with it. After two or three months, they stopped asking for money, but the physical relationship continued… I had hoped to end it soon, but recently, they told me they ‘loved’ me.” 

Jingoro leaned in, his face red. 

“So, how old is this woman who attempted suicide?” 

It was fortunate that he misunderstood in that direction. 

“Thirty-one.” 

“An older woman, huh? Is she married?” 

“No, she’s single.” 

“What does she do for work?” 

“She does kitchen work at a Chinese restaurant.” 

“How does she look?” 

“Eh?” Hamauzu asked back, puzzled. 

“I’m asking if she’s pretty!” 

Hamauzu pictured Momota's face: a face with neither a particularly big nor small shape, with small features overall. There wasn’t anything remarkable about it. 

“I’d say… average, probably.” 

“Average, huh...” Jingoro echoed in agreement. 

“So, what’s your problem?” 

He asked again. 

“It’s because that person told me they loved me.” 

“You got another girl you like?” 

“No.” 

“Then just go out with her until you find someone you really like. You’re getting it for free, right? Just think of her as an older blow-up doll or something.” 

“But wouldn’t that be disrespectful to the other person?” 

Jingoro snorted. 

“Respect or not, it’s weird that she’s demanding you take responsibility just because you saved her. That’s on her.” 

“But still…” 

“You’ll wear yourself out if you worry about every little thing like that. Life and death, especially suicide, are ultimately personal issues… Unless a crime is involved, of course.” 

There seemed to be a truth in his cold-sounding words: "Life and death are personal issues." That was probably true. He just happened to stop a person who wanted to commit suicide. His own act of saying he’d take responsibility might have been hypocrisy and arrogance, just as Momota had initially said. 

“You’re a strange guy.” 

Jingoro muttered as Hamauzu was lost in thought. 

“I always thought you were a bit odd, but having sex with a suicidal nutcase? No wonder things got messy. Or was it that you were so desperate down there you didn’t care who it was?” 

Even knowing this was Jingoro’s typical way of mocking him, it made Hamauzu scowl. He looked down and stayed silent, making Jingoro let out an exaggerated sigh. 

“No matter how much it’s just sex, doing it so many times, don’t you start to feel some sort of affection?” 

“Affection?” 

“Like… don’t you find them a bit cute or something?” 

Judging by appearance, Momota could hardly be called cute, even as a compliment. 

“I don’t have any special feelings for that person.” 

That much he could be certain of. 

“I thought they were satisfied with just the physical part, so we never even had small talk. Yet they came out and said ‘I love you,’ and got mad that I didn’t notice.” 

The cafeteria lady called out, “I’m turning off the lights soon!” Jingoro clicked his tongue in annoyance and said, “Shall we continue in my room?” before starting to walk off. Hamauzu thought, Weren’t you busy… but decided it was best not to point that out. Besides, he wanted to talk a bit more. 

Jingoro’s room, like Hamauzu’s, was a small room, but it was cluttered to the point where there was hardly any place to step. Hamauzu’s room was also so messy that his colleagues called it the “roach room,” so it wasn’t much different. 

Hamauzu pushed aside the discarded clothes and plastic bags to make space for himself to sit. 

“Was it my fault for not understanding the other person’s feelings?” 

Jingoro, sitting on the edge of his bed, tilted his head. 

“How should I know? Couldn’t you tell by the way they looked at you or their attitude? Like, did they cling to you or something?” 

“They do touch me during sex, but…” 

Jingoro's face turned red.

“No, I mean, before or after that.” 

“I haven’t done anything special. We have sex, and then I leave right after. But we still end up spending about three hours together.” 

“Three hours?” Jingoro raised his eyebrows. 

“Three hours just for sex?” 

“Is that too short?” 

“You idiot, that’s too long. Sex should be over once you’re done.” 

“True, but it’s not just once, right?” 

“Ah, well... yeah, I guess.” 

Jingoro mumbled, his words becoming muffled. 

“If it’s two or three times, it takes that long, doesn’t it?” 

“Well, yeah, but… You keep saying it’s just about the body, but you’re doing it that many times?” 

“The other person wants to. Plus, they keep touching me. Sometimes it’s so long, I’m not allowed to get out of bed for half the day.” 

Jingoro covered his mouth with his right hand and muttered, “Man, older women are something else.” 

“What’s so funny?” 

“It’s not funny, but… from what I can tell, the other person’s been giving you some serious… uh, signs that they’re into you.” 

He said this with a serious face. 

“Really?” 

“You didn’t think it was weird when they only asked for your body? Would someone say something like that to someone they found creepy? From their point of view, they must’ve liked you from the start.” 

The words “from the start” were a shock. 

“From the start? That can’t be. I’m not an interesting person to be around. I’m bad at talking, and I’m not considerate...” 

Jingoro jutted his chin forward, as if saying, "You sure know yourself well." 

“That’s why it seems strange. The idea of someone liking me…” 

“How the hell would I know what that woman feels? If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just ask her directly?” 

“Ask her what she likes about me?” 

“Of course.” 

…He felt a slow sweat creeping down his back. He had no problem kissing or having anal sex, but asking that question was somehow embarrassing. 

“You know, maybe you should try talking to her more. Sure, you can keep doing it, but some things you can only understand if you put them into words.” 

…Three days after Jingoro said that, Hamauzu made up his mind and went to Momota’s apartment. He thought it would be too abrupt to ask, “What do you like about me?” out of nowhere, so he decided to start with some small talk. But he wasn’t sure how to begin. While he hesitated, he was pulled closer, and before he knew it, they were having sex as usual. Even though they only did it once, Momota pulled out, and Hamauzu thought it was over. But Momota hugged him from behind, gently stroking his hair and kissing the back of his neck. Hamauzu squirmed and turned around to face him. 

“…Um…” 

Momota furrowed his brows. 

“What is it?” 

“Well… the rain was really heavy today, wasn’t it?” 

Momota blinked slowly, his eyes wide open. 

“…Yeah, it was. Really heavy rain.” 

The conversation he had struggled to start ended in an instant. The awkwardness was unbearable, and Hamauzu looked away. Compared to this, stopping people on the street for questioning was a hundred times easier. 

“Do you still go around on your bike, even on rainy days?” 

Momota initiated the conversation this time. 

“I do. I wear a raincoat. Though, when it’s a typhoon, we’re ordered to stand by.” 

“Wow, being a cop is tough. Not that I’m one to talk. Even with a raincoat, you still get wet in the rain, right? Don’t you catch a cold?” 

“We can change clothes when we return to the station.” 

“That’s impressive. You go out even on rainy days, and you also have night shifts every four days, right? I’ve done a lot of different jobs, but staying up all night is something I’m not good at.” 

Momota ruffled his hair roughly. He appreciated the praise, but being treated like a child felt awkward somehow. 

“Don’t you feel sleepy working at night?” 

“Sometimes I do, but there are specific tasks to do even at night…” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Their eyes met. Momota’s face seemed to be smiling happily. 

“Ron-chan, you’re chatty today.” 

“Ron-chan?” 

“Oh, you don’t like being called with ‘-chan’? If so, I’ll just call you Hamauzu-san.” 

“No, I don’t mind how you call me.” 

No one had called him “Ron-chan” since elementary school. 

“Today, I thought you seemed nervous and less responsive, so I wondered if you didn’t like doing it with me, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.” 

He found it curious that just by having sex, Momota could understand such things. 

“Was I that nervous?” 

Momota tilted his head. 

“Not like you were super stiff, but compared to usual…” 

Before Hamauzu knew it, he was pinned down. The kiss was deep. 

“Hey...” 

A voice whispered close to his ear. 

“When you’re with me, are there times when it feels good?” 

Feels good… The more he thought about it, the more embarrassed he became, his face reddening. 

“Come on, answer me, Ron-chan.” 

He closed his eyes. 

“…When I climax.” 

“Nothing else?” 

“Sometimes… while moving, it feels good.” 

Momota laughed, “Haha,” and hugged Hamauzu tightly. 

“Ron-chan, you’re so cute.” 

He stroked Hamauzu’s forehead and gave him light, pecking kisses that made a smooching sound. 

“Um…” 

Momota looked at him closely. Now was the time to ask, he thought. 

“Momota-san, what do you like about me?” 

“Your kindness.” 

The reply came without hesitation. 

“I’m not a kind person.” 

“But you are. Even though you’re not gay, you still let me hold you.” 

“That’s…” 

“Even if it’s not love, sympathy is enough for me. It’s people like you, Ron-chan, who save me.” 

Momota spread Hamauzu’s legs apart and positioned his hips between his thighs. As he entered, a rare shiver ran down Hamauzu’s spine. The sensation, like small waves, continued throughout and lingered long after Momota had pulled out, dominating Hamauzu's body.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

After that, Hamauzu began to talk more with Momota about various things. Usually, they talked in short bursts after sex, in the time before they drifted off to sleep. Due to the nature of his work, there were things Hamauzu could and couldn't discuss. So, it was mostly Momota who did the talking.

One day, when Hamauzu went to visit Momota’s house in the evening, he ran into him just coming out of the room. 

“Oh? Ron-chan,” Momota said, looking surprised. The last time they met, Hamauzu had told him that they could see each other that day... but it seemed like he had forgotten. 

“I’ve been waiting since morning, but you didn’t show up, so I thought today was a no-go.” 

When he heard that Momota had been waiting since morning, Hamauzu realized he hadn’t said whether he would come in the morning or evening. Sometimes, even when they had a plan, he couldn't make it due to being called out for traffic control during a major incident or accident. In such emergencies, he didn't even have time to make a call. Momota understood this from the start, and he had never complained about sudden cancellations.

Today, however, there hadn’t been any emergencies. It wasn't that he couldn’t contact him. If Momota had been waiting, he should have called. 

“Glad we didn’t miss each other. I’m going out for a bit to do some shopping. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” 

“Not particularly.” 

“How about some meat?” 

“Yes.” 

“Go on up and make yourself at home.” 

Momota handed him the key to the room. Attached to it was a keychain of a small, five or six-centimeter nude female doll. Seeing Hamauzu staring at it, Momota blushed and turned his back, saying, “Th-that was a souvenir from a colleague who went to Hawaii.” 

He descended the metal stairs with a clanging sound. At the bottom, Momota turned back, staring intently at Hamauzu. 

“...Want to come shopping with me?” 

Hamauzu descended the stairs and walked beside Momota. As they walked through a narrow alley, they saw an orange persimmon hanging over a wall. Maybe Momota saw the same thing because he muttered, “Looks delicious…” under his breath. 

After about ten minutes, they arrived at the supermarket. Without hesitation, Momota began selecting ingredients. Hamauzu absentmindedly followed him around. 

“Ron-chan, do you want something to drink?” 

Momota asked while standing in front of a shelf full of beer. 

“I can’t drink alcohol.” 

“Really? Even beer?” 

“I’d be out with just half a glass.” 

Momota muttered “Huh…” and put just one can of beer into the basket. 

“Then, pick something you like to drink.” 

Hamauzu thought tea would be fine, but since Momota had said “something you like…” he grabbed the strawberry milk he usually drank. Momota stared at him intently. 

“You like that?” 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Then put it in the basket.” 

“I’ll buy it myself.” 

“Nah, it’s fine. You don’t want to stand in line at the register, do you?” 

Momota took the strawberry milk from Hamauzu and put it in the basket. Hamauzu noticed Momota’s shoulders shaking, and realized he was laughing quietly to himself. 

“Is something funny?” 

“No, no… not really… yeah.” 

Momota was definitely laughing. It bothered Hamauzu so much that he later asked Jingoro about it, and Jingoro casually replied, “Of course, he laughed.” 

“You’re not a kid, so strawberry milk is a no-go. I mean, drink whatever you want when you’re alone, but when you’re with a woman, at least try to act cool and buy something like ginger ale or Perrier.” 

When they left the store, it was already getting dark. Momota walked with the shopping bag swinging beside him. Following a few steps behind, Hamauzu called out to him. 

“This morning, I went to visit my mother's grave.” 

Momota stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. 

“Oh, I see.” 

“I should have called to say I’d be late. I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Momota said, starting to walk again. Hamauzu quickened his pace to catch up and walk beside him. He felt Momota’s glance. 

“You know, I’ve got this perfect older brother,” Momota started talking, almost to himself. 

“He’s smart, went to a good university, and works for a top company. You know the Mouri Corporation?” 

Hamauzu had heard of that company before. 

“As for me, I’m dumb and not athletic. It wasn’t my parents so much, but the teachers and neighborhood ladies would always say, ‘Your brother is so capable, so great.’ I don’t think they meant any harm, but it hurt my young heart, and I thought, ‘Well, if that's how it is, I might as well become a delinquent’... and I did.” 

He sighed as if his words had drained him. 

“I did a lot of bad things, made my parents cry. My brother told me to ‘just die,’ and I ran away from home. After that, I got into drugs, theft, and ended up getting arrested. But after my second stint in prison, I thought I’d straighten out and went back home… but the house wasn’t there anymore.” 

Momota shrugged his shoulders. 

“It was completely gone. I wondered what had happened, and then I found out my parents had died. They got into an accident on their way to visit me at the prison. The worst, right? My brother told me, ‘I never want to see you again,’ and cut ties with me. I mean, it’s only natural—I killed our parents.” 

Momota kicked a stone on the sidewalk. 

“I felt so lonely, like I wasn’t worth living, lower than trash. I thought about killing myself with drugs. Even though I used a lot, I couldn’t die, and it just made me feel even more pathetic. I wondered if jumping off somewhere might do the trick...” 

His shoulders shook; he was laughing. 

“Listening to this kind of story, there’s nothing you can do, right, Ron-chan?” 

Being told that, Hamauzu found himself at a loss for words. But he thought as they walked, comparing Momota’s past with his present. 

Maybe by saying “there’s nothing you can do,” the story had already ended. He hadn’t been asked for a response. Yet, unable to suppress the urge to speak, Hamauzu opened his mouth. 

“Sure, I think you did a lot of bad things, Momota-san.” 

Momota stopped and turned around. 

“Not everyone with an inferiority complex breaks the law. Up until now, the things you did were your own choices, so I don’t feel sympathy for you.” 

Momota looked at him with sad eyes. 

“But I think it’s admirable that you’re trying to do the right thing now. So…” 

The words he had prepared didn’t come out smoothly. 

“So, I don’t think you should deny the person you are ‘now.’” 

Suddenly, his arm was grabbed and pulled forcefully. He almost stumbled on the stairs. Once inside the room, Momota hugged him so tightly he felt he might stop breathing. 

“M-Momota-san…” 

The groceries were scattered at the entrance, including Hamauzu’s strawberry milk. 

Momota buried his face in Hamauzu’s chest, crying. It finally dawned on Hamauzu that this man was lonely... and it made his chest hurt a little. 

Before he knew it, Hamauzu found himself gently stroking the head of the trembling, crying man, again and again, as if to comfort him.  

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