La Vie En Rose: Chapter 3

Previous TOC

The Younger Lover

When the time came, Reina was sent home. In a love hotel about a five-minute walk from Uguisudani Station, Tadashi Jingoro lay completely naked on his stomach on a double bed placed in the middle of the room, smoking a cigarette. The sheets, still rumpled from their recent romp, bore the traces of lingering passion.

Reina was a companion for the escort service "Punish Me♪ Emanuel Club Hyper," which Yasuo Momota managed. Since the business was legal, there were no full-service offerings, but anything else was fair game. Costume play was free, and the girls were eager to please, genuinely seeming to enjoy the erotic activities, making it fun to play around.

At first, Jingoro had approached Momota just to mess with his junior colleague, Hamauzu Ron. He had known that Hamauzu had a lover, but he had always assumed it was a woman. In reality, Hamauzu and Momota, both men, had been lovers for a long time.

About a year ago, after Momota screwed up and ended up being hunted by both the police and the yakuza, Hamauzu, of all people, had extracted information about Momota from Jingoro, who was in charge of the suspect's case at the local precinct. Even though Hamauzu had done it to help his innocent lover escape, being used like that had been an unbearable humiliation for Jingoro.

Jingoro’s irritation subsided, at least for the time being, after he extracted the story of Hamauzu and Momota's first sexual experience from an oblivious Momota and used it to nag Hamauzu relentlessly until he begged for forgiveness.

Even after he got his revenge on Hamauzu, Jingoro found Momota’s shop surprisingly fun, so he still occasionally visited as a customer. When Momota realized it was Jingoro, he always prioritized his favorite girls and offered various services. Momota might have an ugly face and a record of three previous convictions, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

Jingoro’s break time was almost over. He took a quick shower and got dressed in the clothes he had scattered around. Jingoro was turning 34 this year. People around him were starting to urge him to "find a wife soon." He liked women, but honestly, they were a hassle. It was much easier to enjoy himself at a brothel.

He slipped his cigarette pack into the back pocket of his pants and reached for his phone, which started vibrating just then. Perfect timing. The caller ID displayed Reina. After being a repeat customer and getting familiar with her, Reina had given him her email address and phone number the third time they met.

"Momo-chan and the boss are strict, so I can’t date outside the shop. But I just want to hear Jingoro-san’s voice," she had said.

Though he initially thought this special treatment was just part of the job, being told she wanted to hear his voice didn’t feel bad. Jingoro gave her his phone number as well.

“I thought detectives were scarier, but Jingoro-san is so nice,” she would purr while snuggling up to him. She knew how to be pampered. To be honest, her looks were average, but she had a great personality.

“Hey, it’s me. What’s up, Reina-chan?”

Jingoro answered the phone in a soft, almost cat-like voice that would have made his colleagues burst out laughing.

“J-Jingoro-san!”

Reina’s voice was different from usual. It was high-pitched and trembling.

“P-please come! Come right away! Momo-chan is going to be killed!”

A bad feeling washed over him.

“What do you mean, ‘killed’? What’s going on?”

“I-I don’t know, but some strange guy is at the office. He’s demanding to see Mari-chan, and he has a knife. Momo-chan said, ‘I’ll try to calm him down, so don’t call the police,’ but if he gets stabbed, Momo-chan will die. I’m scared...”

Still holding his phone, Jingoro dashed out of the hotel room.

“Reina, where are you now?”

“I’m in the office’s waiting room. Momo-chan told us to lock the door from the inside and stay put…”

“I’m coming right now. If anything changes, call me immediately!”

As soon as he stepped outside the hotel, the stifling heat of the night air engulfed him. Crimes tend to spike in the summer. The oppressive humidity increases discomfort levels and can drive people insane.

It was a huge inconvenience to be dragged into trouble while off-duty, especially outside his jurisdiction. But he couldn’t just leave it alone.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he broke into a run. He knew the location of the office near Uguisudani Station; he had been there several times before. If he hurried, he could make it in less than five minutes.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Unsure whether to take the elevator or the stairs, Jingoro decided to sprint up the stairs. The elevator had gone up to the sixth floor, and staying still wasn't in his nature.

As he climbed, gasping for breath, a thought crossed his mind: maybe he should have called the police and had the local officers come. But a place like this could easily be shut down over a single rumor. If Momota, the manager who knew the adult entertainment industry well, decided not to call the police, it wasn't his place to interfere.

After passing the third floor, Jingoro consciously tried to silence his footsteps. He reached the fourth floor. In front of the steel door was a cheap sign that read "Punish Me♪ Emanuel Club Hyper." He knew there was a man with a knife, but had no idea what the situation was like. As he approached the door, trying to listen for any voices or sounds from inside, he heard it.

"Uwaaaaah!"

A deep scream echoed. Realizing immediately that something was wrong, Jingoro kicked the door open and burst into the office. What he saw was a man holding a knife and Momota bleeding from his right hand.

Seeing Momota injured made Jingoro's head heat up with anger.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

The man with the knife flinched. He looked to be in his late twenties, thin, with shaggy, unkempt hair. He wore work pants and a T-shirt. He had a sloppy vibe, but didn’t look like a thug.

The man was visibly shaken by the sudden intrusion of a stranger. Grabbing an umbrella that was near the entrance, Jingoro swung it like a bamboo sword, striking the man. The man screamed as his right hand was struck, causing him to drop the knife. Jingoro kicked the knife away with his foot, sending it skidding across the floor, and grabbed the man by the collar. Without his weapon, the man was just a weakling.

The man’s eyes widened, and his lips moved as if to say, "P-please stop," but Jingoro ignored him. He landed a powerful blow to the man’s face, sending him crashing into the counter. The flyers on top scattered across the floor.

Jingoro flipped the man onto his stomach and pinned him down, twisting his arms roughly behind his back. The man let out a scream, "It hurts!"

“J-Jingoro-san, what are you doing here?”

Momota, clutching his bloodied right arm with his left hand, looked shocked.

"Reina called me," Jingoro replied.

Momota seemed to understand the situation. "Ah," he muttered.

“Big brother Jingoro, I’m fine. Can’t you let him go?”

Being called "big brother" felt strange to Jingoro.

"What?" He tilted his head, and Momota gave him a clumsy wink.

“My injury isn’t serious. It wouldn’t be fair to sink this guy in Tokyo Bay over something like this. If we just keep quiet about it, the boss doesn’t need to know.”

Apparently, the pretense was that they were yakuza and Jingoro was the "big brother." The knife-wielding man started shaking violently, like he was submerged in ice water. It seemed Momota’s bluff had worked, and the man believed it.

“You’re gonna let him go? How kind of you. But that doesn’t sit right with me. I’ll spare his life, but maybe I’ll cut off both his hands and feed them to the fish.”

Jingoro played along with the act.

“Big brother, if you cut off both his hands, he won’t even be able to feed himself.”

“I-I’m sorry!” came a high-pitched scream from beneath Jingoro. Momota squatted down in front of the man.

“You just had a moment of madness, right? You weren’t serious, were you? You won’t go near Mari again, right?”

The man, trembling, nodded furiously in response to Momota’s questions.

“You won’t ever do something like this again?”

The man was shaking so much that it was hard to tell if he was nodding or just trembling.

“He seems to be reflecting on what he did, so please let him go, big brother.”

Jingoro delivered a final kick to the man’s right side as he tried to get up.

“I’ve got a good memory of your face. If I see you around here again, I’ll chop you up and dump you in Tokyo Bay, got it?”

The man, apparently spurred on by the last kick, stumbled out of the office in an awkward, sideways gait. As soon as the man left and the door closed, Momota collapsed onto the floor.

“H-hey. Are you okay?”

“I-I was scared…”

Momota exhaled deeply.

“You didn’t seem scared at all.”

“That was just a bluff. Ah, I’m so glad you showed up, Jingoro-san. After that threat, he won’t come back here, and he won’t think about trying to get back at us.”

“Momo-chan!”

The door of the room opposite slammed open, and three girls came rushing out. Seeing Momota with blood streaming from his arm, they screamed, "Kyaa!" Reina’s tears were pouring down her cheeks.

“Momo-chan, we need to get you to a hospital…”

Momota laughed, trying to hide his injured arm behind his back.

“It’s okay. It might look bad, but it doesn’t hurt at all.”

But Momota’s face was slightly tense.

“Hey, someone get something we can use as a bandage!” Jingoro shouted. Reina rushed into the back room and returned with a scarf from her sailor uniform costume. Jingoro used it to wrap around Momota’s wound and press on it. It was a makeshift solution, but it managed to stop the bleeding.

The girls split up to clean up the trashed office, but Momota said, "Let's just close up shop for today," and sent all the remaining girls home in taxis. He said he'd stay in the office until the girls who were still out returned, but Jingoro, worried about Momota's arm, insisted, "I'll look after the place," and forced him to go to the hospital.

Momota left for a nearby clinic that was open late, and he returned about two hours later. By then, the last girl who had been out on a call had returned safely.

"Jingoro-san, I'm really sorry for all the trouble I caused today," Momota said, holding his bandaged arm and bowing deeply.

"I don't mind, but..." Jingoro replied.

"You were off duty today, right? I'm sorry for dragging you into something that felt like work after you were having a good time," Momota apologized. He was about three years older than Jingoro but very humble.

"More importantly, is your wound okay?" Jingoro asked.

It wasn't deep, but Momota said he had been slashed from just below his elbow to near his wrist, requiring about twenty-five stitches.

"It hurts, yeah, but compared to being injected with meth and dumped in a car, this is nothing," Momota said with a carefree laugh.

"That's quite the comparison," Jingoro said, chuckling.

"Anyone who's been through hell is strong," Momota added, making Jingoro laugh as well. But when Momota touched the computer mouse with his right hand and winced, Jingoro's laughter faded.

"That guy was a regular customer of Mari, one of the companions. He came about three times a week, and Mari didn’t seem to mind him too much. But about a month ago, he got laid off, and that's when things started to go wrong. He couldn’t afford to see her anymore, but he kept calling. I understand wanting someone to be kind to you when you're down, but Mari has a family, and business is business—you can't expect her to see him for free. And then, well, you saw what happened," Momota sighed, scratching the back of his head with his left hand.

"Thanks to you pretending to be a yakuza to scare him, he probably won’t come back here. But maybe it’s better if Mari switches to a different place," Momota muttered, looking troubled.

“Was it really okay not to report this to the police?” Jingoro asked.

Momota shrugged lightly. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’d be a shame if he got a criminal record over something like this.”

Jingoro thought it was pointless to show sympathy to a guy who was so unhinged that he'd bring a knife just because a hostess wouldn't see him anymore, but he kept that thought to himself.

“Did you contact Hamauzu?” Jingoro asked.

“No, I didn’t. He’s busy, and I don’t want him to worry over something weird,” Momota replied, lowering his gaze. But then he suddenly looked up, staring directly at Jingoro with a surprised expression.

“What is it, Momota-san?” Jingoro asked.

“Oh... it’s nothing,” Momota replied hesitantly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to report it?” Jingoro pressed.

“No, it’s fine, really. I’m okay. ...But if I go on the subway like this, it’s going to look pretty bad, right?”

Momota's light blue T-shirt and faded jeans were covered in blood stains, especially around his stomach area, where the splattered blood had dried into dark red patches. It was very noticeable.

“Do you think people might believe I’m coming back from a movie shoot or something?” Momota said, pinching the hem of his T-shirt with his left hand.

“I don’t think so,” Jingoro replied.

“Does the convenience store sell T-shirts?” Momota wondered aloud, before muttering, “Ah, that’s right,” and heading into the girls' waiting room. He came back wearing a white shirt on top.

“Good thing you had a change of clothes,” Jingoro said.

Momota gave a wry smile. “It’s a costume for a ‘female teacher’ role, though. I couldn’t wear the skirt, obviously.”

In the end, Jingoro walked with Momota to the station. They were heading in the same direction, so they took the same train. It was almost midnight, and the area around the station was quiet.

“Do these kinds of crazies show up often?” Jingoro asked.

Momota laughed. “If it happened that often, it’d be terrifying. We get guys who complain sometimes, but this is the first time someone’s brought out a knife.”

“I see,” Jingoro said with a nod.

“But you’re kind, Momota-san. In the end, people like you just end up on the losing side,” Jingoro remarked.

“I’m fine. And I’m not kind at all… It’s just that seeing stuff like that hits close to home, you know? I’ve done my fair share of stupid things,” Momota replied.

They passed through the station gate. Although they were on the same line, they were heading in different directions, and it looked like Momota’s train would arrive first.

“Uh, Jingoro-san,” Momota called out hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“Could you not tell Hamauzu-san that I got hurt?”

“Well, alright...” Jingoro agreed.

Momota bowed his head and said, “Thank you.” Shortly afterward, a train pulled up on the opposite platform. Standing by the door, Momota bowed to Jingoro once more after the doors closed.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Jingoro had never had romantic feelings for a man, nor did he understand the concept of being interested in the same sex. What’s enjoyable about kissing another man? How could you be excited looking at the same thing? Why on earth would anyone want to put something up a guy’s ass? To be honest, he found it disgusting. Although it was gross, his line of work sometimes required interactions with such people. 

Working in the Organized Crime Division of the precinct inevitably meant getting acquainted with members of the yakuza. Among these individuals, there were sometimes gay men. It seemed that some of them developed a taste for it while in prison. Jingoro didn't feel good about it whenever he heard someone was gay, but he treated it as a kind of sickness and simply ignored it.

But then, his own junior colleague turned out to be gay. When he first heard about it, Jingoro was shocked and couldn't believe it. He assumed it was an elaborate ruse to deceive him, so he thoroughly checked the facts. There was also a sense of betrayal, as he felt that someone he had trusted for years had deceived him. However, once he realized that everything Hamauzu had said was true, he felt relieved that he hadn’t been tricked, but he was also thoroughly exasperated. A detective dating an ex-con? That wouldn’t even be possible if the partner was a woman, let alone a man. If the higher-ups found out, he’d be swiftly demoted or transferred to a dead-end position.

If it were just a fling, it might have been okay. But if it were just a fling, Hamauzu wouldn't risk his career by dating a guy like that. It was because he could see that Hamauzu was serious that Jingoro found himself feeling strangely conflicted. However, he quickly dismissed these troublesome feelings, which were almost like concern. There was nothing more foolish than getting involved in someone else’s love life. Hamauzu probably understood better than anyone what would happen if it got out.

Unaware that Jingoro knew from Hamauzu that they were lovers, Momota would talk freely whenever Jingoro prompted him. The Hamauzu described by Momota was more awkward, naive, and innocent than the man Jingoro knew, almost like a high schooler.

Hamauzu had always been a man who didn’t get along well with others, even when he was at the local precinct. It seemed he still didn’t fit in even after moving to the First Investigation Division at headquarters. The First Division was full of elite detectives, each with high pride and abilities. Clashes were inevitable, but when gossip even reached the precinct level, it must have been quite significant.

Despite being somewhat of an oddball, Hamauzu wasn’t removed from the First Division because he was useful. Hamauzu had always had an incredible intuition. Back when they worked together at the police box, Hamauzu would conduct spot checks and repeatedly catch bicycle thieves. When Jingoro asked how he could tell, Hamauzu would tilt his head and say, "Just by watching, I get a feeling." He seemed to be exceptionally sensitive to the unease and unnatural movements of people who had something to hide.

At first, Jingoro could easily praise his junior colleague for his achievements. But when it kept happening repeatedly, the talented junior started to become annoying. There was a senior who once said, "You don’t need talent to become a detective. What you need is perseverance and patience." Jingoro didn’t mean to refute that statement, but when he was shown talent like Hamauzu’s, the slow climb up the ladder started to feel pointlessly tedious.

The talented junior started to seem cute to him after he started getting relationship advice from him. A man who was always expressionless and unreadable suddenly talking about love—it was impossible not to be intrigued. After the initial consultation, Hamauzu occasionally sought Jingoro's opinion.

It was amusing to see such a talented man seriously troubled by something as trivial as a romance. When he once asked with a straight face, “We went shopping together, and I bought strawberry milk, but she laughed. Why do you think that was?” Jingoro seriously thought, "Is this guy an idiot?"

If Hamauzu’s partner had been a young, model-like woman, Jingoro’s feelings might have been different. But hearing it was an older woman, living in and working, who still seemed a bit dowdy and poor, made Jingoro somewhat sympathetic. Even if the woman had seduced him, he could have handled it better and quickly gotten rid of her, but he was too clumsy.

In terms of relationships, Jingoro was in a superior position, being in a position to teach Hamauzu. This gave Jingoro a sense of superiority and maintained a delicate power balance between them. Over time, they had been around each other for a long time, Jingoro got older, and he found it much easier to stop wasting energy being jealous of someone’s talent.

God had endowed Hamauzu with more than enough talent to be a detective. If he had an Achilles’ heel, it would undoubtedly be that Yasuo Momota. At least, that’s what he initially thought.

But as Jingoro started to frequent Momota's establishment, he gradually got to know Momota better. Given that he was a gay, ex-con meth addict with three prior offenses, Jingoro expected him to be a hopeless delinquent. Instead, Momota was friendly, cheerful, talkative, and remarkably humble. He was the complete opposite of Hamauzu.

Whenever Jingoro mentioned Momota to the girls at the shop, they all unanimously said, “Momo-chan is great.”

“His face is a bit, you know, but he's incredibly kind. But he's totally into Ron-chan, isn't he?”

The girls didn’t know that the "Ron-chan" Momota often mentioned was a man.

“Ron-chan’s always busy, and he never knows when he’ll get a day off. So Momo-chan works without taking any days off because he wants to be off when Ron-chan is. Isn’t that sweet? I wish someone would love me that much.”

Hamauzu was serious, and so was Momota. A detective and an ex-con, having a serious relationship—it was either absurd or... Jingoro couldn’t help but feel a sort of forlornness about the oddity of it all. Even now, after becoming closer to Momota, that feeling hasn’t changed.

… About a week after Jingoro chased off the crazed customer at the call girl shop, he received an email from Momota late one night. It read, “I know you must be busy, but if you have time, I’d like to meet.”

Jingoro tilted his head, wondering if there was some kind of trouble. Momota’s shop was a call girl service, but they operated within legal boundaries, so there shouldn’t be any problems. There were yakuza who claimed Ueno as their turf, but they weren’t very active. Given that the message said “if you have time,” it didn’t seem urgent.

If it was something that required police intervention, Momota could consult Hamauzu. Wondering what business Momota had with him, Jingoro agreed to meet the following night after his shift ended.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

I met Momota in front of Shinjuku Station. At seven in the evening, a crowd of young people, about a decade younger than me, filled the top of the stairs, the station's exit. ...I felt a bit hesitant.

Momota had arrived first and was waiting beside a vending machine near the wall. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt with an aloha-style pattern, knee-length shorts, and sandals. He didn't look like an ordinary person, but he didn't have the intimidating presence of a yakuza either. While I looked at this man of uncertain appearance, I found the perfect job for him—a woman’s kept man.

"Sorry to call you out like this today," he said, bowing his head slightly.

"Is it okay if we go to a place I know?"

Still hunched over, Momota started walking. Though older than me, he blended surprisingly well with the cluttered atmosphere of the town.

The place Momota took me to was an izakaya on the second floor of a mixed-use building. The interior was bright and each table was separated, allowing for a leisurely conversation.

"There's a guy in the kitchen here who I used to work with at a Chinese restaurant. It's actually pretty good."

We ordered some food at random. The beer came first, so we toasted for the time being. I was thirsty and drank down about half of it in one go. ...August was almost over. Though the worst of the heat had passed, a smoldering warmth still lingered here and there, like embers.

"So, Momota-san, what did you want to talk about?"

When I prompted him, Momota gave a wry smile. "Ah, do you mind if we drink a little more first?"

"Come on, don't be so coy."

"No, it's not like that..."

Momota downed two more glasses of beer in quick succession.

"Oh yeah, Momota-san, is your arm okay?"

The right hand holding his glass was no longer bandaged, but a long, flesh-colored adhesive bandage still covered it.

"It hardly hurts at all anymore," he said, with a sheepish smile, scratching his chin. Momota always had a thin beard on his chin. Younger men often wear their beards like that, but when a man of Momota's age does it and dresses casually, he doesn't look like an upstanding citizen.

"Detectives are sharp, aren't they?"

Momota muttered quietly.

"The other day, I met Hamauzu-san. He immediately asked how I hurt my hand. I said I got injured when the shop's window glass broke, but he didn't believe me at all... I ended up being grilled for an hour, forced to confess, and then scolded for another two hours. I felt like I was about to pass out."

Jingoro laughed.

"Hamauzu is notorious for being bad at interrogations. To get caught by someone like that, you've got a long way to go, Momota-san."

"Is that so?" Momota looked genuinely surprised. That was the only time Hamauzu came up, and after that, Momota went on to amusingly recount stories about strange customers at the bar and the behind-the-scenes of the girls working there. As someone in customer service, he was a good talker. Jingoro laughed without holding back.

Most of the food on the table had made its way into our stomachs. We ordered more snacks to go with the beer, sipping slowly. The food was delicious, and Momota's stories were entertaining. The conversation was so enjoyable that Jingoro had completely forgotten the original reason for the meeting.

The fourth… or was it the fifth glass? Momota suddenly finished his beer and called out, "Jingoro-san."

"Hmm? What's up?"

All of a sudden, Momota fell silent. After lowering his head slightly, he scratched his head vigorously with his right hand. Then, as if making up his mind, he looked straight at Jingoro.

"You know who my boyfriend is, don't you, Jingoro-san?"

So that was the reason he called me out… I thought, pretending to be oblivious despite the alcohol haze.

"No, I don't. You never told me his name, Momota-san."

Momota smiled wryly.

"You don't have to hide it. I want to have an open conversation too."

I considered whether it would be better to keep pretending not to know or to admit I did. Would it serve any purpose to insist on ignorance? Momota was certain I knew. Knowing that, I was curious about what he wanted to say.

"…Well, yeah, I knew."

Momota's cheek twitched slightly.

"I figured as much."

He muttered in a low voice, nervously rubbing under his nose.

"After you helped me at the office the other day, I just had a feeling. Ron-chan… no, Hamauzu-san is really not the type to be involved with someone like me. But I kind of… you know, I told you before, I blackmailed and forced him into it. So, in a way, Hamauzu-san is a victim..."

I couldn't see where Momota's story was headed.

"So, I think Hamauzu-san was a regular person at first. I'm the one who dragged him down this path. So… well…"

His voice grew quieter and quieter.

"I'm just a hopeless homo, but I'd like you not to think of Hamauzu-san that way."

In short, he was saying not to hold any prejudice against Hamauzu because he made him this way. The sincerity with which he pleaded his case struck me as earnest.

Even without the reminder, I held no prejudice against anyone for being gay. It's not like Hamauzu was coming on to me, nor did it affect my work. I only thought they had a hard time, that's all.

In front of the man who seemed to be holding his breath waiting for a reply, Jingoro took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Momota-san, you keep blaming yourself, but if Hamauzu didn’t have some feelings for you, he wouldn’t be going out with a man in the first place."

Momota shook his head.

"No, it’s my fault."

"But come on, it’s mutual responsibility in situations like this. Hamauzu knows what he's doing, so he's complicit too. It’s not like you’re the only one to blame, so you don’t have to go out of your way to defend him like that."

The usually talkative Momota fell silent. The silence was heavy. Jingoro called over a passing employee and ordered two more drafts.

"Don’t take it so seriously, Momota-san. Have another drink."

He offered the new beer, and Momota quickly downed about half of it.

"Being with a guy is a bit dangerous, isn't it?"

The silent man finally spoke.

"Dangerous? In what way?"

"I mean, being a detective and having a male lover."

"Well, yeah, I guess so."

I hadn’t exactly agreed enthusiastically, but Momota's expression turned grim.

"And having three prior convictions is a problem too, right?"

To me, that seemed more of an issue than the relationship itself, but seeing Momota's current expression, I couldn’t bring myself to say, “You’re hopeless.”

"...I should probably step back, shouldn’t I? You think so too, right, Jingoro-san?"

He seemed fully aware that he was a burden. If I were to tell him to break up, he probably would. Breaking up would certainly be better for Hamauzu.

A year ago, Momota had nearly died. He'd been injected with stimulants and sunk in a car. If help had come even five minutes later, he would have been dead. If Momota had died back then, Hamauzu might have been freed from all sorts of troubles without any lingering issues.

Across from me, Momota suddenly began to cry. Tears fell like rain onto the table.

"Momota-san, what’s wrong?"

“I’m… no good,” Momota muttered, sounding as if he might die at any moment.

“I don’t want to break up… If I have to break up with Ron-chan, I’ll die.”

Jingoro was taken aback.

“What are you talking about, Momota-san?”

Watching the man collapse onto the table, sobbing, Jingoro was at a loss. "I'll die if we break up"—this wasn't some melodramatic song, and he wished Momota would stop.

“You don’t have to cry about it. It’s not like Hamauzu said he’s going to dump you, right?”

Momota rested his elbows on the table and covered his eyes with both hands. Tears streamed down, avoiding the thin, elongated bandage.

"But I'm a nuisance. I know that."

“Yeah, that might be true, but…”

I blurted out the truth before I could stop myself and immediately regretted it.

“But you like each other, so there's nothing you can do about it.”

Momota pressed a damp napkin to his face like a handkerchief.

“I’m happy as things are now, but sometimes I can’t help feeling like I’m ruining Ron-chan’s happiness. Ron-chan says he’s fine with me, that we should get married when he retires, but…”

“Married?!”

Jingoro's eyes widened.

“Come on, it’s impossible for two men to get married, isn’t it?”

“…Marriage between men means adopting each other,” Momota revealed.

This was news to me. “Get married after retirement”—I thought it was a joke, but I quickly reconsidered. This was Hamauzu we were talking about. As far as Jingoro knew, Hamauzu never joked.

Come to think of it, Hamauzu had mentioned it before. Because of his criminal record, he couldn’t marry until he retired. He must have been prepared to go that far, I suddenly realized.

If I became the reason they broke up, it would be a serious matter. Hamauzu would hate me for life.

“Momota-san, you’re you, and other people are other people.”

Jingoro shifted his approach, trying to persuade him.

“I know Hamauzu pretty well. If he's serious, what good does it do for you not to believe in him? Keeping things going requires effort from both sides.”

I felt insincere giving such advice. It made my back itch.

“…Before…”

I saw Momota bite his lip.

“Ron-chan told me that too. He said to trust him. I’m no good, am I?”

On the table, he lay face down, sniffling.

“I do trust Ron-chan. But I’m the problem. No matter how hard I try, I feel like I’m not good enough. I’m doing my best, but the things I’ve done in the past cling to me like a shadow.”

It went quiet. I wondered if he'd passed out from drinking and peered at his face, but he was still crying, stubborn as ever.

“Momota-san, should we call it a night?”

When I gently suggested it, Momota shook his head reluctantly.

“I’m not always like this, you know. I don’t always whine or make a fuss.”

“Got it, got it…”

Momota rubbed his eyes with his right hand, like a cat.

“Please, just don’t hate Ron-chan. He really likes you, Jingoro-san. I can tell just from listening to him. I don’t care if you think of me as trash or whatever…”

I was used to seeing people cry—victims, perpetrators, people with wildly fluctuating emotions. But watching Momota, I felt a strange tightness in my chest. He seemed so pitiful. Maybe it was because he kept putting himself down so much.

“Momota-san, don’t cry so much.”

Jingoro patted Momota's head. Though older, he felt the need to comfort him.

“…Don’t be so nice to me.”

Momota muttered in a muffled voice.

“If you’re like this, it just makes me cry even more.”

Momota’s shoulders shook as he cried. Now I understood what Hamauzu meant when he once said he couldn’t leave his girlfriend—well, Momota, in fact—alone. Ugly, pitiful, a crybaby. But somehow, a strangely endearing guy.

...We left the bar a little past midnight. Momota had stopped crying, but his eyes were still red. Even though I suggested we split the bill, he insisted, "I’m the one who invited you," so I let him pay.

"Sorry for keeping you out so late. Looks like we missed the last train."

As we walked down the sidewalk, Momota staggered slightly to the right. The night breeze stuck to the back of my neck, warm and suffocating.

"Momota-san, are you heading home?"

The man, who had been walking hunched over, turned around.

“I think I’ll hit one more place.”

“Maybe you should call it a night for today.”

Momota gave a lonely smile.

“It's just… I don’t want to go home.”

Jingoro stepped closer, wrapped his arm around Momota's shoulder, and walked alongside him.

“Well, then, let's go for another round.”

“Don’t you have work tomorrow, Jingoro-san?”

“Day off, day off. I feel like drinking too. Let's drink till morning!”

Momota gave a small smile. "You'll kill your liver," he murmured.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

When Jingoro woke up, he found himself lying in a futon in an unfamiliar room. Bright sunlight streamed through the window. Someone was sleeping next to him—a man with a patchy stubble. It was Momota.

Slowly, like a train moving at a crawl, the memories of yesterday came back. After leaving the first izakaya, they went to a bar that Momota was familiar with and drank until morning. Jingoro, having gotten nicely drunk, didn't feel like going home, so he accepted Momota's offer to stay at his apartment, which was within walking distance.

Momota had mentioned that there was only one futon, but Jingoro hadn’t minded. Momota often referred to himself as a "hopeless homo," but he had never made any suggestive moves. And even if he did try something, Jingoro was confident he could kick him away.

…Come to think of it, Momota had said his first experience was with a woman. That story had made Jingoro laugh.

The room was surprisingly neat and tidy. There wasn't much in it, but it had the lived-in smell of a person. It felt somehow gentle, Jingoro thought. A person's room reflects their character. He remembered how, back when they were both living in the same single’s dormitory, Hamauzu's room had been a complete dump. Jingoro's own room was messy too, but Hamauzu's was even worse. For someone living such a cluttered life, it was impressive how calm his face always looked. No one would have imagined that Hamauzu lived in a dump that made people wrinkle their noses.

Jingoro found himself thinking crudely: Is this the futon where Hamauzu and Momota have sex? …He couldn't imagine it. Even if they offered to show him, he'd refuse. He definitely didn't want to hear the sounds of a man moaning.

Sitting on the futon in just his underwear, smoking a cigarette, and aimlessly thinking about "maybe getting married," Jingoro realized something was off. Had he been influenced by the gay couple? If so, he was in a bad state.

But then again… he thought, when it comes to falling in love, does it really matter if it’s a man or a woman? If someone is that earnest about you, crying "I love you, I love you," it would be hard to just abandon them. It would probably feel nice.

He heard a faint sound, like a key turning in a lock, and Jingoro tilted his head in curiosity. Then came the sound of the door opening and the creak of the hallway. Someone was entering. A burglar wouldn't use a key. Was it a friend?

“Mo-mo, do you have company?”

It was Hamauzu who appeared in the doorway. Jingoro watched as Hamauzu’s surprised face slowly grew harsher. The look in his eyes could kill, and a chill ran down Jingoro's spine. He couldn’t understand why Hamauzu was looking at him like that.

“…Why are you in Momota’s room, Jingoro-san?”

Hamauzu's voice was so low it seemed to rise from the depths of the earth. Only then did Jingoro realize he was in just his underwear, sharing a futon with Momota.

Since they were both men, he hadn't thought much of it, but to a gay couple, he was clearly a homewrecker.

"Th-this is a misunderstanding, Hamauzu! I didn't do anything with Momota-san!"

It was the truth, but in his panic, even to his own ears, it sounded like an excuse.

"We were drinking together yesterday. It got late, so I crashed here. I didn't lay a finger on your man!"

Hamauzu's angry face remained unchanged. Jingoro roughly shook the still-groggy man lying next to him.

“Momota-san, Momota-san, wake up! Explain it to him!”

Momota finally woke up, groggily raising himself halfway up with Jingoro's pulling. He rubbed his eyes and finally seemed to realize that his lover had arrived.

“Ah… Ron-chan. Morning.”

Seemingly unaware of the explosive tension, Momota mumbled casually.

“You’re early… what time is it?”

He scratched his head and looked up at the wall clock.

“Ten o’clock? Are you off work today?”

Hamauzu, still with a stern expression, remained silent.

“What’s wrong, Ron-chan? Why the scary face?”

Finally sensing something was off, Momota glanced around and noticed the situation: two men sharing a single futon. His face turned pale.

Momota jumped up and rushed to Hamauzu—still in just his underwear.

“R-Ron-chan, I didn’t do anything with Jingoro-san. It just got late, so I let him stay over. I didn’t do anything, I swear I didn’t cheat!”

Desperately pleading, almost clinging to him, the sullen Hamauzu finally spoke.

“…I don’t think anything happened between you two. But even if nothing happened, I don’t want to see a scene like this. Even if I trust you, it makes me doubt.”

“I’m sorry, really sorry,” Momota said, squeezing Hamauzu’s hand.

“I swear, there’s nothing to worry about. Jingoro-san isn’t interested in men or me. When he comes to our place, he always asks for a titty job—”

“W-wait a minute, Momota-san!” Jingoro quickly cut him off, but Hamauzu gave him a confused look.

“…What’s a titty job?”

Both Momota and Jingoro fell silent. It would have been nice if Hamauzu could guess from the context, but he was surprisingly clueless about these things, and pressed Momota for an explanation.

“Momota, your place is legal, right? Is Jingoro-san doing something you can’t even tell me about?”

“Well, that’s…"

Under Hamauzu’s intense stare, the weak-willed Momota quickly broke down.

“It’s… well, a titty job is… when a girl squeezes her breasts together, and you… you put your thing in between and… rub it…”

Jingoro clutched his head with both hands. He felt so embarrassed that his back was burning. It was a man's dream that could only be done with a girl. As a supposed master of romance, Jingoro had never wanted Hamauzu to know about such things.

“…What’s so enjoyable about that?” Hamauzu asked calmly.

The remark struck Jingoro like a blow to the temple.

“F-fun is fun, you idiot!”

Jingoro’s shout was so loud it made the thin walls on either side of them tremble.

THE END

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