Yellow Diamond: Chapter 2 - part 7

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By the time Shun’ichi returned to the classroom, the third period had just started. The classical literature teacher didn’t seem surprised by his late arrival and didn’t say a word. Maybe they had been informed ahead of time.

As soon as the class ended, Akimori came over to him.

“Sorry about earlier. I know you told me not to say anything, Sanada-kun, but I just couldn’t hold it in.”

That’s a lie. Shun’ichi had endured being hit and kicked, and yet, Akimori, who had only been a bystander, claimed he couldn’t endure it? It didn’t make sense. Shun’ichi didn’t reply. He didn’t look at Akimori, only stared out the window, watching the rain. Despite the lack of response, Akimori stood next to him throughout the break, not leaving his side. Even after the sixth period ended, and in the brief moment before homeroom began, Akimori stayed there, repeating, “I’m sorry, I really am.”

When homeroom was over, the classroom quickly emptied as the students left like a receding tide. There was no reason to linger, so Shun’ichi gathered his things and stood up. But as soon as he started walking, Akimori hovered at his side, moving from right to left, forcing Shun’ichi to stop in the middle of the room.

“Sanada-kun, you didn’t want anyone to know you were being bullied, right? But it was hard for me to watch you being bullied, too. That funeral prank was awful. But now that I spoke up, Fukiyama-sensei will definitely keep an eye out from now on. It’ll be fine.”

Each word from Akimori grated on Shun’ichi’s nerves.

“That’s none of your business!”

When Shun’ichi yelled, Akimori looked shocked.

“Why are you so mad? If I hadn’t said anything, they would’ve kept bullying you.”

He doesn’t get it. He has no idea what he’s done. Shun’ichi could’ve told the teachers about Mizusawa’s bullying anytime he wanted. But Akimori didn’t even try to understand why he hadn’t. He only saw the surface, patting himself on the back for what he thought was a good deed. Those eyes, full of “Why am I in the wrong?”, made Shun’ichi feel sick. The fact that he now hated Akimori more than Mizusawa, who had tormented him, was terrifying. But it was the truth.

“Hey, is Sanada still here?”

Fukiyama peeked into the classroom from the doorway. Their eyes met, and with a quiet “Ah,” he walked in.

“Do you have any plans now?”

Shun’ichi figured he’d be forced to continue the conversation about the bullying. Annoyed, he answered bluntly, “No.”

“Then wait for me at the front gate. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Surprised by the unexpected offer, Shun’ichi blurted out, “What?”

“Your leg hurts, doesn’t it? Or is someone coming to pick you up?”

Isuma had given him a 1,000-yen bill earlier, telling him to take a taxi home. But knowing their financial situation, Shun’ichi was hesitant to spend the money on something unplanned.

“No.”

“Alright, see you in a bit.”

With that, Fukiyama left the classroom. Akimori, still standing beside him, smiled brightly.

“Good for you. I was worried about how you were going to get home.”

In the end, Akimori stuck with Shun’ichi all the way to the school gate before finally parting ways. The rain had stopped, so waiting outside wasn’t a problem. The sky was still gray, and small puddles dotted the ground. Standing alone, waiting for Fukiyama’s car, Shun’ichi’s thoughts were a tangle of emotions. Is he really offering me a ride because of my injured leg? He couldn’t help but feel suspicious. Maybe the ride was just an excuse to lecture him on the way home. Walking alone would’ve been far less stressful, and now, standing there, he wished he’d realized that earlier. Just as he was thinking about leaving, a dirty blue car pulled up in front of the gate. The passenger window rolled down with a whirr.

“Get in.”

Shun’ichi didn’t want to, but refusing would be awkward. Bracing himself for a lecture, he muttered, “Thank you,” and got into the passenger seat.

Fukiyama’s driving was rough. Every turn jolted Shun’ichi’s body, and the brakes were harsh and sudden. The rough ride made him feel queasy. It reminded him of the fear he used to feel as a kid when Isuma drove their old used car. Fukiyama’s driving wasn’t much different.

“How old’s your dad, Sanada?”

The question came out of nowhere, without any context.

“He’s thirty-three.”

As the car slammed to a stop at a red light, Shun’ichi lurched forward.

“Figured as much. He looks really young, though. When I first saw him, I thought he was a high schooler. Surprised me.”

After that, the conversation faded, and the car sped on. The lecture Shun’ichi had anticipated never came.

“You can drop me off there,” he said, pointing before they reached his run-down apartment. He didn’t want Fukiyama to see where he lived. Fukiyama muttered, “Ah, okay,” and stomped on the brake.

“Thanks,” Shun’ichi said, stepping out of the car. Just before he closed the door, Fukiyama called out to him.

“Hey, listen... If anything happens, come talk to me. No matter how much I try to pay attention, there are always things I miss. Unless you send me some kind of signal, I won’t know what’s going on. And, unrelated to that, your dad’s a good guy. A bit unusual, but kind.”

It was a casual remark, almost an afterthought.

“It’s obvious he cares about you a lot. Take care, alright?”

The car rumbled away, leaving behind the smell of exhaust and the sight of the beat-up car disappearing into the distance. As Shun’ichi turned and started walking, a warmth slowly spread in his chest. His leg still throbbed with pain, but his eyes stung with unexpected happiness.

More than anything—more than being driven home—it was those simple words that made his heart tremble with joy.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The bicycle was parked out front, and there were dirty work clothes tossed carelessly in the washing machine. Isuma was definitely back from work, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he had gone to the convenience store. Shun’ichi was hungry, but there wasn’t anything ready-to-eat in the fridge. With nothing else to do, he lay down, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep. When he woke, the orange glow of the setting sun was casting a warm light on his cheek. The evening sky was clear, with no hint of the earlier rain.

Even after his nap, there was still no sign that Isuma had come home. Shun’ichi had a feeling his father was at Kunihiko’s apartment. Whenever something bothered him, Isuma would run straight to Kunihiko’s place. But Kunihiko usually didn’t get home until after seven, so it didn’t make sense for Isuma to be there this early. Shun’ichi imagined Isuma sitting in Kunihiko’s room, knees pulled to his chest, looking small and forlorn. The thought gnawed at him until he finally hopped on his bicycle.

Kunihiko’s apartment was less than a five-minute walk away, but on a bike, it took less than two. Shun’ichi panted like a sprinter as he reached for the intercom to buzz the room. But before pressing it, he thought, Maybe… and tried the door. It opened soundlessly. Kunihiko was too meticulous to forget to lock the door, so it had to be Isuma’s doing. Shun’ichi sighed at his father’s carefree attitude and stepped inside. Sure enough, Isuma’s familiar shoes were lined up at the entrance alongside Kunihiko’s. So, he finished work early. That’s rare, Shun’ichi thought.

Despite both of them being home, the apartment was eerily quiet. The pain in Shun’ichi’s right leg, which he’d forgotten about while riding his bike, now forced him to walk slowly, limping as he went. The living room was empty. While scanning the room, Shun’ichi noticed that the door to Kunihiko’s bedroom was slightly ajar. He crept closer and peeked through the crack. Kunihiko, still in his suit, was sitting on the edge of the bed. Next to him, Isuma, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, had his knees pulled up to his chest. Normally, Shun’ichi would’ve barged in without hesitation, but something about the serious expressions on their faces made him stop.

“I’m so tired of it all,” Isuma mumbled, his head hanging low. Kunihiko’s right arm moved, gently pulling Isuma’s head onto his shoulder.

“I just want to die.”

Isuma’s muffled voice reached Kunihiko’s shoulder. Kunihiko sighed softly.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

Isuma suddenly punched Kunihiko’s shoulder hard. Kunihiko winced in pain, his brow furrowing.

“You don’t understand a damn thing about how I feel!” Isuma snapped, his voice filled with anger. But Kunihiko remained calm.

“Of course I don’t,” he said coolly.

Isuma, clearly frustrated by the response, roughly shook off Kunihiko’s arm.

“You’re so cold.”

Kunihiko shrugged lightly in response to the accusation.

“You’re just being selfish. You demand that people understand things they can’t, and then lash out when they don’t.”

Isuma bit his lip so hard that the color drained from it.

“I should’ve died instead of Riku. If I had, then Shun’ichi wouldn’t be mocked because of me...”

Kunihiko silenced Isuma’s words by placing a hand over his mouth. The words disappeared into Kunihiko’s palm.

“If you died, I’d be the one who’s sad.”

Isuma lifted his head. Their eyes met, and just as Shun’ichi thought there was something off about the atmosphere, their lips met too. His fingertips went cold. This has to be a joke, Shun’ichi thought, but the kiss continued far beyond what could be considered a joke. They changed angles, kissing repeatedly, while the bed in the background emphasized the raw intimacy of the moment. Kunihiko stroked Isuma’s head over and over, cradling his slender body as he slowly laid him down on the bed. Isuma wrapped his arms wide around Kunihiko’s neck.

Unable to watch any longer, Shun’ichi slammed the door shut. He ran down the hallway, dragging his injured right leg, barely slipping his shoes on before dashing outside.

Dragging his right leg, he ran down the hallway, slipping just the tips of his shoes on before bursting outside. Even though he could sense someone chasing after him, he didn’t look back. Confused, he just kept pedaling his bike frantically. The sickening scene played over and over in his head, like a nightmare. Isamu... and Kunihiko... Kunihiko... Disgusting, absolutely disgusting... Just thinking about it made him nauseous, and when he finally got home, he threw up. His whole body seemed to reject the reality, like it was one giant allergic reaction.

"Disgusting..."

When did those two start doing that? Something so gross, between two men. His irritation boiled over, and he grabbed a nearby manga, throwing it against the wall. It was one of the seinen manga that Isamu liked to buy often. The characters were always fighting, and it was never any fun to read. The sound of someone running up the stairs echoed through the house, followed by the door flinging open with a clatter.

"Uh, um... Shun’ichi..."

Isamu stood there, face red, panting heavily as he kicked off his shoes.

"Uh... did you see?"

What a stupid question. Shun’ichi glared at him in silence, and Isamu slowly cast his eyes downward.

"We were planning to tell you properly someday. But we figured it wasn’t the right time yet. We never thought you'd, well... see us like that..."

It would’ve been a hundred times better if it were some kind of joke. But even if it was, could he really forgive his father for kissing another man? No, he couldn’t. Isamu sat down on his knees in front of the child, hunching his back like a cat.

"Well, there’s no point in hiding it now, so I’ll just say it. Kunihiko is... well, he’s my boyfriend. We’ve been friends for a long time, but we started dating about eight years ago. After Riku died, two or three years after that..."

He says it so casually—calling another man his lover. Is he out of his mind? Shun’ichi knew that there were men who loved other men. He didn’t want to deny that, but people like that were... special. They were different. He never thought of Isamu or Kunihiko as being like that.

“Don’t say such disgusting things!”

He clenched his fists tightly.

“You and Kunihiko are both messed up,” he spat, stepping toward Isamu. Though Isamu flinched, he muttered, “But it’s true… I really do love Kunihiko, and he feels the same about me.”

The more Isamu said “I love him,” the more it sent chills down Shun’ichi’s spine.

“I will never accept it!” he shouted.

Isamu looked at him, helpless.

“Even if you hate it, Kunihiko and I are serious. We’ve promised to live together once you’re an adult.”

“Just shut up already!” Shun’ichi screamed. “Don’t ever talk about Kunihiko in front of me again. Not ever! If you so much as say his name, I swear I’ll never speak to you again!”

Isamu, wilted like a dying flower, lowered his head and closed his mouth. Without a glance at his father, Shun’ichi pulled a towel out of the bookshelf and locked himself in the bathroom. In their tiny one-room apartment, there were only two places to escape to if he didn’t want to see Isamu’s face—the bathroom or the toilet. Today had been eventful, but the whole Kunihiko-and-Isamu thing had been so overwhelming that everything else had completely slipped his mind.

Stewing in his frustration, Shun’ichi stayed in the bath for almost an hour. When he finally came out, Isamu was sitting in front of the TV, hugging his knees. The rumbling of Shun’ichi’s stomach irritated him even more.

“I’m hungry,” he said bluntly.

“There’s some food by the microwave,” Isamu replied.

In the kitchen, there were two familiar Tupperware containers, one blue, the other red. When Shun’ichi picked them up, they were still warm. Kunihiko must’ve come while he was in the bath. The aroma was tempting, but he ignored it, dumping the contents into the trash can. His stomach growled, but he silenced it with a lot of tea. Hoping that sleep might take his mind off things, he laid out his futon.

Even though it was far too early to sleep, he couldn’t think of anything else to do. In the end, he found himself watching TV with Isamu.

“Hey,” Isamu suddenly murmured, still facing the screen.

“We were childhood friends.”

He didn’t say who.

“We’ve been friends forever. But I’m… well, you know how I am. I’ve never really been able to keep people around for long. And then, your mom… she passed away before me...”

“I’m going to bed!” Shun’ichi cut him off, pulling the futon over his head.

Isamu turned off the TV right away, but for a long time, Shun’ichi could hear him tossing and turning beside him, restless as ever.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

On his way home from school, Shun’ichi stopped by the nearby 100-yen shop and lined up at the register. The place was crowded, and the cashier, clearly new, was taking forever. When it was finally his turn, he sighed in mild frustration and opened his wallet—only to be shocked at how little money he had.

Ever since he found out that Isamu and Kunihiko were dating, Shun’ichi hadn’t been to Kunihiko’s apartment. The traitor, Isamu, went there every day to eat, always bringing back the red and blue Tupperware filled with Kunihiko’s home-cooked meals. But Shun’ichi couldn’t stand even that kind of consideration anymore, so he’d been throwing away every single dinner Isamu brought home, straight into the trash. Last night, though, he couldn’t stand the hunger any longer and ended up buying some rice balls at the convenience store in the middle of the night. He’d completely forgotten about that and lined up at the register today, thinking he had enough to buy a notebook.

But with only 45 yen in his wallet, there was no way he could afford the notebook, which cost over 100 yen with tax. The cashier gave him a puzzled look, waiting for him to pay.

“Uh, sir…”

“I’m sorry!” Shun’ichi was about to tell her he didn’t want the notebook when a 1,000-yen bill was suddenly handed to the cashier from behind him.

“This should cover it.”

He turned around, and the first thing he saw was a white shirt and a green tie. It was a familiar face, one he hadn’t seen in a while. Panicking, Shun’ichi quickly told the cashier, “No, it’s fine! I don’t need it!” But by then, the notebook had already been paid for, and the cashier handed him the change.

“Come on, let’s go. You’re holding up the line,” Kunihiko said, giving him a gentle push on the shoulder. Shun’ichi, fuming, shoved the change and the notebook at Kunihiko.

“I don’t want it!”

He didn’t want anything from the man who’d been lying to him all this time. Kunihiko shook his head, refusing to take it.

“I don’t need a notebook either. Keep the change as your allowance.”

“I said I don’t want it!” Shun’ichi’s voice grew louder, causing people around them to turn and stare. Embarrassed, his face flushed red, and he looked down to hide it. Kunihiko reached out and gently touched his head, making Shun’ichi flinch and take a step back. Seeing the pained expression on Kunihiko’s face made something in Shun’ichi’s chest ache, though only for a brief moment.

“Isamu’s been worried about you not eating the dinners I make. Don’t be so stubborn. Eat properly and keep your strength up. If you’re planning on fighting me, you’d better prepare for the long haul.”

Kunihiko grinned down at him, a smug, defiant smile. It infuriated Shun’ichi. Kunihiko was wrong—he was completely wrong—but how could he be so calm, so confident? It felt like Shun’ichi had already lost this battle. Frustrated, he could only mutter, “Whatever,” before storming out of the store. Still, he found himself following Kunihiko’s retreating figure, dragging his still slightly sore right leg across the hot June pavement.

At the edge of the crosswalk, as the signal was about to change, Kunihiko finally stopped.

“I’ll never accept it!” Shun’ichi yelled.

Kunihiko turned around.

“I’ll make you accept it. No matter how many years it takes.”

“I’ll never accept it! Not in a million years!” Shun’ichi screamed again. Kunihiko’s confident expression suddenly darkened.

“In that case, I’ll just take Isamu with me.”

His voice was steady and sure, as if he truly believed he could take Isamu away. And Shun’ichi knew... he probably could. Fear gripped him.

“You and Isamu are both messed up!” Shun’ichi shouted, his voice shaky.

Kunihiko tilted his head slightly.

“Yeah, maybe we are.”

An adult who could admit he was wrong—it didn’t make sense to Shun’ichi.

“If you know that, then stop and just go back to being friends! Then you could both find girls you actually like—”

Kunihiko shrugged and laughed.

“You think I haven’t thought about that? If it were that easy to give up, I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble.”

The signal changed, and the electronic chime indicated it was safe to cross. Kunihiko took a step forward, then paused and looked back.

“Even if you hate me, at least eat the meals I make. Don’t waste all the effort I put into cooking for three people every night.”

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