MUNDANE HURT: Chapter 10

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A week had passed since he’d punched himself in the face. The swelling had gone down, and the yellow-and-blue gradient of bruises looked a lot better. He’d been eating properly, so moving around wasn’t as exhausting anymore. Still, the man staring back at him from the bathroom mirror looked like a worn-out middle-aged loser.

Sure, I don’t look like a homeless bum anymore, like when I first crashed here. But the dark circles under his eyes hadn’t faded, and his skin was dry and rough. Even shaving the stubble didn’t help him look clean or put-together. Back in high school, he’d admired how good he looked in the mirror. When had he stopped doing that? Nobody wants to stare at a withering flower, right?

Looks mattered. He’d waited for his face to recover somewhat, but the frustratingly rational voice in his head judged that this face wasn’t going to convince Nagano of anything. Maybe he should skip the small talk and just take it straight to sex? Nagano was simple—one good night together, and he’d probably do whatever he was told.

It’s not like my body’s worth much anymore after being raped by those weird foreigners. What’s one more time? Or twice?

But then, he hesitated on a more fundamental level. Would Nagano even get it up for me? He wasn’t young or pretty anymore. Would Nagano really want to sleep with someone like him? If it were me, I couldn’t.

He left the cramped unit bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed. It was Sunday, but Nagano had changed into a suit and gone to work. He’d said he’d be back at the usual time, which made it sound like a demanding job. But maybe that’s normal? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never held down a real job.

His daily life hadn’t changed. He lazed around the apartment during the day, ate dinner with Nagano at night—whatever food Nagano brought home—and then they went to bed. It was the same cycle, over and over. The only difference now was that ever since he brought up their past relationship, Nagano wouldn’t look him in the eye.

The TV-less room was dull, so he spent hours surfing the internet. He half-heartedly looked at some job postings, maybe inspired by seeing Nagano go to work every day, but quickly gave up. A college dropout with a criminal in the family. There was no way he’d ever catch up to others his age now. And running into anyone he knew while working behind a convenience store counter? That would be the worst.

Back when he lived with Miyu, everyone he knew was either a drug dealer or another loser, so living off a woman or not working had never seemed odd. But after even just a little while in this world, next to a guy who went to work every day in a suit, he could feel the harsh gap between their realities, see how pathetic he looked.

Since that day he’d beaten himself up, he hadn’t heard from Round Face. For the first few days, he’d jumped whenever the phone entered his sight, but with no news, his fear had slowly faded. He even wondered if they’d maybe forgotten about him. But that was too good to be true; he knew they’d show up again.

…Ah, he wanted it. Wanted it badly. Just to zone out and feel nothing, like before, without worrying about anything. Even just the memory of that familiar haze crossed his mind, and he craved it desperately. He picked up the phone, one he’d barely wanted to look at before. None of the dealer’s numbers were saved; he’d forgotten them all. He punched in something like he remembered, then noticed the battery was dead, snapping him back to his senses. What was he even doing? If they found out he was using it for personal calls, they’d probably kill him.

He lay down for a sulky nap, then woke to the sound of the doorbell. It was still light outside, just before four. Nagano wouldn’t be back until after seven, so it was probably the newspaper or a delivery. He ignored it, but the ringing kept coming—insistent. Maybe Nagano had forgotten his keys, he thought, and he got up and opened the door.

The person standing there wasn’t Nagano. He had a square face and silver-rimmed glasses, a hairstyle like a kappa just risen from the swamp, a green turtleneck, and a black puffer jacket. His jeans were faded, and his sense of style was nonexistent. He looked a bit older than himself, maybe, a laughably uncool guy. The man gave a soft, surprised “Oh,” stepped back, and looked around, then turned back to Nishizaki.

“Excuse me. Is this the home of Masayuki Nagano?”

The man’s voice was a unique, raspy low tone that felt vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place it.

“Yes, but do you need him for something?”

The man stared at him, then suddenly widened his eyes.

“You’re Nishizaki, aren’t you?”

Hearing his name, Nishizaki froze.

“What…what do you want?”

The man leaned forward, peering into the apartment.

“Where’s Nagano?”

“I told you, he’s still at work.”

“How the hell did someone like you end up in Nagano’s apartment?”

The accusatory tone unlocked a memory. This guy—he was in the same high school class, hung out with the quiet group, and was the only ‘safe harbor’ Nagano had… Kitao. Yeah, Kitao.

“I’m just crashing here for a bit,” Nishizaki replied, “but what business is that of yours?”

Kitao gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand on his forehead.

“I met with him the other day, and he didn’t mention you once.” Then, suddenly as if realizing something, he stepped closer. “You’re not causing Nagano any trouble, are you?”

“Enough already! You’re treating me like I’m a problem or something.”

“That’s because I haven’t heard anything good about you—not even at the reunion.”

A chill ran through him. Old, forgotten resentments crept back in waves.

“Oh yeah? What exactly did you hear? Go ahead, fill me in,” he demanded. For the first time, Kitao’s self-assuredness wavered.

“I can imagine, though. My mom killed herself, my brother became a murderer… Anything else? Did you enjoy hearing my life was like a bad TV drama? Or were you thinking ‘serves him right’? You hated me, didn’t you?”

“It’s not like it’s your fault…”

“You just said you never hear anything good about me. Even if it’s not my fault, you still think I’m trash.”

“Setting your family issues aside, I’ve heard things about you being a host, borrowing money and not paying it back, probably using drugs…”

The list hit like a slap to the face. What a worthless scumbag. And that scumbag was him. He’d thought he’d fallen out of everyone’s sight, sunk deep and forgotten, but up above, people had been laughing, kicking him, throwing rocks. Maybe it was fun. Hell, if he’d been on top, he’d probably have done the same, used himself as gossip fodder. But he was stuck at the bottom, and now people he hated were hunting him down, ready to twist the knife.

“I don’t care about your life,” Kitao said. “It’s your choice how you live. But don’t drag Nagano down with you.”

So I should stay down there, rot away, die? You’re kidding me. He started laughing, a harsh, biting laugh, and Kitao stepped back, disturbed.

“So, what’s your business with Nagano?”

“A souvenir from my trip,” Kitao replied, looking down at the paper bag in his hand. Nishizaki snatched it roughly from him.

“I’ll give it to him,” he said, flashing a fake smile before slamming the door in Kitao’s face. He tossed the bag into the corner of the room, then kicked the flimsy table across the floor.

That jerk Yuzuki had probably blabbed about him to everyone at the reunion, spreading his juicy scandals like a damn carrier pigeon. He could picture the glee on Yuzuki’s face, relishing every sordid detail. Rumors about someone who couldn’t show up to defend himself were probably twice as fun. He should have killed Yuzuki when he had the chance. That bastard had left him seething, made him take it out on his brother. Without Yuzuki, maybe his brother wouldn’t have died. It was all his fault.

The doorbell rang again, incessant and shrill. He ignored it, but it kept going. Damn it, Kitao, you’re such a pain. You can take your sanctimonious lecture and shove it. The relentless dinging stoked his irritation until he finally bolted to the door and flung it open.

“You are so damn—!”

He stopped mid-sentence. The person outside was not Kitao. The man wore a navy baseball cap pulled low, with matching navy work clothes and tan chinos. In his hand, he held a clipboard—probably for gas or water inspection. Mortified at the misunderstanding, Nishizaki quickly backed down.

“Oh, uh, sorry about that.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Some kids were messing around with the doorbell, so…”

The man didn’t flinch at Nishizaki’s outburst, glancing down at his clipboard.

“Um, Masayuki Nagano?” he asked in a muffled voice.

“Nagano hasn’t gotten back from work yet…”

The man’s mouth twisted into a sneer. Suddenly, he shoved Nishizaki back, stepped into the entryway, and closed the door behind him.

“Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

He tilted up the brim of his cap, revealing—no surprise—the Sukajan jacket yakuza, minus the usual flashy jacket. Instantly, Nishizaki felt a chill race through him.

“The phone…uh, well, I… didn’t get any calls.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

But he really hadn’t gotten any calls…although, come to think of it, his phone’s battery had died, and he’d just left it that way out of laziness.

“Oh, I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I totally forgot it was dead. I’ll charge it right now, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

“Bring it over.”

Nishizaki scurried into the room, grabbed his phone, and handed it to Sukajan Jacket, who checked if it powered on. When he realized the battery truly was dead, he tossed it back to Nishizaki with a sneer. “Make sure it’s ready next time.”

He’d been warned to answer his calls or else, but since he hadn’t heard from Round Face recently, he’d gotten careless—way too careless.

“From now on, I’ll…”

Before he could finish, Sukajan Jacket drove a kick straight into his stomach, sending him sprawling backward. He kicked him twice more, hard, then turned to the door. “Thanks for your time,” he sneered as if he were some polite visitor, then left.

Nishizaki lay there, curled up on his side, staring at the wood grain of the floor. His fingers closed around his phone; it was still dead. He dragged himself to the charger, clutching his sore stomach, which throbbed with pain. When he lifted his shirt, he saw that the area around his navel was bright red. By tomorrow, it’d probably turn into another deep bruise, just as the ones on his face were starting to fade.

He sat in the dark, paralyzed by the sudden storm of violence and the dread that came with it. He couldn’t think or do anything, just sat there, numb, as the room faded into shadows. After a while, he heard the front door open, a light switch click, and the room flooded with brightness.

“I thought you weren’t home because it was so dark,” Nagano said, dropping his briefcase to the floor. He pointed to a paper bag in the corner. “What’s that?”

“A souvenir from Kitao,” Nishizaki mumbled.

Nagano looked thoughtful as he took the bag and started tearing the wrapping open right then and there, his face lighting up. “Want some? These are really good.”

He offered a packet of individually wrapped cookies, but Nishizaki just shook his head. He still felt shaken from Sukajan Jacket’s visit and couldn’t imagine eating anything, especially from Kitao. But Nagano was already tearing into a cookie, wolfing it down without hesitation. It wasn’t exactly the dignified image of a lawyer.

It had been about two weeks since Nishizaki had started staying here, and Nagano hadn’t tried to pry into his life even once. A stark contrast to Kitao, who’d immediately interrogated him as if he were on trial. Since high school, Nishizaki’s life had been one chaotic mess after another, but whether Nagano had heard about it or simply chose not to ask, he didn’t let on. If he’d spoken to Kitao, maybe he had been filled in on Nishizaki’s disasters. Kitao probably looked down on him, that much was obvious.

“So, you still keep in touch with Kitao?” Nishizaki asked.

“We hadn’t talked since high school until three or four years ago when we ran into each other at work. Since then, we sometimes go for drinks.”

It didn’t sound like a long-standing friendship.

“Did he…mention anything about me?”

Nagano hesitated a moment. “Not really, no.”

A delay, but it seemed like he knew something.

“Do you ever go to high school reunions?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t have much to do with them back then. Honestly, I barely remember anyone’s face.”

Nagano had always been that aloof, study-focused kid. Nishizaki’s old high school prediction—that Nagano’s only memories would be studying and eating lunch with Kitao—had pretty much come true. Reunions were for people who wanted to flaunt their success, and Nagano, it seemed, had no interest in going around saying, “Look, I’m a lawyer.”

After downing about five cookies, Nagano finally moved on to his dinner, an oversized bento box.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

His bruised stomach throbbed with a sharp, sudden pain even at the smallest movement. When bending his legs in the bathtub caused a stabbing ache, frustration bubbled up. Beneath the water, his flaccid penis swayed weakly. Hesitantly, he let his fingers brush against the area beneath it. Even though they were his own fingers, the sensation felt unsettlingly unpleasant. If the seduction works and he says he wants to put it in… what do I do?

No way. It wouldn’t happen. I hate pain, and I’m positive I’d puke. I’m sure of it. Then again, who knew how Nagano might react? Maybe he’d be satisfied with mutual handjobs or a blowjob instead.

After getting out of the bath, he dried his hair in the bathroom. Running his fingers lazily through it to smooth it out, he returned to the room. Nagano was seated at his desk, crunching on cookies and staring intently at his laptop screen. From behind, he peeked over Nagano’s shoulder. A picture of a blue ocean filled the screen. The site was in English—some overseas webpage. It reminded him of the long vacations during his teens, where traveling abroad had been a regular luxury.

Placing a hand lightly on Nagano’s right shoulder from behind, he felt the man’s body jolt with a sharp flinch before Nagano spun around, startled. Droplets of water flicked off Nagano’s still-damp short hair, scattering across his face.

“Dry your hair. You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Eh, it’ll dry on its own.”

“Right, says the guy who’s always telling me to dry my hair. So, where’s this? Planning a trip overseas?”

He leaned in close, enough for his face to nearly touch Nagano’s face as he squinted at the laptop screen. The shoulder beneath his hand was as stiff as a rock, radiating tension. Is he just that aware of me? Or does he hate being touched? He couldn’t tell.

“No, just… looking.”

Even his voice wavered slightly.

“You seem pretty into it for just looking.”

“I just wanted to know what kind of place it is.”

“A virtual trip, huh?”

Nagano tilted his head, not seeming to get it. Nishizaki reached out with his left hand and held down the computer’s power button.

“H-Hey, what are you doing?”

Before Nagano could stop him, the screen went dark with a dejected whine, like a dog hanging its head.

“It’s boring here. You don’t even have a TV.”

With a troubled expression, Nagano asked, “Why not read a book?”

Nishizaki sighed. “Is ‘actually talking’ not an option for you?”

“…I’m not good at being entertaining.”

“That’s because you don’t try to make the other person enjoy it. Talking actually takes some skill, you know?”

“I’ve always been this way.”

“Stop using that as an excuse. Work on your social skills.”

Nagano’s mouth moved vaguely, as if he were grasping for words. Without a response, he simply walked over to the bookshelf, picked out a novel, and sat down with his back against the shelf, opening the book.

So, he’d decided to ignore Nishizaki and escape into his book. Maybe I pushed him too far, he thought, feeling a hint of regret. He sat down beside him, closing the physical distance. Nagano glanced at him but quickly looked back at the book, though he hadn’t turned a page.

"You really should dry your hair," he said, reaching out to pinch the damp ends of Nagano's hair. It was still slightly wet, though closer to dry now. A faint red crept across Nagano’s neck, and the atmosphere between them was growing increasingly charged.

"You smell so much like yourself tonight," he remarked, exaggerating slightly. Nagano had a natural scent—noticeable but not unpleasant. The comment made Nagano glance at him briefly, his expression hovering between confusion and discomfort.

"If it bothers you, move away," Nagano said curtly, though he made no effort to create any distance himself.

That’s the point, he thought. He won’t pull away on his own.

“Why are you paying so much attention to me tonight? You usually eat dinner and go straight to bed.”

It’s because I’ve got a goal—to reel you in, he thought. The timing felt right. Leaning in, he pressed a quick kiss to Nagano’s rigid cheek.

Nagano froze, holding his breath for a second before letting it out in a shaky sigh. "What... was that?" he asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

“Something like a kiss, maybe?”

Nagano’s face stiffened. He didn’t look happy—not at all.

“Why did you do that?”

“No reason. Just seemed like the vibe, I guess.”

Nagano slammed the book he hadn’t been reading onto the floor.

"I don’t understand your so-called ‘vibe.’" The strait-laced man’s lips were trembling.

He gets embarrassed and conscious of me when we get close but gets angry when I kiss him. It doesn't make sense.

"Hey, did you ever actually want to do it with me back in high school?"

Nagano’s expression instantly darkened, his eyes clouding over as if a black fog had settled in them, a simmering anger radiating from his back like rising steam. This was bad; Nishizaki had definitely hit a nerve. Nagano stood abruptly, grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut. The sound reverberated like an echo of his anger.

"Ah—crap." He’d stepped on a landmine he shouldn’t have. Back in high school, Nagano had kissed him in a way that practically screamed he wanted more. Nishizaki had probably struck a nerve too close to the truth. Nagano was a prideful guy, and a remark like that was bound to backfire.

But for all that, Nagano’s decency shone through—rather than telling Nishizaki to leave, he’d been the one to walk out. The landmine had exploded, no way to undo it now. Guess I’ll have to try a different approach next time. Though at this point, who knows if it’ll even be salvageable.

This was Nagano’s apartment, after all, so he’d probably return once his anger cooled. But there was no telling how long that might take, and waiting around seemed pointless. Leaving the lights on, Nishizaki got into bed and lay down. He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but he must have dozed off because the sound of the front door jolted him awake. The clock read a little past 1:00 a.m.

Nagano came into the room, tidied the table as usual, and began laying out his futon to sleep. The smart thing to do would be to just say “Sorry, I was out of line.” But even as an adult, Nagano still couldn’t let things slide, and there was something irritating about how he’d pushed back, so Nishizaki pretended to be asleep.

After setting up his bedding, Nagano walked over to Nishizaki’s bedside. Nishizaki squeezed his eyes shut in a hurry, feigning sleep, tense at Nagano’s presence. But Nagano neither spoke nor moved, and the silence was nerve-wracking.

Nagano stood there for about ten minutes, then finally stepped away with a creak of the floor, turned off the light, and settled into his futon on the floor. He’s definitely got me on his mind, but the guy has no idea how to close the distance. Even if it seemed safe to take a step forward, Nagano’s boundaries were a mystery, offering no clues. Back in high school, too, it had taken forever to win him over, but this time, Nishizaki didn’t have that much time.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Both his hands were pinned down. Sukajan Jacket was holding him in place, and when he tried to wriggle free, Sukajan Jacket snapped, “Don’t you dare move.” In front of him, Round Face held a long-handled axe with a fan-shaped, ginkgo-leaf blade. What is this, some fantasy weapon? Nishizaki thought but was too scared to say it aloud.

“You broke our deal, didn’t you? Time to pay up,” Round Face said, smirking.

“P-please, just give me a bit more time. I just—” Even if he was supposed to get the video footage of the safe, that uptight guy was impossible to break through—

“Time’s up,” Round Face said, lifting the axe with both hands spread wide. “So, which will it be? An arm or a leg? I’ll let you choose.”

Round Face tightened his grip on Nishizaki’s arm, sneering, “How about the right hand?” A chill rushed down Nishizaki’s spine, as if cold water had been poured down his back.

“No, please, no!” Round Face stepped closer, his shadow swelling into a monstrous shape. Nishizaki struggled desperately, but Sukajan Jacket’s grip was too strong. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t escape. Round Face raised the axe high.

“Let me go!”

“Nishizaki!”

The room suddenly brightened, like fog clearing. His body felt free again, and he jolted upright, sprinting blindly toward the door. His hand was on the doorknob when he came to his senses. Where am I? What am I doing? There was no Round Face, no Sukajan Jacket, none of that terrifying axe.

Rational thought slowly returned. It had just been a dream. But could he be sure that nothing like it was really out there? He had thought he was ready to die, but faced with the actual threat, terror had flooded in. Fear, fear, fear.

When he returned to the room, Nagano was standing by his futon.

“Was having some kind of nightmare,” Nishizaki said, trying for a casual tone.

But Nagano, with a straight face, replied, “You were thrashing around like a fish on a grill,” making Nishizaki chuckle despite himself.

"Man, that was seriously terrifying."

The words slipped out before he could hold them back. Nagano looked at him as if to ask, What was? but Nishizaki couldn’t answer. The yakuza—they’re terrifying. So just give me the video of the safe already. Let me breathe. I don’t want to see nightmares like that again. Help me. But he knew. None of this mattered to Nagano, and even if he begged, desperately, the guy wouldn’t give in. That’s just the kind of person Nagano was.

A flood of tears spilled over, and Nagano hesitated, moving closer and patting Nishizaki’s shoulder awkwardly. Before he knew what he was doing, Nishizaki pulled Nagano closer, pressing their lips together.

He parted his own dry, chapped lips and slid his tongue into Nagano’s mouth. Taken by surprise, Nagano stumbled back, losing his balance, and they both toppled onto the bed. He entwined his tongue with Nagano’s, savoring the taste, drawing him in. At first, Nagano didn’t respond, but then, as if remembering the past, he began to kiss back, more earnestly. Am I looking for comfort, or am I trying to seduce Nagano? Nishizaki himself didn’t know anymore.

The kiss sent jolts through him, and he felt himself hardening. He took Nagano’s right hand, pressing it down against the stiffness growing in his crotch. Nagano’s fingers twitched as they touched him, sending a tremor through both of them.

"Stroke it."

He shouted, "Hurry up!" at the man fumbling over him. He’d expected Nagano to just rub him over his clothes, but instead, those fingers slipped under his waistband, gripping his already hardened penis directly. The pressure was intense—too much—and a surge of instinctive fear made his hips jerk.

"Too rough," he muttered. "Ease up a little, like when you do it yourself."

The grip relaxed, and Nagano started a slow, steady rhythm, gliding up and down. Pleasure jolted through Nishizaki’s spine, tracing from his tailbone upward, leaving him dizzy. Kissing continued as Nagano stroked him, and for once, Nishizaki could focus solely on the pleasure, the sensation—letting go of everything else. His sweats clung to him, soaked from the cold sweat of nightmare and the warmth of arousal. Somewhere in the moment, he stripped off his shirt, throwing it aside.

He noticed Nagano hardening as well, pressing through the fabric. Nishizaki gripped the waistband of Nagano’s sweats and boxers together, pulling them down. With the tension released, Nagano’s penis sprang free.

Back in high school, they’d only kissed, and he’d never actually seen it before. It was surprisingly big, a good shape, fully exposed. When Nagano realized he was staring, he tried to pull up his sweats, but Nishizaki brushed his hand away, stripping him completely. He grasped Nagano firmly, taking control. Every guy, no matter how tough, quiets down when you grip them by their weak spot.

"Since I’m taking care of yours, why don’t you give me a little more, too?" he whispered in Nagano’s ear, moving his fingers slowly up and down. Nagano’s breathing grew rougher. Glancing at his face, Nishizaki saw him writhing in pleasure—completely hard yet looking as if he were enduring some form of sweet torture.

"You’re making a weird face," he muttered.

Nagano opened his eyes and looked at him. In that momentary lapse, Nishizaki kissed him, driven by pure impulse. Their tongues intertwined, slick and warm. Nagano came twice, and after the second time, he took a deep, exhausted breath, closed his eyes, and went completely limp, as if all energy had drained from him. Nishizaki called his name, but there was no response. The hand that had been holding him had gone slack as well.

Did he actually fall asleep?

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered. Falling asleep in the middle of mutual masturbation? And here he was, still left halfway there. He couldn’t exactly wake Nagano and tell him, Finish me off, so he took care of it himself, wiping his stomach with some tissues afterward. Now that the initial heat of it had cooled, he realized how cold it was standing there fully exposed. He scooted over to where Nagano lay sleeping, pulling the sheet over both of them. It was a tight fit for two, but he felt oddly comforted by the closeness.

It was still dark outside, so it must have been the middle of the night. I don’t want to sleep, he’d thought, afraid of the dreams he’d been having, but the warmth radiating from Nagano, like some kind of electric blanket, lulled him toward sleep.

The rustling sound of movement woke him. It was morning, and Nagano was standing by the mirror, knotting his tie. His first attempt didn’t go well, and he sighed, undoing it to start over.

"Already heading out?" Nishizaki asked.

Nagano’s hands froze, and he turned slowly, looking anywhere but at Nishizaki, who couldn’t help noticing the awkwardness in his gaze.

"It’s time for work," he replied, fiddling with his loosely hanging tie.

"Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed just because we jerked each other off?" Nishizaki teased.

Nagano ignored him and turned his back.

"And hey, you’ve got a pretty decent dick," Nishizaki added with a grin.

Nagano spun around, glaring at him with a face flushed right to the ears. "I don’t want to hear vulgar talk first thing in the morning."

"Oh, so now you’re playing it cool after you had your hand wrapped around mine too, huh?"

Since it was the truth, Nagano had no comeback and just clenched his jaw in frustration. Nishizaki got up and realized he was still stark naked. Whatever. He strolled over to Nagano, who instinctively stepped back as Nishizaki grabbed his tie and pulled him closer.

"I’ve always noticed you’re awful at tying these things," he said. "Don’t yank the knot so tight. Just give it a little slack. You’re not strangling yourself."

Nagano’s dark suit made it look weird to have the tie too loose, so Nishizaki carefully adjusted it to a decent balance. He glanced up and found Nagano’s face very close. Smooth-shaven, hair neatly done, ready for work. On impulse, Nishizaki gave him a quick peck on the lips. This time, Nagano didn’t ask why he did it; his face only held that uncertain expression, so Nishizaki gently brushed his cheek.

“You should really put on some lip balm or something. Your lips are all chapped.”

Nagano rubbed his own lips with his thumb, a little self-consciously.

“And hey, bring something good for dinner tonight, will you? I’m getting sick of the usual bento.”

“I’ll... think about it.”

Then Nagano was off to work. After seeing him out, Nishizaki slipped back under the covers. He thought it would have been a lost cause—Nagano used to recoil just from a kiss—but here they’d been, French-kissing and, well, mutually helping each other out. Nagano seemed unsure of it, but it was just a matter of time before he got swept up completely.

When he’d gotten out of bed to see Nagano off, he’d left the sheets pulled back, and now the warmth had begun to fade. Unlike women, who always seemed to retain a certain coolness even when close, Nagano’s back had been as warm as a heat pack. It’d been a long time since I’d fallen asleep next to anyone, Nishizaki thought with a small sneeze.

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