That Person: Chapter 1

While you may already be familiar with these terms, I’ve provided their English definitions for those who may not be. I’ve also changed the name order to First and Last, rather than the Last and First order used in the original Japanese text.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate). 

3. 先生 (sensei): This suffix is used to address or refer to teachers, doctors, professors, or other professionals who are considered experts in their field. It conveys respect and recognition of their knowledge or position. It can also be used more broadly for mentors or highly skilled individuals, such as artists or writers, especially in formal or respectful contexts.

Content warning: This novel contains descriptions of explicit sexual content. I will not be adding a trigger warning to each chapter with graphic content, so please consider this a general warning.

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He was quite drunk. Normally, he never drank too much, but tonight, he had the misfortune of getting caught by Mashiba. That guy had a bad habit of taking joy in getting others drunk, and though Kadowaki had always managed to stay on the sidelines, tonight he had been made the prey.

Naofumi Kadowaki took a deep breath. At first, he had politely tried to hold his ground, but being too distant risked ruining the atmosphere, so he reluctantly joined in. It was their usual hangout, a cozy izakaya with close friends from their seminar. Normally, there was no need to worry, but the thought of spoiling the cheerful vibe made him uneasy. Once the alcohol started kicking in, his defenses gradually weakened, and before he knew it, he was downing every refill offered. He started realizing he might be in trouble when the world began to distort, but the moment came suddenly.

"To Feigenbaum’s great discovery, the mighty delta! Cheers to the Mihoshi Seminar’s seniors!" Mashiba’s voice rang out.

From that point on, Kadowaki’s consciousness took a nosedive into some faraway world. It felt like swimming in a sea of sleep until he woke up again, his first sight being yellow tatami mats and the legs of a brown low table. There wasn’t another person in sight. Passing out drunk on tatami mats and being left behind hadn’t happened since his first drinking party with the seminar group.

Feeling fingers touch his hair, Kadowaki relaxed, realizing someone had stayed behind after all. He couldn’t see them, as they were behind him, but he could feel their presence through the touch. He hazily assumed it was one of the more caring girls.

The fingers gently stroked his hair repeatedly, as if soothing a child. Then, following the line of his jaw, they moved with an unsettling familiarity, gliding across his cheek and brushing his lips. The fingers were long, slender, and slightly knobby—a hand that didn’t feel like it belonged to a girl.

Kadowaki turned his neck to look at the person touching him. The moment their eyes met, the fingers stiffened like tree branches, and the man’s expression froze. Thin cheeks, rimless glasses, short bangs, and a faded navy shirt. They stared at each other in silence before the man awkwardly clenched his fingers and looked away. His movements made it clear he felt guilty about what had just happened.

"Excuse me," said an older woman in uniform, sliding the shoji door open without a sound. Startled, Kadowaki scrambled to sit up, only to feel his head spin and plant his hands on the tatami for support. The woman, presumably a staff member, offered a brief nod of acknowledgment and spoke in a formal tone.

"It’s almost closing time. I’m terribly sorry, but…"

"Oh, yes. My apologies for staying so late," Kadowaki stammered.

The man bowed to the staff, then stood up and put on his shoes.

"I’ve already settled the bill," he murmured, turning his back as he hastily left.

Still seated on the tatami, Kadowaki watched him go, feeling dazed. From beyond the sliding door, a staff member peeked into the room. Embarrassed, Kadowaki quickly got up. Though his head was still foggy, at least his legs were steady. The interior of the shop was already being cleaned, and the parting "Thank you for your business" felt more like an admonishment than gratitude.

Outside, Kadowaki stopped in his tracks. Standing under the now-darkened shop sign was the man, seemingly waiting, his coat collar raised against the light drizzle of late spring.

After a brief nod of acknowledgment, Kadowaki began walking down the street to his left. The man didn’t follow, nor did he say goodnight, but Kadowaki could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on his back the entire way.

The man was a lecturer named Matsushita, who assisted the seminar professor. Tall and slender with a gaunt appearance, he exuded a nervous demeanor that made him seem unapproachable. However, when you actually spoke with him, his tone was gentle and polite, and his deference towards students was almost disarming.

Kadowaki had asked him questions a few times before, but they were far from being close. The term "acquaintance" fit their relationship perfectly—neither more nor less.

Kadowaki forcefully wiped his lips with the back of his hand, which had been touched earlier. The damp sensation of the man’s fingers reminded him of playing in a murky stream as a child. The sensation wasn’t cold, but the tepid, clinging texture of the mud was indescribably unpleasant.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

“He’s so cold.”

Surrounded by empty beer cans like a meadow of aluminum flowers, Mikasa muttered the words bitterly, almost spitting them out. From the moment Mikasa had said in a forlorn voice, “I need to talk about something,” Kadowaki had already guessed what it would be about. Lately, most of Mikasa’s worries revolved around spats with his boyfriend. Kadowaki always listened earnestly, gave the matter serious thought, and even called the next day to offer advice. But inevitably, Mikasa would casually brush it all off with a carefree “We made up,” and then launch into an affectionate retelling of their reconciliation. It left Kadowaki exasperated, the phrase “A quarrel between lovers isn’t worth a dog’s notice” coming to mind.

He’d learned over the past two months that such quarrels didn’t require solutions. The point was simply to let Mikasa vent and be done with it.

“He doesn’t get how much I love him,” Mikasa said, rubbing the bruise on his cheek with his left hand. His eyes were watery, yet he still managed to gulp down the rest of his beer. At that precise moment, an old American rock song began playing from the TV left on in the corner. Its melancholic chords and familiar melody immediately brought the title to Kadowaki’s mind: Hotel California, a song his father used to listen to often.

Kadowaki’s gaze wandered to the tatami floor, littered with empty cans. Gathering them up, he noticed the white dust clinging to the bottoms. When was the last time this place was cleaned? He’d been to Mikasa’s apartment before, and it had never been this dirty—or this barren. The stark emptiness of the room only seemed to amplify the loneliness etched on Mikasa’s tear-streaked face.

“Do you think we’re just not compatible?” Mikasa asked suddenly. Kadowaki frowned, folding his arms. It was difficult to give an objective answer to something as personal as compatibility, but Mikasa had asked, so he felt obliged to respond.

Kadowaki knew both Mikasa and Yoshimoto, Mikasa’s boyfriend, well—they were all close friends and classmates. When he first met them, it had never occurred to him that they were gay, let alone that they would start dating.

“I don’t think you’re incompatible,” Kadowaki replied.

Mikasa looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, his face flushed from alcohol.

“We fight every other day,” Mikasa muttered. “He’s always mad at me. Is this even okay?”

Pressing his fingers to his temple, Kadowaki sighed. “I don’t think Yoshimoto’s as cold as you say. He just isn’t as open about his feelings as you are.”

Mikasa kicked his legs out, as if to say, I already know that. “I’m just stupid!” he blurted, grabbing one of the empty cans from the table and crushing it with a faint pop. “How am I supposed to understand him if he won’t say anything? Let him try being as dumb as me for once!”

That was such a Mikasa-like thing to say that Kadowaki couldn’t help but laugh. Their friendship hadn’t changed, even after Mikasa and Yoshimoto became a couple. Or perhaps it couldn’t have changed. Kadowaki still didn’t entirely understand the concept of being romantically attracted to another man, but he had no intention of denying it. Love was personal, not something for others to meddle in.

“Do you think he understands what it meant for me to break up with Reina and choose him?” Mikasa asked quietly.

“I think he does,” Kadowaki replied after a pause.

Mikasa let out a small sigh. “Then why is it that you seem to understand Yoshimoto’s feelings better than I do? I’ve spent way more time with him than you.”

Hugging his knees, Mikasa muttered under his breath. Kadowaki chuckled softly and gave Mikasa a reassuring pat on the shoulder. They were childhood friends, neighbors who had grown up together. From elementary school through high school, they’d always attended the same schools, their bond as familiar and enduring as family.

Kadowaki had always been quiet and shy, not one to speak much. But when he did, his words could be sharp and cutting, making him seem mature in a way that was off-putting to many. It left him with few friends, but Mikasa had been different—open-hearted, reckless, and refreshingly sincere. Being around Mikasa gave Kadowaki a sense of ease. Yoshimoto had probably fallen for that same unpretentious charm.

Though he’d never say it outright—embarrassment would stop him—Kadowaki admired Mikasa. That boundless energy, that knack for making others smile with his gentle nature. Even now, there was a part of him that felt a quiet longing, a wish to be a little more like Mikasa.

"I want Satoshi to say he loves me—to put it into words, to tell me clearly so I can understand. It’s so lonely when the only time he’s honest is during sex."

This wasn’t high school anymore. Kadowaki understood that whatever they did was consensual, yet he couldn’t bring himself to imagine the intimate moments between Mikasa and Yoshimoto. In his mind, the two would always remain just friends—nothing more, nothing less.

“The first time, Yoshimoto kind of ambushed you with it, didn’t he? The way he went about it wasn’t admirable—downright sneaky, really. But he was desperate, you know? Even if he doesn’t say it aloud, Yoshimoto loves you.”

Mikasa furrowed his brow and let out a long breath.

“Why can’t I understand Satoshi? I love him, so why?” he murmured, his face serious.

“You don’t need to force yourself to understand. Just be yourself. That’s the person Yoshimoto fell for, after all,” Kadowaki said gently.

Mikasa pressed his lips together, nodded, and said, “Talking to you has made me feel a little better. Yesterday, I had a huge fight with Satoshi. I was so mad… but now, I think I can apologize honestly.”

With unsteady steps, Mikasa stood up.

“I’m going to Satoshi’s place right now.”

“You’ve been drinking. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Mikasa swayed sharply to the right, and Kadowaki rushed to steady him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. The walk will sober me up,” Mikasa declared, thumping his chest and flashing a smile, though his wobbly legs betrayed his confidence. Yoshimoto’s apartment was on the same train line as Mikasa’s, just a few stops away, but Kadowaki decided to accompany him partway to make sure he was safe.

Mikasa, wearing nothing but a thin coat over his shirt, strode out of the apartment with determined enthusiasm, only to start shivering within minutes. It was April, and though the daytime sun was warm, the nights were still cold. He hunched his shoulders against the chill as they walked. Only after they boarded the heated train did his tense expression finally ease.

At the station near Yoshimoto’s apartment, Mikasa got off first. He waved to Kadowaki before climbing the stairs to the platform exit. His steps had steadied during the walk, so Kadowaki figured he’d be fine.

As the train began to move again, Kadowaki suddenly remembered there was something he’d wanted to ask Mikasa. He’d been meaning to bring it up but had missed the right moment. It can wait until next time, he thought. It wasn’t urgent—just something he was curious about.

Still, his thoughts drifted to that man again. Even when he tried to forget, memories of him would resurface, like a fishbone caught in his throat. Romance was a deeply personal matter; no one else could make the decision for him. And when it came to the possibility of being the object of another man’s affection, Kadowaki had always known his answer. But since nothing explicit had been said, it felt strange to bring it up himself.

Matsushita, the lecturer, was in his mid-thirties—more than a decade older than Kadowaki. The idea of misreading the situation and making things awkward afterward kept Kadowaki cautious. Still, the incident at the izakaya lingered in his mind. Matsushita wasn’t the type to act on a whim or indulge in meaningless gestures. His teaching style was straightforward, with no unnecessary small talk, making him seem even more unapproachable than the professors.

Deep in thought, Kadowaki didn’t notice the figure by his apartment door until he was nearly upon it. Satoshi Yoshimoto glanced at him briefly before lowering his gaze. Under the dim hallway light, his nose, half-hidden by a charcoal gray scarf, was faintly red.

“What are you doing here at this hour? Just come inside,” Kadowaki said, reaching to take his arm. His hand slid, brushing against Yoshimoto’s fingers instead. They were shockingly cold, sending a jolt through him.

“How long were you waiting out here?”

Yoshimoto didn’t respond.

“You could’ve just called me instead of standing out in the cold like this.”

“You were with Mikasa, weren’t you?” Yoshimoto muttered. That’s why he hadn’t called—Kadowaki understood. He ushered Yoshimoto into the room and switched on the heater. While waiting for the room to warm up, he boiled water and prepared instant coffee. Yoshimoto held the mug in his pale pink fingertips, clutching it tightly.

They had first met in high school and were now attending the same university. Satoshi Yoshimoto, Kadowaki’s close friend and Mikasa’s boyfriend, sipped the coffee with an almost bitter expression.

“What did he say about me?” Yoshimoto asked, his tone neutral but tinged with curiosity.

Kadowaki hesitated briefly before deciding to be honest.

“He said he’s anxious because you never tell him you love him.”

Yoshimoto shrugged and let out a sharp, humorless laugh, as if dismissing the notion as absurd. “If saying it would reassure him, maybe I should just say it.”

“Mikasa is insensitive!” Yoshimoto slammed the cup down on the table. His words, laced with anger, carried the raw edge of his emotions.

“Yesterday, he told me, all cheerful, ‘Reina-chan got a boyfriend.’”

Reina had been Mikasa’s previous girlfriend, someone he had once been serious enough about to consider marrying. Shortly after getting involved with Yoshimoto, Mikasa had broken things off with her.

“What was I supposed to say to that? When Mikasa chose me over her, I was so happy… but I still feel guilty. I don’t want to hear about her. And when I ignored him, he said, ‘You don’t listen to me. You’re so cold.’ I got so mad that before I knew it, I hit him.”

Kadowaki recalled Mikasa’s bruised cheek. Yoshimoto wasn’t usually violent, but he did seem to lose control when it came to Mikasa.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.”

“Just because he doesn’t mean harm, does that make it okay to say whatever he wants?” Yoshimoto snapped, his shoulders tense. He bit his lip and lowered his head.

“Sorry. This isn’t your problem,” Yoshimoto muttered, his voice softer now.

Kadowaki couldn’t help but reflect on how different they were—Yoshimoto with his sharp tongue and sensitivity, and Mikasa, who blurted out whatever was on his mind without hesitation. Their personalities and interests couldn’t have been more dissimilar. Yet, despite everything, they clearly cared deeply for each other and wanted to stay together.

Love, Kadowaki thought, truly defies logic.

"Mikasa went to your apartment to apologize," Kadowaki said.

Yoshimoto raised his head quickly, his lips tightening with visible discomfort.

"I... I don't want to see him today," he muttered.

Kadowaki let out a soft sigh.

"I'm not saying you need to talk it out with him today. But if he ends up waiting outside your door for hours like you were earlier, that’d be pitiful. At least send him a message to let him know."

Yoshimoto hesitated before replying, his voice low.

"He has a key to my apartment."

It wasn’t surprising—after all, they were a couple. But for someone like Yoshimoto, who seemed so particular about his personal space, allowing someone, even a boyfriend, into his territory was unexpected. It showed just how much he had opened himself up to Mikasa.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Yoshimoto asked hesitantly.

Realizing he was being dragged into yet another chapter of his friends' lovers' quarrel, Kadowaki felt a twinge of exasperation. But with a slight nod, he agreed.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Yoshimoto is, without a doubt, a strikingly handsome man, even from the perspective of another man like Kadowaki. His facial features are well-defined, his face small and proportionate, and his body lean yet tall with long legs—practically model-like in physique.

It was past eleven at night. Though Kadowaki had set up a guest futon for Yoshimoto, the latter tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Romance seemed like such a complicated thing, Kadowaki thought. If Mikasa and Yoshimoto were merely friends, they probably wouldn't argue so frequently, nor feel the frustration of failing to understand one another. But they weren't; they were lovers. As separate individuals, it should be natural to accept that some aspects of each other would remain unknown. Still, Kadowaki acknowledged, that kind of perspective only made sense to an outsider.

If Kadowaki were honest, he didn’t understand why two people, constantly clashing, would still want to remain so close. The logic of love, as it drove Mikasa and Yoshimoto to stay together despite their conflicts, was incomprehensible to him.

His thoughts drifted back to the man who had touched him. Kadowaki still couldn’t fathom why Matsushita had done it. He could empathize with the desire to touch a soft, fragrant girl, but the impulse to touch another man was alien. While Kadowaki couldn’t understand the inclination, he recognized its existence.

"Can I ask you something?" Kadowaki’s voice broke the silence. Yoshimoto turned his head, curious.

"Can you touch my hair?"

"Your hair?" Yoshimoto repeated, tilting his head. Still, he complied, letting his fingers graze Kadowaki's hair. The sensation was entirely ordinary—the simple touch of fingers against hair.

"Have you ever wanted to touch my hair before?"

"No, I haven’t," Yoshimoto replied plainly.

Even among close friends, the desire to touch is absent. It seemed logical to conclude that the act of touching someone, especially without any familial or friendly context, stemmed from affection or attraction. Kadowaki felt confident in his reasoning.

"Your hair’s not thinning or anything," Yoshimoto offered hesitantly.

Kadowaki frowned, perplexed by the remark.

"Apparently, the more you stress about these things, the worse it gets. Best not to overthink it," Yoshimoto added.

It dawned on Kadowaki that Yoshimoto had misinterpreted his concern as being about hair loss. Though his hair had always been fine and thin, the idea that it might look sparse enough to prompt concern caused Kadowaki to run his fingers self-consciously through it. At that moment, his phone began to ring.

"Sorry for calling this late—it's me," came Mikasa’s voice on the other end.

Kadowaki glanced at Yoshimoto, who was peering out from under the futon, eyes fixed on him.

"Is Yoshimoto there? His phone's not connecting, and I can't find him anywhere. The only other place I could think of was your place," Mikasa explained, the sound of a train passing by in the background.

"Tell him I’m not here," Yoshimoto whispered, but his voice carried through the receiver.

"I heard Yoshimoto’s voice. So, he is there. Tell him I’m coming to get him," Mikasa said firmly, hanging up before Kadowaki could respond.

Closing his phone, Kadowaki found himself meeting Yoshimoto's questioning gaze.

"Mikasa said he’s coming over," Kadowaki relayed.

Yoshimoto’s face instantly paled.

"Why didn’t you just say I wasn’t here?"

"He heard your voice," Kadowaki explained. "I couldn’t exactly lie."

Frustrated, Yoshimoto sprang to his feet and began changing out of the T-shirt Kadowaki had lent him, fumbling with his own clothes in agitation. Multiple times, he misbuttoned his shirt, each error followed by a sharp click of his tongue.

"You should talk to Mikasa," Kadowaki suggested.

"I already told you, I don’t want to see him right—" Yoshimoto froze mid-sentence as the doorbell rang repeatedly.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered, panic flickering in his eyes.

"There's no way it's Mikasa already. That's way too fast," Kadowaki muttered.

"Maybe he was already near the station," Yoshimoto replied, pacing the room like a restless cat before finally sitting down in the corner.

"I’m not going to see him. Just tell him to leave," Yoshimoto insisted stubbornly.

Kadowaki sighed but went to the door anyway. When he opened it, Mikasa peeked around him, clearly searching for someone behind him.

"Sorry for dropping by so late," Mikasa said, stepping forward. Kadowaki grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Yoshimoto doesn’t want to see you right now. Maybe it’s better to give it some time before you two talk," Kadowaki advised.

Mikasa smiled, a cheerful and disarming grin that made Kadowaki momentarily loosen his grip. The moment he did, Mikasa slipped past him and dashed into the room. Yoshimoto’s angry voice erupted immediately.

So this is going to be a full-blown showdown, Kadowaki thought, reluctantly following Mikasa into the room. But instead of a confrontation, he found Mikasa kneeling on the floor, bowing deeply in front of Yoshimoto, whose face was flushed with anger.

"I’m sorry," Mikasa said earnestly. "I’ve been so insensitive. I didn’t understand your feelings, and I hurt you."

Yoshimoto bit his lip, glaring down at Mikasa with fierce eyes.

"Let’s go home together," Mikasa continued gently.

"Absolutely not!" Yoshimoto snapped, shaking his head vehemently.

"I can’t sleep if you’re not beside me anymore," Mikasa admitted softly.

"Then deal with insomnia on your own!" Yoshimoto shouted, standing up abruptly. As he made his way to the door, Mikasa grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Yoshimoto struggled, but Mikasa held him firm, their lips meeting in a heated kiss. Yoshimoto’s muffled protests gave way to faint gasps, and the atmosphere in the room shifted entirely.

Kadowaki decided he had seen enough. He slipped out into the hallway, put on his shoes, and stepped outside without a sound. A sharp, cold wind stung his cheeks, making him wonder if it was truly April. Hugging himself against the chill, Kadowaki regretted not grabbing a jacket, but he wasn’t about to go back inside now.

Not five minutes later, the door to the apartment swung open. Mikasa emerged, holding Yoshimoto’s hand tightly. His face lit up with a wide smile when he saw Kadowaki.

"We’re heading home," Yoshimoto mumbled, looking down at the ground. He noticed Kadowaki’s gaze drop to their joined hands and tried to pull his hand free, but Mikasa held on firmly. Embarrassed, Yoshimoto turned his face away.

"Sorry for the trouble," Yoshimoto murmured. His lips were a deeper shade of red than before, but Kadowaki pretended not to notice as he saw them off.

Back inside, Kadowaki folded up the futon and put it away. He noticed something left behind—a charcoal gray scarf draped in the corner of the room. He stepped outside, thinking he might still catch them, but the sight that greeted him made him stop.

Under the shadow of a utility pole near the apartment, Mikasa and Yoshimoto were locked in another embrace, kissing as though no one else in the world existed.

Kadowaki let out a silent sigh, retreating back to his room. The scarf can wait until next time, he thought, shutting the door behind him.

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