The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 4

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When he returned to his apartment, the first thing Kawase did was step into the shower. He let the hot water wash over him again and again, scrubbing at the places that had been touched, licked—but no matter how much he tried to rinse it away, the sensation still clung to his skin, writhing like something alive.

Once his body was clean, he felt marginally better. But as the time for work approached, that fragile relief gave way to a deep, sinking dread. He dragged his feet leaving the apartment, eventually arriving five minutes late.

“You look like hell. Were you out drinking till morning?” Nunomiya jabbed at him as soon as he walked in.

Kawase cast a glance toward the department head’s desk. The man had come in as usual and was now speaking with the section chief, his demeanor unchanged.

That was when Kawase noticed something unfamiliar on his own desk—a brown paper bag.

He opened it and found a brown necktie inside. His necktie. The one he had worn the previous day.

A shudder ran down his spine as he realized who had placed it there. He crumpled the bag in his hands and shoved the whole thing into the trash.

Without wasting another second, Kawase left the office for his rounds. He was glad—truly, profoundly glad—to be working. He had considered calling in sick, but stewing alone in his apartment would have been unbearable. At least by keeping himself busy, he could push everything else to the back of his mind.

By five in the evening, he had closed a contract and returned to the office to organize the paperwork. He wanted to leave before the building emptied out, before he found himself alone here with him.

Once the documents were compiled, he took them to his section chief’s desk, only to find the man absent. It wasn’t urgent, so he attached a note—Please review at your convenience—before hurrying to pack up for the day.

“Hey, got a date tonight?” Nunomiya teased.

“Not even close,” Kawase deflected, brushing him off.

Just as he reached for his bag—

“Kawase-kun.”

He froze.

Someone called his name.

“…Hey,” Nunomiya added, glancing at him. “The department head wants to see you.”

Kawase hadn’t responded. Maybe that was why Nunomiya felt the need to nudge him. Slowly, he turned.

The department head stood there, smiling.

Calm. Unbothered. The same as always.

“Could you come with me for a moment?”

The office wasn’t empty yet. There were still people around, watching them.

Kawase bit down on his lower lip and stepped forward.

“…What is it?”

He tilted his face slightly upward, avoiding the seated man’s gaze.

Silence.

The bastard had called him over and now wasn’t saying a damn thing.

“Look at me,” the department head said. “Don’t act like a child.”

The condescending tone made Kawase’s blood boil. He snapped his head up, glaring. The same face as always. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Calm, composed.

And suddenly—that image flashed through Kawase’s mind.

That same face, looming over him. That same mouth, that same tongue, slithering over his skin, there—

His stomach lurched.

“I left something on your desk,” the department head said. “Your forgotten item.”

Kawase felt his cheek twitch.

“I assume you noticed?”

Unlike Kawase, who was stiff with tension, the man’s expression didn’t so much as flicker.

“…Yes,” Kawase murmured.

“Good.”

That was all.

He walked away as fast as he could, straight back to his desk. As he gripped his bag, he thought about the stark difference between them.

His own hands were clammy, his whole body trembling with anxiety—while the other man remained perfectly at ease, unaffected.

To him, last night had been nothing more than a little indulgence. A department head offering a transfer in exchange for a night with a younger man— and nothing more.

“Kawase, you good?” Nunomiya’s voice snapped him back.

“Huh? What?”

“What did the department head want?”

“…Nothing.”

“You sure? You look pissed.”

Kawase forced a smile. “Just your imagination.”

Then, with a clipped otsukaresama—a polite farewell—he left the office.

But even once he stepped outside, away from him, he still felt something clinging to his skin, thick and heavy, refusing to wash away.

His temples throbbed. Whether from exhaustion or something else, he wasn’t sure.

It was late October. A month left until his transfer. One more month of breathing the same air as that man. Even knowing there was an end in sight did nothing to make it easier to bear.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. The room was chilly enough to make his skin prickle, yet his entire body was drenched, his throat parched.

The clock read 4 a.m. Lately, he always woke up at this hour. No matter how late he went to bed, once he woke up, he could never fall back asleep.

The dream was always the same.

A man forcing himself on him. Hands groping, a tongue slithering across his skin. No matter how sick it made him, no matter how much he wanted to retch, the violation never ended. He was forced to react, forced inside, and just when he thought it was over—his most vital part was torn away, devoured by the man's body.

He would scream, a desperate, high-pitched wail. Give it back. Give it back.

Shaking, he turned on the light and stared at the calendar, counting the days on his fingers.

Fifteen more days until the department transfer. Even with weekends included, he still had to see that man's face for eleven more days.

He found himself wishing, with all his heart, that tomorrow could somehow skip ahead to the end of October—even if it meant shaving years off his life.

Since sleep was impossible, he turned on the TV, but nothing worth watching was on. He put in a DVD of a movie he had bought. He had liked it in theaters, but now his mind felt blank—empty—like he wasn’t even watching at all.

Outside, the city gradually came to life. The distant murmur of voices, the sound of cars on the street.

It was finally the weekend. At least he didn’t have to see him today. That was something.

But there was nothing to do. No plans, no distractions.

The movie ended. He turned off the screen and curled up under his blanket. It felt like the world was moving forward while he alone was crumbling, rotting away.

Then, out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—his breakup, just before summer. Tears welled up, spilling over before he even understood why.

He hadn’t cried back then. Not a single tear. So why now? He wasn’t even sure if he was sad. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

Somehow, the day passed. Before he knew it, evening had arrived, and he was starving. When he stood up, his legs buckled beneath him. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting.

His phone buzzed. A message from his uncle:

If you’re free, want to grab dinner?

Ever since his uncle had started his own practice, he had invited him out from time to time.

Kawase didn’t hesitate. I’ll go.

He wanted to see someone—anyone. They met in front of a nationwide yakiniku chain. Cheap but good.

For the first time in a while, his appetite returned. He had barely been eating lately, often leaving half his lunch untouched.

“You lost weight?” his uncle asked.

Kawase shoveled kimchi and rice into his mouth. “You think?” he said, playing dumb.

“What, you on a diet or something?”

His uncle waved his right hand dismissively, as if to say, Don’t even bother.

“You don’t need that crap. You’re tall enough as it is.”

“Well, we’ve got company health checkups coming up soon,” Kawase said.

His uncle snorted. “You sound like a high school girl.”

“Starving yourself is bad for your mental health, you know—” He paused, then gave Kawase a suspicious look. “—and yet, you’re putting away a ton of meat right now.”

Kawase grinned.

“Well, you’re paying, aren’t you?”

“Like hell I am, dumbass,” his uncle scoffed, tapping the edge of his plate with his chopsticks.

“You’re a doctor. Don’t be so stingy.”

Puffing out his chest, his uncle declared, “I’m a poor doctor, thank you very much. And you’ve got a job too, so pay your share.”

Kawase rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

His uncle muttered, “Tch, no gratitude at all.”

“Back in the day, you used to call me ‘Hikaru-chan, Hikaru-chan’ and cling to me all the time. You were adorable.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head.

“I changed your diapers more times than I can count, and now look at you—huge, annoying, and completely ungrateful.”

“Okay, stop! Bringing up the past is against the rules!”

His uncle smirked, clearly satisfied with the reaction.

Even though Kawase talked back, at the end of the day, he could never truly win against this man.

Before Kawase had even turned one, his father had died in a traffic accident.

His mother’s younger brother—back then, still a medical student—had taken on the role of a father figure, looking after him with care. For as long as he could remember, Kawase had believed, without question, that his kind and easygoing Uncle Koki was his real father.

After earning his medical license, his uncle worked at a university hospital before resigning five years ago. He then opened a small clinic in a building near a train station, about twenty minutes from Kawase’s apartment.

His specialty was psychiatry, but the clinic’s sign read Internal Medicine & Psychiatry—with "Internal Medicine" placed first. When Kawase once pointed out, “Isn’t that kind of false advertising?” his uncle had simply shrugged and said, “I can do internal medicine. Just a little.”

The place never seemed particularly busy, but at least he made enough to get by.

Kawase had asked him once, “Are you ever going to get married?” but his uncle didn’t seem interested.

“I’ve never really wanted a wife. And to me, Fumi’s pretty much like a son anyway.”

Faced with that answer, Kawase hadn’t been able to say anything else.

They spent about two hours at the yakiniku restaurant before stepping outside. The wind had picked up, sending a chill through his thin jacket. Fallen leaves swirled in the air, carrying an odd sense of melancholy.

“It felt like summer just a while ago. Now it’s freezing.”

His uncle hunched his shoulders against the cold.

Kawase smirked. “With all that meat on your bones, shouldn’t it be a little easier for you?”

He gave his uncle’s broad back a firm slap—his once-lean frame now showing clear signs of middle-age spread.

“Mind your own damn business,” his uncle grumbled, frowning.

It wasn’t just his waistline—his hair was thinning, too. He was getting older. Somehow, that only made Kawase feel a deep, quiet affection for him.

That man was the same age as his uncle. The instant the thought struck, it was as if a swarm of black butterflies erupted inside his chest.

A suffocating, chaotic darkness. His legs wavered beneath him.

“What’s wrong, Fumi?”

His uncle turned back.

“N… nothing.”

He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped walking. He hurried to catch up, but the moment he saw his uncle’s face, his throat tightened, and he nearly burst into tears. He took a deep, shaky breath to push it back down.

“Hey… what’s a good kind of sleeping pill?”

His uncle stopped in his tracks.

“What, having trouble sleeping?”

“I keep waking up at dawn. Can’t get back to sleep after that, and it’s exhausting. Maybe it’s just work stress. Over-the-counter meds seem kind of hit-or-miss, so I figured I’d ask.”

His uncle let out a thoughtful “Hmm,” glancing up at the night sky.

“Wanna swing by my place? I’ll prescribe you something.”

Since it seemed like he could get some medicine, Kawase followed him to the clinic.

The place was run by just three people—his uncle, a fifty-something nurse named Koakira, and an aging office clerk, Mukai, who was nearing retirement.

Back when the clinic had first opened, Kawase had teased his uncle, “So, it’s like an old-lady harem, huh?”

His uncle had only grinned and replied, “Women don’t get interesting until after forty.”

It was nighttime now, so the staff had all gone home.

The waiting area was cramped—barely six tatami mats in size—with nothing but a single potted plant to liven up the dull space.

His uncle led him into the consultation room and had him sit in the patient’s chair. Then, moving to the shelf beside his desk, he pulled out a framed prescription pad.

"Since when have you been waking up at dawn?"

At his uncle’s sudden shift into doctor mode, Kawase shrugged.

"What’s this, a consultation?"

"Of course. You think I’d just hand over meds without an examination? Bring your insurance card next time, too."

Annoying. He muttered to himself but answered honestly, "About two weeks ago."

"I heard work’s been keeping you busy… Anything else bothering you?"

His heart gave a heavy thud, but he scratched his head and dodged the question.

"Not really. That’s it."

"How’s work relationships? Getting along with your boss and coworkers?"

He forced away the face that crept into his mind.

"More or less… I guess."

"Don’t push yourself too hard."

Just those simple words, spoken in a gentle tone, nearly made him tear up. He quickly looked down to hide it.

"I’m pretty sturdy, you know."

"It’s not just your body. Your mind wears down too when you’re exhausted."

A large hand ruffled through his hair, rough and careless, like comforting a child.

"Lack of sleep only makes it worse. I’ll write you a prescription for a week’s worth of sleeping pills. If it gets too rough, come back. I’ll listen to you complain, too. Listening to people is my job, after all."

Kawase shot back with a smirk, "Some quack you are."

His uncle smacked him hard on the back.

It stung, but somehow, it felt nice.

That night, thanks to the medicine his uncle had prescribed, he slept deeply—without a single dream.

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