COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 16

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He’d thought things might settle down a little once the weekend had passed, but even after the start of the week, the accessories—especially the staple pieces worn by Akizawa—were flying off the shelves. Once again, Kusuda was reminded of how powerful television really was.

The homepage had also been updated with the new top image Tohru had created, and the moment part of the spring-summer collection became available for pre-order online, traffic surged and the server crashed. Miyamoto had been on the verge of tears.

Maybe thanks to all that TV exposure, Akizawa was suddenly in high demand. In addition to filming the drama, he’d gotten requests for interviews from three different men’s magazines all within the span of a week. Photos of the outfits he would be wearing on the day were sent in advance from Numata, and Kusuda, along with sales rep Tani, coordinated accessories to match the clothes, delivered them to the agency the day before the shoot, and collected them afterward. A few pieces even ended up being purchased by Akizawa himself because he liked them so much.

Now that things had picked up, Akizawa had stopped coming into the office, but Kusuda still saw him practically every day. He came over after every filming session, and even on days without shoots, he’d show up at Kusuda’s apartment uninvited and sprawl out to relax. He was like a dog—big, obtrusive, always taking over the sofa or bed—but as long as you fed him at regular intervals, he was mostly quiet.

Kusuda and Masamitsu talked it over and decided to ramp up production of the spring-summer line based on pre-order numbers. There was no way the in-house staff could handle the workload alone, so they brought on a few of Masamitsu’s acquaintances to help out part-time. With the day-to-day operations becoming more hectic than usual, and needing to begin preparing for the fall-winter collection at the same time, Kusuda found himself working through every break, dropping four kilos in the process. Masamitsu had looked at him and said, “You’re starting to look like a monk. Take a damn break.” He wasn’t wrong. If he collapsed, it’d be a disaster, so Kusuda shuffled things around and secured a two-day break for himself.

Not that time off reduced the amount of work waiting for him. Everything just piled up in the meantime. On the Friday night before his weekend off, he told himself, “Just finish this and then head home,” but then another task came up, and then another… and before he knew it, it was past nine p.m. He decided he’d at least catch the last train home and kept working.

His smartphone rang.

Assuming it was work-related, he answered without checking the caller ID. “This is Kusuda at CRUX.”

“Hey, Kusuda-kun, long time no see~”

The voice threw him. He hadn’t expected her—Miyabi. It had to have been at least two months since they last talked.

“How are you? What are you doing right now?”

He could hear cars passing by in the background. She must’ve been outside.

“I’m still at the office.”

“Wow, working hard. You must be really busy~”

He was tired, but something about her sweet voice was oddly comforting. He thought briefly about hinting that he had the day off tomorrow…

“Actually, I was hoping you could do me a favor. I told some people at work that I know someone at CRUX, and they asked if I could get them one of the Kaito Akizawa posters and the novelties. Just one set would be enough. If it’s too much trouble, feel free to say no. Really, it’s okay.”

So that was what this was about. His mood deflated. The novelties were purchase incentives—if you bought something, you got one. He could’ve explained that, told her she’d need to buy something… but the hassle of it all seemed like too much right now.

“…Just one set, fine.”

There were some samples stored in the archive room. No big deal.

“Really? Thank you!!”

She sounded genuinely delighted on the other end of the line.

“Want me to send it to your place?”

“Umm… you’re still at the office, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Actually, I’m kind of nearby right now. Would it be okay if I just came and picked it up?”

Kusuda walked over to the window and peeked out. Across the street, he spotted what looked like a pair—a man and a woman—standing together.

“There’s an outdoor staircase next to the shop, on the left. That’ll take you up to the second-floor office.”

“Got it. I’ll be right there.”

After he hung up, Kusuda watched as the woman of the pair across the street crossed over and headed straight for him. So it was Miyabi. The man still standing on the far side of the road—was he really someone from her workplace? Probably a lie. Maybe he was her boyfriend. They’d broken up already, and Kusuda had no right to criticize her for having someone new, but viewed from the outside, this was clearly the picture of an ex-boyfriend being used by his ex-girlfriend.

In just a few minutes, Miyabi knocked on the office door. The dress under her coat was strikingly colorful—surprisingly flashy for someone supposedly just coming from work. When Kusuda handed her the poster and novelty item tucked into a paper bag, she gave him that familiar sweet smile and said, “Thanks.”

She looked around the office with a sweeping gaze. “Kinda small, huh~,” she said with a shrug. Miyabi, who’d always been efficient and good at landing in the right places, worked at a major corporation. Compared to that, this office must’ve looked like a glorified storage room.

“It’s basically a mom-and-pop operation,” Kusuda replied, doing his best to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“CRUX is doing well though, right? Akizawa’s been showing up on TV a lot lately. He’s really getting traction. One of my friends was saying, ‘That guy’s definitely going to blow up.’ They were raving about how unique and eye-catching the posters are.”

Oddly, even though she was praising the brand and the campaign, none of it made Kusuda happy. Still, he gave a perfunctory “Thanks” in return. Miyabi hugged the paper bag to her chest like it was something precious and said, “I’m in a hurry, so I’ll get going,” before heading out. From the window, he saw her hand the paper bag to the man who’d been waiting, and then they both disappeared down the street.

Kusuda sat, irritated—there was something deeply humiliating about the whole thing. Being used, being belittled—and now, on top of it, he was starving. He ran into a nearby fast food joint that stayed open late, grabbed a burger to go, and kept working as he ate. Just past 11 p.m., his phone rang again.

It was too late for work calls, which meant… yeah, it was Miyabi again.

He wanted to ignore it, but since it wasn’t a text, maybe it was urgent. Against his better judgment, he answered.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Fine, but I’m still working,” he said curtly, making sure the warning was clear. Then added, “Was there a problem with the poster or the novelty?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I just… I was at a bar in Shibuya earlier, and Kaito Akizawa showed up there. I didn’t notice him at first, but my friend recognized him. We were talking about maybe saying hi, but then he suddenly started picking a fight with some older guy at the bar. He was yelling, and it was seriously scary. Totally ruined the mood, so my boyfriend and I left. But honestly, it looked like it could turn into a police incident.”

Kusuda swallowed hard.

“Since Akizawa’s the image model for CRUX, I figured if he caused any trouble, it’d be bad. I thought I should at least let you know…”

“What’s the name of the bar?”

“You know that Harunire building across from the Shibuya post office? It’s the one with the yakiniku place on the first floor. The bar’s on the third floor—it’s called Grand.”

“Thanks for telling me. That’s all,” Kusuda said, and hung up without waiting for a reply.

He grabbed his phone and wallet and bolted from the office. Climbing into a taxi, he said to the driver, “To the Shibuya post office—please hurry.” From here, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.

He called Akizawa. The call rang, but no answer. He called again, and again—still no response. Then, abruptly, the phone cut straight to voicemail. Either Akizawa had turned his phone off or killed the battery.

Next, he tried Numata. Same result—straight to voicemail. Kusuda left a message, telling him he needed to speak about Akizawa and to call back urgently.

He almost called Akizawa’s agency too—but stopped himself. Sure, this was the same guy who once showed up at Kusuda’s apartment with a knife in hand, so it was impossible not to worry. But all Miyabi had said was that Akizawa had been picking a fight with some older guy. She hadn’t said he was actually being violent. Maybe someone had calmed him down, and it was all over already. Kusuda had left a voicemail for Numata. Whether or not to escalate this to the agency should be Numata’s call.

Arriving at the Harunire Building, Kusuda didn’t even wait for the elevator. He charged up the stairs to the third floor. Three establishments shared the space up there, and just as he was scanning the signs wondering which one Akizawa was in, a voice erupted from the far end.

“Don’t fuck with me, you bastard!”

There was no mistaking it—Akizawa’s shout was unmistakable. Kusuda rushed to the door of the farthest bar, just as the sound of shattering glass rang out.

Inside was a dim, narrow bar with a long counter and a dozen or so tables. Only a few customers were scattered around. At the end of the counter sat a man, mostly obscured—but in front of him stood a tall figure, back turned.

“I heard it from someone I worked with on that show, alright?! That you’re the one who’s been pulling strings behind the scenes so I wouldn’t get any more work. You’re disgusting, you piece of shit!”

Akizawa was yelling. Kusuda still couldn’t clearly see the other man’s face. Between them, a man in a white button-down—probably staff—stood in a panic, arms outstretched, trying to keep the peace.

“Please, sir, you’re disturbing the other guests. I must ask you to leave.”

The man sitting at the counter merely shrugged, clearly exasperated.

“Making up stories with no proof at all... Do you suffer from delusions, perhaps?”

His tone was cutting. Cold. Purposeful. He was egging Akizawa on—there was no other way to interpret it.

“Should I call the police? Or maybe you’d prefer a hospital? A psychiatric one, perhaps?”

It was the worst possible thing to say. The man knew exactly how to provoke.

“Go ahead, hit me if you like,” he added with a smirk. “But I’ll press charges, of course. You’ll be arrested, and say goodbye to your precious drama. The movie deal too, I’d wager.”

Akizawa’s shoulders jolted violently.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

Kusuda didn’t think—he just ran. He tackled Akizawa from behind, bringing him down face-first.

“Ah—shit!” Akizawa spat, twisting to look up with fire in his eyes. “Don’t get in my way!”

“Just leave the bar and cool your head—please!”

“No! I’m gonna kill that bastard!”

The man in the white shirt flinched visibly at the word kill. Akizawa, still on all fours, lunged forward like a wild dog.

Not happening.

Kusuda grabbed Akizawa’s right arm with both hands and yanked hard. Then, in one swift move, he swung his leg and kicked him hard in the shin.

Tall but fragile, Akizawa crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg and writhing. “Oww! Fuck, that hurts!”

“I’m truly sorry for the trouble,” Kusuda bowed deeply to the bar staff. “We’ll take responsibility for anything damaged—we’ll be back to make reparations.”

He then crouched, looped his arms under Akizawa’s armpits from behind, and dragged the flailing man out of the bar.

At the elevator, he hit the down button. The doors opened just in time revealing a pair of uniformed police officers stepping out.

Kusuda’s heart nearly stopped.

The officers glanced down at the man being hauled across the floor. “Is your friend alright, sir?”

“He just had a bit too much to drink,” Kusuda lied with a nervous laugh.

“I’m not drunk, dammit!” Akizawa roared from the floor.

The officer instinctively stepped back, startled by the volume.

“We—we’re just heading out now,” Kusuda stammered, desperately trying to contain the chaos.

Akizawa was dragged into the elevator, Kusuda nearly stumbling as he hauled him in like he was fleeing the scene of a crime. The doors closed behind them and he hit the button for the first floor. Akizawa kept shouting, “Let go, that hurts!” but even that was drowned out by the thudding of Kusuda’s own heartbeat. Thud. Thud. Louder than the man’s voice.

Someone at that bar had to have called the police. Akizawa hadn’t laid hands on anyone, but he’d definitely broken something. What if they came chasing after them, demanding statements? What then? Kusuda didn’t know—how could he?

When they finally reached the ground floor, he practically carried Akizawa out the door, still hunched and refusing to walk, clutching his leg. Kusuda just wanted to get away from here as fast as possible. His mind raced. Should I take him to Miyako Entertainment’s office? It’s late, but someone might still be there. But there was no word from Numata. And taking Akizawa to his own apartment? Out of the question. If the guy started smashing things in that state, he’d tear the place apart.

“Hey… doesn’t that guy kinda look like Kaito Akizawa?”

Two girls, maybe college-aged, were staring at them. “Who? Never heard of him,” said the one with overly thick eyeliner, giggling.

Kusuda’s stomach twisted. This was bad. Too visible. They couldn’t stay out here like this.

He ducked them into an old business hotel a few buildings over. At the front desk, he got a twin room and helped Akizawa into the elevator, crouched and mumbling as if his leg might give out at any moment. A hotel staffer offered to help when he saw the sorry state of Kusuda’s “guest,” but he refused. He couldn’t risk Akizawa being recognized.

Once he’d gotten him into the room, finally—finally—Kusuda could breathe. Akizawa slumped down against the bed, right leg stretched out in front of him where Kusuda had kicked him. From the thin walls came the muffled sound of a television next door.

“…I, uh, want to apologize for kicking you like that,” Kusuda offered.

No reply.

“I don’t know the whole situation, but losing your temper in a public place isn’t acceptable—whether you’re a celebrity or not.”

“…You kicked me,” Akizawa mumbled.

“I truly am sorry about that.”

“You kicked me!”

Akizawa raised his head, eyes wet, and glared at him.

“Damn it, Kusuda-san, you’re supposed to be on my side! Why’d you kick me?!”

It was like arguing with a grade schooler. Kusuda knew what kind of man Akizawa was, but even then—this was pathetic.

“This isn’t about sides. If that mess had turned into a real incident, your work would’ve been in jeopardy—”

“You just don’t want CRUX’s image to suffer! That’s all you care about, right?!”

That hit a nerve. Kusuda’s head snapped up, heat rushing to his face. Of course I care, you selfish bastard! Do you have any idea how much I’ve put up with to work with you?!

“It would damage our brand, yes! But more importantly, it’d destroy your career!”

“Stop yelling! You’re so damn loud!”

You’re the one who’s loud, Kusuda wanted to scream, barely keeping himself in check. Akizawa might’ve been in pain, but he hadn’t resisted too much when Kusuda had dragged him out of the bar. If he’d truly wanted to fight back, Kusuda would’ve never been able to restrain him. Deep down… maybe even Akizawa knew he was on the edge of doing something he couldn’t undo.

“That old man’s a piece of shit! He’s been sabotaging me from the start!” Akizawa’s face was turning red with rage. “I’ve wanted to be in films forever, and I kept failing auditions—and it was him, working behind the scenes to block me! I know it!”

His voice rose higher, more frantic.

“He told me once: ‘Get out of the industry.’ What the hell did I ever do to him?! I just told the truth—told him he was wrong! What’s so bad about that?!”

Akizawa slammed his right hand against the wall, eyes bloodshot and locked in a furious glare. His breathing came fast, ragged. He wasn’t even looking at Kusuda anymore—he was somewhere else, trapped in a grudge that had taken over everything.

"...Guess I really do have to kill him."

At that muttered line, Kusuda felt a chill slice down his spine like cold water spilled on his back.

"If he doesn't die, I'll never get a part in a movie."

Akizawa slowly stood up and began heading toward the door. Kusuda lunged forward, grabbing him by the arm.

"Wh-Where do you think you're going?! If you do something like that, it's not just your acting career—you will be over. There's no movie after that!"

"I'm going to kill him, and then I'll kill myself too."

He was leaning forward, eyes glinting like a wild beast’s. Please, please, I can't take this anymore.

"Just calm down and think. If you die too, then what’s the point?"

Akizawa struggled, trying to shake Kusuda off—he was serious. Kusuda hooked his foot around Akizawa’s leg and pulled him down with the momentum. The less-coordinated man collapsed ungracefully in front of the door.

"I said don't get in my way!"

Akizawa kicked the metal door with his unnecessarily long legs. Bang! Bang! The metallic echoes stabbed Kusuda’s ears like a physical blow.

"Stop kicking the door!" Kusuda yelled.

He dragged him back to keep his feet from reaching it, but now Akizawa turned to the wall and began kicking that instead. His arms flailed so violently that Kusuda couldn’t keep hold of him.

Then Akizawa threw himself onto the floor and flailed his limbs like a tantruming child. The moment he sensed Kusuda falter, he tried to bolt again—but Kusuda dove for his waist and clung on with all his strength.

The room wasn’t even warm, but Kusuda was drenched in sweat. He couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t something one person could handle alone. Isn’t supervising Akizawa supposed to be Numata’s job anyway?!

"Please, just calm down—"

He managed to pin Akizawa facedown and straddle his back, holding down both his arms. Finally, he was able to stop the kicking and flailing. But the moment he did, Akizawa started screaming: “You bastard! Die!” like a crazed rooster at dawn.

It was beyond reason now—he was out of his mind.

The room phone started ringing, but there was no way Kusuda could answer it. The ringing stopped, and a little while later, someone knocked on the door.

"Kusuda-san, this is the front desk. May I have a word with you?"

They were speaking through the door.

"Uh, w-we’re in the middle of something right now… Is something the matter?"

As Kusuda tried to reply, Akizawa shouted over him, adding his own colorful background chorus: "Die! Let me go! I’ll kill you!" A short silence fell on the other side of the door—likely stunned.

"We’ve had a complaint from another guest about the noise coming from your room. It’s late, and we kindly ask you to please keep things quiet."

"I-I’m very sorry. We’ll be more careful…"

He’s the one causing the chaos, Kusuda thought, so why am I the one apologizing?

"Thank you for your understanding," came the response, followed by the fading sound of footsteps.

For whatever reason, Akizawa started shaking with laughter.

"Since you're bothering the other guests, could you please—"

But before Kusuda could finish, Akizawa belted out the theme song to a national anime at the top of his lungs. It was outright harassment now.

"Akizawa-san, please stop!"

Kusuda wanted to cry. The more he tried to stop him, the louder Akizawa got.

Then came a loud thump from the left wall. The neighbor was pissed. If they complained to the front desk again, they might get kicked out of the hotel.

Driven to his limit, Kusuda clamped a hand over Akizawa’s mouth. It quieted him for only a moment—then Akizawa bit down, hard.

The pain shot up Kusuda’s arm, and he reflexively jerked away. His hand struck Akizawa's cheek with a loud slap.

The moment it happened, Akizawa froze—then, like a wounded bull, he berserk, thrashing so violently that Kusuda was flung across the floor.

Flat on his back, Kusuda barely had time to react before Akizawa pounced on him. He grabbed Kusuda’s shirt collar and punched him hard.

Before Kusuda could even think, his fist swung back instinctively—he punched Akizawa squarely, knocking him flat onto his back.

"Why don’t you just die already!"

Akizawa shouted. Please, just keep your voice down, Kusuda thought. If not, the front desk would come again... Grabbing the yelling man by the front of his shirt, Kusuda yanked him upright and crushed their mouths together in a biting kiss.

Startled, Akizawa tried to pull away, but Kusuda clamped a hand on his head, forcing their lips together.

Maybe the shock of being kissed by another man stunned him, because Akizawa went limp, all his fight drained away. Kusuda waited until he felt the resistance vanish before pulling back.

Finally... it was quiet.

He needed to call Numata. If he couldn’t reach Numata, Masamitsu would do. There was no way he could handle this man alone.

Kusuda reached into the pocket of his suit—but his smartphone wasn’t there. Scanning the room, he spotted it under the table. It must’ve gotten knocked there during their struggle. Just as he started to lift himself to grab it, Akizawa yanked on his suit jacket.

"Hey."

When Kusuda didn’t respond, Akizawa tugged harder, almost petulantly.

"...What is it?"

He was already exhausted.

"Kusuda-san, do you like me?"

Akizawa wasn’t joking—his face was dead serious. Kusuda tilted his head slightly.

"You kissed me earlier, right? And you were always watching the dramas I was in. That’s ‘cause you liked me, right?"

Before Kusuda could answer, Akizawa shoved him off like a piece of unwanted luggage and stood up. Kusuda panicked, worried he would storm out—but before he could react, Akizawa grabbed him by the arm, yanked him up, and threw him down onto the bed.

Lying on his back, Kusuda looked up as the taller man loomed over him. The room was brightly lit, but Akizawa’s face was cast in shadow from the backlight, making it hard to read. His lips moved slowly.

"I’m so pissed off right now... just let me do it."

Kusuda couldn't even process the words. It didn’t sound like Japanese to him.

"You’ve got to be kidding..."

The bed creaked under the shifting weight. Feeling warmth of another person’s body slowly seeped into him, Kusuda was hit with a deep, instinctual fear he had never experienced before.

"S-Stop it!"

Kusuda tried to push Akizawa off by the shoulders, but Akizawa shouted:

"Why? If you like me, why are you fighting me?!"

As Akizawa briefly lifted his upper body, Kusuda seized the chance and kicked him in the waist.

"Gyaah!"

With a yelp like a wounded dog, Akizawa toppled off the bed, crashing back-first into a small refrigerator in the cramped room.

Holding his back, Akizawa slowly got up, glaring at Kusuda with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?!"

He wasn’t making fun of him at all... But Kusuda had no idea how to defuse the situation.

"I’m done with this shit!"

Akizawa made for the door. In a panic, Kusuda leapt off the bed and clung to him desperately.

"Let go!"

If Akizawa went outside like this, he’d start making a scene again. Kusuda couldn’t afford to let this turn into a police incident—he would die of shame.

How do I calm this guy down? What can I do...?

"I like you, Akizawa-san."

Akizawa glared at him, his breath ragged. Kusuda wasn’t lying—he did like Akizawa. Maybe not personally, but as an actor, he genuinely admired him. Even if Akizawa misunderstood that, it wasn’t technically a lie.

“Even with that premise in mind, your approach was too aggressive.”

Akizawa shook him off and clicked his tongue sharply, hands on his hips.

"You’re the one who came onto me first."

How could he possibly think that counted as Kusuda making a move? But then again, this selfishness, this reckless tendency to leap to conclusions—that was just who Akizawa was.

Kusuda let out a long sigh, deliberately, aware of the effect it might have on the man standing across from him.

"I only kissed you. I didn’t invite you to anything more. Akizawa-san, you’re rushing things. Just because you feel a little affection from someone doesn’t mean you immediately jump into bed with them. These things should move forward step by step, confirming each other’s feelings—then you go forward.”

“So what, you want us to go on dates first like middle schoolers or something?”

Kusuda nodded emphatically.

“I think something along those lines would be perfectly reasonable,” Kusuda said calmly.

“But I wanna do it now! Why do I have to hold back? It makes me look like an idiot!” Akizawa snapped.

As if the world revolved around his libido. Spare me.

“This kind of thing only happens when both people consent. If it’s forced, then it’s rape. That’s a crime.”

Akizawa’s mouth clamped shut, his jaw twitching. His expression turned into that of a child trying not to cry.

“...If it’s all about consent, then just say yes already!”

Kusuda hadn’t seen that one coming.

“No,” he said flatly. “You’re too rough, and let’s be honest—you’d go for anyone as long as they were willing to sleep with you.”

Akizawa’s mouth twitched as if he were about to break down.

"Do you even really like me?"

“Allow me to ask you the same thing. Just earlier, you were yelling at me to drop dead. Where exactly in that tirade was I supposed to detect affection? You haven’t shown a shred of concern for how I feel.”

“You’re so damn logical it’s annoying!“ Akizawa barked, clenching both fists and pressing them hard against his chest.

“When I’m feeling this shitty—and you just told me you like me—how can you not even try to comfort me?!”

Seeing Akizawa’s desperate expression, Kusuda didn’t feel exasperated—he just felt sorry for him. This guy was a kid. His body may have grown, but mentally, he hadn’t caught up. Kusuda had sensed it in bits and pieces before, but now it was glaringly obvious.

"If you want comfort, I’ll comfort you," Kusuda said. "As long as it’s not rough sex, I’ll do whatever you need."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Akizawa lunged forward, throwing himself over Kusuda. He wrapped his arms around him with such crushing force that it felt like the air had been knocked out of Kusuda’s lungs. The two of them stumbled, collapsing onto the bed in a tangle.

The situation wasn’t much different from earlier, but at least Kusuda had clearly laid down the boundary—we’re not doing this—so he had a sliver more mental room to breathe. Still, that didn’t mean he could let his guard down.

I'm not continuing with this scene, Kusuda thought, as Akizawa muttered like a curse, "That bastard should just die. Acting like he's so much better than everyone else."

Akizawa’s obsessive nature made it impossible to know how much truth there was in his claim—that someone had sabotaged his chances to land a movie role. Whether it was true or just paranoia didn’t matter anymore. What mattered now was getting this man to calm down.

Kusuda cautiously placed his hand on Akizawa’s back. It was lean, solid—a man’s back. Still, for all that physical presence, the guy was more emotionally high-maintenance than most girls Kusuda had known. He began to slowly stroke his back, intending to soothe him. Akizawa flinched at the first touch, and Kusuda quickly pulled his hand back, thinking he’d overdone it—but instead, Akizawa surprised him by whispering, “More. Do it more.”

“If something this simple can calm him down…” Kusuda thought as he resumed the motion, gently rubbing his hand along Akizawa’s spine. The vice grip with which Akizawa had been clinging to him—like letting go would mean dying—gradually loosened. The prickling, volatile energy that had been radiating off him finally began to ease.

Kusuda thought he was finally winding down—until he felt a hand grab his jaw. Before he could even process what that meant, Akizawa’s face came close, and their lips met.

“Nnngh—!”

He tried to push him away, but his head was firmly held down. This time, the roles were reversed. Still, he hadn’t gone so far as to use his tongue.

“S-Stop…”

When he truly resisted, maybe sensing it, Akizawa pulled his lips away. From just inches away, that well-proportioned actor’s face looked down at him.

“Why are you acting like you hate it?”

His expression was sulky, but there was a strange allure in his eyes.

“It’s just…”

“Even middle schoolers kiss on the day they start dating, don’t they?”

Before Kusuda could offer any sort of excuse, Akizawa leaned in for another kiss. Unable to find a reason to resist, Kusuda steeled himself. As a human being, the man was a disaster, but if Kusuda forced himself to stay calm and analyze the situation—Akizawa was good at kissing. His tongue moved with practiced precision.

Until now, Kusuda had always been the one leading when he kissed someone, guiding the girl as if that were only natural. But now, with Akizawa pressing forward without hesitation, he found himself unsure of what to do—shrinking back in the depths of it all.

Even though Kusuda wasn’t exactly participating actively, the kiss went on for quite a while, and by the time their lips parted, both of them were slightly out of breath.

“Take off your clothes.”

The voice was smooth, the fingers tracing along his skin sent a shiver racing through his whole body.

"I told you—we're not having sex."

"I'm not going to. But I want to touch you. That’s okay, right? Touching doesn’t count as sex."

Akizawa’s hand reached out and began unbuttoning Kusuda’s shirt. It was unsettling. Having someone take off his clothes—it scared him. He wondered if this was how girls felt, that sense of fear.

While he was lost in that thought, his shirt was pulled out from his slacks, every button undone. The front was opened wide, almost theatrically. The chill from the thin fabric stirring against the air made his skin prickle.

A sweaty palm touched his chest. The fingers were damp, unpleasantly so. He wanted to swat the hand away, but gritted his teeth and endured it.

Why did he have to be the only one putting on this strip show?

“…Are you planning to keep your clothes on?”

Tilting his head slightly, Akizawa got up on his knees and shrugged off the jacket he’d been wearing. Without the slightest hesitation, he stripped off both his jeans and underwear. Even with his genitals fully exposed, he didn’t show a hint of embarrassment. Kusuda quickly averted his gaze, but not before catching a glimpse—Akizawa’s dangling manhood was, surprisingly, quite large.

“Why are you taking everything off?”

“Because you asked if I was keeping my clothes on.”

“I didn’t say you had to take off your underwear too.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say not to either.”

 

After an exchange that felt utterly fruitless, Akizawa's hand tugged at the waistband of Kusuda’s pants. He yanked with force, exposing half of Kusuda’s backside.

“H-Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m already naked—so you should be too.”

With a rough pull, his pants and underwear were dragged down to his knees. Trying to escape the grasp, Kusuda flipped onto his stomach on the bed, but Akizawa climbed on top of him.

The weight was heavy—oppressively so. And then came the unmistakable sensation of bare skin pressing against his own. Something hard nudged against his lower back. The moment he realized what it was, the full reality hit him—what they were doing was just one step away from actual sex.

Akizawa’s hand closed tightly around Kusuda’s genitals.

A primal fear, the kind that strikes to the core of a male body, shot through him, and he froze in place.

“N-No, stop it—”

Even when he twisted his hips, the hand didn’t let go. What was pressing against his butt was steadily growing harder and hotter, and that terrified him.

“You’re getting touched on the dick, and it doesn’t feel good? Still soft as ever.”

Getting hard in a situation like this would be far more messed up.

“When someone you like touches you… shouldn’t that make you happy?”

He regretted it now—how he’d said things that led to this misunderstanding. It made his skin crawl, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that.

Clutching his head in both hands, Kusuda mumbled a lie, “...I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

“Why are you nervous?”

“…If you don’t understand, then just don’t.”

He wished Akizawa would just leave it at that, but instead, he asked, “Is it ‘cause you like me?”

“Are you so into me you’re getting nervous?”

Kusuda didn’t answer. Akizawa simply muttered, “Hmm,” and began rubbing Kusuda’s soft member with fervent focus. Despite there being no reaction at all, Akizawa’s breathing grew heavier for some reason.

Desperate to forget the sensation of that hand, Kusuda distracted himself by recalling, in chronological order, the names of every accessory line CRUX had ever released.

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