COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 17

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Even after waking up, the room remained pitch-dark. Checking his wristwatch, he saw it was past 9 a.m. The air flowing in from under the blackout curtains was cold. When he lifted the curtain, the whiteness outside took him by surprise. Snow. It had piled up, which meant it must’ve started falling sometime during the night.

Beside him, a completely naked man lay sleeping on his stomach, breathing softly. The clothes scattered across the floor and the utterly disheveled sheets felt disturbingly vivid.

Akizawa hadn’t penetrated Kusuda. Instead, he had done everything but that. He’d made him face forward and kissed him while thrusting his penis against Kusuda’s scrotum. That hard rod had shifted downward, and the thought that it might push inside him had terrified him beyond reason.

He reached under the table to pick up his smartphone. One missed call and one message from Numata. Since he hadn’t answered the call, Numata must’ve decided to follow up with a message. “Contact me whenever is convenient for you,” it said. But it was already too late.

How had things ended up like this…? Right—Miyabi had told him that Akizawa was causing a huge scene, and he'd rushed to the scene, pulled Akizawa out of the shop, brought him to a hotel to isolate him, and then got attacked when the guy went wild. He’d been screaming so much, Kusuda had kissed him just to shut him up—and then… it had turned into this. Normally, if a guy gets kissed out of nowhere by another guy, he’d be repulsed, wouldn’t he? Not that he had any right to say that after trying to seduce him into calming down, but it seemed like Akizawa didn’t really care about his partner’s gender as long as he could have sex. He was young and naive about the world, yet his way of touching had been oddly experienced. Maybe being in the entertainment industry from a young age had made him that uninhibited when it came to sex.

A touch on his thigh made goosebumps shoot across his skin. The hand that touched him began slowly caressing. Even though he’d been asleep just moments ago—when had he woken up? Still lying on his side, Akizawa looked up at him with bleary, dazed eyes, as if half-asleep.

“What are you doing?”

Kusuda set his smartphone down on the side table.

“Checking my messages.”

Akizawa slowly sat up. Then, without warning, he pulled Kusuda close and hugged him tightly, sealing his lips in a deep kiss that left no room for protest. It wasn’t a light brush—he pried Kusuda’s lips open and swept inside with his tongue, tasting him.

“…Ngh.”

When he resisted, he was pushed down onto the bed. The soft bounce of the mattress, and then the weight of Akizawa’s body covering his. Stroking Kusuda’s back slowly, Akizawa murmured, “Hey.”

“Do you talk like that even with your boyfriend?”

He had deliberately led Akizawa to misunderstand, saying he liked him. Naked, wrapped around each other, kissing, letting him touch his genitals—layer by layer, it had become impossible to ignore the illusion of a romantic relationship.

“When we’re doing stuff like this, that stiff way of talking is such a turn-off.”

Complaining, Akizawa buried his face in Kusuda’s chest. Then he latched onto a nipple that had been teased relentlessly the night before, now sore and tingling. Having been played with until it was swollen, it had grown overly sensitive, amplifying every sensation tenfold. …Even knowing it was a man sucking on him, the feeling still twisted something inside him.

He’d only pretended to like him to somehow escape that hellish scene… and now, what was he supposed to do? If he came out and said it was all a lie, Akizawa would probably snap and actually stab him this time.

“Hey, what time’s checkout?”

Akizawa pinched the saliva-slick nipple, taking the whole areola between his fingers. It stung with a dull throb. Looking down at the deformed peak caught between Akizawa’s fingers, Kusuda replied, “I think… it’s at ten.”

Akizawa leaned over to peer at the clock by the bed. Less than thirty minutes left.

“Guess we should start getting ready to go.”

He rubbed his nose against Kusuda’s neck like a dog, then pressed that shameless thing against Kusuda’s thigh, grinding into him.

“…Let’s extend our stay. I’ll pay.”

He could’ve used work as an excuse to leave. The one day off he’d had in two weeks—why did it have to be today? Cursing his rotten luck, Kusuda simply said, “Do as you like,” and let out a quiet sigh.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

With a bit of free time on his hands, Kusuda went down to the CRUX shop on the first floor of their office building. Cold rain had been falling since morning, hinting that it might turn to snow, and since it was a weekday, there weren’t many customers. It had been three weeks since the release of their new product, and things were finally starting to settle down.

When the shop fell quiet for a moment, he chatted with Tani. According to Tani, there were still a lot of customers asking for the novelty items. This season, they had used an image model for the first time, so they’d printed more than usual, but even so, the stock had run out within about ten days of distribution. Because of that, the novelties had acquired a kind of premium status and were apparently being resold at high prices on auction sites.

CRUX had never had a case where their novelty items fetched high bids online. Akizawa wasn’t exactly a top-tier star, but the posters had gotten attention, and since this was Tohru’s first publicly released work after winning a photography award abroad, the spotlight had turned to it. If Tohru’s influence was really that significant, Kusuda felt a bit guilty about hiring him at such a low rate.

When he mentioned that, Tani casually suggested, “Why not have us produce and sell a photobook of Akizawa-san? That way, Takahisa-san the photographer could earn it back, too.” Tohru rarely shot people, but maybe moving in that direction in the future wasn’t a bad idea.

Until now, their novelty items had always been discontinued once the planned distribution numbers were met, but this time they decided to reprint. Separately, Tani proposed reusing unused photos from the novelty campaign to create a postcard book for the upcoming spring fair. Not a bad idea. Budget-wise, it was feasible, and they could produce them in large numbers.

“I’ve been watching Akizawa-san’s drama,” Tani said, fiddling with the CRUX necklace he wore.

“The drama itself is kinda typical, but Akizawa-san has a totally different vibe from the poster, and that kind of versatility really shows he’s an actor.”

The initial shoot had been a disaster, but Akizawa was very well-liked by Tani and the workshop staff. He promoted their products on TV, and when he had spare time, he’d drop by the workshop and earnestly learn jewelry-making techniques.

He wasn’t naturally gifted, but as Masamitsu once said, it was clear he tried his best, and that made people want to look out for him. Akizawa had a habit of latching on completely, like a dog, to anyone he decided he liked—and that much was easy to imagine.

When a customer entered the store, Kusuda left the shop in Tani’s care and returned to the second-floor office. The moment he stepped inside, Miyamoto came rushing over.

“Got a minute?”

“What is it?”

Miyamoto had a grim expression. “There’s something I want you to see.”

At Miyamoto’s desk, an email was open on the computer screen.

“A complaint?”

CRUX had a comment form set up on its website, serving as a kind of suggestion box. Emails sent there—unless urgent, like product inquiries or complaints about defective items—were printed out in batches by Miyamoto over the weekend. Up until recently, most messages had been simple feedback or product requests. But ever since they started using Akizawa as the image model, more messages had been about him. While most were positive, there were criticisms too. The majority said things like “Akizawa looks filthy in the photos” or “You can’t even see the product”—valid enough that they couldn’t exactly protest.

Kusuda read the email on screen. It was a stream of abuse: Akizawa is an irresponsible actor. He’s ugly. Disgusting. Stop using that kind of model immediately… and more, every insult one could possibly imagine. Rather than a complaint about CRUX’s sales or products, the entire message reeked of personal malice directed at Akizawa.

“…This is awful.”

“Right? It’s not even a complaint—it’s like some personal grudge,” Miyamoto said with a grimace. “They claim they’ve been a long-time CRUX fan, but that’s gotta be a lie. They’re demanding we bring back the previous model, but we haven’t used a person as a model in years—it’s all been product-only photos since. And get this: ‘If Akizawa comes on TV, I change the channel.’ Like, what kind of analog TV are you watching, buddy?”

“Let’s just ignore this one.”

Miyamoto gave a firm nod.

“Got it. But… I’m guessing this person is probably on the older side.”

Kusuda had also gotten that impression—certain word choices and phrasing suggested they weren’t young. Still, he didn’t want to believe that a grown adult—probably in their forties, maybe even fifties—was writing this kind of venom-filled email about an actor young enough to be their child.

The office door burst open with a bang. The man of the hour, Akizawa, strode in. Kusuda instinctively looked at the clock. Not even noon yet. He was supposed to be on set until evening. Akizawa stormed straight to his personal desk and flung his tote bag down with force. His mood was absolutely foul.

“Akizawa-san, is the shoot over already?” Kusuda asked casually.

No response. Instead, Akizawa kicked a chair out of his way with a loud bang. It slammed into Kusuda’s desk, sending piles of paper cascading to the floor. This was bad. If it kept up, something was going to get broken. Kusuda walked over and grabbed Akizawa’s arm.

The glare he got in return felt like staring down someone who’d just spotted the murderer of a loved one. That sharp gaze made his whole body freeze. Pretending not to notice, Kusuda led him out of the room and down the hallway into the adjoining archive room. “Archive room” was a generous term—it was basically a storage closet. The door was rarely locked.

Three walls were lined with shelves, and in the middle sat a long table and four metal chairs. A purely functional space, stripped of any charm, dimly lit by the gloomy weather outside and heavy with dust. But at least here, if something got broken, it wouldn’t be a loss.

“What happened?”

Akizawa kept his head down and suddenly kicked the steel cabinet to his left. “...Got dropped,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said I got dropped from the drama!”

Akizawa shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Dropped? But I thought you had scenes up through the final episode?”

“That was the plan! But when I got to set today, they told me the script from episode five onward had changed. My character’s going overseas. I’m done. They said I don’t need to come back.”

His mouth trembled, and something glistened in his eyes.

“I asked why they changed the script, but all the producer said was, ‘That’s just how it is.’ No real explanation. I know it was him—he’s the one pulling strings behind the scenes!”

Stomping his feet, Akizawa clenched both fists tight.

“How much more—how much more crap does he have to pull before he’s satisfied?!”

Akizawa kicked the door over and over with a furious rhythm. The steel door began to dent inward with each blow. Kusuda didn’t care anymore—there were only old documents inside. Eventually, the door, repeatedly assaulted, popped out of its track and clattered to the floor. Even then, still not satisfied, Akizawa stomped on the already defeated door with both feet. And when that didn’t quell the fury either, he grabbed the door with both hands and slammed it down hard against the floor.

Standing a short distance away, Kusuda watched the rampaging man in silence. If that one door could absorb the brunt of Akizawa’s explosive rage, then it was a small price to pay.

After throwing the bent door against the wall, Akizawa walked toward Kusuda, who stood by the window. His breathing was ragged, his shoulders rising and falling erratically.

“What the hell is so wrong with me?!”

He clutched the front of his shirt in a tight grip.

“If your screen time was cut for no reason, then it’s not your fault.”

“If it’s not my fault, then why the hell does this kind of shit keep happening to me?!”

“…I don’t know either.”

“Then tell me!”

As Akizawa’s tense cheeks began to twitch, Kusuda pulled him into a rough embrace. He whispered by his ear, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” That was enough to make the rage-wracked body flinch.

“Did you get into a fight with the producer, or staff, or one of the cast?”

Akizawa shook his head, trembling.

“…I didn’t talk to them enough to fight. Filming was going fine. It’s definitely his fault.”

The “him” Akizawa referred to was Domon Yoichi, a film director. When Akizawa was a teenager, he’d gotten into a major fight with Domon during a movie shoot and been pulled from the project. The man he’d been arguing with at the bar two weeks ago had been Domon. Kusuda had rushed to the scene too, but the lighting had been too dim for him to recognize him.

Ever since being dropped from that movie, Akizawa had believed that Domon had been blacklisting him from the drama and film world from behind the scenes. Akizawa had said he overheard something from a drama staff member, lost his temper, then found out Domon’s regular bar and waited to confront him.

Domon denied everything. There was no proof. Personally, Kusuda thought a good chunk of it was just Akizawa’s paranoia, but if he said so, the guy would blow up again and be impossible to deal with, so Kusuda just nodded along with an occasional “yeah, yeah” and let him vent.

As Tani had said, the drama Akizawa was in wasn’t all that good. Clichéd, predictable. But Akizawa himself had been excellent, and the character he played was compelling. No one knew the real reason he’d been cut—but there was no point dwelling on just that.

“I enjoyed watching you act. That’s why it sucks that you’re only in five episodes.”

It wasn’t just comfort—he meant it.

“You were the best one in the cast.”

He whispered it into Akizawa’s ear. In response, Akizawa wrapped his arms around Kusuda’s back.

“I am good, right?”

“You are.”

“Everyone else is crap, huh.”

It was unclear what metric he was using for “crap,” but…

“…Yeah, they are. Especially Muneishi.”

Still pressing his face into Kusuda’s neck, Akizawa let out a chuckle—“kuku”—and then exhaled softly.

“I really wanted to be in the last episode…”

Akizawa murmured softly. When Kusuda gently stroked his back, Akizawa clung to him even tighter. His entire body was trembling—he might’ve been crying. Kusuda figured it was best not to say anything and just kept slowly running his hand over Akizawa’s back until the shaking subsided.

Ever since that near-simulation of sex at the hotel, Akizawa had mentally placed Kusuda in the role of a lover. Before that, even when he came over to Kusuda’s place, all he did was crawl into bed beside him. But now, he clung to him like it was second nature—kissed him the moment their eyes met, gave him sultry looks, and almost every night would ask him to take his clothes off.

Kusuda absolutely refused to let him go all the way, but Akizawa had asked for everything leading up to that, over and over. As the time they spent naked and touching increased, Kusuda could feel Akizawa growing more attached. And at the same time, he’d started to understand how to handle this man—who, at first glance, seemed hard to deal with. If he listened to his complaints, didn’t argue back, and spoiled him thoroughly, Akizawa would calm down.

“What am I gonna do…”

Akizawa pulled Kusuda even closer.

“If they suddenly change the cast on that film I’m supposed to do…”

“Don’t start worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet. If it does, then you can panic.”

“But—”

Akizawa lifted his face. Kusuda met his reddened, tear-bright eyes head-on.

“Even if you get dropped from every drama or movie, you’ll never be dropped as CRUX’s image model. You can count on that.”

As he said it, his hand unconsciously reached up to stroke Akizawa’s hair.

“…Modeling isn’t real acting.”

“That’s true. It’s not. But Masamitsu says he can’t picture anyone else for the brand anymore. CRUX doesn’t work without Kaito Akizawa.”

He wanted to teach him—no matter if he got pushed out of one job, there was still a place where he was needed. That place wasn’t going anywhere.

“You look good in photos, yeah—but I still think you’re better when you’re acting. We’ve been using bursts of stills to make motion-like clips for the homepage’s top banner, but maybe next season, we should just do an actual short film. Stream it online, too.”

Akizawa’s eyes widened with interest.

“That sounds cool.”

“We could get Tohru to shoot it when we do the next novelty shoot.”

But immediately, Akizawa frowned.

“He’s a photographer. Even if it’s short, you should get a real director to do it.”

Kusuda feigned indignation at the man’s high standards.

“You think we have that kind of budget? If you complain too much, I’ll shoot it myself—and it’ll just be a boring home video. No complaints allowed.”

Akizawa let out a laugh—hah-hah—and pressed his cheek against Kusuda’s, kissing him. Not just a brush, but a deeper kiss that parted his lips and slid in a tongue. It was angry, sorrowful, almost desperate.

It wasn’t that Kusuda minded kissing him… but it was hard to focus, knowing they were in the office. The door wasn’t even locked. Only Miyamoto ever came in here, but still—there was always a chance.

In the end, he didn’t stop him. He let him kiss until he was satisfied. Then patted his back.

“Feel better now?”

Akizawa clutched at Kusuda’s suit jacket and gave a small nod. That younger side of him could be unexpectedly endearing.

When they stepped out of the archive room and returned to the office, Miyamoto came rushing over, visibly concerned. She stared at their faces, one after the other.

“…You didn’t get into a fistfight, did you?”

Kusuda tilted his head, and Miyamoto added, “Well, I mean… there were really loud noises coming from the archive room.” She clasped her trembling hands together.

“I was thinking maybe I should go call someone, and then it suddenly got quiet… I kept worrying, what if you two knocked each other out or something.”

“The noise at the beginning was just Akizawa-san taking out his frustration on the cabinet,” Kusuda said, pointing with his thumb.

Looking sheepish, Akizawa muttered, “Sorry.”

“…I was in a bad mood ‘cause something crappy happened.”

Maybe the comfort Kusuda had given him had helped clear his head, because Akizawa went on to say rather casually, “I got dropped from the drama I was in.”

“What?! Why?!” Miyamoto rushed up to him.

“The script changed. My character got written out. They didn’t give me any other reason.”

“Does that kind of thing even happen, just rewriting the script partway through?”

Though Miyamoto was looking at Kusuda, there was no way he’d know, not being part of the production side.

“Revisions happen, sure. But cutting someone out of the second half entirely? That doesn’t happen unless they just don’t want you in it anymore.”

At Akizawa’s explanation, Miyamoto burst out, “That’s awful!”

“I’ve been watching the whole time—and you were so good in it, Akizawa-san!”

Akizawa smiled sadly at her passionate protest.

“I wanted to keep doing it too, but it is what it is. At least the first five episodes were filmed, so they’ll air.”

Miyamoto fell silent for a moment, then pursed her lips in frustration. “I still can’t accept it,” she muttered.

“I’m going to file a complaint with the network. I mean, it’s just not right!”

She looked like she might grab the phone then and there. But Akizawa shook his head.

“It’s fine. There’s a director in the industry who hates me. I think he’s pulling strings behind the scenes. Back in high school, I had a big fight with him during a film shoot and got pulled from the project. He told me then, ‘I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again.’ And after that, I really couldn’t get any jobs. But lately I’d finally started getting cast in TV and film again, so I figured maybe he’d forgotten about me…”

Miyamoto frowned. “Wait… is that director Domon Yoichi?”

The way she pinpointed the name made Kusuda blink in surprise. He remembered the story of Akizawa getting dropped from a movie years ago, and Miyamoto, being close in age, seemed to remember too. Akizawa simply nodded.

“I’ve seen that guy’s movies before. But if he’s doing stuff like that behind the scenes… that’s seriously disappointing.”

Seeing her genuinely indignant, Kusuda quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

“It’s just a suspicion—there’s no proof, so don’t go spreading it around, okay?”

“I understand,” Miyamoto nodded firmly.

“But once episode five airs, I think it’s totally fair if people ask the network why Akizawa-san isn’t in the rest of it. Honestly, that drama wasn’t very good anyway.”

Miyamoto’s bluntness in front of one of the cast members left Kusuda speechless.

“The script was awful. That drama was only held together by Muneishi-san’s face and Akizawa-san’s acting. Let’s just forget about such a boring show. Someone as talented as you is definitely going to get better jobs. I guarantee it.”

Akizawa went quiet, like he was taken aback by Miyamoto’s intensity. Then he looked down and murmured, “Thanks.”

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