COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 20

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“I don’t think I get along with Itsuki-san…”

Miyamoto spoke with a serious expression, sinking her teeth into a thick slice of Japanese-style hamburger steak. It was just past 7 p.m., and the family restaurant near their office was about seventy percent full. The crowd was diverse—high schoolers in sports jerseys just back from club, older salarymen, and everything in between. It was May, but the heat had people in short sleeves.

The off-site meeting had run long, and Kusuda hadn’t returned to the office until a little after six. Miyamoto was still there, tidying up the ledgers. He handed over his taxi receipt, wanting to get it out of the way before he forgot, and that’s when she’d said, almost offhandedly, “There’s something I’d like to talk about…”

Thinking it might be a long conversation, he offered to grab dinner while they talked. “I don’t want to walk too far,” she said, so they ended up at the family restaurant down the block.

Kusuda had already suspected the topic had to do with Itsuki. Even from an outside perspective, it was obvious the two of them weren’t clicking.

The drama Beyond Us, which had once faced cancellation rumors, had managed to maintain high ratings throughout its run. The final episode, featuring Muneishi appearing with both eyes bandaged, created enough buzz to pull in a record-high 22% viewership across the entire ten-episode season. A sequel had already been greenlit, and all of the main cast would be returning.

After the drama's midpoint, Akizawa had started receiving a flood of offers for new projects—mostly supporting roles in other dramas and films. According to Numata, “This is our moment,” so they accepted everything that fit the schedule. Akizawa’s calendar had filled up fast.

He was now being featured not only in men’s fashion magazines but women’s as well. Every time he wore CRUX accessories in an interview, sales inquiries spiked. The products sold like hotcakes.

There were even more boutique shops reaching out, hoping to carry CRUX. The workload exploded. Between Kusuda and Miyamoto, it had become impossible to manage it all, so in April they decided to hire another office assistant. Miyamoto had only one condition: “Please hire someone who isn’t a fan of Akizawa.”

“He practically lives in our office, doesn’t he? If we hired someone who was a fan and it turned into some messy romance, it’d be a nightmare.”

Kusuda remembered how, at first, Akizawa had claimed he wanted to date Miyamoto. In the end, when narrowing down the two finalists for the job, Kusuda had asked, “What do you think of Kaito Akizawa?” The one who replied, “I don’t know much about him,” was the one they hired.

The new assistant was twenty-three years old. Her name was Mai Itsuki, and she had chestnut-colored hair that left a strong impression. She didn’t seem to watch much TV despite her age; she knew Akizawa’s name and face from his modeling work, but had no idea he was also in a drama.

Her tone was gentle and unhurried, but her instincts on the job weren’t bad. Kusuda had felt that she’d probably settle in well.

But just as he was starting to think things were going smoothly, a problem surfaced.

“Itsuki-san is obviously into you, Kusuda-san.”

Miyamoto didn’t beat around the bush. Kusuda had sensed Itsuki’s interest too. In her first week, he had personally trained her. She had prior office experience, but the accessories business had its own quirks and demands. There was a lot to learn. Wanting to help her acclimate faster, he’d even invited her out to lunch a few times.

About a month in, Kusuda began to feel her eyes lingering on him more and more.

During the hectic fall/winter collection prep, when he found himself eating convenience store rice balls for lunch three days in a row, she’d asked him, “Do you really like convenience store rice balls, Kusuda-san?”—probing gently for a read.

“Ah—no, it’s just that I don’t have time,” Kusuda replied.

With a concerned look, Itsuki leaned in and said, “You always seem so busy. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” Then, with a gentle smile, she added, “Just eating rice balls might throw your nutrition off, don’t you think? If you’d like, I could make you lunch. I’m actually pretty good at cooking.”

For the record, Miyamoto had also been eating instant noodles three days in a row—but that detail had been completely ignored.

“I usually eat out during lunch,” Kusuda said, offering a plausible excuse. “It’d be a shame if you went through the trouble of making something and I couldn’t eat it.”

Itsuki looked a bit disappointed but replied, “I see…” and dropped the matter—at least temporarily. After that, she started bringing homemade cookies instead, saying, “For when you get a little hungry, maybe.” This time, perhaps reading the room, she gave the same cookies to Miyamoto as well.

“She’s totally trying to set it up so you’re the one who asks her out,” Miyamoto said bluntly, clearly irritated by Itsuki’s obvious behavior.

Kusuda, the target of all this, didn’t particularly mind being the object of someone’s affection. She was cute enough. If he gave her a signal, they might end up in a pretty comfortable relationship. He’d even considered what would happen if he made a move—but the thought of Akizawa finding out was enough to freeze him in place. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Two weeks ago, Akizawa had moved.

Until then, he’d lived in a small, outdated one-bedroom rental. When he mentioned moving, Kusuda had assumed he’d finally be upgrading to a proper apartment with good security, especially now that his popularity was rising. For a moment, he even felt relieved—thinking maybe his own place would stop being treated like a second home.

He was wrong.

Akizawa had moved one floor above Kusuda’s unit.

His new place was still cluttered with unopened cardboard boxes, just sitting there untouched. The only thing that had changed was the location of his storage. The pattern remained the same—Akizawa leaving for work from Kusuda’s place, coming home to it.

There were now so many little gigs on Akizawa’s schedule that even Kusuda couldn’t keep track. If it was CRUX-related, Numata would give Kusuda a heads-up. Anything else, he had no idea. He couldn’t predict when Akizawa would leave or when he’d come home.

Sometimes, Akizawa wouldn’t show up for days, then suddenly slip into Kusuda’s bed in the middle of the night—starting things up while Kusuda was still asleep. The time Kusuda woke up to find Akizawa already inside him, fully nude, he genuinely considered punching him. But in the end, the pleasure won out. He went along with it—again.

“As for Itsuki-san, I think if she realizes I’m not interested, she’ll probably give up eventually.”

Miyamoto let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I suppose…”

Then added, “But if you do like her, Kusuda-san, I wouldn’t stop you or anything.”

That sharp remark caught him off guard. Feeling a little exposed, Kusuda shook his head quickly. “No, no way.”

Miyamoto sipped her oolong tea from the self-serve drink station with a zuuhh.

“Girls like that—you know, the super domestic ones—they always seem to quit once they get married.”

“What does ‘domestic’ even mean?”

The voice came unexpectedly from beside them. A man who looked like a middle-aged auto mechanic stood by their table, wearing a blue coverall, a straight silver bob tucked under a baseball cap, and round glasses.

Miyamoto gave him a deeply skeptical look, like—What is this old man doing eavesdropping on our conversation?

The man responded with a warm smile—and then took off his hat.

“It’s me, Miyamoto,”

Akizawa said with a grin, adjusting his round glasses. Miyamoto let out a loud “Ehh?!” that turned a few heads nearby. It was a four-person booth, and Akizawa slipped into the seat beside Kusuda like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sorry, I made a weird noise. You surprised me,” Miyamoto said, still clutching her chest as if her heart was racing.

“Pretty good disguise, huh? I started doing it after getting tailed by reporters a few times—but like this, no one recognizes me.”

In mid-April, a paparazzi photo of Akizawa had been taken—specifically, a shot of him returning to Kusuda’s apartment. The sound of the shutter had tipped him off, so he knew he’d been caught. However, the photo never made it into a weekly magazine. “Returning to the home of the vice president of the accessories brand he models for” might’ve been a decent headline, but once it was clear the other party was just a single man, there wasn’t much to generate buzz.

No scandal erupted from it, but Akizawa had clearly hated the experience of being photographed, and since then, he’d started going out in disguise. And it wasn’t one of those half-hearted “You can still notice me if you want” looks—hat and sunglasses types. No, he went all in: he wore a wig and aimed for a transformation so convincing even his own father wouldn’t recognize him from a meter away.

He even invented a character: Goro Ito, a 65-year-old auto mechanic who had injured his right leg in an accident a few years back and now walked with a limp. When dressed in Goro’s signature blue coveralls, Akizawa would hunch slightly and drag his leg with every step. His usual youthfulness vanished—he looked every bit the aging man. His remarkable, one-of-a-kind acting ability was being wasted on these outings.

“How’d you even know we were here?” Miyamoto asked.

"I saw Masahiko’s message. He said you were at a family restaurant," Akizawa replied.

...Just before leaving the office, Kusuda had gotten a text from Akizawa: Where are you right now?

Usually, when he asked like that, it meant he was already back at Kusuda’s condo, so Kusuda had replied, Having dinner with Miyamoto-san at a family restaurant near the office, then heading home.

But he never imagined Akizawa would actually come looking for him.

A waitress approached their table carrying a glass of water, and asked the new customer, "Would you like to place an order?"

Still in his mechanic getup, Akizawa leaned lazily against Kusuda’s shoulder and asked, “What are you eating?” The clash between his appearance and his voice created a dizzying kind of dissonance—he sounded like Akizawa, but looked nothing like him.

“Pork ginger set meal,” Kusuda answered.

“Then I’ll have that too,” Akizawa said, without even glancing at the menu.

“And the self-serve drink station?” the waitress asked.

“Whatever’s fine,” he replied vaguely, flustering her, so Kusuda jumped in with, “Yes, please include it,” to smooth things over.

“I want some of that,” Akizawa said, pointing at Kusuda’s pork. Kusuda couldn’t be bothered to argue, so he held up a slice to Akizawa’s mouth. Akizawa chomped down like a dog, then, still chewing, turned to Miyamoto and asked, “So girls with those domestic vibes—do they really just get married and quit right away?”

Kusuda froze. How long has he been listening?

Whether in public or private, Akizawa now clung to Kusuda whenever he had a moment to spare. The spiky, irritable youth he’d met early on had become a pampered, clingy house cat. Miyamoto had once commented, “Once Akizawa-san gets attached to someone, he’s really touchy,” but followed it with, “If he were a girl, this would be sexual harassment. But since it’s you, Kusuda-san, it’s fine,” and left it at that.

“Starting in April, we hired a new assistant, Itsuki-san,” Miyamoto explained neutrally. “She seems very domestic, so we were just saying she might get a boyfriend and quit soon.”

Under the table—taking advantage of being out of sight—Akizawa laced his fingers with Kusuda’s right hand and tilted his head. “The one who looks kinda like a fava bean?”

“Fava bean?” Kusuda echoed.

“She’s got that round, flat face, don’t you think?” Akizawa replied, looking up at him as if seeking agreement.

Miyamoto snorted into her drink.

Itsuki was definitely cute—but yes, she had a round face and a slightly low bridge to her nose.

“Don’t ever say that in front of her,” Kusuda warned. “You’ll get slapped with a harassment complaint.”

Akizawa turned away indifferently. “We barely see each other anyway.”

“Thing is,” Miyamoto added, “it feels like Itsuki-san’s got a bit of a crush on Kusuda-san.”

“A crush?” Akizawa perked up… or so it seemed.

“Miyamoto-san, that’s not exactly confirmed yet…” Kusuda tried to shut her down, not wanting Akizawa to hear—but Miyamoto, ever the chaos agent, said it plainly: “We were just saying that Itsuki-san probably likes Kusuda-san.”

Crap, Kusuda thought. If Akizawa got moody over this, it’d be hell.

But Akizawa just replied with a breezy, “Huh,” like it didn’t matter.

“Poor little fava bean,” he added. “Masahiko’s already taken.”

Kusuda jolted and turned to him—only to find Akizawa grinning.

“What? Kusuda-san, since when do you have a girlfriend? You never told me!” Miyamoto jumped in at once.

“Uh… well…”

Before he could come up with an excuse, Akizawa blurted, “Masahiko’s got someone who loves him back. They’re totally in love, so fava bean’s gonna have to deal with heartbreak.”

“You’ve been so busy lately. How did you even find time to go on dates?” Miyamoto pressed.

Now cornered, Kusuda forced a stiff smile. “Well, you know… things happen.”

Miyamoto started asking about the age and looks of this supposed girlfriend. “Younger?” “Tall?”—trying to piece together the mystery woman. Kusuda dodged as best he could, while Akizawa sat beside him, watching it all with a smug, amused smirk.

Just before eight, Akizawa, the uninvited guest, suddenly said, “I wanna go home.”

Kusuda almost told him off—it was Miyamoto’s story they were here for, after all, not his—but then Miyamoto stood up too, saying, “Yeah, I should get going. My boyfriend’s probably getting home soon.”

And just like that, their dinner wrapped up.

They saw Miyamoto off as she rode away on her bike. Kusuda was about to head for the station when Akizawa said, “Let’s take a taxi.”

Kusuda, still sore about being thrown under the bus with the whole “girlfriend” lie, considered making him walk to the station in that ridiculous outfit. But then he thought—if Akizawa was exhausted from all the filming and interviews, maybe he shouldn’t be too harsh.

“…Fine,” he said with a nod.

Akizawa hailed a cab and, once inside, pulled up a map on his phone and showed it to the driver. “Can you take us here?”

The middle-aged driver, buzz cut and gruff, glanced at it. “Sure. But it’s a little far. Mind if we take the highway?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Akizawa nodded.

Kusuda frowned. “Why the highway? I thought we were going home.”

“I’ve got a place I want to go.”

“Where?”

Akizawa smirked behind his round glasses. “Secret.”

Where the hell could he want to go this late? A bar? But on the highway? And in that ridiculous getup—as a 65-year-old mechanic, blue coveralls and all?

Akizawa let out a small yawn and leaned against Kusuda’s shoulder. That alone might’ve been tolerable—except he also reached for Kusuda’s left hand and clasped it tight, fingers interlaced.

Kusuda tried to shake him off—but Akizawa’s grip didn’t budge.

“…Oi,” he muttered.

Kusuda gently scolded him under his breath. In response, Akizawa placed Kusuda’s work bag over their joined hands, using it like a shield. Beneath it, he continued to squeeze and squeeze their interlocked fingers. Not in public, Kusuda thought—but Akizawa’s face, so softly lit up like a contented child, stopped him from pulling away. All he could do was pray the driver wouldn’t notice, and let him be.

The taxi exited the highway and slipped into a dim, rarely used road—quiet, with barely any foot traffic even for Tokyo. They passed a few scattered homes before pulling up near a small riverside. The driver slowed down and said, “This should be around here.”

“Please stop near that little hut,” Akizawa instructed.

When the taxi stopped, Akizawa was the first to hop out. Kusuda followed, paying the fare and hurrying after him. Akizawa crossed a sidewalk with wide gaps between streetlights, heading into a stretch of embankment thick with grass and shadows. The darkness was unsettling enough that Kusuda instinctively called out, “Akizawa.”

Akizawa turned back and lifted a hand. “Come with me.”

Still in his work suit and clutching his bag, Kusuda pushed through grass up to his hips without understanding what was going on. He turned on his smartphone flashlight, but there was no path—just more overgrowth. If there were a body or two hidden in there, he thought grimly, there’s no way anyone would notice.

The terrain made it difficult to walk, and it took a while to reach the hut Akizawa had mentioned to the taxi driver.

“You dragged me all the way out here just for this—” Kusuda began to complain, but Akizawa placed a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Then he took Kusuda’s hand and pulled him forward again. The sound of water grew closer—a soft, shimmering rustle. A river at night, holding hands… The word shinjū—double suicide—floated into Kusuda’s mind uninvited. But there was no reason for that. They weren’t star-crossed lovers with nowhere to turn. He blamed the thought on how unnervingly dark everything was. Still, he had no idea what Akizawa’s real intention was in bringing him here.

Then, by the river, something blinked faintly in the dark. When Kusuda squinted, it flashed again—a pale, glowing light. Before he knew it, he was squeezing Akizawa’s hand in return.

What was that?

And then he saw more of them, all around them—soft glimmers appearing and fading in the grass.

Fireflies.

Akizawa crouched down, and Kusuda sat beside him. The sound of the flowing river was peaceful, and somewhere in the distance, a car engine passed and faded.

The fireflies clung to the tips of leaves and then floated into the air, blinking as they moved. The last time Kusuda had seen one was in elementary school. Their faint, bluish-white light was so delicate it nearly disappeared in the glare of a phone screen. It was still only mid-May, a bit too early to call it summer, but the fragile, fleeting light had a quiet beauty—dreamlike, melancholic.

“One of the drama’s location scouts told me about this place,” Akizawa said softly. “They found it while scouting, and said, ‘It’s a hidden gem. If you bring your girlfriend here, she’ll be thrilled.’”

“…So I’m the girlfriend?”

“I don’t mind if you’re the boyfriend instead.”

It was a small thing—really, it didn’t matter. Kusuda just stared, spellbound by the fireflies. When he woke up this morning, it had felt like any other hectic day ahead—he never would’ve imagined ending the night watching fireflies.

“If anyone ever mentions fireflies to me from now on, I’ll remember these—these ones I saw with you, Masahiko.”

Akizawa squeezed his hand tightly, still holding it.

“And when someone says ‘fireflies’ to you, I hope you’ll think of tonight too… the ones you saw with me.”

A firefly floated so close, it seemed almost within reach.

“Masahiko,” Akizawa murmured, and with their hands still entwined, he squeezed again—slowly, as if savoring the shape of Kusuda’s fingers—again and again.

“I’ve been in the industry since I was a kid, so even though I technically graduated, I didn’t really go to school much. I was always in front of a TV camera or standing on a stage. I’m an actor, so I play all kinds of roles, but there were so many times I felt like the characters I played were happier than I was. When I was fifteen, I had a role where I went on a date with a girl. That was my first date… even though it was just acting. I guess it’s weird, calling that my first date, huh? But this—this right now—this is the real thing, right?”

As he spoke, he pulled Kusuda’s hand close, and their bodies pressed together. The grass rustled, and a firefly that had been resting on a leaf took flight, startled.

“I love you, Masahiko.”

Akizawa was never one to hold back when it came to words like love, so Kusuda had heard it many times before. But tonight, for some reason, it hit different—his face flushed hot with embarrassment. He was glad it was so dark around them.

“I think you really love me too, Masahiko—but I’m pretty confident I love you even more.”

That relentless, unshakable certainty of Akizawa’s—his ability to believe so purely—Kusuda found himself almost envious of it.

“I like having sex, sure… but I also want to go on dates like this, lots of them.”

Kusuda thought he probably should say something in agreement… but the words “me too” felt too shy to say aloud. Still, there was something ridiculously adorable about the way Akizawa said it—about how much he wanted to go on dates—and the fireflies were beautiful, too.

Kusuda leaned against him, touching his cheek lightly with his fingertips. After feeling for the position of his face, he kissed him. At first, Akizawa flinched like he’d been caught off guard, but he quickly melted into it, sucking at Kusuda’s lips with hungry enthusiasm.

They fell back into the tall grass together, wrapped in each other’s arms. Desire stirred—Kusuda wanted to go further—but even he could tell that having sex here would be completely insane. Apparently, Akizawa understood that too. So they just stayed there, tangled together, kissing like two love-drunk middle schoolers.

Flooded with affection, Kusuda couldn’t help but think of Itsuki again—her interest, that easy alternative—but maybe all that had just been a form of escape. Because once he admitted this relationship with Akizawa to himself… he would never be able to break free of him again.

A man who clung to him like a cat, who invited him out to see fireflies like it was some schoolkid’s date, who brought him all the way into a creepy grass field that looked like it could be hiding a corpse, only to tell him over and over, I love you, I love you—Akizawa was such an idiot.

And so unbearably cute.

So cute that Kusuda didn’t want to stop kissing him.

A firefly landed on Akizawa’s shoulder as he leaned down again, flickering gently. Kusuda reached for it without thinking, but it floated up with a soft flutter, disappearing into the night, leaving a faint trail of glowing light behind in the dark sky.

To be continued in COLD HEART in NEWYORK.

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