Nibiiro no Hana: Chapter 10

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It was a train station that felt like it had been abandoned in the middle of a forest. Wondering if this was really the right place, Tokawa checked the sign, but there was no mistake. There was a drafty little waiting area but no ticket gate—an unmanned station. While he stood unsure how to handle his ticket, a schoolboy in uniform showed his commuter pass to a conductor standing on the west side of the platform. So that’s how it worked, Tokawa thought, and handed over his ticket. Only the two of them got off at the station. The conductor returned to the train, and it departed.

Once the train was out of sight, silence enveloped the surroundings. The only sounds were the chirps of birds—chi-chi, chi-chi. All around him were dense, shadowy trees blocking out the light, making everything dim and gloomy.

The boy got on a bicycle parked in front of the station and rode off. Left completely alone, Tokawa felt at a loss. The road in front of the station was a narrow, single-lane track that looked as if it had been forcibly carved through the forest. Visibility was poor, and no cars passed by. He’d assumed at least one taxi would be waiting around, but that had been a naïve thought.

He searched for a nearby taxi company and called, only to be told all the cars were out and it would take about forty minutes for one to reach the station. His destination was about thirty minutes away on foot if he followed the road, meaning he’d arrive faster just walking. In the end, he didn’t order a taxi and began walking slowly instead.

He preferred quiet places to noisy ones, but this was too quiet—it gave him an eerie feeling. About five minutes into the walk through the silent woods, the view finally opened up. Fields spread out at the foot of the mountains. It was already mid-September, but under the sun it was hot. Sweat gathered on his brow, slid down his cheeks, and dripped from his chin. He regretted not waiting for a taxi, but it was too late now.

Tsurutani had decided to leave the company, and the condition he’d proposed was sex with Tokawa. He’d assumed it would be over after a single visit to a hotel, but later, Tsurutani had added another condition: the place would be of his choosing. What he’d designated was his childhood home in rural Yamaguchi. “It’s a place with nothing at all,” he had said—and it hadn’t been modesty.

No matter where Tokawa looked, all he saw was trees. He found himself wondering who had built that train station for in the first place. After walking for about ten more minutes, he finally saw a few houses and felt slightly relieved. In the garden of one gray-tiled house along the road, an elderly woman was tending to the soil. Their eyes met, and he offered a polite bow, but her wary gaze at the stranger did not soften.

An unmanned station. Oppressive woods. An unsettling silence. Unfriendly locals. It felt as though everything around him was rejecting his presence—as if to say you don't belong here. And truthfully, he would never have come to such a place if not for Tsurutani’s condition.

The single-lane road narrowed even further, and the pavement was in terrible shape—cracked and dented in several places. Tokawa wondered how cars were supposed to pass each other on this road, when a white kei truck came barreling toward him from the opposite direction. It showed no signs of slowing down, charging straight ahead. Feeling his life in danger, he hurriedly stepped to the edge of the road.

The truck bore a senior driver sticker, and on instinct Tokawa took another step back with his right foot—only to find that there was no ground beneath it. The moment he realized it, his body tilted and he dropped with a splash into a wide roadside ditch.

From within the ditch, he could hear the truck’s engine growl as it passed. When he stood up, muddy water dripped from his entire body in thick droplets. The bank was made of compacted soil, and since he’d fallen into water, he hadn’t hurt himself anywhere. Still, he looked like a kindergartener who had gone wild in a mud puddle.

Looking around to find his Boston bag, he spotted only the handle poking out of the muddy water. The camel-colored bag had turned a deep brown. The smartphone he’d tucked into the back pocket of his jeans had also been baptized in mud, and refused to turn on. To rinse the mud off both himself and the bag, he’d need access to a hose or faucet—but there was no house in sight. He’d have to walk all the way back to the house with the unfriendly old woman if he wanted to borrow any water.

Still covered in mud and looking thoroughly disheveled, Tokawa trudged down the rural road, both sides lined with overgrown weeds. After walking for another twenty minutes without encountering a single car or person, he reached a patch of farmland where five houses stood scattered among the rice fields. This must be the area where Tsurutani's childhood home was located. He remembered being told to look for a tall hedge, but every house seemed to have one, so it wasn’t immediately clear which was the right one.

The gate to the house at the very front appeared to be open, so he circled around to the entrance and peeked in. In the yard, weeds as tall as a person grew thick and wild—it was clearly an abandoned home.

Among the five houses, only the one at the very back stood out. Its hedge was neatly trimmed. When he got closer, he saw a weathered wooden nameplate reading “Tsurutani” hanging on the gatepost. It had to be the right place. Still, he considered the slight chance it might be someone else with the same surname and called out, “Excuse me?”

“Ah, yes—coming!” came a distant reply in Tsurutani’s voice. Relieved to have found the right house and made it there at last, Tokawa exhaled a sigh of relief.

Tsurutani appeared from behind the wooden gate and blinked three times at the sight before him.

“Um… what on earth happened to you?”

“I tried to avoid a car on the narrow road and ended up falling into a ditch,” Tokawa explained.

Tsurutani’s hands trembled slightly.

“A—Are you hurt?”

“I fell into water, so I’m fine.”

“In any case, please come inside.”

Tokawa stepped through the gate. Beyond the hedge that had hidden it from view was a single-story house, fairly large in size. The structure looked old, with wooden storm shutters and wide, protruding eaves that gave it a traditional charm. Despite its age, there was no visible damage—it was well maintained.

What most drew Tokawa’s eye was the garden, which was almost as large as the house itself. A classic Japanese garden spread out before him, complete with a small pond, stone bridge, stone lanterns, and carefully pruned pine trees. There wasn’t a weed in sight—the entire place was meticulously cared for.

Tsurutani was dressed in a jinbei and wooden sandals. The navy fabric with thin gray stripes suited him surprisingly well, though Tokawa hadn’t pictured him in such clothing. From behind, he looked slender and flat, and the legs visible beneath the knee-length pants were unnaturally pale.

“Please use this area to wash off the mud.”

On the east side of the house, a sliding door opened to a small earthen entryway about half a tatami mat in size, leading to a changing area. Tokawa removed his mud-caked shoes and set his equally muddy Boston bag next to them.

“It’s an old house, but we do have a water heater, so you can use hot water. I’ll leave out a towel and some clothes for you.”

After Tsurutani stepped out, Tokawa took out his smartphone. He wiped off the mud and opened the back cover. There was no response when he tried turning it on, but maybe it would come back to life once it dried.

The bathroom was spacious, with a washing area of about three tatami mats, and the tub was made of wood—the kind he’d only ever seen in traditional inns. He undressed and showered, rinsing himself from head to toe. Black mud streamed down the wooden floor, swirling into the drain.

Just washing with hot water wasn’t enough to rid himself of the mud’s smell, so he borrowed soap and scrubbed himself clean from scalp to toes. Feeling refreshed, he raised his head—and through the frosted glass sliding door separating the bathroom from the dressing room, he saw a black shadow pass by. Tsurutani had apparently dropped off a change of clothes and was gone within seconds.

Tokawa took the opportunity to roughly rinse the mud from his shirt and jeans as well. The shirt, being white, still had faint brown stains. It would probably need to be dry-cleaned. The contents of his Boston bag were damp as well, meaning his spare clothes might be a total loss.

When he stepped out into the changing room, he found a towel and a set of clothes neatly placed in a wicker basket. After drying himself off, he picked up the clothes and blinked in confusion—it was a kimono. Searching for alternatives, he found a cotton short-sleeved undershirt and a pair of cropped momohiki trousers. Since they were borrowed, he couldn’t exactly demand something else. Resigned, he put on the undergarments and draped the kimono over himself. The fabric was more sheer and breathable than expected, but he didn’t know how to tie the sash properly. In the end, he knotted it loosely at his side.

As he stepped out into the hallway, Tsurutani appeared from a room deeper inside the house.

“Does it fit all right?”

“The length seems fine.”

“I borrowed it from my father, since my own would be too small for you. I’m glad it worked. It’s old, but it’s been well kept. The underclothes are new, of course. Um… may I fix the sash?”

Tokawa knew he’d tied it poorly, so he let him. As Tsurutani leaned forward to adjust the belt, a faint sweet scent wafted up from his nape. He thought it might’ve been his imagination, but no—it really was sweet. Maybe he’d been tending to flowers.

“My father was considered tall for his generation. He worked in wholesale kimono textiles, so we have a lot of old ones like this. But they’re all too big for me… they seem to fit you just right.”

Once Tsurutani tied the sash properly, the kimono looked much more composed. After that, Tokawa checked the contents of his now dark-brown Boston bag. As expected, the spare undershirt and clothes were stained with mud. Tsurutani offered to wash them together with his own, so he left them to him. He’d be in trouble if he didn’t have anything to wear home, but if the weather stayed good, they’d likely dry before he left.

He washed the other soiled items at the sink, wiped them down, and finally had a moment to breathe. Then he was shown to the guest room—a ten-mat tatami room. The walls were a soft gray earthen plaster, and a single vase of vivid orange lilies adorned the alcove.

The shōji doors leading to the veranda were wide open, offering a view of the sprawling garden. Across the pond, a cluster of orange lilies bloomed; they’d likely been picked from there to decorate the alcove.

Until he arrived, it had all felt like an ordeal—an inconvenient journey, an unfamiliar station, an oppressively silent forest, unfriendly locals, and the final baptism of ditch water. But now, at last, he could afford the luxury of admiring a beautiful garden.

The sun began to dip quickly, casting long shadows over the yard. He had left Tokyo around midday, thinking there was no point in spending more time together than necessary. But the unexpected mishaps had delayed him, and now it was nearly five o’clock. Despite being autumn, the air clung to his neck with a stifling humidity. The wooden floor creaked, and a silhouette appeared behind the shōji. Tsurutani peeked in.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

Tsurutani stepped inside and placed a tray with tea on the low table. Tokawa, parched, immediately reached for it. “It’s hot in here,” Tsurutani murmured as he left, returning shortly with a fan, which he plugged in. A gentle breeze brushed across Tokawa’s cheek.

“I’m sorry there’s no air conditioning—this is an old house. I think it’ll be a bit cooler once the sun sets.”

Tsurutani sounded apologetic.

“It’s fine. It’s cooler than I expected, actually,” Tokawa replied as he adjusted the sleeve of the kimono, Tsurutani nodded. “Sha is a thin weave, after all.” The conversation lapsed into quiet. A bird chirped chichi from somewhere, and a breeze stirred the leaves of the garden trees with a rustling sound.

“I walked from the station. There really aren’t many houses or people around here.”

Tsurutani gave a small nod.

“Young people have all moved away. Only the elderly remain. And most of those have passed, so all the nearby homes are empty now. This house doesn’t have a resident either, but I’ve kept up maintenance.”

Tokawa had noticed the other homes were dilapidated, but he hadn’t expected it to be an abandoned village. It really was just the two of them, deep in the countryside.

“Will you come back here after leaving the company?”

“No,” Tsurutani said, shaking his head.

“There’s no one here, and no work. This house holds many memories of my parents, so I’ve had it maintained until now, but I also own a place in the city. I think it’s time to sell or tear it down.”

Choosing one’s childhood home as the site of a sexual encounter—was that normal? If this was about wiping away the memory of the encounter along with a house he would eventually sell or demolish, then maybe it made a certain kind of sense.

Tsurutani looked at him. His eyes, not large, gazed upward as if full of hope. The deed would likely be done at night. Yet even now, to be looked at so suggestively—it was premature, and Tokawa felt no inclination.

“May I go out to the garden?”

“Of course.”

Tsurutani went ahead and placed straw sandals at the edge of the veranda. They looked a bit large for him—likely his late father’s, whom he’d said was tall. Tokawa stepped outside and peered into the pond. A red-and-white speckled koi swam up with a swish, raised its head above the surface, and opened its mouth with a pop. After a moment, perhaps realizing no food was coming, it smacked the water with its tail and swam off.

Orange lilies swayed gently in the wind. Near the pond stood a large oak tree, around which the garden appeared to have been designed.

Tokawa walked slowly along the stepping stones, circling the garden, and returned to the shade of the oak. Leaning against the thick trunk, he gazed at the house and garden—it looked like a painting, serene and composed. The ambiance of the house added to it. It was quiet, beautiful. He could understand why Tsurutani had spent money to maintain an unused home.

Tsurutani came out and approached the pond. The water suddenly splashed loudly as the koi began to thrash about, ruining the peaceful scenery with their noise.

After feeding them, the man returned to his side. His expression was that of a nervous child awaiting a scolding.

“Um…” He spoke hesitantly.

“I’m very sorry to bring this up while it’s still light out, but… I think it’s about time…”

He was asking to use Tokawa’s body. Just when Tokawa had been soaking in the charm of the tasteful house and garden, this felt like being dragged into some dingy back-alley bar. Still, he didn’t have the right to refuse. This time, “spending the night” was part of the condition.

“Shall we go back to the guest room? Or would you prefer another room?”

“No, right here.”

Involuntarily, Tokawa looked around. A traditional Japanese house, a well-tended beautiful garden… and they were outside.

"You don’t need to do anything, sir. If you could just stand there, I’ll take care of the rest."

On top of that, it seemed the sex act was to be done with him standing—which made even less sense.

“…What exactly are you trying to do?”

Tsurutani’s mouth twisted faintly. “I’d like to… lick you down there,” he murmured, lowering his eyes in embarrassment.

"There’s no one around, no one will see us."

That wasn’t the issue. “Normal” sexual acts were enough to satisfy him; he’d never demanded more from a partner, and doing it outdoors was out of the question. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to say no, but this wasn’t a normal situation.

He’d once seen Tsurutani servicing Carter and Adams as part of a sexual escorting session—just part of it—and even in that short time, their behavior had seemed to him like the epitome of bad taste. Nothing about it aroused him for even a second. Now, Tsurutani gave off the same scent as those foreigners had back then.

"Go ahead."

Tsurutani’s cheeks flushed, glowing as he beamed.

"Th-thank you very much."

The tasteless man knelt in front of Togawa. With trembling hands, he opened the sides of his kimono. Then, he stared fixedly at the bulge of the fundoshi at Togawa’s crotch. Drawing close, he inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent. Even if he had accepted it in principle, the act still gave him the creeps. A sudden urge to kick the man in the face rose within him—but he swallowed it down.

"You smell fresh, like young grass."

Tsurutani whispered in a daze, then gently pressed his hand over the bulge. The physical contact made Togawa twitch slightly. Seeing this, Tsurutani’s smile deepened.

"Excuse me."

Without warning, fingers slipped in through the front opening of the fundoshi, making Togawa jolt. It wasn’t enough to fully arouse him, but it was undeniably a direct touch. Tsurutani tugged the fundoshi down to mid-thigh, and the penis flopped out in its drooping, unsightly state. It looked laughably limp, and yet Tsurutani stared at it as if memorizing every detail.

"It’s very impressive."

Even being praised, Togawa’s emotions stayed flat. He felt neither pleased nor particularly displeased.

"I used to wonder all the time... what shape or color yours might be, sir. I had a sense it would be large, but it’s far more beautiful than I ever imagined."

He cradled the flaccid member in his hand, leaned forward, and — like a koi surfacing in the pond — gently enveloped the tip with his mouth. The warm, slick membrane encased it, and the soft pressure from his lips around the shaft drew a pulse from deep within. As the blood gathered and the dull thrill overcame his discomfort, Togawa’s hips quivered.

Sniffling softly as he worked, the sight of the man performing oral on him felt more grotesque than erotic, and Togawa turned his eyes to the sky.

The tip of Tsurutani’s tongue swirled over the shaft, moving slowly and deliberately. Regardless of who the partner was, the physical reaction came. It wasn’t hard to imagine how Carter had become so addicted to this.

In the still garden, obscene sounds echoed clearly — wet and rhythmic. The length disappeared deeper and deeper into the other man’s mouth, until his lips brushed against the pubic hair. It was warm. Deep. And consuming.

Leaves rustled overhead. The scenery was ordinary, but what was happening was anything but. Outdoors, in a place like this—what was he even doing? Avoiding the urge to look, Togawa finally let his gaze fall. The gray-haired man was sucking eagerly on his penis, his face buried as he knelt on the ground. It was a pathetic sight. While lost in the act, the shameful man slipped a hand under his own jinbei and started frantically pleasuring himself, as if using Togawa’s body as nothing more than a prop.

Annoyed by the thought, Togawa stomped on Tsurutani’s groin with his sandal.

The thin body flinched violently and looked up. Togawa pressed down harder, and though Tsurutani's nostrils flared and his eyes welled up with tears, he didn’t remove the object from his mouth. Togawa wanted it to be over already, but he still hadn’t reached climax. So he grabbed the man’s gray hair and forced his head back and forth.

Tsurutani choked out muffled cries as tears spilled down his face. Togawa didn’t want to see the act itself—but the man’s tearful expression held his attention. Maybe it was satisfying in a way, because someone so miserable and humiliating looked just right crying like that.

As Tsurutani focused feverishly on stimulating the tip, pleasure spiraled higher and higher until it exploded. His throat moved, swallowing. Then, as if to make sure nothing was left, he gently suckled the tip again.

“Excuse me—!”

A voice called out from the far end of the garden, and Togawa froze. Tsurutani wiped his mouth, stood, and after lightly dusting the dirt off his knees, excused himself and walked toward the front entrance.

Togawa realized his fundoshi was still pulled down, leaving him exposed, and hastily tucked himself away. He’d thought he was the one in control, but somewhere along the way—maybe when he saw the crying face—he’d completely lost himself.

Trying to calm down, he walked slowly around the garden again. In work, no matter how tight the squeeze, he never lost composure. That had always been true in sex, too—until now. Something had overtaken him, making him more aggressive than usual.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves above as if echoing the unrest inside him.

The evening sky had turned a gloomy gray, like Tsurutani’s hair. As he thought it might rain, a light drizzle began to fall. Climbing up to the covered veranda, he grabbed the strap of his sandal and headed for the entrance, where he nearly collided with Tsurutani holding a cardboard box.

Noticing Togawa's glance, Tsurutani smiled and said, “I had some groceries delivered.”

“There aren’t any places to eat nearby, and the supermarket is far. I don’t have a car, so I always ask them to deliver when I come home.”

Readjusting the box in his arms, he added, “You don’t dislike somen noodles, do you?”

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