COLD THE FINAL: Chapter 7

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COLD HEART in NEWYORK backside

In New York, most businesses stayed open even during summer vacation. CRUX’s New York branch, too, hadn’t closed for summer since it opened the year before last. Customers would come from outside the city specifically to buy accessories exclusive to the New York store, and in-store sales were doing well. However, for Masahiko Kusuda’s sales rounds, the results had been practically nonexistent. Most of the select shop buyers he tried to meet were on long vacations, and he was repeatedly brushed off at reception with a light “Come back next month.”

Taking that as a lesson, starting the year before last, he gave up on doing sales rounds in the summer and focused solely on retail operations, rotating summer holidays with the shop staff. He had time off—but no real plans. As he wondered what to do with it, the thought occurred to him: Maybe I should go back home for a bit. He wanted to see his parents, and his grandmother too.

When he’d first arrived in New York five years ago, he thought he’d never be able to return to Japan again. The main reason for that was his ex-lover—Kaito Akizawa. He had truly loved him. That’s why the betrayal had hurt so much, and why it was all the more painful when it was treated like no big deal. The despair of being unable to reach him emotionally had made him realize they couldn’t go on. Even when he tried to properly explain and ask for a breakup, Akizawa refused to accept it.

And then, as if angry that Kusuda was upset about the cheating, Akizawa put forth the deranged logic that Kusuda should just cheat too—and arranged for two total strangers to rape him. Even when he pleaded—I don’t want this, please stop—no one listened. It was a living hell. Being violated without consent by men he didn’t love tore his heart to pieces.

If he stayed by Akizawa’s side, he would be destroyed. No—maybe he already had been. He didn’t want to see his face. He didn’t want to hear his voice. He was terrified. Simply terrified. Emotionally cornered to the brink, all his mind could focus on was escape. With help from people he trusted, Kusuda faked his death and fled to New York.

Even after coming abroad—even knowing Akizawa wasn’t in America—those memories didn’t vanish so easily. The image of being raped by faceless men came back again and again, and more than once he’d woken up screaming, soaked in sweat.

Still, he gradually made friends, threw himself into work… and as months passed, half a year, a full year, he began to settle into life in America. The nightmares became less frequent, and just as he finally started to feel emotionally steady—Akizawa found out he was alive and in New York.

When Masamitsu told him everything had been exposed, Kusuda went cold all over. It felt like Akizawa would walk through the door at any second, and he began trembling uncontrollably.

Akizawa had work and couldn’t fly out immediately. But Masamitsu warned that as soon as he had a break, he would take a vacation and come to New York to find him. Masamitsu had told him, “I made it clear to him that if you don’t want to see him, he should back off.” But Kusuda couldn’t imagine Akizawa listening to that. The thought of being blamed for lying, of being told he had to pay for it, of being forced to open his body again against his will—it made him nauseous. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear that voice.

As he spiraled, he couldn’t sleep at night, couldn’t eat. He started to lose weight, and Guiness, the office admin, had asked him with concern, “You look pale. Are you feeling unwell?”

Kusuda considered taking a trip while Akizawa was in New York. The first place Akizawa would surely go was the CRUX storefront. If Kusuda wasn’t there, they wouldn’t meet. But even if he dodged him this time, he doubted Akizawa would give up. Would he have to keep running every time he came to the U.S.? That was impossible. Who knew how often he would come from now on? And it’s not like Kusuda could just take time off work every time to avoid him.

He didn’t know what to do, or what the right answer was. He spent his days in anxious turmoil until he finally made up his mind: I’ll face him. After all, it had been him—Kusuda—who had run away without ever truly confronting Akizawa. He’d dragged others into his mess, and even now, people were still dealing with the fallout.

Masamitsu had said, “Akizawa-san has changed.” It had been years since then. Maybe—just maybe—his feelings had settled. Maybe they could finally have a proper conversation.

Kusuda wouldn’t run anymore. But he wouldn’t wait, either. He would just live—normally. If Akizawa showed up, he’d treat him like an old friend. And through that, he would finally bring closure to the twisted, abandoned wreckage of their relationship.

Ever since learning Akizawa had arrived in the U.S., Kusuda had felt constantly on edge while working at the second-floor office above the CRUX storefront. Even the slightest sound made his body twitch. But that day, Akizawa didn’t appear.

After locking up the store for the night, Kusuda felt that tight tension lift all at once. He picked up some essentials from the market on his way home. But just as he stepped into his sanctuary—his apartment—he came face-to-face with him.

The sight of Akizawa in a place he hadn’t expected sent his brain into chaos. Before he could even think, fear took over—just pure, unfiltered fear. He fled into his room and slammed the door.

Even now, he could still hear the voice that had called to him from the other side: “I wanted to see you.” It hadn’t sounded like longing—it had sounded like a curse.

Even after he managed to coax Akizawa to leave, and even once he knew the man had left the building, Kusuda’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Apparently, Akizawa had met Jessica through work. He hadn’t known she was Kusuda’s roommate—just that she happened to treat his injury. A perfect storm of coincidence, in the worst possible way.

Kusuda had thought they could talk. But… he couldn’t. He was still terrified of him. What exactly was he afraid of? He didn’t know. It went beyond reason—something primal. He didn’t want to be alone with Akizawa. And yet, in order to make him leave, he’d promised to meet him.

He had to. Otherwise, Akizawa would just get angry… and who knew what he might do.

Jessica, concerned by his behavior, kept gently checking on him, over and over. Eventually, she sat him down and asked directly: “Did something happen between you and that guy?”

Kusuda couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell her that his ex had arranged for him to be raped by strangers in the name of warped logic. He didn’t know how to say any of it. He couldn’t breathe under the weight of it all. In the end, he told her vaguely: that he’d been in a relationship, and when he tried to end things, it turned into a traumatic experience—something resembling terrible, violent sex.

Jessica was furious.

“Then just run.” That was her advice. People like that only wear you down the more seriously you try to talk to them. And if you leave them be, they’ll just repeat the same thing again and again.

Even after he explained that he had thought it through—that he’d decided to face him—Jessica dismissed it without hesitation.

“You realize how long it’s been since that guy left, right? And you’re still shaking.”

In the end, they agreed: Kusuda wasn’t in any condition to confront Akizawa. And then Jessica offered something completely unexpected:

“I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend.”

If Akizawa learned Kusuda had a new lover, maybe he’d finally give up. “And then that’s that, right?” she said.

Kusuda was terrified that Akizawa’s anger might turn on her instead—but Jessica just snorted.

“Please. He’ll be back in Japan soon anyway. What’s he going to do—nothing.”

Kusuda had no idea how Akizawa would react once he learned about his supposed new lover. No—that was a lie. He did know. He imagined it: the outburst, the screaming… He’d seen it before with his own eyes.

When he’d told Akizawa, over Chinese food, that Jessica was his fiancée and they planned to marry, Akizawa had exploded. He’d grabbed Jessica’s arm and dragged her outside the restaurant.

I can’t let Jessica get hurt because of me. He couldn’t let others be pulled into this. That’s why Kusuda had pulled her away from Akizawa—and for the first time, truly confronted him.

I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I don’t want to trouble anyone again. That wish had forced him to finally stand face-to-face with the man he feared. And he had spoken honestly:

“Please, just forget about me.”

Right after he told Akizawa that Jessica was his fiancée, the man had been hysterical—but in the end, he’d gone home. He made a bit of a scene, sure, but Kusuda had expected worse—screaming, violence. The fact that Akizawa left at all was better than expected. Maybe that was the “change” Masamitsu had referred to.

The next day, Kusuda stayed on alert, but Akizawa didn’t come to the shop or the apartment. He thought—maybe it’s finally over—and felt a fleeting sense of relief.

But that relief lasted barely a day.

The next afternoon, Akizawa appeared at the shop.

Even though Kusuda had told the staff he was busy, Akizawa waited outside the storefront and refused to move, saying he just wanted to see him.

It was cold outside, the sky heavy with the promise of snow. Every time Kusuda glanced out the window, Akizawa was still there. Standing. Waiting.

He wouldn’t go home. He just stood there. And as the hours passed, concern edged in. What if he catches a cold out there? He wasn’t leaving until Kusuda’s shift ended, clearly.

The old Akizawa would’ve stormed inside, yelling, making a scene, determined to get his way no matter what. But this Akizawa… just waited. Like a loyal dog.

Has he really changed? Maybe a little. But Kusuda couldn’t forget the fear.

He wanted nothing more than to leave that man alone. And yet, he couldn’t. So he told him—it was a nuisance for him to wait outside the store.

That was when Akizawa said, “I want us to be friends.”

Friends? After everything? Kusuda was stunned. He genuinely thought the man had to be out of his mind.

But even though Kusuda had never agreed to this “friendship,” Akizawa kept coming by—asking to meet, to eat together. If Kusuda refused, he’d back off. If he agreed, he didn’t push further. He didn’t overstep.

Eventually, Kusuda began to understand—Akizawa really wouldn’t cross the line. And there was something pitiful about how he just… waited. Earnest, even. When he said “I still love you,” it probably wasn’t a lie. He’d supposedly mourned Kusuda’s death for three years. Still, that didn’t mean he could be forgiven.

And lies… they always got exposed.

Just like the lie about his death had been uncovered, the lie about “Jessica is my girlfriend” was found out too.

It happened in front of the apartment. Akizawa had gotten angry. Kusuda ran—into the elevator. But Akizawa had chased him, gotten in right behind him. In the narrow, confined space, he started yelling.

Then the elevator stopped.

The lights cut out. It was just the two of them.

Suddenly, it was all back—the memory of being raped. That suffocating nightmare. His mind went blank with terror. He was sure—that man was going to do it again. Use his body like a toy. Shove things inside him, make him hurt, make him—

No. No. No.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. But somehow, his body found the strength, and he did scream.

…Shortly after that, Akizawa returned to Japan without seeing him again.

Apparently, he’d stopped by the store, left a message with the staff: “I won’t come back to New York.”

And for some reason, he also left a gift—a hat.

Kusuda didn’t understand the gesture at all. He shoved the bag into the back of his closet and tried not to think about it.

When Akizawa returned to Japan, Kusuda felt genuinely relieved. A few days later, a letter from Akizawa arrived. He was too afraid to open it. The next day, another came. Then another. Letters arrived almost daily, and Kusuda shoved them, unopened, into a cardboard box.

About six months later, while cleaning his room, he accidentally kicked the box. Maybe I should just throw them all away, he thought. But then a different thought crept in: What could he possibly be writing in there every day? Complaint after complaint? Grievances and resentment?

Unable to face that possibility himself, he picked one at random, opened it, and asked Jessica to read it for him.

“It says, ‘I’m sorry,’” she reported.

“That’s all?”

“Just that.”

Sure enough, the letter she handed back contained nothing but the words I’m sorry. He opened another—also I’m sorry. Curious now, he went through the rest. One by one, every single one said the same thing: I’m sorry.

Still, the letters kept coming—nearly every day. Though they always said the same thing, the paper would change: sometimes a letter sheet, sometimes a card. Sometimes scrawled hastily, other times written neatly and carefully. The words never changed, but the hands that wrote them did.

Akizawa never showed up in person again. But the message was clear—he hadn’t forgotten, and he didn’t intend to let Kusuda forget either. So what did he want? The only thing in those letters was the same apology, again and again.

Watching the box fill with Akizawa’s silent apologies, Kusuda came to a realization: He won’t chase me anymore. Even if we happen to meet, he won’t cross the line. Believing that, for the first time, he felt ready to return to Japan.

…Setting foot on Japanese soil for the first time in five years, Kusuda was unexpectedly moved. Just hearing the sound of Japanese in trains, on the streets, brought tears to his eyes. Jessica was fluent in Japanese, but once he stepped out of the apartment, he was always in an English-speaking world. He constantly had to stay alert, afraid to miss something important. It was exhausting. Being in Japan, where he could understand everything effortlessly—he realized how much stress he’d been living under.

While in Japan, he stayed at Masamitsu’s place. He caught up with friends from school, watched Japanese films, and lazed around eating shaved ice.

At one point, Masamitsu murmured, “Akizawa-san is filming in Los Angeles right now.”

Kusuda had already heard from Tohru that after shooting a movie in L.A., Akizawa would swing by New York to do a CRUX poster and novelty shoot. Masamitsu might have assumed Kusuda came back to Japan because Akizawa wasn’t there. But in truth, Kusuda only learned about Akizawa’s travel plans after he had already booked his ticket home.

“I put a lot of people through a lot… but I think I’m okay now. Probably.”

Masamitsu only replied, “I see.”

After four days of enjoying Japan to the fullest, Kusuda boarded a plane back to New York.

He returned to his live-in office just before noon. He hadn’t been able to sleep on the flight and wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed, but he knew from experience: if he gave in now, he’d be wrecked by jet lag. Just a few more hours, he told himself. Stay awake until night.

He tried. He really tried. But by late afternoon, he hit his limit. In his haze, he called Jessica.

“I was about to reach out,” she said. “Figured you’d be back around now.”

She was home, so Kusuda decided to bring her some souvenirs. The walk would help him stay awake too.

The sun had already gone down, but the heat still hung heavy in the air. Even in a T-shirt and shorts, sweat clung to his skin. The streets buzzed with English, phrases slipping into his ears as he wandered in a jet-lagged daze.

Yeah… I’m back in New York.

Japan had been so comfortable, he hadn’t wanted to leave. But now that he was back, he realized something: This place… has a space for me too.

The apartment he had once shared—a familiar place. As soon as the front door opened, Jessica, dressed in a sleeveless top, threw her arms around him with a beaming smile and cried, “Welcome back!” She sniffed around him like a dog, grinning. “You smell like Japan~!”

Standing behind her was her girlfriend, Emma, smiling with her mouth but not with her eyes. Jessica was gay, and Emma knew that Kusuda was “just a friend”—but it probably still bothered her to see her girlfriend embracing another man. Kusuda understood. Not wanting to invite unnecessary misunderstanding, he gently untangled himself from Jessica.

“Here—this is what you asked for. And some souvenirs.”

Jessica lit up with delight as he handed her the specialty seasoning and limited-edition makeup brushes she loved but couldn’t get in the U.S. For Emma, he had brought a matching yukata, just like Jessica’s. Only then did Emma smile softly and say, “Thank you,” the wariness finally leaving her eyes.

“Oh, hey. Has… the mail come?”

At his question, Jessica suddenly fell silent. Maybe it hasn't, Kusuda thought. He hadn’t replied to any of it, and honestly, it wouldn’t be strange if it had ended by now. If it had—well, good. Probably. It would mean Akizawa had finally moved on. That this was simply the timing.

But then Jessica looked him in the eye and said, “Yes, it has.”

At that moment, for some reason, Kusuda felt a quiet relief.

“I see. Then I’ll take it with me while I’m here.”

Jessica disappeared into the back room and returned with a small paper bag. Inside were a few airmail envelopes and a little pouch of cookies. They were from Sally’s, an old American cookie brand with a flagship shop near the apartment.

“What’s this?”

“He brought it by during the day.”

Kusuda’s fingers trembled as they held the bag.

“Ah… right. He’s in New York for work, isn’t he.”

“He hung the cookie bag on the doorknob and left right after. Didn’t even knock.”

He had said he wouldn’t come back to New York—but if it was for work, of course that couldn’t be helped. Maybe he had just dropped them off, no real intent to meet. Probably.

“I ate a few of the cookies, by the way.”

“That’s fine. I’m not really into sweets.”

“Then I’ll take the rest.”

Jessica held out her hand. Kusuda took one cookie and gave her the rest. She munched on them as she stood there.

“…Don’t you think it’s time you put an end to this?”

Kusuda looked up, startled.

“You’re not planning to keep coming here for mail forever, are you?”

“I…”

He couldn’t answer.

“Tomorrow, he’s coming by to drop off another card—most likely in person.”

The paper bag slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. He quickly bent to pick it up.

“What? Why?”

“I told him to. He doesn’t know you moved out.”

Kusuda found himself clutching the bag tightly.

“I don’t really understand what you’re feeling,” Jessica said. “You said you didn’t even want to see his face—but you keep coming here to pick up his letters every single day. It’s like you’re… looking forward to them.”

“That’s not it.”

The denial came out before he could stop it.

“I just… want to know if it’s still coming.”

“But he always writes the same thing, doesn’t he?”

Jessica’s green eyes saw straight through him. Accused him. He didn’t fully understand it himself. He just knew… he’d been receiving those emotions, day after day, from a man who had learned to keep his distance.

“He should be here around two tomorrow. Whether you see him or not is up to you.”

Maybe I should just tell him in person. Stop writing. No more letters. But it wasn’t even necessary. All it would take was one reply. If it were the current Akizawa, that alone might be enough to let go.

“Someday, he’ll stop,” Kusuda murmured.

“When?” Jessica shot back, sharp as ever.

He had no answer.

“In five years? Ten? That man might keep sending letters forever. And this—this situation—isn’t good for either of you. The door to the future is open. But unless you end it properly, neither of you can move forward.”

I’m not trying to start over. I don’t want to. I’m still scared. Really scared. And yet… I still haven’t been able to throw those letters away.

Jessica was always right. Always too perceptive. She could see how unsteady he was. From beneath his bowed head, he heard her sigh—long and heavy.

“Love sickness really is a pain, huh.”

Kusuda clutched the paper bag tightly in both hands… but he couldn’t say a word.

When he got back to the office-slash-apartment, he sat on the bed. Just hours ago, jet lag had made it nearly impossible to stay awake, but now his head felt unnaturally clear.

On the wall hung the hat Akizawa had left. At first, he hadn’t even wanted to look at it and had kept it stuffed in a bag. But when he moved, he ended up hanging it up—mainly because the closet was too cramped and he had nowhere else to put it. He could’ve thrown it away. But he hadn’t.

He opened every letter he’d picked up that day. Every single one still said the same thing: I’m sorry.

Nothing more.

And yet, even in those blank fragments of paper, he could feel it—I love you. And the fact that he could feel that… shook him.

He was angry. He was scared. He’d been hurt. Akizawa’s way of loving was different, maybe even broken, but Kusuda understood that he had meant it. That much was clear. And Kusuda… had never been that obsessed with anyone else, either.

These letters, this persistence—some part of him found it sincere.

What must he feel, writing these every day? Kusuda didn’t know. But sometimes, the thought of it overwhelmed him.

Could he face Akizawa again? He didn’t know. He was scared. He didn’t want to be dragged back into that black, suffocating place.

Jessica’s right. I’ll tell him to stop sending letters. I’ll see him face to face—look him in the eye—and then we’ll both be free. That’s why I’ll meet him tomorrow. I’ll talk to him.

The decision cleared his mind. Tomorrow, it ends. All of it. Just thinking that, he felt lighter. Relieved. And as if his body had been waiting for permission, he collapsed sideways onto the bed and fell into sleep like he’d been knocked out.

The next morning, he woke just before noon. Maybe because he’d slept when he should, his head felt clear. He had a simple lunch—coffee and a sandwich from a nearby shop—and then returned home to deal with the suitcase he’d abandoned yesterday.

By the time he finished, it was past two o’clock. He stepped outside.

The sun was brutal—hot enough to make him recoil. He hadn’t even made it halfway to Jessica’s apartment before sweat started dotting his brow. I already know what I’m going to say.

Stop sending letters. Let’s forget each other. Or at least, try to forget. That would be best—for both of them.

As he neared Jessica’s building, there was a figure standing in front of the apartment. A man, standing with his head slightly bowed beside the door. It was Akizawa. Even from a distance, Kusuda could tell immediately from his striking silhouette.

Instinctively, his feet stopped. Kusuda stood there for a while, blankly gazing at the man in the distance. He was far enough away that there was no sense of fear. Akizawa remained motionless by the door. The sunlight beat down on him—it looked unbearably hot. It felt pitiful to leave him standing there in the heat for so long, and Kusuda took one step forward… then stopped.

Suddenly, tears welled up and overflowed from his eyes, even though he wasn’t sad, startling him. What the hell... He pressed his palm against his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Flustered, he ducked into the shadow of a nearby building. Maybe deep down, he didn’t want to sever ties with that man completely. But why? Do I still love him? The thought hit him like a shock. After everything—the terror, the pain, the way it hurt so many people, the way I ran away... And after all that, with just that childish, self-satisfied apology letters... he...

Tears spilled out uncontrollably. Unable to stop them, Kusuda returned to his apartment for a moment. Even if some feelings still remained, there was nothing he could do. His whole body rejected that man, along with the dark memories. It was impossible to start over—no matter how he thought about it.

He rushed to the refrigerator, yanked out a beer, and sank onto the sofa, gulping it down in one go. When it didn’t do anything, he grabbed another. Only after the second bottle did the violent turmoil inside him begin to dull, just a little.

He washed his face, scrubbing away any traces of tears, and left the apartment again. The conclusion was already clear inside him—there was nothing to hesitate over—yet his head swam so badly, whether from the heat or the alcohol, that he felt dizzy enough to collapse

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The view from the CRUX office windows glittered with streetlamps and the glow spilling from the showroom. Like a jewelry box. Kusuda gazed at it vacantly, not really seeing it.

“Hey.”

A voice called him back, sharp with irritation.

Snapping to, Kusuda turned to face Jessica, who was seated across from him on the sofa.

“Ah—sorry. What?”

“I said, this sushi’s good, right? I think it tastes pretty close to the real thing.”

Jessica pointed at the tray of sushi on the table. Kusuda murmured an absentminded yeah, it is and grabbed a piece of uni. He brought it to his mouth, but his thoughts were elsewhere, so much so he couldn't even remember what he’d just eaten.

Just past 7 p.m., Jessica had shown up at the CRUX office-residence with dinner in hand after work. She hadn’t called ahead, but that wasn’t unusual—she often dropped by unannounced, saying she’d passed nearby or had a fight with her girlfriend.

“It’s from a well-known place. I went all the way to Midtown for this, and this is the reaction I get? I'm heartbroken.”

“Sorry. It’s good. We should’ve invited Emma too.”

At the mention of her girlfriend’s name, Jessica dramatically whipped her red hair from side to side.

“I told you she’s working late tonight!”

“…Right. Sorry.”

All he could do now was apologize.

Jessica kept her lips pursed, gulping down the wine she’d brought like it was water. A drop of red fell on her green blouse, leaving a dark stain at her chest.

“You’ve been completely out of it since I got here.”

Kusuda muttered sorry again and sipped from his now-warm beer.

“I came here because I wanted to share some good food with you—and because I’ve been thinking about yesterday. I figured you’d tell me what happened, but since you haven’t, I’m just going to ask. Did you meet him?”

There was no need to ask who. She meant Kaito Akizawa—the man who had been in this very room until evening.

“I did. We talked.”

Jessica let out a small breath.

“Good. So you were able to get some closure?”

The silence that followed answered her more than words could.

She furrowed her brow. “Wait… don’t tell me…”

Kusuda could guess what she was about to say. He quickly interrupted, “We had a proper conversation.”

“He’s based in Japan, and he won’t be coming here that often. So little by little…”

“You’re not seriously getting back with him?!”

Hearing it out loud sent a tremor through his chest. A sudden panic that maybe—maybe—he was making a huge mistake. But he had made up his mind.

Jessica shook her head and threw her shoulders up in disbelief.

“He’s the one who gave you trauma, Masahiko! The one who destroyed you!”

“That’s why—I want to face it. I want to try to overcome it.”

“You’re not a psychiatrist! What if it makes things worse?”

“I don’t think it can get worse than it already is… probably.”

Jessica stared at him intently.

“I’ve told you before,” Jessica said gently, “but you should see a professional counselor. Get proper advice. There are plenty of people out there living with trauma. And they all recover by seeking help from trained professionals. You shouldn’t be trying to manage this on your own.”

She’d encouraged him more than once, but Kusuda had never actually gone through with it. If he were to start treatment, he’d have to be completely honest about everything that had happened—what had been done to him, what he’d experienced. And that was something he could never say out loud. He didn’t want anyone to know. He didn’t want to tell anyone.

“I just don’t want to see you hurting anymore.”

She spoke like a mother, like an older sister, wrapping him in warmth.

“It won’t be like before,” Kusuda said quietly.

Unlike back then, when Akizawa had acted on impulse alone, he was different now—he’d started to change, maybe even learned to consider others’ feelings. Or at least… that’s what Kusuda wanted to believe.

“I knew,” Jessica said, “that you still had feelings for him. That’s why I wanted you to meet him and find closure. But starting over? That’s the worst possible outcome.”

Jessica was always right. Maybe it really was his judgment that was flawed.

“I honestly don’t understand what you see in that man. Watching you is like watching an injured puppy that knows something’s dangerous but just can’t help inching closer anyway.”

She sighed softly.

“There are all kinds of people in this world, and the majority of them are far more decent than he is. You deserve someone better.”

Kusuda let out a small laugh. “I’m not anything special. I’m not creative like my brother or Akizawa.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that. You’re earnest, you’re compassionate—you’re a wonderful person.”

Jessica stood up and sat down on the armrest beside him.

“I really mean that.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. He knew she meant it—knew it came from care—and so he quietly laid his hand over hers.

“I told you before, didn’t I? I can’t stand being touched by men.”

“I remember.”

“And honestly… I was okay with that. It’s not like I planned to date guys anyway. A quick hug between men, that kind of thing—I just had to tolerate it for a second. If I could do that, I could keep working without any problems.”

Kusuda stared at the opposite sofa—at the spot where Akizawa had sat.

“I didn’t really mean to start over with him. But when I saw his face… I don’t know, I just started crying, and everything got all messed up in my head. I told myself we could talk here, just the two of us, but I was terrified. I tried to distract myself. That’s why I drank some beer. Just enough to numb the fear a little, enough to say it—stop sending me letters. He said no. Refused. And deep down… I knew he’d say that. Part of me was expecting it. Maybe I even wanted him to refuse. I guess… I was testing him.”

Jessica said nothing, just listened.

“After that, I tried touching him. Just a little. I mean, I can handle a hug from a guy if I steel myself, but with him… even the moment my fingertips brushed him, I broke out in a cold sweat, my heart started pounding—I couldn’t do it.”

“Masahiko,” Jessica said softly, “wasn’t that your answer right there?”

He squeezed her hand.

“...I knew from the start—even before I touched him—that it was impossible. And yet, I still wanted to try. I wanted to touch him. I didn’t want things to end like that.”

Kusuda leaned forward.

“I’m an idiot… I wanted to hold him again. Even though I was scared—so scared I thought I might piss myself. Even though he’s the one who did all those things to me…”

And then, suddenly, he felt like crying.

“He says he’s sorry, you know. Every single time. And I can tell it’s real. It’s from the heart. He sends a letter every day. And sure, I think, why letters when he could just email me… but… I got hurt, yeah, but I hurt him too. After I lied and ran off, told him I was dead… he got so thin. Like dangerously thin. When I saw the CRUX novelty photo, it shocked me. I thought maybe it was my fault. But I didn’t ask anyone. I was too afraid. I had dreams about him dying, waking up in the middle of the night in a panic… There were nights I just gripped my phone, thinking maybe I should let him know I was alive…”

“…You’re a kind person,” Jessica said softly.

The moment she said it, tears burst from Kusuda’s eyes.

“I’m not kind at all. I told the worst kind of lie and ran away. I was just… scared of him.”

The tears kept falling, over and over. Jessica gently stroked his head, and he cried until every last emotion poured out. When it was over, the tension drained from his shoulders all at once.

“I dragged so many people into it when I ran to New York. And now I’m talking about starting over like it’s nothing. To everyone else, I must look like a fool. If that’s what I wanted, I should’ve just had a proper conversation from the start. But I couldn’t. I was scared—just so scared…”

He trailed off, then added with a hollow laugh, “In novels, you know… when a former lover who once hurt the protagonist shows up again, the character can just say, ‘I can’t go back to that,’ and move on, clean and clear. But I can’t. No matter how many years pass, I can’t sort out how I feel. And if I don’t try now, I’ll just keep dragging it around. I’ll regret it forever.”

Jessica wrapped her arms around his head.

“You really are a foolish boy.”

“You’re exasperated with me, huh.”

“I know there are things that can’t be reasoned through. But it hurts, knowing I’ll have to watch you struggle and not be able to do anything.”

“That guy… as awful as he is… the one thing I do know for sure is that he loves me.”

“You’re impossible.”

But in her exasperated words, Kusuda could hear forgiveness. And he felt—no, he knew—that even if things with Akizawa fell apart again and he came crawling back in tears, Jessica wouldn’t throw her words from tonight back at him. She’d just hold him again and console him.

Jessica left just before eleven. He’d offered to walk her home, but she declined, saying Emma was already nearby.

Kusuda showered, rinsing the sweat from his body, then crawled under the sheets. His small ten-mat (approximately 16.5 m²) room fit a bed, a desk, a closet—everything necessary for daily life packed tight. When he’d told the staff he was going to live in the empty back room of the office, Guinness had shaken her head, saying, I can’t believe you’d live somewhere that cramped, but back in Japan, plenty of people lived in rooms this size.

He was exhausted. He’d needed alcohol just to make it through the conversation with Akizawa earlier that day, and before the haze of it even cleared, Jessica had shown up. He’d probably spent 80% of the day running on beer.

His phone buzzed with an incoming call. The screen showed the number he’d just registered that very day. His fingertips throbbed. It was already past eleven. If he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t have to answer. They were going to meet again tomorrow anyway. Still unsure, he hesitated… then tapped to accept the call.

“Masahiko?”

The voice on the other end was quiet, like he was trying to gauge the mood.

“It’s late. What’s up?”

“Oh—sorry. Yeah, it’s really late, huh. I was gonna go to bed, but when I started thinking about you, I couldn’t sleep. And then I really wanted to hear your voice. I kept telling myself I shouldn’t, that I’d talked your ear off already today, and I didn’t want to annoy you. But just this once, I wanted to say goodnight.”

Then came the quiet words, as if spoken against his ear: “So… goodnight.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

“See you tomorrow. I’m actually looking forward to the sun coming up. ’Night.”

And just like that, the call ended.

He used to be different. Used to talk only about himself, say everything he wanted without stopping, and Kusuda used to let him. But now… now, he was changing. Not completely. But steadily, undeniably—bit by bit.

This time… won’t be like before. No—it can’t be.

“…He really only called to say goodnight.”

He was still afraid of what tomorrow would bring. Still scared. But somehow, he could no longer push away the person coming toward him.

“You know… at times like this, it’s okay to talk a little more.”

Muttering to no one, Kusuda grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it over his head.

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