COLD HEART in NEWYORK: Chapter 15

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The employee-only cafeteria on the seventh floor of the Rogue Company headquarters was done up in shades of white. The chairs came in futuristic, egg-shaped plastic designs, or natural bamboo weave, with an eclectic mix of materials—yet somehow, because they were all white, the atmosphere came together seamlessly, giving off a curated, artistic feel.

There were women with model-like figures at the table seats, some scrolling through laptops, others reading. A few sat in pairs, chatting away. But perhaps because it was still ten in the morning, the space overall remained quiet and sparsely populated.

Akizawa and Jessica, each with a cup of coffee, sat at a window-side table. Beyond the glass, under a gray sky, a skyline of massive buildings stretched far into the distance.

It was the day after Akizawa had learned that Jessica and Masahiko were not, in fact, dating. He’d waited outside their apartment. When Jessica returned home, he approached her with, “Can we talk?” only to be ignored, and the door shut firmly in his face. So now, here he was—at her workplace. The reception at ELZA, the women’s fashion magazine, still remembered him and guided him to Jessica’s desk. She had visibly jumped at the sight of him, clearly fed up with being followed around, and agreed to move their conversation to the company cafeteria.

“You know you’re acting like a stalker,” Jessica said. Her brow had been furrowed from the moment she saw his face. After one sip of her coffee, she made a sour face and stuck out her tongue. “Too hot.”

“You say you want to talk about Masahiko, but what’s there to talk about? You’re Japanese—why don’t you try using that world-famous Japanese instinct for reading the room? You’re chasing someone who ran away from you—ran. You’ve cornered him, hounded him—what’s the point? Just leave him alone already.”

Akizawa couldn’t respond.

“But I love him…” he muttered, finally.

“There’s a reason for everything,” Jessica said, folding her hands around her cup. “I don’t know everything that happened between you two—but what did you do to him?”

He wanted to ask the same. He hadn’t done anything… all he did was love him. Love him with everything. But faced with that question, he fell silent. Seeing his hesitation, Jessica let out a heavy sigh, as if exasperated by his inability to answer.

“When I was looking for an apartment, Masahiko was looking too. At first, I didn’t want to live with a man—I’m gay, and having a male roommate is always complicated—but Masahiko told me he couldn’t have sex anymore. Said he’d had a terrible breakup with a man and hadn’t been able to do anything since. That man… was you, wasn’t it?”

Just touching his wrist made him flinch. He’d screamed in the dark, like he was being torn apart. The memory of Masahiko’s voice made Akizawa’s chest tighten.

“Masahiko told me he can’t stand being touched by men. That he can barely get through a handshake, that a hug makes him feel sick. But he has to do it sometimes for work, and he said he forces himself through it. I didn’t know what had happened… but when I saw you, it all made sense. You’re a brute. No self-control, no intellect. I don’t know how he ever dated someone like you.”

I know that.

I know it without being told.

That all I am is a pretty face. That acting is the only thing I can do...

“Everybody makes mistakes,” Jessica said, quieter now. “And everybody deserves the chance to start over. You’re beautiful. With a face like that, you could have anyone—man or woman. It doesn’t have to be Masahiko. That relationship left him scarred. Even now, three years later, the wound still hasn’t healed. He can’t even fake it. And when you’re near, that wound tears back open. It hurts him, all over again.”

“…Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She leaned in, peering up at Akizawa’s face from below.

“You said you love Masahiko, didn’t you?” Jessica said. “If that’s really true—if you actually love him—then there’s one thing even someone like you can still do for him. Go back to Japan right now. And never show your face in front of him again. …There. Easy, right?”

With that, Jessica left the café.

Akizawa had wanted to know why Masahiko was afraid of him. Somewhere deep down, he had a guess… but maybe none of that mattered anymore.

If you love him, you don’t see him.

Because you love him, you leave.

Even though you love him, even though you love him... it’s unbearable.

And that unbearable pain was going to stretch out, on and on, into eternity.

Before he realized it, Akizawa was crying.

He cried because he could see that long, long future ahead of him. And in this country, in this vast foreign land, there was no one—not a single person—who would be there to comfort him.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Before heading to the airport, Akizawa stopped by CRUX one last time. There were no customers inside, and when Rob noticed him, he greeted him cheerfully with a loud, “Hi!”

“You not come. Thought you go back Japan,” Rob said, thinking Akizawa had already returned since he’d suddenly stopped coming by every day.

“I’m going to the airport now. Heading back to Japan,” Akizawa replied.

Rob came out from behind the counter, wrapped his arms around Akizawa in a hug, and smiled. “Goodbye.”

“Owner not here. Come back soon,” he added, pointing behind him. Masahiko wasn’t there. Akizawa had hoped he might see him one last time, but then remembered that frightened look on his face. In the end, maybe it was better not to see him again.

“Give this to Masahiko,” Akizawa said, removing the hat he was wearing and placing it on the counter. He had bought it with Masahiko in mind but never got the chance to give it to him. He could’ve kept wearing it himself, but it was a gift he chose thinking only of Masahiko—he didn’t want to take it back to Japan with him.

“And tell him… I’m not coming back to New York.”

Rob’s face looked genuinely sad. “Come again,” he said softly.

Akizawa left CRUX and got into the taxi that had been waiting outside. When their eyes met in the rearview mirror, the Black driver dipped his lids slightly, silently asking, Ready to go? Akizawa nodded faintly.

Leaning back against the seat, he stared out at the streets of New York. Snow had started falling again. The whole city seemed blurred, like it was hiding behind a veil. The cab stopped at a red light.

On the far side of the street, someone in a gray coat was walking toward them. He looked familiar—Masahiko. Akizawa’s hand shot toward the door handle, his chest tightening with a sudden surge of longing… but he trembled and held himself back.

Masahiko didn’t notice him inside the taxi. Glancing at his watch, he passed by without looking up.

The light changed, and the cab pulled forward. Masahiko’s back grew smaller and smaller in the side mirror until it disappeared completely. Akizawa wouldn’t see him again. He’d decided that.

This was the end.

The realization hit like a wave, and tears burst forth. He curled over in the seat and sobbed. No matter how much he cried, the tears wouldn’t stop. His nose ran, his face soaked with grief.

He had arrived in New York thrilled at the idea of seeing Masahiko again. Now, alone in the airport waiting room, he sat slumped in his seat. And he thought about what “I’m scared” had meant.

Masahiko had flinched just from being touched. He had screamed in the dark. Three years ago, Akizawa had made him have sex with two other men. Masahiko had resisted, told him no, had gotten angry. So Akizawa had silenced him—covered his eyes and mouth.

Sex was just a bodily function. Akizawa had slept with more people than he could count, men and women alike, and felt good doing it. But he barely remembered their faces. He never needed to see who he was with. As long as it felt good, that was enough.

But Masahiko… was probably different.

He really hadn’t wanted that. He hated it—so much that it left him unable to be touched by men at all, unable to have sex anymore. Akizawa had hurt him that deeply. Only now did he understand that.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

He wanted to apologize. But he had already decided—he wouldn’t see Masahiko again. Because he loved him, he wouldn’t see him. He couldn’t see him.

It hurt.

And that pain—what was he supposed to do with it?

Even though he had already cried himself dry, the tears welled up again. He hiccuped and wiped at his face with his palms. But no matter how much he tried to wipe them away, the tears soaked into his jeans.

A small hand touched his shoulder. He looked up.

A little girl, maybe five years old, with brown hair and bright blue eyes, peered into his face.

“Don’t cry,” she said.

Just as she said those words, the little girl pressed a single candy—wrapped in polka-dotted paper—into Akizawa’s palm, then darted away like a kitten.

Was he really that pitiful, that even a child felt the need to comfort him? He let out a soft, self-mocking laugh and popped the candy into his mouth. Sweetness spread gently across his tongue, so tender it made him cry all over again. A stranger—a tiny child—had been kind to him. He loved Masahiko, truly loved him… but had he ever managed to show that love with kindness?

Again, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. It was the same little girl. She pressed something into his hand. A woman with the same chestnut-colored hair called out, “Vanessa,” and the girl ran off toward her. The two of them passed through the boarding gate together and disappeared.

What she had given him was the candy wrapper. When he turned it over, he saw a clumsy oval shape like a potato with a smiling face drawn inside. Below it, the word smile was written. Akizawa let out a little laugh… and then cried again.

Back in his Tokyo apartment, lying on his bed, he unfolded the wrapper the little girl had given him. He stared at the awkwardly smiling oval for a long, long time.

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