COLD HEART in NEWYORK: Chapter 4

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Kusuda sat at a stool by the window in a café near the subway stairs, staring absently outside. Until a moment ago, he’d had his laptop open, doing some work—but it wasn’t urgent, so he’d given up on it.

For past nine in the evening, there was still a surprising number of people passing by. A group of four young men stood laughing loudly in the middle of the sidewalk. Probably college students. What was I like at that age? Kusuda wondered. He didn’t remember having any particular goals or thinking about much of anything.

Today had been filled with unexpected chaos: the fashion magazine couldn’t find a sample they needed and the whole team had to search the warehouse, then an editor from a publishing house came unannounced asking if Masamitsu would be interested in doing a book on jewelry-making. The irregularity of it all had left Kusuda exhausted. He just wanted to get home, crack open a beer, and collapse into bed—but the call still hadn’t come.

Sometime before ten, his stomach began to sting with a low, familiar burn. It always did. There was a time he drank coffee while waiting and nearly threw up from it. Now he always ordered hot milk at this café.

Call already. Or don’t.

He stared at his silent smartphone like he was casting a spell on it.

Finally, a little after ten-thirty, the ringtone broke the silence. His whole body jolted. He’d been waiting—but also, he hadn’t. And of course, he couldn’t just not answer.

Five rings passed like a countdown before he touched the call icon.

“I’m sooo tired today~”

That irritating voice drifted from the speaker.

“Thanks for your hard work,” Kusuda replied.

A young woman sitting next to him glanced over. Too loud, her expression said without saying it.

“We were shooting on a boat today, and the wait was super long. I ended up falling asleep and the staff had to wake me up.”

Kusuda checked his watch. Judging by the tone, Akizawa would probably keep monologuing for another ten minutes.

He offered the occasional response, but didn’t really listen. His mind drifted.

That proposal about the jewelry-making book for Masamitsu… what should they do? Masamitsu seemed interested, but with his current workload, he didn’t really have time to write. And the editor had just shown up without an appointment—that alone made them hard to trust. It was probably better to decline. He’d go over it with Masamitsu again—

“Hey.”

That cloying sweet tone skimmed along his eardrum, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Say something sexy for me.”

Kusuda quietly closed his eyes.

“Can’t right now. I’m in a café.”

“Ugh, again? You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

“Well, cafés and family restaurants are good for eating and getting work done. I’m busy too, you know.”

A lie.

Even if he was busy, it wasn’t like he couldn’t go home. He deliberately stayed out at places like this during Akizawa’s usual call time because he didn’t want to deal with requests like “talk dirty to me” or “jerk off for me.”

Maybe he was satisfied with what he’d gotten at the airport, because now Akizawa had gone back to his usual clingy tone, whispering, “I love you,” “I miss you,” over and over.

He might love Kusuda. But when he wanted sex, he’d sleep with someone else without hesitation.

Even now, after hanging up, he could be sick of his stingy boyfriend and texting that actress again. Sleeping with her.

If Kusuda asked him how many people he’d slept with since returning to Okinawa, he’d probably answer honestly.

Not that he ever would ask. He didn’t want the answer.

Even if he drowned in jealousy, Akizawa would still believe “It’s Masahiko’s fault for not being there.” Always.

“Well… whatever.”

Usually, he’d pout and beg—“Just go to the bathroom and let me hear a little”—but tonight, he backed off surprisingly easily. Rare. Maybe he had plans to sleep with someone else after this. …Kusuda didn’t want to think about that.

“I’m coming back to Tokyo,” Akizawa said.

Kusuda sucked in a breath.

“…When?”

A cheerful voice replied, “Tomorrow.”

“I was supposed to come back early next week, but they shuffled the script around, so my scenes got cut.”

He swallowed hard.

Not yet, he thought. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t even able to handle their once-a-day phone calls without stomach pain—he couldn’t imagine having to see him face to face.

“I was planning on catching the first flight, but they decided the location was really good, so they scheduled a magazine shoot here in the morning. Since the CRUX accessories won’t make it in time, I’ll wear my own. I should get to Tokyo in the evening. I’ll go straight to the CRUX office from the airport, so let’s have dinner together.”

Kusuda couldn’t respond.

“Saturday’s the day after tomorrow, so you’ll be off work, right, Masahiko?”

He finally managed a muted “Yeah.”

“I’ve been dying to sleep with you again. The airport was… what, like ten days ago?”

The memory returned—unwanted, vivid. Being left nearly naked in that restroom. Kusuda’s hand began to tremble.

“You know, Masahiko, you were crying and moving your hips at the same time… it was so sexy. I’d heard angry sex was hot, and now I know it’s true. I got so turned on. I’ve gotten off so many times just remembering that moment.”

A cold sweat spread across his forehead.

The memory he wanted to erase—Akizawa found it arousing. He said so with a delighted tone. He told Kusuda he’d masturbated to it. He’s not right in the head.

“When I get back, let’s spend the whole night wrapped around each other. I’ll fill you up so much, it’ll be dripping out of you.”

Akizawa's voice was dreamy, intoxicated with his own fantasy.

The rising wave of revulsion became unbearable.

“Sorry,” Kusuda muttered.

“It’s getting noisy in here. I can barely hear you. I should get going.”

“Then talk to me while you walk.”

“That’s enough. I’m right by the subway, and the signal drops inside.”

“Aww, fine. Then tomorrow. …I love you, Masahiko.”

He ended the call without replying. The words “What do I do…” slipped out of his mouth the moment the line cut off. Just picturing what tomorrow would look like made him shake. The idea of holding each other and falling asleep… was absolutely unbearable.

Phone calls—he could still manage those. He could endure them. Because at least then, he had a reason: keeping Akizawa in a good mood so he wouldn’t ditch his filming.

But coming back to Tokyo? That was different.

Now it had nothing to do with Kusuda.

He didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t even want to speak to him.

No matter how sweet the words Akizawa whispered, no matter how gentle he tried to be, Kusuda couldn’t forget the cheating, the things he’d said and done at the airport. Loving someone didn’t mean you could just forgive everything.

And he already knew it.

If he couldn’t forgive, then they couldn’t keep going. As a relationship, it was already over.

Akizawa wasn’t normal. He was erratic, emotionally intense, and deeply impulsive. In his current state—clinging to Kusuda and constantly declaring his love—it wasn’t hard to imagine him blowing up if Kusuda tried to break things off.

And unlike a regular couple, it wouldn’t be as simple as “Okay, goodbye.”

Even if Kusuda tried to ease out slowly—seeing him less, pulling back emotionally, trying to make the distance feel natural—it might still require sleeping with him a few more times to keep up appearances. Just the thought of being touched by him again made Kusuda shudder.

He didn’t want to. He couldn’t stand the idea of being touched again. He didn’t want to feel that same humiliation, like he had crying on the floor of that airport restroom. There was no escape route, and he was running out of options. Two men, caught up in a romantic entanglement—who could he talk to? No one.

The only one who might understand was Numata, who at least knew what kind of person Akizawa was. But there was no way he could say it aloud, “I’ve been involved with your son, the actor you manage, the model for our brand.”

He had crossed a line. Mixed work with emotions, with desire. And now he was drowning in the result. It had started with his own mistake. Now he had to be the one to fix it. Even knowing Akizawa wouldn’t listen, the only path left was still to talk. No matter how much he kicked and screamed, Kusuda had to stay calm and keep explaining. But where could they have that talk?

Akizawa was a public figure—they couldn’t do this in public. But there was no way Kusuda was letting him into his apartment again. If Akizawa got upset, he could wreck the place.

So a hotel? No. That was just as bad. If he started yelling, the front desk would call security.

His head spun from all the overthinking, and he felt sick.

But unless he made it through this, he couldn’t bring it to an end.

Kusuda gripped his head in both hands.

Even if he managed to break it off—he’d still have to work with Akizawa as CRUX’s image model. Their ties wouldn’t just dissolve cleanly. They were too tangled.

Will there come a time when seeing him won’t make me feel anything?

When? How long will that take?

I can’t do this.

Just imagining it is unbearable. I want to throw it all away—work, everything—and run. I want to go somewhere far away where Akizawa doesn’t exist. Where no one does.

And he knew—he knew that was escapism.

Kusuda stood, cleared his cup, and left the café.

He descended the stairs into the subway, walking toward the ticket gate with his head down.

A man passed in front of him, just barely brushing by.

Tall—looked like a salaryman. Without thinking, Kusuda glanced up at his face, and then froze.

“Is that… Tohru?”

The man turned, looked at Kusuda, and gave a small “Ah” in reply.

It was Tohru—the photographer.

Usually, Tohru wore the same casual clothes whether working or off-duty: T-shirts or cut-and-sew tops, jeans. This was the first time Kusuda had ever seen him in a suit.

“Something happen today?”

When he asked, Tohru replied with a curt, “Not really.”

“Hellooo there~”

From beside Tohru, Taniguchi suddenly popped into view. Kusuda hadn’t even noticed there was someone with him.

Taniguchi was the other photographer who co-ran the studio Office Crew with Tohru. Kusuda didn’t see Tohru much when he visited, but he ran into Taniguchi fairly often. Friendly, cheerful, and always talkative—basically Tohru’s complete opposite.

“One of our friends won an award,” Taniguchi said on Tohru’s behalf. “So we were at the ceremony tonight.”

Now that he said it, Kusuda realized Taniguchi was also wearing a suit. That made two of them—Tohru included. It was the first time Kusuda had ever seen Tohru in anything but his usual jeans and T-shirt.

They’d stopped just in front of the ticket gate, blocking foot traffic and drawing prickly looks, so they moved through.

They had different destinations but would be on the same train part of the way. On the platform, a line had already formed. It was late, so the trains weren’t running as frequently.

“Late night at work too, Kusuda-san? Must be rough,” Taniguchi said.

“Yeah, well,” Kusuda answered vaguely.

“I got a peek at the next CRUX ad shoot,” Taniguchi grinned. “Tohru let me take a look—it’s looking really nice.”

He was chatty, as always. Tohru, of course, remained silent.

Kusuda glanced at his watch. He wanted to talk to Tohru alone. But it was too late to suggest going somewhere now.

The train arrived. Taniguchi got on first, then Tohru followed. Kusuda couldn’t move. His feet stayed rooted to the platform. Tohru turned and looked back at him. “Not getting on?”

“Uh…”

The departure bell chimed. Tohru glanced at Taniguchi and said, “Go on without me,” then stepped off the train. The doors shut behind him and the train pulled away.

“You sure you didn’t need to be on that?”

Tohru didn’t respond. He just looked at Kusuda steadily. And then he spoke—his voice low and heavy.

“What kind of face is that?”

Kusuda didn’t know what kind of expression he had. He tried to laugh it off with a weak smile. “Pretty sure I’ve always had a face like this.”

“You look like someone whose parents are dying tomorrow.”

He tried to laugh again—but couldn’t. His cheek twitched, and he pressed his right hand to it, lowering his head, as if to escape the sharp, knowing look Tohru was giving him.

“Go sit over there.”

Tohru gestured to a bench against the wall. Kusuda obeyed, sitting down. Tohru sat beside him.

He hadn’t said anything—but he’d stayed behind. Just because his face looked different from usual. Had his stress really been that obvious?

Even sitting next to him, Tohru didn’t ask any questions. He was waiting—for Kusuda to start.

Kusuda wanted to tell him everything. To hear what he thought. But he couldn’t. It was too shameful. Too pathetic. And most of all, it was a relationship he wasn’t supposed to talk about. Especially now that it was falling apart.

“I’m seeing someone,” he said at last.

He could feel Tohru turning toward him.

“But we’re not on the same page. Our values don’t match. And I can’t keep up with it anymore… so I’m going to end it.”

He left Akizawa’s name out. That way, it was just a generic relationship story.

“But I think it’s going to be messy. There’ll be yelling, maybe even violence. Just thinking about it wears me out.”

Tohru said nothing. Not even a nod.

“Sorry,” Kusuda muttered. “You’re not really the kind of guy who’s into stuff like this.”

“Yeah, not really.”

Blunt as ever, Tohru didn’t change his tone—even while sitting next to a friend drowning in romantic problems.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Tohru’s voice was steady, calm.

“Normally, you’d have told me if you’d started dating. Might’ve even introduced them. The fact that you didn’t means it’s someone you can’t talk about publicly, right?”

Kusuda felt a chill run down his spine. Tohru had read the situation so precisely, so effortlessly—it was almost scary.

“And if you’re expecting it to get messy, that means you know the other person doesn’t want to break up. You probably still have feelings too. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t be this hard—”

“But I can’t anymore!”

Kusuda cut him off, louder than he meant to be.

“Really. I can’t do this. I just can’t go on like this.”

Another train came and went, carrying away another wave of people. The platform quieted again.

“You’ve already decided to end it,” Tohru said, still facing forward. His voice was quiet but certain. And in the tangled mess of Kusuda’s thoughts, something cleared.

He’s right. He’d already made up his mind.

Even if it had started from something impure—part attraction, part calculation—he had genuinely fallen for him. But now, their values were too different. And they had to part ways.

As breakups go, it was almost textbook. Even if things got messy, even if there were fights or jealousy, eventually all of it would become the past.

The pressure that had gripped his chest slowly began to ease. Kusuda stretched his arms up high and let out a sigh.

“Man… I just want to toss everything and run away to some place where no one knows me.”

“Then do something to clear your head. Go on a trip or something.”

Kusuda gave a soft laugh. “I can’t, I’ve got work.”

“You can make time.”

He had meant it as a joke, but Tohru’s voice was serious. And he was right. If he kept using work as an excuse, nothing would ever change.

When Tohru had time off, he often went abroad to shoot—just to take pictures of what he wanted, how he wanted. Kusuda remembered once calling the office when Tohru couldn’t be reached and being told, “He’s in Australia right now.”

“…Been anywhere lately?” Kusuda asked.

“Bali, maybe. I’m heading to New York at the start of next year. I’m going to have a solo exhibition.”

“That’s amazing.”

Tohru had won an international photography award. His talent was recognized globally, so hearing he was holding a show overseas wasn’t surprising.

“I dumped the whole curator negotiation thing on Kurokawa ‘cause I couldn’t be bothered. Now every time I go to the office he grumbles at me.”

Kurokawa was the office manager at Office Crew, and he and Tohru notoriously didn’t get along.

“New York, huh… I’d love to go someday.”

The only times Kusuda had been overseas were for his university graduation trip to Taiwan, and later for Masamitsu’s wedding in Hawaii. Both places had so many Japanese tourists that they barely felt foreign at all.

"I'd like to go to New York too someday," Kusuda said wistfully.

"You even speak English?" Tohru asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

Kusuda laughed a little. Before he could answer, Tohru shrugged and said, "Well, I can only manage broken English myself."

"As long as you have the will to communicate, you can get by somehow," he added, completely unfazed.

"Will, huh," Kusuda mused. "You've always been kind of a wild child, haven't you?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

Tohru frowned, clearly annoyed—and it was so typical of him that Kusuda burst out laughing. It was the first time in forever he felt like he’d laughed from the heart. When the last train of the night pulled in, they got on together.

“If something comes up, get in touch,” Tohru said bluntly as he got off at his transfer station.

He wasn’t good with words, but Kusuda could feel it—Tohru was worried about him. And that thought filled his chest with quiet warmth.

While he was talking with Tohru, everything had felt okay. But the moment he was alone again, what do I do started circling in his mind like a trap. He couldn’t escape the reality closing in, and the world before him grew murky and dark.

He got home a little after 1 a.m.

He hated the silence that forced him to think, so he immediately turned on the TV.

And right away, Akizawa’s voice rang out. His body trembled. Why? his mind started to panic. But it was nothing—just a scene from the movie premiering next week.

He remembered Numata mentioning a while ago that Akizawa had a role in it. The program was a talk show promoting the film, spotlighting key scenes and interviews with the cast. From the atmosphere, it looked like Akizawa was playing the villain—his face occasionally contorted into something wicked.

Kusuda had thought he never wanted to see Akizawa’s face again, and yet, watching him on screen—acting—he was surprised to feel nothing. No ache in his chest. His brain registered him not as a lover, but as an actor—charismatic, with undeniable presence.

He loved Kaito Akizawa. Both the actor and the person.

But it was the person—the real Akizawa—he could no longer stay with. The one on-screen was different. The one who played roles, embodied characters—Kusuda still found himself drawn to that Akizawa.

They never should have become physically involved. He should’ve stayed content just watching him perform.

That would’ve been the right kind of relationship for the two of them. But it was too late now. Far too late.

There was no undoing the mess—this tangled thing between love and attachment, body and heart. No way to pretend none of it had ever happened.

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