Second Serenade: Chapter 38

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Even though he’d said, “I never want to set foot on a film set again,” he was practically dragged back there every day. At first, Kakegawa’s unabashedly affectionate behavior in public stunned everyone around them and cast a shadow over Hashimoto’s expression. But once he got used to it, those stares stopped bothering him. The constant squabbles with the director had also become almost routine.

It had been exactly two weeks since he’d stormed out of his house and holed up in Kakegawa’s apartment. That morning, he was woken with a kiss, and just as Kakegawa’s lips drifted down to his bare chest, the air turned charged with that dangerous tension that signaled they might tumble straight into sex. Trying to shake it off, Hashimoto gave Kakegawa’s ear a deliberately rough pinch.

“I’m not going with you to the set today.”

Kakegawa tilted his head.

“Why not? Because you can’t stand the director?”

“I don’t care about that guy anymore.”

When Hashimoto gave a wry smile, Kakegawa chuckled too, then gently pinched his limp bangs between two fingers.

“Remember that one time you didn’t come? Director Yamaoka was pretty disappointed. He wanted to complain about the props, but you weren’t there. These days, I don’t think he actually hates you as much as he says he does.”

“No way. He hates my guts. I was thinking I’d go home today. I need to grab a few things—clothes, health insurance card, stuff like that.”

“Want me to come with you?”

Kakegawa peered into his face.

“No. It’s just my mother there, and if you show up, it’ll just make things more complicated.”

After breakfast, Hashimoto brushed off Kakegawa’s offer to escort him and took the train alone. But once he arrived in front of the house, he found himself unable to go in. He paced back and forth in front of the gate like a dog. He never imagined the threshold of the home he’d lived in for years could feel so impossibly high.

“Mic-chan.”

He turned around, startled at the sound of his name. Standing there was his mother, her face pale. She must have gone out shopping nearby—she was still wearing her apron. She rushed toward him with tears spilling from her eyes, pressing her hands to her mouth and then grabbing tightly onto the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’ve been so worried. You ran off in your pajamas… I wanted to go to the police, but your father said you weren’t a child anymore. Where have you been? Are you eating properly?”

“You don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

Seeing her sigh with relief, Hashimoto thought to himself that he could never tell her—not in a million years—that he’d run off to stay with a man.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He stuffed clothes into his favorite Boston bag. One suit should be enough for now, plus some casual wear and a coat. He didn’t want to bring too much—Kakegawa’s tiny dresser was already full. License, bankbook... it turned out to be surprisingly little. He slung the bag over one shoulder and headed down the stairs.

The sound must’ve reached her, because his mother peeked her head out of the living room.

“Mic-chan, come have some tea. I even got sweets from Gekkoudou—the ones you like.”

“But…”

He hesitated, and she seized him by the arm and forcefully led him into the living room.

“Your father won’t be home until tonight, and Miki’s out at her flower arranging class—she won’t be back till this evening.”

As if reading his fears, she said exactly what he needed to hear. Hashimoto had deliberately chosen the early afternoon, when neither his father nor older sister would be around, to come pick up his things.

On the living room table sat a tasteful dish with his favorite Japanese sweets and a pot of fragrant new tea. No tea that fine ever appeared in Kakegawa’s apartment. Hashimoto savored the aroma and picked up one of the sweets. His mother sat across from him, holding her breath, watching him closely.

“Mic-chan…”

She still couldn’t stop calling him by his childhood nickname.

“What happened the other day—that was just a misunderstanding, right?”

The night he confessed he was gay—

He’d been rejected by Kakegawa, the one person he believed was on his side. He’d been demoted at work, and he could almost see the way the rumors circulating about him were fraying his nerves to pieces.

Even when the engagement fell through, his parents and sister had been sympathetic—to her. No one blamed him. On the contrary, they comforted him, offering words of consolation. But that wasn’t nearly enough. Of course it wasn’t. He hadn’t been able to tell his family the truth—not a single thing. He couldn’t vent from the bottom of his heart. He couldn’t say what he really wanted to say.

He wanted to go to Kakegawa. That younger man would always listen to him without complaint. But after being mocked like that, so coldly rejected, he couldn’t bring himself to show up uninvited. No—what he was really afraid of was being rejected again.

In desperation, he even picked up the phone and called an ex. He didn’t care who it was anymore—he just needed someone to talk to.

“You got married, I heard. Congrats.”

The man immediately recognized his voice, and that was the first thing he said.

“Yeah…”

“But then I heard you got divorced right away.”

There was laughter in his voice—laced with malice. Hashimoto slammed the phone down. The next day, he skipped work. Lied that he was sick and stayed in bed the whole day. Then the day after that. And the day after that. With each missed day, his parents—who at first had just quietly watched over him—began to comment, little by little. He could sense their growing frustration with his vague, indecisive behavior.

“What are you going to do?”

His father stopped him just as he was heading back to his room after a bath. Everyone was gathered in the living room—his parents, his sister, the entire family.

“You can’t just keep taking time off. Or are you planning to quit your job altogether?”

His father’s tone was gentle, trying to reason with him. But Hashimoto never wanted to step foot in that company again. He couldn’t bear to see his subordinates or his superiors.

“I guess so…”

He dreaded the thought of what they would say if he didn’t show up again tomorrow. The very thought made his stomach twist with pain. Lately, he’d started vomiting after eating—probably from the stress.

“I get that something bad happened. But you’re not a child anymore. You can’t just sulk forever.”

His sister’s words cut deeper.

“Hang in there, okay?”

His mother added breezily, as if that solved anything. A chill ran down his spine. The thought that he might hear those words again, and again, for the rest of his life was horrifying. He wanted to run. To flee. But even if he left, there was nowhere to go.

Then he remembered what Kakegawa had said to him:

“Tell your parents: ‘I’ve always liked men. I like someone now, so I can’t get married.’”

If he told them—could he go there? Would he finally be free from this gut-twisting stress?

But he also knew—once he said it, there would be no turning back.

“Dad…”

“What is it?”

“I… I don’t plan to marry a woman ever again.”

“Maybe that’s how you feel now… but your thinking might change in time.”

Even his father was being naive.

“There’s someone I like. A man. So… I won’t get married.”

He parroted Kakegawa’s words like a recording. The room froze.

“Don’t joke around at a time like this,” his sister said, trying to keep it light and patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m serious.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the sound of a slap rang out. For the first time in his life, his father had hit him.

Holding his stinging cheek, Hashimoto looked up. His father’s face was twisted in anger—more than he’d ever seen before.

“So that’s why the engagement fell apart. That’s what you’re saying.”

“No—it was her, that woman—”

But no one was listening. Their eyes stabbed into him like needles. The place that had merely been uncomfortable before had now turned into hell.

“It wasn’t—really—it wasn’t like that…”

Their eyes were cold. No one was on his side now. Pushed to his limit, Hashimoto fled the room.

He grabbed the long coat hanging by the front door, slipped on his sandals, and ran outside.

"Mic-chan, are you listening?"

"Ah, sorry. I was spacing out."

He placed the teacup back on the table.

"It's okay now, you can come back. Just say you had a lapse in judgment, that's all. Your father doesn’t really want you to leave for good. Miki feels the same. And since you quit your job, your father’s been worried. He told me a company he knows is looking to hire someone. He didn’t say it directly, but I can tell he wants you to come home."

His heart wavered dangerously. If he wanted, he could return now. He could get a proper job. He could start over.

"But… I don’t want to be a burden—"

"Don’t say that. No one thinks you’re a burden."

"Mom…"

"You’re coming back, right?"

He almost nodded. Just then, the sound of a motorcycle sped past outside, making his back twitch involuntarily.

Don’t think about it. That rude, younger guy—forget him. You’ll start over. Get a proper job, find a nicer woman this time, build a life no one would whisper about behind your back. And then…

That lover who still insisted on calling him "Hashimoto-san" because he had said not to use his first name. Rude and cheeky, yet sometimes shockingly kind. If he went home now, they’d never meet again—no, the thought of that gave him pause. Would he ever see that guy again?

"Mic-chan," his mother called his name once more.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Just after turning the corner from the house, someone grabbed his arm. Startled, he looked up and saw his lover’s face.

"You sure took your time. I thought you'd be right out, so I waited—and it's been two hours."

The sun was sinking low in the west, casting long shadows.

"What about your shoot?"

"I skipped—nah, that’s a lie. I just told them I didn’t have many scenes today and asked to reschedule."

When he averted his gaze, a gentle hand stroked his cheek.

"Did they say something to you?"

"Not really. Nothing."

Kakegawa took Hashimoto’s bag and tied it to the back of the motorcycle.

"Let’s go home."

He smiled as he handed Hashimoto a helmet. Hashimoto nodded and put it on. As soon as he straddled the motorcycle, they glided forward. The cashmere coat let the wind in through the sleeves and chest, chilling him to the bone. Pressing himself tightly against the warm back in front of him, Hashimoto shut his eyes.

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