B.L.T: Chapter 02

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The results of the first semester finals were exactly as expected, four failing grades. Kitazawa had been hiding them, but his mother, suspicious about why he never handed over his report, tore through his room under the pretense of cleaning and discovered the tests hidden under his bed.

For once, his constantly bickering parents formed a perfect tag team and launched a relentless assault. You’d think bad grades were the end of the world. He’d never been scolded so thoroughly in his life, and in less than ten minutes, his pride lay in tatters.

On their own, they decided he’d attend summer cram school in addition to remedial lessons at his regular school. Kitazawa gave a reluctant nod, and only then was he released.

Back in his room, he cried. Sure, it was his own fault for not studying. But still, it made him furious. He muttered curses, “damn hag, damn old man”, that he couldn’t say in the living room. The hard math test, the English teacher who’d given such complicated grammar questions, the man who’d molested him on the train that day of the exam… He resented all of them.

While his friends enjoyed summer at the beach, in the mountains, or at club activities, Kitazawa alone spent the break trudging to junior high for remedial classes. School’s summer makeup sessions ended in the morning, but then came cram school in the afternoon. It was harder than a regular school day, enough to make him feel like he might drop dead.

But an escape route soon presented itself. There was no way to cut school’s remedial classes, teachers patrolled the halls, but cram school was a different story. After roll call at the start, the instructor never bothered to check whether anyone was actually in class.

Kitazawa took full advantage. He’d show up, answer to his name, and slip out almost immediately.

Skipping was fine, but going home wasn’t an option. Most afternoons, he killed time at the arcade.

That only worked for a while. Soon enough, his pocket money, and the cash he’d wrung out of Omiya, was gone. He sometimes went over to friends’ houses, but you couldn’t count on them being home every day.

Before long, Kitazawa found himself thinking, If only I had more money. Then he could play at the arcade without counting the last of his hundred-yen coins, buy all the manga he wanted.

It was early August when, staring into his empty wallet on the way to school’s summer makeup session, crammed into a packed train, he suddenly remembered the man who’d groped him. That timid salaryman. At the time, Kitazawa had considered turning him in to the police, but the guy had been so pathetically jumpy that his resolve fizzled. He’d settled for the cash in the man’s wallet and a McDonald’s meal.

Thinking back, it felt like he’d let the man off cheap. Really, someone like that should’ve been arrested and branded with an embarrassing criminal record.

…Once that thought struck, Kitazawa moved quickly. After finishing school’s remedial class, he skipped cram school as usual, then called Sanbayashi Trading from a pay phone near the station.

He gave his name boldly to the woman who answered and asked for Omiya.

“This is Omiya speaking,” came the man’s voice, stiff, like he was forcing the words.

“Long time no see. This is Kitazawa, the kid you molested on the train.”

Kitazawa could hear the man suck in a sharp breath on the other end.

“What do you want?”

His voice was low, muffled, probably trying to mask his panic. The image of him floundering was almost funny.

“I thought we’d already settled this,” Omiya said.

“Yeah, we did. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized… when someone does something bad, the normal thing is to go to the police, right?”

“Why are you saying this now? I already gave you money, didn’t I?”

There it was, the frantic edge in his voice. Nobody likes the idea of a criminal record.

“By the way… have you had lunch yet?”

“This isn’t the time for that kind of talk!”

“I’m hungry. And there are a few things I’d like to discuss, slowly. Treat me to something.”

The man fell silent. It didn’t take long before Kitazawa got the answer he wanted.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The man showed up exactly where and when Kitazawa had told him to. Once again, he was dressed neatly in a suit, looking every bit the earnest salaryman, certainly not the sort who would grope a junior high student on a train. If Kitazawa didn’t know the truth about him, and the man barked at him from above, he’d probably just hang his head.

“Can we make this the last time?”

That was how Omiya began, watching Kitazawa tear into a weekday lunch at a family restaurant.

“Mind if I have that cheesecake afterward?”

Ignoring him entirely, Kitazawa pointed at the menu and spoke as he pleased.

“…Do as you like.”

The man sighed, took a sip of oolong tea, his brow furrowed into a look that seemed permanently difficult. Unlike Kitazawa, whose orders nearly covered the table, that was all Omiya had asked for.

“You’re not eating?”

“I’ve already had lunch.”

Kitazawa glanced at the clock on the wall, it was one-thirty. Lunch break would be over by now at school.

“Do offices also have lunch from twelve to one?”

“I can’t speak for others, but I’m in sales. I eat whenever I have the time.”

His expression said, And what does that have to do with anything?

“Huh. Would’ve been nice if we could’ve eaten together.”

The man blinked at him slowly, studying him like he was some strange specimen.

“You’re a peculiar kid. I can’t understand why you’d even want to eat with me.”

“’Cause I was hungry.”

“And if you’re hungry, you just mooch off whoever’s around?”

Kitazawa’s face twisted in irritation.

“Shut up. Bad guys should keep their mouths shut.”

Silenced by a junior high student, Omiya looked down. Kitazawa polished off every plate in front of him and exhaled in satisfaction.

Feeling eyes on him, he looked up. Their gazes met squarely, though only for a moment before the man awkwardly looked away.

The tips of his ears, impossible to hide, flushed an unnatural red.

“D…do you do any club activities?”

It wasn’t loud, but Kitazawa heard. He pretended to be absorbed in the cheesecake just brought to the table and didn’t answer.

The question wasn’t repeated. The man lowered his head again.

After a bite of cake, Kitazawa asked, “What?”

“Didn’t you hear me just now?” Omiya looked up abruptly. “I just thought it was odd, you wearing your school uniform in summer vacation. Do you have club practice or something?”

“Remedial classes. On the first day of finals, you pulled your weird stunt, and I got so rattled my test scores tanked. And then my parents saw those grades and signed me up for cram school on top of that. Totally ruined everything.”

Looking awkward, the man apologized.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. I was supposed to go to Miyazaki this summer, but thanks to you, the whole plan’s trashed.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Kitazawa took another forkful of the cheesecake, sweet as sugar.

“You keep apologizing, but I want you to show me some real sincerity, something I can actually see.”

There was a certain satisfaction in watching the man wilt under his accusations. Kitazawa was used to being scolded, not doing the scolding himself.

“But… what would that even be?”

Seizing the moment, Kitazawa held out his right hand.

“If you’re really sorry, give me lunch money for the days I’ve got remedial class.”

The man’s face soured instantly.

“Don’t your parents give you that?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He brushed it off. His daily allowance wasn’t even enough for half an hour at the arcade.

“The other day you even stole money straight out of my wallet. You think just because you’re the victim, you can do or say whatever you want?”

“Don’t get all high and mighty with me.”

Even while flinching, the man still managed to talk back.

“I’m certainly not the kind of person who can lecture others. And I do feel sorry for you. If apologizing will make you forgive me, then I’ll apologize as many times as necessary. But I don’t think just handing over money because you say so is good for you.”

His words, like a teacher’s reprimand, stung in his ears and felt unpleasant.

“What the hell, acting all high and mighty. If you don’t do what I say, I’ll tell your company. I’ll spread the word that you molested a junior high student.”

The man’s face went pale, but he spat, “Do whatever you want.”

“Fine, I will,” Kitazawa shot back.

He tossed the last crumb of cheesecake into his mouth, grabbed his backpack, and stood up.

Outside, the sunlight was harsh and made him dizzy. The fleeting sensation of being soaked in lukewarm water vanished quickly, replaced by the sweaty stickiness of the humid heat.

He was furious. That pervert had the nerve to lecture him. And because the man’s words were true, it only made Kitazawa more irritated.

Where to go now? Somewhere cool and free…

Barely a few meters from the restaurant, a hand grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Please… don’t tell my company after all.”

The man was breathing heavily, sweat on his forehead dripping onto Kitazawa’s arm. Though he had boldly said, “Do whatever you want,” when faced with reality he’d gotten scared.

“Let go. You’re disgusting.”

The man slowly released his grip and lowered his gaze with a sorrowful expression.

“Giving you cash isn’t right. I really don’t think it’s right. So if there’s something you want, either I’ll buy it for you and give it to you, or you can buy it yourself while I watch.”

Still, the fact remained: Omiya would be spending money on Kitazawa.

What was the point of him supervising like that? Kitazawa looked up at the man from below. For all his height, he looked pathetic and pitiful.

“Idiot.”

Kitazawa threw the word at him and dashed off, determined never to mooch off that nagging man again.

…But that resolve lasted only two days.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It was raining. A strong downpour, the kind that roared against the world, a sound he hadn’t heard in a long time.

Omiya, who had been gazing out the window, suddenly murmured, almost to himself, “I’ve gotten myself tangled with a real nasty one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘nasty’?”

In the crowded Kentucky Fried Chicken at exactly noon, Kitazawa bit into his chicken without much vigor, snapping back at him. Omiya only shrugged and let out a soft sigh.

“When I first saw you, I thought you were a quiet, cute kid. Never imagined you’d turn out to be such a foul-mouthed, greedy little brat.”

“That really pisses me off. Coming from a homo, no less.”

Not long ago, that would have been the finishing blow. But people build resistance. These days, Omiya neither looked hurt nor flinched at such things. On the contrary, he shot back with cheeky composure.

“Mind your own business, remedial-class boy.”

That hit a nerve, and Kitazawa felt a rush of genuine anger.

“I’m stuck in remedial and cram school because of you!”

“That’s not the whole story, is it? How about you stop making everything someone else’s fault?”

With a completely unruffled expression, Omiya took a sip of oolong tea, broke a biscuit in two, and lifted a piece to his mouth.

“You’re in remedial for English, Japanese, math, and social studies, almost every subject. And I just can’t picture someone like you, who can threaten adults for money, being so delicate that a little prank would leave you useless for days.”

That was how Omiya spoke lately. In the beginning, he’d seemed timid, like someone who could be used. Now he was like a carbon copy of a parent, full of lectures.

“But I can’t claim I hold no share of the blame, so I’m showing a bit of sincerity in my own way.”

“I don’t see any sincerity from you.”

Kitazawa spat the words out, but Omiya only pointed at his mouth.

“You’ve been gobbling down my ‘sincerity’ with your mouth wide open this whole time.”

“Oh, so your sincerity is chicken?”

“I didn’t think you were such an idiot you couldn’t understand a figure of speech.”

Always a comeback for every jab. The molester, now fully accustomed to him, treated him like a complete child. It was infuriating, yet Kitazawa didn’t know how to win outright. Omiya turned his gaze back to the rain outside and murmured again.

“Terrible rain… So, what are you going to do now?”

“None of your business.”

Still simmering with irritation, Kitazawa answered curtly.

“You’ll just end up at the arcade or a bookstore, won’t you?”

Having his moves predicted only made his temper flare hotter.

“Instead of playing all the time, why don’t you try studying? You’re already signed up, why not take cram school seriously?”

“I hate studying in groups!”

It wasn’t a lie. He had always hated group activities. Just the thought of everyone doing the same thing together made his skin crawl. In elementary school, when he’d been forced to join a folk dance, he’d gotten goosebumps just seeing all those perfectly synchronized hands lifted into the air.

“If you hate groups, then study at home.”

“I told my parents I’m going to cram school, so how could I just go home, idiot?”

Omiya paused, as though considering something.

“How about I lend you a study room?”

Kitazawa looked up at the sudden offer.

“Air-conditioned, free drinks, quiet and perfect for concentrating.”

He had no real intention of studying, but he was starting to get bored of the arcade anyway. A new place, somewhere unfamiliar, it sparked a bit of curiosity.

“Where?”

Omiya gave a faint, knowing smile.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The moment he stepped into the entryway, Kitazawa took one look around and muttered complaints about how cramped and dirty it was. Omiya’s face darkened in genuine annoyance.

“Here I am, offering you my room to use for studying, and that’s the thanks I get? Pretty rude.”

“I never asked you for that.”

“Oh? Then I suppose you can just go home.”

“No way.”

Kitazawa stuck out his tongue in a childish bleh and barged right in without hesitation. The place was messy, but still far better than his own room. He found an open spot, sat down, and grabbed the nearest magazine, only to toss it aside when he saw it was some kind of business and economics journal.

Looking down at Kitazawa’s unrestrained behavior, Omiya rested his hands on his hips and let out a small sigh.

“I’m heading back to work now, but you’d better study properly. You can drink anything you want from the fridge, but don’t go touching my things. When you leave, put the key in the mailbox before heading off. The subway’s a five-minute walk. Same place I showed you before you came here.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“If I come home and there’s evidence you actually studied, I’ll bring you a cake from Polyush.”

“Seriously? Yes!”

Omiya smiled sweetly.

“If you studied. Which I doubt you can manage.”

Leaving that irritating remark behind, he stepped out.

Once he was gone from sight, Kitazawa promptly ignored all instructions and began poking through the room out of sheer curiosity. There was nothing particularly interesting, except a box of condoms tucked into the corner of a dresser drawer.

Half of them were gone. He found himself wondering whether Omiya had used them with men or women… and whether anything had ever happened in this bed. The thought made something in him feel oddly heated.

By the time he tired of exploring, he noticed a game console on the shelf beneath the TV. Delighted, he started playing, but the dim, rainy light outside and the fullness in his stomach slowly made him drowsy. Still holding the controller, he began to nod off.

The sound of a door opening woke him. Bright light filled the room so suddenly it hurt his eyes, and he squeezed them shut.

“Whoa!”

When he sat up, rubbing at his sleepy eyes, he saw Omiya standing there with his work bag in hand.

“The room was dark, so I thought you’d gone home.”

Kitazawa’s gaze locked on the small box in Omiya’s right hand.

“That a Polyush cake?”

“You really are nothing but an appetite in human form.”

Omiya muttered this in mild exasperation, and Kitazawa scrubbed his eyes again.

“What time is it?”

“Past seven. You’d better head home before your mother starts worrying.”

“I’m eating the cake first.”

With a wry smile, Omiya set the cake down on the table, fetched plates, forks, and poured iced coffee.

“I hate coffee. Give me something else.”

“Hmm.”

With that noncommittal sound, Omiya went back to the kitchen, opened the fridge, clicked his tongue, then left the room entirely. Kitazawa wondered where he’d gone, but five minutes later a cold can of cola was set down in front of him.

“It’s still raining outside?”

“Yeah… why?”

“The can’s wet.”

“…Well, yeah.”

The cake from Polyush, famous enough to be featured on local TV, was delicious. Being hungry only made it taste better.

When he finished eating, Kitazawa slid open the window and looked outside. It was still coming down hard. The rain hadn’t let up since midday.

“I’ll give you a ride home. Get ready.”

“Of course you will.”

Omiya stood in the entryway, car keys in one hand, and let out a long sigh at the sight of Kitazawa, who was slinging his backpack over one shoulder and slipping on his shoes.

“If you’re going to act like a kid, can’t you at least say ‘thank you’ like one?”

Kitazawa lifted his head and glared.

“I’ve got no obligation to.”

“You’re not cute at all.”

“Don’t need some homo thinking I’m cute anyway.”

The expression Omiya should’ve built up a tolerance for still twisted ever so slightly. Kitazawa leaned in from below, peering up into his face as if to press the advantage. Omiya took a step back.

“You’re happy you get to see me, aren’t you?”

No reply.

“You like talking to a junior high student, right?”

Thin lips pressed together hard.

“When you’re with me, it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Without a word, Omiya opened the door and strode out. His face was truly displeased, his words cut down to almost nothing. Kitazawa slipped into the passenger seat before being told to “get in.” If Omiya didn’t drive him, he’d have to take the train, three transfers to get home, and a total pain.

Being in the car alone with someone who was angry made the air stifling. Kitazawa regretted making that remark right before leaving, but he didn’t let the slightest trace of remorse show, idly rummaging through a box of CDs and DVDs instead.

“Whereabouts is your place?”

A few minutes after they’d started driving, Omiya asked.

“Don’t you already know?”

“I’ve never had you tell me.”

Come to think of it, that was true. If he hadn’t told him, Omiya couldn’t possibly know. But the car was moving so smoothly, Kitazawa had assumed he did.

“Over by Ohama.”

“Ohama’s not enough. You’re not in grade school, give me a more specific, clearer answer.”

His tone was sharper than usual.

“Near Ohama’s Sakuramiya Park.”

Facing that sour mood made Kitazawa both irritated and uneasy. What he’d blurted out had been in poor taste, but he didn’t think the words themselves were wrong. Omiya was a homo, and no matter how selfish Kitazawa acted, he knew that behind the show of annoyance, there was always a little pleasure there. Still, if he kept pushing, Omiya might stop treating him to lunch, and that would be a problem. Maybe he should fake some remorse and apologize…

“Don’t stay mad just ‘cause someone told you the truth.”

But what came out was more provocation. Omiya’s face turned perfectly stony. The situation slipped beyond saving, and Kitazawa pouted in feigned anger, though in reality, he was close to tears. The corners of his eyes stung.

“That’s Sakuramiya Park, right there.”

The car stopped at a red light. In that brief pause, Kitazawa unbuckled his seatbelt and bolted outside.

“Hey!”

Ignoring the voice that called him back, he ran. From here, it was less than ten minutes to his house even at a jog. Better to dash home in the rain than sit in that unbearable car. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Omiya’s black car pull up by the park entrance. Kitazawa eased his pace a little. People passing by under umbrellas glanced back curiously at the sight of a junior high student in uniform running through the rain.

“Wait.”

It took a while for him to be caught. When he looked back, Omiya was just as soaked as he was. The satisfaction was pure and deep.

“My fault, okay? So—”

“Damn right. It’s all your fault, every bit of it.”

“Fine, fine.”

A large, cold hand seized Kitazawa’s. Omiya started walking in the opposite direction from home. Kitazawa had no idea where this man meant to take him, but strangely enough, he felt no urge to resist that grip.

He was led beneath the eaves of a shuttered shop. Standing side by side with the drenched Omiya, Kitazawa stared blankly out at the pounding night rain.

“Don’t go grabbing my hand in the confusion.”

The muttered jab was swallowed up by the sound of rain, and the fingers twined together never did let go.

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