B.L.T: Chapter 06

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The next day dawned bright and clear, with not the slightest trace of the previous day’s rain. Yawning from lack of sleep, Omiya arrived at work just as the morning shipment of books came in. He quickly tied on the store apron and began checking the invoices against the quantities.

Most of what came in during the morning were weekly magazines, and with these, even a thirty-minute delay in putting them out on the shelves could have an immediate impact on sales.

He loaded the new issues onto a cart, set them in their respective spots, and quietly collected the week-old ones for return.

By nine-thirty, he was glancing at the clock, expecting the staff to start arriving soon, when the store phone rang.

It was Kobashi, one of the employees, saying she wasn’t feeling well due to a cold and wanted the day off.

The store was small, so on weekdays, three people could just barely manage. From four in the afternoon until closing, when things got busier, they had one part-timer scheduled.

Because of labor costs, they couldn’t afford extra staff. They ran on the bare minimum, losing even one person hurt.

Still, he couldn’t exactly tell someone with a fever and dizziness to come in anyway. All he could say was, “Get some rest,” before hanging up.

Last month, she’d also taken two days off claiming to have a cold. During that time, another employee had tattled that they’d seen her at an amusement park with a man. Omiya hadn’t confronted her and let it pass, but when the sudden absences happened again, he couldn’t help but suspect it was the same thing.

Her work was diligent, and he had no complaints otherwise, making it all the more troublesome. If she was taking days off to play, then at some point he’d have to make her draw a line. But if the cold was real, it would be unreasonable to say she couldn’t get sick multiple times a month…

He was still mulling it over when Hagiwara, the other employee, arrived. When he told her about Kobashi’s sick leave, she pursed her lips.

“Again? She took time off last month for the same thing. I bet she’s just skipping out.”

“She seems to have a weak constitution,” Omiya said, picturing Kobashi’s slightly chubby, healthy-looking build with a wry smile.

Even if he hadn’t meant to defend her, it must have sounded like it, because Hagiwara’s sharp tongue only spun faster.

“You’re too soft, Manager. Taking a day off when she knows we’ve got a big shipment? That’s obviously planned. I’ve come in with a 38C degree fever before.”

“Really?”

“…I didn’t want to, but I thought about the trouble it would cause everyone else. Honestly, she has zero sense of responsibility as a working adult. You should give her a proper talking to!”

All Omiya could do was smile weakly.

“Even if it’s just the two of us during the day, what about the evening? Even with the part-timer, that’s only three people. There’s no way we can handle it like that.”

“I’ll ask one of the part-timers who’s off today if they can come in.”

Hagiwara planted her hands on her hips and snorted.

“If you call someone, make it Kitazawa-kun. Imai and Kusunose are hopeless, slow, spaced-out, and completely useless when it comes to quick thinking.”

By the time they’d finished talking, it was already ten. They hurried to open the store, and as soon as the doors unlocked, a customer darted straight for the magazine shelves. Hagiwara took the register while Omiya quickly swapped out the rest of the old magazines.

When he finished, he called Imai, the part-timer. She turned him down without hesitation, she had plans with friends that evening.

Was it just because she was young? Or was it simply that, as a part-time job, she could keep it separate from any sense of obligation? There was no hint of wanting to help or feeling sorry for someone in a bind.

Kusunose’s response was the same. He mumbled something about a report deadline, and while he was still giving his half-baked excuses, another call seemed to come in.

“Ah, that might be my girlfriend. Sorry,” he said, and hung up.

Omiya stared at the cell phone number written on Kitazawa’s résumé. Truthfully, he didn’t want to ask him. He didn’t want to owe him a favor. Last night had already been awkward enough. But they were desperately short-staffed…

Determined to keep things strictly businesslike, he picked up the receiver, only to set it back down, unable to commit. He’d call later.

The moment he stepped out into the store, Hagiwara asked, “Have you gotten in touch with Kitazawa-kun yet?”

“I’ll try calling him later.”

“Can you afford to take your time? If Kitazawa-kun can’t make it, you’ll have to find someone else, right?”

“If it comes down to it, I’ll ask Kiyooka to come in.”

Hagiwara let out a dramatic sigh.

“Kiyooka-san’s been in Okinawa since yesterday. Remember? He said he was going diving.”

If even his “last resort” was unavailable, things were truly dire. Flustered, Omiya hurried back to the office and picked up the receiver again. There was no room now for personal hang-ups or pride.

Two rings, no answer. Leaning over his desk with his head in his hands, he began resigning himself to the grim thought that the three of them would just have to power through somehow.

Then, suddenly, the phone rang.

“Hello, Kouchido Bookstore, Ikenami branch.”

“It’s Kitazawa. Did you try calling me?”

Omiya gripped the receiver tightly.

“I was in class and couldn’t call back right away.”

“Glad I could reach you. Actually, someone called in sick today and we’re short-handed. If possible, could you work the evening shift?”

“Sure, that’s fine,” came the reply, languid, almost careless.

After being turned down twice already, Omiya was surprised by how easily Kitazawa agreed.

“If you’re busy, don’t force yourself.”

“But you’re in a bind, right?”

“Well… yes.”

“What time?”

“Same as usual, four o’clock till close. Is that okay?”

“Got it.”

“Alright then, see you at four. Thanks.”

Relieved to have secured help, Omiya hung up.

When he told Hagiwara that Kitazawa was coming in, her irritation vanished in an instant, replaced by a sudden good mood. Between this and her insisting from the start that he call Kitazawa, not to mention the matter of the umbrella the other day, maybe she really was interested in him.

“You seem to like Kitazawa-kun quite a bit,” he said teasingly.

Hagiwara’s cheeks flushed at once.

“It’s not like that, but… he’s cute, you know? And he’s good-looking.”

It was true, he’d always been striking enough to draw attention.

“I figured, with that face, he must be playing around a lot, but it doesn’t seem like it.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“He’s really serious, I’m telling you,” she insisted, balling her hands into fists for emphasis.

“He even said he hates mixers.”

“But doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”

“He told me he’s single right now.”

Their conversation was cut short when a customer stepped up to the register. Once he was alone, the fact that Kitazawa was single began to loop in his mind.

Whether Kitazawa had a partner or not shouldn’t matter, it wasn’t as if, in the current circumstances, Omiya could just declare he wanted to be with him. He knew that. And yet… the “what if” refused to be shut out.

In his mind, he told Kitazawa he loved him, pulled him close. Kissed him. Stripped away his clothes.

The body in his mind’s eye was that of the slender boy from five years ago.

Would embracing someone in his imagination count as betraying Chihiro? Compared to the reality of Chihiro’s behavior, such imagined intimacy with someone else felt harmless, almost innocent. That was the thought he used to console himself.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Ten minutes before four, Kitazawa stepped into the store. Unlike yesterday, his hair was clearly shorter, the nape of his neck neatly trimmed. Hagiwara immediately asked, “Did you change your hairstyle?”

He answered with a shy but pleased expression, “Yeah.”

Around the time he took his place at the register, the store suddenly became busy. It wasn’t until after eight o’clock that the wave of customers finally thinned. The phone rang; Omiya saw Hagiwara leave the register with the cordless handset in hand.

She didn’t return for some time, perhaps looking for something, and before long five customers had lined up in front of Kitazawa.

Omiya stepped into the next register and removed the “Closed” sign. With both registers running, the line moved quickly, and in no time there was only one customer left.

The last, a woman in her twenties wearing a suit, looked at Omiya and, as if it were nothing, said, “I’d like bookstore gift cards, please. Five hundred yen each, for three hundred people.”

“Th… three hundred? All by today?”

Startled by his reaction, the woman’s expression wavered slightly.

“If possible, yes. I need them tomorrow morning. Also, could you gift-wrap each one individually?”

Gift wrapping on top of everything. Glancing at the clock behind him, Omiya exhaled.

“I think we can prepare them, but the wrapping will take some time, likely until around ten o’clock. Will that still be alright?”

“That’s fine. I’m sorry for the trouble. I’ll come to pick them up at ten.”

She gave a polite bow before leaving. A pleasant customer, but an outrageous order.

The business card she handed over for the receipt belonged to a company. Sometimes customers asked for gift-wrapped cards, but three hundred of them, and with gift wrapping, was a first for Omiya.

Hagiwara returned to the register just as the woman left. When she heard about the order, she fumed.

“If she’d just called ahead, we could’ve done it during a slow time!”

“Nothing we can do. Kitazawa-kun, you’ll help me with the wrapping. Hagiwara-san, please handle the register. Ask Yonemura-kun, if he’s free, to come to the office and help.”

“We have to finish before closing, right? Should I help with the wrapping?” Hagiwara asked, glancing up at the clock with a worried face.

“No… if anything comes up, I think it’s better for you to stay at the register.”

He carried a stack of gift cards, special mounts, cases, and wrapping paper into the office, dropping them heavily onto the table.

There was less than an hour and a half until closing. After looking over the mountain of cards, Omiya turned to Kitazawa.

“You’ve never done gift wrapping before, have you?”

“Ah… no.”

Exactly as he expected, an unreliable answer.

“Then start by sliding each gift card into a mount and placing it in a case. The cards are thin and sometimes stick together, so make sure you don’t put two in at once. We’ve only got exactly three hundred, if you make a mistake, we’ll come up short. Once you’re done, help with the wrapping.”

From then on, the two of them worked in silence, hands moving steadily. Pressed for time, they kept at it with single-minded focus, until suddenly, he felt a gaze on him. Looking up, he saw Kitazawa watching his hands intently.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Just… you’re really good at wrapping.”

It sounded like a plain, honest observation.

“Only because I’ve had to be,” Omiya replied. “Orders like this come in all the time around April, before and after school entrance ceremonies. You get used to it whether you want to or not.”

He smoothed gold gift seals over the wrapped cases, his fingers moving without pause as he spoke.

“But really, sorry about today. Not only did I suddenly ask you to come in, I dragged you into all this.”

Kitazawa murmured, “It’s fine,” in a tone so vague it was hard to tell whether he meant it or not.

“Did you have something else you were supposed to do?”

“I was invited to a mixer, but those things are a pain and cost money. This gave me the perfect excuse to skip it.”

“Oh?” Omiya made a small sound of acknowledgment. Kitazawa immediately asked, “What?”

Wrapping the next case, Omiya asked, “At your age, isn’t hanging out with everyone else the most fun thing?”

“Depends on the kind of fun. I want money.”

“Something you want to buy?”

“A car,” he answered without hesitation.

“I got my license last year, but all the money I’d saved from part-time jobs went into driving school. Even a cheap used one costs at least two or three hundred thousand yen once you include the paperwork.”

So that was why he’d wanted to work part-time, Omiya hadn’t known it was for a car.

“Someplace you want to go?”

Kitazawa’s face loosened, brightening with genuine excitement.

“I just want to drive. Go on a road trip. The ocean sounds nice.”

Omiya lowered his gaze, the memory rising unexpectedly, five summers ago, when the boy had said he wanted to go to Miyazaki, and Omiya had driven him there. The choking heat, the color of the blue sea, the thin back he’d held tight enough to break, the lips he’d kissed over and over as if fevered.

Kitazawa fell silent for a moment. For some reason, Omiya thought, he might be remembering the same thing.

“Less than thirty minutes left… do you think we can really finish this?”

Seizing on the change of subject, Omiya answered, “We’ll just have to.”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

After closing, with help from both Hagiwara and Yonemura, they finally managed, twenty minutes past ten, to finish wrapping all three hundred gift cards and hand them over to the customer. Though she’d had to wait a little while in the store after hours, she didn’t complain; instead, she thanked them with, “I’m sorry to trouble you,” and left.

Because of the delay caused by the gift card order, they had to hurry through the remaining tasks, and by the time everything was done, it was nearly eleven. Omiya had told Kitazawa, the moment the wrapping was finished, “Good work. You can head out,” but even after Yonemura, the other part-timer, left without a word, Kitazawa stayed behind and quietly helped with the more tedious cleanup. In the end, he left at the same time as the rest of them.

“Ah, I’m starving. I worked three times harder than usual today,” Hagiwara groaned, stretching wide behind Omiya as he locked the back door of the bookstore. The day had begun with Kobashi calling in sick, and had been dizzyingly hectic from start to finish.

“Good work today. If you like, how about some ramen? My treat.”

“Yes! Really?” Hagiwara clasped her hands together in delight. A short distance away, Kitazawa was absorbed in his phone, so Omiya called over to him as well.

“Kitazawa-kun, want to come too?”

He hesitated, but followed after Hagiwara urged him with a cheerful, “Come on, let’s go.” The three of them headed to a food stall near the station, famous for its delicious miso ramen. They ordered, and sat at the narrow counter, with Kitazawa in the middle, flanked by Omiya on one side and Hagiwara on the other.

“Kitazawa-kun, you live alone, right? Do you cook for yourself?” Hagiwara asked.

“Sort of,” he said with a shrug.

“I bet you’re just eating convenience store bentos all the time.”

“That’s pretty much how it is for most guys, isn’t it? Right, manager?”

The sudden question caught Omiya off guard.

“Speaking of which, do you cook for yourself, manager? Or is there someone who cooks for you?” Hagiwara leaned forward. Omiya had the uncomfortable sense that Kitazawa’s eyes were on him, and couldn’t turn his head. He could have said he had a partner, so long as he left out the fact that it was a man. It wasn’t as though he was deliberately hiding it. If Kitazawa weren’t sitting beside him, he would probably have mentioned it without hesitation.

But if he said he had a partner, Kitazawa would surely realize it was a man. Hagiwara would inevitably ask questions like, “What’s she like?” or “Is she beautiful?”, and giving plausible answers, knowing Kitazawa would be thinking, It’s a guy, isn’t it?, felt intolerable.

“It’d be nice if I did. I cook for myself sometimes, but I’m not very good at it,” he deflected, keeping his tone bland.

“Hmm,” Hagiwara murmured. “I guess it doesn’t seem strange to imagine you cooking, since you’re always wearing an apron at work. So, what’s your specialty?”

There was no “specialty” to speak of. After a moment’s thought, he remembered the one dish his boyfriend, Chihiro, had ever praised.

“Sandwiches, maybe.”

“That doesn’t count as cooking,” Hagiwara laughed, and a wave of embarrassment swept over him. The conversation drifted elsewhere, and while the two younger ones talked, Omiya quietly sipped his beer. Even though the three of them sat side by side, it was mostly Hagiwara and Kitazawa who talked; their glasses barely emptied despite being told to drink as they pleased, while Omiya alone kept refilling his.

He’d invited them to reward them for their hard work. He should have known that with three people, the conversation would flow this way, but as Hagiwara monopolized Kitazawa, a childish, petulant part of him began to stir. And as the alcohol sank deeper into his system, that petty feeling crept steadily closer to the surface.

While letting their conversation wash over him, Omiya let his gaze drift past the food stall, to the thick canopy of late-blooming cherry trees beyond, bathed in the station-front’s fluorescent light. The occasional chill in the air was the particular kind that came in early summer, betraying the summery heat of the day.

“So, Kitazawa-kun, you’re working part-time to save up for a car? What kind do you want?”

At Hagiwara’s question, Omiya turned his head just in time to hear Kitazawa answer, “A four-wheel drive.”

“You’re going to go all-out with outdoor stuff? Nice.”

“Not exactly, but, well… a 4WD’s got more power.”

“They guzzle gas, though,” Omiya remarked casually.

“My car’s a 4WD too, and the mileage is terrible. If you’re just driving around town with no real destination, I’d say a regular sedan is better.”

After dampening the mood of the conversation, he took a sip of beer.

“I’ve never seen your car, manager, what do you drive?” Hagiwara asked.

He almost choked on his beer. He liked his 4WD well enough and had no complaints, but it was an unpopular model, and whenever he named it, people would inevitably give a lukewarm “Oh… huh” in return. He tried to change the subject, but both pairs of eyes fixed on him. Under the pressure, he gave in and said, “Doira.”

As expected, Hagiwara tilted her head in puzzlement, but Kitazawa’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“That’s the one I want. No way I can afford a new one, so I’ve been looking for a used one, but I’m told they were never sold in large numbers to begin with. It’s been hard to find.”

It was an unexpected reaction. Just hearing Kitazawa say he liked the same car he did was enough to lift Omiya’s mood.

“Doira’s pretty rare,” Omiya said.

“Everyone tells me that. But I’ve liked it since high school, and I decided the first car I’d drive would be that one. The new ones got rounder, but I love the older, boxier style. Which do you have?”

So absorbed in the topic, Kitazawa even forgot to call him “manager.”

“I bought it about three years ago, so before the redesign.”

Kitazawa let out a breath and murmured, “Lucky you.”

“But you take the train to work, right? Why don’t you drive?”

“The morning rush actually takes longer.”

“What a waste…” Kitazawa muttered.

“If it were me, I’d be driving it from morning till night.”

It made Omiya happy just to talk to him, even knowing the praise was for the car, not for him. With the help of the alcohol, the words slipped out before he could think.

“If you want to drive it that much, why don’t you take it for a spin?”

Those large eyes fixed straight on him.

“I’ll bring it tomorrow. If you want, I could even lend it to you. I barely use it anyway.”

The expectation shining in Kitazawa’s gaze was almost childlike in its eagerness, and it made Omiya happy just to look at him.

“If you’re going for a drive, take me too,” Hagiwara chimed in. “If Kitazawa-kun says it’s that good, I want to ride in it as well.”

The request startled him. It was only natural for Hagiwara, who clearly liked Kitazawa, to want to sit in the passenger seat while he drove. But that would mean Omiya was going out of his way to provide the car for what would essentially be their date. Ridiculous… He pushed the thought down. Whatever happened between those two, it wasn’t his place to interfere.

“Sounds good, you two should go together.”

Even if you don’t mean it, it’s easy enough to lie. The man beside him clicked his tongue softly and tilted his head.

“I’ve got a license, but I haven’t driven in ages. I’m not comfortable carrying passengers yet. Let me get better at it and feel more confident first, okay?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Hagiwara murmured, disappointed. It seemed unlikely the two of them would be riding in his car together anytime soon, and Omiya felt a quiet relief.

“I think I’ll head home,” Kitazawa said under his breath. Omiya glanced at his watch and was surprised at how late it had gotten. If they lingered much longer, they’d be in danger of missing the last train right before his eyes.

With a cheerful smile, Hagiwara told him, “Dinner for free, what a treat. Thanks for the meal,” before leaving with Kitazawa. Watching their backs recede into the distance, Omiya caught himself wondering what they might talk about, whether they’d share a kiss before parting. The thought made him chuckle at his own pettiness.

On the train ride home, gently swaying and pleasantly tipsy, he thought about it: did he actually like that boy? Seeing him with someone else and feeling that prick of jealousy, did it mean those old feelings hadn’t completely died?

He tried a thought experiment: if he didn’t already have a partner, what would he do? Would he fall for that boy all over again?

A chill ran down his spine. The idea frightened him. Loving Kitazawa was frightening. If Omiya loves him, then what? There’s no future there.

Five years ago, he had seriously confessed to the boy, back when Kitazawa was still in junior high, wanting to be lovers, only to be rejected. After quitting his job and ending up alone, he’d regretted meeting him at all, regretted it a million times over. If he hadn’t met that boy, he wouldn’t have left his job, wouldn’t have ended up this wretched.

On the walk from the station to his apartment, he pictured Kitazawa being invited into Hagiwara’s place. She was fairly forward, and if he didn’t mind, it might not stop at a kiss. Sex was possible. And that, in itself, was fine… Their workplace didn’t forbid office relationships, and as long as it didn’t affect the job, there was no problem.

He stopped at a crosswalk. A sudden, restless need for sex welled up inside him.

So when he reached his building, he went straight to his partner’s apartment. He wasn’t in the study. In the bedroom, he found him curled up in the middle of the double bed, sleeping small and still as a cat.

Omiya loosened his tie, stripped off his shirt and slacks, and slid in beside him. He kissed his cheek, ran his fingers through the soft hair, pried open his lips, and tangled his tongue with his.

“Mmh… mmh…”

Chihiro stirred faintly, then shoved his head away with surprising force and scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“…Who is this?”

In the apartment they shared, in the bed they shared, who else could it possibly be but his boyfriend? Even if he’d been the one to create the situation, the hollowness of it was unavoidable. Without answering, he caught those well-shaped, cool lips lightly between his teeth, sucking at them. As Chihiro grew more awake, his movements became sharper.

“Cut it out.”

The slap across his cheek brought Omiya back to himself. Chihiro, looking irritated, pushed him aside and sat halfway up, raking his fingers lazily through his hair.

“I was sleeping, don’t wake me up.”

The words were edged with displeasure.

“…Sorry,” Omiya said honestly. He reached for the rumpled hair, but Chihiro batted his hand away.

“I’m exhausted. I only just finished a rush job.”

The exaggerated sigh that followed stung his ears.

“I don’t have a cushy job like you, Yusuke, where all you do is sell books all day. Mine takes a lot out of me.”

Omiya’s hands, resting on the sheet, curled slowly into fists.

“So let me get some real sleep.”

Chihiro let out a long yawn, then rolled onto his stomach, hugging the pillow to his chest.

When he didn’t want to, he would never let it happen; when he did, nothing could stop him until he got what he wanted. Omiya’s circumstances never entered into the equation. Chihiro’s world revolved entirely around Chihiro. Inside that circle with him at the center, there was no room for the kind of kindness that thought of a lover’s needs. He was good at being doted on, terrible at doing the doting.

Omiya had known he was selfish when they started dating. He had thought he could accept it… that he could live with it.

Looking at Chihiro’s profile, the long lashes lying still against his cheek, Omiya wished, silently, that Chihiro could be gentler with him. That he would hold him so tightly, so completely, he’d never look away.

…But wishes didn’t make themselves heard. And in a relationship already cooling, expecting that was impossible, his own sober mind whispered it in his ear.

He showered, washing away the faint haze of beer along with the rest, and returned to the bedroom to find Chihiro breathing softly in sleep. Sliding into bed, he set the alarm clock on the nightstand for the usual time. Then he picked it back up and, with a self-punishing sort of impulse, set it an hour earlier.

…Because he wanted time to wash the car.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He left the apartment an hour earlier than usual and drove to a 24-hour coin operated car wash, rinsing away months of grime.

When he parked in the employees-only lot at the bookstore, he found himself thinking of only one thing, would he notice the car when he came in for his evening shift? And if he did, how would he react?

That day, a manga magazine bundled with a figurine from a hit anime went on sale, and it sold so quickly the registers descended into chaos. Within thirty minutes of opening, every copy was gone, but calls kept pouring in for hours afterward. Omiya answered them all.

No matter how many times he explained there was no stock left, some customers refused to accept it. He bit back the urge to snap, If you wanted it that badly, why didn’t you reserve a copy?, forcing himself to repeat the same answer, over and over, until his patience thinned. He could feel his tone slipping into bluntness despite his efforts, and more than once he had to scold himself into being polite again.

By midday, the commotion still hadn’t died down, and outside the sky began to turn a strange, heavy gray. Shortly after two, the first raindrops fell.

It had been months since he’d washed the car, only for it to rain now, of all days. The irony stung. As the downpour grew loud enough to batter the windows, another thought crept in: what if he had only said he wanted to ride in the car in the heat of the moment? What if, seeing Omiya had actually driven it, he realized it wasn’t a joke and felt awkward about it? The thought left him unsettled.

Kitazawa arrived for his shift at exactly four o’clock, cutting it close enough to be nearly late. Even then, the flood of customers asking about the magazine, at the register and on the phone, never slowed. By closing time, the calls still hadn’t stopped. At ten o’clock, switching the line over to the automated after-hours message brought a wave of relief.

But because he’d spent the whole day dealing with customers and calls, none of his own work had been touched. Sending home the other staff, their faces just as worn from the grind, he stayed behind alone to finish his tasks. He sent Kitazawa home too. After all, there had been no time or opportunity to talk, so much for washing the car and driving it in.

And thinking about it, he realized that even if the day had been quiet, unless Kitazawa had been the one to ask, “Did you drive today?”, he probably still wouldn’t have brought it up himself.

While sorting invoices in the back office, Omiya’s head lifted at a faint, sharp sound. At first he thought it was his imagination, but no, the distinct rhythm of footsteps drew closer.

For a fleeting moment, the word thief crossed his mind. But no thief would walk so openly, so unhurriedly. Perhaps someone had forgotten something? The footsteps stopped right outside the office door. Then, three sharp knocks.

“Come in, it’s open.”

The one who stepped through the door was Kitazawa.

Surprised, Omiya dropped the sales slips to the floor. As he bent to gather them, the toe of a sneaker entered his field of vision.

“What are you doing?”

“Just… startled.”

“I knocked, you know.”

That wasn’t the reason for his surprise, but Omiya didn’t bother to correct him.

“I thought everyone had gone home.”

Kitazawa gave a short “Hmph” through his nose, then thrust the plastic bag in his hand toward Omiya.

“Brought you something.”

Puzzled, Omiya accepted it. Inside were a sandwich and a can of coffee. The other sat down on the sofa, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it.

“Hagiwara-san said the manager probably wouldn’t get home anytime soon, so I figured you might get hungry.”

“…Thanks.”

The gesture was appreciated, though it left him wondering what had brought it on. After a slow drag of his cigarette, Kitazawa asked, “That Doira, parked out in the lot, that yours?”

In that instant, Omiya understood the real reason for the sudden offering.

“Yeah.”

Because you said you wanted to drive it, I brought it. The words never left his mouth, only whispered in the silence of his thoughts.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come by car.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

The food was just an opener. Sooner or later, he’d use it to bring up wanting to take the car for a spin.

“Is it raining outside?”

Kitazawa tilted his head. “Rain? I think it’s stopped.”

From the bag beside his desk, Omiya pulled out the car keys.

“It’s going to take me a while to finish up here, so you can go for a drive if you want. If the rain’s stopped, it shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

He expected Kitazawa to jump at the offer, but instead the younger man stared at the keys and muttered, “Actually… never mind.”

“How much longer until you’re done?”

“Forty minutes, even if I hurry.”

Kitazawa stood from the sofa, cigarette still in his mouth, and peered down at the work in front of Omiya.

“Want me to help?”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s just—” Kitazawa murmured, planting one hand on the desk, “to be honest, driving alone scares me. The Doira’s got the gear shift on the steering column, right? Since driving school, I’ve barely been behind the wheel. I ask my friends to let me drive, but as soon as I say I’m a beginner, they refuse, don’t want to risk me scratching it.”

Omiya couldn’t exactly fault them. Back in his student days, he’d had the same experience, only he’d been the one lending the car and worrying about damage.

“Even if I sat in the passenger seat, it wouldn’t change much. It’s not like a learner’s car with a brake on my side. And if we wait until I’m done here, it’ll be past midnight.”

“I don’t mind the time. I’m always up late.”

He’d always hated studying. If he was staying up late, it was for the same reasons as back then…

“You can’t just spend all your time playing around.”

At that, Kitazawa’s face tightened with faint embarrassment.

“I do study. Sort of.”

The awkwardly honest, half-contradictory answer made Omiya smile.

“At university, no one’s going to teach you unless you take the initiative yourself.”

“…Shut up. I know.”

Kitazawa clicked his tongue and turned away. With the satisfaction of having scored a point, Omiya found himself relaxed enough to simply enjoy the exchange.

“Can you wait thirty minutes?”

The younger man looked back at him.

“I’ll finish quickly. And your snack—” Omiya smiled faintly, “I’ll eat it in the car.”

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