B.L.T: Chapter 08

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It was past ten at night. Since leaving the coast, they had driven along the shoreline for what felt like forever, then had a late dinner at a family restaurant. After that, Omiya had taken the wheel. They’d stopped a few times along the way, but for a beginner, he had driven alone for quite a while, and he looked tired. That was proof enough that when Omiya offered to switch drivers, Kitazawa nodded without protest.

Perhaps it was the full stomach, or perhaps it was the release from the tension of unfamiliar driving, but Kitazawa began nodding off in the passenger seat. They returned to the bookstore after about an hour, yet he showed no sign of waking. Since he always walked to work, his apartment couldn’t be far, though Omiya didn’t know exactly where. He pulled into the far corner of a convenience store parking lot on a back street and waited for him to wake up.

He gazed at the sleeping face faintly illuminated by the store’s lights. With his eyes closed, he wouldn’t say something teasing like “What are you staring at?” Five years ago, he had done the same thing, watching him sleep, night after night, when Kitazawa frequently stayed over at Omiya’s apartment. Back then too, he had firmly told himself not to touch him. And yet, that restrained heat had swelled in the pit of his stomach, so much so that he’d dream again and again of taking the younger boy.

Today had been genuinely enjoyable. The conversation, the meal, even his clumsy driving, and the silence after he fell asleep, every moment had left Omiya satisfied. He could finally admit it to himself: he liked this boy. No matter how many years passed, no matter the selfishness, the teasing, the mischief.

He wanted to be closer. Longer. Even a little longer. That was why, though they were already near his apartment, he couldn’t bring himself to wake him and had stopped in a place like this instead. Because once they parted, there might not be a next time. If Kitazawa didn’t say again that he wanted to ride in Omiya’s car, this might be the last time they could be together like this for so long.

At first, he had thought his concern for this boy came from things going poorly with Chihiro. Now he could say for certain it was different. Even if his relationship with Chihiro had stayed good, he would still have fallen for Kitazawa all over again. He was sure of it. What was it that drew him so strongly? His looks were certainly cute, but in terms of facial features, Chihiro was more handsome. He was selfish, self-centered, mean-spirited, hated studying, always playing around… Not a single admirable quality, Omiya told himself with a wry smile. And still, he wanted this boy, in all his candor and innocence.

But even admitting it didn’t mean there was anything he could do. Even without Chihiro in the picture, he couldn’t simply blurt out “I love you” like he had before. It was obvious he wouldn’t be taken seriously, and he didn’t want to keep hurting over the same person again and again. The pain from five years ago, when a month of hope and anxiety had ended in the realization that he’d been rejected, was still raw. Yes, he had been rejected back then. He had even forgotten about this boy… so why had he shown up in front of him again now? Why was it so natural for him to be sitting in the passenger seat?

A sudden, foolish-sounding electronic tone rang out inside the car, and Omiya’s back jolted in surprise. Kitazawa, who hadn’t stirred until then, let out a low groan and began rummaging in his jeans pocket. He pulled out his phone, answered with a curt, “Yeah, it’s me,” spoke two or three short sentences to the caller, then cut them off with a tossed-off, “Whatever, later,” and hung up.

“Don’t call me over stupid crap,” he muttered, yawning widely as he shifted against the seat. Kitazawa checked the time on his phone and exclaimed in surprise, “Whoa, it’s almost eleven already.” Slowly looking around, he tilted his head.

"Where is this?"

"Convenience store near your place. I don’t actually know where you live."

"Ah, right…" Kitazawa muttered, scratching his head roughly. "I think I lost consciousness around eight."

"You slept well."

He yawned again, still looking drowsy.

"Kinda thirsty."

"Want me to go get you something? What do you want?"

As Omiya reached for the car door, Kitazawa shrugged. "Nah, forget it."

"You could’ve just woken me up, you know. No need to wait around."

"But you looked comfortable."

"Don’t tell me you did anything weird while I was asleep."

The words stabbed sharp, like something gouging at his chest. His fingertips trembled. It didn’t sound like calculated malice, more like an offhand comment, but that made it feel even closer to the truth. Kitazawa knew he liked him. He knew, and still asked to drive his car, still fell asleep in the passenger seat as if it were nothing. Kitazawa did whatever he pleased, and yet he didn’t trust him. Why was he the only one who felt this much, who was left this pathetic?

All he’d done was watch him. That alone had been enough for him, but even that, to him, was probably an “unpleasant thing.” He was tired of being used, laughed at, hurt. He would never repeat the mistake from five years ago.

"Time for you to get out now."

Omiya made sure his voice didn’t carry anger.

"You can walk home from here, right?"

"What’s with you all of a sudden? Are you mad?"

Kitazawa didn’t even realize he’d hurt him. So he smiled.

"Not mad. Just tired, and I want to get home. I’ve got work tomorrow."

Still wearing a doubtful expression, Kitazawa got out. Omiya started the engine the moment he closed the door. Even when his figure appeared in the rearview mirror, he turned his gaze away. Kitazawa’d come in for his shift tomorrow, but Omiya would speak to him as little as possible. If he made it obvious he was avoiding Kitazawa, he’d notice, and he’d keep his distance too. No more getting involved. He would never get involved with Kitazawa again.

Grinding his back teeth, Omiya swung the wheel hard. He made it as far as the apartment parking lot, but the instant he put the gear in park, the tension broke and tears threatened. It stung, being distrusted. It ached, that even one careless remark from Kitazawa could wound him. The pain seemed to spread from his chest all the way to his fingertips when he breathed. Unable to bear that helpless ache, Omiya put his thumb in his mouth and bit down hard. Physical pain to drown the pain in his chest. He kept biting, over and over, until his thumb bore a neat red circle of teeth marks.

In the apartment elevator, he hoped Chihiro was already asleep. It was late enough that he braced for at least one cutting remark if they crossed paths. Without so much as an “I’m home,” he opened the door.

There was a pair of unfamiliar shoes in the lit entryway. No anger rose. Chihiro might be in bed with whoever owned them. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care enough to confirm. They were even.

Without stepping inside, he closed the door and locked it. He spent about an hour sitting in his car in the parking lot, blank and unmoving, before heading to the bookstore. Slipping in through the back entrance, he lay down on the office’s guest sofa. He’d brought in the blanket from his car, pulled it over his head, and shut his eyes.

In the hour it took for sleep to come, Omiya thought about a lot of things, about Kitazawa, who knew his feelings and still acted as he pleased; about the boyfriend who could calmly bring someone else into their home. He and Chihiro might really be done. Probably were. Even being cheated on stirred nothing in him anymore. No anger, no jealousy, not even affection. Thinking that if they broke up Omiya wouldn’t have to endure that caustic tone anymore, he felt a small wash of relief.

He gave a wry smile at himself. After two years together, was this really how it ended? The thought left him oddly hollow, and a little empty inside.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next day, Kitazawa showed up for his shift fifteen minutes late. Omiya hadn’t wanted to speak to him, but with the other staff watching, he kept it businesslike, “Please be more careful from now on”, only to be met with a sullen, downward gaze and no reply. After that, Omiya deliberately kept him out of sight and focused on his own work.

A little after eight in the evening, while Omiya was in the office compiling a list of additional book orders, the sound of hurried footsteps pounded toward him. Hagiwara burst into the room.

“Manager, please, come out to the store!”

Her urgency was anything but normal. “What happened?” he asked. Breathless, she explained the situation in fragments, and the moment he understood, Omiya hurried to the register.

Two men stood at the counter. They looked to be around thirty, tall, and well built. One wore an all-black suit, black from head to toe. The other had faded, brassy, blond hair and a garish patterned shirt that showed questionable taste. From their appearance and demeanor, they didn’t seem like the sort who held respectable jobs.

“No matter how many times you say you want a refund, without a receipt we cannot give you your money back,” Kitazawa, standing opposite them, declared in a firm, clear voice.

The blond man stepped forward and slammed his palm down on the counter with a bang loud enough to echo through the store. Omiya’s back stiffened.

“How many times do I have to say it? I’m telling you I bought it here! What, are you saying this store won’t take back something the customer bought by mistake, something they never even used?”

The blond man grabbed Kitazawa by the front of his shirt, his voice dripping with menace.

Omiya rushed over, shoving the blond aside and stepping between them, shielding Kitazawa behind his back. It was frightening to see the man’s scowl deepen, but Omiya forced down his fear and squared his shoulders.

“I’m Omiya, the store manager. I’m terribly sorry, but as my staff member just told you, we do not generally issue refunds for items without a receipt.”

“What was that?”

The man’s intimidation made Omiya’s right foot retreat a step. Both fists clenched so tightly his hands trembled. On the counter sat a residential map book, the very one Hagiwara had mentioned when describing the two rough-looking customers demanding a return. The store did carry it, but it was expensive and sold rarely due to its limited use.

In Omiya’s mind flashed a fax from months ago, sent from the main store: a warning about a surge in refund fraud involving high-priced books. Among the items listed, art books, medical texts, was the residential map book.

Biting down hard on his lip, he planted his feet firmly. Show weakness, and they’d pounce.

“I’m truly sorry. But if you absolutely cannot accept that, we will have to take this matter to the proper authorities.”

The moment the scent of police entered the air, the men’s expressions shifted. “What a pathetic store,” one shouted, but they snatched the book from the counter and quickly left.

As soon as they were out of sight, the tension in Omiya’s shoulders dissolved, replaced by the trickle of cold sweat down his cheek.

“Manager, are you okay?” Hagiwara’s eyes were wet as she came toward him.

“Before you came, those two were terrible,” she said. “They just kept shouting the whole time…”

“Sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Are you both all right?” he asked, glancing at Kitazawa. The only reply he got was a curt, “Yeah, I guess.”

Until closing time, Omiya made a point of scanning the store now and then, but the two men never returned, and no further trouble arose.

After the store shut for the night, Hagiwara looked uneasy about heading home alone, so Omiya asked Kitazawa to send her home. He didn’t object.

Once everyone had left, Omiya went over the day’s sales and cash balance. It took longer than usual, he’d taken on some of Hagiwara’s work so she could leave early after such a scare, so by the time he finished, it was past eleven.

He glanced up at the clock and felt the heaviness settle in his chest. It wasn’t likely that Chihiro would bring another man home two nights in a row, but still, he didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to talk. Yet if he didn’t go back to the apartment, he couldn’t shower or change clothes. Yesterday had been a day off, so no one at work had noticed he was wearing the same shirt. Whether Kitazawa had noticed was another matter; if he had, he’d said nothing.

While he sat there wrestling with himself, his phone rang, and the distinctive ringtone told him instantly it was Chihiro.

“Where are you right now?” came the irritable voice as soon as he picked up.

“At work,” Omiya said, pressing his right hand to his forehead. Just hearing Chihiro’s voice drained him.

“I figured you were with some guy,” Chihiro said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Don’t think I don’t know.”

The shout slammed into his eardrums.

“I heard from Takano. Said you were with some younger guy… making a fool out of me.”

The words made his head throb. He was furious at Takano for telling Chihiro anything.

“I do have male friends, you know.”

“You spent the whole night with him, didn’t you?”

“I stayed at the bookstore’s office last night.”

“And you expect me to believe a lie that obvious?”

“I went home once,” he said quietly. “But there was a pair of shoes by the door I’d never seen before, so I didn’t go in. Whose were they?”

Silence.

“The one making a fool of the other is you, not me,” Omiya said. Without a face to look at, the words themselves filled his focus, and that made it easier to stay calm.

“All that stuff about being bored, about me not paying attention, it’s just an excuse. If you’re tired of me, that’s fine. We don’t have to keep forcing it.”

The moment he said, “Let’s break up,” the call cut off. He didn’t even feel like calling back. He stared at the phone for a while where it lay on the desk, then reached for his car keys. He could skip the shower, but at least he wanted a clean change of underwear. And he was hungry. Tomorrow, he would go back to the apartment and talk to Chihiro. But tonight, he wanted to think things over alone.

At the convenience store by the station, he bought underwear, a boxed meal, and tea. The whole walk there and back, he thought about the boyfriend he had just left. Chihiro had been beautiful, captivating, but the moment the magic of love had worn off, he’d become nothing more than a selfish, unfaithful, prideful man. Once his own feelings of “love” started fading, Omiya realized that all the things he’d once turned a blind eye to were, in fact, intolerable. Like the way Chihiro had, in subtle ways, looked down on his work…

When Omiya returned to the bookstore, he noticed a figure by the back entrance. For a moment, he thought it might be Chihiro, but no. That proud, lazy man would never have bothered coming out here to see him. Even under the dim light of the outdoor lamp, he could see the displeasure on the man’s face. He’d come back after walking Hagiwara home.

“Forget something?” Omiya asked, voicing the most likely reason.

Kitazawa shot him a sidelong glare.

“I’ve got something to say to you,” he muttered in a low, almost spitting tone.

“After I took Hagiwara home, she said she had something important to tell me, so I went up to her place. She told me she likes me.”

A sharp sting pricked in his chest. He should have considered the possibility, given Hagiwara’s behavior, but until this moment, it had completely slipped his mind.

“Good for you,” he said, without meaning it. It was the only thing he could say.

“So you knew this would happen, and you still had me walk her home?”

Omiya couldn’t understand why he was angry. After all that blatant flirting, there was no way Kitazawa hadn’t noticed her feelings.

“I asked you to see her home because she’d had a scare and I thought she’d feel safer with someone. I didn’t set anything up. Why are you taking it out on me? She’s older, sure, but she’s a capable, charming woman. If you’re open to it, you should give it a try.”

Kitazawa gave a short, derisive laugh through his nose.

“You’ve got a thing for me, and you can still say that?”

Even if it were true, there was no reason for Kitazawa to throw it in his face now.

“Go home,” Omiya said.

He shoved past Kitazawa standing in front of the door, unlocked the back entrance. He thought that would be the end of it, but instead Kitazawa followed him into the store, as if he still had more to get off his chest. A voice, sharp and unforgiving, pursued Omiya’s back.

“You’re always watching me. So much it’s embarrassing. And then when I call you out on it, you get mad.”

Omiya slammed the convenience store dinner onto the table. He’d just had a fight with Chihiro; in this heavy mood, he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He dropped onto the sofa with deliberate roughness, making no effort to hide his irritation, but the voice didn’t stop.

“With the car, too. All my friends hate my driving, but you put up with it. I figured even if I banged it up, you wouldn’t get mad.”

“Shut up!”

The shout finally brought silence. Omiya pressed his hands to his forehead.

“Why are you so angry? Because I put you in a situation where she confessed to you? Or because my looking at you made you uncomfortable? I’m sorry about that. I’ll try not to from now on. Oh, and if you really can’t stand me, you can quit this part-time job any time you like.”

Kitazawa’s gaze dropped slowly to the floor.

“Do you not realize how strange you sound? Listening to you, it’s like I’m supposed to still be in love with you, after five years. Sure, back then I liked you. I’d be lying if I said I don’t still notice you. But isn’t that normal? If someone you once liked is standing right in front of you, who wouldn’t be aware of them?”

After a beat of silence, Kitazawa looked up and met Omiya’s eyes with a challenge.

“You ‘notice’ me without the romance.”

“I know there’s no point in having romantic feelings,” Omiya replied.

Neither of them realized that, as their words overlapped, the truth was slipping out and the conversation was moving toward the heart of the matter.

“Since you’re not interested in me anyway.”

Kitazawa fell abruptly silent.

“You only got close to me because you wanted to ride in my car, didn’t you? I don’t really mind. Letting someone drive it isn’t a big deal. But it didn’t have to be you, if anyone had asked, I’d have handed over the keys. So don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re special.”

As he spoke, it began to feel as though his car was the root of all this. Omiya pulled the Doira key from his key case and held it out to him.

“If you like that car so much, it’s yours. The inspection’s due next year anyway, and I was thinking of replacing it. Once you’ve got a car, you won’t need to keep working here part-time. It’s convenient, isn’t it? Think of it as compensation, for having to put up with me ‘watching’ you.”

“Who the hell would want a piece of junk like that?”

His hand was slapped hard, the key flying from his grip and vanishing who knew where. Omiya bit down on his lip against the sting that shot up his hand. To call it a piece of junk, how cruel. Even the smallest bit of pride he tried to keep, the need to save face, was stripped away by him. Forced to admit feelings he didn’t want to say aloud, forced to be told again and again: you love me, don’t you?

Kitazawa walked slowly, bent to pick up the Doira key from beneath the desk. Omiya murmured, barely audible, “Give it back.” But the key only disappeared into his clenched fist.

“You don’t want that piece of junk, right? Then give it back.”

“You said it like that…” His tone implied it was Omiya’s fault.

“Then what? Should I have said, ‘I humbly present it to you’?”

Even while beaten down, sarcasm edged into his words.

“You always say nasty things…”

“And you’re the one who keeps saying things that make me angry.”

Words only led to being hurt, so he shut his mouth. Silence spread between them, heavy and absolute. The click of a lighter broke it; when Omiya looked up, he saw the flare of a cigarette. In moments the room filled with smoke. After stubbing out his second, Kitazawa muttered, almost to himself:

“I wasn’t just using you. Sure, I wanted to ride in the car, but that wasn’t all.”

“Then what other reason was there?”

“I don’t know.”

His tone was flat, matter-of-fact.

“I notice you, but I don’t know what that feeling is. Yesterday, before you got mad, I was having fun. Even today, I was glad when you stepped in with that weird customer. I was going to thank you later, but then…”

Omiya’s fingers trembled with confusion. He wanted to believe, to take the words in the most favorable light, but everything that had led up to this point held him back. Any step forward had to be cautious.

“In junior high, you led me on and then dumped me.”

“That was…” Kitazawa faltered. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“I waited for you to call me, but you never even picked up the phone.”

The words spilled out, bitter with resentment he’d never voiced.

“You tried to sleep with me back then. A kiss was fine, but sex? I hated it. It felt dirty, reeking, tainted.”

“If you love someone, isn’t it natural to want to touch them?”

He raked both hands roughly through his hair.

“Think with a sane head for once. I was a junior high student. And suddenly you, an adult, were pressing down on me. I was scared. My parents were on the verge of divorce, both of them telling me I wasn’t wanted. I thought adults, sex, all of it was filthy. My head was a mess. That’s why… but it didn’t mean I hated you. If I did, I never would’ve taken a part-time job at your bookstore.”

Hearing his raw honesty for the first time, all Omiya could do was blink in stunned silence.

“At that time, I needed you. I was glad you were there. When I thought even my parents had thrown me away, hearing you say you loved me, it saved me.”

As he spoke, he seemed to grow more agitated, pacing restlessly around the office.

“So, that’s… that’s why—”

The words caught in his throat; a sharp click of his tongue followed. Then, suddenly, he snapped, “Forget it!” and made for the door. Omiya scrambled after him, seizing his right arm. Even then the momentum didn’t stop, so he clung to him from behind, wrapping his arms tight around Kitazawa. The body in his hold was rigid as stone, but that only made him want to feel it more, to anchor himself to its presence. His grip tightened.

 

“Do you, do you think you like me, even just a little?”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“Then tell me how I can find out.”

They stayed locked together like that. When Kitazawa finally muttered that he couldn’t breathe, Omiya tried to loosen his hold, but his hands were stiff with tension, refusing to let go.

“Look at me.”

But Kitazawa’s gaze stayed fixed on the door, refusing. Omiya tugged at his shoulder, pulling him roughly around until at last they faced each other. Still, his head hung low. Afraid of being shaken off, Omiya brushed his fingers along the line of his cheek, coaxing his face upward bit by bit. His lashes lowered, eyes avoiding his. When Omiya nuzzled his cheek against his, a shudder ran through Kitazawa’s back. Yet those hands that dangled limply at his sides did not push him away.

Holding back the fringe that fell over his brow, Omiya pressed a kiss to his forehead. Finally, the boy lifted his face, their eyes locking. They looked frightened, anxious, on the verge of tears, but they looked at him. Unbelievably, unwaveringly, they looked at him. Don’t turn away, don’t reject me… With that prayer in his chest, Omiya pressed his lips to his. Kitazawa’s eyelids sank closed, slowly. No tongue, no daring, just the lightest of kisses, repeated again and again, too afraid to be more.

“I want to come to your place.”

He knew how bold it sounded, but he couldn’t hold back. His words were whispered into the curve of the boy’s soft ear as he held him close.

“And what would you do if you came?” came the murmured reply.

“I want to talk more.”

“Really? Really just talk?”

Omiya, too honest to lie, couldn’t bring himself to say yes. Kitazawa fell into thought for a long moment, then muttered under his breath, “My place… it’s a mess, though.”

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