B.L.T: Chapter 10

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It was past ten-thirty, after both the employees and part-timers had gone home. Omiya was tidying up the desk in the office when he heard footsteps tapping down the hall. The door opened, and Kitazawa came in.

Today, he hadn’t had a shift. So, five minutes before Omiya finished his own work, he had called his cell phone: I’m just about done here. If Kitazawa didn’t already have plans, he would come to the office. It had been nearly two weeks since they’d begun meeting like this.

“Want some coffee?”

He asked, but there was no reply. Instead, Kitazawa tugged impatiently at his arm, pulling him down firmly onto the sofa. Straddling Omiya’s lap, facing him, he pressed in for a kiss. It was only a brief, tentative touch of lips, childlike. Even so, Omiya drew him closer, parting his neat rows of teeth, tangling his tongue with his. With the deeper kiss, Kitazawa’s eyes grew flushed, shimmering wet as though he’d been crying.

“You’re unusually forward tonight.”

Tracing the wet lips with his thumb, Omiya found himself stared up at with eyes so sensual it made him shiver.

“Since this afternoon… I just kept wanting to kiss you.”

“You’ve been holding back all this time?”

Something in the tone must have rubbed him the wrong way; Kitazawa narrowed his eyes, displeased.

“Would it have been better if I came during your shift and jumped all over you then?”

“No… You chose right.”

Looping both arms around Omiya’s neck, he bounced lightly on his lap like a child overjoyed.

“Want to come over to my place tonight?”

“No. I’ll go home.”

Kitazawa scowled, creasing his brow. Boring. Omiya wanted to go, of course. But if he came home late, Chihiro would throw a fit, shrieking, carrying on. And that was the best-case scenario. Other times, Chihiro would grab a knife, brandish it in front of Omiya, and threaten, I’ll kill myself. Until he let go of the blade, Omiya had no choice but to keep apologizing.

The cycle had repeated so many times that Omiya’s nerves had gone numb. Faced with Chihiro’s threats, I’ll die, he still told him to stop, yet in the back of his mind whispered, Go on then, if you can. Only that first time had the knife actually cut him. Now, not even a scratch remained.

“Hey, I want to see your apartment.”

“No…”

Just imagining Kitazawa crossing paths with Chihiro in that apartment was terrifying. Omiya buried his hand deep in the boy’s soft hair. He had only resisted sex that very first time; from the second encounter on, Kitazawa had rarely stopped Omiya from doing things his way. He was frank and greedy about pleasure, and yet there was still an unshakable air of restraint about him. Omiya didn’t want him to know there was another boyfriend he still hadn’t managed to leave.

“Then just tell your sister I’m a friend.”

The excuse Omiya had given for not inviting him over was that he lived with his younger sister. Last time, when he stayed at Kitazawa’s apartment, he hadn’t checked in, and supposedly his sister had worried terribly. Since then, she had been keeping track of his return times, so he couldn’t come home late, so he claimed. In reality, Omiya did have a much younger sister, but she was living at home and commuting to a nearby university.

“If I ever brought you back to my place, I feel like I wouldn’t be able to hold back.” He pressed a kiss against the boy’s graceful neck. “Then would you take responsibility?”

“You say things like that, but you won’t come to my place either. Always saying your sister’s worried. You’re way too overprotective.”

Their encounters lasted only about thirty minutes after work: talking idly, holding each other, kissing.

“Even on your last day off, I was looking forward to seeing you. But you said you had plans.”

Half an hour a day wasn’t nearly enough. Nowhere near enough. Impatiently, Omiya slid his fingers down the front of Kitazawa’s jeans. In no time he grew hard, a breath spilling from his lips. The rasping sound of the zipper being pulled down rang lewdly in the room, and Omiya shoved jeans and underwear together down to his knees. With one hand he took the wetness beading at the tip, with the other he toyed at the bared entrance. Sticky sounds filled the air, and Kitazawa squeezed his eyes shut tight. Even so, he clung to Omiya, hungry for more kisses.

Chihiro had always hated lingering touches after sex, fastidious to the point of brushing him off. But this boy was different. He loved skin-to-skin contact, endlessly pressing against Omiya, always wanting more kisses. It was like a child’s game, with no finish in sight.

“Hard to believe I’d never had sex before two weeks ago.”

Kitazawa wriggled free of the jeans tangled at his ankles, kicking them aside. Sitting astride Omiya’s lap with nothing at all on his lower body, he looked indecent to the point of obscenity.

“Feels natural, though,” he said, peering into Omiya’s face.

“Maybe because it’s a face worth staring at forever?”

At Omiya’s joke, Kitazawa burst out laughing.

“Yeah, right,” he said, still laughing as he clung closer.

“At first you said you hated sex,” Omiya reminded him, twining fingers around the trembling shaft. The boy gasped faintly, “Ah…”

“I always thought, why does everyone act like this is normal?”

Omiya’s fingers slipped deeper, all the way back to his tightened entrance. From being stirred earlier, the place was warm, loosened, yielding.

“Not there, I don’t want—”

“Just a little…”

In the end, Kitazawa gave in, Omiya’s fingers sliding into him like a prelude to penetration. Still awkward at moving his hips, he faltered in Omiya’s lap until Omiya steadied him, guiding his rhythm with his hands.

“Sex always felt fake to me,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against Omiya’s shoulder.

“My parents had sex, and I was born. You’d think it was out of love, right? But a few years later they divorced, and I was told I wasn’t wanted. So then it’s like, the act itself feels wrong. Gross, even. That’s why I hated sex. I dated girls, yeah, and sometimes things got that way, but in my head I never wanted it. It was easier just to take care of myself.”

“Was the divorce a shock to you?”

Omiya nipped lightly at the boy’s soft ear.

“Isn’t it a shock for anyone? I know it happens a lot now, but does everyone else just shrug it off? Maybe I’m the weird one for fixating on it.”

“Did it become a trauma?”

“Not something that dramatic. Back in junior high, when I was with you, I was a mess. But after moving to Miyazaki, not dealing with them anymore, I got over some of it. Still… my dad pushed me to come to college, so maybe there’s lingering resentment.”

Tilting his head, he pressed his face into Omiya’s chest, leaning in like a child. Omiya stroked his hair.

“You wouldn’t do it with a girl. So why have sex with me?”

“You’re really asking that?”

Kitazawa frowned, creases forming between his brows. Omiya smoothed them gently with a fingertip.

“I love you, and I think you’re beautiful. But when I’m with you, I can’t tell what it is you find in me. It’s not like you were drawn to men from the start.”

“Well, we met in the worst way possible,” Kitazawa said with a laugh. “A homo messing with a junior high student and saying he loved him.”

“Something I’ll probably be teased about for life.”

“Because it was the truth. But back then, when you told me you loved me, I was happy. Pure and simple, I was happy. I was just a kid, stupid, powerless. I guess I’m not much different now, still don’t have anything. Unlike you, working and having something real you can point to. If I had a talent, maybe it was diving. But here, I don’t really feel like doing that either.”

“It feels like you’re dodging my question.”

“What question?”

“What it is you like about me…”

“Oh…” Kitazawa murmured. “I don’t know. Hard to answer when you put it that way. Maybe it’s because with you, even if we have sex, there’s no way another kid like me will ever be born. That thought kind of…relieved me. And maybe it’s because, at first, you didn’t pay me much attention. I guess I felt lonely. You used to say you loved me so much, so I wondered if maybe that was a lie too…”

Omiya kissed him, lips meeting with an audible smack.

“Feels like I’m just rambling on by myself here.”

Omiya laughed. “This is the first time I’ve ever talked this much in the middle of sex.”

“Oh, right, we are.” Kitazawa finally seemed to remember Omiya was still inside him.

“Did you get so caught up in talking you forgot about me?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m caught up because we’re doing this. And it just feels…natural, doesn’t it?”

“Having sex, you mean?”

“That too. But more than that, being with you feels natural. We’re doing it, it feels good, and I want to kiss you more, and talk more…”

He ruffled Omiya’s hair.

“I’ve never talked about this stuff with anyone. Not my parents’ divorce, not how I hated sex. If I told friends, they’d just think I was weird. And it’s not the kind of thing you sit down and talk about with your parents. After that first trip we took in your car, I wondered why it was so easy to tell you. Stuff I’d normally never say to anyone, I wanted to tell you. All those dark things, they’re a part of me. A big part. And I don’t know what to do with them.”

His words spilled out raw, wrung from deep inside. Omiya pulled him close, holding him tight.

“I felt like you might understand. Maybe that’s what a lover is, someone you can tell what you can’t say to parents or friends, and be understood.”

Kitazawa shifted his hips in a small rocking motion, breath catching.

“Are you close?” Kitazawa asked in a hoarse voice. “I want to… Touch me in front.”

Omiya stroked him, breaking his fragmented words into gasps. They reached climax almost together, Kitazawa spilling forcefully into Omiya’s hand. Even as Omiya wiped him clean, tidied the damp between his thighs, he clung like a baby monkey, refusing to let go.

“I want to talk more. I want to hear your stories too.”

Kitazawa whispered it, then, fully aware of the troubled look on Omiya’s face, added petulantly, “I don’t want to go home.”

Unwilling to part, Omiya kissed him three times in the car before letting him go. Only once Kitazawa’s back was out of sight did he switch his phone on. The ringtone startled him the very moment the screen lit up, unsurprisingly, it was Chihiro. He was already fifteen minutes later than usual. Omiya knew that if he answered, it would turn into an argument, but if he didn’t, things would only get worse later.

“Where are you right now?”

Chihiro’s voice was dark, twisted.

“I’m in the car. On my way home.”

“You’re late. And don’t tell me you didn’t switch off your phone on purpose.”

“I lent it to someone. They must’ve turned it off, I didn’t notice until just now.”

“Liar.”

“It’s the truth. I’ll be home soon. I’m driving, so I’m hanging up.”

Without waiting for a reply, Omiya cut the call. Raindrops burst against the windshield, scattering in tiny explosions. Rain had started, steady and growing stronger. He wished the downpour would sweep away his own gloom along with it. By the time he dashed from the parking lot to the entrance of his building, his shirt was damp. He wiped his face with his sleeve as he opened the door, only to find Chihiro standing in the hallway just beyond the entryway.

“...I’m home.”

He stepped past him, slipping off his shoes, but Chihiro’s scowl was sharp, his presence oppressive.

“Hey!” Chihiro barked. When Omiya turned, he was struck hard across the cheek.

“What kind of ‘work’ is that? You reek of another man.”

Chihiro’s voice rose to a furious pitch as he swung at him. No matter how many times Omiya insisted, That’s not it, soothing, lying, Chihiro refused to listen.

“I’m suffering like this, and you, Yusuke, you betray me without a thought!”

The words were wrong. A hundred times, no, a million, Omiya had said it plainly: I’ve fallen in love with someone else. Please, let’s break up. But Chihiro would not acknowledge it as a change of heart. He twisted it into infidelity, accused Omiya of “wandering eyes,” and if pressed to separate, he threatened death.

“I’m exhausted. I’m going to change and go to sleep.”

Omiya tore himself free from Chihiro’s grasp and fled into his private room, locking the door behind him. Fists pounded furiously for a while, until the banging gave way to sobs. “I’ll die,” “I’ll kill myself”, the words seeped through the wood, and Omiya pressed his palms to his ears.

Eventually, even the crying and shouting subsided. The silence itself made him anxious. What if he really meant it this time? Uneasy, he cracked the door. Chihiro was huddled against the opposite wall, knees drawn up. The moment he saw Omiya, he sprang forward as if released from a taut string, collapsing against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he sobbed.

For a while, he stayed subdued. But once his arms grew comfortable around Omiya, the barbs returned. He began muttering his grievances, sharp and lingering. If I’d known you would make me suffer this much, I never should’ve broken up with Takano. From there the complaints poured endlessly, each one a wound.

Memories, once shared, came back warped in Chihiro’s mind. That trip together when they’d ended up in a love hotel, because Chihiro had mistaken the reservation dates, they couldn’t check into the inn he’d booked. And yet now he blamed Omiya, claiming it was his idea to go “to a place like that.”

The Chihiro of now was the kind of man who, if he ever pressed the button to launch a nuclear warhead, would insist the fault lay with the one who had built such a weapon in the first place.

If he so much as talked back, it came back tenfold, twentyfold. Faced with a barrage of complaints like that, he wanted to ask, what part of me did you ever love? What meaning was there in being with a man you hated so much?

As they argued, Chihiro’s emotions would climb, until he was shouting, raging, and only once he’d worn himself out would he finally drift into a doze. It was always at dawn. By then Omiya, who had endured it all until Chihiro was satisfied, was exhausted too. Even if he’d only managed three hours of sleep, the next day’s work would still begin at ten in the morning. And the same thing kept repeating.

Looking down at the man who had fallen asleep with his head on his lap, listening to the rain outside, Omiya thought only of ending it soon, before he came to hate the sight of Chihiro’s face, before he came to wish he would never see him again.

The following day, Omiya called Hagiwara and asked her to come in an hour earlier. He arranged for his own shift to begin in the afternoon. Then, leaving home at the usual time with the words “I’m off to work,” he headed out. The café opened at eleven, but Takano was always there by nine to prepare ingredients. The front door was unlocked.

Crossing the quiet shop floor and peeking into the kitchen, Omiya saw Takano peeling potatoes. Sensing his presence, Takano stopped, glanced up, and murmured, “You look awful.”

“I didn’t get to sleep until five,” Omiya admitted.

Takano gestured toward a silver stool, exhaling softly. “The cute princess still in a mood, huh?”

“That word ‘cute’ doesn’t even come close. He cries and screams every night…”

Takano stepped out of the kitchen and returned with two cups, the aroma of espresso filling the air.

“Did you know Chihiro’s been having trouble at work lately?”

Omiya shook his head.

“He lost two jobs back-to-back. Old magazine clients, apparently, but once the editors changed, they swept out the designers too. To make matters worse, the replacement was a junior designer he’d never gotten along with. He was furious.”

Chihiro never told Omiya anything about his work. If Omiya asked, the answer was always, ‘You wouldn’t understand the industry anyway.’ And that was the end of it.

“Between his work falling apart and you asking to break up, I’d say he’s doubly shocked.”

The thought that Chihiro could confide in Takano but not in him left Omiya faintly stung.

“Work like his comes in waves. Sometimes things go well, sometimes not. But this time, it’s serious. I don’t know the details myself, but design is all about sensibility, isn’t it? He’s over thirty now, maybe seeing more clearly the gap between his work and its reception, and it’s making him irritable. He says that new designer is just a hack, with not a shred of talent. But the editors decided he was better than Chihiro, and that’s what Chihiro can’t accept. His pride’s too high.”

Takano always sided with Chihiro. Omiya rubbed his forehead lightly.

“I’ve never once heard Chihiro talk about his work with me.”

Silence stretched between them. At last Takano said quietly, “Maybe he doesn’t want to show that weakness to you. But if you ask me, Chihiro still loves you.”

“After cheating so many times?”

“He cheats, yeah. He did with me too, constantly. But it wasn’t serious. Not with them. Honestly, I never thought he’d actually let himself get taken away from me.”

If Chihiro’s infidelities had been only physical, while his heart had remained with him all along, then wasn’t Omiya, who had given himself body and soul to another, the more faithless of the two? The thought crossed his mind, but the feelings that had already taken root inside him refused to be stopped.

“I’ve talked with Chihiro many times. But he won’t listen to me. Even when I tell him I want to break up because I’ve fallen for someone else, he just cries and refuses. But… I feel like he might actually listen if it came from you, Takano-san. So, could you talk to him for me?”

Takano didn’t answer with a simple yes.

“Are you serious about breaking up?”

When asked, Omiya nodded.

“The person you say you’re in love with… that college kid who came over the other day?”

“…Yes, more or less.”

Takano let out a thoughtful groan.

“So, you want me to tell Chihiro that you’re the one who wants to end things?”

Hearing it put that plainly made Omiya feel the whole thing was pathetically clumsy, trying to resolve their relationship by dragging in an outsider, and not just anyone, but a former boyfriend. Still, he had already tried countless times to reason with Chihiro, only to be met with harsh refusals each time. No other solution came to mind.

“I know it’s selfish of me to ask, but… please. I think Chihiro’s home today.”

Takano wore a reluctant expression, scratching his head as he muttered, “I’ll talk to him, but… we’ll see.”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It had been a long time since he last held Kitazawa in bed. Work ended at ten-thirty that night. As always, Omiya called and asked, “Would it be alright if I came over to your apartment?” When Kitazawa asked, “What about your sister?” he lied, “She’s gone on a trip with a friend.” He just wanted to see him quickly. But when told, “There’s nothing to eat here, so bring something,” he had no choice but to stop at the convenience store.

Just the thought of going to see him made everything else, the rain that had started again, the thick, humid air, the damp chill soaking through his shoes, lose its weight. When Omiya arrived, he handed over the bag of food, and at the same time pulled Kitazawa into an embrace. Kitazawa asked bluntly, without a trace of romance, “Are we having sex first?” When Omiya answered honestly, “I want to,” he gave a small smile and muttered, “Can’t be helped then.”

After loving him thoroughly, until every part of him was sated, Omiya dozed off, yesterday’s lack of sleep catching up to him. Past two in the morning, the sound of rain pulled him awake. Kitazawa was beside him, lying back on the bed, eating one of the rice balls Omiya had brought, washing it down with bottled tea.

“Let me have a sip,” Omiya said.

The bottle was handed over carelessly. The tea was lukewarm, he realized he had forgotten to put it in the refrigerator.

“You want something to eat too? I saved you a sandwich.”

“Oh… yeah.”

As he ate, Kitazawa stared at him fixedly. Being looked at so intently made Omiya’s chest tighten with a shy unease.

“Did you actually want the rice balls instead?”

“No, this is fine. Why?”

“’Cause you eat so slowly. I thought maybe you liked them more, so I saved that one for you.”

The small thoughtfulness made him glad. He stroked Kitazawa’s cheek.

“And why do you think I like sandwiches?”

“You eat them a lot, don’t you? And you said you make them yourself.”

“Ah… well, they’re simple.”

“Is that all,” Kitazawa muttered, then leaned his weight against Omiya’s back where he lay propped on his elbows. Where he touched, the skin warmed gradually.

“Speaking of which, the sandwiches at that café near campus were really good.”

“Want me to make you some? It’s easy, just bacon, lettuce, and tomato.”

“Really? I want that.”

From behind, he took a playful bite of the sandwich still in Omiya’s hand.

“Hey—” Omiya pretended to scold, and Kitazawa pressed his nose against his back with a grin.

“You know, this bed feels… kind of amazing.”

“What do you mean?”

“All three of the basic human desires are crammed in here.”

“Balanced, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Kitazawa tightened the arm he had wrapped around Omiya’s chest, almost clinging. As their bodies shifted slightly, Omiya could feel the hard press of his sex against his hip, the contact startlingly vivid, stirring heat.

“Sometimes I think about it,” Kitazawa murmured. “If, back in junior high, when you asked me to run away with you, if I’d gone, what would’ve happened?”

“Miyazaki? That summer?”

“Yeah.”

That sweltering day. The endless stretch of highway. The salty taste of his lips, the slender body. The smell of the blue sea.

“Realistically… even if I’d gone with you, it wouldn’t have lasted. My parents never cared about me, but if I’d disappeared suddenly, they would’ve filed a missing person report. We’d have been dragged back. But now it’s different. I can do what I want, and you don’t have to run anymore.”

Omiya shoved the sandwich, already bitten at the edge, into his own mouth.

“I’ve grown a little too, you know. I’ve learned to think about other people.”

“You mean me?”

“Who else would I mean?”

Kitazawa tugged at his right ear hard enough to hurt. Omiya caught his fingers and pressed a kiss to the tips.

“If I’d known we’d have this relationship, right now… I wouldn’t have wanted to meet the you from five years ago.”

“Why not?”

Kitazawa asked so innocently that Omiya could only give a wry smile.

“Because being rejected hurt.”

Kitazawa slid down from Omiya’s back, pressed himself close at his side, and spoke with conviction.

“But, you know, if I hadn’t met you back then, I’d never be doing something like this now. It’s because you were there at that time that I’m here like this today.”

His face was deadly serious.

“If I hadn’t met you in junior high, I swear I never would’ve had sex at all.”

“So then, the fact that I met you in junior high, only to be harshly rejected… that was a necessary step in order to reach this point now?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s quite a long interval.”

“But isn’t that the kind of thing people call pure love?”

Finishing his sandwich, Omiya wrapped him in his now free arms. Pure love, a neat little phrase. Until they reunited, the boy hadn’t even bothered to look for him. If they had never crossed paths again, he would have simply forgotten Omiya altogether. And yet, could their meeting for the second time be called fate? Wasn’t it selfish of him to complain, even while drowning in this bliss that felt like melting away?

“That’s true. You’ve never known anyone but me.”

He brushed aside the hair at the boy’s forehead.

“That’s… a problem.”

Kitazawa muttered this with the same serious expression.

“Why so?”

“Because I can’t tell if you’re good at it or terrible at it.”

Omiya flicked him lightly on the forehead with his fingertip.

“Even though I’m pouring thirty-three years of technique into loving you, you’re still dissatisfied?”

“It’s not dissatisfaction, it’s more like… unfair, or frustrating, or like I’m at a disadvantage.”

Tilting his head, Omiya pulled Kitazawa firmly against him.

“You don’t need to know anyone else.”

He breathed a small gasp against the boy’s ear.

“You never need to know anyone but me, for the rest of your life.”

Kitazawa echoed back, “For the rest of my life?” The naked possessiveness of his words made Omiya blush. He lowered his gaze, and the boy rubbed his nose against his cheek. “Will you stay with me forever?” he asked. Wishing that at least in words it could be true, Omiya answered softly, “Yes.”

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