Title: i’m a geyser (feel it bubbling from below)
Pairing: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho; Matsumoto Jun/Ikuta Toma (past)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Loss. Hope. Recovery. Or glimpses into a difficult year.
Warnings: Character death (not Arashi), angst, sex, swearing
A/N: For collectress, who likes for Jun to suffer, so long as he gets a happy ending. AU, modern setting, slice of life. ~28k words. Title from Geyser by Mitski.



january / the end


The soft giggle he hears is followed by a nudge against his forehead.

He’s in that drifting period, halfway between sleep and not, between fantasy and reality. His back…his back is killing him, and he wants to turn around but his body’s too damn tired.

Another giggle, another nudge this time against his cheek.

“Hana,” comes a familiar chiding voice, although there’s no real bite behind it. “Hana, let’s leave Uncle Jun alone.”

Finally he manages to turn over, groaning as he settles back into a restless sleep. He’s not sure if it’s minutes or hours later when he feels an irritating tug on his foot. This time when Jun wakes Shun is perched on the arm of the sofa, looking down at him with a quirk to his lips.

Jun stares up at him, blinking. His mouth tastes like an ashtray, like gin and a night of terrible decisions. It appears he’s crashed at his best friend’s house, his body contorted against the cushions and a blanket equally twisted around him. “Morning.”

“Afternoon,” Shun says, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “12:19 PM.”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh,’ he says.”

Jun sits up, an entire drum corps thundering away in his brain. Who talked him into drinking gin?

“You’re a grown man, you know,” Shun reminds him. “Thirty-five. And yet here you are on my sofa.”

Jun rubs at his eyes, wishing he’d thought to take out his contact lenses. The itch is almost as bad as the headache. He remembers why he’s here, knows that Shun is only half angry. Shun would have been angrier if Jun had picked another place to crash, insulted if Jun had gone elsewhere in his time of need.

“I’ll shower and go.” He doesn’t say sorry. He’s not built that way, never has been. It’s usually why he ends up here, because he never says sorry.

Shun says nothing until Jun makes it to the bathroom and lets out a growling complaint. “Oi!”

He can hear Shun’s gleeful cackling all the way in here as he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. Shun and his wife Yu’s daughter Hana is four. Hana has stuck at least nine different Space Princess Rika stickers to Jun’s face. That was the giggling he’d heard when he was half-asleep. That was all the nudging against his face. He picks at one clinging to his forehead, whining at the sting. The adhesive they use on these fucking stickers, it ought to be illegal.

His face is covered in ugly pink splotches once he gets them all off, and he washes his hands before getting the contacts out and tossing them in the trash. A blurry world is preferable. Once he’s out of the shower, he realizes how much his t-shirt and jeans from last night stink, and guilt joins the pounding in his head. You’re a grown man, you know. Yu’s probably taken Hana and baby Rina to the mall because the house is mostly quiet when he comes out, going to the closet in the upstairs guest room and finding some clothes he left here the last time this happened.

That Shun and Yu have left them here says a lot about what they think of him.

He finds a sports drink waiting for him in the living room. Shun’s at least been kind enough to turn the TV volume down. Jun flops down, even if he’d said he was leaving. Shun knows that was bullshit anyway. He does notice that the room smells better, that Shun probably sprayed something while he was in the shower.

“Did I do anything bad? Wake the baby last night?”

“Nah,” Shun says. “You were very considerate. You fell asleep right away.”

“I’m getting old,” Jun laments. In his twenties, he woke one morning on Shun’s sofa to discover that he’d written on the wall in permanent marker. At least that was before Yu, before the kids.

“I called Toma and said I was sending you home by 2:00. He won’t be there.”

Jun opens up the drink bottle, chugs down an ample amount. “This is the last time.”

“So you said last night,” Shun says.

Jun’s a shitty friend. It’s been the three of them, always. Since high school. They have a larger circle, a “network” others call it. But in the end, everything that matters comes down to the three of them. To Shun, to Jun, and to Toma. Shun has friends that he’s brought to the network from his job, Jun has friends that he’s brought, and Toma too. A wide array of people and personalities, mixing and matching at bars or restaurants. People and personalities coming and going, moving out of Tokyo, getting married, having kids, getting divorced. That wide-ranging network full of choices and other paths, and yet Jun had gone and fallen for the wrong person. For Toma, who should have always stayed a friend. Jun’s the one who pursued him in the first place ages ago, who made it clear that they ought to go for it. And it crashes and burns over and over. It crashes and burns and Shun’s the one in the middle who has to try and get things back on track.

They made it only four months this go around, and at least this time they didn’t have both of their names on the apartment lease. It’s likely that everything Toma has in the apartment can fit in a backpack and a few shopping bags, so that’s why he won’t be there when Jun gets home later in the afternoon. While Jun has slept off his latest “it’s all over” bender, Shun has likely been doing all the heavy lifting, calling and getting Toma’s side of things. Making sure he’s okay.

Toma and Jun never fight over anything important. They never break up because of the things that other couples break up for. There’s never any cheating. Usually if they want to fuck other people, they come out and say it and that’s what ends things. There’s never any lying. They’re never really angry with each other, even though they’ve been friends for twenty years and know each other inside and out. No, it’s always stupid shit. Boring incompatible shit that reminds Jun again and again that just because he and Toma can doesn’t mean they should. But sometimes it’s so easy to give in. Better the devil you know than the online dating match you don’t.

They cool off, they go a few months apart, go back to some semblance of before, and then the inevitability of the network draws them back together. “If we didn’t have so many fucking straight friends,” Jun has said, “maybe this wouldn’t keep happening.” Because it’s easy. Because even though they know they don’t work, it’s easy. They’re in their mid-thirties now, both established in their careers now. Neither of them makes enough money that a younger guy’s going to ignore the generation gap and want to see them a second time. They’re in their mid-thirties, and their friends have mortgages and babies and a warm body beside them in the morning. And maybe he and Toma are both sentimental, lonely personalities who want the same thing to some extent. The comfort that comes with stability, even if they only manage to glimpse at it a few months at a time before it ends again. They both want that comfort, but they really need to find it with someone else. But finding that is hard. It’s really fucking hard.

Toma’s a pain in the ass. If four year old Hana hadn’t been the one affixing the stickers to Jun’s bloated, hungover face that morning, it would have been Toma. He’s still in high school sometimes, mentally, doing stupid shit. Jun likes a good prank now and again, but Toma’s the life of the party and sometimes it grates. He goes too far, with pranks and with cheeky insults, assuming that forgiveness is a foregone conclusion. Grow up, Jun’s said too many times.

Not that Jun’s a saint. Save your money, Toma’s said too many times. Jun’s too free with his spending, buying clothes and shoes and things that fill some hole in his life he’s unwilling to see. It’s odd that he and Toma don’t actually work together. Between Toma’s childishness and Jun’s impulsiveness, they ought to be a perfect, messy match. The both of them combined are altogether too much, Shun has decided and has reminded them every time they come to this point.

You need someone low energy, Shun tells Toma. And you need someone to keep you grounded, Shun tells Jun. To restore balance to the universe. And you’re never going to find that in each other, Shun tells them both. Shun is right, of course, but he has it easy. He’s never had to hide. He’s never had to look far and wide for someone to trust and love.

Jun finishes his drink, and Shun hugs him at the door. “You’re both taking years off my life,” Shun complains, but with affection.

He arrives home to an empty apartment, shivering and wishing he’d worn a heavier jacket the night before. He’d had to ride the train back smelling like the bar, head still pounding and vision hazy. He arrives home to one less toothbrush in the bathroom, to an empty drawer in the bedroom dresser. He’s probably got about a million messages to send that he doesn’t know how to even write. Their friends are used to it, this on and off and on and off shit. But no, this time it’s for real. It’s for good. The argument was one that’s left Jun unsure how they’re going to get back to being friends. Jun’s too picky about food these days, that was the start of it. Specialty coffee beans and protein drinks and gluten-free items ordered online, luxury items that leave no money for other things like a date or a weekend away. But that spiraled somehow into Jun being too picky about everything else. The word “suffocating” was thrown into the mix, a word that could not be unsaid. And that was when Jun knew that even if Toma was probably right, he was too proud and too selfish to say so. And that meant it was over. Again.

He thinks maybe the recovery from this argument and break-up will take longer, much longer, if only because they’re not going to let themselves slip back into what’s easy. That’s going to take time. And he hates that it’s going to make so many people walk on eggshells around them. Overlapping invites will slow and maybe even end. Some people Toma brought in to the network may never talk to Jun again and vice versa. It’s a shame and Jun doesn’t want that, he doesn’t, but coddling from acquaintances is what often pushes him and Toma back into the same old story.

Shun will always be there, the glue, the connective tissue. Shouldering the biggest burden and only putting up with them because he loves them more than he likes them. Jun and Toma are both too old to be doing this to their friend again and again. For that reason and for so many others, this has to be the end.

Jun scrubs his phone clean, any picture of the two of them that might imply a relationship. He deletes texts, pictures, LINE stickers. It’s dark so early this time of year, and he finally gets up from the sofa, turning on the lights, telling himself that he can eat something now that he feels as though his social media presence screams single again. He knows that he was almost out of the matcha-flavored protein drink, that his usual order won’t arrive until Wednesday. But when he opens the refrigerator he finds five of them, lined up so neatly on the top shelf that he knows it’s Toma’s way of saying sorry. None of the stores in the neighborhood stock it, so he probably had to get on the train and get to a bigger store.

He shuts the door and orders food to be delivered.

—

february / the funeral


If he was younger, he’d have caused a scene. Gone inside, flung the envelope of condolence money at the people in the reception area. Been insistent about deserving to be there. He’s embarrassed at the mere thought of behaving that way, imagining his younger self full of passion and outrage.

The passion’s still there, of course, and the outrage right with it. It’s under the surface, dangerously close to boiling over, but he’s managing to tamp it down. So far. It’s hard with every car that pulls into the parking lot across the street, each door opening to reveal a friend or co-worker or acquaintance who can go inside and pay their respects. The family will welcome them with open arms, thanking them for troubling themselves, for driving up, for the long train ride, for flying in. The family is all from here, from this small city in Hokkaido, so it was decided that the funeral would be here as well. They only moved to Tokyo for the old man’s job the first year of high school.

Hokkaido in February, it runs counter to the fire under Jun’s skin, the rage that this has happened, that things have turned into this. That everything has collapsed and that he is so unwelcome. Toma’s brother has enough shit on his plate, but he still took the time to explain and apologize when it’s not his fault. “Things are still raw for Mom right now,” Ryusei said, his voice trembling on the phone. “Jun-kun…I can’t imagine what you’re going through, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He’s in town, the family can’t ban him from a town. And it’s not that he’s “banned” from attending the funeral so much as it’s simply “best” for him not to show his face there. Which is why he’s sitting in a coffee shop across the street, dressed in funeral black and watching to see who else has made the journey north to say an official goodbye.

Hiking with friends in Okinawa, the trip itself done as a way for Toma to do a firm reset, a firm refresh. Or so Shun had implied. Booked in haste soon after the break-up. It was some young woman, her boyfriend calling out for help. She slipped, fell in. Help, help. The rocks were slippery by that pretty waterfall, the river current too strong, but Toma tried to help. Because of course Toma tried to help. Heroic stupidity. The young woman and boyfriend had gone off the trail, had ignored the signage. It was probably for their YouTube channel, their Instagram. Maybe just a selfie. Something altogether meaningless. And Toma had done the right thing, trying to help. And it got him killed.

It still doesn’t feel real, not yet, especially not when he’s sitting across the street from the funeral parlor, staring at the people who get to go inside. When you die heroically, you get a good crowd. Not that Ikuta Toma couldn’t have drawn a good crowd if he’d died in any other way, but there’s plenty of faces Jun doesn’t recognize, bodies wrapped in heavy coats as they shuffle across the parking lot.

Toma never bothered to officially come out to his parents. They’d known all along, and just as it was “best” for Jun to sit this one out across the street, they’d found it “best” if Toma simply didn’t talk about that aspect of his life. That aspect, as though his attraction to men was a mere personality flaw. Jun had been perfectly welcome in their home for years until he suddenly wasn’t anymore. And now, now at this critical juncture, he’s once again unwelcome. It doesn’t matter that they hadn’t been together when it happened. Twenty years of friendship don’t matter either.

Jun can easily remember it, the night he learned about his magical gay powers. Toma’s lean body pressed against him, that mean-spirited chuckle in between lazy kisses. “My mom thinks you turned me to the dark side,” Jun remembers him saying. “Not that she’ll say it to my face.” The stark admission had only made them both laugh. The memory fizzes and dissolves, and Jun gets up to order another coffee.

He’s not in the mood to disrespect the family that’s disrespected him. He knows that pain they’re feeling, knows that the irrational is bound to win out when something so unfair happens. And he accepts what he’ll probably never know, the added unfairness of a child dying before a parent. So even though he’s angry, even though he’s unraveling, he’s staying away. He’s not going to cause a scene. Toma would find this all darkly funny.

It seems as though the last of the guests has arrived. Things start right on time, and nobody else seems to want to sit on this side of the coffee shop. Nobody wants to be polluted by the black cloud hanging over Jun. He shuts his eyes, fingers running around the rim of the coffee cup, praying in a way he never usually does. He’s never been spiritual, never pondered long and hard about what happens next. It’s been over a week since it happened, and he’s only finally been able to take a shower without panicking, without imagining Toma struggling against the current. What must it have felt like in those last moments? When did the fighting give over to acceptance? Toma would tell him, if Toma was here. Toma would want him to know. Toma would want answers like that, the toughest ones. Toma lived honestly, despite the friction it caused.

It starts to snow at some point, and Jun opens his eyes, letting the sounds of the shop flood and sustain him. The muffled orders placed, the crunch of the beans, the impertinent buzz of the espresso machine. Toma died in a warm paradise and is put to rest in a blizzard. “So dramatic,” Toma would say. If he’d had time to plan for his own funeral, Toma would have had a CD of obnoxious music start playing when the priest was halfway through chanting a sutra.

Jun lets out a quiet snort at the thought of it. Of some cutesy idol song chirping out of the speakers, leaving everyone gasping in shock, looking around in search of someone to blame for disrespecting the solemn occasion. And in the back Jun and Shun would be together, they’d be laughing, they’d be the ones who’d pressed play on the stereo. But this is a scenario that should have looked far different. He and Shun ought to have been clutching their canes, their dentures chattering in their mouths as they laughed. Toma wasn’t supposed to leave them now. Not now, not yet.

Yu had slipped him the spare key to their car, and he finally leaves the coffee shop behind when the sun goes down and he knows things are probably close to being over in the building across the street. The snow offers him a bit of cover as he crosses the road, shoes slippery on the pavement. It’s mostly blowing around, not a lot is sticking. Fortunate for February. He lets himself into the car, enjoying the chill after being in the shop most of the afternoon. It makes him feel alive. He feels so stupidly alive, face and fingers cold from the short, brisk walk. The car still feels strange, empty without the kids’ car seats. Jun did manage, however, to sit on a doll all the way to Shirakawa yesterday. He’d slept most of the rest of the too long trip, Shun and Yu’s small talk lulling him to sleep. It had been nice to get some after a week without.

Of course Toma’s the type of person who gets an afterparty like this on the day of his funeral. Jun initially wasn’t planning to come, on account of being persona non grata at the funeral itself. “They’re going to stare at me and not know what to say. I don’t want to make this about me,” he had protested. Shun had almost sat at the coffee shop with him in solidarity, offended, before Yu had made him see reason. The people coming to the afterparty understand, she had said. This can be the real goodbye.

Ryusei had organized it, renting out a banquet hall at one of the local onsen hotels. There’s enough food to feed an army, and as far as Jun can tell, no conservative relatives lurking around to find fault with him. There are pictures everywhere, every inch of the walls covered with his face, and it’s more comforting than he expected it to be. That obnoxious smile. As people trickle in, groups form at various points, commenting on a photo, sharing stories. For the first time in a long, hellish week, Jun isn’t annoyed at the sound of laughter.

Shun stays close for a while, Jun doing the work of keeping him up, keeping him walking. Yu deserves a break. Shun still doesn’t believe it, not really. “I texted him,” Shun had told him on the phone the other night, Jun letting him ramble for about three hours about everything and nothing. “I had something to tell him and I texted him.”

They fall in with guys from high school, the futsal club. Eyes are red but they laugh. They all laugh. There’s seemingly no end to the stories. A short life, well-lived, well-remembered. He deserved so much more time, so many more ridiculous stories. It’s tempting to drink with them, but Jun’s done enough of that this week. He wants to hear stories he doesn’t know, wants to be fully present to absorb them, to memorize them, to unlock something that he hadn’t managed to learn. No matter how pointless, no matter how small, he wants to grab hold and add their memories to his. Because there will be no new stories.

Shun seems safe with the current group, so Jun breaks away. Half the room knows some of the drama, the rest might only guess. But they give him plenty of space, let him walk the room freely, hands in his pockets, looking for a photo that can tell him something new. A few people nod as he walks by, he gets a hug here and there, and slowly the night winds down. There are early flights to catch, hotel rooms in Sapporo rather than here. There are babysitters to check in with.

There’s a cookie tray that’s almost empty, and Jun doesn’t want Ryusei to be stuck with a bunch of leftovers. Someone across the dessert table has the same idea, and they each claim two cookies before they look up to greet each other.

“Matsumoto-kun.”

Jun saw him earlier, a small group of them from Himawari Foods. The work people, the ones least likely to know about all the drama Jun brought into their colleague’s life. But this one knows. This one definitely knows.

“Sakurai-san.”

It says a lot about Toma’s impact on the people around him that Sakurai Sho has taken time off to come up north. Toma’s manager for maybe seven, eight years, Sakurai is the guy who’s never taken a sick day. Always the last one to leave the office for the night. The one who checks and answers his work email on a holiday. “Every raise or promotion I’ve ever gotten was because of Sho-kun, whether I deserved it or not,” Toma always bragged. As Sakurai rose through the ranks at Himawari Foods, he kept Toma with him. Was loyal to his people. The workaholic who would jump in front of a bullet for the employees under him. The truth of it is on display now. The guy has the roundest, most beautiful eyes, and they’re red, swollen. The loss of Toma has devastated him. And Jun can’t help but like it, knowing that others are suffering just like he is. Everyone in his or her own way.

The table and the cookies keep them apart, but he stares a little too long, feeling himself tear up a little at the sight of Toma’s boss. He was always so much more than just a boss. Jun can remember nights where Toma would come home from a work party, thoroughly hammered and head over heels in love with Sakurai Sho. Toma never did anything about it, whether he and Jun were together or broken up. A line even Toma wouldn’t cross. And yet how many nights had Jun been poked and prodded, made to be jealous about the guy standing in front of him? “He’s a workaholic. Being with him would be like dating a robot,” Jun had said once, an unkind thing. An untrue thing, he knows, seeing the honesty and misery in Sakurai’s face before him.

“It’s a good cookie,” Sakurai mumbles, crinkling his nose as though it will keep him from crying right along with Jun.

“I don’t usually eat cookies.”

“Toma-kun said you’re eating healthy.”

“Trying. Always trying.”

“I admire you for it,” Sakurai admits, big brown eyes brimming with tears.

“Thank you.”

What is this stupid conversation?

“Are you okay?”

Jun looks up, not sure why the question surprises him. It’s not the first time it’s been asked tonight. He’s made excuses, bullshit comments about needing time or doing his best, meaningless things meant to reassure the people who ask only as a courtesy. He wasn’t allowed to attend the fucking funeral and they ask if he’s okay. Since he doesn’t have to keep Shun afloat, since he doesn’t have anyone else hovering around waiting for him to snap and make things unpleasant, he feels that it’s fine to be honest.

“No, I’m not.” He bites into the cookie, chews. “I’m not okay.”

“Me neither,” Sakurai admits. “Not that it’s in any way comparable.”

“I should have been there.”

“You should have.” It feels good to have someone else say it. To just come right out and say it. Sakurai grabs another cookie from the tray, fueling himself. “Ahhh, he would have hated it.”

Jun can’t help but smile at that, even as the tears flow. “He would have.”

“I could hear him,” Sakurai says, voice catching and making things all the more unbearable for Jun. “It was like I could hear him, the way he’d make those snide comments for only you to hear. ‘This is going on way too long, right?’ It was like I could hear him, over and over. Saying that and trying to get me to break, to laugh out loud and embarrass myself.”

Jun nods, nods at the truth in every single fucking word. This was denied him, to be there in that room with everyone, imagining Toma’s disgust, his forever flippant commentary. Sakurai Sho knew him, understood him. The guy’s not a robot, of course he’s not.

“I don’t want to go to work tomorrow,” Sakurai continues, nothing but raw emotion. “I don’t want to go and see that cubicle without him in it.”

And it’s a mirror, a mirror amplifying what Jun has lost. An empty space. They were broken up for a month and they’d said maybe twenty words to each other in that time. Jun would do anything, give anything for just one more of their stupid, pointless fights. Would do anything, give anything to hear Toma making fun of him right now for being so overdramatic over nothing. It’s not nothing, asshole, Jun would scream back. You’re dead, and that’s never going to be nothing to me.

“Sho-san…”

He can’t do this, not here, not in front of Shun and Ryusei and everyone else who has just as solid a claim to be miserable. He can’t do this, not here, with the walls covered in happy memories. His selfishness doesn’t belong in here. And in that moment, Sakurai Sho seems to understand, dropping the cookie and coming around the table, taking hold of him by the arm. “Come on. Come with me, it’s okay.”

They don’t grab their coats, they slip and slide through the parking lot until they get to Sakurai’s rental car. Sakurai has barely gotten the doors shut before Jun is screaming out his rage, letting it out but still letting it be contained inside the vehicle. Away from the people who are going to need him to be strong, to get through this. He allows himself to rail against the cruelty of today and the cruelty of the week, hunched down and shivering in the seat.

And it feels so good to be honest, to not have to force himself to be calm and polite. It feels so good to just let it all out with only Sakurai and maybe Toma’s spirit to bear witness. He smacks the dashboard of the car with his hands a few times, fist connecting with the window glass. It’s an outpouring he’s never allowed himself in any other circumstance. It’s easier for his reputation to just get blackout drunk and end up on Shun’s couch. That’s in character, that’s the Jun he’s expected to be.

Sakurai doesn’t touch him, doesn’t lay a finger on him. He’s only providing a space, an outlet for everything that’s gotten Jun to this moment. He’s not littering the air with useless platitudes. He knows better than to say things like “the pain will lessen in time.” Jun will have to remember to thank him later. What a good boss. Not a robot. Not a robot. Eventually Jun quiets, throat liable to be sore in the morning, all along the road back to his new and rather incomplete life. He’s still angry, upset, shattered, but at least he’s not alone with it any longer.

“I’m sure you have an early flight,” he finally says. He won’t apologize for taking this time that Sakurai freely offered.

“6:00 AM,” comes the reply a few moments later.

There’s no need to speak of what’s happened, not now and not ever again. But Jun will remember it. He’ll remember that when he broke, someone was here to let him do so. To tip over the edge freely, expel the demons rather than continue letting them win. Someone was here to see what he really needed, someone he barely knows.

Jun says nothing more, opening the car door and slamming it shut. He doesn’t wait, heading back into the hotel, splashing some water on his face in the men’s room. When he returns to the hall, nobody seems to have noticed his absence. People are leaving. A few yank down some of the photo printouts, folding them and shoving them in pockets. Taking Toma with them, at least for now, for tonight.

He doesn’t see Sakurai Sho again that night, but he feels a bit lighter. His burdens not lifted entirely, but laid down long enough to matter. Eventually it’s just Shun and Ryusei in the back of the room, catering staff quietly packing up as a hint that any further remembrances will have to take place another time. Promises are made to call when Ryusei gets back to his job in Tokyo. He’s staying up here with his retired parents for another week or two.

Jun drives the family car, Yu in the backseat with the phone’s glow on her face, Shun beside him in the passenger seat silent, lost in memories. They booked one room to save money, and he falls asleep to the gentle sounds of his best friend’s wife murmuring soothing nonsense in the dark.

—

march / the box


He has a bit of trouble sleeping in his own bed, even all these weeks later. All these weeks after things ended by choice and a few weeks after things ended forever. He’s made a few late-night purchases, has found a way to cocoon himself on the mattress. Body pillows and hugging pillows, a way to feel surrounded. Not to the point of claustrophobia but as a way to trick himself. Despite the purchases, despite the artificial comfort, he still can’t make it through the night.

He finds himself at work more often. No matter how much Ohno probably wants him to, Jun won’t accept an empty room. That’s just added work for housekeeping, that’s a room that could be filled with a paying guest. No, Jun has found that if he wants to hit four, maybe five hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep, he’s fine on the sofa in the staff lounge. Ohno would probably let him keep a few changes of clothes here as well, at least until he can get back to a good place, but Jun won’t accept any more generosity than he feels he deserves. He prefers to go home to shower, shave, and make himself presentable again before coming back.

For over a decade he’s worked the concierge desk here at the Samejima Hotel & Spa Marunouchi, a place that’s been straddling that four-star/five-star divide for most of that time. He started out at the front desk a year before that, giving out room keys to the wealthy, to the foreigners visiting on business. Now his nametag has a silver edge instead of a gold one, denoting his role as the solver of problems. Theater tickets, restaurant reservations, the best car service to Haneda. He knows basic questions and answers in maybe ten languages now, and he’s equally used to being yelled at in a few more if it’s impossible to get a dinner reservation at “that place in the sushi documentary” on only an hour’s notice.

Nino’s always been better at taking the yelling in stride. He handles concierge work like he’s in a video game simulation, one of those mobile games where you’re running a diner and nine people come in all at once with nine different complex orders. Nino thrives on having an answer for everything, if only to speed up the number of guests he can serve before the timer runs out. Can’t get a reservation for that place in the sushi documentary? Here’s five restaurants that are just as good and you know what, I know the owner of this one. I’ll get you a free bottle of wine or sake. Jun wishes he could be that smooth, that polished. He knows restaurant owners too, but Nino just has that way about him that Jun has never been able to emulate.

They make for a good team though, the pair of them having jointly managed concierge all these years. Either of them could be running concierge for a whole luxury chain by now, but they’re both content to stick to the one desk here at Samejima, one of only two hotels owned by the family. The hotel’s manager, Ohno Satoshi, is the son of the owner and heiress, Samejima Atsuko. Unlike most wealthy folks Jun has seen come through the hotel’s doors, Ohno’s not ambitious, which is why there are still only two Samejima hotels in the country. But Jun kind of likes that about him, that lack of drive. Instead of diluting the family brand, Jun’s boss requires the service to be exceptional. As close to faultless as possible. They may not have the name recognition of the big chains, but Samejima’s reputation is impeccable and their guests are pretty loyal.

Which is why the last few weeks have been hell for Jun. He’s lost count of how many shifts Nino’s ordered him off of by now. “You look like shit, take a nap.” Between Nino’s blunt but loving commands and Ohno’s hinted offers of more comfortable downtime, Jun feels pathetic. Unable to hold up his share of the load. He’s refused to take any more time off, and it’s starting to catch up with him. The only one he feels he can complain to is Aiba, and that’s mainly because he’s a bartender and it’s his unofficial job.

Bar Camellia features dim lighting and some of the stiffest drinks available near Tokyo Station, but all Jun seems to benefit from lately is the lighting. He parks himself at the end of the bar, knowing Aiba’s watering down whatever he’s giving him. Aiba doesn’t have to say it out loud.

Stay with us, good and bad. Don’t hide from it. You lost a friend. Don’t lose your liver or anything else.

Jun’s keeping to a sad routine and today is no different. He’s come back from a quick trip home, leaving his bag in the lounge and tapping his fingers on the bar until Aiba’s got time to listen. He bitches about Nino stealing his yogurt from the staff fridge, about the Russian diplomat who felt entitled to a private tour of the Imperial Palace. Aiba’s more of a selective listener than a good listener. And Jun wonders if any other bar visitors actually benefit from his advice. Sometimes he sounds like a fortune cookie. Sometimes his response is so comically out of left field that it cheers Jun up simply because of how absurd it is.

“Maybe you should buy a yogurt flavor Nino-chan doesn’t like,” is Aiba’s cheerful advice this early evening, and all Jun can do is roll his eyes.

Two weak drinks later, and he makes a big show of putting a handful of coins in the tip jar. Aiba turns at the clinking noise, waving goodbye. He’s going to take the desk from 8:00 to midnight, and it’s 7:00 now. As usual, Nino has left it up to him to work on the shift schedule for the next week. Jun likes putting it together, and when Nino does it, Jun rearranges things however he thinks is better anyway.

Jun’s halfway between Bar Camellia and the concierge desk when he spots him, standing a little dumbfounded in the center of the lobby. He’s clearly come straight from the office, a laptop bag slung around him and a lidded cardboard box in his arms. But why is he here?

In the twenty or so steps it takes to reach Sakurai Sho in the middle of the lobby, Jun relives that horrible night. Vague flashes of cookies and screaming and a rental car that smelled like the remnants of a cheap citrus air freshener. He’s assumed incorrectly that that had been the end, the neat severing of the connection they had, such as it was. But here he is, turning at the sound of Jun’s footsteps, eyes lighting up in relief at the sight of him.

“Matsumoto-kun.”

The same greeting, but a bit peppier over a month later. Obviously he’s been able to bounce back a little quicker. Jun suspects the dark circles under Sakurai’s eyes are due to work rather than Toma-flavored misery.

“Sho-san.”

Sakurai inclines his head, his employee lanyard still hanging around his neck. He’s come from the Himawari Foods office in Ikebukuro. Must have been a real pain on the subway with that box during rush hour. “I was just about to ask for you.”

“Is something wrong?” Jun gestures to a pair of leather chairs just out of the way. This time of night is rather heavily-trafficked in the lobby. Guests going out for the evening, business folks from the neighborhood stopping in for a drink at Bar Camellia or a few small plates at the hotel restaurant, Atsuko.

Sakurai sets his bag on the rug beside the chair, leaving the box in his lap as Jun sits in the chair beside him. “Actually I tried to call you a few times in the last week, but perhaps I had the wrong number.”

“I’ve been bad about checking my phone lately, especially if I don’t recognize the number,” Jun explains in lieu of a genuine apology.

Being bad about checking his phone is the understatement of the century. Sure he’s “checked” but he hasn’t responded to anyone. Last count there were 302 missed calls, his voicemail box is full, and he’s pretty sure the only emails and texts he’s read in the past few weeks are those from Shun or from his colleagues at the hotel. Everyone else will simply have to wait or give up on him, whichever happens first. As the numbers grow, it becomes all the more intimidating. Jun’s come close to taking a quick walk over to the station and tossing his phone onto the Yamanote Line tracks, maybe starting afresh with a new device and not giving anyone the number.

“I understand. Not a problem,” Sakurai replies, and thankfully doesn’t seem hurt or offended by Jun’s casual dismissal of his multiple attempts at establishing contact. “But yeah, I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to…well, I wanted to give you this.”

At “this,” Sakurai pats the lid on top of the white cardboard box. It’s unlabeled, a mystery box. Doesn’t seem too heavy, at least from how Sakurai’s balancing it on his gray-trousered thighs.

“What is it?”

Sakurai looks him in the face now. “Some things from Toma’s desk,” he says, voice low but just audible enough over the usual lobby noise.

Jun can’t help but lean back in the chair, gripping the arms a bit for strength, cushion noisy as he moves. It still smarts, hearing his name. This situation feels a bit like deja vu, too, just a little. “Oh?”

“We left it alone at first,” Sakurai explains. “His workstation. Out of respect, I guess. Well, he always kept some candy in his bottom desk drawer that he said anyone could take, so that little tradition continued until it was gone. But otherwise, I didn’t let anyone take or touch anything. However, my bosses have decided that the time to be charitable is over.”

Jun grins, imagining Toma perched on the arm of Sakurai’s chair with a knowing smile.

“They want the workstation back.”

“They want the workstation back,” Sakurai agrees. “They hired in a temp last week to cover a few of the tasks Toma had been doing, and I’ve had her working in my office, but I have to keep kicking the poor woman out whenever I’m on a call. So they’re finally putting their foot down, making me give the empty cubicle to her. I cleaned it out myself though. I, um…well, let’s just say some things weren’t common knowledge so I didn’t want people to find anything they shouldn’t.”

Jun’s not quite sure what a gay man would keep in his cubicle at work that a straight man wouldn’t, but he appreciates Sakurai’s well-meaning gesture to protect Toma’s privacy all the same.

“I can get his things to his parents,” Jun says. “Thank you for coming all this way.”

“Well,” Sakurai says, hesitation in his voice, “I brought this here for you. To make sure you still had some things, too. After…after that day, I…well…”

An awkward pall settles over them for a few moments. If there’s anything Jun has left of Toma, it’s definitely “things.” Even after the break-up, Jun still had plenty of things. Photos, clothes, gifts purchased over the years. The cast iron skillet that was a birthday present last year. Even toys for the bedroom that Jun’s shoved to the back of his closet, things he won’t use again but things he still feels weird about throwing away. “Ah,” Jun has imagined Toma saying with a faux-reverent tone, “what to do with that pricey dildo when you die.”

Sakurai clears his throat, looking embarrassed. “I guess I was a little worried about you. I’m sorry, that sounds patronizing, I know but…it’s just that what happened…”

“We don’t have to bring that up,” Jun cuts in.

“Right.” Sakurai’s face is getting red. It’s cute, that face. It’s cute, that concern. This is probably the Sakurai that Toma really loved. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“Let me buy you a drink. You free right now?”

Sakurai seems relieved that his kind gesture, the box of stuff, has not been outright rejected. “Sure.”

Jun points to the bar entrance. “The bartender in there’s a strange guy, but you’ll like him. Be there in a minute.”

He drops the box off in the lounge, leaving it on the sofa that’s become his own of late. Nino’s in here, already working on the schedule.

“I’m going to do that,” Jun says, rudely thumping his fist against his friend’s shoulder.

Nino looks up, smile friendly but eyes cautious. Ninomiya Kazunari’s only a few months older than Jun, but he’s somehow taken it upon himself the last month to behave as though he’s Jun’s big brother, looking out for him in ways he doesn’t really need to. It’s all the more humorous because Nino’s smaller built, shorter, has the more youthful face. Only the calendar provides proof.

“I can do it. You have a friend visiting.” Nino always seems to know what’s going on.

“He’s not my…” Jun ponders how to even explain it. “He worked with Toma, the box has some crap that was left in his desk.”

Nino turns back to the computer, considering the coming Thursday. “Ah. Well, if there’s a stapler, I’ll take the stapler. We need a new one at the desk.”

Jun gives him another shove before heading back out, finding Sakurai Sho already getting charmed by bartender Aiba. It’s Aiba who seems surprised when Jun sits down at Sakurai’s side. It’s been a while since Jun’s been social. “Put it on my tab,” Jun says.

Unlike the drinks he’s made that night for Jun, Aiba goes all out and uses the best whiskey in the house to make a highball for Sakurai.

“I’m on the clock soon,” Jun says in explanation when Aiba gives him a ginger ale.

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

How many times is the guy gonna apologize? “I’ve got until 8:00, it’s fine.”

There are other people sitting in Bar Camellia, and Aiba vanishes to serve them. Silence falls between them. But even still, Jun’s not in the mood to turn things in a dark direction. He has enough of that when he sits here at the bar alone. He opts for a safe topic, encouraging Sakurai to talk about himself instead of their shared loss.

“You’re into soccer, right?”

In 20, 30 minutes he gets the history of Sakurai Sho and soccer and it’s so welcome, so ridiculously welcome. He learns that the polite and polished guy in front of him actually was an energetic kid once, that he loved soccer so much that he wanted to study abroad in Brazil. Of course that dream was never actualized, his ambitions crushed with the realization in high school that he wasn’t going to stand out or shine on the team. But he worked for the student newspaper in university, covering sports and still getting a chance to follow along. He plays for the company team now, nothing serious. It’s a detail Jun already knows, since Toma was on the team for a while too, but he doesn’t mind learning it again.

It’s easy, he finds, letting Sakurai chatter away. He’s a good conversationalist, a good storyteller. Sakurai smiles easily, laughs easily. Laughs noisily. Jun wonders what it’s like, being so genuine, so open with someone you barely know. It always takes Jun a while to warm up, to decide if it’s worth being his whole self with another person.

When Jun admits that he’s seen soccer matches in Spain, the conversation gets even more animated. Sakurai’s shining enthusiasm tugs Jun right along, and he finds himself talking too. Sakurai wants all the details, to know what it was like to see this player or that in person. And Jun takes comfort in telling him, filling time with something light, without the weight of Toma pressing down. Jun forgets, Jun gets lost, so it’s only when Nino appears that he realizes they’ve gone overtime.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Nino says, although the look in his eyes proves that he didn’t want to interrupt at all. Jun knows how they’ve all been looking at him lately.

He checks his watch, and it’s 8:21. “Shit,” Jun hisses.

Nino’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “Take your time, Haru-chan’s got it covered.” He turns. “I’m Ninomiya, I work with this guy.”

“Sakurai Sho. Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks for stopping by. And please don’t hesitate in choosing Samejima for your next event,” Nino teases, giving Jun’s back a pat before heading down the bar to pester Aiba for no reason as usual.

Sakurai’s on the verge of saying sorry yet again, even if Jun’s the one who ought to have been keeping better track of time. “It was really kind of you to come and drop off those things,” Jun says, cutting him off before he can speak first. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem at all. Truly.”

Jun looks over, sees a question in Sakurai’s face. It’s clear he wants to continue the conversation, if only to get more details about Jun’s experiences in Barcelona and elsewhere. “You were saying you might have the wrong number for me. Let’s see.”

It turns out Sakurai did in fact have the right phone number, but Jun makes sure to save him as a contact now. Himawari Foods, all of Toma’s friends there, Jun’s been certain that entire branch of the network was severed. But Sakurai still wants to reach out. Jun’s not entirely sure why. A mutual interest in soccer can’t possibly be enough. But then again, Sakurai even admitted to being “worried” about him. Jun supposes he can tolerate one more person taking on that role, even from afar. He wonders how long it will be before he’s back on even footing with people, when he can just be Jun again and not a kid in need of adult supervision.

He walks Sakurai to the door, bids him farewell properly since he didn’t bother to do so in Hokkaido. As he’s walking back to the desk, he pats his pocket, feels the weight of his phone in it. More than 300 missed calls, at least 4 of them from Sakurai Sho. Jun wonders if he’ll call again. Jun wonders if he’ll answer.

He makes it through the remainder of his shift on autopilot, finalizing the schedule, tweaking Nino’s decisions when he has downtime. The hotel is fairly quiet when he goes back to the employee lounge, sees the white box waiting for him. He’s alone, but it still takes him a few minutes to gather the courage to open it. There’s no stapler, no office supplies. Jun presumes those things were distributed among Sakurai’s team already.

Jun isn’t sure what to do with this stuff. With Toma’s lip cream, with old restaurant take-out menus. With a battery-powered fan, with dental floss and a half-full travel bottle of mouthwash. He keeps digging. There’s a familiar picture in a frame of him, Shun, and Toma from high school graduation. Jun has the same frame, the same photo on a shelf in his apartment. Shun’s got it too. He’s just setting it aside when he hesitates. The backing on the frame is a bit askew, bulging. It’s not the only picture inside. He takes the backing off and finds a thin stack of photos concealed within.

He doesn’t know if Toma stuck them in here like this or if Sakurai found them and hid them here to avoid prying eyes. He doubts that Toma had any of these pinned up because they’re personal, deeply personal. Toma and Jun at some barbecue or another, brandishing tongs as they monitor the meat and veggies they’re grilling. They’re standing close. They were together then. The other photos are just of Jun, printed copies of what were digital originals. Making rude gestures at the photographer, holding Hana when she was just a baby. There’s another that Toma took of him when he was sleeping, his face mashed against a pillow. He has a lot of questions. A lot of questions. He does and doesn’t want to ask Sakurai if he was the one to hide them inside the frame. He wishes he could ask Toma why he still had them, even after the break-up. Why he had them at the office in the first place, a risky move. Maybe he’d simply forgotten.

He’s glad Sakurai came to him with the box whether he knew about the hidden photos or not. If the overstuffed frame had made it north to Hokkaido, Jun can imagine Toma’s mother ripping the photos of him to shreds. Taking out her grief on an easy target once more.

Jun tapes up the barbecue photo inside his employee locker, puts the framed photo and the photos of himself in his bag to join the miscellaneous things in his closet at home that he can’t seem to throw away. The batteries in the fan are dead, so he dumps that and dumps the rest, breaking down the box and putting it in the recycling area.

He curls up on the sofa, can’t help thinking about Sakurai Sho diligently putting old dental floss in a box just for him. He laughs a little, in the dark, finally understanding Toma just a bit more than he had before. He falls in love a little, in the dark, as he drifts into a long and peaceful sleep for the first time in weeks.

—

back then / spring


The company picnic is aimed at families, but apparently the catered food is so good that Toma decides to go this year. Those without kids can still bring a plus one, but in Toma’s case, that’s out of the question. But he’s finessed the system in that usual Toma style. He’s got Shun and Jun with him, and thankfully the rain that had been threatening earlier that day has drifted to the south.

They wander into the park, the three of them, spotting the sea of blankets and strollers. Himawari Foods is a younger company, twenties and thirties in most divisions. “Of course he’s early,” Toma eventually says, escorting his two plus ones to the edge of the picnic territory. Toma’s infamous boss is also single, and to help Toma out, he’s agreed to take on Shun as his plus one so that Toma could bring Jun. The official excuse from Toma is that he has two best friends and couldn’t choose. The reality is that Sakurai Sho is the only person here who knows that Jun is more than just Toma’s friend, and he’s willing to cover for him.

Greetings are exchanged, Toma smoothly elbowing Jun in the side as his boss gets to his feet. See, Toma’s trying to say like he says at home so often. See, isn’t he good looking? He’s in a dorky red sweater and jeans and could probably blend in with most of the company dads, but Jun keeps the fact that sometimes he’s into that to himself. There’s no point in handing Toma an easy victory.

“Nice to finally meet you, Sakurai-san.”

The guy has a bright smile. “Likewise.”

Sakurai mostly disappears from his blanket during the course of the picnic, various people wanting to introduce themselves, to have Sakurai hold their toddlers while they go and grab food. A few younger employees, mostly men, seem to view Sakurai with awe. They gather around him, close enough that it would annoy Jun but Sakurai doesn’t seem to mind. Toma leans over, but not too close, gesturing with his cup.

“They call him ‘aniki’ a lot.”

Jun snickers. “Him?”

“Fastest to VP in the history of the company, Sho-kun. They all want to learn from him.”

“Aniki,” Jun mutters, still laughing.

Sakurai’s been roped into serving as host for a game corner for the kids as well, his loud and cheerful voice echoing across the park as he oversees a ring toss. Jun’s glad Samejima doesn’t do anything like this. Not that Jun’s got anything against kids, really. After all, Shun’s just become a father and some of his other friends have kids. He’s been around them. But events like this, aimed at promoting and supporting a very specific, very traditional sort of household arrangement…they only serve to reinforce that Jun is different. That what’s normal for Jun is uncomfortable for others.

Toma’s boss is a natural with children, joking and earning big laughs, crouching down to look little ones in the eye as he coaxes them into playing a game or two. It’s a shame all he does is work. He’d be a great father. From the way some of the women watch him, married mothers included, they’re probably thinking the same thing about him. Sakurai eventually takes advantage of Shun’s status as his plus one, having him serve as referee for a loosely organized game of dodgeball for the older kids.

It gives him and Toma some alone time at last, though they can’t do much more than sit side by side on the blanket, poking at some pudding for dessert. “How can you stand it?” Jun mumbles.

“Stand what?”

“You know,” he continues. “Office life.” Emails and conference calls and copy machine jams. It’s always seemed so stifling to Jun. Not that the hotel world is as glamorous as it seems, but at least he doesn’t have to stare at a screen all day.

Toma laughs. “It’s not so bad.”

Jun knows more little anecdotes about the people Toma works with rather than the actual work he does from day to day. He’s been content so far to know only that Toma does a lot of things with spreadsheets, has to make the numbers tell a story. No matter how long they’ve been together, as friends or as more, with Toma it all comes down to the people. The guy from IT who keeps trying and failing to grow a mustache. The woman from accounting who has a BL manga calendar pinned to her cubicle wall. Aniki Sakurai Sho and that time he went to Turkey during Golden Week and worked on his annual review write-ups for Toma and the team while in line to enter the Blue Mosque.

The event winds down, and a sudden strong breeze makes its way through the park. It sends Sakurai Sho’s untethered picnic blanket off course, drifting across the grass. Jun hurries after it, wrangling the blanket and folding it up for him as Toma packs up their own things.

“Hey, thanks.”

He’s just setting the blanket back by Sakurai’s bag, straightening back up at the sound of his voice. “No problem.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah. Food was great.”

Sakurai smiles big. “I’m glad. I’ve been trying to get Toma to come for a while now.”

“Well,” Jun murmurs, “that’s…”

“He’s always had other plans,” Sakurai says politely.

“Right.” Jun appreciates the excuse, how far Sakurai is willing to pretend in order to protect Toma. He can’t help letting his eyes drift aside, watching Shun join Toma in packing up. “Thanks for always looking out for him. I know he’s a pain in the ass.”

Sakurai chuckles, blushing a little at the praise. “He’s described you in the same way.” He leans forward, voice soft. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Jun grins in reply. “He’s called me worse to my face, don’t worry.”

Sakurai hoists his bag and blanket, getting ready to say goodbye to the other stragglers. “Thanks for coming, Matsumoto-kun. I’m happy we got a chance to meet, especially since I hear about you all the time. I must admit, you’re much better than Toma’s implied.” He pauses briefly, blinking as he seems to regret his phrasing. Jun can’t help but notice him blushing even more. The guy doesn’t seem like he gets tongue-tied too often. “That came out funny.”

“It’s fine.”

“What I meant was…I mean, I’m not saying all Toma does is complain about you. He doesn’t. Um…”

Jun tries not to laugh. “I get to hear about you all the time too. But you’re exactly what Toma’s implied.”

Sakurai is amused. “I’m going to pretend that’s a compliment. Well. Take care, okay?”

“Thanks. You too.”

Sakurai heads off, and Toma’s close soon enough.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Jun murmurs back as they follow Shun to his car.

“Did you like him?”

Jun is annoyed, opting for indifference. “Was I supposed to?”

He earns a poke in the side for that, jolting in irritation. He’s not a fan of being poked, even by Toma. Toma, whose voice is full of reverence for his beloved manager. “Jun-kun, he was at peak performance today.”

“And yet you’re still going home with me,” Jun snits, unable to stifle the instinctual jealousy he feels. Sakurai Sho, the perfect man. Sakurai Sho, the workaholic who works even at a company social event in the thankless job of child wrangler.

Toma snorts, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mark my words. You’ll come around on him someday.”

—

april / the buyout


Of course Nino is the first to speak. Not that he’s eloquent about it.

“Well fuck.”

Eloquent or no, it does exactly what it’s intended to do: the tension in the air eases enough that they can all look one another in the eye again.

For the longest time, Ohno has avoided having senior staff meetings. He prefers to meet with teams individually, whether it’s reception, concierge, housekeeping, restaurant staff, et cetera. But in this case, their leader has been given no other choice.

Ohno’s older sister has been running the Samejima hotel in Kyoto for years. The siblings have largely operated independently, though service standards are fairly uniform. The sister’s second marriage happened a year ago and ever since then, there have been rumblings. The new husband is itching to make his mark on the family brand, and Ohno Satoshi has done everything he’s been able to do to try and keep the status quo. A lot of changes, especially in a short period of time, can upset long-time guests. Especially if they feel they haven’t been consulted or considered.

But it’s come as a shock to Jun to learn just how out of hand Ohno’s new brother-in-law’s ambitions have grown. Ohno has worked to shield things from the Tokyo hotel, to encourage all of them to keep doing what they’ve been doing so well for years. Should he have said something earlier? Yes, Jun thinks. Absolutely yes. Ohno underestimated his brother-in-law, and now all of them may have to pay the price.

Brother-in-law, Toyoda-san, has visited the Tokyo hotel a few times. Jun’s gotten him amazing Kabuki tickets before without so much as a thank you. Now Jun has realized that the tickets probably weren’t really for him anyway. Toyoda’s from a finance background, hedge funds or investment banking, something Jun would have liked to have known about the guy from the start. And now Toyoda has gone over Ohno’s head, has gone over Samejima Atsuko’s head, and has invited some of his investor connections from Shanghai to “take a look” at Samejima, at the hotels in Kyoto and Tokyo.

A buyout could mean many things, Ohno has just finished explaining to them all. Jun’s boss is often a rather placid fellow, particular about how his time is spent, but otherwise easy to get along with so long as work is completed admirably. Today he looks defeated. He’d had his secretary throw together a half-assed Powerpoint with data about the Chinese firm that is considering adding the Samejima hotels to their portfolio, shopping them around to larger hospitality firms. Sure, Samejima’s known for its service, and it’s likely many would keep their jobs in order to continue with business as usual.

But that’s not necessarily a guarantee. During Ohno’s grumpy presentation, Nino was Googling on his phone under the table, nudging Jun’s leg and pointing to headlines. A buyout of a small boutique chain in Guangzhou was nothing more than a grab for the valuable land beneath each hotel. The hotels were bulldozed, some replaced with new hotels under new management while others were turned into luxury condominiums. Samejima’s ideally located, has been on this plot of land for decades. It’s worth a fortune, Jun’s certain that it is.

Maybe it’s not worth freaking out about what happened in Guangzhou. That was China, that was an entirely different market. A more heavily-involved government regulating those sorts of things. Different palms to grease to get their way.

But Jun feels that this shitty year has given him reason to believe that the hits will just keep on coming. Not that losing a job is the same as losing a person, but it’s a blow he simply does not need. Not after everything. Not after getting that phone call from Okinawa in the dead of night. That phone call that began with “Jun-kun, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this…”

The meeting adjourns. Things are still in the “early stages,” whatever that means. He assumes that Toyoda will be back in Tokyo someday soon, a group of eager foreign investors ready to examine every inch of the Samejima Hotel & Spa Marunouchi to see how much money it could make them. As a hotel. As a piece of real estate. For now, it’s need to know. If decisions are made, Ohno will be the one to announce it to all the staff. He owes them that much, he’s admitted, after letting things get away from him like this.

Jun feels terribly for him. All these years he’s admirably carried on the family traditions, the service goals set in place by a great-great-grandfather and his Samejima Inn. If he loses this fight, if the hotel is lost, Jun knows he’ll never do anything else again. Ohno Satoshi is either here on the premises, looking for dust on lobby lampshades, or he’s out fishing on his boat, his only real indulgence despite being the son of an heiress. Jun’s been waiting years for an invite to that damn boat, but he doubts one will ever come. It’s a part of his boss, their leader, that isn’t to be shared.

Nino wasn’t scheduled for today but made the effort to come in once the senior staff meeting was called. He loiters around the concierge desk as Jun relieves Kasumi-chan for a while so she can grab dinner, take a break. “Go away,” Jun eventually says. “Go home, you’re annoying.”

Jun doesn’t need Nino finding any more articles that offer insight into a gloomy future for them all.

Nino lingers. “Maybe the Shangri-La is hiring?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’d never work at the Shangri-La, Nino.”

“I’m sure I’ll go wherever Aiba-shi ends up.”

Aiba and Ninomiya have known each other the longest. Nino’s the one that got his childhood friend the bartending job here, a fact he likes to remind Aiba of with irritating frequency. Jun doesn’t doubt that wherever they go, they’ll stick together somehow. It stings a little, knowing that. Of course, Jun still has Shun. He’ll always have Shun. But Shun has a life of different expectations. Nino and Aiba, they do stuff like double dating because their girlfriends have grown close over the years.

With Toma it was easier, going out with Shun and Yu, with others in their circle. But now he feels the distance growing, only a little bit at a time with each passing day. Nothing catastrophic. Just slow decay. Shun’s family comes first, of course it comes first. And Shun almost always answers the phone by the second ring. It’s just that Jun’s been relying on him less for that as the weeks go on. The pain, that hard knot in the center of Jun’s chest, flares and burns. When he hears a joke Toma would have liked. When he runs into someone they both knew, someone who will inevitably use their chance encounter to ask him “how are you doing?”

Instead of telling Shun, who has a giant knot of his own, who is putting on a brave face for his family and the friends that surround them, Jun tells no one. It’s harder to vent, knowing that Shun probably feels the same. That Shun misses Toma like someone might miss an amputated limb. That phantom presence, always there, always impossible to entirely ignore. Being miserable together doesn’t feel productive.

When he clocks out, it’s dark and he opts for a subway station further away. For some people, a brisk walk in the early spring can be invigorating. A way to enjoy the warmer air, to let the mind’s focus drift to the mundane. To one foot in front of the other, to the crosswalk stripes, to the thundering of feet on pavement as the office buildings around them empty. Jun walks with that simplicity in mind, but he can never fully give in to it. The rhythmic beeping of a traffic signal reminds him of a heartbeat. The too loud music flooding out of a shop reminds him of karaoke nights and long ago road trips. He can bring everything back to Toma, somehow. His brain always finds a way.

At some point between going through the ticket gate and moving down to the platform, his phone vibrates in his pocket. But just the once. While he waits for the train, he discovers that the single ring was a call from Sakurai Sho. There’s no voicemail. But maybe there’s another box. More memories. More mysteries of Toma to add to the ache.

There’s a park near his apartment, and he decides to settle there for a while instead of attending to the pile of bills he knows is waiting for him at home. It smells calm, peaceful as he sits on a bench. It’s been a few weeks since the cherry blossoms reached full bloom, and this park’s never been a popular spot for viewing as there’s only a few less-than-impressive trees here. Still, there’s a change in the air he wishes will soon envelop him just as strongly.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Matsumoto-san,” is what Sakurai says once Jun dials his number to return the call. “I called you by mistake! Your name is next to a different Matsumoto in my contacts. I meant to call the other one.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And I was going to leave you a message saying so, to apologize for it, but I didn’t and…”

“It’s okay,” Jun says, holding in a laugh. He’s surprised by how charmed he is to hear Sakurai apologize repeatedly and stumble over his words every time they speak. “Really. I just wanted to make sure I got back to you when you called this time.”

“Well, I appreciate that.”

“I can let you get back to that then. I just thought maybe you…I don’t know, had more stuff for me.”

“I understand. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“It’s okay.”

“Sorry.” Another needless apology, and Jun does actually laugh at him this time. “What? What did I say?”

“You say you’re sorry a lot.”

“I do?”

“You’ve never noticed?” Jun asks him.

He hears a deep, considerate “hmm” over the line, and it sends a delightful shiver down his spine. Has he really never paid attention to the sound of Sakurai’s voice? It’s a bit different hearing it over the phone, the words sliding straight into his ear.

“I guess I’ve never noticed,” Sakurai admits.

Then again, maybe he only has reason to be sorry when he speaks to Jun.

“I don’t want to keep you. Hope everything is well with you.”

“It’s no bother,” Sakurai says, and Jun leans back against the bench, soothed by the crisp, clean air and Sakurai’s slightly tired voice. “It’s good to hear from you, Matsumoto-kun. How are things?”

They gab for a few minutes about soccer, Jun filling in the last remaining gaps from their conversation last month. The neighborhood and park around him are growing quieter. He can’t see much past the street light, but after the staff meeting, it feels good to talk about something that’s not work, not the growing terror of maybe losing his job in the near future. Sakurai eventually pivots from soccer to rugby. His brother’s an enthusiast and working to convert him. Jun knows very little about that, has been following tennis lately to some extent. They exchange what they know.

Like it did at Bar Camellia, the chatter turns from minutes to much more and it’s only when Sakurai says “Thank you, Aki-san! Have a good night!” that Jun realizes they’ve been talking a long time.

“Who’s Aki-san?”

“The cleaning woman for our floor. Why?”

Jun checks his phone and it’s after 9 PM. He’s been sitting in the park like a creep all this time. “You’re still at the office?” Sakurai’s been sitting in his office bullshitting on the phone with him for nearly 90 minutes?

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jun chides him. “Have you eaten dinner already?”

“Well…no, but…”

“Then I’ll let you go. We’ll talk another time.”

“Wait!” Sakurai’s laughing now. “Wait, wait, calm down. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sho-san…”

“I like talking to you. I’m really glad you called.”

There’s a million ways to interpret that. Well, at least Jun’s brain thinks so. Sakurai’s either being friendly or flirtatious, and Jun’s emotional state is so fucked up that he’s lost the ability to tell the difference. He’s not hurting for friends or anything, but with each week, each month that passes, he’s grown so lonely. He’s finally been able to sleep at home in his own bed again, but it’s so empty. So empty. He sleepwalks through masturbating these days, if only to answer that base instinct, to simply get it over with. But that’s not enough. It’s never enough for someone like him.

He’s needy, he gets lonely too fast. After everything, after Toma and not just the accident but everything with the break-up before that…after all of that Jun isn’t quite sure what he wants or what he needs. An easy hook-up? Affection? Both? Neither? He’s talked himself out of visiting bars and checking dating apps. Again, he isn’t quite sure what he wants or what he needs. Nor is he quite sure of what he deserves. Is it too soon?

Too soon for what? For what? For a kiss? For sex? For a warm body in his bed when the sun comes up? It’s too much. Too much to think about but still he does.

“Are you still there, Matsumoto-kun?”

“Yeah,” he finds himself telling Sakurai Sho. “Yeah, I like talking to you, too.”

Between Hokkaido and that damn box and the way Sakurai’s voice makes him warm, Jun realizes his feelings are more serious than he initially thought. That this is just one more thing that’s going to bother him moving forward.

“Sho-san, I might lose my job.”

“What? Why?”

And it spills out of him, that unchecked emotion, just as it did that night in the cold rental car. It’s easy, he finds, telling him these things. Sharing or simply showing this side of himself. Instead of confronting the new and confusing “Sakurai Sho thing” now taking up space in his collection of worries and irritants, he goes in the opposite direction. He tells Sakurai only about that day, about the shitty Powerpoint and the potential buyout and the stuff that Nino found. He’s already stolen so much time from Sakurai that night and still he talks.

“What do you think I should do?” he finally concludes, shaking a little as he realizes the temperature is falling outside as he sits on the bench.

“Nothing.”

Jun opens his mouth to respond, to get angry at the flippant remark after he’s said so much. But now he can’t find words.

“Do nothing,” Sakurai says. “Seriously. I know this is out of your control, Matsumoto-kun, and I’m really sorry to hear that. I hope you don’t mind me making such an observation, but dwelling on all the ‘what-ifs’ of this potential buyout are only going to hurt you. That said, I’d be worried in your shoes, too. So do nothing when it comes specifically to the thought of the buyout. Focus on yourself instead. My advice is to work hard at the things you do still have control over. Keep going to work every day, keep doing what you’re doing. And then in your free time, start taking a look at job sites. Get a sense of the market around you, what positions are open, who is hiring, what they’re looking for. Have applications ready to go even if you never send them. Then you have some measure of control over your future. You either stay where you are if this buyout falls through or you lose your job and know exactly where you’re going to find your next opportunity.”

“This seems a bit simple.”

“What’s wrong with simple? It’s just having a plan.”

He grins bitterly. “Sometimes I get hung up on details. I can’t think big picture.”

“And what’s so bad about that? That’s going to help you,” Sakurai assures him. “In terms of hunting for the next step of your career or working hard to be the best…concierge person ever. Focusing on the details will be necessary in either case.”

He laughs. “The best concierge person ever, huh?”

“And here’s something you can do when you do get hung up on details. Or if you start dwelling again on things you have no control over.” Sakurai pauses for what seems like dramatic effect. “You call me.”

His heart starts to race. “Sho-san, I can’t do that.”

I barely know you, he wants to say. Even though I want to know you.

“Why not? You’ve been talking to me for almost two hours tonight and I haven’t told you to go away. Hmm. Well, if you’re the type who calls to talk at 4:00 in the morning, I might want to kill you, but otherwise I want you to know that I’m here to help you.”

“Why would you though? Help me?”

Sakurai doesn’t stumble his way through his words this time. “Because I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t help someone who meant so much to Toma.”

So really, it’s nothing to do with him personally, he realizes. Even as Sakurai’s lingering dedication to his employee warms Jun, he’s selfishly surprised by how much it hurts at the same time.

“Thank you,” Jun replies anyway. Because he finds that the feeling is fairly mutual. He’d never forgive himself for offending someone who meant so much to Toma.

“But I do think I need to get home now, Matsumoto-kun. I can call you back from there?”

“No, no,” he mumbles, grateful and embarrassed all at the same time. “It’s fine. Thank you for listening to my ranting and raving.”

“Any time.”

“Except at 4:00 AM.”

Sakurai snickers. “I might pick up if you’re calling to say we’re under attack by aliens. I’ll still cuss at you, but I’m sure I’ll appreciate the warning nevertheless.”

“Noted.”

“You take care now, okay? Let me know how you’re doing from time to time, even if it’s just a quick message.”

“Sure.”

“Bye bye.”

“Good night, Sho-san.”

His phone is at 17% battery life. He’s affection-starved enough to be developing a schoolboy crush on his dead ex’s nerdy boss. His life is a soap opera, his life is a shambles.

He’s left alone in the park with only the trees to hear him laugh.

—

may / the rain


The porters have been busy getting the slick marble floor covered, the dark floor mats cutting an ugly figure acoss the lobby. But it’s better to be safe than sorry when they’re getting rain like this. It’s early, a downpour more reminiscent of the summer than the spring. It’s slightly good news for Bar Camellia and for the restaurant, at least. Guests are sticking around for a meal or a drink rather than heading out into the mess tonight.

It’s a fairly short walk to the underground passage to Tokyo Station, and Jun doesn’t feel like taking one of the umbrellas from the concierge or reception desks. Surely an unprepared guest will need it. When his shift is over he simply grabs his bag and his light jacket, ducking out the employee exit and throwing up his hood. His shoes squeak and squelch as he hurries to get underground, joining the dripping throng of humanity.

He’s nervous but a little giddy. He’s spent the whole day preoccupied with their meeting. Because that’s what it is, a meeting. It’s a meeting, not a date. There’s a restaurant Jun’s recommended to guests for years, and now he’s finally meeting someone there himself. He makes his way through the crowds, finds Sho already waiting for him near the entrance. He looks nice and dry, has been able to get across town without having to go outside. Always punctual, Sho-san is.

It’s the smile in greeting that weakens Jun more each time. He wonders how Toma was able to stand it five days a week in the office.

It’s been an odd few weeks, letting himself be mentored by Sakurai Sho. It feels almost like Sho is his tutor, even if their career paths are entirely different. Jun calls to check in at least once a week and sometimes they meet for a coffee, and even though they usually take time to catch up on sports or hobbies, Sho also wants to know about the potential Samejima buyout. The last few weeks have been quiet, but Toyoda-san is visiting in a few days. He’ll have a few friends from Shanghai with him, and Jun knows this because he’s had to get Giants tickets for them.

After Jun dumps his weekly worries, Sho follows up with the same expectation - that Jun should also update him on his job search. Nobody else knows about it, how hard Jun is working behind the scenes to plan for the worst case scenario of Samejima shutting down. With Sho’s help, he’s entirely revamped his resume, a document on his hard drive that he hadn’t otherwise updated in a decade. In the last week, they’ve started interview prepping, even though there’s been no news about Samejima’s future. Jun almost feels guilty, like he’s betraying Ohno by even practicing to get a job elsewhere.

“But these are good tactics,” Sho has told him repeatedly. Having examples of the work he’s done, the challenges he’s handled, the successes he’s achieved will only serve him better in the future, even with his own employer. “This is the stuff you bring up in a negotiation for a raise, Matsumoto-kun. You can give concrete proof of your excellence.”

Jun’s been an eager student. Not just because he’s got a crush on the tutor, but because all of Sho’s advice so far has actually gone a long way to calming his anxiety about the buyout. Whether it happens or not, having to update his resume and come up with interview answers has forced Jun to take a step back from his day-to-day life at the hotel, to examine his work as a whole and identify his strengths and weaknesses. If anything, these exercises have served to reignite Jun’s passion for his work, to find ways to be better.

They head inside, are brought to a table in the rear. There’s no point in checking the menu. “We’ll split the shabu-shabu special. Extra mushrooms, please,” Jun says as soon as they’re seated.

“Right away,” the waitress says, snatching the menus right back up.

“And what if I didn’t like mushrooms?” Sho’s come straight from work, loosening his tie. “What if I wanted something else?”

Jun grins at him, knowing that Sho will eat pretty much anything placed in front of him. “Too bad.”

“You’re strict,” Sho complains with that easygoing smile.

“I’ve been recommending this place for years. But by all means, ignore my expertise.”

Sho shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I tried that soba place, by the way.”

Jun perks up, pleased to have been helpful. “In Nishi-Azabu?” Sho nods. “I can’t believe you claim to love soba and you hadn’t been there yet.”

“Well now I have,” Sho says, never letting Jun’s barbs ruffle him. He almost seems to enjoy being teased, something that’s made Jun like him all the more. “Am I allowed back in the clubhouse?”

“Yes, Sho-san. You can come back.”

Sho leans back in his seat, arms crossed and eyes shut. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh that gets Jun half-hard. “Aaaaah. It was delicious!”

“I would never lead you astray.”

He opens his eyes, nodding. “You know, whenever we did a catered-in meal at the office, I let Toma do the ordering…”

Jun tries not to react. But it certainly works to calm his libido.

Sho looks him straight in the eye. “…tell the truth, was he asking you about it? Because he always picked the best stuff.”

“You’re acting as though I’m some gourmand here. I’m really not.”

“Don’t dodge my question.”

Jun likes the challenge in Sho’s words, the playfulness in his tone. “Then yes. Yes, he sometimes consulted me about your work parties. And…you’re welcome.”

What he decides not to tell Sho is that Toma always went above and beyond to order food that Sho particularly liked. A little way to nurture his crush, a little way to thank a good boss for always having his back. Sho doesn’t realize it, but Jun knows all his favorite foods already simply because Toma was always looking for new places to try with extensive shellfish menus. Or soba. Or cheesecake.

No matter what they talk about, whether it’s on the phone or at a coffee shop, Toma’s always part of it in some way. The shared loss between them, it seems like Sho feels the need to talk about him, to share stories. Ask questions. And Jun does like it, getting to talk about the good times, about Toma’s quirks and behaviors rather than his lingering absence. But at the same time, it saddens him. It’s almost like Sho is making sure Jun knows what this friendship, mentorship, whatever is really about. It’s about Sho helping Jun as a favor to their lost friend. When Sho smiles, when Sho laughs, it’s because he can feel content in knowing that he’s really just helping Toma. That he’s keeping an eye on Jun on his behalf since he no longer can.

There’s nothing more to it than that.

“While we wait for the food, shall we run a few questions?” Sho asks. “Or are you too hungry to be prepared?”

Jun narrows his eyes. “Bring it on.”

His hurt feelings can be ignored for a while in favor of interview prep. The more he practices, the more natural his responses will sound to any future interviewers. Tell me about a time you had to deal with an unhappy guest and how you handled the situation. Why are you the best candidate for this position? What does good guest service mean to you? Sho doesn’t interrupt him while he answers, sitting across from him with a neutral expression. He then tells Jun what he did well and what he might want to tweak. Today Sho doesn’t seem to have as many corrections for him. Probably because they’ve all been softball questions so far, things that Jun’s been practicing from the start. Which means he’s in trouble.

“Let’s say I’m the Ritz Carlton. Tell me why you’re applying to work for me.”

Unlike his unflappable demeanor earlier, the smile on Sho’s face as he poses this question now says it all.

“You know I haven’t prepped Ritz Carlton yet,” Jun complains.

“But I saw your resume this morning, and it’s great so I called you in to interview at the last minute today,” Sho says, not a bit of sympathy for him. “So Matsumoto-san. Why do you want to work for me?”

Their food arrives, giving Jun some valuable time to start formulating a satisfactory response. Sho seems to have an orgasm right there at the table when he takes his first bite, lightly pounding the table with his fist.

“You are so lucky the food is here,” Sho says around a mouthful of meat. “But that just means I want answers for Ritz Carlton and Four Seasons when we’re done.”

“Fuck you,” Jun replies.

This earns him another wicked smile, and it’s totally worth it. No matter what Sho thinks of him, the bond with Toma serving as a wall between them, Jun can at least take comfort in spending time with him. It pushes the loneliness aside for just a little while. Nurturing his bubbling crush, fueling it as he catalogs new and different things about Sho to like. Plump, soft-looking lips. That boisterous laugh. The kind of disgusting but endearing way he shoves food in his mouth, the sheer joy he shows when enjoying a good meal.

He fights hard to shut out the poison that trickles in around the edges. You don’t deserve this happiness, sitting here with him when the person you loved is only three months gone. You know that he’ll just find fault with you the same way Toma did anyway, the same way everyone else has. He doesn’t like you. He just feels sorry for you.

It’s easy to fight it when Sho’s in front of him, charming and kind. It’s harder when they’re apart, when he’s running back through their conversations, parsing sentences and smiles for their true meaning. It’s a dark, messy cycle, going from moments of happiness to cynicism so quickly it feels like whiplash. There’s nobody else he can tell. He fears that Shun will judge him. That even though he and Toma were on and off and even though they were most definitely off when the accident happened, Jun fears that Shun will think less of him for finding someone else so quickly, even if all he’s done is find a person. Not act on it.

He knows Aiba and Nino would listen, offer what insights they could, but he doesn’t want to use them for that. They’ve already done too much to keep him afloat the last few months. He doesn’t need to burden them with these silly doubts, with his self-loathing.

How long are you supposed to wait before opening your heart again? Does it even matter when the person has no idea? Does it even matter when the person doesn’t see you that way?

He jolts when he feels Sho’s fingers brush against the top of his hand.

“Whoa,” Sho says gently. “Hey, it’s okay. I just…I think you’ve cooked that a little too long.”

Jun blinks, shaking his head. The piece of meat he’s been swishing back and forth is ruined. “Shit.”

“You okay?”

No.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Just distracted.”

Sho’s eyes are concerned. “By the Ritz or by the Four Seasons?”

He appreciates the ready excuse Sho has just offered up. He ditches the sad piece of meat, grabs a mushroom to quickly cook instead. “Both. I mean, I’ve only looked through the websites a few times. I haven’t had time to study yet.”

“Sorry to push you.”

“No,” Jun protests. “No, you should keep pushing. It makes me work harder.”

Sho cocks his head, still a bit worried. “It’s not that serious. You know what, take Ritz Carlton and Four Seasons as homework. We don’t have to spend all our time together like it’s a pop quiz.”

Our time together. Jun’s filing that one away to agonize over later.

Sho chooses a safe topic instead, the food first and then the weather. There’s been some flooding in the west. It’s not happy talk, but at least it pulls Jun’s attention away from the shadowy corners of his heart. He doesn’t do anything awkward like pay for the meal himself, knowing Sho would be insulted if they didn’t split things evenly.

When they’re outside the restaurant, the umbrellas carried by the commuters in the passageways are still dripping wet. Station workers are already trying to mop up a few stores down, but their work is a bit hampered by the damp multitudes hurrying through. It’ll only get worse as the year goes on.

They take the same train for the first leg of the journey, crowding on. Jun ends up standing behind him, but thankfully not so close that he’s breathing down his neck. They ride in silence, Jun scrolling through news headlines on his phone to keep from staring at the back of Sho’s head the whole time. Sho’s stop to transfer to another line comes first and he turns halfway, squeezing Jun’s arm through his jacket.

“I’ll catch you later, stay dry.”

“Good night, Sho-san.”

When he gets off the train Sho stays on the platform, waving goodbye in a rather overexaggerated fashion. The childishness of it makes Jun happy, makes his feelings stronger, but he merely wiggles his fingers as the train doors close and haul him away.

—

june / the race


He’s in his usual spot, standing by the marker for Kilometer 4. In the past he and Shun have come with fans, unflattering childhood pictures of Toma taped to them so they could wave them in an attempt to embarrass him. But obviously this year Toma isn’t participating. It’s a charity 5K and a team from Himawari Foods always participates. Jun didn’t bother to ask Shun to join him this year, to wake up early on a Sunday and trek over to Showa Kinen Park with him. Some rituals that Jun continues to observe only make Shun miserable.

There are restaurants Shun will not step foot in again, maybe not for years, Jun suspects. Toma’s favorites. Jun doesn’t mind. He has other people who will go with him, not knowing the significance. The songs at karaoke that were Toma’s songs, Shun can’t get through them anymore. Jun has decided to let Shun mourn as he wishes. Of the three of them, Shun was always the quiet one. The calm, stoic figure looking after his two obnoxious idiot friends, keeping the peace. Shun has grown quieter still these last few months, but he isn’t silent yet. Jun and Yu are doing their best to keep that from happening.

Jun’s come without a fan this year, sipping his tea as he waits for the runners to reach him. The race only started a few minutes earlier. It’s a beautiful morning, and Jun kind of wishes he had signed up. He runs at the gym, occasionally jogs in his neighborhood, but he’s never committed to a formal event. He could probably get a Samejima team together for next year’s race, knows that Aiba would be the first to sign up and join him. But that presumes there will be a Samejima next year, and Jun’s still cautious, wary about the future.

Nino has been pulled into meetings in Kyoto with Toyoda-san and the Kyoto concierge team. Meetings presumably to see what they might do better, what services they might want to emphasize to their potential investors. “Kazunari, will you go?” Ohno had asked, eyes exhausted. Nino had only nodded without complaining. It’s rare for Ohno to use his first name, so it wasn’t worth putting up a fight about it.

Jun knows there are a few reasons why he isn’t the one getting sent to Kyoto this coming week. Samejima is the backup hotel for a conference at the Aman Tokyo that starts Tuesday, some government agency meeting with their counterparts from Mexico and other Latin American countries about freshwater conservation. Jun’s limited Spanish is better than Nino’s even more limited Spanish. The other reason is that Ohno probably knows that Jun is liable to push back more, to demand his ideas be accepted, to let his resentment toward Toyoda-san show a little more. Nino’s always been so much more skilled at hiding what he really thinks.

Without Nino it’s going to be a long week, coordinating things. Jun’s already getting texts from some of the staff members under him complaining about the language app he’s made them all download for a mandatory Spanish refresher. He’s been responding to their bitching with only smily face emojis. “You’re kind of an asshole,” Ohno has told him privately before, telling him to “keep up the good work.”

He has no intention of being an asshole at the race today. He has no gaudy fan, doesn’t plan to do much more than cheer with the folks around him as the runners pass by. Toma always preferred weight training to running, finding it boring, but still he signed up each year. Toma could be a sucker for peer pressure. It feels right to be here at Toma’s race, just one of hundreds lining the route. Toma should have been here, complaining about a leg cramp or about the early hour. But in February someone called out for help, and Toma never came back.

Jun joins the crowd in their enthusiasm as the first batch of runners, the real athletes, come around the bend in the path, numbers stuck on their shirts. The Himawari team tends to stick together, keeping pace with their slowest participant. In recent years, there’s always been someone out of shape who’s joined against their better judgment. Jun’s used to standing here at the Kilometer 4 marker for a good long while waiting for the pack of them in their neon yellow Himawari shirts to arrive, their slow member huffing and puffing and safely ensconced in the middle of the group.

Finally the yellow shirts come around the bend, a group of nearly twenty. But lingering on the side is a runner he didn’t expect to see. Jun’s never seen him join the race before. His face is red, but he’s not struggling. No, he’s shouting encouragements.

“Who are we?” Sho calls as the team runs together.

“Himawari!” is the chanted response.

They get closer. “Who are we?” “Himawari!” “Who are we?” “Himawari!”

It’s definitely keeping them together, keeping them moving. Jun can see a pair of slowpokes in the middle, two skinny guys who are blurting out “Himawari!” with all the effort they can muster.

Jun can’t help but join in when they’re near, adding his own “Himawari!” to the group. This gets Sho’s attention, his eyes looking over in confusion at the sound of a familiar but unexpected voice. Their eyes finally meet, Sho smiling and Jun smiling back. Sho waves as he passes, his voice louder than before, his steps lighter. “WHO ARE WE?”

“Himawari!” Jun shouts at his back, noticing only then what they’ve done.

Each team member from Himawari Foods has their name printed on the back of their shirts each year, just above the company sunflower logo. But this year, every single neon yellow shirt has “Ikuta Toma” on the back.

He slips away from the crowd, walking toward the finish line and blinking away tears. The noise grows louder, people cheering enthusiastically as the runners finish no matter how long it’s taken them to get there. Everyone’s efforts are celebrated. He eventually finds the cluster of yellow gathered near a tree, family members passing water bottles around or fanning the participants. He hangs back, wondering if it’s worth approaching. But he’s spotted first by Aragaki-san, one of Toma’s colleagues.

“Matsumoto-san!” she calls, easily remembering him from previous years along the race route.

He’s soon pulled in, welcomed like any other co-worker. Aragaki links arms with him, clinging tight. It’s like Jun’s the closest they can get to having Toma here. They thank him for coming and cheering them on. “It’s a tradition,” he mutters shyly, trying to keep his emotions in check. Someone asks about Shun. “I’m sorry, he couldn’t make it today.”

He sees that Sho is mostly paying attention to the two slowpokes from the race, sitting with them in the grass and presumably giving them some of his usual Sho encouragements. Aniki, Jun remembers.

“You should come to brunch with us,” Aragaki says. “Sakurai-san’s booked a whole restaurant for it. Himawari’s paying!”

“I couldn’t impose like that.”

It’s taking everything he has to not just start sobbing as they tell him it was Sho’s idea to put Toma’s name on their shirts, that it was Sho’s idea to take Toma’s spot in the race.

“Sho-san!” one of the other teammates calls out. “Matsumoto-san’s here!”

He can’t escape now, not with Aragaki still holding onto him, not with the others wanting their number one supporter to join them. Sho’s all smiles, sleeves rolled up to reveal nice muscles. He’s put on a dark blue headband, has pushed his hair back to show off a broad forehead still beaded with sweat. Jun’s worried Sho might actually hug him, but the Aragaki barrier prevents it. “You came!”

“Of course.”

“He’s always waiting for us at Kilometer 4,” another colleague, Yamada, says.

“So I’ve heard,” Sho says, looking at him fondly. “Thank you for your support.”

“He’s coming to brunch. That’s fine, right?” Yamada continues, oblivious to Jun’s distress over it.

“Sure it’s fine,” Sho replies, though Jun can see the wheels turning in his head. Sho at least can tell that he’s a bit uncomfortable with the idea. “Are you free today? We’re going to a place a few blocks away once everyone feels like moving again. It’s just going to be buffet-style, nothing too fancy.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Aragaki says.

Another colleague, Yoshitaka, joins in. “They have a gourmet crepe station, they’ll put anything in it you want. They’ve got Nutella.”

“Twist my arm,” Jun says. Turning them down would be awkward. “I’d be happy to join you.”

They soon start walking to the restaurant, a sea of neon yellow and a more subdued black-shirted Jun. He falls into step alongside Sho, if only because he feels like he’s imposing on the rest of them.

“Wow,” Jun says when they’re out of the others’ earshot, raising a teasing eyebrow in Sho’s direction. “Nutella, huh? Fancy.”

“The staff of Himawari Foods doesn’t require every place we dine to have a Michelin star,” Sho snits playfully.

He grins. “Nor does Matsumoto Jun. You’re making assumptions about me. I like Nutella.”

They wait for the next light to turn green, hanging back from the rest.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were running in the race?” Jun asks.

Sho scratches at an itch on his neck. “I didn’t know how to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t know if you’d want to be reminded of this or not. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me running in the place that should have been his. I didn’t want to give you any reason to be upset.”

He glances over. Sho can’t seem to look at him. “You don’t have to baby me, Sho-san.”

Sho seems hurt by the accusation. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It made me happy to see you running with everyone. I think he would have liked it too. And maybe you ought to be glad he’s not here. He’d have found a way to dump a bucket of ice down your pants.”

Sho’s not too keen on his phrasing, merely nodding in acknowledgment. “He probably would have.”

“He did it to someone last year. I should know. He had me bring the ice.”

Yoshitaka and Aragaki grab hold of Jun once they make it to the restaurant, tugging him away from Sho. “You’re sitting at our table. Toma-kun always told the best stories about you. Do you still work at that fancy hotel? We need updates.”

Sho’s gone, presumably to talk to the owner of the restaurant and coordinate whatever he needs to coordinate. Jun allows himself to be dragged to the table, doing his best to provide Toma’s former colleagues with stories to sustain them for a while. He even lets the women talk him into having mimosas with them. They tell him more things about Toma, things Jun doesn’t know. Not everyone could get away in February. Not everyone could make the journey north to say goodbye in person.

And as they stuff themselves, as they drink and drink, they start to cry. The coworkers, Jun, the whole table. Everyone in a neon yellow shirt with Toma’s name on the back. Happy tears and laughter, sad tears and laughter even still. They loved him. They all really loved him. Not that he ever had reason to doubt it, but it feels good to know that even if Jun was never going to be what Toma truly needed, he had other people to dote on him, care for him. Make his work life as happy as it could be even if his private life was a rollercoaster thanks to Jun.

He’s glad he came along, even as he allows himself to cry in front of these strangers. It’s freeing to get over himself even just for a morning, to let it out instead of bottling things up. To balk at his pride and share memories. This is how Toma gets to live on, in the stupid stories that all these people will keep telling. And maybe one day Jun will be able to share these stories with Shun or with Ryusei, to fill in more gaps.

He eventually gets up, heading to the bathroom to splash a little water on his face. He’s not surprised to see Sho come through the door soon after. “How was the Nutella?” Sho asks quietly.

“Lovely.”

“Do you need anything?” Sho crosses his arms, closes off a little.

They stare at each other a few moments, although Sho’s gaze aims lower, unable or unwilling to meet his reddened eyes.

“No…” Sho moves for the urinals, but Jun stops him with a hand to his arm. “Wait. Wait.”

Sho looks at him curiously, blushing. Sho’s a friendly type, the type who doles out pats on the back and the shoulder from time to time. Jun’s fairly certain he’s never touched Sho before, has never reached out, never gone out of his bubble. But now that he has, Jun can’t seem to let him go yet. He’s got Sho’s warm, bare skin beneath his fingertips for the first time. Be careful, his brain warns him.

“Do you have any extra shirts? The one you’re wearing, I mean. It’s not my color, but I’d like one just the same.”

“Yeah. I’ll…I’ll bring you one the next time we meet.”

“Thanks.”

He lets go slowly, fingers dragging down Sho’s arm before falling away. He doesn’t miss the way Sho tenses up at the sensation of it. Another moment passes before Sho swallows, moving away. He almost misses Sho’s quiet reply.

“Of course. Anything you need, Jun.”

He leaves the bathroom, finds the nearest exit and gets the hell out of the neighborhood. Anything you need, Jun. It plays over and over in his head on the train ride home until Jun’s certain he misheard. That he heard “Jun” instead of “Matsumoto-kun” or “Matsumoto-san” simply because it’s what he wants to hear.

He considers a cold shower when he gets back to his apartment, tossing his keys on the countertop. But somehow he can’t manage it, letting warm water spill down his back. He shuts his eyes, lost in something that might not have been said. Anything you need, Jun. Anything you need. He jerks off, impulsively, hastily. Anything you need, Jun. “You know what I need,” he mutters to an imagined Sho. “By now you have to know what I fucking need.”

He comes, and it’s “Sho” he’s muttering. Not Sakurai-san, not Sho-san. Nothing polite or controlled. Nothing but raw honesty, need, desire. He’s thought about Sho for weeks, kept it in his head, kept it safe there. But now it’s out, out of him. “Sho” echoing against the bathroom tile. “Sho” as he gives in.

There’s a message waiting on his phone when he gets out of the bathroom, feeling a bit lighter. Speak of the devil. Sho wants to know what size t-shirt he wears. He types “Guess” before deleting it, knowing that his teasing will only confuse Sho.

Instead he simply answers the question posed and presses Send.

—

back then / summer


Jun thinks he’s lost count of how many times they’ve had makeup sex over the years. It’s his favorite kind, that messy and emotional kind of sex. Saying sorry with his mouth and teeth rather than his words.

“Sometimes I think you fuck up on purpose.” Toma’s teasing him with the obvious truth now, stroking his fingers through Jun’s sweaty hair. Soothing, familiar. Something he’s been missing for months.

“I’m insulted by your insinuation,” he retorts, curling in closer, wishing Toma would stop talking and let him sleep. The sleep after makeup sex is also Jun’s favorite. Relief is better than any sleeping pill.

You’re mine again. You’re mine.

Jun’s off today, but Toma has work. He slips away, mattress dipping as his weight leaves it.

“Mmm, go in with your hair just like that.”

“Not a chance.”

“Don’t want your precious Sho-san to be scandalized, huh?” Jun stretches his long limbs like a satisfied cat. “Or jealous.”

A pillow hits Jun in the face. Well-deserved.

Toma’s only just learned that his boss is gay, too. Sakurai slipped up talking about a date he’d had a few nights back. Something like “it just didn’t work out with him.” Sakurai’s always been a mystery in that regard, an enigma. Hearing about his personal life, hearing about anything that isn’t work or sports, doesn’t happen too often. Hearing about Sakurai Sho going on a date is rarer still. According to Toma, Sho’s always joined in with the men’s talk at work, offering opinions on this or that model’s tits when prompted. But now it’s become clear that Sho’s been just as good at faking it as Toma has been all this time. Maybe he’s even better.

Jun falls asleep soon after the shower goes on, wakes only when Toma’s just about to head out the door, brushing a kiss to his forehead. “Are we meeting here or at your place tonight?” Toma asks him.

He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, tugging the blanket more tightly around him when the air conditioning unit kicks on again. “Got errands to run in my neighborhood. So you come to me.”

“Are you cooking for me?”

“Text me what you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want, Toma.”

He earns another kiss, knowing Toma’s just going to fuck around and say what he wants is to stuff Jun’s mouth full of his dick again. And maybe some instant ramen after. Which is fine.

“Bye.”

Content and cozy, Jun shoves his face against the pillow. “Bye.”

—

july / the universe


Jun’s never been much for camping, but many of his friends are fans of the great outdoors. He’s fine with hiking, but sleeping in a tent has never held much appeal. But Shun proposed the small weekend getaway, escaping the nasty heat and humidity of the city for higher elevation. It’s still warmer than Jun would like and his skin’s covered in a slick residue of bug spray and sunscreen, but he couldn’t say no. Not when Shun’s finally coming around, returning to himself again.

They’d been to this site before, the three of them, for a barbecue, and it feels like they’re recreating it without coming out directly and saying it. Instead of a men’s trip, it’s become a family affair. Yu and the girls in one tent, Shun and Jun in the other. Baby Rina’s not having a much better time than Jun is, but Hana adores the tall grass, the soaring trees, a creek to splash in and dig with her small hands in the muck along the water’s edge.

Jun paid for the food and Yu agreed to cook it, some roast beef and potatoes. A little heavy for the summer, but it’s the kind of stuff Toma would have liked. Soon there will be smores for dessert. Everyone eats their fill, and Yu scoops up Rina to settle in for the night. Hana has been granted the privilege of staying up past her bedtime for a little while so she can see the sky.

He and Shun are in folding chairs, surrounded by ancient trees, but there’s enough of a gap above that they should have no trouble seeing. Hana is sitting comfortably in her father’s lap, occasionally poking at the new beard he’s growing. She’s not a fan, and Jun keeps hearing Shun let out little grunts of complaint as Hana tugs on it here and there. Jun takes at least fifty photos of this, will let Shun and Yu wade through them later and decide what they want.

The sun sets, and it will be a little while before it becomes truly spectacular. They sit there, Hana antsy as each new star becomes visible overhead. “Look Papa, another one! Another one!”

There should be another chair. Not the one Yu left behind when she went into the tent, but another chair for the person who’s missing. It feels unfair, just as it has all year long. Events and places where Toma should have been, joking with them, causing mischief. Jun’s being presumptuous, of course, assuming that they’d fall back into their friendship so quickly after the nastiness of their final breakup.

Toma would be sitting just between them, and it’s almost as though they arranged their chairs here with that in mind. Shun’s a few feet away when he doesn’t have to be, holding his daughter tight and saying “yep, another one” as she guides his eyes upward to the stars she’s getting to take in for the first time. Toma would be lying to her, giving false names for constellations just to piss Shun off.

Toma’s not going to get to see Hana and Rina grow up, and Jun picks up his half-empty beer bottle, taking a long sip.

Soon the sky above them, above Japan, is an ocean of stars. They’re far enough away from the cities and their light pollution, and Jun switches off the camp light. Their little camp plunges into darkness, and Hana gasps at the slight change, the even more stunning view above.

“Can Uncle Toma see the stars where he is?”

Silence.

“Papa?”

Shun’s lack of an answer isn’t surprising. Yu’s the one who did the explaining because Shun couldn’t bring himself to break Hana’s heart. When Hana gets older, she’ll get a more thorough answer, but as of now, she’s been told that Uncle Toma has left and unfortunately can’t come back. He’s gone to the same place as Hana’s goldfish, Popo-chan. A place where they’ll be waiting together for Hana when she’s very very old and it will be her time to leave as well.

“Of course he can see them,” Jun says, setting down his beer. “I can tell you all about it.”

He hears a rustling of clothes. Hana’s getting off of Shun’s lap. She’s learned that sometimes her Papa is very sad that Uncle Toma left. Soon Jun feels her hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

He hoists her into his lap, letting her get comfortable the way she likes. It’s not necessarily comfortable for him as he gets an elbow in the gut, but he puts up with it because Shun needs to take a walk. He hears Shun’s boots thump heavily across the ground before reaching the gravel road a few meters away where the car is parked. Thankfully Shun took a flashlight with him.

Soon it’s just the two of them under the stars, Shun’s little girl and Jun.

“So Uncle Toma can see the stars?”

“Yep. He can see even more than this where he is.”

“Is he in space?”

Jun grins. “Not exactly. Your mama said he’s in the other place, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, there’s a really good view there. Uncle Toma can see the stars there, all of them.”

“What about Popo-chan?”

“Yes. Popo-chan can see the stars if he wants.”

Hana pokes his chin. “Popo-chan was a girl fish!”

“I’m very sorry,” he says, hiding a laugh.

They’re quiet for a while, Jun leaning back a bit, taking comfort from the warmth of Hana’s weight against him. It’s probably the closest he’ll come to having a daughter of his own, and he shuts his eyes, contenting himself with her soft scent. He remembers how annoyed Toma had been when he learned Shun was going to be a dad. “He’s gonna change so much,” Toma had feared. “He’s going to buy a minivan. He’s never going to come out with us any more.”

None of those things ended up being true. In the end, it was Toma who changed. They went to the hospital together, stood side by side in front of the nursery. Jun remembers pointing to the little “Oguri” bassinet in the second row. It was then that Toma decided to give in.

“If some boy ever breaks her heart, I’ll kill him,” Toma had vowed. Jun had felt similarly, still feels that way now. He’s certain his protective feelings are nothing compared to Shun and Yu’s, but they’re still pretty damn strong.

“Are you sad that Uncle Toma is in the other place?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“How long are you going to be sad?”

“Do you remember what it felt like when Popo-chan left? You remember how it felt to be sad like that?”

“Yeah, I cried a lot. I cried when Uncle Toma left too.”

Hana snuggles closer, and Jun does his best to speak calmly.

“I feel sad like that about Uncle Toma, too. And I think I’m going to feel sad about it every day until I see him again.”

“But that might be a long time, Mama said. She said Papa’s going to have to wait a very long time to see him again.”

He nods. “She’s right about that. But sometimes it’s a different kind of sad. When he first left, I cried a lot. Just like you did, Hana-chan.”

“But now you don’t cry?”

“Ah, I still do. I still do sometimes. But you’re not as sad about Popo-chan leaving as you were the day she left, right? Well, it’s kind of the same with people too.”

“One day you stop crying?”

“Mostly you do. That doesn’t mean you miss the person any less. That doesn’t mean you love the person any less. You’re just a different amount of sad that they’re gone.”

He’s not sure he’s explaining things very well, but Hana seems to accept his answers for now. Eventually Yu comes out of the tent, giving Hana five more minutes to take in the universe. Safe in Jun’s arms, she just keeps looking up, muttering to herself in a Japanese Jun doesn’t quite comprehend as she absorbs the light from far, far away.

“Where’s Papa?” Yu asks quietly.

“Having a walk,” Jun says.

“I see.”

Hana hugs him goodbye. “I love you, Uncle Jun.”

“I love you, too. Good night.” He gets up out of the chair. “I’ll go check on Papa,” he says, mostly for Yu’s benefit.

Shun actually hasn’t gone that far. He’s sitting at a picnic table in a grove maybe a hundred meters away. The glow from his phone screen is a giveaway. Jun sits beside him, watches Shun going through pictures again. He’s scanned a bunch of old ones, has them in his phone so Toma’s always with him, no matter what.

“I fed your daughter to a bear,” Jun says, giving him a nudge.

“Thanks. One less university education I’ll have to pay for.”

Jun smiles. Shun’s not as sad as he thought. He’s found pictures from his last birthday, just after last Christmas. Just before the break-up, but you wouldn’t know. He and Toma got along that night for the sake of the group.

They’re quiet together for a while, letting out soft snickers as they go through the pictures. Finally Shun sets his phone down and the light goes away.

“You know, it’s okay to date someone again.”

The comment’s out of left field. “Huh?”

Shun sighs. “Ninomiya says you’re probably going out with someone new. He said you seem to be a certain kind of happier lately. I’m glad.”

“Hey…”

“I can see why you in your infinite stupidity didn’t think to tell me.”

“I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Especially not in the last several weeks. Since the race, Jun’s limited his contact with Sho to phone calls only. To interview talk and sports talk and not much else.

“Well whatever you’re up to, you know you can tell me about it if you want. You’re much more annoying when you’re dating someone, but I can deal with it.” Shun taps his fingers on the picnic table. “Now that I’ve said something, I know you’ll explode if you don’t tell me. So who is it?”

Jun sighs. “You know him.”

“I do?” Shun smacks him. “For goodness sake, you need to expand your horizons. Stop dating my friends.”

“He’s not your friend. And again, I’m not dating him.”

“But you want to.”

“I want to.” He hesitates. “Maybe.”

“Do you hear yourself? Since when is someone like you so cowardly? And don’t use Toma as an excuse.”

Jun’s a bit stunned. “He’s not an excuse.”

“Yes, he is. Of course he is. You think that it’s too soon to move on, blah blah, you’re betraying his memory, blah blah. Yu watches these kinds of movies so I know exactly what I’m talking about. If you were the one dead, I guarantee Toma would have slept with a dozen new people by now. Maybe even on top of your grave with one of them just to see if you’d haunt him for it.”

Jun goes from extremely offended to extremely amused in a matter of seconds and soon he’s shaking with laughter. Shun joins him, sniffling a little.

“What a shitty fucking thing to say to someone,” Jun complains, wiping a tear from his eye as he continues to laugh.

“I know, I know.”

It’s exactly the kind of shitty fucking thing Toma would have said to lighten the mood though, and they both know it.

“So I know this guy?” Shun leans away overdramatically. “It’s not me, is it?”

“I’d rather eat my own foot.”

“Hey. What’s wrong with me? I’m good looking, aren’t I?”

“Do you want to sleep with every woman you see, Shun?”

“No.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“Are you going to pretend to be offended some more or are you going to tell me who it is? See, I said you were annoying when you’re dating or about to date or whatever.”

“Sakurai Sho.”

It’s the first time he’s admitted it out loud to someone else in all these months. Sakurai Sho. It’s Sakurai Sho he likes. And it feels good to say it, to put it out there. To let the stars bear witness and maybe Toma too.

“Wait…Sakurai Sho Toma’s boss?”

“Do you know another one?”

“He’s gay?”

“I don’t have a hundred percent confirmation. But we’ve been hanging out. With the buyout mess and all that, he’s kind of been helping me.”

“That’s…” Shun considers his words very carefully. “…that’s actually perfect.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not, I’m really not. He’s like your polar opposite.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Holy shit, you’re finally taking my advice. All these years,” Shun complains. “All these years I’ve sat here patiently as you unload all your drama on me, and you finally get your act together. You finally figured out that your perfect match is the student council president.”

Jun slumps forward, bumping his forehead against the table. “Fuck off, he’s not like that.”

Except he is. Sho totally is. And Jun likes that about him.

“Well whatever it is you’re doing with him, keep doing it. I want to see you happy.”

They finally get up from the bench, Jun taking the flashlight and Shun navigating with his phone to get back to their camp safely. They get ready for bed, crawling into their sleeping bags. Jun struggles to get comfortable, grumbling under his breath, missing his mattress and collection of pillows.

“Sakurai Sho,” Shun murmurs under his breath. “Unreal. Good night.”

“Sakurai Sho, huh?” Toma whispers into his ear during a dream later that night. Toma’s made of starlight and somehow it’s a comfort. “He’s all yours.”

The starlight fades, a new morning dawns.

Toma slips away. “Goodbye.”

—

august / the mistake


He holds the keycard against the reader, hearing it beep as the lock disengages. “Right this way, sir.”

The Rose Suite and its floor-to-ceiling windows look out across the Imperial Palace grounds and gardens, the most stunning view in the hotel. Sho moves straight through the corridor and into the suite’s living room, taking it in.

“Amazing.”

“Isn’t it?”

Jun lets the door close behind him, smirking in amusement as Sho takes out his phone, starts snapping photos. This isn’t quite how Jun imagined it would be to share a hotel room with Sakurai Sho for the first time. For one thing, he’s on the clock, in his uniform jacket with his name tag affixed to it. For another thing, it’s broad daylight on a Saturday morning.

Sho’s parents will be celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary soon, and their son is looking to impress them with an overnight stay and some spa pampering. Of course he’s turned to Jun and Samejima first. Jun’s already told him multiple times that Sho’s free to pick any hotel his parents would prefer, that there’s no need to choose Samejima simply because they know each other. But Sho is stubborn.

He’s made it to the bathroom by now, and Jun can hear his voice echo from inside. “Wow, this tub is huge!”

It’s not really something he should be doing, letting Sho wander around the Rose Suite, but the guests from Shanghai visited again last week, monopolizing Jun’s time and attention as they looked around, asked him what probably amounted to hundreds of questions by the end of it. And that’s not including all the reservations and tickets and transportation Jun arranged for them. So quite frankly, Jun doesn’t give a fuck if Sho’s not supposed to be in here, getting a firsthand look at their best available suite. There may not be a hotel standing here in the next few months, so what does it even matter?

The suite itself is almost obnoxious in its abundance, and Jun keeps hearing the shutter sound of the camera on Sho’s phone as he visits each room. Jun simply parks himself on the sofa in the living room, letting Sho drink it all in. The bedroom, the bathroom with the big tub and massive shower. The private dining room and fully-stocked bar. The small study with the bookshelf, packed with books on the royal family, coffee table books about the history of Tokyo in pictures. It’s probably a bit too much, way more than two older folks need for one night, but Sho sounds like a very good son.

“Don’t jump on the bed,” Jun calls out. “Actually, try not to touch anything if you can help it. Housekeeping will light my ass on fire.”

Sho’s head pokes out from the dining room, smile big. “Well I certainly wouldn’t want that.”

Jun’s allowed himself to be friendly with Sho again, to meet with him again. By now, his job interview answers aren’t going to get much sharper, and yet it still serves as the excuse for them to talk. For Jun to wow Sho with his rehearsed responses. For Jun to sit at a table across from him and try not to overdramatically drown in the depths of Sho’s brown eyes.

“They need tickets to anything? Even if they don’t stay here, I can get them what they’d need. Or restaurant reservations. I can help with that.”

“I’m trying to get an answer from my mother,” Sho says, voice distant. He’s probably in one of the walk-in closets. “She’s the type who always says ‘don’t get me anything’ when secretly she wants something very, very specific. She’s such a pain.”

By now, Jun’s gotten to know a lot about people he hasn’t met. Sho’s devoted to his family, to his parents and brother and sister and his extended family. Sho and his mother fought a lot when Sho was a kid, but they get along better now, even if they still seem to have bizarre arguments that Sho has no qualms about sharing with Jun. They even travel together sometimes, mother and son. It’s cute, not that Jun will tell Sho that to his face.

Finally Sho emerges again, leaning back against the doorframe. “Thank you, though, for offering. Thanks for all of this.”

“No problem. You’ve done a lot more for me.”

Sho waves his hand dismissively. “Nah.”

Soon the camera on the phone is pointed at him, and before he can complain, the camera makes a noise.

“What did you do that for?”

Sho’s grinning. “I don’t have any pictures of you.”

Jun can feel his face growing hot. “Why would you want any?”

“Blackmail, of course.” Sho disappears back into the suite’s massive bedroom. “Hey, how many TVs are there in this damn place?”

“Four,” Jun says, getting to his feet and walking over. Sho’s pulling the drawers out of the nightstand, pushing them back in. “What are you doing?”

Sho does it again, pulling the drawer out, pushing it back in. “It’s so quiet.”

“That’s a big selling point to you or your parents? Quiet dresser drawers?”

“No,” Sho admits. “I’m just an easily impressed person.”

Jun snorts at that. “So, just to answer your question. Four TVs. There’s the one in the living room, the one in here, and then the one in the dining room.”

Sho finally stops fucking around with the drawer. He turns around, shoving his phone in the pocket of his wonderfully tight jeans. He’s got a perfect ass, something Toma used to wax on about all the time, knowing Jun’s always been a butt and leg guy. But today, today in those jeans he’s really something to behold.

But overall Jun likes seeing him casual, t-shirt and jeans, a well-worn Keio University baseball cap sitting a bit crooked on his head. He hasn’t shaved today, maybe not in a couple days. Jun likes that roughness too.

“That’s three,” Sho says. “Where’s four?”

Jun smiles. “Find it.” Sho’s eyes light up at the challenge. “Find it without messing with anything though.”

Sho scampers off, opening all the closet doors again, pulling out the drawers again. He starts crawling around on the living room floor for some reason, looking to see if there’s a TV that can be rolled out from under the sofa or chairs. Jun is happy to take in the view of Sho fumbling along on his hands and knees, ass in the air.

“It’s not in here,” Jun says.

“Don’t tell me,” Sho protests, knees cracking a little as he eventually gets back to his feet. “Don’t tell me, I’m gonna find it.”

“Find it in the next 5 minutes, if you don’t mind. I can’t let you play in here all day.”

Sho laughs, disappearing into the study. “If I was an unnecessary fourth TV, where would I be?”

Jun trails behind him, thoroughly entertained. Finally Sho gets smart, making his way into the bathroom.

“Am I hot or cold?” Sho asks.

Jun bites his lip while Sho tugs open the shower door, looks for a screen in the shower head.

“You’re very hot right now, Sho-san,” he says, unable to help himself.

“Oh? It’s in here?”

“Define ‘here’.”

Jun’s perched on the edge of the tub, in view of the secret TV. Not that Sho will find it. It’s been a trick question all along.

“It’s in this room, then?”

Jun nods, and Sho only furrows his brow in confusion. He looks around the shower again, peers into the bathtub, looks into the sink. While Sho was looking around in the shower, Jun already opened the small drawer near the sink, has retrieved the slim remote.

“Running out of time, Sho-san.”

“Give me a hint.”

“You’ve got some lettuce between your teeth.”

“I…what?”

Just as predicted, Sho immediately moves toward the sink, scrutinizing himself in the mirror. It’s then that Jun presses the ‘On’ button and the TV screen suddenly appears in the middle of the mirror glass right where Sho is looking. It’s tuned to the internal TV network with its soothing piano music, sound emitting from the small speakers embedded around the room.

Sho jumps like he’s seen a ghost, backing up until he gets to the tub and bumps into Jun, stepping on his foot. Jun gives him a push, moves him out of the way before he falls back into the tub and cracks his head open. He gets to his feet, toe stinging a bit, watching Sho slowly approach the mirror again with the cautiousness of a heavily preyed-upon animal. Before he can reach out a finger to try and touch, Jun clears his throat.

“Please no streaks on the glass.”

“It’s built into the mirror?”

“Yep. Fancy, right?”

“Wow.”

“Much more interesting than the drawers in the bedroom, I hope.”

Jun presses the button on the remote again, and it vanishes. The mirror once more just looks like a mirror.

“Amazing,” Sho mutters, clearly frustrated at having to keep his hands to himself.

Jun moves to his side, holding out the remote. “Wanna try?”

Sho chooses that moment to take off his hat, set it on the countertop, run his hand through his dark hair. He’s let it grow a bit longer than Jun’s ever seen it. Jun wants to tug on it, wants to feel the strands between his fingers. He sets the remote down, slides it over. Their hands brush when Sho moves to take it from him.

It’s actually Sho who moves first, but it’s Jun who does the work of closing the distance. He moves so that Sho’s leaning back against the sink, trapped between it and his body. The TV remote clatters back, falling into the sink as Jun shuts his eyes and acts impulsively. He feels the slight scratch of Sho’s stubble first, then the softness of his lips. He has a slightly medicinal taste, probably a lip cream.

Facing no initial resistance, Jun pushes on, hand moving to the back of Sho’s neck, pulling him closer. Medicine taste aside, it’s going well. He can feel Sho tremble, a soft moan tumbling from him as they take a leap together. Sho’s hand lifts, remains steady at the base of Jun’s spine. Has it been eight months since he’s kissed someone? It feels like longer. It feels like he’s been waiting years for a kiss like this, for the arrival of Sho’s tongue as it slips into his mouth.

He was only supposed to show him the room. How did it come to this?

Sho wants him too. It’s a revelation he can’t believe. Sho wants him too!

But almost as soon as it’s gotten started, things come crashing down. The hand falls away from his back, moves to Jun’s shoulder. Sho pushes him away.

Sho’s response is rather predictable.

“Sorry.”

Jun tries to breathe, eyes flicking across Sho’s face, from his lips to his flushed cheeks to his dark eyes, seeking answers. “No,” Jun begs him. “Wait…”

Sho gives him a firmer push now, and Jun has to take a step back. “Jun, I’m sorry. I can’t…I can’t do this.”

“Don’t…”

How did he manage to fuck up this quickly? How? It’s a new record for him. He almost wonders if he’s got bad breath but Sho’s already putting his baseball cap back on, is moving out of the bathroom. Jun barely gets the remote back in the drawer by the sink, leaving the bathroom exactly as they found it.

“Wait,” Jun says as Sho heads for the door. “Sho, wait.”

“I really can’t…”

“Wait, I said,” Jun calls out, raising his voice. “Stop.”

Sho does, but doesn’t turn around.

“Um, you need the keycard to activate the elevator that comes to this floor,” Jun mutters in embarrassment, shame. “I have to escort you back down.”

At least Sho sounds equally embarrassed. “Oh.”

“Let me just…I have to…”

“Go ahead. Sorry.”

Jun’s face feels like it’s on fire as he does a quick check of the Rose Suite. Not a thing out of place. Just Jun’s heart, precariously glued back together only to be shattered all over again. What’s wrong? What did he do wrong? Checks complete, they exit the room. Jun ensures that the suite is locked, and they go to the elevator. He wasn’t lying either, pushing the keycard against the reader by the elevator and waiting for it to arrive.

It’s agonizing, standing beside him, having gone from a perfect high to a painful low in mere seconds. Jun wants to go straight home, crawl under the covers, and not emerge for at least twenty years. He can’t, of course. He’s got a concierge shift starting in 40 minutes. God it was such a perfect fucking kiss, too. What did he do wrong?

The elevator dings, one step closer to Sho’s obvious pending exit from his life. Jun’s fucked it up, all of it, by pushing forward too fast. By jumping several steps ahead from where they were. He got presumptuous, he got cocky.

But Sho kissed him back, so what does that even mean?

They step into the elevator. The doors shut. They stand as far apart as possible as Jun presses the button for the lobby. The silence is terrible as they descend. Jun wants to ask but doubts that he wants to hear the answer out loud. Sho doesn’t volunteer an explanation. He doesn’t have to. It’s Toma, something to do with Toma. What else could it be? What else could it be if Sho kissed him back? If Sho wanted it just as much?

The doors open, and the lobby noise rushes in, floods Jun’s senses. He follows Sho out, only gets to watch his back as he heads for the exit. There will be no booking of the Rose Suite. No tickets or reservations to coordinate.

Just like that, it’s over.

—

september / the miracle


The sign outside Bar Camellia says that it’s “Closed for a Private Event,” but what most guests won’t realize is that the private event is for the Samejima hotel’s staff. A skeleton crew remains on duty so guests can be checked in, their needs attended to. But everyone else is in here, drinks in hand waiting for something to appear on the screen. There’s a podium beside it. Ohno’s going to make a real production out of it.

Of course, Jun and the rest of the senior staff got a preview yesterday. They got an answer about what the future holds for all of them.

For now, Jun hangs near the bar where Aiba and his staff are filling pint glasses and mixing drinks. The nervous, oblivious employees in the room mingle a bit awkwardly. They don’t know what the meeting is about. If Jun came to Aiba for advice at that moment, the advice would likely be to slow the hell down. But nah, Jun’s good, tipsy on whiskey and that quiver of anticipation in the air.

Finally Ohno arrives, jams a thumb drive into the laptop that’s already been set-up on the podium. The room grows hushed, amplifying the sounds of Ohno clicking around, trying to figure out how to open his Powerpoint. The adjustment to Windows 10 has been hard for him. Nothing’s where it used to be, he often claims, hunting and pecking at his keyboard when he has meetings with Jun.

Nino approaches, comes up beside him. Jun exhales as Nino wraps an arm around him, holding him tight. Holding him steady.

Jun can’t help but grin at the first slide.

Without an introduction, without any context, without so much as greeting them, Ohno Satoshi plunges right in. “This is a photograph of my sister’s divorce papers, which she filed three days ago. Some of you might know her, she works at our sister hotel in Kyoto.”

And he just goes on from there, rehashing the same explanation he gave the day before. Although this time, thankfully, he adds a few extra details about what’s happened to get the other employees up to speed, to help them realize how fortunate they are.

The proposal came to Toyoda-san and to Mariko, Ohno’s sister, a few weeks ago. Not only was the buyout number insulting, but the plan was to keep the two hotels running…with major cuts. Wage cuts, hour cuts, staff cuts. Creating a “leaner” organization. Apparently there’s been trouble in paradise. The marriage didn’t turn out as Mariko had hoped. Husband number two was not the businessman ready to leap into action and keep Samejima running he purported to be. No, instead she’d gotten married to a total scammer who wanted to not only sell the family’s prided business but to replace his mother-in-law as the final authority on all things Samejima.

Mariko’s come to her senses and dumped him. Very decisively so. There will be no deal. Toyoda-san had no formal role all along. Mariko, Ohno, and their mother sent him and the Shanghai contingent packing.

Deal or no, it’s a new day for the Samejima Hotel & Spa Marunouchi, Ohno declares. He’s done a complete analysis of the business thanks to the investor visits. In answering their questions, Ohno’s managed to uncover what improvements will keep Samejima afloat, what they can do to further retain current guests or attract new ones. There’s a brand new business plan, a brand new marketing plan.

He also announces 3% raises across the board for all employees, something that makes Nino hug Jun even harder. “That one was my idea,” Nino says. “Since he’s up there telling us that we almost totally tanked under his watch.”

Ohno concludes by lowering his head in apology to all of them, and it grows a bit awkward until there’s a loud popping noise at the bar.

“Sorry!” Aiba calls out, holding the now open bottle of Champagne. “I thought you were done, Ohno-san.”

Ohno seems grateful for the interruption. “Everybody drink! But me first!”

The celebration carries on for at least an hour. The Samejima Hotel & Spa Marunouchi isn’t going anywhere. The job that Jun loves, the job he’s grown to love all over again, is safe. Not that he wasn’t prepared to make the leap elsewhere, but he can’t imagine a workplace that doesn’t have Nino or Aiba or Ohno or any of the others in it.

Surviving these last few months, he owes a lot to Sakurai Sho. Regardless of last month’s utter disaster and the loneliness that’s followed, he owes Sho a lot. He ducks out of the celebration, heading for the staff room so he can pack up and go home.

He’d considered doing a full reset, removing Sho’s name from his contacts, accepting that it wasn’t going to work. Facing the future on his own. But every time he moved to erase Sho, he backed out. He couldn’t do it. The last month has been the usual kind of messy for him. Two bad hook-ups via dating app, simply to see if it was really Sho he wanted or just sex he wanted. An itch scratched only for ten more itchy spots to appear. Yeah, he’s had to admit to himself, it really was Sho he wanted.

“I could have told you that,” he imagines Toma teasing him.

He sends Sho a text when he’s on the train, still buzzed from the work celebration. Even if Sho says nothing, even if Sho’s managed to erase him in a way Jun knows he never can, at least he’s doing the right thing. Thanking Sho for looking out for him. Thanking Sho for going above and beyond to take care of him when he was at his absolute lowest point.

No buyout, he types. Samejima is safe. Thank you for everything.

Thankfully he’s not drunk enough to add a heart emoji or an “I miss you,” something manipulative that another version of himself would have done. No, he opts for sincerity, knowing it’s the right call. He presses send and shoves his phone in his pocket.

The call comes when he’s just leaving the train platform, taking the stairs down from the tracks. Not a text. A call. Just to be an asshole, he lets it ring a few times before he answers.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Sho says in reply.

“How are you?”

Sho’s chuckle sounds almost sad. “Not great. Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“First, your message. You don’t know how glad I was to receive it. I’m so happy to hear about the hotel, your job. You must be so relieved.”

“Thanks.”

“Second…” Sho’s struggling to speak, and Jun slows down, stepping out of the way of the other people, leaning back against the station wall. “Second…”

Jun says nothing. It’s probably mean, but he doesn’t care. It’s on Sho to explain things, because Jun’s certain that what he wanted that day in the Rose Suite was pretty clear. He eventually hears a door close. Sho must still be at the office, but tonight he doesn’t want anyone to listen in. Not the cleaning woman, not anyone.

“What I did to you was terrible, and I’m sorry. I’ve been kicking myself all month about it. I’ve been so worried about you, especially because I made a promise to you. I promised that you could call me, reach out to me whenever you needed me. And I broke it. I broke it in such a cowardly way. And I know what you said before about me, that I say sorry too much but I…I’m so sorry.”

Jun can’t help but smile despite himself. Hearing Sho’s voice again calms him in a way he still doesn’t fully understand.

“I like you,” Sho says bluntly. “And I’ve liked you for quite a while. Sometimes I question myself, question what I’ve done, if I was just being selfish, insinuating my way into your life. I didn’t really know you, I didn’t have any reason to talk to you again. I could have easily just mailed you that box of crap from his desk. I…I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to call another Matsumoto that one time, I just…I don’t know…I don’t know, I just wanted to talk to you some more. I’ve always wanted to talk to you some more.”

Wait, Jun realizes, how long has this been going on?

“I’d only ever gotten bits and pieces of you in person, but he used to talk about you so much I felt like I knew you. I was his sounding board, I was always supposed to…you know, I was supposed to take his side in everything. And I did, of course I did, I always did when he came to me for advice. He’d tell me the things you said, the things you did, he wanted me to try and figure you out, and honestly, I couldn’t. Not really. I was only ever getting his side…” He laughs sadly. “Damn it, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this…”

“No,” he mumbles, heart aching. “Tell me.”

“You were his, you know,” Sho says, and Jun can tell that he’s crying. God, he’s crying. “You were his. Maybe it was never going to work quite right, but he loved you. Do you know how hard that is, finding something like that, with what we deal with? I’ve never…I’ve never ever…”

“Oh Sho-san…”

“When you kissed me, I need you to know that I wanted it. So much. I wanted it so much, and I’m sorry if you might have convinced yourself in the last month that I probably didn’t. He’s not here, I know that he’s not here, Jun but…I couldn’t…I couldn’t take you away from him. I couldn’t betray him.”

Jun interrupts before Sho’s too honest admission breaks him any more. He doesn’t need to start crying in a train station, in public. “So I’m not supposed to be with someone ever again? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No…I guess not…”

“But what you’re saying is that’s why I can’t be with you? Because of Toma? It’s just like you said. He’s not here anymore, Sho.”

“I know.”

He lowers his voice a bit. He’s not sequestered in an office like Sho is. “You like me, you want to be with me, but you’re cockblocking yourself out of loyalty to someone who’d laugh in your face if he heard what you’ve been saying to me just now? Someone who’d record your heartfelt confessions and feelings and then use some stupid app to turn your words into a song and then play it in mixed company?”

Sho interjects then. “…are you speaking from experience right now?”

Jun takes a breath. “It definitely got me to stop leaving him angry voicemails when I was drunk.”

He finally hears Sho laugh, and it floods Jun with relief. He’s not the only one who’s been beating himself up over falling for someone “too soon.” Sho’s been silently suffering too. And knowing now that Sho wants him, that maybe Sho has always wanted him…he can’t stand still. He starts pacing nervously in front of an ad for a department store. Happy Halloween!, the poster screams at him. It’s too fucking early for that.

“We’re messed up,” Sho says.

“Obviously.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“We?” Jun scoffs. “Don’t you mean what are you gonna do? Because I already tried to show you want I wanted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sho-san, what are you doing on October 7th? Come to Toma’s party.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Jun says. “We’re throwing him a party, and just to be mean, he’s not invited.”

“Huh?”

“Is your brain stuck?” Jun teases. “Do I have to reboot you?”

“No, no,” Sho murmurs. “What…kind of party? That’s his birthday, right?”

“Yup. I want you to come. We’re going to celebrate him, eat, drink, talk shit about him now that he can’t say anything back…”

“Sounds like something he’d really have liked.”

“You’ll come?”

Sho sounds a little miffed. “I can’t…see you before that?”

“Nope.”

“Wow. Guess I deserve that.”

He’s pleased to already be getting under Sho’s skin. “I’ll get back to you with the details, but I’ll let you go. I’ll let you leave the office.”

“I’m so sweaty,” Sho admits. “They turned off the HVAC an hour ago, and I’m disgusting right now. I’ve been sweating since I picked up the phone to try and figure out what to say to you.”

“Well, you said a lot. And I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

“Good night, Sho-san.”

He shuts his eyes, waiting for what he wants to hear. And Sho delivers.

“Good night, Jun.”

—

back then / autumn


The coffee shop in the office building across the street is safe territory. He’s sitting there, already sipping a latte, when the door opens and Sakurai Sho walks in. It’s apparently a casual Friday at Himawari Foods. He’s wearing one of those bright puffy vests that Jun hates when they all start popping up in the fall, but otherwise he’s still as handsome and refreshing as ever. Kind of annoying. Sakurai looks around, finally spotting Jun where he’s hidden away in the back, the box beside him.

“Matsumoto-kun, hi,” Sakurai says, approaching the table.

“Hey.” Jun lifts his foot, gives the chair opposite him a little push. “Why don’t you grab a coffee or something? It’s on me, for doing this.”

Sakurai shakes his head. “I can’t stay away too long. Sorry.”

Jun nods. He knows which side Sakurai is loyal to. So he lifts the box, sets it on the table. He’s taped it closed. He’s used a lot of tape, too, just to be a dick. “That’s everything that was left.”

“Okay.”

Toma took most of his things with him this time, but they’ve always had a tendency to wear similar shirts, similar cologne. Things have gotten intermingled in the laundry, in the dresser. Jun’s donating his matching clothes to charity, the cologne he hasn’t made a decision about. But Toma’s copies, Toma’s little “couple things” are all in the box that Sakurai Sho has agreed to give to him. Not the most neutral party, being Toma’s boss, but he’s a good guy, saving Toma and Jun the trouble of having to really talk this soon after their latest split.

This isn’t Sakurai’s first time having to deal with one of their breakups, but it’s the first time he’s had to get directly involved. Jun can tell how uncomfortable he is, though he’s still kind enough to help them both out.

“I appreciate this.”

“It’s nothing.”

Sakurai lifts the box, eyes blinking. He’s surprised. It’s heavier than he expected, though not unreasonable.

“Thanks.”

“You’ll be okay?”

Jun stares at him, finally finding the words. “I’m sure I will be eventually.” He wonders if Toma’s having Sakurai report back on him. How miserable does he look?

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

Sakurai takes the box, turns around, walks out the door.

Jun has a sip of his latte, amused by Sakurai Sho’s concern. Take care of yourself, okay?

“I will,” he mumbles to himself. “I always do.”

—

october / the birthday


It’s a Monday night, so it’s probably not as raucous as it could have been. Most of the attendees have work in the morning, but they’ve managed to cram at least 100 people in this restaurant. He hasn’t seen a lot of these people since the funeral, but there’s more smiles this time, more laughter. People are celebrating as Toma would have preferred: loudly. Tastelessly. Recalling the pranks he played on them. “He really was a jackass, wasn’t he?” they say before grabbing another beer, toasting in the jackass’ honor.

It’s the liveliest Jun’s seen Shun all year, making sure appetizer trays are refilled and drink glasses right along with them, even if some folks have already switched to water to sober up for the train ride home and the drudgery of the office come morning.

Sho’s late, but only because of a last-minute meeting at work, a senior manager pulling him in on a project. But he’s coming, he’s promised, and that’s left Jun a shaking, bumbling wreck. Seeing him again, he isn’t quite sure what he’ll do in that instant. Tempting as it would be to get near him, touch him, it’s probably ill-advised in mixed company.

He arrives with little fanfare around 9:30, shaking hands with a few people he meets along the way before finding Jun at the table on the side of the room, shuffling cards. He’s come straight from the office, loosening his tie but still clutching his briefcase.

“This is Sakurai Sho,” Jun says to the guys around the table, holding it together somehow. “He was Toma’s boss.”

“Then join us, Boss Man,” Yamashita from junior high says. “You like poker?”

“I’m terrible at poker.”

“Then definitely join us,” Muro from Shun’s office says to Jun’s left, pulling out the empty chair on his other side. “Sit down, sit down.”

“The stakes could not be lower, don’t worry,” Eita admits.

Jun deals and they’re using edamame for poker chips. Half of the pot disappears as the table snacks on them. Each round is more mediocre than the one before it, and Jun folds a few times, tries to bluff when he gets sick of having shitty cards and nothing to gain. Sho plays cautiously, has a decent poker face, wins a few hands but not too many.

As the other gamblers at the table share Toma anecdotes, as they try and determine if the man across from them is lying about the cards in his hand, Jun sneaks looks at Sho. Most of the time, Sho’s already looking at him. It sends a wave of heat through him, seeing something different in Sho’s eyes for the first time. He’s been holding back for who knows how long, being attracted to Jun, wanting Jun, denying himself. There’s no reason to deny himself any longer. Jun has a long, slow sip from his cup, licking his lips as he sets it down. He looks back at his cards and not at Sho’s reaction.

There’s no need. He already knows he’s got Sho’s attention. He’s had it for a good long while.

They don’t have enough edamame left to bet with, and the poker game dissolves around 10:30. The room’s already clearing out, people exchanging contact info. Many folks remark that they ought to do this every year on Toma’s birthday, have his party without him. Jun thinks that would be very fitting.

Jun helps Ryusei and Yu take down the decorations, turning to see that Shun and Sho and a few other people are standing together, laughing and talking. Jun hopes Shun doesn’t say anything stupid. They’ve reserved the restaurant through 11 and finally it’s time to go. Jun hugs folks goodbye, makes a big show of slipping into his leather jacket, putting on his cap and strolling out the door.

They’re in Akasaka, and Jun makes his way to the subway, pretending to be paying attention to something on his phone. He knows he’s got himself a bit of a stalker. But he pays him no mind, tapping his train pass at the gate, going down the escalator, queuing up on the platform. Soon Jun can smell Sho behind him, knows that wherever he goes Sho’s going to follow. Jun wonders what’s all in that briefcase. Change of clothes maybe? Sho does seem like the type to plan for anything to happen. Jun’s never been good at that sort of thing.

The train arrives, and when it slows to a stop, he can see their dual reflections in the glass. Sho behind him. Sho who’s waited.

Jun boards, quaking inside but outwardly indifferent, moving toward the center of the car. He lazily holds on to one of the ring handles, still on his phone. Glancing aside, he sees a neat pair of dress shoes, a familiar briefcase on the floor between them.

The train starts to move.

Does Sho even know where Jun lives? Does Sho know how to get home from there? Back to his office? Well, that’s not Jun’s problem.

The journey seems to take longer than usual, but that’s only because of how nervous he is, how excited he is. The news headlines on his phone blur. Other passengers board, but the shoes and the briefcase don’t move, nor does the man beside him whose eyes he refuses to meet. He considers faking an exit, jumping back on the train at the last second and abandoning Sho on the platform just to fuck with him, to tease him. But no, no, he’s not going to do that. He’s not going to do that at all.

It’s going to take a second train to reach Jun’s neighborhood, so he leaves, walks with the same calm slowness he did on the street. And when he queues up to board again, he knows Sho is still behind him, watching him. Exhibiting enormous self-control. Jun hides a grin. They’re going to come 30 seconds in to whatever they end up doing, the tension between them is so ridiculous right now. Doesn’t matter.

The second train brings them to Jun’s stop, and he takes a slightly longer way home. He lingers outside of restaurants, reading menus, drawing it out to the point of insanity. “For fuck’s sake,” he thinks he hears Sho muttering somewhere close.

He walks up the path, he checks his mailbox and finds it empty. He’s on the second floor, so it’s only a flight of stairs. He hears his own shoes and another, heavier set of feet behind him. Poor, poor Sho. He pulls his keys from his pocket, taking a breath. There’s no turning back. He really can’t torture Sho like this any more.

He turns the key in the lock, doesn’t bother to flip on the light.

He shuts the door, turns the locks, sets the keys down on the small table just inside. But they don’t leave the dark entryway. Sho really can’t manage it. Jun only hears the briefcase clunk against the floor before Sho’s trying to grab him, an almost irritated possessiveness that Jun really really likes. Sho’s always such a nice guy, it’s been fun pushing his buttons all the way home.

Jun ends up with his back to the door, Sho in his space. He gets his hands on Sho’s ass finally, finally, grabbing tight, pulling him close. They don’t go far, kissing, holding. Breaths hot, shaky. He smells good, tastes good, feels so good. With the lights off, his other senses are heightened. This would have never been possible in the Rose Suite. Only here, only here in this safe place they can share.

Sho strips the jacket from him, Jun lets it drop aside. He can worry about it later. He turns them, sliding down Sho’s body, kneeling on the genkan floor. It’s not going to take much, and it’s fine if it’s fast. It’s really honestly fine. Jun runs his fingers up the soft cloth of Sho’s suit slacks, up his thighs, fingertips teasing along the outline of his cock. Jun goes for the belt, goes right for it. He hears Sho curse, feels Sho’s hand find the top of his head.

Jun undoes Sho’s belt, tugs his zipper down, tugs the slacks down next. Soft. Boxer briefs. Jun kisses him all over, all along his erection through the fabric. “Please,” Sho says, and Jun likes it even more than the way Sho sounds when he says he’s sorry.

He stuffs his mouth full, taking what he can, listening to Sho suffer. He alternates by pumping Sho’s slick length, wanting it inside him. Wanting to let Sho take whatever he’s wanted, whatever he hasn’t yet realized he might want. He feels Sho tense a bit. He raises his hand, intertwines his fingers with Sho’s where they rest with surprising gentleness atop his head. It’s okay, he wants to tell Sho, you can pull my hair. I’ll probably end up pulling yours.

But he doesn’t force the issue, squeezing Sho’s fingers with his own, telling him it’s okay to let go. It’s okay to come right where he is.

Sho gets the message, sighing so perfectly, warmth flooding Jun’s mouth, his throat.

He’s glad he’s still got the lights off because he’s pretty sure Sho looks hilarious there, still in salaryman jacket, shirt, and tie above him. Jun gets those items off and away, leaves them on the floor. Maybe he should chip in for the dry cleaning bill later. Ah, he won’t.

He can still taste Sho.

He allows for a solitary lamp to be on in his bedroom, allowing Sho to kiss him, to strip him, his perfect mouth and those gorgeous lips tracing and memorizing. Down his neck, across the broad expanse of his shoulders. They don’t get on the bed. Instead Sho just stands behind him, pressed all along the back of him. Despite how warm Sho is, goosebumps rise all along Jun’s skin. So sensitive, so needy.

Sho’s touch is a little rough, unfamiliar but good. The angle a little different as he takes Jun in his hand, teasing him with long, languid strokes. He feels Sho’s mouth against his back, his shoulder, wanting him, wanting him. They stay there, upright in Jun’s bedroom, Sho jerking him off.

“Want you,” Jun finally admits, having been silent so long.

“I know,” Sho whispers, sounding a little tired.

Jun grins gently, slowly slipping away, moving to the washroom. It’s easier if he just comes in the bathroom, doesn’t mess up his sheets. They get in the shower, kiss and kiss and Sho barely lets him breathe, barely lets him beg. The water washes everything away.

They towel off, quiet again. Sho’s clearly amused by all the pillows Jun has but says nothing, letting Jun knock some of them off and onto the floor. They get into Jun’s bed, they lie facing each other. What to say?

“Is it okay if I just take you in?” Sho whispers.

Jun, eyes shut, knows he’s turning red, feels his face flushing and who knows what else. Sho just wants to look at him, up close. Finally all his.

Jun’s so happy. “Sure.”

They both fall asleep like that with the lamp on, lying there with an arm’s length between them. Jun’s the one who wakes, needing to take his contacts out, not sure why they haven’t moved toward each other while they slept. Maybe they’re still just a little scared. Maybe they will be for a while yet. What they’ve done already, that was the easy part. It’s what happens from here that actually means something.

Jun does what he needs to, returning and slipping under the covers. Sho’s not so beautiful when he sleeps, mouth open, snoring, and Jun kind of loves that. He turns out the light. He can’t wait for tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come.

—

november / the meeting


It’s cold. They’ve been getting snow up here for weeks already. She comes out of the house, stands in front of the door when she sees him and the rental car pull in.

It’s an invite he hadn’t expected, but he didn’t hesitate to say yes. “I need a few days,” he said to Ohno back in Tokyo. “I need a few days to go up to Hokkaido.”

“Whatever you need.”

She’s older. She looks too much older, though he knows that some of the worry lines on her face are probably because of the things that he’s done over time. Still, she welcomes him into their home up here, the place where she and the old man have retired. It’s his first visit, his first time inside. It’s been so long since he’s been welcome.

There’s tea and some slightly stale cookies. It’s a lovely home, and she seems genuinely pleased rather than annoyed at his compliments. He feels like such a stranger, but it’s only for a short time. He can get through this.

She has albums already out on the table, her planned itinerary for Jun’s visit. “Jun-kun, I thought you might like to see some of these.”

He’s surprised, he’s astonished, but he sits there dutifully as she shares baby and toddler photos with him. Jun remembers these albums from their house in Tokyo, but Toma always refused to let them be shown and shared.

She explains the story behind many of them. She never says she’s sorry. It’s a habit they both seem to share.

The old man never comes out of his study, and that’s fine. She packs up some of the stale cookies, tells him not to worry about the container, she’s got hundreds. Probably an exaggeration, but he doesn’t argue or protest that he usually tries to eat healthy, that he usually doesn’t eat cookies.

She never touches him, never hugs him. But she never makes him feel like he’s the cause of the pain she lives with every day. Not for the first time in a long time. No, she feels a sharper pain now. A pain Jun didn’t inflict. Maybe she’s finally accepted that, all these months later.

Cookies packed, she walks him to the door, out of the house, out to the carport. When he gets in, turning the car on, he rolls the window down.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

She rests her hand on the car, not able to meet his eyes. “Thank you, Jun-kun. Thank you for loving my son.”

There’s nothing he can say. He lets her words stand on their own. He simply nods, rolling the window back up. She doesn’t wave goodbye, but it’s more than enough. It’s enough.

—

december / the beginning


They’ve had fights already, but nothing like what he used to have. He’s not sure it’s entirely a sign of his own maturity so much as the fact that he now has a partner who wishes to talk things out, resolve or at least understand differences. A partner with a low tolerance for petty retaliatory remarks, with a low tolerance for going to bed angry.

Of course, the student council president aims for harmony in the classroom.

They’re both off on Christmas Eve, though plans made to go look at the illuminations in Roppongi Hills have been postponed in favor of a lazy day in Jun’s apartment. He’s done his best so far to start breaking Sho of his old habits. Sex isn’t something to be penciled in on a schedule. It’s better to just let it happen if it’s going to happen. Jun’s still using their first night together as the golden example, the benefits of impulsive behavior.

But some of Jun’s old habits are getting broken too, though not the ones having to do with sex. With Sho’s help he now has a spreadsheet of expenses, a budget to adhere to in the months to come. Sho’s not forceful about it. Sure, he can come across with a lofty tone as he explains things, but it’s all meant to help him get back on track. With the stress he accumulated over the course of the year, Jun’s apartment has become a magnet for shopping bags. Sho’s trying to help him get that under control.

But not today, not on Christmas Eve. They’re in Jun’s bed, the sheets rumpled and their hair mussed. Jun’s on his laptop, browsing for deals. Sho’s relaxing on his stomach, facing away, but lying there purposefully naked so that Jun might have the pleasure of glancing over and seeing the round curve of that perfect ass.

“Sometimes I think you’re just in this for my butt,” Sho protests from time to time.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” Jun usually replies, goading him a little, wanting to see that dark flash in Sho’s eyes before he remembers that he’s been cast in the role of ‘The Sweet Partner,’ not the ‘Spicy’ one.

The fingers of his right hand skim the trackpad, the fingers of his left skim along the skin of Sho’s arm, tickling occasionally but mostly just wanting to touch him. “Super Merry Christmas Sale,” he announces.

“Free shipping?”

“You have to spend 7500 yen,” Jun murmurs, looking through the clothing site.

“Next.”

Jun grins, closing the tab, finding the next Christmas sale of interest. Sho’s clearly bored, wishing he’d brought a book with him to stay over. They’re not quite to the point where there’s many of Sho’s things stored here, just as there’s not many of Jun’s things at Sho’s place. That may come in time, but for all the sex they’re having, the whole “relationship” part of it is developing more slowly, steadily. There’s a lot of talking, but at least they’ve known from early on that they enjoy talking to each other, even if they can’t always allow themselves to derail into soccer.

“What’s up next?” Sho asks, voice muffled a little against his arm.

“Shoes.”

“You don’t need any more shoes.”

“Just for that remark, I’ll buy some.”

“Turn the laptop off.”

Jun ignores him, scrolling through the sales. He’s been experimenting lately, with his teasing. Seeing how far he can go to prod Sho, to get a stronger reaction. “Air Zoom Vapor X,” he starts reading. “Dynamic fit technology with open mesh textiles and synthetic overlays.”

“Jun.”

“Full lace-up adjustability.” He glances over, watches Sho’s butt wiggle a little as he ponders getting up from what seems to be a very comfortable position. Jun keeps reading, smile on his face. “Padded tongue and collar.”

“That does it.”

Jun closes the laptop, sets it aside on the nightstand. Sho’s already grabbing a condom and lube from the nightstand on his side. He’s kind of digging the new punishment scheme. If you shop too much, I’m going to distract you. With a good, hard fuck. Jun wonders when Sho’s going to realize this isn’t something he sees as punishment.

He gets moved, forced onto his hands and knees. “Padded tongue and collar, do you hear yourself?”

They’ve come a long way from prepping interview questions about the Four Seasons.

Soon Sho’s working a few fingers inside of him, the sounds of it slick and dirty and just perfect. Sho’s going to make him come just like this. He rocks a little, moaning softly, forcing Sho’s fingers deeper inside him. Sho angles them just right, just right. “Fuck,” he exhales, shutting his eyes, begging for it. Wanting more, always wanting more. But Sho is patient and Sho is mean. When Jun tries to get a hand under himself, to stroke in time with him, Sho threatens to withdraw entirely.

Jun prefers getting his way. Sho prefers to negotiate. But hey, it keeps things interesting.

Finally Sho maneuvers to where he’s most needed, positioning himself, making Jun want and want and want. But he goes so slow, so slow sometimes. Drawing out the sensation for himself and for Jun, forcing Jun to feel every slight adjustment, feel every bit more of his hard cock pushing inside, filling him, staying there. Making Jun shudder as he refuses to move, sliding ticklish fingers down his spine with one hand, holding Jun’s hip to keep him from slipping away. Sho seems to love this, the simple pleasure of them being joined this way.

Jun’s not really complaining. Not really. It’s just something he’s still growing accustomed to, Sho’s pace, Sho’s needs in tandem with his own. It does squeeze his heart, knowing that Sho wants him this way, wants to take things slow, to prolong the time they share together like this.

But finally, mercifully, Sho decides to move. Even he has his limits. Jun clings to a pillow, telling Sho how much he likes getting fucked by him. When he’s vulgar, Sho seems to get even more motivated. It used to make him blush. Now it just makes him work harder to please him. To see how long he can last for Jun, to try and meet what must seem like impossible demands. Sho slides back, pushes forward. It’s only 11:00 in the morning, or is it noon already? He’s lost track of time with his shopping, with Sho’s fingers and cock teasing him. In a few hours, maybe he can coax Sho into another round. And in a few hours after that, maybe he can try testing Sho’s boundaries with a few things in the drawer he’s been hoping to try together.

It’s a good plan for the day, an excellent plan. See, Sho-san, he wants to say. I can plan things, too.

Sho’s movements grow more wild, more erratic. Jun encourages it, pushes back, needs and needs and needs. He loves it when Sho loses control. Sho eventually has no choice but to give in.

Jun is satisfied, for now at least. Sho tumbles over onto his back, laughing a little, trying to catch his breath. Sometimes he says things like “I’m too old for this,” and Jun wishes he wouldn’t. First off, it’s not true. And second, he’s perfect, just like this. Just like this, at his side. Looking after him, looking out for him. In different ways than he used to.

“You’re going to buy those shoes once I fall asleep,” Sho eventually announces to the room, drowsy, exhausted. “Aren’t you?”

Jun leans over, kisses him. Sho knows him too well for them to have only been together such a short time. He wonders how much more Sho will know of him as time passes and how much more he will know of Sho.

He’s eager to find out, to discover what the new year to come will hold for them. It can only be an improvement upon this one, he thinks, kissing Sho’s mouth, kissing along his neck.

“Corny,” Toma says, somewhere close but far. In his head, in another place entirely. “You’re so corny when you get off.”

So what, he thinks in reply, slipping away into untroubled sleep.

—

now / winter


The sunlight slowly filters through the blinds. He’s in that drifting period, halfway between sleep and not, between fantasy and reality. Soon his brain will come alive again, fully alive and buzzing with thoughts and worries and everything in between. But not now, not just yet. He’s been granted a short reprieve from the rest of himself.

It’s a bit cold. He needs something warm to hold on to.

He turns, grasping for a pillow that’s usually right there. He finds a person instead. Not the shape he only feels now in his dreams, less and less. But a shape that’s still right. Thick hair and warm skin and a low sound like laughter. Familiar. Comforting. Necessary. The ghost of a kiss against his face. Hmm. This’ll do.

“…what time is it?”

Jun doesn’t answer.

“Oi…your hair’s in my mouth.”

Jun doesn’t apologize.

Sho gives up, gives in. “Spoiled,” he murmurs in what sounds more like acceptance than complaint.

But the remark doesn’t reach Jun. He’s in that drifting period, halfway between sleep and not.

And all he knows is that he’s profoundly happy.