“Itto!” Tomio called as he came through the door, arms filled with grocery bags. Itto didn’t need to be in the same room to know that he had groceries. He didn’t have to remember the three (three) times he’d stuck the grocery list in Tomio’s face that morning. The sound was what gave him away. Stomping, cursing, and yelling because they lived on the fourth floor and Tomio outright refused to take more than one trip up the stairs.
It meant that the door slammed and something hard (probably a tin can) crashed somewhere in the foyer.
It was for the best that Tomio couldn’t see Itto, because he would have thrown a spitting fit at the amusement on Itto’s face. As it stood, Itto was working through the edits on a presentation he was supposed to give at work tomorrow and was bent over the laptop in the same crick-backed way he’d been when Tomio had left hours before. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, and even though he was only twenty-five, a number of bones protested loudly. Proof either that he was getting older or working at the coffee table was going to have to stop.
There was another ten minutes of banging and swearing before Tomio came into the living room and deposited himself on the couch. He swung his legs over Itto’s lap and stretched. “We’re having burgers for dinner.”
He blinked. “Burgers? I thought we were going to order takeaway.”
“Yeah, but burgers were on sale and you’re always complaining we don’t have American food enough.”
“You hate American food.”
“I don’t hate it.” Tomio waved a hand. “Most of it. Where’s the appreciation that I’m doing all of this for you?”
Itto chuckled and pulled him over. Almost properly on his lap, he could feel the wry strength in Tomio’s muscles. While most of the other brokers in his firm went on bar lunches with foreign businessmen, Tomio liked to spend his spare time doing company sports. His fingers ran over his bandy thighs, hidden in his jeans. “I appreciate it,” he murmured.
Tomio leaned in and pressed his nose to Itto’s. “Are you almost done with your presentation?”
“Why?”
“Because I think you should really thank me.”
“Should I?” Of course, Itto asked it while watching Tomio’s lips, and the way he wet them.
“Yes.” It was a whisper against his mouth, and then Tomio was tipping his head, pressing closer, and –
The phone rang.
Itto had brought the handset into the living room as he was working, too, so the ring was impossible to ignore. Tomio made an unpleasant sound in the back of his throat and leaned back to pick it up, all without moving from Itto’s lap. If Tomio had a choice, Itto had long ago discovered, he would choose bodily contact over any amount of social rebuke.
Or awkward phone answering.
“Hatsubara here.” All while pulling himself back onto the couch using Itto’s shoulders. “Oh, okay.” He hung up and tossed the handset onto a cushion. “Wrong number.”
Itto rolled his eyes. “All that trouble.”
“If I hadn’t picked up, it would have been your boss.”
“I don’t care if it’s my – “
The phone rang again.
This time, they both looked at it. Tomio reached over again. “Hatsubara – yeah, he lives here. Just a second.” He covered the mouthpiece and looked at Itto. “It’s for you.”
“Give me that,” he muttered, and pushed Tomio off his lap and onto a couch cushion. Tomio’s father, a major trader in the commodities market, had moved the family around the globe while he and his sister were children, and Tomio had spent more time being English, American, and Chinese than he had Japanese. He was helpless with chopsticks and his phone manners were atrocious, but Tomio wouldn’t be Tomio if he didn’t shrug it off.
Just like he shrugged off being tossed onto the couch by wriggling around and sprawling across Itto’s lap.
All while Itto answered, “Asanuma here.”
“Itto-kun?”
The voice on the other end of the line was deep and dark, and even if Itto had wanted to hide his surprise, he couldn’t. He felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop open, and Tomio nearly tumbled right off the couch as he got up to walk across the room.
“Chiba-kun? Is that you? It’s been years!”
On the other end of the phone line, Chiba Mamoru laughed. “After all this time, I think you can call me Mamoru-kun.”
“I – yeah, okay. Mamoru-kun. How are you? It’s been five or six years.”
“You came to my graduation, so yes. I’ve been well. Makoto-chan gave me your number. She said she’d seen you a few weeks ago and thought I might want to call.”
“Mako-chan would do that.” Itto smiled at the memory. Makoto had been a good friend through, well, an awkward time. It’d taken him through his high school experience and into university before he could explain to her that he’d never really been coming onto her. She’d taken the news exceptionally well.
They still saw each other for lunch every now and again.
“She said you were having lunch with her. I thought maybe we could do the same. Unless you’re going to take notes on me, of course.”
“I have a laptop now. No notebooks!” He laughed at his own joke. “I’d love to have lunch. When?”
“I’m giving a talk at the university on Thursday. One of the undergraduate medical classes. Maybe we could go to the café on campus? Do you know where that is?”
“Of course I do! I’ll be there. Noon?”
“Twelve-thirty, if that’s okay.”
“That’s perfect.”
Mamoru chuckled again. “The same enthusiasm I remember. I’m glad you haven’t changed, Itto-kun.”
“I – “ Itto reached back and scratched a hand through his hair. “I try not to. I’ll see you then. Thursday.”
“Thursday. Take care.”
Itto hung up the phone but it felt like a leaden weight keeping him from floating away. Mamoru had been – Chiba Mamoru had been something of a role model for him his entire way through junior high, high school, and undergraduate college. Chiba Mamoru had encouraged him to take the Todai entrance exam, to retake the test to get into the medical program, to be an excellent student. He’d taught him how to play soccer, never mind what he, Makoto, and the others – like Usagi-san – had accomplished over –
“Was that Santa Claus or one of the actors you fancy?” asked Tomio.
Itto jerked out of his daze and glanced over. Tomio was stretched along the couch, hands behind his head, looking amused. For a moment, Itto just followed the line of his body, all those slim muscles, tanned skin, dark brown hair that looked black in the right light. “No, it was an old friend.”
“You don’t sound that excited when your friends call,” he challenged. “That was like the time the DJ called you back to tell you you’d won that free CD. You practically danced around.”
He frowned. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did.” Tomio climbed off the couch and hopped around. “I won! I won!” His voice was a half-pitch higher to emulate Itto’s. “I’ve never won anything before in my life! I love this group! I don’t believe I won!”
“Stop it.” When Tomio bounced past, he swatted at him. “Mamoru, he… I can’t really explain it.”
“Wait. Is this Chiba Mamoru?” Tomio had one foot on the edge of a chair he’d been about to hop onto as part of his mockery. “The Chiba Mamoru of legend?”
Itto felt his ears warm. He wanted to finger-comb his hair again, but Tomio knew it was his nervous tic, so he played with the antenna on the cordless phone, instead. “He’s not legendary.”
“No? You’ve only told me a thousand stories about him. He’s practically your sempai.”
He scowled. “It’s not like that.”
“If you say so.” Tomio shrugged. “I’m going to go start the burgers. Besides, I’m not worried about you running off with Mamoru-sempai.”
“Good.” He climbed over a dropped couch pillow to go back to his laptop. “There’s nothing to worry about there. It’s not like – “
“ – he knows you’re gay,” Tomio finished.
Itto watched him walk into the kitchen and realized his mouth had gone dry.
“Right,” he replied, but it was clear Tomio couldn’t hear him.
===
“He asked for your number, Itto-baka. I wasn’t going to say no.”
Kino Makoto said this as she spooned steaming chicken noodle soup into a bowl and added a garnish of carrot. Ever since graduation from culinary school, she’d been working as head chef and manager of a tiny café just blocks from the high school she and the other girls had attended, and until school let out, business was always slow. The patron waiting on the soup was old enough to be Makoto’s grandmother, and accepted the bowl with shaky hands before hobbling over to her table.
Itto, who ate lunch at the counter a few times a month, pointed a finger at her. “But you knew.”
“Knew what? I didn’t know he’d call you right away, and anyway, I don’t understand what the problem is. He asked you to have lunch with him, not elope. Unless Tomio-kun’s head’s ready to explode, I don’t see – “
“Tomio doesn’t have a problem with it.”
“See?” She shrugged. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Because Mamoru-kun doesn’t know.”
“Know what?” There was a beat of pause and Makoto looked up. “Oh. You mean know.”
“Right.”
“That…”
“Right.”
A man who had been standing off to the side and staring at the menu for the last ten minutes came over and started to chat with Makoto about which sandwich was the best, which gave Itto a chance to help himself to another cup of coffee. Coming around the counter was always an adventure, because Makoto made a point of keeping personal artifacts within view from that side. Pictures from high school, from Usagi and Mamoru’s wedding, a picture of the now-toddling Chibi-Usa, a bonsai tree that she was obviously pruning. He looked over the collection as he poured, and caught one of Makoto and Ami on holiday a year or two earlier.
Makoto had been, of the people from his “old” life (before university, before work, before Tomio), the first he’d come out to. Even in Tokyo, which was praised for its tolerance of lifestyles that had once been considered “deviant”, Itto had carefully planned telling Makoto, bringing her over to his apartment and ordering takeaway for them to share while he explained himself. He’d tripped over his tongue four or five times, which was mitigated only by the fact that she’d laughed at him and chided him for being worried about it.
‘What do you think the girls and I really did at our slumber parties?’ she’d teased, and eventually, she’d admitted to a strange on-, off-, then on-, and then off-again relationship with Ami. It had been the second time Itto had ever really felt bonded to her.
The first had involved thunder and lightning.
“You don’t have to tell him, you know.”
Itto splashed coffee onto his hand and swore, but when he started sopping it up, he realized Makoto had made a sale and was putting money into the register while the sandwich-chatter walked away with a chocolate chunk cookie and nothing else. “What?”
“Mamoru-kun.” She leaned back against the other counter and crossed her arms. “I know you want to, but it’s been so long since you’ve seen him. Maybe you should just let it go.”
“It feels like lying,” he murmured.
“Maybe, but we all wondered about you and he when it first started, Itto. Do you think he’s just going to be able to sit there and say, ‘Well, I don’t think you’ve ever had feelings for me’? You used to stalk him around the ball fields.”
The only reason he knew he was blushing was he caught his reflection in the napkin dispenser. It meant dropping the soiled napkins into the garbage and going back around the counter so he didn’t have to look at himself any longer. “I don’t want him to hate me.”
“I don’t know if Mamoru’s capable of real hate unless you work for someone like the Black Moon clan – “ Which she mentioned about twice every time they saw each other, not because she had to, but because it was a reminder of why they were still wrapped around each other, still bound as friends. “ – but I think it might be…hard for you.” She shook her head, ponytail bobbing. “This isn’t the West.”
“I know.”
“Did you ask Tomio?”
He snorted. “Tomio made burgers last night and teased me until we had sex and went to bed. No, I didn’t ask him. Besides, if she were alive, Tomio would tell his grandmother about us. And she was a miko.”
“Rei never reacted too badly…” Makoto teased.
Itto flicked a sugar packet at her. The only other person in the group he’d ever told was Ami, and not on purpose. She’d offered to look at his computer as a favor to Makoto.
Tomio had come home horny.
It had not ended well.
“What would you do?” he finally asked, once he’d drained his cup of coffee and Makoto had cleared three plates that had been left on tables.
She looked at him for a moment and then shrugged. “I’d try to figure out what was more important: my friends, or who spends their time in my bedroom. And you know which I chose.”
Last Itto had known, Usagi, Rei, and Minako had no idea about Makoto and Ami’s not-quite-love affair.
“Were you happy with your decision?”
“I’m not sure either decision would be happy, Itto-kun. It was the right one, though.”
===
“Look at you, getting all dressed up to see your ex-boyfriend.”
Itto straightened his tie and tried to ignore the way Tomio, still in his pajamas, snaked his hands into his front pockets. He’d looked for excuses while ironing the night before for why he was going into work early and wearing one of his better suits, but in the end, Tomio had known the real answers: so he could have a longer lunch break, and so he would look decent.
It was Mamoru, after all.
Tomio’s nose was cold in the back of his neck and he shifted his weight a few times, trying to get away from his wandering hands and cold face. “Do you have to give me a hard time about this?”
“No, I gave you a hard time last night. I just think it’s cute. It reminds me of our first date. You had that ugly green tie on. You were so nervous, I thought you were going to wet yourself, and I hadn’t even made it clear that it was a date yet.”
“I knew.” It made Itto smile vaguely. He’d been working as a temp at Tomio’s office, and, after a few nights having a drink after work, Tomio had slid by his desk and dropped a restaurant reservation card in his coffee cup.
Subtle as a traffic accident, that was Tomio.
“Of course, I never thought you were straight.” His lips traveled over the back of Itto’s neck, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath. “I knew better.”
“I gave myself away?”
“No. You smelled too good.” There was the graze of teeth and Itto shifted his weight, this time for a different reason. Tomio’s hands sunk further into his pockets. “Straight men don’t use the same shampoo.”
He snorted, but it was shaky. “Is this secret stock broker knowledge?”
“No, just my usual genius.” His breath was against Itto’s ear now, and it made Itto shiver. “Do you ever think about him, Itto? I bet he’s tall, dark, and handsome. That’s your type. Do you think about how it would have felt, being with him?”
“Tomio – “
“Shhhh, don’t.” Now there were lips were against the shell of his ear, then, it was tongue. Itto closed his eyes and leaned his head back a few inches, desperate for the contact. “I want you to imagine him. I heard you in the shower this morning. Was that for me or Mamoru-kun? Were you thinking of me on my back with my legs open, or him?”
That made Itto’s eyes open, but in the sudden snap, there was a second of confusion. The man behind him was a head taller and dark haired, and he was certain in that moment that he was Chiba Mamoru, with broad shoulders and big hands, wrapped around him, pressing his groin into the seat of his pants so he could feel him, taking his breath away just by standing so close.
But then, it was Tomio again, just Tomio, the man he’d fallen in love with and moved in with, the man who shared his bed.
That was all.
“I should go,” he said, and took a step away. He watched Tomio watch him in the mirror and found he could only hold his reflected eyes for a few seconds before he felt ashamed, even though he had no words for why.
“Go,” and Tomio’s fingers trailed over his skin as he pulled away and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be here when you get home. My board meeting got cancelled.”
“All right,” he called after him, and watched him disappear.
From the back, he almost looked like Mamoru, just with slimmer shoulders and browner hair. Give him a green suit coat, and it would be hard to tell the difference.
Itto felt suddenly sick.
===
“Sorry I’m late!”
Chiba Mamoru, six years earlier, had looked only about twenty of his twenty-five years and been grinning with white teeth at his graduation ceremony. Somewhere, in a shoebox in the back of the closet, Itto had photographs from that day. He’d been wearing graduation robes and his hair’d been mussed from the cap but he’d looked so happy and proud that Itto had wanted to capture the moment forever and file it away, the last adventure shared by himself and his mentor.
Now, Mamoru looked all of his thirty-one years, but the lines around his eyes (and under his glasses) were from laughter. His green jacket had obviously been retired, because he wore a smart suit he didn’t quite look at home in, right down to shiny shoes.
Itto had been waiting for fifteen minutes and checking his mobile phone obsessively in that time, waiting for a message that Mamoru had to rush home or to the hospital instead of coming in for lunch. The café was, unlike Makoto’s place of work, bustling, and he’d twice had to ask someone not to take the extra chair from his table. And yet, here Mamoru was, loosening his tie as he settled into seat.
Itto grinned at him. “You look like a fish out of water,” he joked.
Mamoru made a disinterested face. “I’m a pediatric surgeon. I don’t dress like this very often. But in order to represent the hospital, I’m supposed to look my best. Or so the chief of surgery told me last night when he reminded me about the lecture.” He grinned and, tie undone, glanced at Itto. “Look at you! The last time I saw you, you looked like you belonged at a college party.”
“I wasn’t going to them, though,” he reminded Mamoru. “I was studying.”
“You never listened to me. I told you to take breaks.”
“You also scored a hundred points higher on the entrance exam than I did. That’s like an Olympic swimmer telling a high school athlete not to work too hard.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“A little. Call it payback after all these years.”
“Who are you and what have you done with the real Itto-kun?”
They both laughed, and the waitress interrupted the banter to take their orders and remove menus from the already tiny table. A cluster of college girls in outrageous, bright outfits tried to slide past and bumped into the table instead, and when Itto went to adjust it, his knee brushed Mamoru’s and he practically leapt right out of his skin.
The conversation with Tomio, if it could be called that, was still too fresh in his mind.
He played with a napkin, instead.
“You look good,” Mamoru finally said, and Itto looked up. “I mean, mature. When we first met, I always figured you’d look a little like… Well, like the younger brother I never had. You look like an adult, now. It’s almost surprising.” He smiled. “Are you practicing?”
“Practicing?” he parroted.
“Medicine. You should have graduated last spring, right?”
Itto dropped his eyes back to the napkin. “I decided not to go to medical school.”
“What? You were at the top of your class!” And whether the edge to his tone was surprise or disappointment, Itto couldn’t tell. “When I talked to you at my graduation, all you could talk about was how your turn was coming. Usako told me later that she thought you were more dedicated than I was. What happened?”
He shrugged. “It was expensive,” he replied, “and besides, I have a good job. I’m tracking sales for a toy company.”
“Itto-kun.” Mamoru said it in a voice that forced him to look up. His eyes, dark and insistent, were on him. “You’re too smart for that kind of work.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think my heart was ever really in medicine.”
“Then you should go into acting.”
“What?”
“You had us all fooled.” He frowned. “Makoto-chan didn’t mention this to me.”
“Mako-chan left a few things out, I think.”
Mamoru looked ready to ask for clarification, his lips an inch from open and his eyes still trained on Itto’s face, but then a cell phone started ringing. Itto reached for his but before he could even fish it out of his pocket, Mamoru had his to his ear.
“Usako, what’s – no, no, it’s fine, but slow down. I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He held up a finger to Itto and looked genuinely apologetic, but then, “I’m sure it’s not – I understand, Usako, but I’m out to lunch and – all right, all right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. It’ll be okay. It – okay, Usako.”
He hung up the phone and looked at Itto for a long moment. There was regret etched into his features, which wasn’t nearly as attractive as the laugh lines around his eyes.
“Usako’s convinced that the dryer’s about to set the apartment on fire, so I have to go,” he explained, reaching for his wallet. “I’m sorry. I wish I could stay longer, but she – “
“It’s fine,” he replied, waving a hand. “Go. I’ll cover lunch.”
“Are you sure?”
“After all this time, Mamoru-kun, if I can’t pay for lunch, who I am?”
Mamoru smiled and stood up, but paused at his seat for a moment. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
He glanced up. “What?”
“Come over for dinner. I’ll call you tonight and give you the address. Usako’s actually become a very good cook, thanks in no small part to Makoto-chan. That reminds me: are you seeing anyone? Makoto-chan thought you were.”
The question went straight to the pit of his stomach. Twice, he opened his mouth. Twice, no sound came out. “It’s complicated to explain, but – “
“Don’t explain. Bring her with you. Usako would love to know that you’re happy with someone. Other people’s happiness is always important to her. You know how she is.”
“I do,” Itto replied, but his mouth was dry and the words tasted like cotton.
“Good! I’ll see you tomorrow night. Take care.”
The door closed behind Mamoru just as their meals arrived.
Itto wasn’t hungry.
===
“You’re going?”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Lie! Say no! Claim you died in a fire! For the guy who left me three SMS messages and a voice mail on your way back from the café – “
“I hate you, Mako-chan.”
“ – you’ve sure changed your mind fast.”
Itto rolled his eyes, not that it did any good because Makoto couldn’t see it. She was somewhere else, undoubtedly spending money she didn’t have, while he paced around the apartment. He’d spent the rest of Thursday trying to come up with a way to get out of dinner at Mamoru and Usagi’s.
Mamoru had called that night with directions and a time, and despite all the excuse-drafting, in half an hour, Tomio would be coming home only to be pushed out the door to go to a nice, casual dinner with friends.
Theoretically.
“I kept trying to think of a way out of it, but I’m not going to lie to him.” Itto was wearing a trench into the carpet under the guise of picking up the living room. It was already fairly neat, so he resorted to small, detailed work, like stacking coasters. “And this is partially your fault, anyway.”
“My fault? Because I gave him your number?”
“Because you told him I was seeing someone.”
“He asked. It was before your phone number came up. I thought I was placating him. If I’d known I was encouraging him to plan double-dates…”
Itto tossed himself onto the couch. The springs creaked. He didn’t care. “If he asks for my credit card numbers, are you going to give him those, too?”
“Depends. Do I get to use them first?”
“Mako-chan.”
“I’m running out of room on my Visa. It’s a fair question.” She sighed. “Look, the way I see it, you have three options. One, you take Tomio to their house and you explain that you’re gay and always have been, and – after she mourns that you and I will never get married – Usagi-chan asks you for commentary on her drapes.”
Itto looked at their drapes.
They were beige.
He shook his head. “Number two?”
“You don’t take Tomio, explain that I was wrong and you’re not seeing anyone, and that’s that.”
“And lie.”
“You didn’t mind lying when you told me you weren’t intimidated by me years ago.”
“I thought you were going to beat me up. This is different.” He paused. “There’s a third option?”
“Hire an escort for the evening to be your… What are they called? Beard. To be your beard.”
There was a long, long pause. He could hear Makoto snickering on the other end of the line.
“I’m hanging up on you now.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Good luck!”
He hung up the phone and lay down on the couch, prone and with his hands folded on his chest, like a man in a coffin. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the fact that he was very ready to go with Option Two, or the fact that Option Three, Makoto’s grand joke, was still less intimidating than Option One. The fact was, Itto rationalized, that he wasn’t afraid of losing Mamoru and Usagi’s support and approval as much as he was afraid of being called a liar all along. He’d spent the years between first meeting Mamoru and his graduation flirting with Makoto, chatting up the girls Motoki tried to set him up with, pretending that the heavily bootlegged copy of Brokeback Mountain one of their friends had put on as a joke disgusted him. He’d been the perfect Japanese man, shielding himself from ridicule the whole way through. He probably would have ended up marrying a nice woman who preferred women and having a child of duty before they went on to have hotel-room trysts they never talked about.
Makoto would make the perfect partner in that marriage.
He wondered if Tomio knew how much of this entire proceeding was his fault. He’d taken Itto out after his third almost-relationship, he’d taken him to bed and helped him learn everything he’d wanted to know but only previously muddled through, he’d asked him to move in with him, and he’d answered the phone on Tuesday. If it hadn’t been for Tomio, he wouldn’t have this problem. He wouldn’t feel sick, let alone scared.
“You look tired,” a voice murmured, and Itto opened his eyes. “Are you all right?”
It was a half-hour later than Itto remembered it being, proof that he’d drifted off to sleep at some point, and when he stretched and started to sit up, Tomio – sitting on the edge of the coffee table, still in his suit and tie – put a hand on his chest and made him stay still. “You tossed all night,” he said gently, his other hand smoothing his hair. “Why don’t you nap and I’ll call for takeaway? I can’t help but feel like I caused some of this. I’ve been driving you crazy about Chiba-san.”
“No, it’s – no, it’s not you.” He sat up anyway, and rubbed his face. He felt groggy and warm, like he’d been in the bath too long and the warmth had seeped into all his pores. “I had an argument – a half an argument – with Mako-chan and I guess I nodded off.” He tried on a little smile. “You stole my tie.”
Tomio looked down and grinned. “Yeah, sorry. I made it halfway out the door today and got coffee on mine, and yours was closer when I went to grab one.” He fluffed Itto’s hair. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. I…” He pursed his lips. “Yesterday, Mamoru-kun invited me and whoever I was seeing to dinner.”
Tomio frowned. “But he doesn’t – “
“Mako-chan told him I was seeing someone. He didn’t say who.”
“So I should order takeaway for one and you’ll be home late?”
Itto raised his eyes, but he couldn’t read Tomio’s expression. It was his broker’s face, the face he held when he was about to tell a housewife that she’d just lost half of her child’s college tuition by playing too aggressively, or was about to surprise a pensioner with news that he’d doubled his funds by picking smart stocks.
It was the expression he used when he didn’t want Itto to see his real emotions.
“Or you could come.”
The words were small, but he could hold Tomio’s eyes while he said them.
Tomio didn’t turn away, either. “I don’t need to.”
“And I don’t need to watch tomorrow night’s baseball game. That’s not my question.” He wet his lips. “Come. Tonight. To Mamoru-kun’s house with me. You’ll like his daughter. And I think they have a cat.”
He chuckled. “Now I know you’re desperate, trying to win me over with a cat.” He leaned over and kissed Itto quickly. “Let me change and we can go.”
He was halfway to standing when Itto caught his arm. “Don’t change,” he said plainly. “You’re perfect as you are.”
===
“Itto-kun!”
The former Tsukino Usagi had always been a small woman, by Itto’s recollection, but she felt fuller and a little fleshier when he hugged her, shape still from having a child, he supposed. The hugging was not his idea, either, but Usagi rarely gave anyone a choice in the matter and her arms were tight around his neck, forcing him to wrap arms around her or lose his ability to breathe.
He liked breathing.
“When Mako-chan told me she talked to you all the time, I couldn’t believe it! I asked her why she never told me, but she said I never asked. I never ask her to bake cookies for me but she does that, anyway. I think she’s picking what she tells me. I wonder if she has a thousand other secrets.” She let go of Itto and stepped back, looking him up and down. “You’re almost as handsome as Mamo-chan! I’m sad you and Mako-chan never went out together. You’d be a good pair, even if she’s taller than you are.”
“Usako!” Mamoru called through from some unseen corner of the apartment. It was large, probably twice the size of theirs, and as Itto stepped in, he could see the city lights displayed through large picture windows, with Tokyo Tower looming in the distance. “Let him in! Don’t torture him!”
“Don’t be mean!” Usagi called back, but then held open the door. Itto slipped off his shoes and was about to comment on how neat everything was (Usagi had, in the past, not been known for her organizational skills), when Usagi asked, “And who is this?”
It was like a train wreck in slow motion, Itto realized, as Chibi-Usa came darting through with the uneven running footsteps of a child not yet steady on her feet and Mamoru followed in dark pants and a form-fitting sweater. Usagi was looking past Itto and his nap-rumpled suit to Tomio, who was standing in the doorway with a bottle of wine that they’d picked up on their way, the perfect host gift.
Chibi-Usa skidded to a stop and scowled unhappily.
Mamoru walked up behind her and kept her from turning around and running back the other way.
Itto smiled. “This is Hatsubara Tomio-kun. He – We live together.”
Tomio gave her his most brilliant smile. “Itto-kun didn’t tell me that his friend Mamoru’s wife was so pretty. I would have bought more expensive wine.”
Usagi watched him for a moment, as though she wasn’t sure what to say. “Come in,” she said, suddenly, stumbling over her tongue. “I – Itto-kun, you should have told me you weren’t bringing your girlfriend after all, I wouldn’t have teased you about Mako-chan. Let me take the wine and go get ice. Mamo-chan will take care of you.”
She smiled at them, walked halfway through the apartment, paused to look back, and then smiled again before she stepped out of view.
“That went well,” Tomio murmured at a volume only Itto could hear.
Itto glanced at him and said nothing.
Mamoru, on the other hand, was standing in the same place on the floor, still, watching them. Tomio took off his shoes and revealed his ugly paisley socks he always wore for luck on Fridays (Itto hated them), hung his suit coat on the coat rack, and then took Itto’s without prompting, a force of habit. When Itto looked away, Mamoru’s perplexed expression had turned into a smile.
“Makoto-chan wasn’t very specific,” he informed Itto as they started into the living room. The furniture was expensive and plush, but there were toys and dolls strewn here and there, hallmarks of a small child. When Itto glanced at one of the dolls, Chibi-Usa ran up and grabbed it, hugging it to her chest. “She just said you were seeing someone.”
“Makoto-chan is intimidated by me,” Tomio joked, grinning. “She’s suspicious of anyone Itto likes as much or more than her.”
“I keep telling her I don’t like him better,” Itto assured Mamoru, “but neither of them listens.”
Mamoru laughed. “That sounds like Makoto-chan.”
“That sounds like me, too,” Tomio promised him. “You just don’t know the difference yet.”
There was a moment, then, a pause while Chibi-Usa came over to show Tomio (of all people) her over-protected doll and Mamoru and Itto were left to glance at each other, the small talk having slipped away to relative silence. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what it was, and he got the impression from Mamoru’s expression that he was in the same place.
“Dinner’s ready!” Usagi called through, and the moment immediately snapped and was gone. Mamoru hoisted Chibi-Usa up off the floor and Tomio put the gifted doll on the couch as he followed them through to the dining room.
It wasn’t until they were all seated, Chibi-Usa’s fingers in her chopped-up version of the grilled fish and rice the rest of them were having, and drinks were poured, that Usagi commented, “I didn’t know you had a roommate, Itto-kun.”
Itto, who had taken a sip of his wine, nearly choked. “Mako-chan didn’t mention it, I’m sure.”
“No,” she replied, and for one of the first times since Itto had met her, she wasn’t eating immediately but rather watching him pick through his rice with his chopsticks. “How long have you been friends? From university?”
“We met at one of my first jobs after university,” Itto replied, and glanced to Tomio. He was eating, but his eyes didn’t leave Itto. Neither did Mamoru’s. The world felt suddenly tighter, smaller, and he found himself putting down his glass carefully. “Tomio-kun and I moved in together about a year ago.”
She grinned. “If you were lonely, Itto-kun, you should have mentioned it to Mako-chan! She’s been looking for a roommate for years, her apartment is so expensive. You could have shared with her.”
“Usako,” Mamoru murmured, almost warningly.
“What? I’ve always thought Itto-kun and Mako-chan would be a good match! Minako-chan thinks so too. The last time I talked to her, she was saying how if Mako-chan would just be a little more daring with men and not worry about whether or not they looked like her sempai, she’d be able to find a husband. Of course, Minako-chan isn’t one to talk, because she’s on another American boyfriend who doesn’t believe in marriage – she’s had six of those now, Itto-kun, and every one’s just a little worse than the last – but – “
“Usagi-san, I appreciate the help,” Itto broke in. He couldn’t listen to another word of her rambling, especially since Tomio looked about ready to burst out laughing, “but I don’t think Makoto-chan and I would be a good match at all.”
“You’ve always been so friendly with her! Why not?”
The pause was about three seconds longer than it needed to be.
“Because I’m gay, Usagi-san.”
Usagi fell immediately silent and blinked her big eyes. Once, then twice, and all while staring at Itto. He tried to smile but felt the few grains of rice he’d already eaten swimming around in his stomach as though he’d swallowed a fish whole, and he couldn’t do anything more than wait for her to speak.
At first, she didn’t.
Neither did Mamoru.
Tomio went on eating.
“But,” Usagi finally said, incredulity slipping into her tone, “if you’re gay, then is Tomio-san your – your boyfriend?”
There it was, the telltale burning in the tips of his ears. He combed a hand through his hair. “We’ve been together for two and a half years,” he said quietly.
“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell anyone?”
Mamoru, who had been almost suspiciously quiet, frowned. “Usako…”
“No, no, this isn’t fair!” Usagi gestured emphatically with her chopsticks. “Mako-chan made it sound like he was with some girl! I was rude to Itto’s boyfriend because I thought he was just a friend! I’m going to hurt her! She didn’t tell me the whole truth, and that’s not fair.”
Itto tried not to, but there was something in Usagi’s voice that made him start laughing. “Don’t take it out on Mako-chan,” he told her.
“No, I will! Tomio-san, I’m so sorry.” She looked right at Tomio, who was hiding his urge to laugh behind his napkin. “If I had known you were Itto-kun’s boyfriend, I would have been asking all the really good questions! How you met and how long you’ve been together and if you’ve been on any good holidays and instead I just – oh, I’m going to hurt Mako-chan! I’m calling her after dinner and talking to her about this!”
Tomio gave up and started laughing, too.
Itto watched him for a moment, and watched the laughter light up his face, before he glanced over at Mamoru.
He was laughing, too, and smiled at Itto when he caught his eye.
Itto smiled back
===
“Mako-chan,” Usagi’s voice carried in from the kitchen, “you could have at least – no, it is my business, he was coming to my house for dinner!”
In the living room, Itto listened half-heartedly to the conversation, finishing his drink while he watched the city go by out of one of the windows. The view was a thousand times more impressive than what they had in their own apartment, which overlooked an alley on one side and their dingy street on the other. He was full and pleasantly warm from the wine, and while he drank and admired the view, Tomio was on the floor in his suit, playing with Chibi-Usa. She had yet to so much as glance at Itto, but somehow, Tomio drew her in.
Itto knew the feeling.
“Can I get you something else to drink?” asked Mamoru, suddenly next to Itto. He blinked and shook his head, and Mamoru almost replied but flinched, instead. Usagi’s conversation in the kitchen had reached fever pitch. “Someday, she’ll calm down,” he promised.
“It’s Usagi-san,” Itto reminded him, smiling. “I wouldn’t want her to stop. She wouldn’t be herself, anymore.”
“No, probably not.” Mamoru glanced at him. “She did make a point, though.”
“Which one?”
“You could have mentioned something.”
He shook his head and looked away. “I thought about it at lunch, before you had to go,” he admitted, “but it seemed like… I don’t know. You watch American or British television and it’s filled with gay people who are happy and living their lives, and you get the feeling that it’s like that on the streets, too. Here, you watch a program but it’s almost mocking, and I could never bring myself to risk my reputation like that. Tomio doesn’t care, but he grew up overseas. It’s different for him.”
“Have you known for long?” If anyone else had asked the question, it would have been rude, almost accusing. Mamoru’s voice was gentle. “I mean, is Tomio-san the first man you’ve – “
“No, no,” and Itto grinned at the way Mamoru’s voice had slowed near the end, as he tried to pick the right word. “I guess I’ve known for most of my life. I mean, even when I was in junior high school, I knew I didn’t like girls the same way I liked boys.” He hazarded a glance at Mamoru. “I think that’s one of the reasons I admired you so much.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“You had it all. You were smart, you were witty, you were in class clubs and athletics and going to be a doctor. You had a pretty girlfriend and these abilities, and I wanted to be able to have all those things. It was the second-best thing to having what I really wanted.”
“You’re not a doctor, now,” Mamoru pointed out.
“After a while, I couldn’t do it anymore.” He shrugged. “I took a temp job after university to make some money and sort out my head, and then I met Tomio and for the first time, I figured out what I wanted.” He grinned, a little lopsided. “Tomio was the first person to point out the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“That maybe one of the other reasons I admired you was that I wanted to meet someone like you.”
Mamoru blinked, surprised. “Me?” he asked blankly. “But – why? I’m just a man, and I was a smug teenager.”
Itto laughed, just a short burst. “Maybe, but you were tall, dark, and handsome. There was a reason Unazuki-chan and Usagi-san and half your class looked at you that way, Mamoru-kun, and it wasn’t because you looked like an old friend.”
“I’m flattered.”
“It’s not weird?”
“I – no. It’s not.”
There was something in Mamoru’s tone that made Itto smile, and Mamoru smiled back. For a moment, they just stood there, suspended in time, shoulders nearly touching in front of the big window. Itto felt closer to Mamoru in that second, that frozen moment, than he ever had before.
“Hey, Itto,” and Tomio’s hand was on his back suddenly, casual and yet firmer than a friend would touch. Itto glanced at him. “Chibi-Usa gave me this. I thought it’d look better on you.”
And before Itto could ask, Tomio was reaching over and pressing a crescent-moon sticker to his cheekbone. He made a face and Tomio laughed, kissing him quickly on the cheek before he slid away again.
Mamoru laughed and shook his head. “That,” he decided, “is a better match than Mako-chan would ever be.”
Itto should have been annoyed that Tomio had burst into their moment, ruined the quiet contentment, upturned something he’d been craving for ages.
He wasn’t.
Instead, he was simply happy, and it was the best feeling in world.
