Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

 

The wind was strong that day.

Sitting in the seat of the rickshaw that had stopped outside the tea house, Misao heard the sound of rooftiles whistling in the breeze.

He gazed down at his toes, at the socks that covered them and the wooden sandals he wore, wondering if all this was real. It didn’t seem like it. And though Misao was convinced it was a dream, a lot of preparation had gone into dreaming it.

Gikuyo had rousted Misao from his bed that morning, which already seemed so long ago. Apparently Masaomi had spoken with Gikuyo. He had stayed the night, then argued with her for Misao’s outing the very next morning. When Misao found out about it, Masaomi was already waiting for him in his overnight room, dressed in a formal men’s kimono.

“Give this to the gatekeeper.”

Misao heard Gikuyo’s voice as she spoke to Masaomi, and he glanced out at the front of the tea house from a small hole cut in the rickshaw’s hood. They stood facing each other under the eaves, which protected them from the wind. Masaomi slipped something into his pocket. It was probably some sort of document that the tea house needed to show for Misao to be allowed outside the gate. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

The owner was still in bed. Misao could imagine how he would panic when he woke and found Misao gone, and he worried a little for Gikuyo, who had given him permission to go without consulting the owner.

As if she had sensed Misao’s apprehensive gaze, Gikuyo looked over and marched straight up to him. She stepped definitively onto the footboard and leaned forward, raising Misao’s chin sharply with her index finger.

“Are you trying to impress people with this flaccid, uncomplicated, lovesick face?”

Gikuyo snorted loudly. Misao only stared at her blankly. Her imperious nature made him momentarily forget everything else.

Gradually, Misao’s eyes sharpened. He shook his chin free of Gikuyo’s finger irritably. In the same moment, he banished his concern for her. This woman didn’t need anyone to worry about her well-being.

Gikuyo looked at him sardonically, then drew her face close to his. She whispered against his ear, so close he thought he could feel her lips, “Everything’s going according to plan.”

Misao’s brows knitted dubiously and Gikuyo winked at him, then she drew back from the cart. Masaomi came up beside her and they conversed briefly.

“Thanks for waiting.”

He climbed in beside Misao, his shoulders pressing against Misao’s own. He raised a hand to one side of his mouth, as if he were telling Misao a secret. “She’s pretty scary.”

“She’s a witch,” Misao asserted flatly, still worked up from the earlier outburst. But he cut himself off at once. Stealing a sidelong glance, he saw that his companion was staring straight at him. They looked at each other uncomfortably for a moment. Suddenly, Masaomi began to chuckle.

“Sorry.”

Misao apologized quietly, but Masaomi lowered his head and wrapped his arms around his stomach, unable to contain himself anymore, shaking with quiet laughter. He was probably laughing at the fact that in one breath Misao had spoken so poisonously about someone, and then before the words had died on his tongue, had apologized so primly.

“You don’t need to laugh that hard,” Misao grumbled softly. But he finally felt like this was real.

The rickshaw rolled down the main street of the pleasure district at a quick clip.

“I can’t believe it.”

Misao looked down at Masaomi’s hand, which covered his, and laid his other hand on top of it.

“I never imagined my wish would be granted so quickly.”

He raised his eyes silently and half-turned toward Masaomi.

His tender face, which made Misao think of sunshine, gazed back at him.

“As they say, seize the day,” he answered humorously. Then Masaomi turned his head back to the front and he gazed into the distance, as if to say,Besides...

“I won’t be here much longer.”

“What?”

Misao’s eyes bulged slightly as he stared at Masaomi’s face.

“Are you going back to Tokyo?” he asked, dazed.

Masaomi tilted his head to look at Misao, and his eyes told him “yes.”

“When—?”

His voice was rough.

“Next week at the latest.”

There was no hesitation in his voice and Misao knew that his mind was made up.

He felt a pit of despair yawn open in his heart. He didn’t understand why he felt so desolate at the departure of this man whom he had met only two days before.

“I see.”

Misao looked down for a while, and fell back against the seat with a heavy heart. He knew his face was an open book. Masaomi looked over at him pensively, but Misao had no desire to speak. He didn’t even know what he would say.

The motion of the cart rocked his body slightly from side to side, then suddenly stopped. Realizing that the driver had stopped the cart, Misao looked up.

The western gate soared into the sky above.

His heart went quiet and he craned his neck out to see.

A thin film of sweat covered his palms.

A guard ran up to the cart and peered sharply under the hood at them. Misao gasped, recognizing the man’s rugged face.

“Misao? You’re the one from Oumi going out?” he asked, narrowing one eye in suspicion.

Misao felt like he was going to grab his arm and drag him back to the tea house.

Staring stiffly at the man, he groped blindly to clutch at Masaomi’s jacket. Masaomi rested his own hand over Misao’s.

“Here.”

He took the document out of his pocket and passed it to the guard. The man took his time reading it over to verify its authenticity. The thin paper rattled in the strong wind.

“Looks good.”

The guard nodded and stuffed the paper into his pocket, grinning lewdly at Masaomi.

“Watch out, sir. That one tried to run away a couple of times when he was a kid. He doesn’t walk too well anymore.”

Masaomi looked straight ahead, not answering, and ordered the driver to continue.

Misao could see them leaving the gate behind through the window in the hood.

There was a limit to how much he could see through that window. He turned to look, irresistibly attracted by the image, but the joints in the hood got in the way, which only increased his impatience. Misao shouted at the driver, unable to contain himself.

“Stop!”

He flew out of the rickshaw as it slowed. His jacket trailing behind him, his hair swept in the same direction, Misao stared at the giant gate. Far away inside was the street he had grown up on.

Masaomi slowly drew up behind Misao as he stood there, fixated.

“I would never do anything to cause you problems, Mister Towa.”

Misao turned his face into the wind to look at Masaomi.

“Never.”

He swore it with utter conviction.

But Masaomi continued to stare at Misao and he shook his head with an intense look.

“I’m not worried about that. Look, your hair is getting mussed. Let’s get back in the cart.”

He wrapped his arm around Misao and Misao leaned against him as they walked back to the rickshaw in the powerful wind. Covered by the hood, it was like a tiny nest inside.

“Are you all right?” Masaomi asked in a whisper, and Misao nodded, hanging his head.

The rickshaw slowly began moving again.

“It was childish indiscretion. I didn’t know what I would do or where I would go once I got past the gate.”

His heart was being pulled back into the past.

Masaomi gazed ahead, his eyes lowered slightly. He listened in utter silence, but Misao knew he was paying attention.

“I thought once I got past the gate, I would head for the sea. But I didn’t even know where the sea was.”

Now that he said it, he realized how reckless he had been and he smiled at himself.

“Why the sea?”

Masaomi looked at him quietly.

“I’m not sure.”

Misao turned his head, still smiling. He hadn’t thought about it for a long time.

“I think I must have decided that when people travel, they go by sea.”

“By sea...” Masaomi murmured, turning his face to the window. “In weather like this, the waves will be very rough.”

“Really?” Misao answered vaguely, not sure how to agree with him. Masaomi stared at him.

Misao forced a smile onto his lips.

“All I’ve ever done is imagine it. I’ve never seen it.”

“Would you like to?”

Misao was confused by such a casual suggestion.

“Go to the sea?”

“Yes.”

“But we’re supposed to see a play in Dotonbori...”

Misao began making confused excuses, then trailed off.

Masaomi waited for his response, his face entirely earnest in his suggestion.

“Can we?”

Misao’s heart fluttered.

Masaomi nodded fluidly.

“We’ll find a carriage in Dotonbori. It will still take a few hours to get there, though. Is that all right?”

Misao nodded, his face tense.

 

 

The carriage stopped in the shade of some pine trees. From his seat inside, Misao stared out at the sandy ground that ran on into the gray waters of the sea.

“Are you staying there?” Masaomi asked secretively, but Misao didn’t answer. He sat perfectly still, riveted by the spectacular sight on the other side of the glass. He was incapable of moving.

His hands tensed unconsciously as they rested on his knees, and he trembled as if he’d seen something frightening.

“The real sea... it’s not actually blue, is it?” Misao murmured in a reedy voice.

“No,” Masaomi whispered back, reaching for the window fastener. “That’s because the weather doesn’t look very promising. The face of the ocean changes with the weather. When the sky is clear, the sea sparkles.”

The window fell open with a clatter.

The air blew in, carrying a strong, salty scent that Misao had never smelled before, and with it the lamentation of the ocean.

The sensations assaulted all of his senses and Misao’s eyes opened wide.

He rose.

“Misao?”

The cautious voice passed over Misao’s ears unheard.

He got out of the cart. He walked unsteadily, as if he were being controlled by something.

As he walked toward the sand, his eyes swung up, his face quivering as he stared at everything around him.

A giant black pine moaned in the sea breeze. The sky was so dim it was difficult to believe it was afternoon.

He stood on the sand.

Not bothering to gather up his hair as the wind whipped it around, Misao stared wondrously at the scene before him.

The dead color of the sky was reflected in the wildly crashing waves. He watched their terrifying power.

It went on forever.

Was this how big, how open the world was?

Everything that he had tried not to see, tried not to think about beat down the door inside his mind and filled him like muddy flood waters.

Gradually, these exquisite emotions pooled in the corners of his eyes, then slipped down his cheek and fell from his face. He reached up with uneasy fingers and felt the cool wetness of his skin.

His slightly open lips trembled as he sucked in a gasping breath.

His face contorted and coughing tears spilled out of him. He wiped at his streaming cheeks and fell to his knees in the sand.

He wasn’t sad.

He was only miserable.

After chafing in his narrow world for so long, he was now painfully aware of how insignificant he was. A choking cry caught in his throat. His shoulders shook noiselessly until a gentle hand touched them, chasing away the dark clouds again and again.

He had no control over himself, like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.

He rejected everything and closed his ears to the world. He tore at his ears with restrained hands. He twisted in resistance, but the strength that held both his wrists refused to slacken and Misao raised his tear-stained face. He saw Masaomi there, his face twisted with pain. The next moment, Misao’s body was in his arms, held tightly against him.

“It’s all right.”

The sound of Masaomi’s voice so close to him and the warmth of his arms freed the cry that had been trapped in Misao’s throat.

“It’s all right.”

He repeated it like a spell, over and over again, as Misao sobbed against his chest.

 

 

 

Letting his body be rocked by the irregular rhythm of the carriage, Misao leaned against Masaomi’s chest. Every once in a while his shoulders would shake with the memory of a sob. But his tears were over now.

His right cheek was warm. So was his right shoulder and the top of his left arm. Leaning against Masaomi, only those parts of him that he touched took in his warmth.

Misao didn’t know what to do. He felt desolate, as if he’d just been cast out into an empty, unfamiliar place, and he was terrified of being alone.

Masaomi’s chest moved under his cheek; he held Misao’s head, stroking it tenderly while he still held his shoulders with his other hand.

Misao felt jealous of the person who could have this all to themselves.

Why couldn’t that be him?

“It’s like a person,” Masaomi murmured. His voice mixed with the gentle sound of the rain. “The sea can change its mood in an instant. Next time I’ll take you to see it when it’s in a better mood.”

Misao blinked slowly against Masaomi’s chest as he made this offer, then cautiously looked up at him. His eyes met Masaomi’s pale, tender gaze.

“Next time?” Misao asked, as if in a dream.

Masaomi smiled and inclined his head in a nod. He smoothed several strands of Misao’s hair from the many tracks of tears on his cheeks. He then cupped his hand gently around Misao’s cheek.

“Something that’s been straining inside you broke free back there.”

His shapely, anxious lips drew closer and lightly kissed the corners of Misao’s eyes.

The shadow cast by Masaomi’s face obscured half of Misao’s face, including his widened eyes.

He felt the man draw a tiny breath and Misao lowered his shaking lashes.

Where had this feeling come from? And when?

When Masaomi’s lips pulled sorrowfully away from his skin, Misao buried his face in the man’s chest and wrapped his arms around him.

He wanted to stay with him.

As Masaomi held Misao’s upper body in his arms, a passionate conviction swept suddenly through Misao’s entire body.

He wanted to stay with him.

He wanted that, more than anything.

There were windows on every side of them, and on each and every one, innumerable drops of rain streaked down the glass, drawing out lines of water behind them.

Misao couldn’t begin to guess where the carriage was right now, but still he imagined it was returning to Oumi Tea House.

He didn’t want to go back.

He wanted to stay with this man just a little longer. He wanted to stay with him.

The horse’s iron shoes kicked up riots of water from the rain that beat against the ground and the cart came to an abrupt halt.

Misao pulled back slightly from Masaomi’s arms.

He looked out the window dismally, imagining that they had stopped outside the grand western gate. The window was clouded by the falling rain, but Misao made out an upscale Western-style inn of white brick.

“This is the hotel I’m staying at,” Masaomi told him.

“What?”

Before the words were out of his mouth, a man in a raincoat opened the carriage door from the outside and bowed respectfully. He held a large umbrella up over the carriage’s door.

He passed the umbrella to Masaomi as he climbed out, then Masaomi reached back for Misao. Misao laid his fingers in the man’s palm and descended. Masaomi quickly wrapped his arm around Misao’s shoulder and pulled him close to protect him from the rain.

“Welcome back, Mister Towa. Do you have any luggage?”

The man’s voice was cultivated. Misao saw that he was wearing a hat under his raincoat and he guessed, a bit slowly, that this was the hotel’s doorman.

“No, thank you.”

Masaomi shook the man’s hand, then took Misao once more under his arm. Misao acted as docile as possible so as not to embarrass him, and followed Masaomi up the driveway. There was another doorman stationed beside the front door whose job it was to greet the guests. He pulled open the heavy double doors with exquisite timing.

There was a stunning burgundy carpet.

The lobby was a three-story-tall foyer in the center of the building.

Masaomi took his room key from the front desk and turned toward the stairs. Persian rugs were laid on the stairs and moldings decorated the walls in the shape of large flowers.

Masaomi led him to a room on the second floor. The wallpaper was a modern design and the room had a calm air, like a private study, but everything in the room was Western. For Misao, who had grown up somewhere so traditionally Japanese it was practically a relic of another age, there was nothing he could latch onto as familiar and comforting. It was as if he had stepped into another world.

“I’m sorry if this is forward.”

Masaomi came into the room after Misao and closed the door behind him as he spoke. Misao looked up at him as he laid a hand on his back, and Masaomi looked down at him with a feeble smile.

“But you can’t very well go back with your face all a mess from crying.”

“What?”

“Sit down.”

He slipped his hand off of Misao’s back and gestured fluidly at the sofa set in the center of the room. Masaomi walked toward a claw-footed desk at the back of the room, where there was a telephone. He picked it up and gave the number to the operator. Misao knew it was the phone number of Oumi Tea House.

“Hello, this is Towa. Could I please speak with the manager? Thank you.”

He stood holding the phone for several minutes, then finally seemed to get through. He gave Gikuyo his name and thanked her for giving permission for Misao to go out.

“I’m afraid I have a very exceptional request to make in addition. I’d like for Misao to stay here with me tonight.”

Misao’s brain didn’t react immediately and he blinked slowly two times, before his eyes widened and he caught his breath.

He stepped hesitantly toward the sofa. He held the back of it with his hand and watched how the conversation progressed. A calm reflection on things would have told him that leaving the brothel overnight would never be allowed. But even so, he couldn’t help praying for the slightest chance.

“Misao? Yes, he’s right here.”

Masaomi caught his eye and Misao hurried over to him.

“All right, hold on a minute please.”

Masaomi looked at Misao and gave a small nod, then handed him the phone.

Misao held his face firm and took it.

“Hello?”

“Is he forcing you to do this?” Gikuyo asked urgently, afraid, but Misao denied it without hesitation.

“No, I’m fine.”

“That’s good. Can you pass me back to Mister Towa?”

Gikuyo sounded relieved.

Misao was shocked at how quickly the interview was over and looked at Masaomi questioningly.

“She wants me to... pass her?”

He gave the phone back to Masaomi. Just then, there was a blinding flash of light from the small gap in the velvet curtains that covered the window.

A few seconds later, thunder rumbled.

“Yes, of course. I’ll take full responsibility.”

Misao was distracted by another round of lighting flashes, but was shocked to hear Masaomi’s even voice wrap up the deal. The gap between dream and reality returned.

Masaomi hung up.

He looked at Misao mildly, and Misao’s breath caught in his throat in disbelief.

“I have until they open for business tomorrow night to bring you back.”

“Tomorrownight?” Misao cried, more out of shock than delight. “I thoughtmaybethe afternoon, but tomorrownight? Really?”

“Yes,” Masaomi answered, his calm tempering Misao’s bewilderment. He untied the cord that held his jacket closed and placed it over the back of the sofa. Then he turned his face back to look at Misao casually.

“Are you hungry?”

Misao still couldn’t cope with this sudden turn in events so easily. He could only answer Masaomi’s question with a confused look.

“Now that I think about it, we haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. Should I get us something from the restaurant downstairs? Or have something brought up?”

Masaomi made one suggestion after another and Misao felt like he had seen the real him. This was what he was like, living his life in the world outside. It wasn’t a surprise that he’d had trouble navigating the muddy waters of the brothel.

He felt again what a good person he was.

“What do you want to do?”

Misao gazed into the distance silently and Masaomi smiled at him.

Before he surrendered all control to Masaomi and let him decide what to do, there was one thing nagging at Misao that he had to clear up.

“First, I’d like to know,” Misao began, thinking it was one way he could find out if his fear was groundless or not, “Could I wash my face?”

 

Misao sat against the wash basin and drooped his head. Water poured fitfully from the faucet, which apparently didn’t work very well.

“Misao?”

He heard Masaomi call to him from the other side of the door.

Misao had asked to wash his face, and so had come to this bathroom that was connected to Masaomi’s room. He had been in there about twenty minutes.

When he didn’t answer, Masaomi said, “I’m coming in” and pushed the door open.

“What’s wrong?”

He rested his hands on Misao’s shoulders and bent down to look into Misao’s eyes, but Misao quickly turned away.

“Please don’t look at me.”

He spoke tersely, his head turned all the way to the side.

He was rejecting Masaomi, and thereby rejecting himself.

When they’d come to the room, Masaomi had said it was so Misao could wash his face—and he had been exactly right. When Misao saw himself in the mirror, his eyes were puffy and red; he was hideous. When he thought about how he had exposed himself, he just couldn’t face Masaomi anymore. The fact that he had shown this shame to Masaomi only made it worse.

“I’m—I look so pitiful. I can’t—”

He struggled to speak, as if all the air had been squeezed out of his body.

“It’s humiliating,” he managed.

“Don’t be silly,” Masaomi murmured, pained. He sat down across from Misao.

He laid a hand tenderly on one of Misao’s cheeks.

“I find you quite attractive right now. You need someone to take care of you, someone to protect you—it’s very seductive,” Masaomi confessed passionately.

But to Misao it only seemed like he had used his unabashed wailing to elicit Masaomi’s kindness.

That was all it had been.

Masaomi was the kindest person Misao knew, with great stores of pity. If he saw someone hurting, he wouldn’t be able to resist helping.

Masaomi looked like he was waiting patiently, but finally he gave a sigh of resignation and reluctantly took his hand from Misao’s cheek.

“I’ll have a separate room prepared for you, so you can spend the night there. I’ll have someone bring your food there as well.”

Masaomi started to stand up, but Misao caught his wrist without thinking. He met Masaomi’s startled eyes and when he looked up, he knew. He lowered his eyes again awkwardly, and shook his head.

It was only natural that Masaomi would tire of his selfishness. But Misao didn’t want to spend the night in a separate room. That was pointless. Today was his only chance.

Masaomi sat down again and covered Misao’s hands with his free one. Then he spoke very gently, saying, “Misao, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. Just look: the bed here is certainly large enough, but there’s only one. I’ve been thinking all night that I should have a room prepared for you. Of course, I’d like to eat together if you don’t mind, but that’s my own selfish perspective and you don’t have to do it. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

His suggestion overflowed with consideration, but that only made Misao dig in deeper.

“Together,” he pleaded, eyes shut. “I want to stay together until morning.”

That would be enough.

Just to stay by his side.

“All right.”

Masaomi nodded, his words escaping on a breath. Misao felt a tender pressure on his fingertips.

“We’ll stay together,” Masaomi whispered, kissing Misao’s fingers.

A sweet trembling began at the core of Misao’s body. As he struggled to contain it, he murmured, “But... please don’t look at me too much.”

He added this selfish request.

He felt Masaomi chuckle.

“We’ll get some ice and you can chill your skin. Don’t worry. You’ll be beautiful again by tomorrow.”

After that, the two had their dinner together. They didn’t talk much during the meal, but that was just Masaomi’s custom; during the after-dinner tea, he was animated and occasionally let out a refreshing laugh. Misao rejoiced in this hitherto unknown frankness and eventually forgot all about his face.

Still, he dressed in a lighter robe and pressed a bag of ice that the front desk sent up to his eyelids. But now it had become a sort of joke and he could laugh about it. Masaomi had done that for him.

He felt the ice break down into cold water on his closed eyelids.

Misao lay on the bed by himself, buried under a quilt.

Rain continued to fall outside the window.

Misao was thinking about a story that Masaomi had told him after dinner about a huge boat. Misao had never even seen a picture of one, let alone the real thing. He told Masaomi it made him want to ride on one, and Masaomi nodded, saying that one day he would.

Misao wondered, sad.

Even if he really could ride on a boat like that, Masaomi wouldn’t be with him.

Feeling a puff of sultry steam, Misao removed the bag of ice water from his eyes.

Masaomi had just gotten out of the bath and was wearing a light summer robe. He sat on the edge of the bed. Misao sat up, and Masaomi twisted around to look at him. He drew his face closer.

The sight of his wet hair surprised Misao.

“It’s back,” Masaomi murmured, his eyes twinkling, stroking around Misao’s eye with the back of his hand. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Misao looked away, gulping.

Masaomi pulled away and picked up the robe that lay folded on the pillow. He held it out to Misao. Misao took it dazedly and got out of bed.

He went into the bathroom, which was filled with white billows of steam.

He wiped the mirror off with a hand and checked his face, foggily reflected back at him. What sort of face was he making? It was vacant and dreamy.

But Masaomi had called him beautiful.

This might well be the first time he had ever felt happy to have his appearance complimented.

His hand trembled against the mirror. An unbidden wish coursed through his body.

He washed himself thoroughly, and before he left the bathroom he looked once more into the mirror and took a deep breath.

He opened the door.

His fingers were tense.

“Kobe? That’s much earlier than we planned. Incredible.”

Masaomi was at the claw-footed desk at the back of the room. He was sitting in a chair, his legs crossed, resting his elbow on the desk as he spoke on the phone. His back was almost completely turned to Misao like this, so he didn’t seem to have noticed that Misao had come out of the bathroom yet.

“Are you all surviving without me?”

Masaomi joked with the person on the other end. He was speaking more casually than Misao had ever heard him.

Masaomi barked with laughter.

“Hey, you’re not allowed to laugh. No, you’ve been a big help, thanks. I think it would be bad to force things.”

The first half of this exchange was lighthearted, but the second half was more subdued. There was a brief silence.

Misao had totally missed his chance to speak. Now it would look like he was eavesdropping and he didn’t like that. He felt so uncomfortable, he wanted to run from the room.

“I haven’t made any progress,” Masaomi continued tranquilly on the telephone. He switched the receiver to his other ear.

“No, I was just blundering about it, and”

Masaomi seemed to sense something behind him and turned his head in the middle of the conversation.

Misao raised his head slightly and looked at Masaomi apologetically.

“Sorry, I have to go.”

Smirking at the embarrassment on Misao’s face, Masaomi explained quickly to the person on the phone. He stood up and turned back to the desk.

“I’ll come say hello in Kobe before I head back to Tokyo. Make the offer before I get there. Right, thanks. Okay, bye.”

Masaomi hung up, then took a breath, as if shifting gears, and turned to Misao apologetically.

“Sorry. I didn’t notice you.”

“No, it’s my fault.”

Misao shook his head uncomfortably.

“I was talking to my younger brother. I left him in charge.”

Masaomi walked away from the desk as he explained. He moved to the bed and sat down. He rested his left hand on the bed, gesturing to his side, and looked up at Misao with a smile.

“Come here. I’ll dry your hair.”

Misao’s heart pounded.

He gave a slight nod, then went to Masaomi’s side. He sat down silently where the man indicated.

His throat was tight and his neck stiff.

Masaomi took the towel from around Misao’s shoulders and wrapped it around his wet hair.

“You have such beautiful hair,” Masaomi murmured, as he wiped the water away with the towel. His voice tickled at Misao’s ear. “It’s so straight and manageable.”

Misao’s mind was a blank, searching for some response to these kind words. In the end, he wound up not answering.

If Katsuragi ever saw him like this, he would toss his head back and laugh, unbelieving. He would say that Misao pretended to be a master of love, but he was actually mastered by it.

Despite the fact that he’d been born and raised in the brothel, Misao hid a morsel of purity inside himself and Katsuragi had seen through him. That was why he had always found Misao’s lascivious bravado so amusing.

The towel fell from his hair.

Masaomi touched Misao’s ear with a long finger to tell him he had finished. Misao shut his eyes at the feeling of Masaomi’s finger brushing over his skin.

He had always believed that a passionate gaze without control was something filthy.

But now...

He raised his trembling eyelashes and turned to look at Masaomi.

He gazed earnestly at Masaomi as Masaomi gazed back at him, a slight bewilderment showing on his face.

It didn’t matter if it was a lie. He just wanted to be with this man once.

He opened his lips slightly.

“Shall we go to bed?”

He could barely speak: Misao’s advance was more a series of breaths than words. Masaomi’s eyes widened at it. His head moved awkwardly then, taking the hand that rested on his knee and covering his mouth with it.

The man beside him let out a deep breath.

His heart cooled and Misao gripped the robe that hugged his knees tightly around himself.

“Please don’t look at me like that and say those things,” Masaomi said, obviously at a loss, glancing sidelong at Misao and smiling ruefully. “I’m not that strong—I don’t trust in my reason to win out.”

Misao raised his eyebrows.

How was he supposed to take words as harsh as these?

It sounded like Masaomi wasn’t entirely unwilling, but he wanted to refuse politely.

“It must be hard for you being told this so often.”

Misao was confused. Masaomi took his hand away and turned to face him.

“Misao, I think I really do love you. So I don’t want to pay for sex with you.”

It took Misao several seconds to understand what Masaomi was telling him.

His lips trembled, opening and closing several times.

“You think I want—?”

Misao’s voice grew harsh and his eyes widened in anger.

Masaomi looked surprised. As soon as Misao saw that, he remembered that he had never corrected his misunderstanding the night before.

As shame colored his neck, his heart broke.

Masaomi thought that Misao was a male prostitute.

When he realized that Masaomi had been looking at him like that the entire day, Misao couldn’t bear it.

“You’re wrong.”

His eyebrows knitted together painfully and he shook his head. He looked pleadingly at Masaomi.

“I don’t sell my body,” he declared keenly.

Masaomi’s face hardened as he gazed at him, and a few moments later he apologized.

“I’m sorry. I obviously misunderstood terribly somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

Misao twisted his head in incomprehension and Masaomi answered with a harsh laugh.

“Now I’ve done it,” he sighed, and stared up at the ceiling. “But no, I’m glad.”

His eyes narrowed in a slight smile and he looked somehow relieved. But Misao could only watch him, still not understanding.

“But you...”

Masaomi started to say something, but apparently had trouble going on.

He turned back to Misao.

“I’m sure a lot of people told you that you were beneath them.”

Masaomi offered this with a complicated expression. Misao gazed at him vacantly for a long moment, then lowered his eyes.

“At first everyone acts kind.”

He spoke in a whisper devoid of emotion, his eyes fixated, unseeing, on the carpet. He blinked slowly, and cursed himself.

“But in exchange for their help they take off their kimonos and expose themselves to me. In the end they just want to lock me away somewhere. And compared to the girls who sell their bodies, my debt to the brothel must be cheap.”

“But you refused.”

“Of course I did.”

Misao was emphatic.

“Spending my entire life locked away with a man I don’t love is worse torture than being in the brothel.”

Misao spit out his words, and Masaomi watched him carefully. Then he whispered, seriously, “I’d like to think I would be different.”

“Wh—”

Masaomi’s eyes left Misao’s face and unfocused slightly, lost in thought.

“On the other hand, it would probably be humiliating.”

Masaomi spoke as if to himself, and it pained Misao to see his face, for reasons he didn’t understand.

“‘On the other hand’?”

Misao caught at Masaomi’s words, driven by his impatience at being left behind in the conversation.

“Do you mean there’s an upside to being locked away by someone I don’t love?”

He was utterly unsure of his interpretation. But the way Masaomi looked back at him in utter silence told Misao that he had it right.

Why had Masaomi’s mind gone to that all of a sudden?

Masaomi smiled faintly at Misao’s confusion.

“Shall we go to bed?” he asked crisply, as if trying to forget about everything.

“Excuse me?” Misao whispered.

There wasn’t even a trace of eroticism in his voice, and Misao knew now that his own invitation had blown away like smoke on the air.

His heart was filled with a variety of complex emotions: regret, self-pity, relief. And it was out of the question now to ask the man to explain himself.

With a soft sigh, Misao stood up. He went around to the opposite side of the bed and got under the covers.

He gazed at Masaomi’s back as he dimmed the lights.

Misao knew that he was too ambitious.

“But maybe... maybe I don’t mind after all.”

Misao’s voice echoed with a strange sadness in the darkened room.

Masaomi got into bed beside him and cocked his head.

“What I said before—about how even if the man didn’t love me... I think maybe, just being with him would be enough.”

Misao looked up at Masaomi, who sat propped up against the pillows. He had spoken his real feelings just now.

Sensing that they had returned to the earlier topic, Masaomi smiled in agreement. His smile was stunning.

“How admirable.”

Misao’s eyes grew round at this compliment. He was so surprised his mouth fell open.

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that.”

After the initial shock wore off, he saw the humor in it.

“If Kazushi heard you say that, he wouldn’t be able to stop laughing.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Misao covered his face with his hands. His shoulders were shaking.

“Kazushi? Oh, that servant? That handsome man?”

Misao burst out laughing at that. He didn’t know if Masaomi had meant it seriously or as a joke.

“When you say that, I can’t help but compare you two. Kazushi definitely gets the short end of the stick in that contest!”

He looked up at Masaomi, laughing. Misao’s eyes met Masaomi’s, which gazed down at him seriously, and he choked off his laughter. The bed was big enough for three people to sleep in it together. There ought to have been plenty of space between the two of them, but somehow they felt very close. A thrill of surprise ran down Misao’s neck.

“Mister Towa—?”

Finally, he spoke his name, and Masaomi tilted his head, still looking at Misao. “I was just thinking how carefree you looked when you were talking about him.”

It took a moment for Misao to realize that he meant Kazushi.

He nodded. “I’ve known him a long time.”

“You sound different when you talk about him,” Masaomi said quietly. A small, melancholy sigh escaped him.

“Are you going to a special effort for me? Because I’m a customer?”

Misao’s head was sunk into the pillow, but he shook it ever so slightly.

You’re wrong.

He cared for Masaomi.

And even if he had known exactly why, he wouldn’t tell him.

“Well, you sounded totally different when you were talking to your brother on the phone before.”

Masaomi looked a little embarrassed at Misao’s point. It was sort of cheating.

“He’s a relative.”

“Kazushi is like a relative to me.”

Masaomi smiled slightly at Misao’s answer. “I see.”

He lay down fully.

“Well, at least—”

He gazed up at the ceiling as he spoke, his face turned very slightly toward Misao. He had a gentle, teasing smile.

“Call me Masaomi.”

Misao’s lips parted slightly. He pulled the quilt up very slightly to hide it.

He waited for Masaomi’s eyes to turn back to the ceiling.

Then he whispered secretly, “Masaomi.”

He saw the man’s face flicker for a moment.

The silence that filled the room let them know that the rain had stopped.

Masaomi folded the arm closest to Misao behind his head and spoke in a very controlled voice. “If I try anything funny, I want you to hit me,” he joked, still looking at the ceiling.

Misao hid the tight, painful squeezing of his heart and forced a laugh.

 

 

 

He ran frantically, barefoot.

He ran across small bits of gravel, which cut his feet and made them bloody. But since his face and body were covered with injuries, he could no longer tell which part of him hurt.

He was afraid to look behind him, and ran on, clinging to what he saw ahead.

He passed several shop lights burning in the darkness at the edge of his vision.

He stumbled and fell many times. The scrapes on his palms and knees grew deeper each time.

His breath made a white cloud in front of him, and through it he could see the great western gate that he sought drawing closer.

There were two men in front of the gate, blocking it.

Let me through!

He ran haphazardly between the men.

They caught his shoulders on both sides and twisted his arms behind him and forced him to his knees.

His wide eyes saw the gate soaring into the sky just above him.

He stretched his mouth open to its limit.

Let me out!

 

 

 

The sound of his voice reverberating inside his head woke Misao up.

He put a hand to his forehead.

His heart was pounding fast.

He saw an unfamiliar ceiling. A moment later, the entire day’s events replayed in Misao’s mind and he looked hesitantly over beside him.

There he saw the man’s face, handsome in sleep, and he sighed in relief.

But still his feeling of helplessness did not go away. So Misao gently moved over to lie on top of the man’s chest.

He was warm.

Misao’s heart filled itself with his kind warmth.

He wanted to hold Masaomi, and to be held.

He pressed his lips against the cloth of Masaomi’s robe rather than let the desolate sigh he felt rising escape them. He closed his delicately trembling eyelashes. Misao felt a hand begin to slowly stroke his hair, and when he drew himself closer to the man’s body, Masaomi wrapped an arm around his frail shoulders.

Misao let his eyes roam freely and he gazed up at Masaomi, afraid that he had woke him up. But set deep within his flawless face, his eyelids remained shut.