They resumed e-mailing each other, but they did not meet again. Hirosue made no mention of wanting to see him, either. Matsuoka’s initial reaction to that statement had been to cut ties with him completely, which was probably why Hirosue was reluctant to repeat it again.

One Friday about a month after Hirosue’s farewell party, Matsuoka had arrived home to his apartment and was in the middle of exchanging e-mails with Hirosue. Their messages went back and forth like a conversation. Unlike before, Hirosue now confided in Matsuoka about his work. He seemed to be having trouble fitting in at his new workplace. “I’m not mindful enough,” he often repeated in his e-mails. But it wasn’t a problem of mindfulness; the real problem was probably the overly-specialized laboratory environment. But Matsuoka could not give himself away by revealing he knew the internal affairs of the company. So he had no choice but to b.u.t.ton his lip and listen to what Hirosue said. He could tell from the tone of Hirosue’s e-mails that the man was placing all the blame on himself for the rocky social conditions with his co-workers. Hirosue’s self-reproach seeped through the lines and filled Matsuoka with pain. Matsuoka also found it hard endure the brutally-truthful way he called himself incompetent. If only he could unload some of the blame on others―maybe complain about how his boss seemed to have a stick up his a.s.s―then, perhaps it would take some stress off of his shoulders. But Hirosue didn’t seem like the type to do that. If he even had a little bit of the thick skin that f.u.kuda has, Matsuoka thought in frustration.

The topic of work made Hirosue’s e-mails slant further and further into sombre and gloomy territory, so Matsuoka decided to change up the conversation.

‘Did you hear it’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow?’ he wrote.

‘Do you have any plans?’ was Hirosue’s reply.

‘I’ll probably just laze around at home,’ Matsuoka answered. The next e-mail came after some time.

‘Then would you like to go out somewhere with me?’

Matsuoka instantly regretted it. It would sound too deliberate now if he said, ‘I’m sorry, I suddenly remembered I had an errand. I can’t go out tomorrow,’ when he had just proclaimed himself free.

Matsuoka agonized over his decision. If he said no now, he felt like he would hurt the man. But meeting him in drag would be unnatural. After thinking and thinking and thinking some more, he finally sent a reply.

‘Where will you take me?’

He sent the e-mail with a concrete resolve and mental preparation to meet Hirosue again.

Less than a minute later, he received a giddy reply.

‘Where would you like to go? Do you have any requests?’

‘I’ll leave it up to you, Mr. Hirosue,’ he replied.

After e-mailing him good night, Matusoka thought hard. They had agreed to meet at ten o’clock in the morning. He would probably be with Hirosue until evening. It was going to be his first time spending such a long stretch of the day in crossdressed form with Hirosue. Matsuoka had his fears about accidentally using his voice, or about his wig falling off, but it was no use thinking of that stuff now.

Matsuoka banished the elements of anxiety from his mind and climbed into bed early. Sleep was critical to healthy-looking skin. He simply could not let himself be seen if his makeup didn’t blend with his skin properly.

The weather forecast betrayed them spectacularly the next day, bestowing them with a steady drizzle since morning. Matsuoka and Hirosue stood stunned in front of the gates of the enormous amus.e.m.e.nt park. Matsuoka had noticed how empty the train to the park had been despite it being a Sat.u.r.day, and had also found it strange that there were so few people heading towards the gates. But he had a.s.sumed it was because of the rain.

He hadn’t even imagined that the park would be closed on Sat.u.r.days. Matsuoka was surprised, but Hirosue seemed to be even more shocked. As soon as he saw the “Park Closed” sign, he froze on the spot and stopped moving altogether.

“I’m sorry. I should have looked it up beforehand,” he apologized in such a barely audible whisper that Matsuoka hastily scribbled, ‘It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,’ on a note. On their way back to the station directly connected to the amus.e.m.e.nt park, Hirosue kept his head down and barely spoke. When he opened his mouth, all that came out were words of apology. It was unbearable to see Hirosue swamped with such self-loathing.

They had talked about so many things on the train ride here, but the ride back was silent. Matsuoka thought of any way he might lift Hirosue’s spirits.

‘Let’s play King.’ Matsuoka showed him the note, and Hirosue lifted his face. ‘We’ll play rock-paper-scissors, and the winner gets to be King for the day. The King’s commands are absolute, and you have to obey them no matter what.’

Hirosue finally smiled a little.

“If I won I’d be King, but if you won I guess you would be Queen.”

Matsuoka smiled, closed his right hand into a loose fist and raised it to chest-level.

“Are we playing already?”

When Matsuoka nodded, Hirosue closed his right hand in the same way. On the same beat, they revealed their hands on one, two, three. Matsuoka won.

“What shall I do for you, Your Majesty?” Hirosue said jokingly.

‘When we get back to the station, I want to eat pasta. I know a good place – can we go there?’ Matsuoka wrote.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Hirosue bowed his head humbly.

‘And after lunch, let’s go to a hair salon.’

Hirosue read the note. “A hair salon?” he echoed. Matsuoka only smiled and didn’t say any more.

Hirosue looked fl.u.s.tered, but Matsuoka was rather enjoying himself. After they dined on pasta, Matsuoka took Hirosue to a stylish salon. He worried about whether they could get a seat without an appointment, but apparently there had been a cancellation due to the rain. They ended up being able to secure an appointment for a haircut and colour.

Matsuoka gave a light flutter of his right hand as Hirosue was hauled off to the shampoo station with a dubious look on his face. While the man was getting shampooed, Matsuoka chose a haircut from the catalogue and decided on a colour. He picked a dark brown that wasn’t too flashy, and a haircut that was on the shorter side, with airy ends which allowed for movement.

While Hirosue was getting his hair cut and dyed, Matsuoka pa.s.sed the time flipping through magazines, gazing at the rain outside, and observing Hirosue’s anxious face as he sat before the mirror. It took about an hour and a half until everything was finished. Hirosue’s professionally-styled hair was voluminous but clean-cut, and made him look about fifty-percent better-looking.

Matsuoka knew his eyes hadn’t deceived him. He had figured the man would look decent as long as he did something with his hair, and he had been right. They had even done Hirosue’s eyebrows, which made him laugh.

When Hirosue fretted about payment, Matsuoka handed him a note that said, ‘I’m the Queen today, so don’t you worry about it,’ and ushered him along to their next destination. They arrived at a shopping mall, where Matsuoka entered every single store that lined it, and made the most of window shopping.

They entered a gla.s.ses store even though both of them had good vision. They fooled around and tried numerous pairs of gla.s.ses, heedless of the unimpressed look on the salesperson’s face. A pair of sleek, thin-framed gla.s.ses looked astonishingly good on Hirosue. The gla.s.ses alone were enough to give him the aura of a fashion-savvy man. Matsuoka wondered if he wouldn’t buy them, even just as an accessory, but Hirosue did not spend his money on such trifles.

Next, they entered a brand-name shop that specialized in men’s apparel. Matsuoka shopped from this store a lot, since they were surprisingly affordable and had a good selection of casual wear.

In fact, one thing had been on his mind since this morning, and that was Hirosue’s clothes. A suit made every man look presentable, with personal clothes that was not so. There wasn’t a more obvious way to display your tastes than through the clothes you wore when off work. Hirosue’s taste, to put it mildly, was appalling. His thick checkered shirt was faded and wrinkled, and the T-shirt he wore underneath was worn out. On top of that, his beige cotton pants had pleats in the front and back, creating a shapeless silhouette that was murderously unappealing. Matsuoka had always wondered why Hirosue wore trousers aimed at middle-aged men who wanted to hide their figures when he was thin enough to pull off a slim pair. Matsuoka took various shirts and jackets and held them up to Hirosue’s chest like he would a mannequin. Soon, he found a khaki-coloured zip-up jacket that was perfect for the season.

It looked so good he almost wanted one for himself, and he felt like it would look good on Hirosue, too. Matsuoka chose the jacket and a dark pair of jeans and led the man by the hand to the fitting rooms.

“Would you like to try those on?” an a.s.sociate asked.

“Um,” mumbled the man incoherently. Matsuoka handed him the clothes he had chosen and flashed him a smile.

“Is it okay if I just see how they look on me?” Hirosue asked meekly. The a.s.sociate gave him an ear-to-ear grin.

“Please,” he said.

Hirosue came out of the fitting room about three minutes later. Since he was tall to begin with, his legs looked longer when he wore a simple pair of denims. They went well with the jacket, and it gave him a polished air.

“It looks very nice on you,” the a.s.sociate enthused, seizing his chance to shower him with compliments. Hirosue didn’t seem to think it was too bad, either.

“I don’t own any jeans, actually, and this is my first time wearing this type of jacket.”

“If you don’t own anything like this, I’d urge you to take this opportunity to add to your wardrobe. You can wear jeans year-round, and you’ll be able to wear this jacket across many seasons, except the middle of winter and the heat of the summer.”

Hirosue looked at Matsuoka. “How do I look?”

‘Fabulous,’ he wrote on the man’s hand. Hirosue’s face turned brick red as he watched Matsuoka write.

“You like it?”

Matsuoka nodded enthusiastically.

“Then I’ll take the set, please.”

“Thank you,” the sales a.s.sociate said with a grin, and bowed his head deeply. Matsuoka pulled Hirosue back as he headed towards the fitting rooms again. The man c.o.c.ked his head at him, and Matsuoka wrote, ‘Keep them on for our date.’

They put Hirosue’s own clothes in the store’s paper bag and left the shop. Before, when they walked side by side, people had usually turned around to look at Matsuoka. Now, he could sense people staring at Hirosue as well. It was understandable: Hirosue now looked unbelievably refined and handsome. The display windows caught their reflections like mirrors. They seemed like a real couple when they were walking like this.

They reached the end of the shopping mall they had frolicked through. The rain stubbornly refused to let up, and since they wanted to avoid the ha.s.sle of walking through it, they entered a nearby building instead. It contained brand-name shops for female apparel, and on the second floor they found a comfortable-looking cafe.

They chose a seat by the window and sat down across from each other. Hirosue let out a breath.

‘I’m sorry for dragging you around like that. You must be tired.’ Matsuoka gently handed him the note. Hirosue shook his head.

“No, I’m enjoying myself,” he said, and gave him a smile. “I was able to buy the kind of clothes I’d usually never wear. I felt like I was discovering a new side to me. It was interesting.”

Matsuoka wished today would inspire Hirosue to take an interest in fashion. Women would flock to him, and he would have an easier time forgetting about Matsuoka. But on the other hand, Matsuoka felt reluctant to hand Hirosue over to a girl for nothing when he had put in so much of his effort into making this man handsome.

He heard a child’s voice, and glanced over to see a girl about three years old tottering down the aisle with an ice cream cone in hand. She looked half-j.a.panese: her light brown hair and fair skin gave her a doll-like appearance.

She was so adorable, she turned the heads of many around her. Matsuoka also gazed at her absently. When the girl reached their table, she dropped a pink coin purse with metal clasps which had been slung across her shoulder. She bent down to pick it up, and before Matsuoka could voice a warning, she tumbled face forward on the floor, leaving a smear of ice cream below the knee of Hirosue’s brand-new jeans.

The little girl sat up. Her face crumpled into a grimace before she burst into loud tears. Unsure of what to do, Matsuoka took a sweeping glance around him, looking for her mother.

“Don’t cry, it’ll be alright.” Hirosue stood up from his seat, squatted down in front of the girl and patted her head. When she wouldn’t stop crying, he scooped her up in a familiar fashion.

“Alrighty, where’s your mommy?” he murmured as he gazed at his surroundings. The young mother finally appeared. She bowed apologetically to him and took the child with her. After they were out of sight, Hirosue wiped the hem of his pants with a warm wet towel. His jacket was also soiled from the girl’s sticky fingers clinging to his chest.

As for the man himself, he didn’t seem to mind the stain.

“She was cute, wasn’t she?” he reflected mildly. He didn’t seem to notice the stain on his chest. Too impatient to tell him in writing, Matsuoka got up from his chair and rubbed at Hirosue’s jacket with his own wet cloth.

Once the stain had somewhat come off, he looked up to see Hirosue blushing bright red.All I did was get close to him and he’s like this. How innocent, Matsuoka thought idly, then slid back into his seat across.

“Thank you,” Hirosue smiled, his face still red.

‘You’re good with kids,’ Matsuoka wrote and showed him.

“Ah, well,” Hirosue said, raking the back of his freshly-barbered head. “My older brother’s child is around that age. I always play with him when I go back to my parents’ place. Children are so innocent at that age, so it’s heartwarming just to spend time with them.”

‘You’re a kind man, Mr. Hirosue.’

After reading the note, Hirosue laughed bitterly in self-scorn.

“I’m actually not at all.”

Matsuoka hadn’t meant to tease him; he honestly did feel that way. Confused at Hirosue’s unexpected response, Matsuoka added to his note and handed it back.

‘You helped me that time, too.’

Hirosue looked at the note and turned his face downwards.

“I only lent you my shoes. And you returned my money.”

‘But you were the only one who approached me that time, Mr. Hirosue.’

The man across from him lapsed into silence. Never before did Matsuoka regret his pretence of being mute as much as he did now. If only he could speak―then, he would be able to urge the man on and carry their conversation at a brisker tempo.

“I only approached you the second time I saw you.”

I know that already. You don’t have to tell me.

“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t bring myself to go up to you. I was with people from my work. They called you ‘some weird lady’ and I couldn’t argue against them. I pretended not to see you. But it kept nagging at me, so I came back alone. But still, it took me a long time until I could talk to you.”

Hirosue looked at Matsuoka.

“A kind person in the real sense would probably have approached you the first time he saw you. He wouldn’t have had second thoughts or hesitated like I did. I’m actually not a kind person at all.”

Matsuoka knew what the man was trying to say. But it rankled him for reasons he didn’t know.

‘Who are you trying to be? G.o.d?’

Hirosue looked surprised at the contents of the note.

“G.o.d…?”

‘Aren’t you? Because what you did was perfectly normal. If a strange woman you knew nothing about was sitting on the ground and you didn’t approach her because you didn’t want to get involved in trouble, that’s perfectly normal. If our positions were reversed, I would have ignored you. I would have had nothing to do with you.’

It was incredibly frustrating to have to write everything down when Matsuoka knew that, in spoken words, he would have gotten across immediately.

‘No one likes ha.s.sles. You were aware of that, but you still came up to me. That’s why I was so touched. Whether you did it earlier or later is nothing to beat yourself up about. It’s so maddening to hear you talk like that. It makes you seem fake.’

Hirosue’s face tensed up before his eyes as he read the note.

‘I’m guilty of lying, of being mean to people. If I happen upon something troublesome, I’ll ignore it. Will you look down on me for being like that?’

“I didn’t mean…”

Matsuoka shook his head.

‘Why don’t you be more honest? If you like something, or if you hate something, just say so. That’s part of being human. Why don’t you accept that?’

Hirosue hung his head. Watching the man bow his head in shame, Matsuoka found himself wondering why he was so riled up. Hirosue was not guilty at all. In fact, the man had helped him, and his very kindness was what was making him feel guilty right now. What business did Matsuoka―a stranger―have to reprimand him about it? Hirosue had every right to think it unfair.

A little while after their conversation lapsed, the waitress approached them and asked them if she could take the cups away. The coffee shop was starting to get crowded.

“Should we leave?” Hirosue said to him, and Matsuoka nodded.

They left the coffee shop and paused at the exit of the shopping mall. They had no further plans from here.

“Let’s call it a day, then?” Hirosue suggested gloomily. Matsuoka could do nothing but nod. They opened their umbrellas and walked in the rain. As he watched the man from behind, Matsuoka felt frustration nibbling at his whole body. Hirosue was kind, considerate man with firm morals, innocence, and sincerity. Matsuoka knew that. Then, what had caused him be so harsh to that man? He pondered over the roots of his actions.

To his colleague, f.u.kuda, for example, he barely said half of what he really thought. If he spoke the truth to a man like him who was self-centred, unsympathetic, and twisted everything to suit his own purposes, their friendship would never work out. The reality was that, as long as you knew the trick to getting along, you could keep up endless superficial relations with any kind of p.r.i.c.k.

The words that Matsuoka had written on his earlier notes were his honest thoughts. Those feelings were deeper than simply “like” and “dislike”, and Matsuoka had been compelled to put them into words.

When they arrived at the station, they bought tickets and found out they were going in total opposite directions. Once they descended the stairs going underground, Hirosue would take the stairs in the far end to get on his side, and Matsuoka would take the stairs closer to them to go in his direction. Hirosue paused before the stairs going down to their respective platforms.

“Thank you for coming out with me today. Sorry I made a mess of it right from the beginning.”

If Matsuoka hadn’t unleashed a one-sided attack on the man, perhaps this would have ended as a fun date. Hirosue’s eyes remained fixed on his feet and he avoided meeting Matsuoka’s gaze. From his att.i.tude, he appeared to think Matsuoka hated him now. He had to straighten out the misunderstanding before they parted, at least, or else he felt like the man would go home and agonize about it endlessly.

‘I like people who are kind.’

The man stared at the note that Matsuoka had pa.s.sed him. Matsuoka held out another one in his line of sight.

‘And I like people who strive to be kind.’

Hirosue lifted his face and smiled weakly. His eyes were watery, like he was on the verge of tears. At his steady gaze, Matsuoka felt his heart stir.

“I can’t drive.” With the abrupt statement, the man clasped both of Matsuoka’s hands tightly. “When I was in university, I caused an accident. I hit a high-school student riding a bike. Fortunately that student wasn’t hurt badly, but ever since then I’ve been too afraid to drive. It scared me how easy it was to hurt others, that I’d caused harm―since then, I just haven’t been able to drive a car.”

Matsuoka didn’t know what Hirosue was trying to get at.

“I’m a cowardly, shameful guy. I know really well that I am. I have no special hobbies, I’m not athletic, and I’m not good at talking to people. All the women I’ve dated before have always told me I was boring.”

That wasn’t Hirosue’s fault; his mistake was falling in love with the kind of women who would say that. ―Matsuoka wished he could say so, but he couldn’t.

“That’s why―since you can’t talk, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I wasn’t very good at conversation,” he blurted.

The man’s bare confession took Matsuoka by surprise.

“You’re free to think of me as a cruel man. But I will still tell you the truth.”

His grip tightened around Matsuoka’s hands so fiercely it hurt.

“Even with your speech handicap, you’re still a cheerful person, and you’re not afraid of giving your honest opinions. You’re a grounded, mature woman. And you’re strong―completely different from me.”

Matsuoka gulped loudly. He couldn’t avert his gaze from the man’s earnest eyes.

“I love you.”

For some reason, the confession made him feel dizzy.

“It’s probably unwanted trouble for you, but I still want to say it. I love you.”

Matsuoka’s heart was racing. Although he knew those words were meant for Yoko Eto, he was still overcome with a strange feeling. He had been confessed to once before, but right now it was different. Today, it was completely different.

“I don’t want to let you go home,” Hirosue said in a strained voice. “I don’t anyone else to see you or touch you. I want to take you home and cherish you, and make you mine. Only mine.”

In the next moment, he was being drawn into an embrace. He could smell hair product from the nape of the man’s neck.

“Ms. Eto.”

He looked up as his name was called. He sensed a kiss coming, but he didn’t try to avoid it. His brain wasn’t functioning enough to tell him to flee. The man’s dry lips merely brushed against his in a tranquil, gentle kiss. Hirosue drew away once, then lovingly stroked Matsuoka’s cheek before kissing him again.

Matsuoka’s first kiss in a year felt good, to be truthful. As he basked in being in Hirosue’s arms, he was violently brought back to reality when he felt fingers running through his hair. His wig shifted backwards a little.

Matsuoka tore the man off of him with as much strength as he could muster, and flew down the stairs. He wanted to fix his skewed wig, but he didn’t have a mirror. Hirosue was chasing him from behind, though he wished the man would leave him alone―

“Don’t run away, Ms. Yoko.”

He couldn’t run very quickly in heels. Finally, around halfway down the platform, he was caught.

“What I did was totally out of the blue. I understand if you’re angry. I’m sorry.”

Matsuoka looked down so the man wouldn’t see his shifted hairline.

“But I really do love you.”

I get it. Just leave me alone today. No matter how much effort Matsuoka exerted to pry the Hirosue’s hands off of him, he was no match for a man’s serious strength.

He could sense the train coming from far away. Matsuoka made up his mind and lifted his face decisively. He gazed intently at the pitiful man’s face, quietly drew up to him, and kissed his dry, gentle lips. The man flinched, and his grip on Matsuoka’s hands loosened.

As the man stood in stunned silence, Matsuoka dipped his head in a slight bow, shook off the hands that held his and jumped onto the train behind him. The man did not come after him. He only stood and stared in dumb shock at Matsuoka as the train took him further and further away.

As soon as he was left alone on the train, Matsuoka felt a wave of embarra.s.sment come over him. Granted, he was caught up in the moment, but he thought he would never see the day when he’d be kissing someone in a public place like a station platform. Some people here probably witnessed the scene as well. Unable to bear the awkwardness, Matsuoka fled two train cars to the front.

His cheeks were strangely hot and his heart fluttered as he recalled the kiss. He felt like he was going insane, and it made him panic. Eventually he heard his ring tone signalling the arrival of a message. It was definitely from Hirosue. He was afraid to read it, yet couldn’t wait to; with these inexplicable, nebulous feelings swirling in his heart, he took out his cell phone.

‘I want to see your face.’

It wasn’t an apology, or even an excuse. They were Hirosue’s honest feelings. Matsuoka was unsure of how to reply, and he ended up arriving at his apartment without sending anything back. Not feeling up to doing anything, he sat on the sofa in the living room and absently stared at the wall.

The closed theme park, their King Game, their argument in the cafe, their bold kiss at the station―all of these things blended together as he remembered them over and over again. It made him restless, but in no way was it unpleasant. In fact, it was the opposite.

He knew this feeling―when someone was persistently on his mind and refused to leave his thoughts, making him happy, or suddenly sad, making his emotions precariously unstable….

Even if he were to go with the theory that this was love, there was still the fact that they were both men. Matsuoka smiled wryly. Being confessed to so many times had probably given him a mistaken impression. It had to be a mistaken impression, or else there was no way to explain the emotions he felt.

His cell phone rang from an incoming message, and Matsuoka flinched so violently he surprised himself. He hastily opened it.

‘You can say anything. Please just give me an answer.’

He could feel the tension through the e-mail. This man had never before sent two e-mails in a row without receiving a reply. The laws of their conversations were beginning to crumble. Matsuoka wanted to answer, but he had no idea what to write, or how. It wasn’t like he could say, ‘I’m actually a man, and Yoko Eto does not exist. The person to whom you just made that spectacular confession of love is actually a man.’ Absolutely no way. As Matsuoka sat with folded arms in front of his cell phone, thinking hard, a third e-mail arrived.

‘I’m almost dying from regret.’

The pleading man was uncontrollably adorable. No other words could describe what he felt now.

‘Today…’

Matsuoka typed that much, then erased it. He wrote ‘Today’ again, and it took him thirty minutes to write just a few lines of text.

‘Today, I was caught by surprise a little, but it was fun. Good night.’

After sending the e-mail, he felt like he had just done something irrevocable. But he had not lied in the words he had written.

Even after he had showered, taken his makeup off, and stepped completely out of a woman’s world, he still felt it lingering about him. He kept subconsciously touching his lips over and over. He was certainly going crazy.

Something was still bothering him, and he felt like he knew why, yet he felt like he didn’t. Matsuoka dealt with it by going to bed early. But he was too excited to sleep, and he tossed and turned several times.

Shallow sleep finally descended on Matsuoka, bringing him a strange dream along with it. All he was doing was standing face-to-face with Hirosue. They weren’t talking, just standing. Matsuoka was in male form, but he was still aware of the love and desire Hirosue harboured for him.

He didn’t think it disturbing. A thought randomly entered his head―he wondered if he was going to have s.e.x with this man. If he said he wanted to, would I?

He did feel like he wanted to see what kind of body Hirosue had. His broad chest had been very comforting when he was embraced earlier.

―I bet he’s gentle with s.e.x, too. Even in his dream, Matsuoka was almost sure of it.

When Hirosue said he wanted to meet again, Matsuoka refused. He knew it was something he shouldn’t do. But every day, he continued to receive giddy, fervent e-mails from Hirosue. Every time he read them, he felt a searing yearning in his heart. It was like he was falling in love, too. Is it love? No; they’re just misguided feelings. The two thoughts alternately flitted through his heart. When it came down to it, even Matsuoka himself could not tell which one was correct.

On the morning exactly three weeks after their date, Matsuoka got an e-mail from Hirosue after his wake-up call.

‘I’ll be waiting at the clock tower in front of Shimoda Station on the Hiwasa subway line at seven o’clock this evening. If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. But I have to take some sort of action, or else I can’t sit still.’

For the whole day, even at work, Matsuoka’s mind was on Hirosue’s e-mail. He didn’t intend to go, but if he didn’t, Hirosue would probably keep waiting in front of the station. The thought of it pained him. That was why he had written an e-mail back.

‘I have an errand to run today, so I won’t be able to go.’

If he told Hirosue it was an errand, he figured the man wouldn’t bother waiting, either. He had sent the e-mail at six o’clock in the evening, before their meeting time.

Matsuoka ate out for dinner, and boarded the train. He waited and waited, but there was no reply from Hirosue. Feeling a sense of foreboding, Matsuoka got off at Shimoda Station. It was seven-thirty.

He had guessed right: Hirosue was standing before the clock tower in front of the station. Matsuoka hid himself in the shadows and typed an e-mail.

‘I’m having dinner with a friend right now. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you today. I’ll e-mail you again when I get home.’

After he sent it, there was a short time lag before he saw Hirosue reach into his suit pocket to pull out his cell phone. Surely this was enough to make the man give up and go home. However, even after reading the e-mail, Hirosue did not move from the front of the clock tower.

He had told the man he couldn’t go. He’d sent e-mails twice. Why was he still waiting? Matsuoka rapped his heel against the pavement in frustration.

If this is what it’s come to, maybe I should just go up to him right now. Right here, right now, I’ll tell that guy: Yoko Eto doesn’t exist. She was me. That way, I’ll finally get a load off my chest. I don’t care if he thinks I’m a crossdressing pervert.

Matsuoka exited the station and slowly approached Hirosue at the clock tower. The man glanced at him once, but quickly looked at his feet again. Matsuoka had meant to stand face-to-face with the man, but his courage failed him at the last minute. He ended walking around to the opposite side, pretending to wait for someone as well.

He told himself he was only waiting for the right timing to go up to him. He brooded seriously over whether his first words would be “good evening” or “let me introduce myself”, but in the back of his mind he knew he was only doing it to buy himself time.

Just go home already. Yoko Eto isn’t coming. He sent mental messages to the man over and over again from behind the clock tower, but the shadow behind him did not budge.

A droplet hit his cheek. It was rain. As he looked up at the sky, it began to rain harder. The people around him naturally quickened their steps. Matsuoka made a hurried run towards the station entrance.

Hirosue did not move from the clock tower. Even when the rain started coming down in torrents, he still stood there looking at his feet. The man didn’t deliberately have to wait in a spot that would get him wet. One could still see the clock tower and its surroundings from the sheltered station entrance. But the man did not move.

As much as he wanted to, Matsuoka couldn’t grab the man’s hand and take him out of the rain, because he wasn’t dressed as a woman. He wasn’t Yoko Eto.

Don’t let me see you like that, he thought. His chest throbbed painfully, and he felt like he was being crushed by guilt, or by some feeling he couldn’t put a name to.

‘Please just go home.’ He sent the e-mail. After a short while, the man suddenly sprang into motion and started glancing around in a panic. His agitation was almost pitiful as he walked around the clock tower―round and round, over and over again, like a dog. After thirty minutes of that, Hirosue finally came into the station. He was soaked so thoroughly he was a mild public nuisance. He walked right past Matsuoka, his downcast face pale and bloodless, his appearance that of a dead man.

Once Hirosue was out of sight, Matsuoka wept a little. Maybe I’ve actually become attached to this clumsy, tactless man, he thought. Maybe I’ve actually fallen in love with him.

Matsuoka walked in the pouring rain without even opening an umbrella. He didn’t bother running, which must have looked strange to the pa.s.sersby, for he could clearly feel their eyes on him.

The interested gazes of those around him didn’t bother him at all. He knew that putting himself in the same drenched situation as Hirosue wouldn’t do anything, but he felt so lowly of himself that he couldn’t let himself be otherwise.

By the time he reached his apartment, the rain had washed away his body heat, and he was shivering. He put his cell phone, which was powered off, onto the table, and shut himself in the bathroom.

Even inside the bath, his head hung low. He thought over and over of the man who had been soaked in the rain. He thought hard. What could he have done? Was there something else he could have done back there?

Hirosue had heedlessly waited despite Matsuoka telling him he couldn’t go. Wasn’t this partly Hirosue’s fault, too? But of course, there was no answer, and Matsuoka was still feeling depressed when he got out of the bath. He towelled his hair as he returned to the living room, where “it” elbowed its way into his vision. He had turned the power off in avoidance. It was proof that he was running away from the problem.

It’s not my fault, Matsuoka told himself as he picked up his cell phone. When he turned the power on, an e-mail was waiting from Hirosue, as he expected.

‘If you came, why didn’t you show yourself to me?’

He had told the man he couldn’t go. Hirosue was the one who had chosen to wait anyway, and Matsuoka felt like he had no right to be blamed for that.

‘If I’m a nuisance, and you don’t want to see me anymore, then please tell me outright. If you tell me you hate me, I’ll never e-mail you again.’

His choices were laid out before him. Continue or quit. I should just say I hate him and send it off. Then, Hirosue would keep his promise and never e-mail me again.

Even if his relationship with Hirosue ended here, it was just a matter of facing him again as Yosuke Matsuoka.

But Matsuoka didn’t hate the man, and he knew he would hurt him by saying so, so he lied and wrote in the e-mail that he couldn’t forget about the person he loved. He tried to press “send”, but hesitated. If he sent this e-mail, this could really be the end. The knowledge made him waver, and in the end his indecision prevented him from sending it.

Matsuoka was becoming more and more unsure: was he dragging this romance along for Hirosue’s sake, or for his own?

The shopping district was bustling on weekdays, but today the streets and footsteps of the people seemed noisier and more restless than usual. Perhaps it was because they had pa.s.sed mid-December and were now approaching the end of the year.

It was a ten-minute walk from the office to the izakaya. He had kept both hands in his coat pockets, but by the time he arrived, his fingertips were chilled to the bone.

Matsuoka ducked through the navy-blue half-curtains of the restaurant at past eight in the evening, and was met with a satisfying “Welcome, come on in!”

“Good evening,” he answered with an amiable expression, and let his gaze rove around the restaurant. It was quite crowded inside, but “he” was nowhere to be seen again today.

A sigh spilled from his lips with a feeling of disappointment. He couldn’t just turn around and walk back out because the man wasn’t here, so he took off his coat and sat at the only counter seat that was open. He chose a random a.s.sortment of snack foods and quietly drank beer.

He came here almost every day, but he had yet to see the man even once. Most likely his change of workplace had made it harder for him to frequent this restaurant. But Matsuoka couldn’t think of any other point of contact with Hirosue other than thisizakaya. It if was before Hirosue was transferred, he might have worked something out through f.u.kuda, who was in the same department. But now Hirosue worked in a laboratory that was far away and had no contact with the sales department. In the end, the only strategy Matsuoka could come up with was simply waiting here for him so he could start a conversation.

Every time the restaurant’s sliding door opened, he found his gaze darting towards it like a knee-jerk reaction.

“Are you waiting for someone?” asked the ageing female manager in her sixties. She offered him a serving of deep-fried silver-stripe round herring with a smile.

“Not really,” he said as he took the plate from her. The fried fish was flavourful and delicious. He heard the door rattling open again, but this time he didn’t turn around. He was weary of being disappointed so many times.

‘If I’m a nuisance, I want you to say so’―the e-mail from Hirosue on that rainy day was his last. It had been two weeks since then, but he had still not heard from the man. Matsuoka’s reply had also been left unsent.

As long as Matsuoka refrained from contacting the man, Hirosue and Yoko Eto’s relationship would eventually fade out by itself. This was precisely his chance to get to know the man as himself, as Yosuke Matsuoka―but there was no way to meet him in person. With Yoko Eto, it would only have taken one e-mail to see him. It was irritating―both the fact itself and the fact that he was thinking this way.

“Could I have miso soup with blood clams, grilled rice b.a.l.l.s, and seared moray eel, please?”

Matsuoka’s heart stopped. He almost dropped his beer gla.s.s at hearing the voice so close by. He was sitting there on the far end of the counter, with two guests between them. The seat had been empty until moments ago.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Mr. Hirosue?” the owner of the restaurant said to him. Hirosue propped his elbows up on the counter and smiled in a tired way.

“I was transferred recently. My new workplace is pretty far, and I haven’t been able to make it here much. I came here today because I happened to have business with headquarters, and then I started craving your fish, mister.”

“It must be tough being an office worker,” the owner sighed.

“I think everyone has a tough time, regardless of where they work. ―Could I get some hot sake, please?”

Hirosue was pouring himself sake to go with the appetizers. The man Matsuoka had longingly waited for was right beside him, yet he couldn’t muster the courage to talk to him. He felt powerless and irritated. If their seats were beside each other, at least, he would be able to casually turn and say, “Hey, aren’t we from the same company?”―but they weren’t. The two men who formed a barrier between him and Hirosue were infuriating.

“Mr. Hirosue, it really has been a while,” said the female manager as she placed themiso soup and rice b.a.l.l.s in front of Hirosue. “We haven’t seen much of you, have we? Last time, you had a very pretty girl with you, so both my husband and I were talking about how you probably don’t eat out anymore because she cooks for you.”

Hirosue gave a rueful smile. “She dumped me,” he said.

“My, I’m so sorry,” said the manager, lowering her eyes.

“You don’t need to feel bad. She was really beautiful and kind. I didn’t deserve someone like her.”

“You’ll find someone else soon,” the manager consoled him. I didn’t really dump him,Matsuoka mentally said as an excuse, but he couldn’t deny that their relationship was all but over.

The restaurant filled up and became crowded and noisy before he could find a chance to talk to Hirosue. It was getting harder to hear people’s voices.

“It’s almost Christmas, isn’t it,” said the female manager, beginning a conversation with the customer beside Hirosue. “My grandchildren are twins, both born on December 24th. We thought we could get away with giving them birthday and Christmas gifts together, but they insisted on getting separate presents for each occasion. And since they’re twins, you have two presents times two. You can imagine how hard it is.”

As the manager sighed in resignation, Hirosue spoke up from beside her.

“My birthday’s on the 24th, too.”

The manager turned around.

“What a coincidence,” she said, blinking in surprise.

“When I was a kid, I couldn’t stand having them combined into one celebration. Normally, you’d get separate cakes for your birthday and Christmas, but I would only get one. When you’re a kid, these kinds of things are a huge deal.”

“Oh, I know. My grandchildren were saying the same thing.”

The conversation between Hirosue, the customer beside him, and the manager gained momentum, and although Matsuoka continued to look out for a chance, he was unable to insert himself into their conversation. Before he could initiate any action, Hirosue asked for the bill, got up, and walked towards the cash register.

After paying for his meal, Hirosue smiled at the manager, said “It was delicious,” then walked out of the restaurant. As if to follow after him, Matsuoka also paid his bill and left the restaurant, but by the time he stepped out, Hirosue was a considerable distance away.

Matsuoka was surprised at his walking speed. When they had strolled together on their date, he’d never gotten the impression that Hirosue walked fast. The man hurried along like a worker ant, and by the time Matsuoka caught up, they were more than halfway there to the station already.

Now, Matsuoka’s next challenge was starting a conversation with a man in brisk motion. It would probably be strange to come up from behind him and suddenly say, “You’re from the same company, aren’t you? We were actually in the same restaurant back there.” They ended up arriving at the station before he could make a decision. Hirosue quickly bought a ticket and descended the stairs to the platform.

The man finally stopped walking at the boarding line on the platform. Matsuoka caught his breath behind him. Just as he said “Excuse me,” an express train hurtled through the station, blaring its warning siren. After the roaring ceased, Matsuoka called out again, now past the point of caring.

“Excuse me!”

“Yes?” The man turned around with a surprised look. Seeing his face made Matsuoka realize for the first time now unnaturally loud his voice had been. It was almost like he was trying to pick a fight.

“Can I help you?”

He had spoken to the man, and he had received a reply. That was all it was; yet, Matsuoka was tongue-tied. Panic raced through his whole body, and sweat poured from his forehead. He was supposed to be used to making small talk from his job in Sales, but nothing came out. His mind was blank as if it had been washed clean.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he was asked.

“Um,” Matsuoka managed to wring out. “You’re… we’re in the same company, aren’t we?”

Hirosue gazed intently at Matsuoka’s face, then tilted his head. “Do you work at Koishikawa Laboratory?”

“Oh, no. I work at headquarters.”

“Oh, I see,” said Hirosue, but he still seemed to be mystified as to why Matsuoka had spoken to him.

“I’m in the Sales department at headquarters. You helped me out a little with making copies a while ago, do you remember? I happened to spot you at the izakaya today, and I realized you were from that time…”

He could hear the click-clack of the approaching train. It grew louder and louder. Some moments after the first car pa.s.sed them, the train let out a long squeal of its brakes before it came to a stop.

“I’m really sorry, but I, er, can’t seem to remember your face. You remind me of someone I know, but she’s a woman,” Hirosue admitted apologetically. “I’m really sorry.”

His gaze flicked to the train as he apologized. Matsuoka could tell from his att.i.tude that he wanted to get on the train. He couldn’t hold up a man who wanted to go home, so Matsuoka gave his best sales smile.

“No, that’s alright. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“Goodbye, then.”

The door closed just as the man stepped onto the train. Hirosue glanced at him through the train window, and when their eyes met, he inclined his head slightly.

As Matsuoka watched the train grow smaller into the distance, he was overcome with a sense of fruitlessness. If Yoko Eto had been the one standing here, Hirosue probably would not have gotten on the train, even if he told him to.

He walked over to the platform on the other side, where he was getting on. He sat on the bench, and missed four trains while he thought.

Hirosue had noticed that he and Yoko Eto looked alike, but he probably didn’t even dream that they were the same person. Undoubtedly, that possibility had never even occurred to him.

Matsuoka cradled his head in his hands. He had no idea what he could do to get to know him. The man had said he barely came to that restaurant anymore; how was he supposed to create opportunities to b.u.mp into him by chance? Stake him out at the laboratory? It was impossible to visit such a faraway place almost every day. Then, stake him out and catch him on his way home? Their train lines ran in opposite directions. Maybe he could stake out a convenience store near Hirosue’s apartment―

But even if they became acquainted, how long would it take for him to reach the same level of intimacy as Yoko Eto?

If Yoko Eto had wanted to see Hirosue, one e-mail from her saying “I want to see you” would have brought the man running. And, no doubt, he would have greeted Matsuoka with a joyful smile when he came.