Matsuoka returned to the cottage at daybreak, past six. As soon as he got back, he showered and changed his clothes. Hirosue woke up sometime in the middle of his routine. Even when their eyes met, the man did not even wish him good morning. They whiled the time away in unnatural silence which continued until half past seven, when Hayama came knocking on their door to say that breakfast was ready.

Their conversation carried on normally once the four of them were in a group. Matsuoka didn’t ignore Hirosue, and Hirosue answered properly if he was asked a question. After their breakfast of sandwiches and coffee, they began to prepare to go home. They got their things together, left the cottages, and were just about to check out when Matsuoka realized he had forgotten his car keys in the room.

He hurried back by himself and grabbed the keys from the table, and noticed that something else had been left behind. A single watch remained forlornly on top of the side table. It was Hirosue’s. The j.a.panese-made watch bore many scratch marks on its gla.s.s surface, and the leather band was caramel-coloured and well-worn.

Matsuoka slipped the watch into his pocket and left the room. Hirosue mentioned nothing about the watch the whole time, even after Matsuoka dropped the three of them off at the station. He didn’t even seem to realize he had forgotten it.

Matsuoka hadn’t planned on taking the watch home from the outset. On the way home from camp, he had tried to bring it up many times, but ended up parting with the group without saying anything at all.

He thought about returning it to Hirosue in person, but that would mean having to meet the man. He didn’t want to use the watch as a reason to meet with Hirosue when the man was aware of his feelings. He felt like the man would a.s.sume that his real purpose was to see him and not to return the watch, and he didn’t want the man to get ideas.

The following day after returning from camping, Matsuoka’s own watch suddenly stopped working―it was out of batteries. He wasn’t inconvenienced much by the absence of his watch, since he could still check the time on his cell phone. But Matsuoka couldn’t be bothered to pull his cell phone out every time he wanted to check the time, so he borrowed Hirosue’s watch instead.

When he fastened the wristband, it was one notch further in than Hirosue’s. It was an old watch, but the clock face was large and easy to read. Nevertheless, it was far from sleek and refined, and was almost like Hirosue himself.

Matsuoka was at once surprised and appalled at himself for being able to use someone else’s belonging as if it were his own, but he continued to used it. The moment he put the watch on, it settled snugly on his wrist, and he found that fact irresistibly endearing.

In the first week after returning from camping, Matsuoka met alone with Fujimoto for the first time. He felt guilty rejecting Fujimoto just when she was starting to get used to him, but he couldn’t keep lying.

“I still can’t forget about the person used to I love,” he said truthfully. Fujimoto lowered her eyes and listened to him silently.

Finally, she asked, “Is that someone Ms. Hayama?”

“No. Why?”

“I felt like you were looking at her all the time,” she said. Matsuoka didn’t have the courage to say that he hadn’t been looking at Hayama, but at the man beside her.

He didn’t tell Hayama that things didn’t work out between him and Fujimoto, but the news seemed to have gotten across through Fujimoto. Hayama stopped talking about her, and also stopped suggesting that the four of them go out. Matsuoka wondered if Hirosue knew how he and Fujimoto had ended, but he had no way of finding out.

Matsuoka could see what was to come. With no opportunities to meet up together, his memories would begin to fade away. Once he could no longer remember whose watch he was wearing on his right wrist, that was when he could say that things were truly over.

Before he knew it, August had ended. His mind knew that it was September, but the sun’s scorching rays showed no signs of waning, and often deluded Matsuoka.

His sales visits occasionally took him into the shopping district, where he found it strange to see so few young people hanging about the streets. That was when he would realize that, yes, the summer holidays were over.

One Wednesday in the second week of September, Matsuoka finished his sales rounds and made a call to the office to let them know he was going straight home.

“Come back because I need to talk to you about something,” he was told by his section manager. Matsuoka reluctantly took the wearisome journey on multiple trains back to the office.

It was past six o’clock. Matsuoka pa.s.sed through the darkening entrance lobby and waited for an elevator. He grew irritable by the wait, and when the car finally came down, there were a lot more people on it than he had imagined―about seven or eight in number.

“Matsuoka.”

Hayama was among the group. She jogged towards him. “Welcome back from your rounds. Are you finished your work now?”

Despite it being the end of the shift, Hayama’s foundation was still immaculate. She was also dressed up. Matsuoka wondered if she was on her way to a date. He refused to think of whom it was with, and banished the thought from his mind.

“Almost. Is Section Manager Imoto still there?”

“He was, but he was getting ready to go home.”

Matsuoka clicked his tongue irritably and subconsciously glanced at his watch. “Looks like I have to hurry, then.”

“Hmm?” Hayama murmured, and peered at Matsuoka’s wrist. “Did you change your watch?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He let his arm hang and pulled at his sleeve with his right hand.

“I thought you used to wear a TAG Heuer.”

“Um, yeah, it ran out of batteries. I haven’t gotten them changed yet. This watch is my old one that I used to wear in university.”

“I see,” Hayama said, seeming oblivious to Matsuoka’s awkward mumble. “Oh, right, speaking of which: do you remember how we went camping last month? Apparently Hirosue misplaced his watch that time.”

Matsuoka’s heart, which was already restless as is, began to pound like an alarm bell.

“He contacted the cottage we stayed at, but they couldn’t find it. He doesn’t know where he lost it himself, so if it was on the campsite or near the river, we were saying it’s probably as good at lost. Matsuoka, would you mind doing a quick search inside your car? Hirosue said he didn’t leave it there, but just in case.”

“Oh. Sure,” Matsuoka said in a small voice. “Was it that important of a watch?”

Hayama hunched her shoulders.

“It wasn’t very expensive, but apparently it was a gift from his parents when he got his first job.”

Matsuoka’s right hand trembled.

“As for the watch in question, it had a gold rim and brown band… yeah, almost like the one you’re wearing.”

After that, Matsuoka truthfully didn’t remember what he talked about with Hayama. Without even giving her a decent reply, he fled the scene. The presence around his right wrist weighed down on him unbearably.

Right after parting with Hayama, Matsuoka took off the watch and slipped it into his pocket. Once he got home, he put it on the table and stood there, stumped.

He didn’t know it was such a precious thing. He knew he needed to return it, but there was no way in heaven he was going to admit that he not only took it home without permission but had also been using it daily.

He thought of pa.s.sing the watch onto Hayama, saying he had found it in his car, but Hayama had already seen this watch. Wouldn’t she realize that he was using it?

His thoughts went around in circles until he gradually started getting tired. He also realized that he didn’t really want to give the watch back. If this was a gift from his parents, Hirosue probably cherished it―that was all the more reason why he didn’t want to return it.

Matsuoka clenched his hand around the watch and closed his eyes. I’ll cherish it, I promise, so please let me keep it. Please, he begged a man who couldn’t hear, and who wasn’t even listening.

Suddenly, his cell phone started to ring. Matsuoka flinched. He hadn’t heard this ring tone in months. Trembling, he seized his cell phone and looked at the display. It was Hirosue calling. There was no mistake about it.

Matsuoka warily drew back from his cell phone, then crept up to peer at it again. He kept repeating the meaningless action until the phone abruptly stopped ringing.

What was Hirosue calling about? The man hadn’t contacted him once since they broke up. Matsuoka was still pondering reasons when he heard his ringtone go off at an incoming e-mail. The sender was Motofumi Hirosue. Matsuoka opened the e-mail with shaking fingers.

‘I would like to meet and talk with you. Could you tell me a day that you’re free?’

It was a lie, Matsuoka thought. There was no way Hirosue would send an e-mail with such good news for no reason. There had to be another motive to it. After a little thinking, Matsuoka was. .h.i.t with a realization.

What if Hirosue had been tipped off by Hayama? What if he knew that Matsuoka had taken his watch home and had been using it?

He could connect the dots easily if that was the case. Hayama had realized that the watch Matsuoka was wearing belonged to Hirosue. She had bluffed him, but since he hadn’t shown much of a reaction, she had talked to Hirosue about it. Now, perhaps Hirosue was trying to get the watch back on his own.

Matsuoka was aware that what he was doing was wrong. But still―

He took out his cell phone, and put Hirosue’s number on his block list. He did the same for the man’s e-mail. He could deal with not being able to see Hirosue, or the man falling in love with someone else. There was nothing he could do about that. In turn, the least he hoped for was that he would be permitted to keep the man’s watch.

September drew to an end, taking with it the unique humidity of the summer. The sky seemed higher up. That day, Matsuoka returned to the office at seven in the evening to clear up some paperwork. He had finished his visits at five, but he had chosen specifically to return to the office at this hour. Lately, he had been coming back late on purpose quite often, and that was to avoid running into Hayama. The more time they spent in the office together, the more chances there were that she would talk to him. Matsuoka wanted to leave some distance between himself and Hayama until the affair with the watch settled down.

He looked up at his building from the outside to see that the floor that contained his department still had its lights on. The girls in administration usually left past six, so if there was anyone staying behind, it was probably someone who was also back from his sales rounds.

There were three people in the office when he came in, and one of them was Hayama. Matsuoka panicked when their eyes met. Unable to avoid her gaze, he smiled instead. He felt like Hayama’s eyes were following him as he nervously sat down in his seat. His suspicions were confirmed when she came up to him without a moment to spare.

“Hey. Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Matsuoka answered.

“You seem really busy lately. I barely see you at the office anymore.”

“Well, yeah. I have a lot of new clients, so it’s a lot of work following up. A phone call usually isn’t enough to get things moving forward.” He hunched his shoulders and sighed for show. But all he was doing was putting up a front, and his fingers still trembled.

“So, what’re you doing here so late, Hayama?”

“I’m actually finished with my work. Today, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Matsuoka gulped loudly.

“About what?”

“Concerning Hirosue.”

A wave of sweat broke out on his back. He had changed the batteries on his own watch immediately after that incident. He wasn’t using Hirosue’s watch anymore; it was hidden away preciously in a corner of his room.

“What about Mr. Hirosue?” Matsuoka asked, pretending to seem innocent as he started up his computer. “Oh, you mean about the watch?”

“No, nothing about that,” Hayama murmured. “I actually want you to hear me out about something, Matsuoka.”

Although Matsuoka’s fingers were moving, his head wasn’t functioning at all.

“I was wondering if you could come out for a bit with me after you finish work.”

No matter how many times Matsuoka said he was tired, or that he didn’t know what time he would finish, Hayama refused to back down. In the end, Matsuoka had no choice but to agree. Not even thirty minutes after turning on his computer, he turned the power off again. His work wasn’t done, but he considered it done. He wasn’t in a state where he could get any work done, anyway.

He was taken by Hayama into a cafe that was open late. There were many young female customers, who were perhaps there for the handsome waiters.

Even after sitting across from Hayama, Matsuoka’s face remained lowered. It was past eight in the evening, a perfectly normal hour to be hungry. Lacking an appet.i.te, however, he only ordered coffee.

Hayama had said it wasn’t about the watch. The only other thing that she could want to talk to him about concerning Hirosue was that she had found out he used to date Hirosue in drag. That was all he could think of.

For a while, Hayama said nothing. Matsuoka was too busy bracing himself for the shower of abuse that it took him a while to notice her deeply pained expression. When she finally opened her mouth, what came out was talk about Okabayashi and f.u.kuda.

“You know how Ms. Okabayashi used to date Mr. f.u.kuda, from our cohort? They broke up once, but it seems like they’ve gotten back together.”

Matsuoka tilted his head in perplexity.

“Apparently Ms. Okabayashi told Mr. f.u.kuda about how Hirosue and I are dating.”

Matsuoka still didn’t know where this conversation was going.

“It turns out Mr. f.u.kuda knows who Hirosue used to be in love with. I heard she was tall, like a model, and really beautiful.”

Matsuoka swallowed hard.

“I keep telling myself that it doesn’t matter who he used to love―that I’m the one dating him now. But it doesn’t work,” Hayama said tearfully. “I’m almost sure Hirosue’s still in love with her. He doesn’t care about me at all.”

Tears fell freely from her eyes now.

“You don’t know that,” Matsuoka protested reflexively.

“I’m always the one saying I want to meet. I’m always the one that says ‘I love you’. One time, I didn’t call him for a whole week. I waited and waited, wondering when he’d call, and he didn’t. I couldn’t stand waiting anymore, so I gave him a call, and he didn’t even realize he hadn’t called me.”

Hayama pressed a handkerchief to her eyes.

“If he doesn’t love me, I wish he would just say so. If he can’t see me as a girlfriend, I wish he’d tell me. If he did, I’d be able to come to terms with it, too. But if I invite him, he still comes out, and after we go out, he always says he had a good time. When that happens over and over, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.”

Matsuoka’s feelings were mixed. The nasty side of him was relieved to hear Hayama confess she wasn’t loved; his other side felt sorry for the weeping woman.

“Have you seen Hirosue’s former girlfriend before?” Hayama stared at him with watery eyes, and Matsuoka fell silent. When Hayama saw that he could not answer the simple yes-or-no question, she smiled crookedly.

“Is she that pretty?”

Matsuoka looked down.

“I guess she was. I see,” Hayama murmured, and hung her head. Teardrops fell and burst on her linked hands on the table. Matsuoka bit his lip so hard it started bleeding.

“She was pretty,” he began, “but that was all she was. She had a horrible personality. She was dating a bunch of guys at the same time and she didn’t even care. She was selfish and wanted everything her way. She had no consideration for anyone. I think Mr. Hirosue was just being taken advantage of. I’m glad they broke up, actually.”

“Really?” Hayama said softly.

“Hayama, I think you’re much better than his ex-girlfriend. When guys get into those types of horrible women, it’s like the flu. They eventually get over it. I’m sure if you give it a bit more time, he’ll forget about her.”

Hayama finally seemed to be calming down, for she stopped sobbing.

“Sorry for losing my composure,” she smiled apologetically, her eyes red and wet with tears. “It was just so horrible being filled with doubt every day, and I just wanted someone to hear me out. I’m really glad I was able to talk to you today, Matsuoka.”

He and Hayama parted about half an hour later. By the time he walked Hayama to the station, her tears had disappeared. Matsuoka also boarded his train bound for home.

He thought about Hirosue’s and Hayama’s unstable relationship. Hirosue hadn’t forgotten about Yoko Eto―about Matsuoka in female form.

Matsuoka felt in dire need of a drink. He didn’t want to think of any of it. He bought a few beers at the convenience of store in front of the station. While he listened to the lonely rustling of the plastic bag hanging from his hand, he wished he could get home soon to drink and fall asleep, his mind blissfully blank.

Too weary to wait for the elevator, Matsuoka walked up the stairs, but regretted it even before he had walked up five steps. He was tired from doing rounds, and his legs felt leaden, as if they were being chained down. Since Matsuoka had his head down, he did not realize someone was standing in front of his door until he was right outside his apartment.

He first felt a presence from the dark shadow that stretched to his feet. Matsuoka languidly raised his head. Though he did not give a shout, he did drop his bag in astonishment. The cans of beer rolled across the concrete. Hirosue picked up one that had rolled away from the rest.

“Hi.”

Stop shaking, Matsuoka told himself sternly, but since his hand refused to stop shaking, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the can from the man in a swift move. He kept his head down as he got his keys out of his bag. His fingers shook, and it took him three tries to get the key into the keyhole.

“Um…”

The man had been waiting outside his door. He had been waiting to see him. Matsuoka could see that, but he wasn’t going to be nice and be the one to ask Hirosue why.

“I have to talk to you about something,” said Hirosue.

His door was unlocked now. Matsuoka made sure he could easily flee inside at any moment before answering the man.

“What is it?”

“I couldn’t get through to your phone―”

“Oh, yeah. I did that on purpose.”

Hirosue looked down. Matsuoka balled his hand into a fist with so much strength that his thumbnail dug into his skin. “I sure don’t have anything to call you about, and I figured you wouldn’t, either.”

The man fell silent. His clumsy right hand raked his oft-dishevelled hair.

“I wouldn’t call you if I didn’t have something to say,” the man said. “You didn’t need to block my number.”

Hirosue was right. If he didn’t have anything to call about, the phone would remain silent.

“I called you so many times,” Hirosue said quietly. Matsuoka felt like he was being criticized.

“You could have pa.s.sed a message onto Hayama if you had something to say to me.”

Hirosue fell silent again. Their conversation lay stagnant at their feet with no signs of moving forward.

“I want to give back the things you gave me.”

“Give back?”

“Like the gloves…”

He had chosen those gloves for Hirosue’s birthday last year, thinking they would be nice for him. Matsuoka smiled bitterly. Here he was, so desirous of something Hirosue cherished that he had stolen it to make it his; on the other hand there was Hirosue, who tried to return even the gifts he had received.

“Throw it out if you don’t want it,” Matsuoka spat.

“I thought of it. But I can’t bring myself to throw it out, so I thought the best thing would be to give everything back to you.”

“What the h.e.l.l do you expect me to do with it? It’s just extra trouble for me.”

“It’s trouble for me, too.”

He had looked so happy, thanking Matsuoka so many times, grinning from ear to ear. That was all a lie. Soon, Matsuoka could no longer distinguish what was a lie and what was not.

“Give it back, then,” he growled in a low voice. “If you can’t get rid of it yourself, if you’re saying it’s all just trouble for you, then give it back. I’ll throw it away.”

Matsuoka thrust his right hand out, and Hirosue stared at it.

“You brought the stuff, didn’t you? Hurry up!”

As if spurred on by his voice, Hirosue hastily opened his bag. It slipped out of his hands while he was rifling through it, and Hirosue knelt to pick it up. He continued to crouch and rummage through his bag. After a while, he spoke.

“It’s not here,” he said stiffly. “I swear I had it in my bag all this time. I was planning to give it back to you. Maybe I left it at the office. I’ll definitely bring it next time.”

Matsuoka took a long breath. He tried to calm himself, but his molars chattered slightly.

“I don’t want there to be a next time.”

Matsuoka stared at Hirosue head-on as the man stood up.

“Get rid of the stuff. I don’t care how. I’m sorry,” he added sarcastically. “I know you’d rather give it back to me so you can free yourself of any guilt.”

“I―” mumbled Hirosue, but Matsuoka forcefully cut him off.

“I don’t want to see you again, Mr. Hirosue. I don’t even want to glimpse your face, if I can help it.”

When the man asked why, Matsuoka almost laughed at his insensitivity.

“I used to love you, but you dumped me. Now, you’re going out with my co-worker. Do I need any more reason not to want to see you?” he said incredulously.

The man always fell silent as soon as things got awkward. It made Matsuoka even angrier because he knew the other man had nothing to argue back with.

“You think I was deceiving you all this time by crossdressing, don’t you, Mr. Hirosue? That’s why you’re angry at me. You’re right―and I’m sorry for tricking you. I regret it.”

There was no response.

“So, please, by all means forget all about me,” Matsuoka bowed his head in mock humbleness, then straightened up. “Stop hanging around me and pay more attention to Hayama. If you’re her boyfriend, the least you can do is make sure she doesn’t feel insecure.”

Then, he purposefully brightened his voice to inject some enthusiasm into himself.

“She’s a great person, you know. Responsible. Kind.”

His compliments were honest ones, but he still felt pathetic to have to say them.

“It’s late. You should get going, Mr. Hirosue. Bye.”

With that, Matsuoka opened his door. At the same time, he was grabbed by the right arm. He flinched violently.

“What the h.e.l.l?”

“Um―”

“Let go of me!”

When he drew back with all his might, the man’s fingers fell away from him. Matsuoka seized the chance to scramble into his apartment and lock the door.

As he leaned with his back against the door, he could hear heavy pounding on it. Even if he plugged his ears and tried not to listen to it, he could still feel its vibrations on his back.

The pounding continued for a while, but soon became few and far between until he could not hear it anymore. Matsuoka sank to the floor of his doorway and bowed his head. His shaking did not stop, and the spot where he had been grabbed by the arm continued to burn.

He wondered how Hirosue must have felt when he stopped him. Did he still have something to say, or―?

A vague and fantastical expectation swelled in his heart―perhaps Hirosue was keen on him?―then, faded. At first, Hirosue had been angry that Matsuoka was tricking him in drag. He had given Matsuoka the cold shoulder no matter how much he told the man he loved him. Every time, Matsuoka had been dealt a strong and stark rejection to his face. He found it hard to believe that things could be changing for the better.

Then, why? Hirosue claimed he had come to return the things he had received but Matsuoka felt like it was an excuse to see him. He knew there was no way the man would want to see him, but nevertheless….

Matsuoka expected something in the strength of those arms, in the man’s act of stopping him, in his lips that had parted to say something. His sweet expectation mingled with the bitter memories of his rejection. There’s no way it could be. But then again, could it―? His mind switched between the thoughts endlessly.

Perhaps Hirosue’s feelings had changed, but Matsuoka was far from convinced. He couldn’t recall any type of constructive conversation between them that might cause the change in Hirosue. The air had soured between them plenty of times, sure, but not once did they talk about anything romantic. To top things off, Matsuoka had been busy most of the time trying to get close with Hayama’s female friend.

Matsuoka refused to hold any expectations. It’s only because I love him, because I have feelings for him, that I’m interpreting everything through rose-coloured gla.s.ses, he told himself. He remembered how he had confessed the first time with the belief that it would be alright, only to be rejected. He continued to dig out the most horrible memories he could recall.

Matsuoka sank down in the doorway and drank his beer. He drank one after another, but could not manage to get drunk. It was unpleasant, frustrating, and painful.

Matsuoka’s phone did not ring. Hirosue couldn’t have contacted him, anyway, since his number was blocked. On that day, Matsuoka had sent the man home at the door. He had chased the man away, saying they had nothing to talk about.

But even afterwards, Matsuoka still felt nervous coming home to his apartment. He kept wondering if Hirosue would be waiting in front of his flat, and needed to muster courage every time he took the first step off the elevator. However, those expectations always ended disappointment, for there was never anyone at the door.

About a week after Hirosue had come to visit him, Matsuoka had lunch with Hayama. He had unluckily run into her around noon when he was coming back from his rounds and she was just about to go out to lunch.

Hayama invited him out, saying she had something to talk to him about, and they went to a cafe nearby. They ordered from the lunch menu. It was a cute little shop with an outdoor patio, but the tables were small, and the chairs were hard and uncomfortable.

“So, how’s it been after that?”

Hayama tilted her head at Matsuoka’s question.

“You know, with Mr. Hirosue and stuff.”

“Oh, that,” Hayama said, smiling. “I think it was after I talked to you, Matsuoka. Hirosue started calling me on his own. We don’t say much, but he calls almost every day.”

Matsuoka didn’t want to admit that he was disappointed.

“We don’t get to see each other often, but I don’t feel too lonely because I get to hear his voice.”

“Okay,” Matsuoka said in a somewhat tactless reply.

“Oh, right, Hirosue and I talk about you a lot, you know.”

“Huh?”

“You know, since you’re our mutual friend. And I think Hirosue’s very conscious about you, Matsuoka.”

For a moment, he wondered if Hayama had found out about his feelings, and that was what she meant by “conscious”.

“Wh-What do you mean by conscious?” he stammered.

“Like, as a man.”

Conscious of him as a man―was Hirosue conscious of him as a romantic interest? Matsuoka’s thoughts were so focused on himself and Hirosue that it took him a while to realize he had misunderstood.

“You know,” Hayama continued, “since you’re good-looking, and you’re good at your job, and you’re nice. Usually people think I’m just being polite, since we’re in the same cohort and all, but when I told Hirosue these things, you know what he said? ‘Why didn’t you fall in love with Mr. Matsuoka instead?’.”

Hayama giggled.

“He asked me, why didn’t I fall in love with good-looking Mr. Matsuoka? ‘Why do you like me,’ he said, with that tone. It was almost like he was jealous. Isn’t that cute? So I told him, at first I did kind of have a crush on you, but you were living with your girlfriend at the time. And as time went by, those feelings just changed to good friendship.”

“You told him about my ex-girlfriend?” Matsuoka said incredulously.

“Oh, would you rather I hadn’t?”

“Well, no,” he said vaguely, unable to think of a reason why she shouldn’t have. It was true he used to live with a girl, but he wished Hirosue hadn’t heard it from Hayama’s lips.

“Come to think of it, when I told him you used to date someone else, he seemed curious about what kind of girl she was. I think he’s being a little too conscious, though.”

Hayama laughed as she said, “I’m not really your type anyway, am I, Matsuoka?”

Lunch at the cafe was certainly pretty, but the portion sizes were modest. Perhaps it was just right for Hayama, but it was not enough for Matsuoka. Even so, he found himself being unable to eat much. And it wasn’t a problem with the taste of the dish itself.

“Two days ago, I think, I went over to Hirosue’s apartment,” Hayama said. “I cleaned his room, then we went shopping together, and I cooked him dinner.”

Hayama let out a short breath.

“And while we were shopping, I just thought―maybe this is going to be what it’s like if we get married.”

“You’re… getting married?” Matsuoka’s voice shook as he asked.

“I haven’t been proposed to, or anything. I just thought it’d be nice if we could. I love Hirosue, and he’s nice. Don’t you think he’d make a great father?” Hayama said, before smiling and adding, “I hope you’re rooting for us, Matsuoka.” Matsuoka smiled back, but could not bring himself to wish her luck.

In the afternoon, Matsuoka went around to four of his regular customers. He exhausted himself by visiting extra stores he hadn’t planned to visit, and so obliterated any thinking s.p.a.ce from his mind. But on the train, while he was reading over materials, he found himself remembering Hayama saying she wanted to get married. Hirosue was also strongly inclined towards marriage. Hirosue’s hopes and Hayama’s fulfilled each other perfectly.

No doubt Hirosue had only come to his apartment on a whim to give those gloves back. He, Matsuoka, had been mistaken to overreact. Never did he feel more absurd about everything he had troubled his mind with, and how he had expected almost every evening for there to be someone at his door.

If Hirosue hadn’t started dating Hayama, if Hayama and Matsuoka hadn’t known each other, if they had not been in the same department, he wouldn’t have had to find out about Hirosue’s next relationship in such minute and real-time detail. He wouldn’t have wanted to know, anyway.

It was past six-thirty when Matsuoka returned to the office. He could have gone straight home without coming back, but the doc.u.ments were heavy to carry, and the office was on the way back from his rounds.

There was still a scattering of people staying behind. Hayama was one of them. There appeared to be some kind of problem, for she was talking with another female worker in a tense, urgent tone. Matsuoka slipped out of the room without greeting her and boarded the elevator.

Matsuoka got as far as the entrance lobby before he was stopped.

“Mr. Matsuoka,” said a voice. Matsuoka flinched. A man was approaching him from the shadows of a pillar. Matsuoka’s feet were rooted firmly to the ground, but he wished he could flee from the spot.

“Um―”

“Hayama’s still here,” Matsuoka interrupted.

The man closed his mouth.

“Want me to call her? I think she’s done her work, but she was talking with someone. Why don’t you ring her cell?”

“I came because I want to talk to you.”

Matsuoka already supposed that the man had come to see him. He only pretended not to notice.

“Well, I don’t have anything to say to you,” Matsuoka said flatly. The man stared at his feet. Matsuoka felt his heart clench at the man’s hurt expression. It was even more unbearable because he knew he was the cause of it.

“I just want a little bit of your time.”

Although Matsuoka did not answer, he did feel slightly curious to know what the man would say.

The silence between them in the entrance lobby was broken by the sound of the elevator opening. When they turned around towards the noisy bustle, Hayama was there. Their eyes met. Hayama broke away from the group and came jogging up to Hirosue.

“Did you come to pick me up? You should have called me and let me know.”

Hirosue’s gaze wandered in agitation. Soon, Hayama’s co-worker caught up to her.

“Ms. Hayama, who’s that?”

“This is Mr. Hirosue. He was very good to me when I was at Koishikawa Lab,” Hayama said, introducing him to everyone.

“Wait, are you two dating?” Her co-worker’s question already sounded somewhat sure of the answer.

“Umm, well,” Hayama dawdled for a bit, but did not keep her expectant listeners waiting for long. “I guess you could say that,” she smiled quietly.

Her co-workers teased her for a bit, then perhaps out of consideration, left the building before her.

“Are you free? I feel like going out for dinner somewhere,” Hayama said, clasping Hirosue’s sleeve. She suddenly turned around as if to remember that Matsuoka was there.

“Oh, would you like to join us, Matsuoka?”

Matsuoka wasn’t brazen enough to invite himself along.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably just get in the way of you two, anyway.”

“Not even,” protested Hayama, precisely in the way he had expected. Matsuoka bid them farewell and turned on his heel. He did not look at the other man’s face.

“Wait!” A voice called him from behind. He was grabbed by the arm so fiercely it hurt. “I came here today to talk to Mr. Matsuoka. So―”

Hayama’s expression visibly clouded over.

“Oh. Okay.” Hayama only lowered her gaze for a minute. She snapped her head back up, and smiled. “Then, do you mind if I come along? I’ll make sure not to disturb you two.”

Hirosue did not answer. Matsuoka glared at him to no avail, since the man was not looking at him. Matsuoka clenched his jaw. He knew this man wasn’t good at thinking on his feet. But still―

“Well, I was thinking we could do it later, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to do it today,” Matsuoka pretended to say to himself, in a voice that was a tad too loud for a reflection. He turned back to Hayama.

“Mr. Hirosue called me this evening saying he wanted to talk. He said he had something to ask about work. It’s pretty complicated, and it might take long. We’d probably bore you to death, Hayama.”

“Oh, really?” said Hayama, looking up at Hirosue. The man who couldn’t lie did not even give her a nod for show.

“So, I’m really sorry about today,” Matsuoka consoled her desperately.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. If you guys are talking about work, that’s too bad, huh. I’d probably just get in the way if I hung around.” Hayama gave a shallow nod in her understanding way.

“I’m really sorry,” Matsuoka repeated.

Although Hayama had given into his story, she still looked forlorn as she turned her back retreated into the distance. Matsuoka was pained to see her leave, and at the same time, infuriated by the man who simply stood there.

Matsuoka swiftly broke into a stride.

“Where are you going?” Hirosue asked in a fl.u.s.ter, but Matsuoka did not reply. Even after he entered the elevator and the car slowly began carrying them up, Matsuoka kept his silence.

The lights were turned off on the hallway on the fifth floor, and it was dim. Matsuoka went into a room with a sign that read, “Meeting Room No. 6.” The ten-square-metre s.p.a.ce was a meeting room in name only; it was more of a disorganized storage area for old pamphlets, old photocopiers, and product samples.

Hirosue had apparently never been in here before, for he was glancing at his surroundings curiously.

“So, what did you come to talk about?” Matusoka’s tone was terse, still carrying the remnants of his anger.

“I was wondering if we could sit down somewhere and take the time to…”

Matsuoka leaned against an old photocopier.

“I don’t want you over at my place, and I don’t want to go over to your place, either. I also don’t want to talk about this kind of stuff in a restaurant,” he said with finality. That was enough to make the man fall silent.

“Will you give me a break?” Matsuoka raked his bangs with his fingertips. “Was I really the one that had to make that excuse to Hayama?” When he glared at the man, he averted his gaze. “I’m asking you if that was really something I had to do. I’m always the one that has to make up excuses that don’t even exist, lying about everything. You didn’t even bother playing along, Mr. Hirosue,” Matsuoka said, his voice rising. Finally, he felt something inside him snap.

“Fine. I understand if you don’t want to lie. But you know why I had to step in and do something? It was because you wouldn’t. But you don’t care if some other guy like me has to lie, right, as long as it doesn’t have to be you?”

“No, that’s not what I―”

“That’s exactly what you mean. You care only about yourself, Mr. Hirosue, and you’re so busy defending yourself, you don’t give a d.a.m.n about what happens to other people. As long as you’re right in the end, that’s all you care about.”

His tears almost spilled over, so he hastily squeezed his eyes shut.

“You’ll hurt people without batting an eyelash if it means you get to abide by your idea of justice. You don’t even have the decency to show some tact! If I hadn’t said that back there, Hayama wouldn’t have been convinced. All it took was one sentence from you to make her feel better. Why can’t you even say that much to her?”

He gritted his teeth―he had to, or he felt like he would really cry. After Matsuoka had hurled those words at him, Hirosue clammed up like a sh.e.l.l, looking miserable.

Silence wore on. Matsuoka’s nerves were just as on-edge as before, but his impulse to cry had pa.s.sed. He looked at his watch.

“What did you come to talk about?”

Hirosue did not raise his lowered face.

“Security is going to come around at seven-thirty, so you have twenty minutes. Hurry up and spit it out.”

No words issued from Hirosue. Matsuoka wasn’t going to take him by the hand like a child and encourage him to talk. At precisely seven-thirty, Matsuoka headed for the door.

“Wait!” the voice finally called him at the last minute. Matsuoka did not stop to listen. He put his hand on the doork.n.o.b before he was grabbed by the right arm.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Matsuoka turned around. The pair of lips in front of him trembled as if trying to get the words out. The man’s exhale finally formed words that reached his ears.

“Ms. Hayama tells me that even though you’re good-looking, you don’t show off, and that you’re kind. At first, I thought you were just two-faced. But I’m starting to feel like that’s not the case.”

Matsuoka stared straight at Hirosue.

“You’re the type to clearly speak your mind, and…” After repeating a broken string of “um”s and “ah”s as if to search for his next words, Hirosue hung his head.

“I want you to tell me why I keep thinking about you.”

Matsuoka stared at the top of the man’s bowed head. It finally came back up, slowly and almost fearfully.

“Is that something I have to think about?”

The man’s hesitant eyes widened.

“Is that something I have to answer for you?” Matsuoka took a deep breath. “This is your own d.a.m.n business. Think about it yourself.”

Matsuoka pulled his right arm back, but the man’s fingers tangled around it like chains and would not let go.

“I thought about it and I still can’t figure it out, that’s why―!” The man stubbornly stood his ground. “One time I couldn’t fall asleep at night because I kept thinking about what you said. I thought of so many excuses to make to you, so many different ways to say it. But I could never bring myself to say it to you in person, and I had no chance…”

The heat in his fingertips dug into Matsuoka’s arm.

“I don’t think they’re romantic feelings. But I don’t know what to make of the fact that I keep thinking about you. I can’t seem to place you anywhere.”

Matsuoka forcefully swung his arm up. The sudden movement took the man’s fingers by surprise, and they broke away from his arm.

“Not much point in talking, is there? You’re gonna have to find your own answer, anyway. If you’re looking to stay the same, then I don’t want to hear it. I never want to see you again.”

“I―”

Matsuoka violently slapped away the hand that extended towards him.

“Stop s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around with people on your own selfish accord,” he said scathingly. “You haven’t forgotten that you dumped me, have you? Can you try to be a little considerate?”

The man looked down.

“You know, Mr. Hirosue, the moment it’s about me, you just seem to turn insensitive. You think you can say anything you want and it won’t hurt me a bit, huh?”

“I never―” mumbled the man in a small voice.

“You don’t have any intentions to date me, do you? Not in a million chances. So just leave me alone.”

He heard the clicking of shoes approaching in the hallway. Matsuoka put his hand on the doork.n.o.b.

“If you’re at least a little concerned for me, do me a favour and leave me the f.u.c.k alone. Please and thank you.” He bowed his head at Hirosue and opened the door. The security guard, who had reached the door by now, looked at him apprehensively. Matsuoka smiled at him. “Thank you for your hard work. I was looking for some materials, but I couldn’t find them. I’ll be heading home now.”

“Have a good evening,” the security guard murmured, and said the same thing to Hirosue, who had come out of the room after him.

Neither of them spoke as they rode the elevator together. When they reached the darkened entrance lobby, Matsuoka stopped in front of a pillar.

“Go ahead,” he said, pointing to the automatic door. “I’ll leave about five minutes later.”

“But we both take the same way to the station,” Hirosue mumbled quietly. When insensitivity went this far, it was almost laughable.

“I’d rather be alone,” Matsuoka said shortly. Hirosue finally seemed to understand when it had been put into words, and left before him. As soon as the man’s retreating back disappeared out of sight, Matsuoka squatted down in the shadow of the pillar.

His sigh trembled as it pa.s.sed his lips. Regret coiled inside him. Hirosue had been interested in him. Perhaps he could have tried to plant a seed in the man’s subconscious by insinuating that his interest was actually romantic. He inwardly shook his head at the possibility. He could manipulate the man’s subconscious all he liked, but lies were doomed to lead to ruin. In the end, Hirosue was bound to say he couldn’t accept men after all.

Matsuoka let out a long, thin exhale. It was going to be a while before he could salvage his spirits and recover enough to walk on his two feet.

It was close to nine o’clock when Matsuoka reached the station entrance. In the end, he had sat curled up on the spot for about one hour, and the security guard on patrol had thought he was ill.

Matsuoka dragged his heavy feet through the ticket gates and descended the stairs. The number of trains decreased dramatically after nine o’clock. Matsuoka peered at the train schedule. The train had just pa.s.sed through the station, and he would have to wait about fifteen minutes for the next one.

Matsuoka sank onto a white bench against the wall. Across from him, someone was sitting in the same manner.

He recognized those clothes and their colours. When Matsuoka realized who it was, he looked at the ground. Even after the train arrived at and departed from the platform across, the sitting figure did not budge.

The train arrived on Matsuoka’s side as well. He felt torn because of the man staring in his direction from the platform across. Ultimately, his indecision kept him from getting on the train.

Matsuoka repeated this twice. On the third time, he finally boarded his train. He stepped onto the car, being careful not to look at the man on the platform across, and turned his back so he would disappear from view.

The man had been waiting for him. Matsuoka had no idea what had gone through the man’s head as he missed train after train until Matsuoka arrived, and did he want to interpret the man’s actions too favourably.

The next day, Matsuoka didn’t finish work until late, at about nine o’clock at night. He briskly jogged down the stairs to the train platform. He knew the train was coming in less than a minute.

Matsuoka continued to walk for a little after descending on the platform. If he boarded the train at the back, it was more convenient for him when he got off at the station close to his apartment.

Since this was a business district, the flow of people died out quickly at night. Matsuoka’s footsteps echoed busily as he walked down the platform. He could see an office worker on the platform across, similarly wearing a suit. His heart jumped when he realized it looked like a certain someone. When he realized that he didn’t just look like that person―that the man was actually him―Matsuoka’s feet stopped.

They were perhaps not even ten metres apart, with the tracks between them.

The train pulled in on time, and Matsuoka boarded it. Hirosue was looking steadily at him. His figure grew smaller in the train window, then disappeared. Matsuoka’s restlessness did not subside even after the man was far away and out of sight. His mind kept flashing back on its own, causing an unsettling stir in his heart.

It was no coincidence that he had seen Hirosue at the station platform. The next day and the following day, Hirosue was on opposite the platform when Matsuoka boarded his train. But all the man did was stare at him without saying anything.

Sometimes, Matsuoka did not see Hirosue at the platform―that was when Matsuoka finished work early. It didn’t take much imagination to deduce that if Hirosue was coming here after finishing work at Koishikawa Laboratory, it would take him quite a bit of time to arrive.

That day, Matsuoka went home once after work, but couldn’t stop wondering how late Hirosue would wait for him. He changed back into his suit, fully aware that he was being idiotic. He boarded the bus that took him near his office and went down to the station platform.

He put on a cool face, and with the man’s usual gaze in his peripheral vision, Matsuoka boarded the train. As he held onto the railing as the train car rattled along, Matsuoka berated himself for his stupidity.

How long are you planning to do this for? Matsuoka interrogated himself. Hirosue did not approach him because he couldn’t―because he hadn’t arrived at an answer. How long would he have to put up with the other man’s indecision? Matsuoka had a feeling that the root of the problem lay with the fact that he couldn’t cut the man loose, rather than a question of putting up with him or not. But there was nothing he could do about his feelings.

In the evening, Matsuoka returned from his sales visits before four, and was currently in front of his computer, putting together the doc.u.ments he had to submit.

When the end of the work day rolled around, a few girls in administration began packing up right away.

“How about dinner with us, Ms. Hayama?” a co-worker was inviting her.

“I still have some work to finish,” Hayama refused with a smile. Matsuoka didn’t mean to stare at her, but their eyes ended up meeting. He looked away so as not to seem unnatural. Thirty minutes later, there were only three or four workers left in the office.

“Are you almost done?” said a voice from behind. Matsuoka stopped typing.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Mine wasn’t urgent, anyway,” Hayama said, shrugging. “It was an excuse to turn down dinner. She was probably trying to be nice, but…”

Hayama peered at Matsuoka’s face. “Have you met with Hirosue lately?”

Matsuoka swallowed. “No.”

“Oh,” said Hayama with a sigh, then sat down in the chair beside Matsuoka’s.

“Hirosue and I broke up.”

Matsuoka’s breath caught in his throat.

“Well, more like he dumped me.”

“―When was this?”

“A couple weeks ago, I think,” Hayama said, c.o.c.king her head. A couple weeks ago was right after Matsuoka and Hirosue had talked in the meeting room.

“I had a feeling I was going to get dumped, so I wasn’t too shocked. I did cry the whole night, though.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? He dumped me. He told me why, though, so I don’t have any regrets.”

Hayama raked her hair back.

“He says he can’t forget about the person he used to love. He said she was beautiful and gentle, but she was also very strict. She wasn’t afraid to point out his complexes, things he felt unconfident about, which he said made him really feel down sometimes. But he also said it gave him a chance to reflect on himself.”

Hayama sighed. “It’s hard. I guess just loving him wasn’t enough. But I still think―if I’d had a bit more time, if I’d been able to get an idea of what kind of person he was―maybe I’m just making excuses.”

Hayama’s cell phone rang. It seemed to be an invite from her colleagues who had gone out for dinner. Hayama smiled wryly as she apologized repeatedly that she could not go.

Hayama hung up her phone and left the office soon afterwards. Matsuoka remained sitting in front of his computer, but when he saw he was getting nowhere, he left it unfinished and turned his computer off.

On the way to the station from the office, Matsuoka thought of nothing but Hirosue. He pondered the meaning behind the man simply watching him go home from the station platform. He pondered the meaning behind the man not speaking to him.

He stopped at the station entrance. After some moments of hesitation, he walked right past it. Still dragging indecision and anxiety behind him, he walked over to the next station. Of course, Hirosue was not on the platform there.

Perhaps he was purposely avoiding Hirosue because he felt guilty about Hayama, or because he was irritated at Hirosue for being indecisive, or because he himself had no idea how to act―it all jumbled up on his mind, and even Matsuoka could not make sense of it.

He didn’t know why, but he simply did not feel like seeing Hirosue’s face today. He knew he would end up making the man wait, but he shook it off and tried not to think about it.

Even though he had taken the trouble not to see the man on his way home, he still thought about Hirosue. He felt sorry for the man if he was still waiting for him, but told himself that it wasn’t really any of his business what Hirosue did on his own volition.

Matsuoka grew more and more restless as time pa.s.sed. He tried watching TV or reading magazines, but he couldn’t focus.

“He’s not stupid enough to wait until the trains aren’t running, is he,” he muttered to himself, but could not help but feel that perhaps he was.

Matsuoka thought about calling the man on his cell phone, but it felt strange to tell the man he had gone home when it was just something Hirosue was doing on his own.

It was now fifteen minutes past eleven. Matsuoka pulled out a fresh collared shirt instead of the one he had thrown in the washing machine and shrugged into the blazer he had put on the hanger. If he left now, he could still make the last train back into town.

He took his briefcase in hand, purely for show, and left the house. He ran down the nighttime street, which was dimly lit by streetlamps. He drew up close to the station at the worst timing possible, for the bells at the railway crossing began ringing as the barriers came down. The ticket gates were on the other side of the railway crossing. Matsuoka stamped on the spot irritably. The tracks rattled and the blast of wind made his bangs fly up as he waited for the long, long line of cars to pa.s.s.

The train finally pa.s.sed, taking its rumbling with it. When his line of vision finally cleared, a person was standing on the other side. He had not been there before the train pa.s.sed. Even after the barriers had risen slowly, Matsuoka could not break into a walk. It was the same for the man on the other side of the railway crossing.

For a while, the both of them simply stood there. Hirosue was the one to start moving first, and he slowly stepped over the crossing.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Evening,” Matsuoka said quietly.

“Where are you heading to?”

He couldn’t answer the man’s question.

“What’re you doing here yourself, Mr. Hirosue?” he asked the man instead, to disguise his lack of an answer. The man’s mouth was half-open, and his gaze flitted downwards.

“I didn’t see you at the station, so I got worried.”

“Worried?”

“There was never a day when I couldn’t see you. I went back to the office, but all the lights were off. I wondered if something had happened.”

Hirosue had only seen him every day without fail because Matsuoka had gone through the station on purpose, making sure he was visible each time. But Hirosue didn’t seem to have a clue about it.

“This whole time, I’ve been thinking of what you said to me,” the man continued, “and what it is that I really want to do. But I couldn’t seem to come up with an answer, so I would just watch you go home every evening while I thought. Today,” he said, “when you didn’t come, I didn’t know why you weren’t coming. I started getting worried. I thought you might have gotten into an accident or something.”

The clumsy man spoke haltingly.

“Everything you say and do has a huge influence on me. No one makes me hate myself more than you do. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, and I don’t know if it’s romantic or not. But I want you to give me a chance to make sure.”

Matsuoka smiled with only his lips.

“And what are you gonna do once you give it a try and it doesn’t work out after all? You gonna pretend it never happened?”

“No,” the man protested hastily.

“Yes,” Matsuoka shot back. “You said so yourself―you’re not even sure.”

“I think I do love you. But I’m not confident about my feelings. I’ve never fallen in love with a man before. That’s why I was wondering if you could help―”

“Bulls.h.i.t,” Matsuoka snapped. “Don’t depend on people to do everything for you. Do you think I have the power to change you? How? In the end, you’re the one that’s going to decide.”

Hirosue grew pale under the dim streetlights.

“I’ve had it,” Matsuoka spat, and turned on his heel. Jerky footsteps came chasing after him.

“I’m sorry―”

Matsuoka did not answer.

“I’m sorry, I’m really―”

Matsuoka inwardly sealed his ears. Now, he couldn’t hear anyone’s voice.

“Ah!”

He turned reflexively at the shout. The pitiful man had tripped and fallen on his face. Matsuoka almost ran up to him, but thought better of it, and set his jaw instead. He thought about leaving, but no matter how long he waited, the man showed no signs of getting up. Matsuoka started getting worried. He wondered if Hirosue had struck himself somewhere and was seriously injured. Matsuoka picked up the man’s bag, which had been flung a distance away, and approached him.

“Hey. You alright?”

Finally, the man slowly raised his head. He stood up, and took the proffered bag from Matsuoka, grabbing his right hand at the same time.

Matsuoka pulled back, but the arm that clenched his came along with it. They pulled at each other like a game of tug-of-war.

“I landed on my knees because I couldn’t catch myself with my hands. I couldn’t fall very well,” Hirosue mumbled. “I had a feeling that if I fell, you’d come back for me.”

Matsuoka glared at him.

“Don’t tell me you did it on purpose―”

“I’m starting to understand a little more what kind of person you are, Mr. Matsuoka.”

His left hand touched Matsuoka’s cheek. Matsuoka’s whole body flinched.

“So, please, give me a little more time―until I can sort out my own feelings. Until I can say properly that I love you.”

Matsuoka looked down and fell silent. When he tried to move his right hand, it was forcefully pulled away, and he couldn’t even bring it to his face. He pressed his left hand to his eyes instead.

He didn’t want to cry in front of Hirosue. He didn’t want to act effeminate, but the tears spilled on their own. He couldn’t run or disguise himself now. His trembling body and sobbing breaths probably gave him away.

His composure crumbled along with his falling tears. The precarious hold on himself was becoming weaker and more fragile. He felt like he would collapse any minute.

“I’m begging you…” Matsuoka’s voice trembled. “Don’t take advantage of the fact that I love you, Mr. Hirosue.”

The barrier at the railway crossing came down, and the train rattled as it pa.s.sed by. I’m sorry―Hirosue’s apology was drowned out by the noise.

Tell me that you love me soon―Matsuoka prayed to the right hand that tightly clasped his. Tell me you love me, so much that no one else catches your eye. Rescue me from these feelings.

The clueless man was oblivious to his thoughts and said nothing back. As Matsuoka sat curled up, his shoulders shaking, Hirosue only stroked Matsuoka’s back with a hesitant hand and a look of concern on his features.