lilac wine

by jellyjully

Summary:

In the 1950s, Satoru believes he has everything he needs to be happy, until he meets the stranger who has moved to his small seaside town.

Notes:

hello hello, i hope everyone's having a good time during the holidays (if you celebrate)!!! and i hope you enjoy this tiny gift from me <3 as always this is unbeta'd and i apologize in advance for any mistake you might encounter.

title comes from the song lilac wine by nina simone (jeff buckley's cover is also a favorite of mine). i made a little playlist for this fic if you wish to listen while you read ❤️

 

The man arrived during the full moon on a ship that sailed from the mainland. It settled in the dock with a cargo full of food and medicine—and he was the first newcomer in several years, in a place where it was more common for people to leave. 

Satoru had lived in this tiny seaside town, forgotten by the rest of the world, his whole life. The silvery ocean that extended on every side was all that he had known since he had memory—the mountains shrouded in mist in the distance, the fishing boats rocking on the waves, the salt in the air at night. When he was a child, Satoru had made peace with the fact that he would probably never leave his home, so the stranger, coming from unfamiliar lands, caught his attention, along with everyone else’s.  

“Have you seen how handsome he is?” Satoru heard a couple of women say at the market one morning. “He’s so tall.”

“Is he single?”

“I didn’t see a woman moving in with him.”

Satoru had heard the stranger had taken up a house on a hill that overlooked the whole town. According to gossip he was a writer; he had moved there to finish his latest book. Satoru had only caught a glimpse of him at the market one day and was surprised by his long, dark hair that he kept in a half ponytail, and the cheerfulness with which he addressed the elderly women selling him vegetables; for some reason Satoru had pictured a gloomy old man, because that was the image he had of a writer who would move into such a remote place to be alone with his work. 

Before long he was able to meet the writer in person. If there was one thing Satoru was known for in town it was the parties at his house; he and Utahime had made it a habit to throw parties nearly every weekend, and on weekdays they would hold small gatherings or dinners for their friend circle. A party was thrown for the New Lunar Year, and of course the writer was invited, it would’ve been rude not to invite the new arrival. Predictably he was the main attraction; as soon as he arrived he was cornered and bombarded by questions—where did you come from? how was it like living in a city?—and endless flirtatious comments about his appearance, not-so-subtle touches on his arms and shoulders, which he brushed off with a charming laugh.

Satoru, not being used to being overshadowed, even less at a party in his own home, went over to break up the group that had gathered around him. “Okay, back off, let the man breathe!” Satoru exclaimed. “I want to show him something. Come with me.”

The writer looked at him with evident gratefulness as the small crowd dispersed until it was just the two of them. Satoru was aware he was objectively handsome, but up to then he had never considered another man’s features could be so interesting; his eyes were a light brown, intriguing and mysterious, and his face was thin and strong, framed by his silky black hair. And when Satoru introduced himself, all of his sharpness melted into a jovial smile. 

“Geto Suguru,” he said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for inviting me to your home. And saving me.”

Satoru snickered. “You’re welcome.”

Satoru showed him to the back of the house, where Satoru kept a cigarette pack in a flower pot. They leaned against a birch tree to smoke, the garden was shrouded in shadows and the sky was bruised a pretty purple-pink overhead. 

“So I heard you’re a writer?”

“No, I’m not a writer—at least not yet,” Suguru said. “I used to be a screenwriter for tv in Tokyo. It paid enough to live on but I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

“Really? We don’t watch tv often, but maybe I’ve heard about your shows. Just wait until I tell Utahime about it.”

Suguru laughed, an airy, musical laugh that urged others to smile. “I worked on small shows. Nothing really important.”

“So what’s it about? The book you came here to write?”

Suguru let out a little sheepish laugh. “I honestly don’t know yet. But this place has given me plenty of inspiration. I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up writing about a little seaside town.”

“Well, why wouldn’t you? Our little town is quite charming.”

“I do like it here,” Suguru said jovially. “I take it you’ve lived here your whole life, don’t you? I can tell you love this place a great deal.”

It was quite dark by now, but Satoru could make out the genuine curiosity in the man’s eyes, the softness in his voice. It was a trick of the twilight that he seemed closer than he actually was. 

“Yes, I do,” Satoru said sincerely. “What about you? Did you love the city you came from?”

“Yes, I loved Tokyo,” he said, “but I needed a change of pace. Everything’s so quiet here.”

“You’ll be able to write your book here!”

“I hope so,” he said. “And the people are so nice. Everyone seems to know each other.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known all my friends for as long as I can remember.”

“Your wife, too?”

“Yes, Utahime too,” he said. “We went to school together and got married some time after graduation.”

Satoru’s father had owned the biggest fishing enterprise in the region; he had died shortly after the war, so Satoru had sold the business and now lived off the money and his inheritance, which meant he’d never have to work a day in his life. He was lucky, really; he owned a nice big house, married one of his classmates, and his childhood friends were always around. 

“I’ve had five people ask me why I’m not married yet this week alone.”

“People are like that here,” Satoru said. “It’s odd for a young man to be unmarried. And you have good looks as well—”

“Oh, you find me good-looking?”

Suguru’s grin was sharp, playful, as if they were already friends—and Satoru faltered a second, and then said, “I’m just putting myself in the women’s shoes. Get ready for people trying to set you up with their daughters.”

Suguru laughed again. Satoru had decided he liked its sound; it reminded him of the chirping of birds in the early morning. “I’m not looking forward to that,” he said. “But I do like being here.”

The sound of shattering crystal broke through the music, followed by shouts and a loud laughter. Satoru glanced at the house and laughed at Suguru’s concern. “It’s always like this here.”

“You guys like parties?”

Satoru shrugged. “I have a big house and lots of friends—why not invite them over all the time?”

“Do you get lonely?” Suguru asked. A second later, after seeing Satoru’s reaction, he seemed to regret his question. “Sorry, maybe it’s the drink—”

“No, I’m not lonely,” Satoru said, smiling. “I just like having people I like in my house.”

Satoru told him he could come by for dinner any time. Then he took him inside to introduce him to his friends. Shoko, Haibara and Nanami were all in the living room, listening to a story Haibara was telling in the center of the room, and when he saw Suguru coming in, he stopped and went over to introduce himself. But it was Nanami who Suguru hit it off with the fastest, for they shared a similar love of books, and Nanami was quite impressed by Suguru’s occupation. 

 

Over the next few weeks, Satoru saw more and more of Suguru. Somehow he blended seamlessly into his friend group; Suguru seemed at ease during dinner, speaking gleefully with Haibara and leaning forward with interest to listen to Nanami, and most of all, he seemed to have struck an easy friendship with Shoko, for they often sneaked out to smoke while Satoru washed the dishes or helped with the dessert and coffee. 

Since Suguru usually came over while all his friends were around for dinner or lunch, or some other social gathering, Satoru hadn’t had a chance to talk with him alone since the first time they met. But sometimes Satoru’s attention would drift towards Suguru’s general direction, especially when his laugh floated above the chatter, and then their eyes would meet across the room, and Suguru would unveil a furtive smile for him that would linger in his mind for hours on end. Satoru did not know what it all meant, but he reasoned that Suguru being the first person to move to their town in years, and his presence, not to mention his youth, was a rarity and novelty in itself. Yet there were things that barely left his mind, like the way Suguru had looked under the fading light of dusk, and how he’d smiled up at Satoru with a gleam in his eye he recognized only vaguely. 

On a Saturday evening, they held a dinner party at their house. After dinner was over, everyone sat around in the living room sharing after-dinner drinks, the room already filled with smoke from cigarettes. Satoru was close by when Suguru complimented Utahime for the food.

“Oh, no, I didn’t cook,” Utahime said, “Satoru did everything.”

Suguru turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Really? You’re a splendid cook!”

“Thank you,” Satoru said smugly. “I know.”

“Don’t praise him too much or it’ll get to his head.”

Suguru laughed heartily, amused by their banter. Haibara overheard their conversation and dragged Nanami to where they stood, patting Satoru on the shoulder.

“Satoru’s an excellent cook, isn’t he?! Utahime truly lucked out with him! She works while he stays at home to take care of the home.”

Satoru loathed this topic; his smile had frozen, resembling more of a painful grimace, not unlike the expression Utahime wore. Kusakabe and his wife flanked Suguru on either side, pushing Satoru and Utahime closer together. 

“They used to fight like cats and dogs back in school,” Kusakabe told Suguru, “and now look at them—they’re the perfect couple.”

Suguru nodded and observed Satoru openly, a thoughtful little line between his brows that betrayed his smile. 

“We make quite a team together, don’t we?” Satoru said boisterously. “We’re hot, we’re talented, we’re interesting—”

“Satoru, be quiet!” Utahime said and slapped his arm, making everyone laugh. Satoru grinned down at her, which he knew infuriated her, and wrapped her loosely in a one-armed hug, from which she expertly disentangled herself. When he addressed the group again, he noticed Suguru had caught the moment; and his gaze had a knowing tint now that gave Satoru a faint pang of concern. He glanced away, avoiding his eyes altogether, and making sure not to approach the rest of the night. 

 

It was odd and exhilarating at the same time, this strange fascination that Suguru awakened in him. Satoru watched him from afar; on the beach, a little trip they all took on a bright Saturday, he watched Suguru’s lean body stretching, jumping during a volleyball game, and when he touched his wet skin, sparkling under the sun, after Suguru was nearly toppled by a strong wave, his mouth had become uncomfortably dry. The way Suguru inclined forward to hear Nanami over the music, in a secluded corner of the living room, their heads close together, Suguru’s rapt attention, would produce a tiny spike of jealousy that had Satoru reaching for a drink. It was a dangerous game he played, satisfying his peculiar need to steal a glimpse of Suguru, while taking caution that none of his friends noticed what he thought was an obsessive interest for this stranger. 

They hadn’t been alone since that first night they met; unconsciously Satoru had dodged spending a second alone with him and simultaneously craved a scenario that would excuse spending hours just the two of them. But one evening he, Suguru and Shoko went out for a smoke in the farthest corner of the garden; it was dark out and a pleasant breeze rustled the trees. Shoko excused herself after Utahime called out to her from the house, then it was just the two of them, and a cat that sometimes came by the house for food and that Satoru was sure belonged to a neighbor. Suguru crouched down to pet it and Satoru wished it wasn’t so dark to see how his shirt strained over his broad back. 

“So how’s the writing going?”

“Slow,” Suguru said, “but I think I’ve settled on an idea I like.”

“Oh? May I ask what the book is about?”

Suguru stood up, brushing his hands over his pants. “I don’t have it all planned out yet. I’ve mostly written down some loose notes and ideas.”

“Well, what kind of ideas?”

A pause then a small laugh. 

“What?” Satoru asked. “You can’t talk about it?”

“No, it’s just—” Suguru chuckled again. “You’re going to laugh at this, but the character is loosely based on you.”

There was an odd flutter in his chest. “Me? Well, I bet he’s incredibly handsome.”

Suguru made an annoyed face. “You know what, I’m having second thoughts now. I might change it when I get home.”

“You can’t take it back!” Satoru protested. Suguru giggled, and the sound, though small and airy, delighted Satoru. Instinctively, he glanced back at the house; they were hidden by the large birch tree in the garden, and he moved closer until their arms almost touched. There was a dangerous little thrill about the whole scene; the purplish shadows around them, the sound of the cicadas, the smell of Suguru’s cologne so close it was almost intoxicating. 

“So, what is it about? Or is it top secret?”

“Like I said, I only have some loose ideas so far…”

“Oh, come on! You can’t just say that and then not tell me!”

Suguru rolled his eyes and sighed. “All right. The main idea is about this man who lives in a small seaside town, who seems to have everything—good looks, many friends, a beautiful wife—”

“What an interesting guy.”

Suguru exhaled amusedly. A whiff of liquor reached Satoru and he wondered how much he’d had to drink already. “I’m seriously regretting ever telling you this. It’s going to make your head even bigger than it already is.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Satoru mimicked zipping his lips. Suguru chuckled, shaking his head. “What else? Keep going.”

Satoru realized a beat later that they had moved closer since Suguru’s voice had lowered to an intimate pitch, a siren’s call for doomed sailors. “But there is a sadness in his eyes that not many people see,” Suguru continued. “And that he covers up with a cheerful facade.”

Dense silence followed. Satoru felt his chest constrict painfully, and at the same time, he felt like he was made out of cardboard, a large empty space where his organs should be. 

“You don’t know me,” he said bluntly. “Or my marriage.”

Suguru looked disconcerted. “I never mentioned your marriage.” 

“You’re making assumptions,” Satoru went on tonelessly, “of someone you’ve barely just met.”

Suddenly something hardened on Suguru’s expression, a challenging frown that gave his features a cold sharpness. “I’m sorry I’ve had a couple of drinks already but these are just my observations—”

“Observations of what?”

“That you’re very unhappy here,” Suguru said. “But you hide it so well. Or at least that’s what you think.”

“I think you should leave.” Satoru stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped away from the shadows. “I’ll tell the others the food made you sick.”

Suguru gaped at him for a moment, then he scoffed and strode back to the house, without sparing a single glance back at Satoru. 

 

“What did you tell Suguru the last time he came over?”

“What?” Satoru had been looking out of the window over the kitchen sink, precisely thinking about Suguru—and Utahime asking that question made him senselessly fear for a second that she’d somehow read his mind. 

“What did you tell Suguru? Were you rude to him?”

“Why would I be rude to him?” Satoru said, half turning. “I am excellent with guests.”

“How come he hasn’t been back for dinner in two weeks? I’ve invited him countless times and he always makes excuses.”

“Maybe he’s busy,” Satoru said offhandedly. “He’s supposed to be writing a book. That’s why he moved here, didn’t he?”

“Or maybe you said something unpleasant as usual and now he’s avoiding us.”

“I doubt it was the food, Utahime,” he said. “Or your hosting skills, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’ll be back eventually.”

“I want you to go and apologize, okay? He’s all alone here,” she went on more emphatically after Satoru uttered an annoyed groan, “and he doesn’t have any friends or family—”

“That’s because writers need solitude to write!”

“And you’re turning him off the only place that made him feel welcome and connected to people his age. Everyone else in this town is way older or trying to set him up with their daughters.”

“Maybe that would do him some good,” Satoru said. “Meet a nice girl to spend his leisure time with?”

Inwardly, the thought brought an uneasy feeling, a thorn of anxiety wedged in his side. He kept his face towards the window. 

“Don’t you pester him about that,” she said. “I bet he has enough with the old ladies at the market sneaking their daughters’ phone numbers in his groceries.”

Satoru laughed and then spun around as he heard her head toward the door. “Are you going to see Shoko?”

She was dressed nicely, in a dusty pink coat he had bought for her, low heels, and a subtle rosy makeup that made her look younger. She gave him an impatient look. “Yes? I told you at lunch. I’m going to spend the day with her.”

“Right,” he said. “Give her my regards.”

She glanced at him coolly and went out of the room. “Don’t wait up!”

As soon as he heard the door slammed shut, Satoru sighed, his shoulders slumping, but still he felt a weight in his chest like a boulder sitting on him. 

 

Later that afternoon he decided to go for a walk and get groceries at the town market. It was just his luck that, as he was perusing vegetables, he saw Suguru at another stall, speaking amiably to the old lady selling him scallions. His hair was in a ponytail, a bag hanging from his arm, and just as Satoru faltered, caught in the decision of what to do next—should he go back the way he came and pretend he never saw Suguru or act like a grown-up and greet him?—Suguru turned and spotted him. 

They stood staring at one another for a second, unable to do anything, until an old lady walking by with heavy bags caught Suguru’s attention—he rushed to help with the bags, and Satoru being the only other man there couldn’t just pretend he hadn’t seen them and walk away; in fact one of the vendors looked at him pointedly, so he sighed and went over to get a couple of the bags from Suguru, who looked at him puzzlingly. 

“What nice young men!” the lady said, looking up at Suguru like he hung the moon. “I haven’t seen you around, have I?”

“I moved here recently,” he explained. “My name’s Suguru.”

“Oh I think I heard Mrs. Ishida speak about a stranger who moved into the cottage over the cliff…”

“How are you, Mrs. Harakawa?” Satoru said. 

“Fine, dear,” she said. “How’s your lovely wife?”

“Good, thank you. I’ll give her your regards.”

“When are you going to have children?” she asked, a tad reproachful. “You won’t be young forever!”

Satoru pulled a face that only Suguru caught. He snickered, and Satoru sulked even more. They reached her house after some minutes; they left her bags in the kitchen and helped to put some of the groceries away. She thanked them by pouring them glasses of cold tea, and after they were done, they said goodbye and left her knitting in her rocking chair. 

Outside they stood in silence for a moment until Satoru turned around sharply in the opposite direction and said, “Well, that’s done! Bye!”

“Hold on,” Suguru said. “I wanted—”

Satoru spun back around. “What?” 

Suguru was a bit taken aback by the crossness in his tone, and Satoru immediately felt bad about it. Swiftly Suguru recovered and said, “I wanted to speak with you. To apologize for the other night.”

“Oh.” Satoru cut his eyes away and put his hands in his pockets. “Well, apology accepted. Let’s forget about it.”

“But you still sound mad,” Suguru said. “I know I overstepped—”

“I forgive you, all right?” Satoru said. “And you should come by the house because Utahime thinks I scared you off forever.”

Suguru smiled tentatively. “I did miss spending evenings at your home.”

“Then you should come over tomorrow,” Satoru said, already turning away. “See you then.”

“Wait!” Suguru said. “Do you want to come over for tea or coffee at my house? I live nearby.”

Satoru hesitated. It was getting colder. The sky was packed with dark clouds and the wind was chilly, and he was only wearing his thick woolen sweater; if it started raining, he wouldn’t have a coat to wear for the return home. But his hands were cold and he craved some tea to warm himself up. 

“Sure.”

There was evident satisfaction in Suguru’s smile, which was at once maddening and endearing. They made small talk as Suguru led the way up the path to the cliff, and now a strong wind had picked up that rattled the neighboring trees. The cottage Suguru lived in had sat empty for as long as Satoru remembered, the gray stone covered in ivy and the thatched roof growing old, but now it seemed lived-in; there were potted flowers growing outside, and inside there were evidences of his presence everywhere: cups on the coffee table and the mantelpiece, stacks of books on the floor, a blanket on the couch. The space wasn’t big: the living room was immediately connected to the kitchen and a small table, and behind the couch, on the far side of the room near an opaque window, was a desk with a typewriter, a lamp and daisies in a small vase. So that must be his writing space, Satoru surmised. 

Suguru headed for the kitchen to put on the kettle for tea and asked Satoru to start a fire in the hearth. 

“You have a nice place here.”

“Yeah,” Suguru said, gathering cups, “I got it pretty cheap.”

Suguru poured water into two cups and brought one to Satoru. “It was empty for a long time.”

“The person who sold it to me didn’t want to tell me what happened to the previous owner,” Suguru said, sitting on the couch. “I suppose it was a relative who died of some terrible disease.”

“It was a man,” Satoru said. “His body was found on the beach below. No one knows what really happened, but the police assumed he jumped from the cliff and his body washed up on the shore.”

Suguru was flabbergasted. “Oh, god. Did he have any family here?”

“Not that I know of,” Satoru said. “It happened when I was a baby. I don’t remember much, but I think he lived all alone up here.”

Suguru looked around the room, as if he was seeing it for the first time, with a bit of apprehension. Satoru snorted. 

“You’re not superstitious, are you?”

“No,” Suguru said, a tad too briskly. Then he frowned and squinted at Satoru suspiciously. “Wait. You’re not making that up to scare me?”

“Why would I lie?” Satoru said, leaning back on the couch. “You can ask Shoko or Nanami if you want.”

Suguru regarded Satoru dubiously for another moment then sighed. “I guess I always felt there was something weird about this place.”

“What? Like it’s haunted?”

“No,” he murmured. He stood up suddenly and went over to the record player. “Let me put on some music.”

“It’s all right.” Satoru placed his half-empty cup on the coffee table. “I won’t be staying long. I have to go back.”

“Oh, right,” Suguru said, “Utahime must be waiting for you.”

Satoru wasn’t sure what compelled him to say the truth, for it was a lie what he’d thought of first; but then again, nothing about the way he behaved around Suguru was logical. “Actually, she’s out. She’s spending the day with Shoko. She’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

Suguru glanced at him questioningly. Satoru knew those glances well; it was when people began to notice the little cracks in the perfect facade of his marriage. 

“Is it Shoko’s birthday?”

“No, they just like to spend a lot of time together.”

Suguru said nothing as he put on a record in the record player. Billie Holiday crooned about her lover, and by the smile Suguru wore Satoru could tell he particularly liked that record. 

“You can stay for dinner if you like. Keep me some company.”

Satoru rose to his feet. “Thanks, but I have to—”

Just then it began raining, beating on the roof so loudly it could be heard over the music. They exchanged bewildered glances for a second, then Suguru ran to a window to look outside and turned to Satoru with a smug grin. 

“I can’t let you go like that now,” he said. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Satoru glared at the rain-splashed window as if it had personally wronged him. “I could borrow an umbrella.”

“I keep forgetting to buy one,” Suguru said apologetically as he headed to the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner? Craving anything in particular?”

Satoru sighed resignedly. Just his luck that he’d have to spend the night with Suguru. “No.”

An hour later Satoru slouched at Suguru’s kitchen table, dazed and full to the brim by the amazing food. Suguru’s cooking was better than he’d expected, given that he was a bachelor; he’d cooked delicious fried rice, a Chinese dish that he’d learned from a friend in Tokyo he said. 

Suguru watched him with a placid smile, his cheek in his hand. “I take it you enjoyed my meal.”

“I admit I had my doubts,” Satoru said. “Nanami is the only man I’ve ever known who’s a great cook.”

“Men should be able to cook for themselves,” Suguru said, amused. “And besides, I’ve lived alone since I was in college. I had to learn to cook.”

“You haven’t thought of marrying?”

“I don’t think I’d be a good husband,” Suguru said vaguely. 

“Why? Because of your writing?”

“One of the reasons I suppose,” he said. “It’s not like most jobs—I have to spend all day alone. It’s a very solitary job.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a job.”

Suguru laughed. He looked achingly handsome; his lips were tinted red by the wine and his eyes a bit sleepy because of the food. “I heard you inherited your father’s business?”

“And I live off of that,” Satoru said. “I’ve never had to bother with working. Utahime does like teaching, though. I’ve tried to convince her to quit, but she says she’d go mad if she stayed at home all day with me.”

“I don’t blame her,” Suguru joked. He watched Suguru from under hooded lids, his smile a touch coy.

After washing the dishes, since the rain hadn’t let up, they sat on the couch to finish the wine. For the past half hour Satoru had been weighing the pros and cons of attempting the trek home without an umbrella; it was likely he’d catch a cold, or worse pneumonia, but it was perhaps a better fate than sitting here with Suguru and pretending he wasn’t affected by every little thing he did. 

“I can tell you’re still mad at me,” Suguru said. There was a little playful smile on his face that Satoru found incredibly vexing. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“I said I had.”

“But you haven’t,” he insisted. “What if I tell you a secret? Will you forgive me then?”

Satoru was about to say he didn’t have to, but his pettiness won over. And besides he wondered if Suguru was tipsy already. He shrugged and sipped his wine. “Go ahead.”

“I was engaged to be married before I left Tokyo.”

Satoru nearly spat out his drink. “What? Why didn’t you get married?”

“I just couldn’t do it.” Suguru put a cigarette in his lips and took his lighter from his shirt pocket. It wasn’t so much the fact of his near-marriage that puzzled Satoru but his complete nonchalance about the subject. “I  got cold feet.” 

“What, you didn’t love her?”

“It was arranged by our parents,” he said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “We were neighbors our whole lives and I think she did have a crush on me. Our parents were delighted at the idea of our union. But I just wouldn’t have been able to make her happy… So I broke off the engagement and moved here.”

“So you broke a girl’s heart and fled.”

Satoru wondered what Utahime would think of that , whether she would still think Suguru was perfect. 

“I did come here to write a book, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t partly an excuse.”

“Are you scared of commitment or something?”

“Not really,” he said, laconic. “So there you have it. My own little secret.”

Satoru felt there was more to the story that Suguru wasn’t telling him, but he let it be. 

“I got married young,” he said. “I was twenty-one. Utahime is a little older.”

“Sounds like it’s common here,” Suguru noted. “Everyone has been married for ages.”

“Yes, it is common,” he replied simply. “Our parents were also very happy about the marriage.”

He had never told that to anyone—at least not so explicitly. Nanami, who was his best man, and Shoko knew that neither of them had ever harbored romantic feelings for each other and it was more of an arrangement to please their parents, but they had the tact to never mention it. 

“We have to honor our parents’ wishes,” Suguru said. “Don’t you sometimes wish it wasn’t like that? That we could just do whatever the hell we wanted?”

“Everyone gets married at some point,” Satoru said and sipped his wine. “And it’s nice, really, knowing there’s a person you can count on and that they can count on you.”

“Isn’t that what marriage is about,” Suguru wondered, “protection and normalcy?” 

Before Satoru could respond, Suguru perked up at the song playing on the record player and jumped out of the couch to turn up the volume. He sang a little under his breath in mangled Spanish until he lit up with an idea, his grin a tad mischievous, and he rushed over to tug at Satoru’s arm. 

“Come on! Come dance with me!”

“No way, I can’t dance!”

“Come on! Cheer up!”

Satoru got to his feet reluctantly and Suguru left his glass on the mantelpiece to hold Satoru’s hand, the other one on his hip. They moved stiffly, Satoru constantly glimpsing at his feet to avoid holding Suguru’s gaze too long, his heart beating like crazy. Estás perdiendo el tiempo pensando, pensando…

Satoru spotted Suguru mouthing the lyrics. “Do you understand what he says?”

“He’s saying you’re a terrible dancer.”

“Look who’s talking!”

Suguru laughed again and guided Satoru more energetically, who eased up into the dance, following Suguru as they swayed and glided on the tiny space, moving his body rather stiffly. Satoru wondered what his friends would think of this, his dancing with another man and clearly enjoying himself. In a way, he hadn’t had this much fun in a while, and he cackled when Suguru bumped into him and then protested loudly while Suguru laughed because Satoru stepped on his feet.

“You’re not at all like I thought you were,” Satoru said, “when you first got here.”

Suguru raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you were gloomy and morose and quiet,” Satoru said, “but that’s how I pictured writers in my head.”

“You’re not like I thought either,” Suguru said. “At first I thought you’d be arrogant and insufferable, but there is more to you than meets the eye… I’d say between the two of us you’re the melancholy one.”

There was something captivating in Suguru’s eyes, something intriguing and spellbinding, and since he was so distracted by them, he accidentally stepped on Suguru’s foot. Suguru gasped and let go of him, bent over to grab his feet and Satoru panicked until he realized Suguru was laughing at him. 

The rain abated closer to midnight, but Satoru had stopped thinking about going home somewhere between the first and second bottle of wine; now they were trying to beat each other in a very competitive, albeit hilarious, round of Slapjack. 

“Did you ever think of leaving?” Suguru was shuffling the cards and not looking at Satoru, and his tone was neutral, conversational. “Even if just for a little while?”

“Sometimes,” Satoru said. “Mostly when I was young, but my whole life is here. My friends are here, Utahime’s family’s here…”

“But you could move away together.”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Satoru said. “And besides living in a city must be completely different to living here. I don’t know if I’d like it or if I’d ever get used to it.”

Suguru began dealing the cards for both. “It took me a bit to get used to how quiet it is here. And everything’s within walking distance, you don’t need to take the train and two buses to get somewhere.”

Suguru glanced up at Satoru and giggled. “What’s so funny?”

“I just imagined you getting lost in the subway. Looking like a sad little puppy asking for directions.”

“I would not get lost!”

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone,” Suguru said. “And I wouldn’t let you get lost.”

The little smile that Suguru offered him made Satoru’s chest sing with glee; he chuckled and focused on his cards to avoid saying something stupid. 

At some point in the night Satoru fell asleep on the couch. He woke up close to dawn, with a blanket thrown over him and a pillow under his head. There was a light on in the room and he craned his neck over the back of the couch to see Suguru at his desk, writing on a notebook. Perhaps he thought he’d make too much noise with the typewriter or perhaps that was how he usually wrote, Satoru didn’t know. Either way he had half a mind to tell Suguru to go to sleep, but he didn’t want to interrupt his work; he had probably put it off to entertain Satoru that evening. So he went back to sleep, somewhat comforted by the thought of having Suguru nearby.

The next time he awoke morning light poured into the tiny living room. Suguru wasn’t at the desk anymore, so Satoru stalked silently to his room and found him sleeping on his bed in yesterday’s clothes. His hair was loose, falling over his face in strands, and Satoru burned with the need to brush it away to be able to drink in the beautiful peacefulness of his sleeping face. After a beat he felt like a creep for watching Suguru sleep and left the room to start on breakfast.  

He was almost done with scrambled eggs when he heard Suguru pad into the kitchen, groggy, his hair messy and spilling over his face. 

“Hello,” Satoru said. “You look like death warmed over.”

“I went to bed late,” Suguru said, his voice raspy. “That looks fantastic.”

Satoru gestured Suguru to sit at the table like a butler. “Please.”

Suguru grinned, amused, and complied; Satoru poured coffee into the cups and a heap of eggs on their plates.

“Are you staying for lunch?” Suguru asked. There was a note of anticipation in his voice that did not go unnoticed; the prospect of spending more time alone with Suguru was thrilling, but he knew eventually he’d have to go back to the real world.  

“Utahime must be back by now,” Satoru said. “She must be wondering where I am.”

“Right,” Suguru said with a sad smile.

They ate in silence for the rest of the meal. Sitting there in that stifling quiet his imagination became his worst enemy, running wild as it conjured many more mornings like this, sitting across Suguru, cooking for him, asking him about his work, perhaps holding his hand. Satoru was used to yearning for impossible things, overly aware as he was of how reality interfered with his wishes, but in that moment he ached like he’d never ached before. 

Suguru walked him to the door after they were done with breakfast and Satoru had offered to wash the dishes. Satoru dallied at the door, stalling his departure as much as he could to spend a couple of minutes longer with Suguru, and he realized that Suguru seemed like he wanted to say something.

“I had a good time last night,” Satoru said. “Good thing I let you convince me to stay.”

“You could’ve caught pneumonia, you idiot,” Suguru said. “I would’ve tied you to a chair to stop you walking home in pouring rain.” 

It was hard not to show how pleased he was at Suguru’s concern for him. “I could untangle myself easily.”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “Your ego is as big as your head.”

“So is yours.”

They shared smiles in the pause that followed. There was an expectant gleam in Suguru’s eyes, like there was something he wanted to do or say, and as he took a step closer, Satoru’s stomach clenched with sudden panic. He paced backwards to the door, smiling nervously at Suguru. 

“I’ll see you later then,” Satoru said. “Will you be coming over tonight?”

The disappointment in Suguru’s expression was palpable. Satoru felt like kicking himself. “Sure. Say hi to Utahime for me.”

“Sure thing,” Satoru said and started walking. “Bye!”

Down the road he put his hands in his pockets and noticed he had forgotten his keys. He stopped for a moment deciding whether to keep going and risking being locked out because Utahime wasn’t home yet or going back to Suguru’s house and retrieving his keys. In the end he went for the second option, as he was closer to Suguru’s house, and jogged the rest of the way up.

The door to the cottage was unlocked. He knocked out of politeness, but after a couple of minutes passed and Suguru wasn’t coming to the door, he let himself in. “Suguru?”

No response. He found the keys over the coffee table and pocketed them, but he was curious about whether Suguru might’ve gone down to the beach in the minutes after he’d left or gone back to bed; he walked down the hallway to his room, and as he got nearer, he heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and assumed Suguru must be having a bath. The door to the bathroom was ajar; in the mirror over the sink he saw Suguru’s naked backside, his hair loose, the tantalizing dip of his spine—but then Suguru caught his reflection on the mirror and turned bewildered in the direction of the door. Satoru panicked and dashed down the hallway. 

“Wait!”

“I’m not a creep! The door was open and—”

Satoru wheeled around and saw Suguru had run after him with a towel precariously wrapped over his hips. Waterdrops ran from his collarbone down his sternum and damp strands of hair stuck to his cheeks and neck, his body flushed and ruddy from the hot bath. Desire kindled a fire in him, drying out his throat, so when he spoke his voice came out hoarse and low: “I forgot my keys.” 

Suguru stared at him silently. Carefully he approached and put fingers over his face. Satoru didn’t have the will to move away, to say no—he leaned in as Suguru closed the distance and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, cautious, tentative, but as he met no resistance, Suguru dived in and Satoru parted his lips for him. His hands went immediately to his hips, where his towel had disappeared, and freely traced his wet outline, from the curve of his waist to his buttocks, wishing desperately to touch more. Suguru moaned into his mouth, his arms over his shoulders, his body pressed against his, dampening his clothes—but then the enormity of what was happening crashed into him and that old icy dread clutched his heart like a fist. 

He jumped back, away from Suguru, and bumped into the door. Suguru looked bewilderingly at him.

“I can’t.”

“Satoru…”

“I can’t,” Satoru repeated. Before Suguru could say more, he darted out of the house without looking back. 

 

That evening all of his friends come over for dinner, including Suguru. Utahime had been at home when he arrived in the morning, and even though she had questioned his whereabouts, she didn’t seem to care much when he explained that he had been trapped by the rain and forced to stay at Suguru’s house. Satoru had been on edge the whole evening; Suguru sat two seats down, wedged between Nanami and Shoko, and yet his eyes kept straying there, only to look away whenever their gazes met. 

Throughout the evening, Suguru had acted like nothing was the matter, chatting and laughing animatedly with everyone, which unsettled Satoru even more than if Suguru had stood up and told the room what had happened between them that morning. The music was high, Nat King Cole filled the room with his smooth singing like the cigarette smoke in the air, and Utahime indulged Haibara in a dance reluctantly, and to Satoru’s surprise, Suguru went over to Shoko to ask her for a dance. Shoko obliged, bemused by the request, and there was almost no awkwardness between them as they swayed rhythmically to the song playing because, even though Suguru wasn’t a terrific dancer, his charisma was boundless, and the proof was that he had made Shoko laugh. Watching the scene from a corner, Satoru once again wondered what everyone would say if they knew he had danced with Suguru the previous night and had thought of nothing but his naked body all day. Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa… or is this your way to hide a broken heart… At some point Suguru looked up from Shoko and their eyes locked across the room, and every inch of Satoru was ablaze.

Near midnight Satoru sneaked out for a smoke, knowing exactly what would happen. And predictably, Suguru joined him not a minute later; they were shaded by the birch tree, away from the voices of their friends, the record player playing at high volume in the living room. Suguru’s countenance had completely transformed since dinner; there was an urgency and desperation in his gaze that made Satoru pause when he saw him. 

“Satoru, about today, I—”

“Don’t say anything,” Satoru said. “It was my fault.”

Suguru smiled. “I wasn’t going to apologize. I wanted to kiss you,” he took a step closer, “and I know you wanted to kiss me as well.”

Satoru didn’t know what to say. It was true he’d wanted to kiss him—and it was an undeniable truth that he wanted to kiss him again. “You wanted to kiss me that badly, huh?”

Suguru scoffed, but he saw through his bluff, for Satoru’s voice trembled, the same way his hands shook in his pockets. “I’ll go if you want me to,” he said softly, “and I promise I won’t bring this up again. But I know there’s something here. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

The scent of petrichor was strong in the yard after the previous night’s rain. Voices drifted from the house: a man’s cackle that Satoru identified as belonging to Haibara. He could go back inside and pretend nothing happened, pretend that he never kissed Suguru, that it hadn’t ushered the realization that he was in love with him. He could hide behind the safety of normalcy, ignore how his very essence had been so fundamentally altered that morning, and it would be so easy; he could keep going to the market, cooking for his friends, and stay at home alone while Utahime spent weekends with Shoko. But then again, they both knew he was never happy with that version of his life. So, he drew in a deep breath and yanked Suguru closer by the neck of his shirt to kiss him. 

The kiss had caught Suguru off guard, for he remained still for a moment until he gripped Satoru’s sides like a lifeline, and Satoru cupped his face just to hold him there a while longer. Suguru pushed him against the trunk of the tree and mouthed over his neck and clavicles, unbuttoning his shirt in the process. Satoru buried his fingers in his hair, uncaring of whether someone were to walk in on them like this—he was so drunk on Suguru, on his scent and the weight and heat of his body, everything else had faded into a blur.

Suguru kissed him again, open-mouthed, hungry. “I masturbated while thinking of you today. After you left.”

Desire pooled hot in his gut over the evident lust in Suguru’s breathy voice. “Shut up.” Satoru dragged him for a rough kiss. “We should go back inside before they come looking for us.”

“Are you free to come over tomorrow?”

He meant if Utahime would have a problem with him disappearing for a few hours. Utahime wouldn’t be back from work until late in the afternoon, so Satoru didn’t need to come up with an excuse for her. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be there after breakfast.”

But now that he had kissed Suguru again he wasn’t sure he was capable of ever stopping; he had to force himself to break away from the greedy kiss that Suguru was snaring him in, and with all his willpower, stepped back to button up his shirt and comb his hair back to a passable tidiness. Suguru’s mouth was kiss-stung, his half bun was a little disheveled so he had to redo it; there was a dazed look in his eyes, a pleased smile that made Satoru want to follow him home, to hell with keeping up with appearances. 

“What?” Suguru asked, his hair tie in his teeth.

You’re so beautiful, Satoru wanted to say. Instead he said, “Nothing. I should go back inside first.” 

Their friends made no comment on their absence. Haibara passed him a beer as soon as he saw him walk in and offered Suguru a drink after he returned. They listened to music and chatted until late. Suguru was the first to leave, but Satoru didn’t get up to walk him to the door, and merely waved a lazy goodbye from his spot on the sofa as if they were just acquaintances. 

 

Satoru arrived at the cottage early the next morning. Never before had he been such a mess of nerves: his fist shook when he lifted it to knock and his heartbeat resonated throughout his body with the same ferocity of the waves crashing against the cliffside. Suguru opened after a short moment, as if he’d been waiting right by the door. His smile was instant, a beautiful smile brimming with anticipation, and he stepped aside to let him in. 

“Hey,” Satoru said. But he could not get another word out before Suguru pushed him against the closed door to kiss him. 

“Hello,” Suguru said. “What took you so long?”

“Did you miss me that much?”

“I did not,” Suguru said, though the way he kissed Satoru belied his words. Satoru giggled. 

“I know you did,” Satoru insisted tauntingly between kisses, “because you think I’m irresistible and you can’t take your hands off of me.”

Suguru broke away and groaned, “God, you’re so—” but was unable to finish his sentence because Satoru tugged him back in for another kiss.  

“I’ve been thinking about you since I woke up this morning,” Satoru whispered over Suguru’s mouth. “Yesterday too. And the day before yesterday as well.”

Suguru laughed, bashful, and Satoru’s heart leapt. “Really? That much? Sounds like you’re obsessed with me.”

Satoru chuckled and kissed him again. That was enough of an answer for him—Suguru kissed him with an eagerness that Satoru had never experienced before. With a charged glance, Suguru led him to his room; they kissed in between shedding off their clothes; and even though Satoru was aware it was partly a distraction tactic for his sake, as Suguru might’ve noticed his slight awkwardness, it was only after he settled on his back over the bed, Suguru kneeled between his legs, that trepidation sank its hooks into him.  

“I’ve never been with a man,” Satoru admitted. “I should’ve mentioned that before.”

A note of nervousness had slipped into his voice, quivering a little at the end, but Suguru smiled sweetly. “It’s okay,” he said, dipping to kiss him chastely, “I know.” 

It was nothing and everything like Satoru had imagined at once. At first, when Suguru pushed in, a sharp pain shot up his spine, stinging his eyes and stealing the breath from his lungs. Once it subsided, an incredible wave of pleasure took over and from then on he was incapable of controlling his own actions—Suguru was gentler than he’d expected, kissing all over him as Satoru moaned and whimpered, clung to Suguru as he thrusted deep into him, over and over, in a maddeningly slow pace that made Satoru shudder with impatience. He grabbed Suguru’s ass to fasten his pace, just because he needed more of him, and Suguru took the hint, laughing breathily in his ear, but Satoru was too far gone to care; he rolled his head back and nearly sobbed when Suguru clasped his hips to pound into him. A scream got caught in his throat when he came, his nails dug into Suguru’s back, and he was still shivering from his orgasm when Suguru came after a few erratic thrusts and collapsed over Satoru with all his weight. 

They lay there breathing heavily, their damp bodies joined. After a minute, Satoru began laughing, low at first then higher. Suguru lifted his head and looked at him with a sly grin. 

“So? How was it?”

“It was all right.”

Suguru flicked his forehead. “Stop being dumb.”

Satoru laughed again and pecked his lips. “It was fucking amazing. I can’t believe I’ve missed out on this for so long.” He brushed Suguru’s hair from his face, the matted strands stuck to his temples. “Thank you for this.”

Suguru arched an eyebrow. “What are you thanking me for?”

“Because I would’ve never experienced this if I’d never met you,” he said. Suguru smiled adoringly and kissed him. Then Satoru flinched as Suguru moved to lie down next to him. “I take it it’s going to hurt like hell later.”

“Oh yeah, that’s one of the downsides, I’m afraid.”

Although Satoru didn’t look forward to being unable to sit comfortably, it was also a good price to pay for this moment, and it would serve as a private reminder of what it’d felt having Suguru inside him. He grabbed Suguru’s hand and kissed the back of it. 

“You know, I’ve only slept with a woman once,” Satoru said quietly. “When I was in high school.”

Suguru was puzzled. “So you and Utahime…”

“We’ve never slept together,” Satoru said, shaking his head. “We don’t sleep in the same bed either.” 

“Why did you get married?” Suguru asked. “You’re both so different and—”

“Utahime’s parents caught her in bed with Shoko.”

Suguru was astonished. “Oh, god. Are they…”

“Still together? Yeah.” 

“So how did you guys get married?” 

“Back then I never thought I’d ever marry if I’m honest,” Satoru said. “In high school I already knew I wasn’t into women—I just didn’t feel what I was supposed to feel. And that happened and Utahime’s parents were looking for someone to marry her—she and Shoko were devastated, they were looking at ways to run away together but they had no money, and if they wanted to live in peace they’d have to move far away. Shoko had taken over her dad’s pharmacy after he got ill and Utahime wanted to be a teacher—if she got married to the men here she probably would have to be a housewife. And since they were running out of time, Shoko proposed I marry Utahime, that way we would all continue to be friends here.”

“Does anybody else know?” 

“I think Shoko’s always known I was different too,” Satoru said, “she just never mentioned it. And Utahime obviously knows. In a way, I also took advantage of the situation. I was never going to be happy in a common marriage, so marrying a friend was the best outcome I could have hoped for.”

Suguru was silent for a moment. Then he sighed heavily and propped himself on an elbow to kiss him. “You’re not weird for liking men. There are many like us out there.”

“I’m good with just having you here,” Satoru said. He wanted to tell him how, with him here, he felt less lonely, less hopeless, even though there hadn’t been a drastic change in his circumstances—but Suguru laughed. 

“You’re so corny,” Suguru said. “But I’m glad we’ve met too.”

A warmth flooded Satoru like nothing he’d ever felt before. He kissed Suguru hard, using the opportunity to pull him on top of him again. “Okay, what if you fuck me again?”

Suguru groped his dick and wheezed through his nose. “You’re hard again so fast,” and feeling him in his hand, teeth over his lower lip, he added, “god, you need to fuck me next time.”

Satoru was about to say something untoward when Suguru began stroking his dick. He bit Suguru’s lower lip to wipe off his smug grin. “Don’t hold back this time—I’m a big boy and I won’t break.”

“Don’t worry,” Suguru said. “I’ll help you make up for lost time.”

 

Days went on like this, Satoru would head to Suguru’s house after Utahime went to work, taking the long route through the beach and up the cliffside so as to avoid running into any acquaintances along the way. There their clothes would be off in record time and often they didn’t make it farther than the couch: Suguru would ride Satoru until Satoru would change positions, manhandle him onto his back with no effort; sometimes it would be Satoru on his stomach, biting into his arm as Suguru fucked him from behind; and other times they would get each other off with only hands and mouths, desperate and seeking, kissing all over each other’s bodies on the rug by the hearth. Sometimes Suguru would show him the pages from his novel he was working on that day and revised them together, Satoru giving opinions that Suguru more often than not would contest, mostly just to rile Satoru up and it worked every time. Suguru had finally settled on an idea he liked about a man whose dull life is turned upside down when he accidentally becomes a spy, and his description, from his personality to physical characteristics, were so clearly inspired by Satoru it was almost comical. (“Should I be on the cover when it gets published?” Satoru joked when he first read the draft. Suguru flipped him off.)

Invariably Suguru came around the house for dinner in the evenings. They made it a point not to sneak out on their own to avoid raising suspicions, but watching Suguru across the room talking with Shoko or someone else, laughing to an inane comment, Satoru ached to go up to him, sit on the arm of the couch he was sitting in, and perhaps hold his hand or clasp his shoulder and join the conversation, share a story with him, as two lovers would. But all he could do was watch his friends hog Suguru’s attention while Satoru caught his eye for a second or two across the room, exchanging furtive smiles charged with the thrill of secrecy. 

Utahime didn’t suspect anything, of course, because he was extremely careful. On the first day he’d arrived home before Utahime and did his utmost not to flinch when he took a seat in front of her, even though his ass hurt like hell. But he relished the pain, and spent the rest of the day, and the ones that followed, lost in the daze of daydreaming about the hours spent with Suguru in his cottage, and Utahime’s snide comments about his absentmindedness that he often turned into a joke wouldn’t deter him. He cleaned the house and cooked and bid Utahime goodbye when she went to work, just as usual. Only now he had something to look forward to every day when he woke up in the morning that nobody else knew. 

Though it was a matter of time before he slipped up. They’d fallen asleep after sex one afternoon, and when Satoru awoke, he sat up in bed with a start upon realizing it was sundown and the room was shrouded in shadows. 

“Oh, shit!” Satoru exclaimed as he jumped out of bed. He slipped into his pants in a hurry, nearly stumbling, and proceeded to button up his shirt messily. Suguru, a little sleepy, seemed entertained by his predicament; his eyes and cheeks were puffy, but he looked his usual beautiful self, his loose hair framing his face. 

“Your shirt is a mess,” Suguru said. “Come here.”

“If I go near you I won’t be able to leave.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, though his smile was pleased. “Come on, stupid, you’re not going to do it better in the dark on the way back.”

Satoru relented and let him button up his shirt while he shoved the tails inside his pants. When he reached the top button, Suguru tugged him close by the neck for a kiss that he labored to prolong, and it took all of Satoru’s willpower to break away and not go back under the covers. 

Satoru nearly jogged the rest of the way to his house. Utahime’s car was in the driveway; she was in the kitchen washing the chicken Satoru had left defrosting in the sink that morning. 

“Where were you?” she asked without looking up from what she was doing. “Were you at Nanami’s place?”

“I went for a walk and lost track of time,” he said. He was a little breathless; Utahime threw him a suspicious glance.

“You’ve been out a lot lately,” she said. “Ijichi told me he saw you heading down to the beach a couple of times last week.”

“I’ve been exercising,” Satoru said.

Utahime gave him an odd look that only lasted a second. Briefly Satoru had a strange urge to come clean and tell her everything about Suguru, his feelings for him, but he knew that Utahime would see it for what it was: a potential risk to the facade of their marriage. 

“I’m going to spend this Saturday with Shoko,” Utahime said. “I’ll go to her house straight from work so don’t bother waiting for me to have dinner.”

It was all he could do to keep his excitement over the idea of spending the night with Suguru out of his expression. “All right.”

“Please don’t drink too much if you hang out with Nanami and the other guys.”

“Sure.”

“And you should invite Suguru. He seems to like you a lot.”

That gave Satoru pause. “Did he say that?”

“No,” Utahime said. “It’s just the impression I have. You two don’t talk much when he’s here. I think you should try to make him feel more welcome with the other guys.”

If only she knew how much they spoke when they were alone, how welcome Suguru felt inside him; it was hard to tamp down a smile over this irony. “Okay.” She seemed satisfied by this, for she promptly moved on to an anecdote from work and the topic was forgotten. 

 

Satoru told Suguru about Utahime’s weekend plans the next morning. They were in bed, recovering from the first round—and after hearing the news Suguru lifted his head from Satoru’s chest and beamed.

“So you can stay over?”

“Yes,” Satoru said. “I hope you don’t mind snoring. I get pretty loud at night.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea already of how loud you can get.”

Satoru laughed loudly and dragged him in for a kiss. He could feel his own excitement radiating off Suguru; spending the night together and having breakfast in the morning, normal things that couples did, sounded like a luxury to them and that was exactly why the prospect of spending more hours together was so precious. 

Their joy was interrupted by a knock on the door. They stared at each other in a puzzled silence until the knocking came again. They sat in bed and listened for another knock.

“Who is it?” Satoru asked in a whisper. 

“How would I know?”

Then a man’s voice came. “Geto! Are you home?!”

“It’s Haibara,” Satoru muttered. “What is he doing here?”

“I have no idea,” Suguru said, standing. “He didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“Are you going to answer the door?”

“Of course,” Suguru said. “Or else he’s going to head down to the beach and when he doesn’t see me there he’s going to come back and ask where I was and I have no idea what I’ll say. He’s done it before.” As he slipped on his pants, he threw Satoru’s shirt at him. “Come on, hurry up!”

Somehow they managed to look presentable enough to receive Haibara. He was surprised to see Satoru there.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“Suguru needed help with his oven,” Satoru lied. “It’d stopped working.”

“Oh, you fixed it, Satoru?”

“Yes,” Satoru grumbled. “Why the surprise?”

“It’s just I didn’t even know you knew how to use tools.”

Suguru cackled and Satoru sulked. Haibara looked apologetic, though he seemed more amused at Satoru’s expense. “I do know how to use tools, Haibara. I’ve fixed things around the house.”

“I thought you always paid other people to fix stuff for you,” Haibara said. “My bad. Anyways, do you need help?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine now,” Suguru said. “Satoru did an excellent job. Do you guys want a beer?”

Haibara sat on the couch with Satoru while Suguru went to the kitchen to fetch the beers. “What took you guys so long?”

“The radio was on,” Satoru said. 

“I didn’t hear music.”

“It wasn’t that loud but it’s right here in the kitchen,” Suguru chimed in as he came back with the bottles and passed one to each. “And Satoru doesn’t have great hearing.”

“Suguru is like a granny,” Satoru joked. “You have to shout into his ear sometimes.”

Haibara glanced between the two of them with a bemused smile. “You two seem to get along pretty well.”

There was something a little knowing in his gaze that Satoru didn’t like. “Yeah!” he chirped. “Why not? He comes by for dinner all the time.”

“Satoru loves to act all cool and indifferent sometimes,” Suguru said, “but it’s all just an act once you get to know him, right?”

Suguru clasped his shoulder; it could be interpreted as a placating gesture, but Satoru could feel the affection in it. Satoru imagined Suguru hosting party dinners for their friends here, and Satoru helping him, as his partner. 

“He’s a very nice guy deep down,” Haibara said. 

“What do you mean by that?!” Satoru exclaimed, mock offended. 

Haibara stayed for a little over an hour. He left with the promise of coming over to Satoru’s home for lunch next week. Once he was gone, Suguru lunged at him for a kiss that nearly made Satoru trip, and he clung to Suguru’s shoulders for balance as he hastily unbuttoned his shirt.

“What’s that for?”

“I love seeing you around people,” Suguru said. “You’re so arrogant but you also enjoy being teased.”

Satoru’s cheeks warmed up. He also loved to watch Suguru around people, his charm was so powerful yet subtle, it drew people in like moths to a flame; many a time he had marveled at the ease with which Suguru was able to disarm someone in conversation without their even knowing it was happening. 

“Because you think I’m so charming and irresistible and—”

“Stop talking.” Suguru slipped his shirt off his shoulders and pushed him to the couch. There he spread Satoru’s legs and crouched between them to unzip his pants. Satoru was a little breathless already; it was inexplicably arousing that he was half-naked while Suguru remained completely dressed. 

“You love watching me so much?”

Suguru shoved his pants, along with his underwear, past his knees and tossed them somewhere in the floor so he could put his legs over his shoulders. Satoru bit his lips to suppress a moan. “I said,” Suguru pushed his ass up, “stop talking.”

And indeed Satoru was unable to string a coherent sentence for a whole hour and more. 

 

“Hey, Satoru! How are you?”

Satoru had been inspecting a large pepper bell when he heard his name. It was Kusakabe and his wife, who smiled amiably at him. “Hey,” Satoru said, “long time no see!”

“How’s the writer? Haibara said you were at his house the other day, fixing his oven.”

Although Satoru shouldn’t have been surprised—gossip traveled faster than the wind in this town—he had to stop his smile from faltering. He had gone to the market to buy groceries for their day alone; he’d even thought of stopping by the bakery to get a cake and thought better of it when he remembered the ladies who worked there would recognize him and later ask Utahime about the dessert in question. 

Satoru feigned nonchalance. “Oh yeah, he needed help with the oven. You know how it is, city people can’t fix their own things.”

“Sure, sure,” Kusakabe said. “Let me know if he needs more help around the house. That cottage surely needs more repair than you might know.” 

They parted ways after chatting for a few minutes. Satoru went back home to change clothes; he donned a dark coat and a hat to cover his white hair—and as if the heavens were on his side, it began raining before he went out, so he got a nondescript umbrella from the rack. The rain had ushered everyone inside, so he took the direct route to Suguru’s house as a fierce wind had picked up not long after he left home. Suguru opened on the first knock and beamed at the sight of him.

“Hello!” Suguru yanked him inside by the lapels of his coat and grabbed the bags of groceries. “You look like a detective from a French film.”

Satoru closed the umbrella, took off his hat and mussed up his hair with brisk fingers. “So you think I’m hot and mysterious?”

Suguru chortled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, let’s get you out of those clothes and sit by the fire. I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”

Satoru grinned as he took off his coat. “Wow, you’re trying to seduce me already? I’ve barely just arrived.” 

Suguru pretended to be indifferent to his insinuation, but there was a sly smile threatening at the corner of his lips. “Calm down, dinner’s almost ready. Do you want to eat in your birthday suit?”

And Satoru got exactly that. Twenty minutes later he had Suguru underneath him, his back arched off the floor as Satoru unraveled him with tongue and fingers. He let Suguru come in his mouth, his eyes watering as Suguru yanked hard on his hair when his orgasm hit, and the painful throb on his head was completely worth it for the way he stretched his arms out to him with a blissful smile.

Afterwards they finally had their dinner, sitting on the rug in front of the hearth, covered by a thick blanket. Suguru had cooked a delicious risotto with a mushroom sauce, and at some point Satoru insisted on feeding Suguru; it had started as a joke that grew into a habit of his, and Suguru indulged him with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. 

“I wish every night was like this,” Suguru said, “and I could cook dinner for us. I enjoy seeing how much you like it.”

There was a pang in his chest. Suguru’s words evoked an alternative world that he also dreamed of often: having dinner like this every night, drinking a glass of wine and having sex in the hazy state of tipsiness. Cooking lunch, humming to songs from the record player, and sitting in front of each other at the table to eat. It was a world too perfect to be real but one that Satoru held so dear despite the visceral ache that dreaming of it caused.

“And I’d feed you like this every night too,” Satoru said, “because I know you like it.”

“I repeat I’m not a child,” Suguru said. “I can feed myself.”

Satoru giggled and put the plate on the coffee table. “I can cook next time. You’re going to be blown away.”

“You’re a great cook so I don’t doubt that,” Suguru said. After a pause, he added, “I don’t know why you get embarrassed when people compliment your cooking. Remember that time I praised Utahime but you were the one who cooked dinner?”

“I’m not embarrassed,” he said, “but people see us as an odd couple for switching roles like that. It’s dumb, I know, but it makes me self-conscious I suppose.” 

What he didn’t say was that he feared that, once people spotted one little crack in their marriage they might be able to see the ruse for what it is. Suguru fell silent for a moment, that little wrinkle between his brows that denoted he was deep in thought. 

“Okay, what’re you thinking about?” Satoru asked. 

“Sometimes you put up such an inscrutable mask for the rest of the world,” Suguru said matter-of-factly, “but not when you’re with me. And not right now, when you’re eating the food that I made just for you.”

Satoru smiled and held Suguru’s hand. “What if I’m just a very good actor?”

“No, you’re not,” he said. “At least not to me. I can read you quite well.”

“Really? What am I thinking right now?”

Suguru stared at him intently, his eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking of doing a number of indecent things to me.”

Satoru snorted and leaned in for a kiss, but Suguru drew back, smiling playfully. “Such as?”

“Like—” And leaned in to whisper in Satoru’s ear. Satoru chuckled, blushing a little, and when Suguru pulled back, grinning, he kissed him until they were both breathless and the blanket lay forgotten on the floor. 

That night he endeavored to fulfill every one of Suguru’s commands and some more, to the tune of the record player and the rain beating on the rooftop above. 

 

The next morning they headed down to the beach for a walk. The sky was cloudy, and there were puddles in the grass from the rain of the previous day. The beach was deserted, so they walked close to each other, their knuckles brushing with the movement of their arms. 

“Is this where that man was found?” Suguru asked. “The person who owned the cottage?”

Satoru flinched. He regretted now ever having told Suguru that story, but he didn’t seem apprehensive as he looked around the white sand. 

“No, it was some miles away.”

“Do you think he went insane?”

“I don’t know much about him,” Satoru said. “I know he was kind of a recluse. People didn’t like him much.”

“Why?”

Satoru shrugged. “No idea. Maybe some scandal no one remembers now.”

“I suppose it’s easy to be ostracized in places like these,” Suguru said, “where everyone knows each other.”

Satoru thought about how easily Shoko and Utahime’s lives would’ve been destroyed had their secret come out when they were caught—and if people found out about he and Suguru in the present, they would be just like the old man in the cottage, outcasts with nowhere else to go. 

“I love the sound of the ocean,” Suguru said. “I thought I’d hate it, having it so close all the time, but I’d probably not be able to fall asleep without it now.”

“This is all I’ve known my whole life,” Satoru said. “And all I’ll probably know for the rest of it too.”

Suguru grabbed his hand and stroked his thumb over the back of it. “Maybe we could take a little trip. Anywhere you’d like to visit.”

Satoru didn’t want to say that it was unlikely they could ever make such a trip, at least not on their own, because it would raise eyebrows among their circle. He hadn’t told him about Haibara gleefully revealing to others that he’d found Satoru at the cottage; he wasn’t sure if it was something that required genuine concern or it was simply a matter of his paranoia and anxiety getting the better of him.

“And to think I thought I’d get bored of this place after a week,” Suguru said. “It was like I was punishing myself by moving here.”

“How so?” 

“I’d disappointed my parents and I realized I’d never make them happy—but I ended up finding inspiration to finish my book.” Suguru linked their fingers. “And I met you.”

“Best thing in town.”

Suguru smiled. “Sometimes I think this place was waiting for me. Or maybe you were waiting for me here.”

Satoru indeed felt like he had been waiting his whole life for Suguru, he just hadn’t known it until he met him. Thirty odd years on this earth and he hadn’t yet lived until he kissed Suguru for the first time. 

“I think I was,” Satoru said, returning the smile. “It took meeting you to know I’d been going through life asleep. And I’d have kept living like that, maybe forever, if you hadn’t come here and woke me up.”

“So you’re saying I made your life interesting?” Suguru asked playfully. “I think you’re pretty interesting yourself, if not a little annoying.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Satoru said. “If I remember correctly you said my—”

Suguru groaned and shoved him with his palm over his face. Satoru cackled when he saw Suguru’s ears were a fierce red. Instinctively, Satoru scanned the beach for onlookers, and when he saw no one, he tugged at Suguru’s hand to trap him in an embrace. He kissed Suguru until his pout melted into a smile. 

“You’re so stupid,” Suguru said with a chuckle, burying his fingers in his hair. “You’re lucky that I like you.”

Satoru thought, I am incredibly lucky, and kissed him. 

 

“You don’t like egg on rice?!”

“No, I just don’t like the texture, especially when the yolk is slimy.” Suguru shuddered for effect. “It’s just gross.”

The glow of the candles flickered in Suguru’s brown eyes. Their empty plates from dinner lay  on the table, the washing up stalled by glasses of red wine. 

“That’s my to-go meal when I’m feeling lazy,” Satoru said, “when Utahime is out and I don’t have to cook an elaborate meal. I bet you don’t like fried eggs because you always burn the edges.”

“I do not,” Suguru said petulantly. “And anyway, I make myself a chicken sandwich or something like that, much better than a slimy egg on rice. You could make yourself a nice soup too.”

Satoru shrugged. “It kind of feels like a waste to prepare a nice meal for a single person. I like cooking for other people. Kinda like you.”

“You cook for Utahime,” Suguru mentioned.

It was hard to miss that Suguru rarely mentioned Utahime, and whenever he did it was in some oblique way, and now it was impossible not to miss the tiniest accusatory edge in his tone that he was carefully trying to pass off as nonchalance. 

“Well, yes, because we live together,” Satoru said. “But I also cook for our friends. Been doing it for years.”

“I know,” Suguru said and smiled tightly. “I’d make you soup and send you to bed. You can’t be full from a bowl of rice.”

“You just don’t know how to cook a good fried egg!” Satoru countered. “I tell you it’s delicious on rice. I’ll prepare it for you one of these days and you’ll have to eat your words.”

“If it’s a midnight meal then you’d have to be spending the night, no?”

“Right,” Satoru said, “but we’ll probably get another chance like this—Utahime spends the weekend at Shoko’s often, trust me.”

Satoru wasn’t sure where and how the present tension had creeped into the conversation or whether Suguru had carried this frustration long before this moment and it had burst out of him because of something he had said. That day had been nothing less than perfect: after coming home from their walk on the beach Suguru had put on music and sat down to write while Satoru lay down on the couch to read, then made love until it had been time to cook dinner, still riding on the afterglow bliss, so this sudden friction, as Suguru pushed his chair back and began piling the dirty plates to carry them to the sink,  was all the more unexpected. Satoru sighed and ruffled his hair roughly. 

“Is something the matter?” 

Suguru sauntered to the record player and skimmed his record collection until he settled on one with a little noise of approval. He slid it out of the sleeve and placed it on the plate. “Not at all,” he said at length, in an off-handed manner. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru said, exasperated. “You just—You’re not saying anything.”

Suguru smiled and stretched out an arm towards him. “Come here.”

“Suguru—”

“Come on,” Suguru said. “Dance with me.”

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice floated over the dim living room and Satoru padded to Suguru, who instantly placed his arm over his shoulders and with the other guided Satoru to his hips. They began swaying slowly, Satoru occasionally glancing at their feet to avoid stepping on Suguru. I think of you every morning… dream of you every night… 

“I won’t let you step on me,” Suguru said playfully, “don’t worry.”

Satoru huffed. “Don’t be dumb. You have no reason to be jealous of Utahime.”

“I’m not jealous,” Suguru refuted sullenly. “I just wish…”

Suguru trailed off, an edge of wistfulness and helplessness in his tone that Satoru understood quite well. “Yeah, I know,” he said with a sigh. He rested his head against Suguru’s, and they continued swaying like that to the music. “I know.” 

 

After these idyllic days the idea of returning to his house, to his dull routine and the absence of Suguru in it, was unbearably bleak, and on the way back his attempt to shake off his dispirited mood that had started when he left the cottage was unsuccessful. When he arrived home, he was surprised to see Utahime’s car in the driveway as he’d thought she’d be back in the afternoon as she normally did when she stayed over at Shoko’s place. 

Utahime sat at the breakfast table, a steaming cup of tea in front of her, and stared at Satoru blankly when he came in. 

“Hi,” he said. “You’re home early.”

“Where were you?”

“I went out for a walk,” he said, taking off his coat. “It’s a new routine of mine.”

“You were out walking all night? Did you walk to the next town?”

Satoru chuckled. “No, I just walked to the beach and—”

“Paid a visit to your good friend Suguru?”

Satoru gaped. She looked triumphant, and at the same time, angry. 

“How—what are you—”

“Look at you,” she said. “Can’t even speak. I never thought I’d ever see you in such a state. So, is it true?”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I came back last night because it was Shoko’s mom’s birthday,” she said, “and you weren’t here. I thought you were murdered or something. I had to call around to find out where my husband was. And Haibara said he’d seen you at Suguru’s house the other day, and I remembered all your walks to the beach and I added two and two.”

The accusation in her gaze was lacerating. Satoru was speechless. There was no reason to deny it anymore, so he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what?”

Utahime’s right eyebrow twitched. “So what? Do you realize what this could mean for us?”

“So only you are allowed to have an affair and I should sit quietly at home waiting for you to remember we’re married?”

“Do I have to remind you if we get caught people are going to ostracize us? And it’s going to be much worse for you and Suguru. At least Shoko and I can pass off as friends but two men spending all their time together? Practically living together? While everyone knows you have a wife at home? Do I have to spell out for you that you’re not fooling anyone?”

“You’re not fooling anyone either,” he said. “Do you think people don’t wonder why you spend weekends at Shoko instead of at home? Why we never show any affection in front of others? Your parents certainly aren’t fooled!”

“Nobody has suspected anything for years,” she said. “Don’t try and change the subject!”

“Why can’t I have a lover but you can?”

There was a pregnant pause where Utahime regarded him closely. “Do you think he’ll stay here forever? He’s a city guy. He’ll leave just as easily as he came.”

For the first time ever Satoru felt a lump in his throat. He was unable to speak for a protracted moment; his knees were weak, as if the weight in his chest was so big it was causing his body to collapse on itself. He shuffled to the table, plopped down on a chair and held Utahime’s gaze steadily. 

“I won’t stop seeing him,” he said firmly. “Just like you won’t stop seeing Shoko. We’ll make it work.”

Utahime glared at him for a moment and then sighed. “I forgot how stubborn you are. Is he really worth all this trouble?”

“Utahime, stop being so pessimistic,” he said. “Maybe everything will be fine!”

“You better be right,” she said drily. “I hope you don’t end up regretting this.”

 

Everything and nothing changed in their routine: they hosted dinner parties at home, went to the market for groceries, and Utahime spent weekends at Shoko’s place—only now Satoru got to spend days and nights with Suguru as well. Satoru had feared Utahime would stop inviting Suguru over, but thankfully the doors remained open for him. They rarely spoke alone though, Satoru had noticed. Suguru made a point of complimenting her whenever he saw her, either for the food or drinks or simply the way she looked, and she’d give a polite but cool answer and wander off to another guest. Satoru was content with their current situation; it was more than he’d expected, that he could have Suguru and keep his marriage intact. 

One evening Suguru was nowhere to be seen at his home. It was past midnight and the reunion was reaching its end, empty bottles littered the living room and a few stragglers hung around like the smoke in the air, so his absence was even more conspicuous for Satoru. There was only one place Satoru imagined Suguru would be, and indeed he found him sitting on his bed, tracing the bedding appreciatively. The lamp in his bedside table was on, and the way he smiled, his legs crossed, when Satoru entered and locked the door behind himself, lended the scene an even more intimate and provocative aura than if he had found him naked instead. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see where you slept,” Suguru said, reclining back on his hands. “I’ve always been curious since we spend all of our time at my place.”

“The mattress is heavenly,” Satoru said, jeering, “and the frame is very firm—it could withstand anything.”

Suguru hummed. “Is it really?”

“And the bedding is very expensive,” Satoru said, as Suguru traced the duvet provocatively. “Silky, isn’t it? Five-hundred thread count.”

“Stop speaking.” Suguru rose from the bed to kiss him, pressing him against the door. Satoru responded greedily to the kiss after holding back all night from going near Suguru, a real feat as he looked simply irresistible that night in a fitted black cashmere sweater. Letting go of his lips required an almost superhuman will; he brushed his fingers through Suguru’s soft hair and sniffed his scent to have his fill of him, and chuckled when Suguru chased him to capture his mouth again.

“We can’t stay too long here,” Satoru said against Suguru’s mouth. “They’re going to notice we’re gone, if they haven’t already.”

“Come over tonight. Let’s leave together.” Suguru plowed on when Satoru was about to speak, “We can leave after everyone’s gone home already. No one will see us out this late.”

“Are you that horny?” Satoru joked. “I can be there early tomorrow morning. We’ll have breakfast together.”

“Come home with me,” he said in a low, sultry voice. He peppered kisses over Satoru’s neck, traced Satoru’s hips down to his ass and up again. “I know you want to.”

There was something to be said for Suguru’s tactics, for he was aware Satoru was powerless against him; the battle was won before it even started. 

“All right,” Satoru said with a sigh. “You win.”

Suguru snickered and kissed him. 

They went downstairs together, since he guessed that from the silence most guests had already gone home. Haibara and his girlfriend were getting ready to leave in the foyer, and as soon as Haibara saw them come down the stairs, he said, “Suguru, want a lift home?!”

Satoru and Suguru exchanged a glance. “No, I don’t want to trouble you. I don’t mind walking home.”

“But it’s so late!” Haibara’s girlfriend said. “It’s not safe for you to be walking around so late at night on your own.”

Satoru sensed, from Suguru’s expression, that he wanted to correct them, tell them he wouldn’t be going home alone, but he seemed to realize that refusing their offer would invite some suspicion, for he bit his lip for half a second and said, “Okay. I’d be very grateful.”

Haibara beamed and zipped up his jacket. “Let’s get going then!”

Suguru gave Satoru a dejected glance, and Satoru wanted to reach out and hold his hand, so he shoved his fist in his pocket. “See you later.”

He wished he could kiss him goodbye, perhaps tell him he loved him, so hard it pained him. Right then the restrictions of their relationship had never felt so real and unbearable. “See you,” Satoru said. 

They exchanged rueful smiles. He couldn’t even call him before he went to bed because Suguru didn’t have a phone. 

“Why do you look so sad?”

Utahime appeared at the foyer and was watching him intently. Satoru shrugged and closed the door. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Two days later, he ran into Suguru at the grocery store. It was Saturday, Utahime’s day off, so they’d decided to go to the store together for groceries in her car. They were walking to the car with the bags when he spotted Suguru heading to the store. He dreaded the moment he saw them, but when he did, after a disconcerting moment, he walked straight to them. When Utahime saw him, her face changed from surprise to a neutral smile. 

“Hello,” Suguru said cheerfully. “Grocery shopping?”

“We were out of milk,” Satoru said. “And I’m making pork cutlets tonight.”

“Are you coming over tonight?” Utahime asked. 

“Of course,” Suguru said with a pleasant smile. “I was thinking of bringing cheesecake for dessert. I was going to buy the ingredients now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you liked to bake,” Utahime said. “Satoru’s never mentioned it.”

“I’m not very good at it,” Suguru said humorously, “but I can bake a few things.”

“He makes excellent chocolate chip cookies,” Satoru told Utahime. She seemed uninterested. “And his cheesecake is incredible.”

“Satoru loves sweets,” Suguru said, “that’s why he thinks my baking is so good.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

Suguru laughed, covering his mouth, and Satoru melted a little at the sight of him. He’d thought he’d have to wait until the afternoon to see him, so seeing him this early was like sunlight after a cloudy day. Utahime didn’t seem so keen on the encounter though; she glanced between the two of them with an icy tolerance that amused Satoru. 

A middle-aged woman made a noise of surprise upon seeing them and approached with a friendly smile. “Oh, look at you two! I haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Hello, Mrs. Katsuki,” Utahime said. “How are you?”

Satoru had the impression she was one of Utahime’s coworkers, but he smiled and greeted her as though he knew exactly who she was. “Hello! So nice to see you!”

“I just came back from visiting Mai at the hospital,” the lady said. “Her baby is adorable. When are you two going to start a family? I bet your babies would be gorgeous!”

These kinds of questions had increased in frequency in the past years since time passed, they got older and no children were coming; annoying as they were, Satoru had learned to tolerate these questions, but presently he was overly aware of how Utahime’s smile had turned into a grimace, and especially the way that Suguru had frozen and the ends of his mouth drooped. As if on instinct, Satoru braced himself, his grip on the bags tightening. 

“We have no plans for children,” Satoru said with a smile that felt painfully forceful. “Not in the near future at least. Utahime is too busy with her job and—”

“Satoru isn’t keen on children,” Utahime said. 

“I do like children,” Satoru countered, “but Utahime is too attached to her job, so we’re giving it a few years.”

“Right, Utahime is the one who has a job,” the woman said slowly, “and your husband stays at home. “But you’re in your thirties now, aren’t you? Soon it’s going to be too late for you!”

They shrugged nearly at the same time. Satoru chuckled good-naturedly. “We might adopt. Who knows.”

Suguru hadn’t come out of his initial unease and Satoru was doing his utmost not to direct his attention to him. The lady’s smile had become strained now.

“What an odd couple you two make,” she said and laughed politely when Satoru cackled. If only she knew that they both had lovers, that one of them was standing right in front of her at the moment—what would she make of that? What an odd couple they were indeed. 

“We’re special,” Satoru chirped, his head cocked. The woman returned his smile politely. 

Later Satoru drove Utahime home with the groceries and then took the car to drop Suguru off at his home. The ride home was excruciatingly awkward; Utahime and Suguru tried to make small talk, but their interactions were too artificially affable and polite and soon they abandoned the effort altogether. Driving Suguru home was not much different; there was something on his mind, that much was clear, for he continuously responded to Satoru’s attempts at conversation with laconic answers, his absent stare trained on the road. 

After Satoru parked outside his home and helped to get the groceries out of the backseat and to his doorstep, he finally asked: “Okay, what’s the matter?”

Suguru patted his pockets in search of his keys and didn’t look at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not fooling me, Suguru. Something’s bothering you.Was it something Utahime said? Or something I said?”

Inside the cottage Suguru dropped the groceries on the foyer and rushed to grab a cigarette packet he’d left on the mantelpiece. He put a cigarette in his lips and clicked on his lighter. “It’s nothing,” he said. 

“You’re not a terrific liar, Suguru.”

Suguru reclined against the mantelpiece and exhaled a stream of smoke. He studied Satoru with a practiced coolness that hinted at an unease reverberating just beneath the surface. “I just didn’t think you’d want to have children someday.”

“I’m not really sure that I do.”

“I can’t give you children.”

Satoru let out a short laugh. “I am aware of that.”

“I might not be able to give you what you want.”

“What do you think I want?”

Suguru shrugged. “Dinner parties, lunches…” he trailed off, blowing a puff of smoke. “The convenience of marriage.”

Satoru walked over to where he stood and touched his cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t need to marry you to be with you,” he said. “I thought that was clear.”

Suguru gazed at him, then he huffed. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I’m the other woman.”

Satoru took his cigarette and dropped it in the ashtray over the mantelpiece. Then he kissed his neck, caressing his outline and pushing his body against his. Suguru sighed, his eyes closed. “I think it’s very sexy.”

Suguru’s guards had lowered; he thawed under Satoru, his arms over his shoulders now as Satoru unbuttoned his shirt for better access for his mouth. “You think everything I do is sexy because you’re always horny.”

“Well…” Satoru trailed off with a sly grin. Suguru chortled and kissed him. 

 

The first snow fell at the start of December, the same week as Satoru’s birthday. It was also the same week that Suguru finished his book. Suguru gave Satoru the final draft to read, and when he reached the ending he was so baffled he shot up to his feet from the armchair. 

“You killed me off?!”

“I killed the main character off,” Suguru replied, though he was trying not to laugh. “Not you . Besides, it makes sense!”

Satoru sulked a little because Suguru seemed so amused by his shock. That same weekend Suguru gave a copy to their friends to read after dinner and everyone thought it was brilliant, and Satoru felt a sense of pride and an indescribable joy over how happy Suguru looked over their praises. 

It started snowing one evening while they were lying on the rug in front of the hearth. The fire kept the room cozy and warm, but they had brought blankets from the bedroom nonetheless because the frost of the first snow had been in the air all day. They were quiet under the blankets, Satoru’s head fitted in the crook of Suguru’s neck, when he spoke. 

“Your birthday’s coming up.”

Without opening his eyes, Satoru made a vague sound for a response. Satoru was on the verge of sleep, for Suguru stroked his hair lazily, and the sound of his breathing had the soothing calm of a lullaby. 

“What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Satoru said. If he had more presence of mind, he’d say everything he wanted was in that room, that there was nowhere else he’d rather be, aware that Suguru would make fun of him first then kiss him. 

“Really? No fancy sweets or expensive clothes or books or—”

“Just want you,” Satoru slurred. “Nothing else.”

Suguru giggled. The wood crackled in the fire and Satoru slipped further and further into slumber by the second—then Suguru gasped and bolted upright, sending Satoru to the floor. 

“What’s wrong?!”

“It’s snowing!”

Suguru rushed over to the window and Satoru scrambled to his feet, still a bit groggy and disoriented. The sight of snow woke him up, though, and especially the bright smile that Suguru had, the evident joy on his face, as he watched the snowflakes swirling to the ground. Satoru smiled and rested his chin on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around his middle. There was truly nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than right in that room with Suguru. 

 

Even though Satoru hadn’t asked for a party, he knew, by tradition, that there would be a celebration for him anyway, because there had been one every year since he was a kid. 

When Satoru opened the door to his home, excited and expectant faces crowded in the foyer, and instantly broke into shouts of “surprise!”, blew confetti at him. Utahime had told him to spend the day at Suguru’s place, with the obvious intention of preparing the house for the party, and Satoru played the part of the surprised birthday boy because it was what he did every year. Only now Suguru was standing beside him when he arrived. 

Satoru got a little tipsy at the party and in this inebriated state his inhibitions were muted and forgotten when he guided Suguru to the garage. Suguru warned him that people might see them, not very convincingly, and Satoru shushed him and giggled, his fingers to his lips, and Suguru rolled his eyes and trailed after him. Satoru had moved to the room above the garage for more privacy; Utahime had even helped him carry some of his things from his old bedroom. 

“You’re sleeping here now?”

“Yeah,” Satoru said, clutching his hips, “more privacy.” He kissed his cheek. “You could even spend the night if you want…”

“Really? Wouldn’t Utahime mind?”

“No, we already talked about it,” he said. “I picked this room because it’s the farthest from the rest of the house, so she won’t be able to hear a single noise. Well, unless we’re very loud.”

Suguru snorted. “Knowing you, that is a real possibility.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Satoru said and kissed him. 

“Satoru, listen,” Suguru said, suddenly serious, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh, wait, hold on,” Satoru said, searching his pockets. “I have a surprise for you!”

Satoru opened his fist to reveal a ring on his palm. Suguru gasped; it was a simple silver band, delicate and tasteful, with S&S inscribed in the interior. It could pass off as a plain decorative ring, and only both of them would be aware of the meaning behind it. “Is that for me?”

Satoru nodded enthusiastically. “Got it by mail from this very fancy jewelry store in Tokyo.”

“But it’s your birthday,” Suguru said, picking it up, “you shouldn’t have gotten me a present, you idiot.”

“I wanted to give you a present.” Satoru shrugged. “And besides, seeing you wear a ring I got for you means something to me.”

Suguru studied him with beseeching eyes. “It’s gorgeous, Satoru. You shouldn’t have.”

“Stop it,” Satoru said, brushing his bangs off before cupping his cheek, “I can tell you love it.”

Suguru unveiled a beautiful smile. “I do love it. Thank you.”

He kissed Satoru earnestly, so eagerly Satoru had half a mind to delay returning to the party to spend a few minutes with Suguru—minutes was a very loose term—, when there was a knock on the door that had both instantly springing apart. Utahime opened the door and peeked inside. 

“There you are,” she said. “It’s time for the cake.”

“We’ll be right there,” Satoru told her. Utahime said, “Don’t take too long,” and left.

“What did you want to tell me?” Satoru asked. 

Suguru shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. You have to blow your candles.”

Everyone gathered around him while Utahime held the cake so he could blow on the candles. The candles lit a circle around him in the dark room, fenced by expectant, happy faces—and of course Suguru’s smile was the loveliest right by his side. Despite the earnestness with which he made his wish, there was no way for it to come true: he couldn’t kiss Suguru at that moment, and he had to wait until everyone had left to guide him back to his room. 

 

There were puddles of melted snow all over the yard; the weather was warmer than it had been that entire week and pale sunlight peeked from around clouds at intervals, so they had brunch in the garden. Since Utahime had left with Shoko after the party, they had the house to themselves. Suguru had looked beautiful in his bed that morning; they lazed around until past noon, too distracted by each other to have the energy to do much else. 

“What did you want to tell me last night?”

Suguru left his cup on the ground and straightened up. He had never looked so serious before. “Satoru, listen.”

“Are you pregnant?”

Suguru chuckled awkwardly. “Don’t be an idiot.” 

“You just got all serious—“

“I’m moving back to Tokyo,” Suguru cut off. “Probably soon.”

Satoru’s smile froze on his face. A sick feeling traveled from his belly to his throat as if he was about to throw up; he inhaled through his mouth. “What?”

“My uncle passed away and left me his house,” Suguru explained. “But the thing is, I want you to come with me.”

“Go with you? To Tokyo?”

“Yes,” he said eagerly. “Let’s move to Tokyo together. We won’t have to watch our backs as much as we do here. We won’t have to go back and forth between our places—”

“You don’t get it,” Satoru said. “I can’t go. This is the only place I want to live in.”

Suguru stared at him in a stunned pause. “You wouldn’t like to live with me?”

“Yes, of course, but I can’t just go up and leave! I’m married and Utahime relies on me to—”

“Pretend to be her husband?” Suguru finished; his sardonic tone cut into Satoru like a knife. He sighed sharply and stood up. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Well, it’s true, I can’t just leave her here! Shoko too! People would gossip and—”

“Would you stop worrying about what people think?”

“I don’t care what people think. The whole purpose of marriage is to protect each other. You wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Suguru said bitterly. “The truth is you’re so scared of living without the pretense of being a good husband. You’re so frightened of being seen seen for what you truly are—”

“That’s not true.”

“And you’re willing to leave me so you can keep living a lie.”

Satoru felt a huge void in the center of his body, expanding, eating away at the rest of him. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want to leave you either,” Suguru said, “but we can’t keep living here. You know that. Sooner or later people will find out—and then what? You’re going to leave me for real. Just so you can keep lying to people and yourself.”

Satoru was unable to speak, even to call Suguru’s name as he strode past him and stormed out of his house. 

 

Later Satoru went out because he was going insane at home alone. The shock of Suguru’s news and the subsequent fight had drained him, his mind blank, and he walked like a zombie down to the beach, unaware of his surroundings. A fierce wind had picked up in the afternoon dragging gray clouds from the ocean that threatened a storm; but Satoru did not care, for this dreadful weather reflected the turmoil happening in his heart. The idea of living in a place where Suguru’s absence hovered like a fog manifested like a physical pain—he couldn’t bear the thought of walking the same roads that had once led him to Suguru, couldn’t fathom waking up under the same sky and not hearing Suguru’s laughter carried by the sea wind again. Even imagining the cottage empty was unbearable, the place where they had shared so many happy moments; the scarce furniture covered by white sheets, gathering dust, until the movers came to ship Suguru’s remaining boxes and the next owner arrived.

Deep down he’d known all along that Suguru would leave. He didn’t belong in this town, couldn’t belong to a person like Satoru, who was too scared to try to keep him—and yet he’d allowed himself to love him all the same. Scattered raindrops hit his face; as the ocean darkened and the distant rumbling of thunder grew louder, he wondered if this is what the man who lived in the cottage on the cliff felt when he jumped into the sea. Had he felt it calling to him, like Satoru did at that moment? Had he also harbored a secret that separated him from normal people? One of his first memories from childhood was the sparkling sea under the sun; and this ocean and mountains, erased by the clouds, were the border where his world ended. The waves crashing onto the shore, stronger by the minute, were like arms stretching outwards to Satoru, inviting him to jump. 

A gale accompanied the rainstorm that began near sundown, blowing the top of trees nearly sideways, and above the sky lit up in white flashes while he made the trek up to Suguru’s home. In his delirious state he feared Suguru might be gone already, that he’d left him behind for his cowardice, but when Suguru opened the door, relief flooded him with such fierceness he nearly keeled over. Suguru was astonished to see him there, soaking wet, barely able to stand on his two feet.

“Satoru!” Suguru exclaimed, grabbing his arm to drag him inside. “Are you okay?”

Satoru slumped against Suguru, who gasped as the water seeped into his own clothes. “Suguru, please don’t leave,” Satoru muttered. “Don’t leave me.”

“Did you walk all the way here in this weather? Have you gone insane?”

“I’ll go insane if you leave.”

“Stop blabbering and come here.” Suguru steered him towards the fireplace, where Satoru collapsed on the rug. “It’ll be a miracle if you don’t die of pneumonia.”

Predictably Satoru caught a high fever that night; after Suguru got him in dry clothes, he led him to his bed where he wrapped him in a dozen blankets. Suguru pressed a cold cloth on his forehead, all the while speaking to him though Satoru could not make sense of the sentences. That night he slipped in and out of feverish dreams, vibrant and disjointed, Suguru’s voice running through all of them like a connecting thread. One dream stood out: he was walking on the shoreline and Suguru was ahead of him, and no matter how hard he called or how fast he ran, he could never catch up with him. 

Several hours later he woke up with a start. He felt clammy and gross, a slight headache pounding in his temples like a hangover. Desperation and grief lingered from his dream, compounded by the fact that Suguru wasn’t sleeping on the pillow next to him—but then he found him curled up in the middle of the bed, his head on Satoru’s abdomen, as though sleep had caught him there. 

Soft rain pelted on the rooftop and Suguru’s breathing came in even patterns. Satoru stroked his hair, the pain in his chest loosening since Suguru was there, at least for now. Slowly Suguru began to stir, his eyelids fluttering and then he lifted his head and blinked at Satoru blearily. 

“You’re awake,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Like a truck ran me over.”

“You better feel like shit,” Suguru said. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you were going to die on me overnight.”

Satoru considered saying he’d actually wanted to die would be too dramatic despite being true. “Sorry for dropping in on you half dead like that. Maybe that was my plan all along—for you to nurse me back to health.”

“Idiot,” Suguru flicked him on the forehead. Satoru gasped and Suguru chuckled.

There was a silence where it was evident both were thinking about the previous day. It was Suguru who spoke first. 

“About yesterday…” 

“I bet you hate me now,” Satoru said. 

“Would I have taken care of you if I hated you?”

Satoru smiled at the elation that fluttered in his chest. He grabbed Suguru’s hand and put it against his cheek. “Can’t say I deserve it.”

Suguru gave a jerky shrug. “You sort of left me no choice.”

Satoru snorted and leaned forward for a long-awaited kiss, but Suguru stopped him with a hand over his mouth, his smile playful. “First, go wash yourself so we can have breakfast. Then maybe you can kiss me.”

Suguru made him breakfast in bed. Afterwards, Satoru decided to sit outside at the back of the cottage since the skies had cleared as if a storm hadn’t shaken the town the previous night. An electric blue spread overhead, peppered with cottony threads of clouds, and a warm breeze rose from the sea. Suguru came out to sit beside him on the bench, his hair fluttering and his shirt flapping on his back. 

“When are you leaving?”

They had skirted around the subject over breakfast, but there was no point delaying the inevitable. Suguru seemed to share this feeling, for he sighed resignedly. 

“In a few days,” Suguru said quietly. “I have to sign papers. And well, there’s no point in coming back if there’s no reason for me to be here anymore.” 

Satoru gulped, but he couldn’t dispel the lump in his throat. “So you’re not even going to pay me a little visit in the future?”

Somehow he still had it in him to throw in a lame joke. Suguru chuckled softly; from the way he kept his eyes on the wet puddles on the grass, Satoru could tell that they were drowning in the same insurmountable sadness. “I don’t think I could ever forget about this place.” A rueful smile. “Or you.”

Satoru tilted Suguru’s chin and kissed him softly, his thumb stroking his cheek. He didn’t want to think this would be one of the last times he would ever kiss him. 

“Come with me,” Suguru whispered against his lips. “Come live with me.”

“I can’t,” Satoru said. “I can’t leave this place. It’s my home. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Suguru studied him with searching eyes, his nose a rosy shade. “So this is it?”

Satoru kissed him in lieu of a response. 

 

Utahine immediately noticed something was wrong when Satoru eventually returned home. She immediately went over to him while he unlaced his shoes in the foyer. 

“What happened to you?” she asked. “You were gone an entire day.”

Suguru refused to let him go without fully recovering, though they both knew it was an excuse to be together. When he had felt better they had made love until dawn, unable to let go of each other for even a second. 

“Suguru is leaving,” he said. “He’s going back to Tokyo.”

Utahime was stunned for a second. “I didn’t know.”

“Go ahead,” Satoru said dryly. “Say ‘I told you’. I know you’re dying to say you were right all along.”

Utahime frowned, affronted by his sardonic tone. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Well, you were right,” he went on, slipping off his shoes. “He’s leaving now. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am not happy, Satoru,” she said. “But…” Satoru waited for her to continue. She hesitated then lowered her voice to a severe tone. “I warned you this might happen. And you still went and fell in love with him.”

“There it is.”

Utahime groaned exasperatedly. Satoru exhaled heavily and trudged to his room. He felt heavy, like he was dragging a dead thing with him. 

“What are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean? Nothing. He’s leaving and I’m staying here.”

He turned back to her when silence stretched. There was a complicated expression on her face; her teeth over her bottom lip, brow wrinkled. Satoru had never seen her show this much emotion before. 

“What?”

“Why are you staying here?”

Satoru was disconcerted at the question. “You, of course. And Shoko. And because I’ve lived here all my life. It’s the only home I have.”

Utahime gave a short exhale. “Listen, Satoru. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” She linked her hands. “Shoko and I have been considering the idea of moving to another town, away from here.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I knew you’d get upset,” Utahime said, “and honestly I don’t know what to do with you—Shoko wants to take you with us but I opposed her idea.”

“I’m not some pet you can take along!” Satoru exclaimed. Utahime shrugged. “How come you’re telling me this now?”

“We never set a date or anything,” she said. “It was just some idea we threw around—just vague plans for the future. But we know where we want to go and Shoko has been looking into buying some land and building a little house with the money we’ve saved up together.”

Satoru was too astonished at this information to speak for several seconds. “When were you going to tell me, while you were packing your bags and Shoko waited in the car?”

Utahime rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. We just didn’t expect to actually do it.”

“And what, now that Suguru is leaving, you want to leave me too?”

“I’m not leaving you,” she said, frustrated, “but this is the sign we’ve been waiting for to do something different with our lives.”

“But what if someone finds out—”

“People could find out either way if we keep living like this,” Utahime said. “It doesn’t matter if we’re married—but if we lived somewhere else, where we don’t have to be constantly looking over our shoulders, worried about our friends or neighbors seeing us…”

“But our whole lives are here—our house, our friends—”

“Are you truly happy here? Were you happy before you met Suguru?”

Satoru opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. Utahime cocked her head, a little triumphant smile at her lips, which normally appeared whenever she managed to trap Satoru into a corner, bereft of a witty comeback.

“I want to live my life with Shoko,” Utahime said softly but with finality, “and you should live yours with Suguru. We will remain married, and who knows, maybe we’ll meet up once in a while, just to catch up.”

Satoru leaned against the wall in the hall. Astonishment hadn’t quite worn off yet, though elation and relief were gradually bubbling in his chest. “Well, you can’t completely abandon your husband,” he joked.  

Utahime scoffed and offered a half smile. “I was never a good wife anyway. Maybe we just weren’t meant to be married.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Satoru said, “despite all the cheating.”

Utahime slapped his arm. “You cheated on me too!”

 

At the port a small ship was waiting for passengers; another ship had sailed earlier in the afternoon, he learned from a clerk, and this one was leaving for Tokyo in ten minutes. He went aboard after paying for his ticket, searching for Suguru among the throng, families admiring the sight of the town from the deck, couples saying goodbye, people chatting vicariously with passing travelers—and then he saw him, watching the darkening sea from a deserted spot of the deck. His back was to Satoru, but he could’ve recognized him anywhere, his hair set in a bun, and the ends of his coat flapping in the wind. Then he turned and spotted Satoru, and Satoru’s heart screeched to a slow halt and pumped again with renewed vigor as Suguru smiled tentatively, sweeping his bangs off his face. 

In the time it took to reach him—a total of five strides—Suguru watched him with unguarded wonder, as if Satoru was an apparition in broad daylight. 

“Hey,” Satoru said. “Did the cat get your tongue?”

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Suguru said, a faint note of awe in his voice. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I might give living in the city a try after all.”

“Are you sure?”

Satoru shrugged. “Maybe Tokyo will grow on me. And you promised to show me around.”

Suguru spurted out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head a little. “I don’t believe you. You’re pulling my leg.”

He couldn’t kiss him, as he was dying to do, so he grasped his fingers, hidden from the rest of the passengers by their coats. “I couldn’t stand the idea of staying in this place without you. It wouldn’t feel like home anymore.”

“What about Utahime?”

“She’s moving away with Shoko.”

“And your house, your things, your friends?”

“Utahime will sell the house, and she’ll probably send the rest of my things to wherever we end up settling,” Satoru said, “and well, I hope all my friends here understand that I had to leave in a hurry and couldn’t say a proper goodbye.”

Suguru searched his face, seemingly trying to detect some kind of lie, and then he clasped the lapels of his coat, and Satoru’s pulse quickened with the belief that he was going to kiss him right there, in front of all these people. “I’d undress you right now if I could.”

“What if we go down to your room?”

A tiny bed hogged most of the space in the room, the rest was taken by Suguru’s luggage. Suguru had brought his record player with him and his record collection and he zigzagged through all his things to reach it and put on music. 

“I don’t want people to hear us,” Suguru said when Satoru gave him a quizzical look. “So, what are you going to do in Tokyo?”

“I was hoping you might give me a clue,” Satoru said. “I’ve never had a job, but I think we’ll be alright with my inheritance.”

“We?” Suguru echoed, then shook his head with a smile. “The house will probably need some repair and remodeling. That’ll keep you busy for a while.”

“That’s fine by me,” Satoru said. “As long as we can live in the same house, sleep in the same bed…”

Suguru smiled and wrapped his arms over Satoru’s shoulders. Their foreheads touched, and despite the restricted space, they began swaying absently to the music.

“The house won’t be as big as the one you’re used to though,” Suguru said tauntingly. “We’ll probably have one bathroom and a small kitchen. Are you ready to make that sacrifice?”

“I don’t mind,” Satoru said, “because it’ll be our house.”

“Yeah,” Suguru said. “We can throw parties if we want to. How about a house warming party?”

In truth Satoru just wanted to be alone with Suguru, hopefully for as long as he lived, but he would die before denying him anything. “Whatever you want.”

“Really? You have no objections?”

“Nope.”

“We’ll live in a teeny, tiny house.”

Satoru leered. “I don’t mind tight spaces.”  

“We’ll be on top of each other all the time…”

“I do not mind that at all.”

“Almost no space for yourself…”

“Do you actually want me to move in with you?!”

Suguru laughed. “I’m just saying! You used to live in a huge house!”

“I don’t mind living in a shoe box as long as we’re together, Suguru.”

Suguru made a face that pulled a loud laugh out of Satoru. “Are you going to keep being this cheesy?”

“I think you secretly enjoy it.” Satoru spun Suguru around with an arm around his waist. “Your ears are pink!”

“No, they’re not,” Suguru protested. Then he grinned mischievously. “Is it me or you’ve gotten better at dancing? You haven’t stepped on my feet yet.”

“Do you think it might be too late for me to go back home?”

Suguru snorted and smacked a kiss on Satoru’s lips that brought an instant smile out of him. “You won’t be saying that when we’re alone in our new home and we can—” he whispered the rest of his sentence in Satoru’s ear. Satoru grinned from ear to ear, already hot under his clothes, and planted a fierce kiss on Suguru. 

They swayed gently to the music. Stars shining bright above you… Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’...

Satoru leaned in and whispered three words into Suguru’s ear. Suguru smiled and kissed him. “Just so you know, I don’t think I’m ever letting you go.”

“I think I’m good with that.” 

Notes:

thank you for making it to the end! kudos and comments are always appreciated ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

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