FUTTARA DOSHABURI - WHEN IT RAINS, IT POURS.

When it Rains, It Pours. part 2.

That crude coworker of mine from sales who started the same year I did. First of all, I don't understand the mindset of treating a company-provided card poorly and damaging it when it isn't even his personal property. Plus, I already sent the email twice. And above all, what's with that shameless, defiant attitude of his?

 

"It was a gift from my girlfriend," he says. Is he an idiot? His voice is unnecessarily loud, and I can't stand that aura of absolute self-confidence he radiates. It's like a train blowing its whistle, aggressively chugging toward me, packed with vibrant energy and fulfilment. If he were just some deluded guy, I could probably be kinder to him, but the fact that he's good-looking makes it even more frustrating. I bet he enjoys Christmas and Valentine's Day with an equally beautiful woman—a man whose life is nothing but smooth sailing.

 

I lift the lever to turn up the water pressure. Since this apartment is designed so that doors, drawers, and everything else won't make any accidental noises, the sink also accepts water quietly. Every time I use it, I am impressed by how well made it is.

 

Long ago, the house where I lived with my parents was an old wooden structure. The kitchen faucet was hard to adjust; your only options were a tiny trickle or a raging torrent, and either way, the sink would rattle and clatter. Come to think of it, that sound wasn't entirely unlike the sound of rain.

 

My vision blurs, as if misting over. My current apartment and my old childhood home overlap like a double exposure, bringing back scenes I didn't even notice at the time. The grease-stained newspaper lined beneath the gas stove. The whiteboard hanging on the refrigerator door. I can even see my mother's handwriting on it, spelling out, "Neighbourhood association fee, 1,000 yen."

 

I resist the urge to place both hands on the sink and curl into a ball, shaking my head violently instead. Nostalgia can sometimes be violent. Even if you only mean to slide the paper screen open just a crack to peek at a memory, it will suddenly strike you with full force and paralyse you. It is beyond control.

That house is gone now. My parents are gone too. But for me, Kazuaki was there.

 

After finishing the cleanup and taking a bath, I gave Kazuaki's bedroom door a hesitant knock.

 

"Should I make some coffee?" 

 

"No, I'm good. Thanks." 

 

"Okay, I'm going to bed ahead of you then." 

 

"Yeah, goodnight."

 

Though he said this, Sei could not bring himself to walk away. As he stood there lingering in silence, Kazuaki sensed his presence and called out, "What's wrong?"

 

"What's wrong?"

Kazuaki’s voice came again.

 

"...No. It's nothing."

 

Sei shook his head, intending to return to his own room for real this time. But then he sensed Kazuaki putting his hand on the knob, and the door quietly opened.

 

"Are you sure it's nothing?"

 

Peeking out, Kazuaki’s face was as gentle as always, his brows lowered slightly in worry. The moment Sei saw that expression, something he had been damming up deep inside his chest felt like it was about to burst all at once.

 

"Kazuaki..."

 

When Sei called his name in a fading whisper, Kazuaki didn't say a word. He took a step forward and placed a hand on Sei's shoulder. The warmth of that hand gradually began to melt Sei's completely frozen heart.

 

"I'm sorry... Um, I just wanted to see your face for a moment."

 

I felt ashamed of myself. But Kazuaki would never make fun of Sei. He slid the door open and smiled at him.

 

"Thanks."

 

"Should I make a funnier face?"

 

"You're fine just the way you are."

 

"Ouch, that hurts."

 

"I didn't mean it like that... What are you making right now?"

 

"A pass case. It looks like I might get my hands on some rare leather. Will you use it when it's done?"

 

"Of course. Sorry for bothering you. I'm really going to bed this time."

 

"You could never be a bother... If anything happens, call me right away."

 

"Yeah."

 

The things Kazuaki made seemed to be inspired by Sei. He didn't really get it himself. A sofa with an acrylic frame curved into a smooth Z-shape, a wall-mounted coat hanger shaped like the horn of an imaginary creature, a heavy glass paperweight. Unlike being a model for a painting or a subject for a photograph, it didn't feel real to him at all. Yet, strangely, Sei's presence seemed to contribute to Kazuaki's creations in some way. It wasn't unusual for Kazuaki to suddenly mutter, "Ah, there it is," right in the middle of a normal conversation or a meal, and immediately head to work.

 

What do you call someone like that again? A muse? But isn't that word just for women? He wondered about this while lying in bed.

 

The nightstand and the alarm clock sitting on top of it were both designed by Kazuaki. They had elegant shapes with rounded corners. Walking a fine line right next to being ordinary, their size, weight, and structure were all rigorously thought out to be as convenient as possible. No matter where or by whom they were used, they fit in perfectly without getting in the way. 

 

That quiet kindness, which never loudly asserted itself, felt exactly like Kazuaki himself. This was the place that was supposed to bring Sei the most peace in the world. Yet, why was it like this?

 

He curled up like a potato bug and slipped his hand inside his underwear. The instant he squeezed his eyes shut, Kazuaki floated into his mind: his face, his hair, his shoulders, his hands, his voice. Doing something like this was so unbearable that he couldn't stand it. It felt filthy, especially with Kazuaki working just a short distance away. He truly believed that from the bottom of his heart, but he had never once been able to stop halfway.

 

Kazuaki.

 

Kazuaki, who was gentle and needed Sei. Kazuaki, who had supported him through his most painful times. Kazuaki, who never, ever demanded Sei's body.

 

In the world of his fantasies, there lived a man who looked exactly like Kazuaki, but was nothing like him at all. This fake Kazuaki would call out Sei's name in a filthy voice, making the inside of his ears feel flooded with desire. Sei would tremble with a pleasure that was infinitely close to terror.

 

Sei... Sei, are you feeling it? I haven't even touched you anywhere yet.

 

Cornered by the teasing, he would be overcome with shame. He would say he hated it. He would say stop it. And his fake resistance not meant at all would be laughed at.

 

Liar.

 

You want me to do this, don't you? Look, like this.

 

Yes, like this. Slowly, with a teasing touch like playing with an egg, I frustrate your genitals, which are already building up anticipation, with a tantalising, almost impatient, caress.

 

"…Ah."

 

A small voice leaks out. The Kazuaki inside his head licks the lip that Sei is biting down on, saying, "Don't hold back."

 

—Even though it feels good. Getting this hard so quickly.

 

—No, that's not true...

 

—What's not true?

 

—Ah!

 

He might suddenly grip him tightly, too. And then trace the veins that twitch against the pressure, as if tickling them.

 

—If you keep being so stubborn, I won't dote on you.

 

Do it, Sei begs, shamefully parting his legs.

 

—I love you, Kazuaki. I love you...

 

—Yeah.

 

—Me too, Sei. I love you.

 

He is completely drawn into the fantasy of being with Kazuaki. In this moment, he envisions every word and every private moment shared with him, feeling deep vulnerability and longing. This is the version of Kazuaki that Sei holds within his own imagination.

 

A quiet, peaceful life. He wishes it would last forever, until the intensity of his current feelings eventually fades.

 

He is overwhelmed by the heat and the intensity of his emotions as he is lost in these thoughts. He wonders how long he will continue to feel this deep, unfulfilled yearning.

His body responds instinctively to the depth of his desire and the loneliness of the moment. He finds himself searching for a connection that isn't physically there, his physical reactions mirroring the intensity of his internal world.

 

Are you about to go?

 

The illusion of Kazuaki asks.

 

Yeah, I want to go.

 

Go ahead, let it all out right in front of me. 

 

Make sure you call my name, too.

 

Kazuaki. Kazuaki.

 

Groping around, he pulled a wet wipe from the table and covered the small opening. For a brief moment, there was a deep, hollow ache, followed by a sudden, forceful release.

 

He quietly cleaned himself, watching as the tension that had filled him just moments ago vanished completely. He wrapped the used wipe in a fresh one and discarded it in the bin. Every movement was smooth and practised, like a perfected ritual. Even the ceramic container for the wipes had been designed by Kazuaki.

 

Even though he was supposed to be at peace, surrounded by the comfortable things Kazuaki had made, sometimes it became suffocating, like acid. It always happened at night.

 

He curled his back once again. Just then, his phone rang on the pillow. It was an email.

Looking at the subject line, "Apologies for the late hour," he figured nine times out of ten it was spam, but he decided to open it anyway.

"Did an email from a gourmet map happen to reach you this morning? I accidentally sent it there while trying to send it to my own phone. I am deeply sorry for the mistake. I just wanted to reach out and offer a brief apology."

 

True enough, an unfamiliar email had arrived earlier. He couldn't check it because he had deleted it right away, but he seemed to recall the word "gourmet" being in it, or maybe not. 

 

The sender's email address had the same character string as Sei’s, just with a different domain, which made him realise how such a mistake could happen. Since his address wasn't anything fancy, it wasn't surprising that it overlapped with someone else's.

Even so, he let out a sudden chuckle at how overly polite the person was, and he felt his breathing ease up a little bit. It was strange how much better he felt from just a tiny email like that.

 

Quite naturally, his finger tapped the "Reply" button.

 

"If you had to divide women into 'women who do’ and 'women who don't’, what words would you put in the blanks?"

 

An email like that arrived. Could it be a psychology quiz? When he replied asking just that, an answer came back almost instantly: "It's just a question out of pure curiosity." Maybe the person on the other end was bored too.

 

Sei thought about it for a moment and typed, "Women who do their makeup on the train and women who don't." 

 

But the moment he hit send, he regretted it, thinking it was a boring answer. There wasn't really a right or wrong response, and it wasn't a topic worth overthinking, but he felt he should have come up with something with a bit more of a twist. Then again, it wasn't like a witty answer would have suddenly come to him even if he had taken his time.

 

When the backlight of the phone goes off, he snaps back to reality at the same moment. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if they think I’m boring, since they are a stranger whose face and name I don't even know. Besides, I'm not even the type of person who makes people laugh with jokes, so what is this vanity—or rather, this desire to "do well"? Maybe this feeling is unique to digital communication, where not even your handwriting can be seen.

 

Before long, a reply comes. On a Saturday 

night, they have the luxury of taking it easy and sending emails. Perhaps they work a typical five-day week with two days off just like Sei, and today is their day off. The only profile information he knows right now is that the person is a guy and a working adult; that's all. It’s not like they introduced themselves; he just assumed as much because the word "company" appeared in an email. It could just be made up.

 

"Oh, they definitely exist—those women who do their entire makeup routine. My girlfriend calls it 'making her face,' and I realised she isn't exaggerating; it's totally for real. Her eyes literally double in size during the whole process, so it freaks me out."

 

It’s a long message.

 

And a new piece of data was added: "He has a girlfriend." Although they had only been exchanging emails for about a week, the messages were usually just safe, short updates like, "The coffee at the cafe I went to today was unbelievably lukewarm," or, "The train stopped because of an accident involving a person, so I lost an hour of my time."

 

It was completely obvious that he was just killing time, but since it was mutual, it didn't bother Sei.

 

Should I send a reply? Or would stretching out this back-and-forth too long be annoying? As he was hesitating, Kazuaki came out of his room. He headed straight for the kitchen and began preparing to brew some coffee. 

 

Knowing it was part of his routine to change his pace, Sei didn't offer to help.

 

"Do you want some too, Sei?"

 

"Yeah, I'll have some."

 

From the living room sofa, Sei asked Kazuaki, who was standing at the counter.

 

"If you had to divide women into two categories, Kazuaki, how would you do it?"

 

Tilting his head a bit at the sudden question, Kazuaki replied, "Like... married and unmarried?"

 

"Like whether they have children or not?"

 

"No, not a profiling question like that. More about their inner self, or their nature..."

 

"For example?"

 

"I can't really explain it well myself either."

 

"What kind of questionnaire even is this?"

 

"Someone asked me in an email."

 

"That pen pal of yours?"

 

"Yeah."

 

After nodding, he added, "Though I wouldn't really go so far as to call them a pen pal." 

 

There were hints that Kazuaki wasn't entirely pleased about him interacting with someone whose background was completely unknown, even if it was only on a very superficial level.

 

"A weird email arrived, you see, and after that, a follow-up came saying, 'I'm sorry, I sent that by mistake.' I thought they were being quite polite—or rather, attentive—so I replied, and then another one came."

 

When Sei showed him the first few back-and-forth messages, Kazuaki frowned. 

 

"Isn't all of that just a planned trap?"

 

He meant pretending it was a mistake to start exchanging emails naturally.

 

—There’s no reason for anyone to do that.

 

If someone is lonely, there are plenty of dating apps out there. There is no point in sending emails completely at random to someone whose gender and age you don't even know. 

 

Even after Sei explained it that way, Kazuaki's doubts did not seem to clear up. He repeatedly warned him, "If they act even a little strange, block them immediately, and don't even think about meeting up with them."

 

If he were going to say all that, it would be better if he just firmly ordered him to "stop." If Kazuaki cut it down and said, "That's creepy, stop doing it," Sei would be so happy that he would cut off contact right away.

 

But instead, Kazuaki steps back under the guise of "respecting his choices." He says things like, "If you're having fun, that's what matters most," or, "You can do whatever you like, Sei." Sei is an adult, and he doesn't want to dump all his decisions and responsibilities onto Kazuaki.

 

But sometimes, if I were to say that I feel helplessly lonely, would he understand? As I remained silent, only the sound of the boiling water talking loudly filled the room. I was sinking into my own thoughts, and the question I had thrown out didn't really matter to me anymore. However, it seemed Kazuaki had actually been thinking about it, as he suddenly muttered, "It's unexpectedly difficult."

 

"Oh, really? That much?" I laughed a little.

 

"An answer that is deeply rooted in the gender of 'women' is hard to come by. I feel like most things I think of would apply just as well if you swapped them out for men."

 

"What? But men and women are completely different."

 

"Physically, yes. But when you talk about their nature or personality, well. There are effeminate men, and there are masculine women. I feel like it just comes down to individual differences. I mean, even I am quite soft and sensitive."

 

"Do you think so?"

 

"I do."

 

If that's the case, then so am I, I thought. I, who fantasise about wanting to be held by you just like a woman, would definitely fall into that latter category too.

 

Should I say it to him? He would surely look troubled and reply, "That's not what I meant by that." My imagination runs wild.

 

What do you mean, "what you meant"?

Sei would push him even further.

 

Even if you don't mean to, Kazuaki, it just leaks out unconsciously. It must be stressful for you. The situation of being unilaterally loved by a man living under the same roof. Because no matter how soft you are, your body is still a man's. It's completely different from a woman's.

 

Sei stands up and walks over next to Kazuaki.

"...What's wrong?"

 

He is faintly tense. He is bracing himself for what Sei might say. Sei feels a sudden urge to run the exact simulation he just ran in his head, making the air in this room completely suffocating. Even if Kazuaki denies Sei's actions or feelings, he never denies Sei's very existence. Even if he dislikes Sei talking to a stranger via email, or even if he cannot return Sei's feelings, he will absolutely never despise or hate Sei for it. Sei is happy about that. He is grateful. 

 

He does not want to make things difficult for Kazuaki. But at the same time, just as strongly, I want to trouble Kazuaki. There are times when I am vividly aware of an impulse to hurt him. I want to tear down all the days we have built up together, smash this apartment that is arranged only with comfortable things, and scream curses at him. I want to rip away Kazuaki’s kindness and patience like useless wallpaper, until I finally drag those words out of him: "I'm exhausted. I hate this. I don't want to be with you anymore."

 

And then, right at his feet, Sei would cling to him miserably. Smeared with tears of regret, he would rub his forehead against the floor.

I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Please, I beg you, don't throw me away.

 

Torn curtains. A destroyed sofa with springs popping out. Broken dishes. Sei would sometimes end up crying all by himself just from imagining this scene of utter ruin in such extreme detail. Yet, once he fully indulged in this mental catastrophe until his heart was content, a strangely cold feeling would wash over him, and he would think, Yeah, right. It wasn't even a matter of being a man or a woman; there was no way anyone could say yes to being loved by someone like this.

 

In silence, Kazuaki sets a filter into the dripper and adds the coffee grounds. He pours water from a silver kettle with a long, slender spout like a flamingo's neck. Soft, chocolate-coloured bubbles swell up to the rim. Drop by drop, the coffee drips into the pot.

 

"...It smells nice."

 

Sei smiled.

 

"Yeah."

 

Kazuaki's gaze softened too, looking relieved. A thin veil of steam made the view of the living room go a little hazy. It was strange, but whenever he imagined that scene of ruin, the sky stretching out beyond those torn curtains was always left blurry.

 

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

 

Once I finish this coffee, I think I'll try sending another email.

 

"Makeup, huh."

 

Muttering to himself with a beer in one hand as he read the new message, Kaori looked back from the dining table toward Takashi, who was sitting on the sofa. "Did you say something?"

 

"No, just talking to myself."

 

"Hmm... Ah, I get it. You got an email from that pen pal person, didn't you?"

 

"They're not really a friend or anything."

 

He had been quite surprised when a reply actually came back to the email he had sent on a whim.

 

"Thank you for taking the trouble to write. I thought it was spam and deleted it right away. Please do not give it another thought."

 

It was a polite message without a single emoji. Who does this guy think he is? Kazuaki had thought, completely ignoring his own part in it. Was this person just incredibly bored, or incredibly polite, or maybe trying to pick someone up? Wait, maybe they thought I was the one trying to pick them up?

 

The next day at noon, to pass the time while waiting for a train, he had ended up sending another email.

 

"I was a bit surprised to get a reply from you. You're quite attentive, aren't you?"

 

That night, yet another reply had come.

"Same to you."

 

It was a blunt, single line, but somehow he got the feeling the other person was enjoying it. Who is this guy? Yet, he felt a curiosity similar to Sei's—a desire to keep the thread connected just a little longer.

 

"I suppose you're right. If I write something like 'I don't normally do this sort of thing,' it makes me sound like I'm trying to pick you up. For the record, I'm a guy, and I don't have any ulterior motives as of right now."

 

"Well, I'm a guy too."

 

"Ah, that's a relief. Though it's a bit strange for me to say that."

 

"True. Neither of us can really prove it, though."

 

He had fully intended to shut things down if the conversation moved toward sending or requesting photos, so he was relieved the other person didn't seem interested in that. When he showed the exchange to Kaori, she laughed and said, "You're both so weird."

 

"That's rare for you. You don't usually like emailing much."

 

"Just felt like it, I guess."

 

"Ah, so that's why you've been checking your phone so much lately."

 

"Have I?"

 

"You have."

 

"Were you worried?"

 

"I just thought you were waiting for work 

messages... What, did you show me that so that I wouldn't worry?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, thank you very much."

Kaori playfully poked his cheek.

 

"You really don't keep tabs on my phone at all, do you?"

 

"Neither do you."

 

"Well..."

 

Doesn't she feel anxious, or rather, doesn't she ever wonder? We haven't had sex in a long time, so how does she think I am satisfying my sexual desire? Does she not even consider the possibility that I might be releasing it with someone else? If that's the case, I don't think it's an expression of her trust or love for me. It's just that she is ignorant about how men work.

 

That's why there is no way that Kaori will ever meet me halfway if I keep enduring this in silence. When I think about that, the world genuinely feels like it goes dark for a split second, but Kaori didn't seem to notice at all. We know each other's personalities and tastes in clothes and food inside out. So what is this sudden disconnection in random moments like this? My lover looks like a woman I don't even know.

 

I wonder if I look like that to Kaori sometimes too?

 

"Women who look at their lover's phone and women who don't."

 

That is what Kazuaki sent.

 

"I think I get what you mean, but is that strictly limited to women?"

 

"Ah, now that you mention it, you're right. That's just what my girlfriend said a few days ago. Doesn't it somehow feel accurate?"

 

"Does that mean she was warning you about exchanging these emails?"

 

He could sense a nuance in the other person's tone implying that, if that were the case, they would stop right away. Kazuaki immediately replied, "She's the latter."

 

"This email exchange isn't anything scandalous, so I just showed it to her normally. Those words just came up during the flow of our conversation then. It just left a bit of an impression on me."

 

"There are girls who look at their boyfriend's phone, and girls who don't, right?"

 

Kaori had said.

 

"I don't look at it, but there are definitely girls who check it as a matter of course and ask with a smile, 'Wait, why don't you look?' It leaves me at a loss for how to respond."

 

"Isn't that just because their boyfriends are up to no good?"

 

"That has nothing to do with it. Even if that girl were dating you, Kazuaki, I think she would still look. On the flip side, even if you went to matching parties all the time and texted other girls, I still wouldn't look. It's not a matter of conscience; it's a matter of personal boundaries, don't you think?"

 

"She sounds like a great girlfriend," came the reply. Since the alcohol was starting to kick in a little, Kazuaki decided to ask a more personal question.

 

"What about your girlfriend?"

 

The response didn't come right away. Just as Kaori always said, Kazuaki was usually bad at texting. He would reply quickly to work messages, but in his private life, he rarely engaged in pointless back-and-forth chatter, and his messages were always extremely brief. 

 

That was why he never knew how frustrating it could be when a message sent with a question mark didn't get an immediate reply. He stood up and headed to the refrigerator. Kaori had lined up a row of nail polish bottles on the table and spread out her sketchbook to brainstorm new designs. 

 

As she caught Kazuaki grabbing his third beer out of the corner of her eye, a faint expression of relief seemed to wash over her face. She knew he was the type whose libido decreased in direct proportion to how much he drank, so she was likely thinking that she wouldn't have to deal with him making a move tonight. It could have been a misunderstanding or pure paranoia on his part. However, Kazuaki had no way to confirm it. Right as he popped the tab on the can, his phone vibrated.

 

"Unfortunately, I don't have a girlfriend."

 

You don't actually think it's 'unfortunate' at all. That was Kazuaki's instant reaction. He felt an immediate urge to send that exact assumption over. Saying 'unfortunately' is just a social formality to match my tone, right? You're playing the humble card by calling yourself an 'unfortunate guy' without a girlfriend, just using it as conversational lubricant... He recognised a flare of irritation in these slightly thorny thoughts. 

 

He felt mildly offended that someone whose face, name, and address he didn't even know—someone he could cut ties with at any moment—was showing him such surface-level courtesy. He wanted to tell them that he had to deal with that kind of stuff in real-life relationships whether he liked it or not, so he didn't need it right now.

 

But to the other person, it might have been a completely casual "unfortunately" with zero hidden meaning. Whenever he had too much time on his hands, his thoughts tended to get overly complicated. Kazuaki safely typed out, 

 

"Being single is easy in its own way," and sent it. Just as his 350ml can was running low, a message arrived: "By the way, I still haven't heard your answer." 

 

"I heard the 'correct answer' from your girlfriend, but I'm curious how you would answer if you had to divide 'women' into two groups." 

 

He hadn't prepared an answer of his own. Kazuaki tilted the beer can back and finished it off, then called out, "I'm going to bed now."

 

"Okay. Ah, you can leave the can there; I'll wash it."

 

"Thanks. Goodnight."

 

"Goodnight."

 

After brushing his teeth, he got into bed and suddenly decided to pull up his old email records. He had changed phones twice since meeting Kaori, but the data was saved on a microSD card.

 

There were emails from when they had just met, arranging dates in awkward, polite language. There were emails from when things got uncomfortable after a fight. They were the kind of messages sent by any perfectly ordinary couple. Just like Kazuaki, Kaori was the type who didn't put much effort into texting, but even so, they had sent and received quite a few messages saying things like "I want to see you" or "I love you." Rather than making him feel nostalgic, it felt like looking at the history of a man and woman he didn't even know.

 

Now, their messages are mostly about practical things as roommates, like schedules for drinking parties or shopping requests. Of course, they still express care for each other, saying things like "It's cold, so don't catch a cold," or "If you're going to be late, call me, and I'll come pick you up." It isn't a simple story of them stopping their flirting over text because their love grew cold. It might just be that while they lived apart, their relationship was something they had to keep warming over a fire, but once they started living together, it became something that could be safely kept at room temperature.

 

He reads back over the emails from right before they started dating.

 

"Hey, can I come see you now? I might have fallen in love with you, Hagiwara-kun."

 

"I can't just sit still like this, so I want to see you right now."

 

It was a bold email, so typical of Kaori. Her straightforwardness—not waiting for the guy to confess, but diving in headfirst herself—was one of the reasons he fell for her. 

 

When he first received this email, he was alone in his company-leased apartment and blurted out,"Yes!" When he typed back, "I'll come to you," his heart was pounding so hard that his fingers wouldn't move properly, and he struggled to write it. He felt like he had to hurry, but he couldn't show up looking weird either, so he went clattering through the hangers in his closet.

 

The act of going to see someone with a racing heart. What an absolute luxury that was. They were each other's feast. There was no gap whatsoever in their mutual desire to consume and satisfy one another. No matter how much they ate, it felt like they could never drain the well dry.

 

But now, he was drooling in front of an empty plate. His lover wouldn't even sit at the table. He felt terribly pathetic. The realisation that Kaori didn't even notice these feelings made it worse, and Kazuaki set his phone down roughly on the table.

 

Yet, almost immediately, he reached for it again to reply to the latest message.

 

"Women you can sleep with, and women you can't."

 

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

 

Wow, he really just threw that right out there. Lying in bed, Sei was a bit thrown off by the sudden, blunt, and completely shameless reply.

What if his girlfriend saw an answer like that? Wouldn't she be furious? He says she is the type who doesn't look at phones, but honestly, I don't think many women would openly admit, "Actually, I do check phones." If he believes her completely, then—sorry to say it—he is being a bit naive.

 

I'd hate for things to get messy if I get too deeply involved here. Although a slight warning bell rang in his mind, his curiosity was still much stronger. The guy had only sent perfectly polite messages until now, so what on earth brought on this sudden change of heart? What should I do?

 

As he was thinking, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

 

"Yes?"

 

"...Are you still texting?"

 

Kazuaki peeked his head in and let out a sigh.

 

"I'm going to sleep now."

 

"Staring at your phone screen so close up like that will keep you awake."

 

"I'm fine, really."

 

Sei held his phone in one hand. Unconsciously, he reached up with his free hand and kept pulling at his eyelashes with his fingertips.

 

Noticing this habit, Kazuaki gently took hold of his wrist.

 

"...Sei."

 

"I'm just touching them."

 

"Touching them isn't good either."

 

"You worry too much."

 

"Of course I do."

 

Yes, Kazuaki’s worry made perfect sense. For a while after his parents passed away, Sei had nearly lost his mental balance.

 

It happened during his third year of university. They were caught in a multi-vehicle pileup at an intersection, and neither survived. Inside the crushed car, a small, unfamiliar box was found.

 

The moment he realised the bright, vivid red of the wrapping paper and ribbon was actually his parents' blood, he lost his mind and screamed in hysterics. It was Kazuaki who braved looking past the outside, checked what was inside, and told him, "It's a wristwatch."

Your dad and mom always loved giving you presents.

 

They were likely on their way back from buying an early graduation present for their son, who had just landed a job offer. Whether it was Christmas or a birthday, his father and mother always seemed far more excited than Sei, who was the one receiving the gifts, fidgeting restlessly for days leading up to it. 

 

He couldn't believe—he didn't want to believe—that he would never see them again for the rest of his life. Even after the funeral ended, even after the forty-ninth-day ritual passed, and even when he tried wearing the watch left behind as a memento, his mind didn't settle in the slightest.

 

He would sleep straight through for two or three days, then stay awake for just as long in a single stretch. Or when he thought he had fallen asleep, he would wake up every single hour, re-realising his situation each time and breaking down into tears over and over again. 

 

It happened more than once or twice that he wandered out to the accident site in a daze like a sleepwalker. He knew exactly how much patience and devotion Kazuaki had given him during that period of deep trauma. Even a lover probably couldn't go that far. If so, what do you call a relationship that ranks above a lover? A married couple? Family? Both had a nice ring to them—if it were a connection reached after moving past the "lovers" stage, that is.

 

I really have a terrible personality, Sei thought. He brushed off Kazuaki’s worry with a look that claimed he was being overprotective, secretly enjoying making Kazuaki get just a tiny bit annoyed. He doesn't know how I really feel, but he's thinking, "Ah, well, if he's gotten this energetic, then I guess it's fine. Back then, he couldn't even manage daily life..." He enjoyed watching him hold back his lecturing like that.

 

I understand your feelings perfectly. I know how much your feelings aren't directed at me, so much that it makes me sick.

 

"Kazuaki."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Come over here."

 

When Sei motioned to him, Kazuaki sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand.