Archive of Our Own

The sun sat high above the mountain, sending sharp rays through the foliage and onto the five hikers who were making their way up the winding path. It was Handa and Naru, accompanied by Miwa, Tama and Hiroshi. They had set out in the cool air of the morning, but now it was hot. Thick, humid heat that sucked all the energy from them. Well, from Handa, at least.

“Hang on, I need to rest,” Handa gasped, collapsing onto a tree stump next to the path.

“Again, already?” Hiroshi sighed.

“No rest!” Naru jabbed him with a stick. “It’s my birthday, you promised you’d do anything.”

“I didn’t mean hiking through the mountains for hours. Can’t we turn back already?”

“But we haven’t even caught a single beetle.” Naru pouted.

Handa ignored her, closing his eyes. His body throbbed as sweat was pumped out of every pore. Saliva clung viscous in his throat, his tongue lay swollen and dry. He swallowed. “Water?” He held his hand out to Tama, the only person smart enough to bring water with them, but she just tipped the bottle upside down. Nothing came out. Handa let out a long moan and flopped over so he was folded in half, his arms dangling by his legs. “I’m dying.”

“Shut up, I think I hear something.” Hiroshi cocked his head and they all stood still, straining their ears. “I think I can hear runnin’ water.” He grabbed Tama’s bottle. “I’ll go check it out, you guys stay here.” He fixed them all in a stern glare. “And I mean it. I don’t wanna have to run around the mountain looking for y’all.” And with that, he turned and began bashing his way through the scrub.

Handa, abandoning his responsibility as the only adult present, pushed himself up from his seat and went to follow him, turning only to look at Naru, Tama and Miwa. “Stay here.”

He soon caught up to Hiroshi, who turned around before he reached him. “Geez, I thought there was a herd of rhinos followin’ me. What’re you doing here?”

“I want to find the stream too.”

“Weren’t you dyin’ a minute ago?”

“I wonder if we’ll find a waterfall,” Handa said.

“Doubt it. I’d be surprised if we even find a trickle. Didn’t think there was any creeks on this mountain.” Hiroshi pushed aside a branch and held it while Handa passed through, resisting the temptation to let it swing back and hit him in the face.

“There could be, you don’t know every inch of the mountain.”

“Yeah, but a creek would have to collect somewhere, like a pond. Ain’t no ponds at the base.”

“Maybe it runs out to the ocean?”

“Then it’d be a river.” Hiroshi stopped and listened. The trickling sound had grown louder. Their curiosity incensed, they continued onwards, occasionally pausing and listening, until they pushed their way through the scrubland to a clearing where a small stream cut through the rock and tumbled down the mountainside.

“Well, would y’look at that.” Hiroshi stood with his hands on his hips, while Handa panted next to him.

“Is it safe to drink?”

“Think so. Running water is generally pretty clean.” Hiroshi bent and cupped some in his hands and took a sip. It was surprisingly cold, and had a crisp, earthy taste.

Handa knelt next to him and drank deeply from his hands before splashing his face and wiping away the sweat. Hiroshi bent to fill Tama’s water bottle when his eyes strayed upwards. There was something in the stream, the mottled colour of pebbles, yet it stirred with the movement of the water. He peered closer. It was two dead birds. Two larks.

He smelled like the mountains, of sweat, dirt and the tang of broken greenery, but he tasted like home, of green tea, rice vinegar, and seawater. His skin was burning hot, yet he couldn’t get close enough to it. He wanted his skin against his, he wanted the heat, the slick sweat. He wanted to taste all of him.

Two men whose lips had never touched another’s now kissed each other with furious fervour. This is wrong, sirens blared in his mind, but he couldn’t pull away. Stop, Seishuu. Yet his lips kept moving, and his hands kept wandering. He felt as if he was outside his body, watching the events unfold yet unable to intervene. He watched as he pulled Hiroshi against his body, his hands, a stranger’s hands, sliding up his shirt and clutching his slick skin. His mind was lost to fever, and the forest around them began to blur.

Hiroshi’s hands cupped his face, kissing him back with wild abandon. His fingernails were caked in dirt where he had clawed his way to Handa, and he could taste blood in his mouth where his lip had split, such was the force with which their mouths had met. He held Handa closer, tighter, willing their bodies to mould together. Yet the harder he pushed, the more Handa pushed back, his hands forcing Hiroshi down onto the ground and his legs straddling him. Hiroshi moaned into Handa’s mouth, his hands knotted in the back of his shirt. God, he wanted to devour him. He wanted to be devoured. Their lips moved with furious rhythm, and the sirens in Handa’s mind slowly died, killed by unbelievable pleasure.

A shriek cut through the air, followed by a child’s voice. “Whatcha doin’?”

Handa’s eyes flew open. Miwa and Naru were standing at the edge of the clearing, staring at them, while Tama lay on the ground in a dead faint. He looked down at the boy beneath him, at his swollen lips, flushed cheeks and wide eyes, and his blood ran cold. In a flurry of limbs and leaves, they scrambled to their feet. “It’s not what you think!” Hiroshi blurted out at the same time Handa shouted, “We didn’t know what we were doing! We just drank the water and suddenly…”

“It’s Lark’s Water!” Hiroshi yelled.

Handa frowned at him. “Lark’s Water?”

Miwa raised one eyebrow. “That sure is a lame excuse.”

Hiroshi flushed and he jabbed a finger towards the creek. “Take a look, I’m telling you there’s dead larks in there!”

Miwa stepped closer and peered at the stream. “I can’t see nothin’.”

“What’s Lark’s Water?” Handa pressed.

“Water with two dead larks in it. Makes anybody who drinks it jump on the nearest person.” Miwa stepped away from the stream and looked at the two men with mischievous eyes. “Now I see why Sensei rushed after ya. If y’want alone time all ya gotta do is ask.” Handa gritted his teeth, his ears burning.

Suddenly, Tama sat bolt upright and seized Naru by the shoulders, shaking her. “Why’d ya have ta ruin it?”

Naru wriggled out of her grip. “I only wanted to see what was taking so long.” She only had a vague idea of what had happened, accompanied by the feeling that she shouldn’t have witnessed it.

“I’m going home.” Handa stalked past the others, trying to salvage his pride despite the dirt on his knees and his messy hair, ruffled where Hiroshi had run his fingers through it. Yet every step felt as if he was struggling against the pull of a magnet, the magnet being Hiroshi. He wanted to turn around and yank the boy against his body by his beltloops, to kiss him and touch him as if there was nobody else in the world. Unable to control himself, he glanced back at Hiroshi and his stomach somersaulted when he saw the same fiery longing in his eyes.

Slowly, the others followed him, except for Tama, who knelt and submerged her water bottle in the stream, filling it to the brim with the sweet, wild water.

A loudspeaker announcement cut through the still morning air. “This is a message fer everyone in Nanatsutake.” It was Yamamura’s voice. “Startin’ at eight a.m, we will be holdin’ our cleanup event.” If Handa had not already expressed his enthusiasm for the cleanup, he would have shoved a pillow over his head and gone back to sleep. But he knew he was expected, and with a sigh he dragged himself out of bed.

Naru was already outside his door, waving a trash bag as big as herself and bursting with enough excitement for the both of them. He put on a smile, but inside his stomach was churning. He should have pretended to have a fever or claimed an urgent calligraphy assignment. Both excuses were overused, but at this point he would have taken anything if it meant staying in his bedroom and never ever having to leave again.

Maybe he could become a hermit – for real. He would disappear into the mountains, build himself a shack and live off the fruits of the island. Fish in streams, berries on bushes, and roots in the dirt. Birds would be his friends, small animals, his neighbours. There, he would truly be able to do his calligraphy in peace. No nosy villagers and definitely no handsome, young blonde men.  

He was indulging this daydream when he looked up and realised that they had reached the meeting place for the cleanup. The mothers were there, surrounded by the usual gang of children alongside Village Chief. That was all. He relaxed and slipped into the group of women, where he was welcomed warmly and given a pair of long tongs. “Hiroshi’ll give ya a rubbish bag when he gets here, we plum ran out an’ I sent him back to get more,” Akiko told him.

So Hiroshi would be coming.

“Hey-o!” Handa turned to see Miwa and Tama heading down the road towards them. He decided that now would be a great time to see if Village Chief needed any help. As he was turning away, Miwa caught his eye. She flashed him a grin. “Ya helpin’ out, Sensei? Bet I can pick up more than you.”

He was in no mood for bets right now. “Hmm, maybe,” he mumbled, scratching his neck.

She puffed out her chest. “You’re just scared ‘cause ya know you’ll lose.”  

He shrugged and began to shuffle away. “I just don’t really feel like it right now.” Tama was staring at him with wild eyes. “I gotta talk to Village Chief about something.” And he slipped away.

At least she was making an attempt to act natural, Handa thought to himself, she was trying to be considerate. It was better than Tama’s stare, the scene from yesterday clearly playing behind her eyes. How must it have looked to them? An image formed in his mind of himself, straddling Hiroshi and kissing him, his hands up his shirt and his leg between his. A red-hot wave rushed over him and he buried his face in his hands. Kissing Hiroshi was embarrassing enough but being seen doing it was enough to make him want to move back to Tokyo.

A voice behind him made his head jerk up. “Wha? Y’all brought yer own bags anyway, we don’t even need these.” It was Hiroshi.

“Sensei don’t have a bag,” Naru chirped.

Handa flinched. He turned slowly to give Hiroshi a sheepish smile. He expected the boy to scold him for not thinking ahead, or to tease him and refuse to offer him a bag. But instead, he held the packet of garbage bags out to him, his eyes averted. “Here.”

“Ah, thank you.” Handa took it with a dip of his head.

“No worries,” Hiroshi mumbled.

Naru watched them like she was watching a tennis match. “Why’re ya actin’ so weird? Is it ‘cause we saw ya kissin’ yesterday?”

The effect was immediate. Handa yelped, Tama let out a huff and Miwa leapt forwards and put her hands over Naru’s mouth. The girl struggled against her grip and broke free. “What?” She yelled indignantly.

“Ya can’t go yellin’ that kind of stuff out,” Miwa whispered to her, kneeling down to look her in the eye.

She hung her head. “They were, though.” Handa felt a pang of guilt. Naru did not deserve to be scolded for something she did not fully understand. He looked at Hiroshi. He was facing away, his expression hidden. Handa wished he could see it.

Thankfully, Akiko chose that moment to rush over. She had finally seen Hiroshi, and she took the bags from him. “Now, yer lookin’ after the kids.” She instructed him, ignoring his groans of protest. “Don’t let ‘em wander off, stick along the road. Sensei!” She called out to him and took him by the arm. “You can come with me and the other ladies.” She pulled him away, and Handa was never more grateful to be counted as one of the village mothers.

After about half an hour of dutiful rubbish collecting, Akiko stretched and let out a long sigh. “I think I need a cold drink.” The other ladies were quick to agree and Handa followed them to the general store where they sat and sipped iced oolong tea, courtesy of old Kinoshita. During a lull in conversation, Handa cleared his throat. “Uh, say, I heard of something recently and I was just wondering how true it is.”

“What’s that now?” Akiko encouraged him.

“Uh, Lark’s Water?”

All eyes turned to him, and there was a pause before the group burst into giggles. Akiko cuffed him on the shoulder. “Dear me, Sensei, you never struck me as a romantic.” He blushed bright. “Who’d ya hear that from then?”

Not Hiroshi. “Miwa,” he burst out. “And Tama.”

“Oh yes, Tama’s always had a fascination with Lark’s Water.” That was Tama’s mother, speaking up from the back. Handa peered at her. “When she was little, she’d beg me to tell the story to her again and again. I thought she had long grown out of it.”

“Story?”

“They didn’t tell it to you?” Handa shook his head. Tama’s mother put her glass down and tucked her hair behind one ear. “Well now, let’s see…”

A long time ago, in this very village on this very island, there lived a girl who was in love with a boy. Many a day she spent sighing and mooning after him, but he never spared a thought for her. One day, when she was picking mushrooms in the forest up on the mountain, she came across a deep stream. It was a hot day, and she was very thirsty. Just as she was about to drink, a lark landed in front of her and when it opened its beak, it spoke with in a high voice. It told her not to drink the water, as two larks, a mating pair, had drowned in the stream and a single drop would make her fall in love with the first person she saw. The girl thanked the lark and went back to the village. There, she found the boy and told him that she had found something incredible in the forest and that he must follow her. He went with her, accompanied by his friend who also wanted to see the incredible thing. This annoyed the girl, but the sun was beginning to set and she did not have much time, so the three of them went into the mountains together. There, they found the stream and the children, thirsty from the walk, all bent to drink together. The girl thought she was so clever, but if she had looked up she would have seen the boy kissing his friend. Before she set eyes on them, however, she spotted an eel in the river. She dived in and was never seen again.

The women all laughed but Handa just blinked. “That’s it? But that’s so… silly.”

Tama’s mother smiled. “It’s meant to be, it’s a story for children. I think the moral is supposed to be not to trick others, but somewhere along the way it just became a silly story about a girl falling in love with an eel.”

“And the boys?”

She frowned. “You mean the boy and his friend? I don’t think you’re supposed to know the friend’s gender, it’s for children, after all.”

Handa coloured brightly. “Right, of course.”

“It’s funny though, Tama used to always say that the friend was a boy too. She was adamant that the girl was eaten by the eel and the boys got married and lived happily ever after. Such a strange child…”

“Hearing it now, it’s a bit morbid, ain’t it?” Akiko chimed in. “The girl goes missin’ at the end – probably drowned.”

Kinnoshita, who had been listening in, shook her head. “Naw, the girl becomes the eel’s bride, but n’ she gets rescued by a fella and goes home n’ gets married and the village has a big feast in cel’bration.”

“Really?” Miwa’s mother asked. “I used to tell this story to Miwa all the time but in my version the girl kissed a frog and he turned into a prince and they got married and lived in a castle.”

“That’s a completely different story.”

“But the boy,” Handa persisted. “What happens to him in the end? Does the water wear off?”

Tama’s mother rubbed her chin. “I’m not sure, I’ve never thought about it.”  

“Don’t fret too hard ‘bout it, Sensei, it’s just a kid’s story.” Akiko gave him a pat on the back before standing. “Right, we better get back to the collection point. Don’t want no-one thinkin’ we’ve gone and married an eel.” The ladies chuckled but Handa frowned. The story had not proved as enlightening as he had hoped. Lark’s Water was clearly a fairy tale, a rather unreliable one at that, and the more he tried to remember the incident, the fuzzier it became. Like the fairytale being told from person to person, his memory was becoming twisted. What if there was no Lark’s Water? What if he had kissed Hiroshi on his own volition?

Hiroshi was attractive. Bright eyes, tanned skin, a wide smile and a loud laugh, what wasn’t there to like? Hell, even his stupid hair looked good. But there was more to it than looks. Every night, he brought him dinner, sometimes even making him breakfast and lunch. He helped him entertain the kids and went along with his games as seriously as anyone. He was the first to scold him, but also the first to laugh at his stupid jokes. He was Handa’s best friend, he realised for the first time. But maybe, he wanted more than that.

He dragged his feet leaving the store, letting all the ladies file out before he followed after them. Just as he was at the door, he felt a tug at his shirt. He turned to see Kinnoshita smiling up at him with her wrinkled face. “One m’ thing ‘bout Lark’s Water.” Handa leaned in closer. “Some folks say it only brings out what’s already in yer heart.”

Ink dripped from his brush, each drop bleeding into the paper and forming a great black blotch on the spotless white. Handa stared out the window, his chin in one hand while the other hung over the paper, the source of the dripping ink. He had sat down with the intention to write, but now all he could do was stare out the window at the darkening sky. Hiroshi will be bringing me my dinner soon, he thought, and his stomach roiled. Even if Hiroshi did come, he did not think he could eat.

He looked down at the puddle of ink on the page and sighed. He reapplied ink to his brush and put it to the paper but couldn’t bring himself to move it. The ink rushed over the paper, spreading out in a frenzy and consuming the white landscape. He moved the brush in a long, sweeping stroke, then another, and another, pushing the ink along the page, encouraging it, until the entire page was black. “What a waste of ink”, Handa could hear Hiroshi chiding him in the back of his mind. He could see his crossed arms, his frown that would eventually melt into a smile as he leaned in and ruffled his hair. “Something on your mind?” he would say, “I can tell yer worrying about somethin’ dumb again.”

Handa groaned and slumped against the desk, pressing his forehead against the wet ink as if he could black out his memories. He didn’t want to think about him, not after what had happened between them. He could still remember it, in perfect clarity, the feeling of his lips, of his hot hands on his body, the taste of the sweat on his skin.

He threw his head back and dragged his fingers down his face. This is exactly why he had avoided doing calligraphy today. He knew if he sat down with nothing but a brush and his thoughts, he’d end up dwelling on yesterday. He brought his brush down onto the paper with such force that ink splattered, and the bristles stuck out like a toilet brush. He knew he’d regret doing that later when he picked up his brush to find it ruined, but right now embarrassment swamped his guilt. He looked at the sunset and his toes curled.

As if on cue, footsteps sounded on the veranda outside. Unable to control himself, Handa threw open the door and lo and behold, there was Hiroshi with a steaming bowl of stew in his hands, and a look on his face as if Handa had walked in on him in the shower. He was half bent over, as if he had been about to leave the stew at the door and bolt. He straightened up. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey.”

They stared at each other. Handa’s heart thumped against his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. He was so close, Handa could close the distance between their lips in one stride. He could wrap his arms around him, bury his face in his neck, feel his skin against his. The smell of the forest, of dirt, sweat, greenery filled his nose. His blood felt too hot, his face was on fire. His head spun.

Suddenly, Hiroshi took a step forwards. He raised his hand, as if he was going to cup Handa’s face. Handa took a step backwards Hiroshi only moved closer, his eyebrows knotted, his cheeks flushed pink. Handa swallowed and parted his lips ever so slightly. They were so close, Hiroshi’s fingers were almost at his face. Every nerve in his body sang. Yes, this was what he wanted, what he had been waiting for.

Hiroshi flicked his forehead. “What’d you do?”

“Huh?” The sound fell from his slack lips.

“Ya got ink on yer head.”

“Oh.” Handa turned away and rubbed furiously at it while Hiroshi laughed.

“How do ya even manage that?” He passed him the stew. “Dinner.”

As Handa reached out to take it from him, their fingers brushed, and he almost dropped the bowl. “Thanks.”

“No probs. Later.” And with that, he turned and sauntered off with his hands deep in his pockets. Handa watched him go, his fingers still tingling.

The smell of the soup turned his stomach, and Handa knew he wouldn’t be able to eat it. Sending a silent apology to Akiko Kido, he put the bowl in the fridge and went to go have a bath. The sooner he was the asleep and couldn’t think about Hiroshi, the better.

But sleep would not come. The moment in which Hiroshi had stepped forward replayed in his mind. He had known what was going to happen, and he had wanted it. Handa had never had these desires for another person before. He had never itched to touch someone, to kiss someone, never craved that feeling of a warm body against his. But now that he knew what he was missing out on, it was as if his body was in overdrive, trying to catch up on the years he had spent celibate.

Why did it have to be Hiroshi, of all people. A blonde-haired brat still in high school with an average report card and no ambitions ahead of him. He felt a pang of guilt at that thought. He sounded like his mother. Hiroshi was not a brat. He was mediocre, but he worked hard. He was going to culinary school next year. When he had received the acceptance letter, he had brought it to Handa and shown him with such pride in his eyes that he had hugged him. Handa had never hugged someone before, not voluntarily, but in that moment it had felt right.

Maybe that’s why it was Hiroshi, of all people.

Handa rolled over. There was one thing that still bugged him. Hiroshi had kissed him back, just as furiously as he had kissed him. Perhaps there was still some merit in the Lark’s Water theory, or perhaps, Hiroshi was lying in bed just as he was now, thinking the same thoughts. He bit his lip. It had to be the water, but what if, by some whim of the gods, it was not? He would have to test it, to find out the truth. He would have to drink the water again.

The next day, Handa set out in the white light of early morning and came home in the purple light of twilight. His whole body ached and his shoes were caked with dirt. A whole day of hiking was exhausting for someone who barely left the house, but even worse was the defeat. All day he had spent in the mountain and had not heard so much as a trickle, let alone set his eyes on the stream. He had turned back with the realisation that he would probably remain celibate for the rest of his life.

As he approached the back door, he noticed a silhouette on his veranda. It was Hiroshi, waiting at his door with a container in his hands. He was staring at the door and shifting from foot to foot. His hand rested on the handle, but he did not slide the door open. After a long pause, he took his hand away and instead placed Handa’s dinner on the floor. He turned around and jumped out of his skin when he saw Handa standing behind him. “What do ya think yer doin’? Ya scared the livin’ daylights out of me.”

“What are you doing, standing outside the door like that?” Handa crossed his arms.

“I’m bringing you dinner, you useless adult.”

“Then bring it inside, you wannabe delinquent.” As Handa brushed past Hiroshi to open the door, he caught a glimpse of a grin on the blonde’s face. He turned his head away as he passed, but he still saw it. It filled him with a kind of lightheaded giddiness, and he couldn’t help a smile of his own pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He kicked off his shoes, and with surprise, relief and a little jolt in his stomach, he saw Hiroshi take his off as well. The younger man’s eyes widened when he saw Handa’s mud encrusted shoes. “The hell have you been? The mountains?”

Handa froze. “What? No, I was just out… and about.”

“The only other place you could find this kind of mud in the village is in Panchi’s pigsty.”

“What? Panchi has a pig?” Handa gaped at him as he took the container of food towards the kitchen.

“Ain’t that amazin’ is it? Lots of people have pigs as pets.”

“No, they don’t!” Handa shouted from the next room as he got a bowl from the cabinet. He paused. Oh, to hell with it, he thought and grabbed a second bowl and headed back out to the living room. Hiroshi was already sitting at the table, flicking through a calligraphy magazine Kawafuji had sent him.

“Geez, this stuff is dull.”

“To you, maybe,” Handa sniped. He held the bowl out to Hiroshi. He looked up and his eyes widened a little at the gesture, but he took the bowl wordlessly.

Dinner passed quietly. It was not that Handa did not have anything to say, quite the opposite. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, every single thought in his head would come spilling out, and the last thing he wanted to do was gush about how glad he was to have dinner with Hiroshi like this. Hiroshi also remained silent, but he stayed and helped wash the dishes.

“What’s this?” Handa looked up when he heard Hiroshi’s voice. There was a note of humour in it. He was looking at the calligraphy he had done yesterday while waiting for his dinner. The page was limp, drenched in black ink. “Did ya spill yer ink?”

Handa snatched it from him. “I was just trying something different.”

Hiroshi looked at him with a dubious smirk. “It’s very dynamic.”

“Oh, shut up.” Handa feigned annoyance, but inside his heart was singing. Hiroshi’s eyes were back on him, as warm and tender as ever. His smile turned his insides into butterflies and his laugh was like the peals of a bell. He felt a tug inside him. Something nudging him, pushing him, towards Hiroshi. He wanted to press his body against his, wrap his arms around his shoulders and bury his nose in his neck. Whether it was the effects of the Lark’s Water, or something else, it did not matter anymore.

He crawled towards him. Hiroshi’s face immediately dropped. “What are you doing?”

Handa was a hair’s breadth away now. “I don’t know,” he breathed. And then he leaned in and kissed him. When he pulled back, Hiroshi’s face reflected his own bafflement. He sat back on his heels and they looked at each other for a moment.

Then, Hiroshi spoke. His voice was soft, and hoarse. “Do you think this is because of the water?” Handa did not answer. That was what he wanted to know, too. Hiroshi continued. “You were looking for it, weren’t you? Today, in the mountains.”

Handa balked. He opened his mouth to deny it, but instead he hung his head. “Yes.” He said quietly. “But not for the reason you’re thinking. I needed to know if it was true. My memory is all messed up, I can’t remember if I kissed you because of some fairytale water, or because…” He could not finish the sentence. His face was burning.

Hiroshi understood, though. His face was similarly pink, and he couldn’t meet Handa’s eyes. “Why would you think that?” he mumbled.

“Kinnoshita told me something.” He swallowed hard. “She said… Lark’s Water only brings out what’s already in your heart.”

Hiroshi looked up. “Do you believe that?”

Handa bit his lip. “I want to,” he whispered to the floor. Nobody moved. He felt Hiroshi’s fingers under his chin, lifting his head and then his lips were on his.

“To be honest,” Hiroshi breathed against his lips. “I couldn’t give a damn about the stupid water.”

And finally, they were kissing. Or at least, their lips were touching. It felt awkward, like two puzzle pieces that did not go together. His hands hovered in mid-air, wanting to touch Hiroshi but frozen by uncertainty. This did not feel right. He had made a big mistake. He pulled away to say so, but then Hiroshi’s hand was in his hair, pulling him back. He tilted his head and the pieces clicked.

Now they were kissing. Their mouths opened and their tongues touched, cautiously, like two live wires. Every nerve in Handa’s body tingled with pleasure. Hiroshi wound his arms around his neck, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed together. His mind was cast back to that day on the mountain. How the leaf litter had clung to his hands, how Hiroshi’s body had trembled beneath his, how they had fitted together like two halves of the same fruit.

He could feel instinct taking over, or perhaps it was memory. It told him how to move his lips and where to put his hands, how to roll his hips and when to pull away and trail kisses down his neck. The burning ache inside him was transforming, from a pain to an insatiable hunger. He kissed and sucked at Hiroshi’s neck and the boy laughed. Just softly, in his ear, like the chime of a bell. Handa stopped kissing him and wrapped his arms around him, embracing him. Revelling in the warmth of another human body, in the sensation of touch, in the feeling of holding and being held. He pulled away and looked into Hiroshi’s eyes. Soft and innocent, waiting for him to take the lead.

Kissing felt nice. Such an inadequate word, but in this moment Handa did not know how else to describe the feeling of Hiroshi’s soft lips on his, the way their open mouths melded together. But there was something else he wanted to try, something he wanted to touch. Something that he had been thinking about for some time. His hands trailed down Hiroshi’s back, sliding until they reached the small of his back. Then further.

As his hands settled on the curve of his ass, Hiroshi seemed to melt into him, burying his nose in his neck and tightening his grip around his shoulders. If kissing was nice, then this was really nice. The elusive flesh beneath his fingers was soft, as soft as he had always imagined. He squeezed lightly. Hiroshi clutched him tightly and breathed in his ear, “Sensei.”

A bell chimed. A switch was flicked. A door unlocked. Handa pushed him down, down, against the floor, resuming the same position from that day in the mountain. His knee between Hiroshi’s thighs gave away his arousal and the boy looked up at him with a flushed face and pleading eyes. Handa leaned down and kissed him, and their bodies became one. With a roll of their hips, they crossed the line of innocent exploration and delved into sexual pleasure. Kissing was abandoned as they clutched each other, eyes shut tightly, as if they were trying to pretend they were not desperately rutting against one another. If the repeated contact of Hiroshi’s crotch against his was not enough to almost send him over the edge, the tiny gasps in his ear were. “Sensei,” Hiroshi panted. “Sensei.” And then Hiroshi was shuddering against him, his fingers digging into his back. With one final thrust, Handa clutched his lover to him as his brain was enveloped in a mind-numbing whiteness.

For the longest moment, all was still. There was not a thought in Handa’s mind, nor sensation in his limbs. The world ceased to exist. But then Hiroshi shifted against him, and Handa was thrust back into reality. He lifted his head and looked at Hiroshi, blinking as if he had forgotten the position they were in. When Hiroshi returned his look of surprise, Handa scrambled off him.

“I’m sorry.”

Hiroshi propped himself up on his elbows. “Huh? What for?”

Handa buried his face in his hands. “You just came to bring me dinner, and I…”

There was a long pause, then the sound of skin brushing against the tatami mats as Hiroshi sat up. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant. “S’alright. I kind of had a funny feelin’ this might happen.”

Handa peeked up at him. “You did?”

Hiroshi scratched the back of his head. “To be honest, I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about what happened… on the mountain.” He glanced at Handa. “I guess I was kind of hopin’ it would happen again.”

Handa blinked, then sagged with a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I thought it was just me.”

With a grin, Hiroshi crept closer. “Ya been thinkin’ ‘bout me, Sensei?” He said the last word with a kind of purr that sent shivers up Handa’s spine.

He pushed him away, his face burning. “You’ve ruined me.”

“Y’know, I could say the same thing about you.” Hiroshi’s grin filled Handa with a dizzying happiness. It felt as though Hiroshi was more himself than he had been all night, and he was glad that he had not lost the Hiroshi that he knew. He had even gained something. Something that was sure to complicate his life tenfold, but would also bring him a joy that he had never known before. They leaned in simultaneously, their lips closing the gap between them. This was the sweetest kiss of all, gentle, lingering, driven by love, rather than lust. A kiss that made an unspoken promise between them, and spoke of many more kisses to come.

Unbeknownst to the lovebirds, they had an audience for their kiss. Just one pair of eyes, peering in through a crack in the door, masked by the darkness outside. Someone clutching a bottle full of water. When the pair left the room, she turned around and poured the water out into the dirt before meandering home along the moonlit road, her mind in a pleasure-filled daze.