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It is a cloudy morning, with a 90% chance of rain in the late afternoon according to the weatherman, when Ushijima finds that a portion of his wheat has been flattened to the ground. The flattened plants are in two circles, the larger ring enclosing the smaller one, the plants in between the rings still standing. His hands are shaking as he calls the police.
Two detectives show up an hour later. While they inspect the circles at a leisurely pace, groups of spectators start trickling into the farm. People from the neighboring farms, at first, yelling unnecessary questions at Ushijima as he is tries to answer the questions of the bored detectives, and then more onlookers who look like they are from the city, women and men in fashionable clothes with bags under their eyes and gigantic cameras bumping against their chests.
“Why are these people here?” Ushijima demands, after answering the question of “when did you first see that the wheat was destroyed” for the third time. “Tell them to leave.”
The detectives have moved away from the circles, and now the city people are walking around the farm, snapping photos and muttering something that sounds like “crop circle.” They are trampling on more plants in the process. The cows are getting agitated and mooing in the barn. Ushijima can feel a massive headache building at his temples.
“Not our problem,” one of the detectives, the bald one, snaps. He looks up from his notepad, where he was doodling, and scowls at Ushijima. “And watch your tone! Can you believe this guy, Daichi-san?”
“Take it easy, Tanaka,” the detective named Daichi says. To Ushijima, he suggests, “Put up a fence. Those circles were probably a prank. Probably a one time thing. Give us a call if there’s more trouble.” He hands Ushijima a card that has his name (Sawamura Daichi) and the phone number of the nearest police station on it.
Ushijima watches the detectives climb into their car and drive away. He massages his temples. He will have to think about things like annual losses, his pitiful savings account, and the disappointment of his parents later. He needs to get rid of the spectators right now.
Most of them start leaving after finding themselves on the receiving end of his glare; however, the young man standing between the two rings of crushed wheat is firmly ignoring him.
Ushijima watches as the man walks in a circle while taking photos with his chunky camera and humming under his breath. He looks extraordinarily pleased.
Ushijima asks, “Was it you?”
Finally, the man turns to look at him. He has rather pretty eyes, Ushijima notices, warm brown in color. His hair is pretty too, darker than his eyes and wavy. His smile is wide and fake.
“Absolutely not,” the man replies. “To whatever you’re asking. You should never say yes to anything until you know exactly what’s being asked of you.”
“You weren’t the one who trampled the wheat?”
“Me?” the man laughs. “What a question! I don’t think I’ve met anyone quite as dense as you before.”
Ushijima has certainly never met anyone as rude as this guy before. He asks, “Who are you?”
The guy is quiet for a moment, still smiling his fake smile, before he replies, “Oikawa Tooru.”
“Oikawa,” Ushijima repeats. “And why are you taking photos of my wheat, Oikawa?”
“Why was anyone taking photos?” Oikawa clucks his tongue. “Really, this crop circle is wasted on the likes of you. But then again, it’s convenient for me. How nice, they visit right after I arrive! I’m so happy I agreed to this family vacation.”
Before Ushijima can ask any more questions, a kid approaches them, saying, “Tooru? Are you ready to go?” The kid is wearing a T-shirt that has the words “I’m Cool, but My Uncle is Cooler and Single” splashed across the front.
Oikawa quickly steers the kid towards the main road, saying, “You can go home now, Takeru. ‘Baa-chan is waiting for you. Just follow the road, it’s not far. Tell her I won’t be home tonight. I’ll call her later, okay?”
“Okay.” Takeru looks down at his T-shirt, adds, “Can I put my sweater on now?”
“Keep your voice down,” Oikawa hisses. “And you shouldn’t have taken your sweater off at all. You’re supposed to show this shirt only when the guy is good enough for your uncle.” In a louder voice, he adds, “Bye-bye, Takeru! I’ll be back after I’m done with work!”
“But, Tooru, you’re on vacation. ‘Baa-chan and Iwaizumi-san said that you’re not allowed to-”
“Have a safe trip home!” Oikawa waves. “Don’t miss me too much!”
Ushijima, after punching himself in the arm to make sure he isn’t having a nightmare, says, “There’s no work for you here. You’re not staying here.”
“How rude, Ushiwaka-chan!” Oikawa puffs his lower lip out at him. “And here I was trying to be helpful. Don’t you want to know who made this crop circle?”
“Ushiwaka-chan?” Ushijima repeats, both confused and angry. Oikawa probably knows his full name because he heard it from someone in the area, but forming a horrible nickname out of it is very rude. “Don’t call me that, Oikawa. And how are you going to find the culprits?”
Oikawa reaches into a pant pocket and pulls out a card. He hands it to Ushijima. Oikawa Tooru, the card says. A company name and phone number are printed below his name.
“I’m a researcher,” Oikawa continues, folding his arms and nodding. “I’m interested in space and the beings that live there.” He touches a wheat stalk. “Hm, it must have been a small airship. Possibly piloted by one alien?”
Ushijima wants to think that he misheard, but he has very good hearing. He opens his mouth.
“My telescope is in my car.” Oikawa smiles at Ushijima. “May I put it in your house? I don’t want it to get damaged while I wait for nightfall.”
Ushijima closes his mouth. He feels a bit dazed. He watches as Oikawa walks to a flashy red convertible parked next to his secondhand Toyota. He watches as Oikawa lugs a telescope and overnight bag towards the veranda of the house.
“Well?” Oikawa asks at the front door.
The only overnight guests Ushijima has had in the seven years since he graduated from high school and has been living on this farm are his family members. His parents and relatives are relatively quiet compared to this stranger. Oikawa can fit more words into the space of a minute than anyone Ushijima knows.
But he has a nice voice. It isn’t abrasive and grating. It gets very quiet on the farm sometimes. Ushijima wants to hear an explanation about why the trampled wheat is suddenly being called a “crop circle” and why aliens are visiting his farm. It is almost evening, and it has started to rain, so he won’t be getting any work done on the farm today anyway.
“Fine,” Ushijima says. “You can stay and do your research, Oikawa. Only for one night.”
***
Oikawa talks all throughout dinner. Ushijima learns that a crop circle is not man-made. It is a marking left by aliens. The circle is formed when a spaceship is parked on the ground, probably. There are other explanations too. There have been many instances of crop circles forming all over the world. Oikawa’s dream is to see an alien one day. It is naïve, Oikawa informs him, to think that humans are the only intelligent inhabitants in this galaxy.
“But why would an alien come to my farm?” Ushijima asks.
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Oikawa replies, wiping a grain of rice away from the corner of his mouth. “To find answers, right?”
He scrapes the leftover rice from the pot into his bowl, and then he tries to extract Ushijima’s whole life history and genealogy from him.
“Why is it important to you?” Ushijima asks, when he finds himself telling Oikawa the story of how great grandfather Ushijima had left Kyoto to become a farmer in Hokkaido because he liked plants and cows more than people.
Oikawa has his chin propped up on one hand and is slowly stirring his milk tea with the other as he stares at Ushijima. His eyes are wider than usual, like he is trying to commit all of Ushijima to memory. It is almost a relief when Oikawa returns to his flippant self, says, “Isn’t it obvious?”
“What’s obvious?” Ushijima asks. He hopes Oikawa doesn’t say something negative about the Ushijima family, about how empty the place is; he would hate to have to throw Oikawa out of the house so soon. He was planning to try out the telescope. He has never used one before.
“Obviously,” Oikawa says, sitting up straight, “I was asking to make sure you’re not actually an alien. I’m not entirely convinced that you’re not, but that’s okay, I still have tonight to observe you.”
Ushijima frowns. “Was that a joke?”
Oikawa hits his forehead lightly with his palm, says, “Ahh-ah, there I go again, giving myself away. It’s a bad idea to tell an alien that you know its secret.”
“I’m not an alien.”
“Of course you’re not,” Oikawa says in a soothing voice. “Forget I said anything, Ushiwaka-chan.” He pushes his empty bowl and plate towards the center of the kotatsu, adds, “Thank you for dinner.”
Ushijima gets up to wash the dishes. Oikawa, after finishing his tea, goes upstairs to retrieve his telescope and then leaves the house. Rude, Ushijima thinks, as he rinses Oikawa’s bowl. It’s polite to at least offer to help with the chores. And that guy is still using that awful nickname.
After Ushijima has finished washing and drying the dishes, he stops by the front door, considering. Does he really want to have another long, frustrating conversation with Oikawa just for the sake of seeing the stars up close? There has to be other, less rude people who own telescopes in the area. He needs to make friends that are his own age. His classmates from high school have either left Hokkaido or are too busy with their own jobs, and all the neighboring farmers aren’t really friends: just older men and women who view him as a potential husband for their daughters/granddaughters/nieces.
He steps out onto the veranda.
“What do you want?” Oikawa asks, without removing his face from the telescope.
“May I have a look?” Ushijima asks. “I haven’t seen the stars using a telescope before.”
Oikawa turns to glare at him. “You don’t even know the shapes of the constellations,” he says. “What’s the point?”
“You really have to know that to look at them?”
“That would certainly enhance the experience wouldn’t it?” Oikawa sniffs, as he reluctantly releases his grip on the telescope. “Fine, just one look. And be gentle. No grabbing. No moving anything. Put your hands behind your back.”
Ushijima shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and then he presses his right eye to the telescope. It feels warm.
The stars are beautiful, bright points of light illuminating the night sky, but he has no sudden desires to become a stargazer or anything like that. The stars aren’t going to solve any of his problems. What he really wants is already out of his reach.
What he wanted for years, before he finished high school and inherited the farm from his great-uncle, was to play professional volleyball. He was good in elementary school, but his parents didn’t want to send him to a good school like Shiratorizawa or Aoba Johsai because they were “too far away.” Besides, they wanted him to become a farmer, not “play with balls all your life,” and so he has stayed in Hokkaido, played for mediocre teams that never made it to any significant tournaments, lived first on his parents’ farm and now this one. He doesn’t mind it on most days. He has always liked plants, and he likes tending to the wheat on this farm, working with his hands, seeing the spring sprouts and autumn yield. But there are nights where he comes out onto this veranda and all he can see is darkness closing in on all sides.
“Well?” Oikawa asks.
Ushijima steps away from the telescope. “Nice,” he replies.
Oikawa rolls his eyes. “This is why I didn’t want you to see them. Nice? Nice. What a waste of time.” He fits his right eye to the telescope again. He continues, “You think I’m being mean, but in that time you were staring at one spot like the amateur you are, a UFO might have passed by.”
“Aliens don’t exist.”
“Of course an alien would tell me that, to throw me off. Isn’t it part of your agenda to conceal yourselves?”
Ushijima opens his mouth to tell Oikawa to stop being unreasonable when Oikawa bends over to retrieve something from his telescope bag. Ushijima finds himself staring at Oikawa’s ass. Oikawa is wearing a pair of red pants, and in this position, the fabric has tightened around his bottom. It really is a very nice bottom.
In fact, Oikawa has many nice physical features. There is that hair and the eyes and the bottom, of course, but also other things, like his broad hands and his toned biceps and his long legs. It is rare that Ushijima sees anyone as tall as Oikawa. He probably played sports in school, maybe even in university. He was probably very skilled. It is too bad that the guy has a difficult personality.
Oikawa is humming to himself again as he watches the sky. Ushijima turns back to the house. He needs to go to bed so that he can wake up early and tend to his farm. It is important to stick to a routine.
He touches the screen door, and then, before he can stop himself, asks, “What sport did you play in school, Oikawa?”
“Volleyball,” Oikawa replies. “Why?”
Volleyball, Ushijima thinks, his stomach clenching. Volleyball.
“Which position?” he asks.
“Why?” Oikawa repeats, looking up at him. “Are either of us playing volleyball right now? Why does it matter?”
Ushijima frowns. “Everything a person does matters. Positive actions are a form of cultivation of the self. Fruitful crops grow from proper cultivation. I was a wing-spiker when I was younger, a good one, but I was not allowed to develop my skills further. Why is it so hard for you to answer simple questions?” He opens the door.
“Setter,” he hears Oikawa say as the door is closing between them. Oikawa sounds almost off-hand, the word like an afterthought.
***
Oikawa is still sleeping in the guest room when Ushijima returns from milking the cows the next morning. Ushijima hovers in the doorway, not wanting to go in and then be called a pervert who likes to watch people sleep or something equally belittling and untrue.
This room is the larger of the two guestrooms on this floor, used by his mother and aunts whenever they visit. Oikawa has kept it tidy. The only noticeable additions to the room are the telescope, placed on a tripod in front of the window; a laptop open next to the telescope; the overnight bag, zipped up and tucked below the desk; and an alien plushie sitting at the exact center of the desk.
Ushijima goes back downstairs to make breakfast. Oikawa has not woken up by the time he finishes, so he puts the breakfast and a jug of fresh milk on the kotatsu and goes back outside. He and the farm hands are going to clean up the trampled wheat today.
He has just picked up the first crushed plant when Oikawa appears on the veranda, yelling, “No, leave those where they are, Ushiwaka-chan!”
The farmhands look at Ushijima, confusion on their faces. “Your friend, Ushijima-san?” one of them asks, while another says, “Ushiwaka-chan?”
“No,” he says, and walks over to the veranda.
“We can’t leave the plants like that,” he tells Oikawa. “Eat your breakfast and then go home.”
“Won’t they decompose or something?” Oikawa says, rubbing his eyes. He has dark circles underneath them, and his face is pale, but he has made an effort to brush his hair and change into a new outfit. He is holding a cup of milk.
Ushijima replies, “I don’t want the farm to be disorderly.”
“Ah, I see.” Oikawa looks at him for a moment.
Then Oikawa smiles, says, “Where’s your tractor? I’ve always wanted to drive a tractor.”
***
Oikawa spends hours in the tractor, driving it in zigzagging lines all over the farm. He won’t get out even when Ushijima starts shouting at him. The farm hands are laughing. The cows are alarmed. Ushijima regrets having let Oikawa stay overnight.
He is stomping back to the house around dinnertime to make himself a cup of tea and assess the situation when Oikawa finally gets out of the tractor.
“What a spoilsport,” Oikawa says, brushing past Ushijima to step into the house.
“Go home,” Ushijima says.
“What is home, anyway?” Oikawa replies, taking his sneakers off. He slides his feet into the pair of guest slippers Ushijima had to give him yesterday. “It is a rather nebulous concept, isn’t it? For instance, can a rented house be considered home?”
“Where do you live when you’re not renting a house in Hokkaido?” Ushijima asks, watching Oikawa stroll into the kitchen like he owns the place.
“Tokyo,” Oikawa says, putting the kettle on the stove. He turns around and beams. “See? I can answer simple questions!”
Ushijima wants to stay irritated, but he can feel himself mellowing in the face of Oikawa’s infectious smile. He walks over to the shelf to fill a pot with rice.
“My turn,” Oikawa says, flopping down on a chair at the kitchen table. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” Ushijima says.
Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you must be at least thirty, with your old man habits and farm. I guess we’re the same age then.” He doesn’t sound pleased by this fact. “But your relative gave you the farm, so it’s not like you had to work hard for it. What’s your next plan? Getting married? How quaint.”
“No.” Ushijima frowns. He puts the pot under the sink and fills it with water. “I never said anything about getting married.”
Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “Not into women?”
Ushijima feels his ears start to burn. He has never talked about his preferences before. That kind of talk isn’t common around here. People don’t go around asking which way someone swings. He stirs the rice with one hand, wondering how to answer.
Then he remembers the T-shirt Takeru was wearing. Ushijima says, “You’re not attracted to women either.”
“Who said? I like them all.” Oikawa smiles. “Everyone except aliens. I wouldn’t fuck an alien. Unless they offered me a ride on their spaceship. It would be nice to see the earth from above.”
This conversation has become very bizarre and needs to be stopped, Ushijima decides. He turns off the tap, turns around, and says, “Why exactly are you here? Your nephew was saying something about how you’re on vacation and not allowed to do something before you sent him away. What are you not supposed to be doing?”
“Why is Ushiwaka-chan so rude, I wonder,” Oikawa says, tapping his chin. “Is it because he is stuck in the countryside? Is it because of a dream deferred? Tell you what, we can play volleyball after dinner. It won’t be volleyball per se, but I have a ball in my car. We can volley the ball.”
***
Oikawa must have been a fantastic setter. He knows exactly how to get the ball to Ushijima’s hands, no matter the distance and angle. Ushijima wishes they could have played on the same team. He would have liked to receive Oikawa’s tosses.
“Whoever drops the ball first is a loser,” Oikawa says, grinning. He tosses the ball up and then jumps up to serve it over the clothesline. The movement is fluid and beautiful.
Oikawa wins, of course. Ushijima is out of practice. In another world, this wouldn’t have happened. Oikawa is spinning the ball on one finger and smiling very wide.
Ushijima asks, “When did you stop playing volleyball?”
“After undergrad,” Oikawa replies.
“Why didn’t you go pro?”
Oikawa’s smile gets sharper around the edges. “What do you think?”
“You thought you weren’t good enough?”
“Do I look like someone who second-guesses himself?”
“So, you weren’t good enough?”
Oikawa aims the ball at his face. Ushijima manages to deflect it with his arm.
“I think you’re talented,” Ushijima says. “But there’s a lot of talent on the pro-circuit, and a limited number of opportunities. So yes, I think you second-guessed yourself.”
“You really piss me off,” Oikawa says. “I guess you’re not an alien after all.”
***
When Ushijima goes to take his bath that night, he finds that his shampoo bottle is half empty. He holds it in his hand for a while. He imagines Oikawa sitting in the tub, in the space he is now, naked and humming to himself.
“Here again, Ushiwaka-chan?” Oikawa calls when Ushijima steps out onto the veranda.
Oikawa is sitting on the smaller ring of the crop circle, his telescope next to him. Ushijima walks over to him.
Oikawa says, “I thought you were going to spend the rest of the night fuming.”
“No, I’m not angry,” Ushijima says. He clears his throat. “About what we talked about earlier.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “It was wrong of me to offer my opinions without knowing your story.”
He is about to return to the house when Oikawa says, “You know, it really pisses me off when people try to be too nice.”
“It must be hard being you.”
Oikawa smiles and then pats the space next to him. Ushijima sits down.
“A sports injury,” Oikawa says, tone off-hand again, “that kept acting up.” He pats his right knee. “The best option was to stop playing after undergrad and focus on other things, so I did. Everyone has to stop at some point, right?”
He pulls his telescope closer, and Ushijima looks up at the sky. He tries to clear his head of all thoughts, just look at the dark blue sky and the glowing stars, listen to the chirping chorus of the night insects, but he can’t. He can feel the warmth of Oikawa leg, now pressed against his own. He can smell his shampoo in Oikawa’s hair. He wants to kiss Oikawa. He wants Oikawa to kiss him back.
***
Ushijima is surprised, the next morning, to see Oikawa heading out of the farm without his telescope and overnight bag.
“Aw, are you missing me already?” Oikawa says. He looks very pleased. “No worries, I’ll be back for dinner. I want ikuradon, alright?”
Ushijima doesn’t like being ordered around. However, he knows that this isn’t going to last: Oikawa is going to leave as soon as his vacation is over, and then Ushijima will be left by himself with his routines and wheat and cows again. He can humor Oikawa for a few days more. It’s nice to know that Oikawa likes his cooking.
He heads to the fish market.
***
“Take me to the best onsen here,” Oikawa says, on the fourth day of his visit. “I need to relax after all the time I’ve spent searching for aliens.”
Ushijima isn’t sure that an onsen is a good idea. It is hard enough to keep his eyes to himself when Oikawa is fully clothed. He doesn’t want to disrupt the friendship they have managed to form. Last night Ushijima had attempted to make a joke, and Oikawa had laughed at the joke and not at him.
But he does want Oikawa to have a good, relaxing time here, so after the farmhands leave, he gets into Oikawa’s convertible and gives directions to a ryokan in Otaru.
Ushijima resolutely keeps his gaze to himself in the onsen (after a quick glance at Oikawa’s dick while Oikawa is taking his briefs off). It helps that there are other people in the bath who have taken an interest in Oikawa and started asking questions about where he’s from, how long he’s staying, etc. Ushijima folds his towel over his head, sinks into the hot, soothing water, and relaxes his tense shoulders. He looks out at the mountains.
Oikawa’s voice washes over him. He is saying something about law school. Something about pharmaceuticals.
“Are you sleeping, Ushiwaka-chan?” Oikawa murmurs into his ear, and Ushijima sits up straight.
“No,” Ushijima says. When he looks around, however, he finds that the bath is nearly empty. Only two old men remain, seated at a far corner, their eyes closed.
“Good.” Oikawa grabs his towel. “Wash my back for me.”
Ushijima can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he rubs the towel over Oikawa’s back. He has never washed anyone’s back before. It is a perfectly normal activity. Yet. His own body is getting very interested as he rests a hand on the crook of Oikawa’s neck, as his other hand works the towel over Oikawa’s toned muscles and damp skin.
Oikawa tilts his head against Ushijima’s left hand. Ushijima strokes the tendrils of soft, wavy hair with his thumb. He presses his hand against the small of Oikawa’s back.
Oikawa makes a pleased noise, murmurs, “You’re not half bad.”
***
After they have reached the farm, Oikawa unbuckles both his seatbelt and Ushijima’s and then kisses him.
They kiss for a few minutes in the car, their tongues in each other’s mouths, their elbows and knees banging against the car door. They kiss inside the front hall of the house, awkward and rushed, Oikawa pulling and squeezing with his fingers, Ushijima trying to keep up, trying not to come in his pants. They kiss in Ushijima’s bedroom, on the bed, Oikawa pressing Ushijima to the mattress, pulling off their clothes, settling over Ushijima, then underneath him, so very beautiful and solid and warm and there. Oikawa’s fingers twining in Ushijima’s hair, his teeth biting into Ushijima’s skin.
Years later, Ushijima will still remember that night as one of the best in his life.
***
A few nights later, Oikawa brings the telescope into Ushijima’s bedroom after dinner.
“You’re observing a different part of the sky tonight?” Ushijima asks. He goes over to the window, puts his arms around Oikawa’s waist, kisses him on the nape.
Oikawa replies, “It’s silly to think that aliens land on the exact same spot every time.” He opens the window and then leans out halfway.
“What are you doing?” Ushijima pulls Oikawa back. “That’s dangerous.”
Oikawa laughs. He turns around and drapes his arms around Ushijima’s shoulders, says, “Guess what, Ushiwaka-chan.”
“What?”
Oikawa runs his tongue over his lips. He crosses his wrists behind Ushijima’s neck. “Never mind,” he says. Then, “Take off your pants.”
Ushijima does as he is told. He still isn’t sure what the deal is with Oikawa, but he doesn’t want to disrupt their new arrangement. He likes this new routine. They do their own tasks during the day, Ushijima with the farm, Oikawa lounging around with his laptop or wandering around touching everything and talking to all of the farm hands or driving to town. After the farmhands leave, they do “fun” things. For Oikawa, this means things like sex in the barn used for storage, hay getting into everything (but Ushijima likes picking the hay out of Oikawa’s hair afterwards, so he supposes he’s having fun too). They play their version of volleyball. They have more sex at night, after Oikawa has finished searching for UFOs. Oikawa sleeps next to him.
Ushijima likes this arrangement, and he likes Oikawa. Likes him so much, in fact, that he decides to invite Oikawa along to the monthly farmers’ association meeting in the town hall.
“Sounds awfully boring,” Oikawa replies after Ushijima tells him. “Why can’t you find another date?”
Ushijima can feel himself blushing. “You’re not my date,” he snaps. “You’re going as my … friend, I suppose.”
“Friend, huh,” Oikawa says. He already looks bored.
But in the evening, he puts on a nice shirt and pants, straps an expensive watch to his wrist, and then drives Ushijima to the town hall.
“I’m only here for the food,” Oikawa says as they are walking inside. “We’re leaving as soon as dinner is over.”
“Fine,” Ushijima replies. He always feels a little out of place at these events anyway. His farm is much smaller than the neighboring farms, and he is much younger than the farmers, so no one bothers to listen to his opinions on anything.
The agenda of the meeting turns out to be a discussion about the formation of a mahjong club. Ten of the twelve farmers vote in favor of the club. They pass a sign-up sheet around. Ushijima declines to sign. Oikawa takes the clipboard and pen from him and starts writing.
“You don’t live here,” Ushijima says.
“Live a little, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa replies, handing the clipboard to another person.
When they go into the banquet hall, Oikawa heads straight to the buffet table. He returns only after Ushijima finds himself surrounded by this season’s matchmakers. “So sorry,” Oikawa says, neatly inserting himself into the group. “But I have to speak to my friend for a moment. Ushiwaka-chan, make sure you take your erectile dysfunction pills before you eat dinner, okay? That’s what our doctor friend in Tokyo advised.”
“I don’t have that problem,” Ushijima says, after the matchmakers leave, declaring suddenly and simultaneously, that they are famished.
“You’re welcome,” Oikawa replies.
Ten minutes later, as Ushijima is watching Oikawa stuff rice into his mouth, Detective Sawamura stops by their table.
“Hey,” Sawamura says. “How’s it going.”
Oikawa starts coughing.
“Fine,” Ushijima says. Things are going fine on the farm, but no thanks to the detectives. Oikawa finally let him clean up the trampled wheat yesterday, and Ushijima is going to start putting up a fence on Monday. Whoever those culprits were, they’ve gotten away with causing Ushijima a great deal of trouble and money.
“I thought this was a farmers’ meeting,” Oikawa says, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“It is.” Sawamura raises his eyebrows. “But the chairman wanted a report about the guys who messed around on Ushijima’s farm.”
Ushijima looks up at Sawamura. “What?” he asks.
Oikawa says, “You’re a really important person around here, aren’t you, Detective-kun?”
“You know who ruined my wheat?” Ushijima asks Sawamura.
Sawamura glances at Oikawa. “What, Oikawa didn’t tell you? I told him to tell you. Remember, Oikawa? When I saw you in town on Monday.”
Ushijima stares at Oikawa. He is having trouble understanding what is happening.
“Oh, was I supposed to relay the message?” Oikawa smiles at Sawamura. “What’s your job then?”
“You told me you’d tell him.” Sawamura frowns.
“Tell me,” Ushijima says.
He turns away from Oikawa. He can’t believe Oikawa withheld such important information from him. It’s one thing to choose to be private about one’s personal history, and it’s another matter entirely, much worse, to not disclose the truth that a person is obviously seeking. After all Ushijima has done for him too. He can’t believe Oikawa. He can’t believe himself. It was wrong to trust a stranger so easily. Just because the guy is pretty and clever and an amazing volleyball player.
He half-listens as Sawamura explains that a group of teenagers from a neighboring town have been going around creating crop circles. No, they are not alien enthusiasts. They are just rebelling against their farmer parents. They don’t want to be farmers. Tanaka caught them in the act about four days ago. Their parents are going to talk to them. A fence is a good idea, Sawamura advises again before walking to the buffet table.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ushijima asks Oikawa later, after a tense dinner, when they are in the parking lot.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Oikawa replies, shrugging.
“I’m not playing around.”
“I’m not either.” Oikawa sticks his tongue out. “Obviously, I didn’t tell you because I wanted stay at your place for awhile longer. Only to observe the stars, of course. Obviously.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.” Oikawa crosses his arms. “Alright, and maybe for the free service too. ‘Kaa-chan always makes me do chores when I’m with her. Why, did you think I was staying for you?”
“You can pick your things up tomorrow morning,” Ushijima says. “And don’t come back to my house ever again.”
He goes back inside to find a ride home. When he returns to the parking lot a few minutes later, he finds that Oikawa’s car is gone.
***
On returning home, Ushijima changes the bed sheets and then packs up Oikawa’s things. He lies awake the whole night. He isn’t sure who he is angry with more, Oikawa or himself.
In the morning, Takeru arrives, asking about Oikawa’s things. Ushijima is surprised to see the kid again, since school has started, but he has no desire to ask any questions of anyone in the Oikawa family ever again. He hands the bags over.
Takeru takes a step towards the front yard, and then he turns around.
“Sorry for the trouble,” he says.
Ushijima frowns. “Why are you apologizing?”
“My uncle, well, he has a hard time with relationships, you know?” Takeru rubs his nape. He has a matter-of-fact tone, unlike his uncle’s. “But ‘Baa-chan and I thought he really liked you. He told us that he wanted to invite a weird but strangely charming farmer to dinner. He never lets us meet anyone he’s seeing, so we were surprised. And we were glad for him because he’s been upset about things lately. He hates being a lawyer. It’s too bad you guys didn’t work out.”
After Takeru leaves, Ushijima tries to not think about Oikawa. He takes a loan out from the bank and builds his fence. He visits his parents. He doesn’t go into the guest bedroom. He doesn’t sit on the veranda at night.
He has almost successfully put Oikawa out of his mind when he gets a call from the chairman of the farmers’ association, informing him that the first mahjong meeting is tonight.
“I didn’t sign up,” Ushijima says.
The chairman says that Ushijima most certainly did sign up. His name is there on the page. He is expected at eight.
Ushijima goes to the chairman’s farm at eight to see the sign-up sheet. To his confusion and horror, he finds that his name is indeed on the page. Ushijima Wakatoshi. He is about to ask around to see who put his name there when he realizes that Oikawa’s name is not on the list.
Before he can leave, the chairman’s wife drags him over to one of the mahjong tables. He plays for two hours. He wins, and the victory is satisfying, as is the dinner.
When he returns home, full and feeling a little sleepy, he searches the top drawer of his desk until he finds the card Oikawa gave him on the day they met. He looks at the phone number for a long time. When he goes to bed, he can see the numbers wavering in the backs of his eyelids. He can hear Takeru saying he really liked you.
***
He has only been to Tokyo a handful of times, and always accompanied by someone more knowledgeable about the city than him. On this first solitary trip, after leaving the airport and somehow ending up in Harajuku, he finds a bench and then dials the number on Oikawa’s card.
Oikawa’s voice goes abruptly from cheery and light to deep and angry as he learns who is calling him.
“I’m in Tokyo,” Ushijima says, just as Oikawa is about to hang up.
There is a long silence. Ushijima rubs his face. He hopes Oikawa stays on the line. This is it, he thinks. This must be what they call love. This, parked on a bench miles away from home, a death grip on a cell phone, the overwhelming feeling of relief on hearing, “Are you an idiot?”
Oikawa gives him directions to an apartment complex in Nakano.
Ushijima walks around for a few minutes, feeling increasingly hot under the collar. It is much warmer in Tokyo than he expected. When he realizes that he is lost again, he decides to take a taxi.
When he reaches the correct building, he tips generously and then goes inside. It is past ten at night. His heart is beating a little too fast as he boards the elevator. He wipes his sweating palms on his jeans before getting off on the fourth floor. He fixes his collar before knocking on Oikawa’s door.
Oikawa opens the door a moment later, frowning. “You could’ve apologized over the phone,” he says. “There was no reason to come all the way here. It’s late, you know?”
He looks almost the same as he did a month ago, except a little more dressed up and a great deal more tired. Ushijima steps inside the apartment when Oikawa moves away from the door. He takes his sneakers off.
“I just got back from work,” Oikawa huffs as he walks to the couch. He sits down, loosens his tie, picks up his laptop. “I was about to check my email and then go to bed.”
Ushijima says, “I missed you.”
Oikawa looks up. “Really?” he says. His tone is carefully neutral. “Even though I didn’t tell you about those teenagers?”
“Yeah.”
“And about the other things?” Oikawa sets his laptop down on the coffee table. “I’m not actually a researcher. I’m an underpaid and overworked lawyer at a firm that represents pharma companies. The name of the firm is on the card. You ought to have checked, you know. Anyway, the job sucks.”
“Yeah, I checked you out before coming here.” Ushijima sits down on the armchair.
“And you still came. Aw, you like me that much?” Oikawa smiles, and Ushijima feels something ease inside him.
“Yes.”
Oikawa stops smiling. After a moment, he stands up and walks to the kitchen. “You want dinner?” he asks. “There’s a nice takeout place that delivers until midnight.”
“Alright,” Ushijima says.
“You can give yourself a tour of the apartment.” Oikawa waves a hand.
As Oikawa is placing the order, Ushijima walks around the apartment. It is larger than any 1LDK he has seen. There is an astonishing amount of glass everywhere. One entire wall is covered with floor-to-ceiling length mirrors. The furniture looks expensive and modern. The telescope is nowhere in sight, but there is a shelf near the bathroom with rows of volleyball trophies.
Ushijima has counted eight Best Setter Awards when Oikawa calls him back to the living room. Oikawa has made a pot of green tea and is pouring it out into two glass cups. “Come sit with me,” he says, patting the couch.
As soon as Ushijima sits down, Oikawa kisses him, both hands pressed to Ushijima’s face, his mouth pushing hard against Ushijima’s. Ushijima puts his arms around Oikawa’s waist and kisses him back.
And before he can stop himself, Ushijima finds himself saying, “Come home with me.”
Oikawa bumps his right knee against Ushijma’s. He says, smiling, “Or, you can stay. Not forever, of course. More like a trial period. You can pretend you’re staying for things other than the company of yours truly, okay?”
Ushijima will stay, a few months later. He will divide his time between the farm and this apartment, and he will play volleyball at a local gym. He will meet Oikawa’s family members and friends. Oikawa will have a better job and continue to annoy him and charm him, and love him, probably, and they’ll make it work somehow.
That is then. For now, Ushijima asks, “Will you visit on your next vacation?”
Oikawa says, “Why, you want to use my telescope? Look at the stars again? Search for more aliens? I really do think there are aliens out there, Ushiwaka-chan, I wasn’t making that part up.”
Ushijima replies, “There’s no need for a telescope. You’re my brightest star.”
Oikawa looks at him, eyes wide with surprise. Then he beams, clearly pleased. He says, “You’re really something else, Ushiwaka-chan.”
The nickname sounds almost affectionate, and Oikawa’s next kiss definitely is, so instead of protesting, Ushijima makes himself comfortable on the couch and pulls Oikawa closer.