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In retrospect it was bound to come up sooner or later, but that’s small comfort to Haruki as he fumbles for an answer amidst the stifling buzz of the cafe.
Across the table from him Aya waits expectantly, chin resting in one hand while the other lazily stirs her drink. The clink of her spoon highlights the passing of each second, and Haruki reluctantly accepts that the window of opportunity to evade this topic has long since passed.
It’s not that his relationship with Akihiko is classified information, despite the cautioning he’d given Uenoyama and Mafuyu. But it’s still early days, and ultimately there’s no easy way of telling your ex that you’re dating someone new.
Especially when that someone is a guy, his mind supplies unhelpfully.
He scratches his head sheepishly as he makes a confession. “Actually… I’ve started seeing someone.”
Aya’s eyes light up with a fervour he knows is only reserved for particularly juicy gossip. She leans forward, lowering her voice to a barely contained stage-whisper.
“Oh that’s great, tell me more! What’s the story? How did you meet?”
There’s no escaping it now, and Haruki takes a sip of his coffee—grimacing at the acrid aftertaste brewed by less experienced hands—as he considers how much detail is safe to divulge.
“Kinda through band stuff, I guess,” he begins tentatively. Aya hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t interject, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.
“We’ve known each other for a couple of years, and I guess the attraction was always there—for me, at least. But I really didn’t expect anything to come of it.”
It’s his first time trying to relay the chain of events leading to his and Akihiko’s unlikely romance, and he’s not quite sure how to proceed. Somehow the words don’t do it justice; don’t come close to capturing one-tenth of the heartache and hopelessness he’s experienced over the years—nor his incredulity at suddenly, finally having his wishes come true. He’s reminded of the inadequacy of his response to Mafuyu’s intense questioning, back when they were in the midst of writing their first song: I wouldn’t know what to say, I guess.
Seeing his dumbfoundedness, Aya takes the lead. “Why’s that?” she prompts gently.
Haruki sighs, and starts with the obvious. “Well… there was an ex still in the picture—a really amazing, talented ex. And they had one of those life-changing, one-of-a-kind romances, you know?” He tries to swallow down his rising anxiety, even as it threatens to derail his train of thought.
“By comparison, I must be pretty ordinary. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever live up to that.”
Aya chuckles, not unkindly, as she brushes her bangs from her eyes. At first he’d been taken aback by the drastic change, but the boyish cut suits her: accentuating her petite frame and the brightness of her eyes that somehow manage to see everything.
“Haru, you’ve always sold yourself short,” she chides. “You don’t know how many of my friends were begging me to set them up with you after we broke up. It was kind of annoying—like, give a girl a chance to grieve!”
She makes an exaggerated pout in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Haruki isn’t swayed. Now that he’s started, the doubts and old insecurities he’s bottled up spill forth like the breaking of a dam.
“I just… can’t help worrying that this is just some kind of a temporary rebound, until someone more suited comes along or they get back together. They’re still in touch I think, but I don’t want to ask—I can’t ask too much—in case, in case…”
A soft hand comes to rest on top of his, warding off his impending hysteria. Aya’s expression is sympathetic, and Haruki’s reminded of how she’s always been easy to talk to—as if on a similar wavelength, to the point their mutual friends would laugh knowingly when they’d finish each other’s sentences. It’s a world away from the enigma that is Kaji Akihiko, but it doesn’t even cross his mind to wish things were any different.
He takes a few breaths to steady himself, gazing at their joined hands. “It’s really stupid—I should be happy, and I am; this is everything I’ve ever wanted—better than that, even.” The memories of Akihiko’s continued efforts to spoil him make him blush. “But sometimes I still can’t believe this is actually happening, or that it’ll last,” he confides.
“…you know, I’m starting to get a little jealous.”
Haruki looks up, startled, as Aya pulls back. A moment later he catches her teasing smile, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to explain himself in earnest.
“It’s just hard to get used to, when something you’d given up on suddenly falls into place!”
“But it did,” she insists. “This person, who you think is so wonderful—for reasons we’ve yet to get to, don’t think that I’ve forgotten—chose to be with you. Not the oh-so-amazing ex, but with you. I think that means you should have more confidence in yourself.”
The choice of phrasing is surely nothing more than coincidence, but Haruki can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Aya looks offended.
“What’s so funny? I’m serious, you know!”
“No—it’s just, I’ve been told that already.”
“Well, there you go,” she says decisively, raising her glass as if to make a toast. “Take it from at least two people who’ve loved you.”
—
Aya gives him a playful shove as he holds the door open for her while they exit the cafe. They step aside to let others pass, the streets still crowded despite the deepening evening.
“Ever the gentleman,” she teases. “Whatever will your boyfriend say?”
For a moment she takes pleasure in watching Haruki sputter, flushing red up to his ears. “Seriously though, it was good to catch up; it’s been too long,” she adds with sincerity.
“Y-yeah. We should have done this earlier, before I finished playing support,” Haruki finds himself agreeing. He hadn’t expected them to so readily resume their familiar rapport, nor the ease at which he’d revealed things he’s not even shared with Take-chan. In retrospect it feels silly to have avoided her all this time: there’s something comforting about the companionship of someone with whom you share a history, and he finds himself wishing the same for Akihiko and Murata-san, someday.
“Well, our band can always provide another opportunity,” Aya says, just a tad hopeful.
Haruki laughs. “I won’t rule it out, but it’ll have to wait a while—our guitarist will kill me otherwise.”
“Then perhaps I’ll see you around at a gig sometime. Introduce me properly to Kaji-kun next time, yeah?” She gives him a wink, and Haruki rolls his eyes even as he waves farewell.
All this talk of Akihiko fills him with a sudden yearning to hear his boyfriend’s voice. Feeling lighter than he has in weeks, he pulls out his phone and dials the number from his contact list, smiling as he hears the answer at the other end.
“Akihiko.”
Barely a week had passed before Akihiko received the text message.
It’s innocuous enough on the surface—though when had Yatake been in the habit of inviting him anywhere?—but the timing speaks volumes: he and Haru have only just made it official after all.
He still has to pinch himself sometimes, alone at night in his dingy apartment. Left to fester in the unrelenting darkness, the feelings of inadequacy he’s suppressed weigh heavily on his chest, and the notion of ever being good enough for Haruki feels as distant as the dawn. It’s the reason behind so many of his trivial late-night texts—the search for reassurances that their fledgling relationship isn’t a figment of his desperate imagination, each message another attempt to cement their connection.
So when his phone buzzed with a new message he’d instinctively reached for it, only to see a date, time and location issued by an unexpected sender.
It’s less of an invitation than a summons.
And that’s how he finds himself at a nondescript bar on a Tuesday night, seated next to one Yatake Kōji as they eye each other warily over their respective beers.
Yatake looks about as happy to be there as he is, Akihiko notes with petty satisfaction. He purposely sits out the awkward silence while he waits for the older man to begin; just because he’s gone along with this doesn’t mean he has to make it easy, and while he bears no particular ill will towards Haruki’s sempai, he has a feeling this conversation won’t be pleasant.
His companion for the evening lets out a long-suffering sigh, and Akihiko gets the distinct impression this isn’t the first time Yatake’s had to broach this topic. Under other circumstances he’d almost feel sorry for the guy.
“Just to be clear, I told him to turn you down,” Yatake says, cutting straight to the chase. Akihiko doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about; it’s a given he’d be the first to hear the news about their relationship from Haruki.
“To be accurate,” Yatake continues, throwing a pointed look at Akihiko’s face, “I told him to slap you then reject you, but I can see he didn’t take the advice.”
Akihiko internally winces, the words delivering the blow in Haruki’s stead.
“And so here we are,” he surmises.
“Yeah. Here we are.”
Yatake stops to take a swig of his beer. The ensuing silence has Akihiko wrestling with his own combative instincts, and he’s debating if it’s time for his right of reply when the other man resumes the conversation.
“Look, I don’t want to be one of those guys—” his forehead creases as he frowns, “—don’t get me wrong, I don’t normally go around vetting people’s romantic interests. It’s Haruki’s decision to make, I get that.
“But as his friend, it was hard to watch sometimes. Not just… then,” he makes a vague cutting gesture at his hair, “but for a long while now.”
No further elaboration is needed: Akihiko’s all too familiar with the incident in question.
Yatake crosses his arms. “I won’t see him go through that again. You should know that.” There’s a challenge in his eyes as he awaits a response from Akihiko, who takes a long sip of his drink as he stalls for an answer. The empty gesture fools neither of them.
But what is there to say? He’s been dimly aware of Haruki’s affections from the start, and though he’s tried to conceal his liaisons—whether out of shame or consideration for those feelings—there’s no denying he’s been a complete and utter asshole: to Haruki, to Yayoi, to Ugetsu.
And while he’s trying his damndest to turn over a new leaf, he knows a winter spent reforming himself doesn’t even begin to atone for the years he’s knowingly taken advantage—even if Haruki seems quick to forgive. But he’s genuine about wanting to earn a place in Haru’s life; and it’s quite possible that if he owes anyone an explanation, it’s the person that’s been there for his boyfriend throughout all this.
“…I know,” he admits at length. “It wasn’t fair of me to get him caught up in the fallout with my… ex, and it wasn’t my intention to hurt him. I was selfish, I know. He’s not even the only one I’ve hurt.”
He draws a sharp breath, tightening his grip on his glass to stop his hands trembling. “But, if you can believe me, I think I was always looking to him to save me—and he has, in more ways than one.” He chances a glance at Yatake, whose expression is unreadable.
“I’m serious, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll stay with him for as long as he’ll have me. This has already been far more than I deserve.”
There’s a long pause as Yatake weighs up this information, and Akihiko’s nerves worsen with each passing moment. This is more than he’s admitted to anyone—even Haruki—and while it’s strangely liberating, it also leaves him feeling painfully vulnerable.
After what seems like an eternity, Yatake heaves a drawn-out sigh. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, passing one to Akihiko, who recognises the peace offering for what it is. Even if only tentative, their tacit understanding feels like a victory.
“He deserved better, you know,” Yatake says in a last-ditch effort, reluctant to concede to the very end. The use of past tense isn’t lost on Akihiko, who dares to hope it signals the first step towards redemption in Yatake’s eyes.
“I know.” They sit in silence for a moment.
“Thanks, for being there for him,” he adds conciliatorily.
Unused to the show of gratitude, Yatake begins posturing—the end effect being comedic rather than authoritative. “Well… if it makes Haru happy, Take-san will allow it!” He’s undeterred by Akihiko’s muffled snort.
“But I’ll make it clear that if you do end up hurting him again, it won’t just be me you’ll hear from—it’ll also be Yayoi.”
Akihiko makes a face in horror. Yatake cackles.
—
He’s about to turn to leave when Yatake unceremoniously claps him on the shoulder.
“Well, good luck I guess—” Yatake says by way of farewell, “though I dare say Haru’s the one who’ll be needing it.” He ignores the bemused look Akihiko gives him. “I’m sure I’ll see you round.”
Akihiko nods and they part ways.
Conversation had been surprisingly easy—if brief—after that, turning to their respective bands and plans for upcoming shows. Yatake has a similar steadfastness about him, and it’s not hard to see how he and Haru are close friends. It’s a new feeling, being acknowledged by those in his significant other’s circle, and it makes him dare hope there’s a future in which he’s worthy of standing by Haruki’s side.
But that’s something to dwell on later, as his phone chimes with a familiar ringtone: a cheesy J-pop track that only the caller would like.
He grins as he swipes to answer.
“Hey, Haru.”