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“I’m seeing someone,” Juri says.
As usual, Hokuto doesn’t comment. He gives Juri a brief nod, for him to continue.
“You’ve met him before, maybe. He used to take judo classes in our town.”
Hokuto is careful not to let the surprise show on his face. He’s more than familiar with Juri’s personality, they grew up together after all. Juri falls in love at a speed that can only be described as alarming, falls out of love at an equally tragic speed.
They met again when Juri had to pick up his little brother from high school, and the boyfriend is apparently a teacher at his brother’s school.
Still, Juri has a ton of friends, so Hokuto doesn’t know why he’s telling him this.
The first time he meets Shintaro, he vaguely recognises the guy’s face. But somehow, only one word comes to mind.
Ordinary.
Shintaro is the most ordinary person he’s met. But he makes Juri bloom in a way Hokuto’s never seen before.
Hokuto thinks he’s probably beat him at judo when they were younger.
Hokuto takes the cat.
The cat was originally meant as a gift to an ex-girlfriend of Juri’s, but they broke up before Juri could give it to her. It has beautiful white fur and looks a bit like a Persian. Hokuto isn’t too sure what breed it is.
“He’s allergic,” Juri says apologetically, and whines about how the cat would claw at the door when his boyfriend was over.
Hokuto knows that’s probably not the only reason why, judging by the scratch marks on Juri’s wrist.
Perhaps aware it was going to be taken away from its owner, the cat’s mews get sadder and sadder as Hokuto makes his way to the door.
He meets the boyfriend on the way out and gives him a nod.
“Who is he again?” the boyfriend asks.
“Just a friend from home,” Juri replies.
In their doorway, Hokuto is still slipping on his shoes. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Hokuto doesn’t know what else he expected Juri to say, but he feels disappointed, regardless.
The cat takes particular interest in one of the pillows on Hokuto’s bed—the one that he doesn’t use. Maybe it’s the lingering scent of its ex-owner, or the fatigue from having to move to a new location, but it falls asleep on the pillow, curling up into a tiny fluffball.
Hokuto doesn’t want to wake up to cat hair in his face, so he moves the pillow to the couch.
The cat is a surprisingly good roommate, as far as Hokuto’s concerned. It might actually be the only considerate cat that exists.
When Hokuto’s feeling particularly lonely, it crawls onto his lap and falls asleep there, otherwise it stays in the corner on the pillow-turned-cushion.
Juri would drop by sometimes, with treats and sometimes toys for the cat. The first time it happened the cat might have thought it would be taken back and kept circling around Juri’s feet when Juri was about to leave.
After that, it mostly kept to its corner, only going to Juri if he was giving out treats or if he brought a new toy.
Then came a day when the cat hissed at Juri when he arrived, and went up the cat tower, refusing to look at him. When Juri called its name, it only moved its body to turn fully away from him. Hokuto only realised later that they had a puppy at home.
Juri doesn’t come over as much after that.
The cat chews up the astilbe flower Hokuto keeps in his kitchen. He briefly thinks about replacing it but forgets about it when he has to give the cat a bath—its paws are covered in loose dirt.
When Juri visits again to pick up some stuff, the cat hisses at him again, and stands in front of Hokuto’s bedroom door, refusing to let Juri in.
Hokuto eventually throws the pillow (or what is left of it) away. It was getting annoying, the way the cat keeps getting its claws stuck in the fabric despite Hokuto’s best efforts to trim them.
He buys a new cushion for the cat.
When they were younger and had to write dumb essays about dreams, Hokuto once wrote that his dream was to have someone listen to him.
Juri snatched his notebook then, and asked, “Why would your dream be something so simple?”
Hokuto then, calmly tore out a page from another notebook, and wrote, “You know I can’t speak. Who would want to wait for me to finish writing all the time?”
Honestly, Hokuto had to give it to Juri. Juri isn’t a very patient person, but he still kept his promise for a good few years, and patiently waited for Hokuto to finish writing before he would reply.
But that good few years went by too quickly, and soon Juri too grew tired of waiting for him to write his thoughts down.
Hokuto had uncapped his pen, ready to write a reply to Juri’s rant of the day, and Juri stopped him. “It’s okay, isn’t it tiring for you too?”
That’s how Hokuto became a listener once again.
Juri is drunk the next time he shows up. He talks non-stop about how he’s going to tell his mother, and how he’s afraid of it all, but he believes it will be okay with the boyfriend.
Hokuto lies there, not looking at the Juri lying next to him, but keeps his eyes fixated on the ceiling, and does what he does best. He listens.
It’s the same thing always. Juri never really wants any input when he’s ranting, he just wants someone to listen. Maybe the reason why their friendship, or whatever this is, was able to withstand the test of time is because Hokuto never interrupts Juri, or rebukes him.
Because Hokuto can’t say a word.
The room remains quiet for a while after Juri declares that he’s tired. Minutes go by in silence, but it makes Juri’s even breathing ring louder in Hokuto’s ears.
Hokuto slowly picks up Juri’s hand in the dark. Stroke by stroke, he writes on Juri’s palm.
“Why can’t it be me?”
Juri doesn’t respond, already fast asleep.
It doesn’t matter, because Hokuto knows the answer.
“Your love is heavy.”
The cat is waiting for him in the moving truck, so Hokuto quickly gives the apartment one last look before grabbing the last of his boxes.
The astilbe plant, now wilted, remains on his kitchen counter.