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Blue curtains pull shut and enclose the moment from the peeking starlight. They are left in warm, homely glows from the overhead lights. Junya listens to the boiling tea and runs his fingers along the cottony curtains.
“...do you realize how you sound?”
The question makes him spin, eyes wide. “How...how do I sound?” Junya asks. His guest is still standing from the stairs, and his face is warping. Horror? “How do I sound Fujita? I really-really don’t know.”
Fujita closes his mouth. He crosses his arms and looks to the floor, somewhere around Junya’s feet. “Honma made you do this…”
“No, it was my choice!”
“That’s the problem!” Fujita exclaims. His head lifts, brown eyes wider than they had been. “You’re being used by this man, and you don’t even know it!” He puts his hand on Junya’s side before pulling it back with a hesitant sigh.
Confused, Junya steps closer and he circles his fingers around Fujita’s wrist to bring the hand back to his side. His frown inches deeper as they step closer, but like it’s gravity, his forehead is drawn in until it rests against Junya’s bangs. A strange build of warmth bubbles in the space between them. Like the cauldron bubbling behind them, there’s a stinging on the surface of his skin.
Junya cools it by kissing Fujita again.
He doesn’t react as Junya expects. Fujita pulls away and wipes his mouth. Turns into a pace that takes him across the room. Almost with anger, he removes the tea kettle from its hot plate. Maybe just to cease the constant sound of bubbling liquid. Taking his hands, Fujita drags them down his face. “Mochizuki…”
“Fujita, do you not want-”
“It isn’t about want!” Fujita looks with stricken eyes. He motions around the room. “Look around yourself, Mochizuki! Tell me honestly, what do you have here? In your home, but also in Boston? What keeps you here?”
“I was reassigned by-”
“But why do you stay? Why do you let it keep you when this is…” Fujita drops his hands with weighty plops against his thighs. “This is what they’ve turned you into. That you’ve accepted this is normal. It isn’t. It’s not even right.”
Crossing his arms, Junya laments that he can’t see what Fujita finds so strange about this. “Honma takes care of me. He makes sure- This is my choice, regardless.” He watches Fujita’s resigned posture slump him further until he’s leaned on the counter with fingers pushing through his neat hair. “Would it make you happy if I sleep with you?”
Fujita stiffens. “I don’t want a transaction, Mochizuki.”
“Isn’t it all a transaction?” Junya asks. He’s genuine. Fujita only appears more haggard, as if the question aged him seventy years. “Someone gives pleasure to get it back. I let men use my body, and they form contracts with the company.”
“And what do you get out of it?” Fujita asks.
“I...what do I…” Junya shakes his head; his brain is stalled. “The company-”
“I didn’t ask about the company!” Fujita slaps his hand on the counter, and it makes them both jump. “I asked,” he continues with a forced calm clouding through his voice, “what you get from this?”
He finds that he wants to give that a satisfying answer. He’s never thought of it before, though. “I want to move up the company ladder.”
“Why?”
“I...to be like Honma. I am always impressed by him, even-even though his determination sometimes scares me. I know that it is...that is worthy to aspire to.” Junya nods. Fujita crinkles his brow. “Don’t you want to be promoted someday? To work hard and be looked up to by everyone?”
“Ah. Sure, but… There are better ways than to...you don’t have to debase yourself. It’s not like the company is giving you credit for any of this.”
Junya stares at a point on the wall past Fujita’s shoulder. “No,” he agrees. “Honma is the one who deserves it. He gives me to the right men to guarantee the company makes good contracts.” The wall swirls into a distorted smudge of brown as Junya’s eyes fail to focus. He hears quiet footsteps as Fujita approaches, but he doesn’t look away. Trying to pull detail from the gloom of his mostly bare apartment. “I don’t mind. It’s what he’s owed.”
Hands circle his waist, and Junya willingly steps closer to Fujita. He doesn’t notice how close he is until lips are at his ear, whispering, “again, but what do you get from all this?”
“Honma…” Junya swallows. “Rewards me.”
Fujita snorts, trying to cover the warm gravel of a dark laugh. “Are you sure Honma isn’t just taking more from you? Did you ever even say you wanted to be with him?”
“He loves me.”
“Would you pimp out someone you love?”
Tearing his eyes from the blurry whirlpool, Junya forces them to focus on Fujita. Finally. He sees his intense, dark eyes and the set of jawline molded from stone, and breath quivers at the base of his lungs. “No…”
Thoughtfully narrowing his eyes, Fujita leans closer to him. Their faces are separated by mere centimeters. “Do you really love him? If you can say yes...that this is what you really want, I’ll walk away and never bother you again. But if you can’t...Mochizuki, I am not like him. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t wish to, but...be honest with yourself. For your own sake. Is this what you really want your life to be?”
Junya thinks of hands in the shower. Seeking intimately through the steam. Honma’s confession, his lies, and the way Junya does not care that he lied. It is strange, right? He should care if Honma lied, but he doesn’t. Can’t. He watches Fujita’s lips as his brain ambles through the memories. Of the men he’s given himself to. Of Honma’s domination.
“I never ask him to,” Junya says. It doesn’t answer any question, but Fujita doesn’t scold him for this. He listens. “When he gives me...when he has sex with me...never. I never ask him.”
Fujita’s thumb swipes his cheek. Looking, Junya is surprised to see the wetness of a tear wiped away. “What do you want, Mochizuki?”
He thinks again. Tries to be quicker this time. “I want...you to stay the night.”
“And tomorrow?”
Junya blinks when a palm cups his face. He’s drawn in by the gentleness. So much that he falls into Fujita’s chest and doesn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed. Instead, he just shrugs and kisses Fujita. This time, Fujita doesn’t pull away.
Their lips are not rushed. There is no roughness in the soft brushes. Junya thinks of petals floating along the surface of a lake, swirling in ripples. A big hand holds him against the small of his back, and he yawns a moan against Fujita’s lips as he’s coaxed closer. No one has ever kissed him like this. He tries letting Fujita in by parting his lips. Fujita only laps his tongue against Junya’s bottom lip before pulling away.
“Upstairs?” he asks. “We should get you into bed.”
Junya nods. “Oh. Uh, yes. It’s upstairs.”
Fujita sweeps his arm down and picks Junya up. He’s carried up the stairs to the second floor. His bed is settled against one nook with the bathroom door opposite. Fujita brings him inside and settles him onto the mattress. Kisses his forehead. “Do you want me to bring up our tea?” he asks.
“No.” Junya reaches for his hand and then places it back on his cheek where it belongs. Wonders dully why it belongs there. He folds one leg beneath himself and dangles the other off the edge of the bed. Brushes his toes on the floor. Fujita sits across from him. “When do you go back to Japan?” he asks.
“I’m vacationing for a week. Remember?”
“Hawaii,” Junya mutters. “But you can still go!”
Fujita smiles. Junya isn’t sure if it’s a happy expression or not. There’s a dissonance in upturned lips and somber eyes. “Not without you,” Fujita whispers. “I’ll run you a shower,” he offers. Looks at the window. The curtains here are still drawn open. “Get it warm for you… Unless you want-”
“Want?” Junya asks, and even to himself it sounds too eager.
Fujita shakes his head. “Never mind. You should shower, get to bed. I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch.”
“I asked you to stay the night,” Junya says. He holds onto Fujita’s arm. He doesn’t want the palm cupping around his face to leave. It’ll be like tearing molten metal off his skin. No one would understand that if he said it aloud, so Junya keeps that thought to himself. “You should sleep with me.”
Fujita shrugs. “I won’t take advantage of you.”
“Maybe I want you to.”
They both seem surprised. Hesitantly, Junya lets Fujita’s hand fall. It hurts as much as he expected it to. A dreadful little silence conquers their conversation. Junya stares at the soft comforter beneath him and thinks. He’s had to do a lot of thinking recently. Honma usually doesn’t make him. Choice is a burden when it comes to their relationship, because Junya always makes the wrong one. And Honma straightens him out. Takes care of him. Like with Joe.
“He purposefully hid this work thing,” Junya says, “so that I would have to cancel our vacation.”
Fujita shakes his head. “Not surprised. He probably doesn’t want you anywhere near me. That’s why he brought you all the way to America. To isolate you.”
“Is it?” Junya asks. “Not because I’m...worthy of this job?”
“I didn’t say that.” Slipping closer, Fujita comfortingly rubs a hand on Junya’s bent knee and tries one of those unemotive smiles again. “Do you even like the work? At the company?”
Junya has to think about that, too. “Some days...it’s the only thing I do enjoy. But sometimes...I’m not sure. I would rather be doing work at the company than spending nights with men.”
Scoffing, Fujita says, “that’s not a hard decision to make.” He stands and pats a hand through Junya’s hair. Ruffles his bangs so they fall into his eyes. “I’ll start the shower and get it warm for you.”
“Join me?”
Fujita says, “maybe some other night. If there is another night.”
He walks into the bathroom, and Junya considers that. He believes the hidden meaning is becoming clearer, but he also knows his mind cannot take the sort of ultimatum Fujita may give. Standing, Junya takes off his clothes and folds them to be placed in the hamper. In the window glass, high above the city, he sees his own reflection. Gangly, pale, and weirdly lonesome against the beads of the light that stretch beyond. A whole city lays around them, and they are all clueless of what is happening here.
Junya knows he is small and unimportant. He does not cut the imposing figure of Honma or even Mr. Sawagura. All the purpose he has is held between his legs. A new face appears in the glass when Fujita exits the bathroom, and Junya watches the stare dip along his body.
Shaking himself, Fujita looks away. “Shower is ready.”
He can hear it. The falling water pattering the tiled floor. “Thank you,” Junya says. “If you change your mind,” he says, sliding past Fujita with his head down and eyes on the floorboard, “I’ll keep the door unlocked.”
At his side, Fujita’s hand clenches into a fist. “I could almost curse you, Mochizuki. Do you even know what you do to men?”
He keeps staring at the floor.
“It’s not your fault. Regardless.” Fujita sighs. “Go take your shower.”
He does. Junya keeps staring at the floor the entire time. As he walks into the bathroom, gets into the shower, runs shampoo through his hair, cleanses his body… All the time, he expects Fujita to come into the bathroom and join him. He expects cloying hands in the steam and the hard press of a hard organ. Expects the pain of entry and the roughness of being held still while he cries. Honma says his face is cute when he’s being ripped apart.
Such a violent way to describe it. That’s how it feels, though. Even when it’s good, when Honma is gentle, Junya feels torn in the aftermath. He’s not sure why this is just dawning on him now.
When he exits the bathroom a while later, wrapped in a towel and flushed pink by the steam, Fujita is waiting for him. “Come here,” he coaxes, and Junya goes without question. Fujita takes the towel and lifts it to rub against his hair. Back and forth, motions as gentle as a dove’s wing, and Junya quietly stares upward at Fujita’s quiet concentration. “You can’t sleep in wet hair,” he mutters, “you’ll catch a cold.”
When his hair is done the towel drapes back over his shoulders. Fujita kisses Junya’s forehead. He takes the towel and draws it over his body. The way Fujita’s eyes flee from his nude form whenever they attempt to stray makes him almost more self conscious than the men who openly gawk. “I’m dry enough,” he says softly.
“Okay.” Fujita picks up the pajamas from the bed and brings them over. Junya rarely sleeps in them anymore. Honma prefers him naked. Fujita bends down and offers a leg for him to step into, then the other, and a pair of underwear slides up to rest on his hips. Next is the pants, and Fujita helps with those, too.
When he stands, Fujita takes the towel and folds it to place it back in the bathroom. And he returns, opening the pajama top and getting Junya to slide his arms in. It’s brought onto his shoulders, and Fujita begins buttoning it up. He works slowly, carefully. Has anyone ever been like this before?
His first time with Honmo, he thinks. That was careful. But the memories of fingers crudely pressing in, how much he had ached the next day, does tell a different story. When a palm cups his cheek, Junya is drawn back in, and he stares transfixed at Fujita’s eyes.
“You okay?” he asks.
Junya nods. “Thinking about things. I am...confused about a lot of things.”
His thumb stroking along Junya's temple, Fujita smiles and nods along to the statement. “Makes sense.” Then, uncomfortable, he looks away and stares at the bed which seems very welcoming after a long day. “Can I ask you an odd question?”
“Sure.” Junya takes his eyes from the bed and nuzzles into Fujita’s palm.
“Are you even gay? Do you like having sex with men?”
Stumping him seems to be Fujita’s new talent. “...I love a man. Does that count?”
“I guess.” Fujita winces. “I mean, of course. If-if you really love him. But could you love another man?”
Junya stops his embarrassing nuzzling. “Like you?”
Fujita ducks his head and blushes.
“Maybe.” That could provoke another round of thoughtfulness, and Junya is sick of thinking for the day. He turns away and crawls into the bed, kicking his way beneath the comforter and resting it over his waist. “...you could still join me,” he says, noticing Fujita lingering near the door.
This time, the offer is not denied. Fujita is still in his clothes, but he approaches the opposite side of the bed. The lamp is turned off, and it leaves them in only the lights from other windows across the city. Fujita pulls back the comforter and climbs into bed. Lays down next to Junya. Holding his breath, Junya waits for the inevitable. His offer is the proof, he thinks. That this has all been his choice. If Fujita takes him, he’ll see. Won’t need to doubt anymore.
Fujita smiles at him. Lips a shape in the darkness. “Goodnight, Mochizuki,” he whispers. And kisses Junya’s forehead again. A weighty arm settles around his waist and Fujita closes his eyes. To sleep.
What sort of dream this might be, Junya does not know. It can’t be real. Shuffling closer, feeling his heart batter painfully to the back of his ribs, Junya carefully traces Fujita’s cheek and waits for him to give up the rouse. To open his eyes. Pin him to the bed. Finish the transaction. Take what was offered.
Fujita hums. “I said goodnight,” he says, like it’s a tease.
And the world of expectations burns up behind Junya’s retinas. He tucks close and hides his face against Fujita’s chest. Lets a hand curl around the back of his head. When he sobs, Fujita doesn’t mention it or judge him. Junya doesn’t know why he cries. The intangible relief opens a strange, new world to explore.
For tomorrow. As Fujita had asked before. Junya will keep thinking tomorrow.