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The screen lights up with a notification. Satomi’s stomach twists at the sight of it. He knows better than to blame it on the remnants of the cake Kyouji brought him the last time he came visit him.
How humbling, he thinks, to get those sensations from a text with awfully outdated slang, accompanied by corny stickers, all proceeding from an emotionally and physically distant man in his mid-forties.
“Gotchu. See u outside the konbini near the station”, reads the message. Not a cat from manga, but a cartoon crocodile with sunglasses says: “later, alligator”.
Satomi brings a pillow to his face, as if it were to adsorb the particles that make up all his embarrassment and enthusiasm.
Kyouji gets more attractive with age, it seems. In the last couple of years, Satomi has been granted some glimpses of the real Kyouji, human and vulnerable, which he has sprinkled conservatively over chattering at cafés and other chic spots they’ve tried together; but, overall, the man remains a puzzle.
Satomi thinks the enigmatic nature might be part of the allure; only a part of it. Kyouji is a charmer, of course. Despite Satomi’s best efforts, he is weak to the way Kyouji acts towards him, to that wicked smile that morphs into something softer on the occasions Kyouji stares at Satomi when he thinks he isn’t aware.
Kyouji takes a tentative sip of his iced beverage, lightly smacking his lips afterwards, then starts drinking it fully, closing his eyes to revel in the way it’s quenching his thirst..
He looks so handsome now that he’s letting his salt-and-pepper hair follow the course of nature; Kyouji smells so good, despite chain-smoking in Satomi’s absence; his deep voice, powerful and enchanting when he’s not attempting to sing something out of his vocal range, easily engaging in conversations about menial things that don’t involve his job; his weird sense of humor softening the blow for when Satomi forgets for one moment about their most egregious disparity. Nevertheless, the charms that Satomi treasures the most are perhaps the small gestures that Kyouji doesn’t even realize he does, such as how he tilts his head at the moment, delighted with a steamed bun. Lovely.
Lovely?
No, he can’t tell him that. Can’t tell him how longingly he’s awaited their meeting; that during the whole preamble of eating together he’s fantasized Kyouji feeds him his cock and his come instead, smiling as he usually does when Satomi takes the first bite of the food he’s bought especially for him. He can’t give Kyouji the satisfaction of knowing he’s jerked off to the echoes of his voice after they’ve met, echoes calling him name. How he dreams of him and, in Satomi’s dreams, Kyouji is his and his alone; that sometimes he imagines the only tattoos marking Kyouji’s body are those two characters, still sitting on his arm, indeleble and unchanged.
Satomi tries to play it cool because that’s what one does when one loves an aloof man who wouldn’t be in a long distance relationship. That’s what the internet suggests, anyway. It’s not like Kyouji doesn’t know about his feelings.
Greet me like a lover next time we meet, he wants to say.
Kyouji would play it off, saying something cringe-worthy or borderline patronizing, topping it with a stupid grin, perhaps thinking of Satomi as still just a child; but then again, Kyouji was more playful back when that was actually the case. He has changed his behavior after they reconnected; the easy touches ceased at the airport, leaving a part of Satomi wishing Kyouji could invade his personal space like he used to.
He watches Kyouji swallow, and his Adam’s apple dance with it. He has to face away, half covering his face with the hand that holds his chopsticks. His mind has suddenly been flooded with visions of Kyouji licking his lips as a droplet threatens to slide down his chin, his neck, following the line of his shirt–
“Too spicy for you, Satomi-kun?”
“Eh?”, Satomi looks up, slightly mortified as he feels the color on his face.
“You can have some of mine, they’re milder”
“Oh. No, they’re fine”, he replies. “Mine would be too much for you, though”.
Kyouji smiles and brings his glass to his lips again.
He can’t throw a tantrum over how Kyouji has set that annoying distance between them: limiting himself to tapping his foot to call Satomi’s attention, cowardly patting his back when being asked for a hug, only touching hands on accident; as if refraining from any other more candid touch could erase the fact that Kyouji’s presence during that summer, a fun pastime for the yakuza, meant a sexual awakening for Satomi; or as if Kyouji doesn’t want to face any feelings he will never name.
Whatever it is, it lingers heavy in the air each time they meet, thicker than the cumulative blood on Kyouji’s hands. A stench of unspoken feelings.
Satomi keeps his mouth full, as he often does when his mind is fuller during a rendezvous of theirs, when he fears the bubble will burst and his words will spill everywhere like his hard-earned coins.
After the coin incident, they agreed that Satomi would pick the restaurant and Kyouji would pay for their meal, but also that Kyouji should, in exchange, suggest a place for dessert, which would be Satomi’s treat. It was preferable in both cases to choose a not-so-crowded site, especially around this time of the year.
With hanami dango in their bellies, they exit the place. Syrup aftertaste and long sighs succeed their pleasant meal.
Satomi’s bangs caress his forehead in comforting motions when they stand by the threshold.
Kyouji adjusts his jacket and the content of one of his pockets. Satomi knows for sure the brand of cigarettes he’ll find there.
They walk almost side by side, Kyouji following closely. When Satomi stops, so does he.
Satomi hardly contains his fond smile before he turns around to confirm he’s there.
Just like he did when he hugged Kyouji from behind, not caring for the crowd witnessing it, he wishes to seize the moment and plant a kiss on Kyouji’s lips. He stares at them, glistening with lip balm; at Kyouji’s distracted expression when he observes the falling pink flowers, but fails to notice one of them landing on the crown of his head.
“Kyouji-san…”
It seems like the perfect chance, with the two of them alone together. It must be now. It should be.
Kyouji turns to him and his smile seems to be of genuine joy, eyes bright.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
“Yeah?”
He…
“Thank you for spending time with me”
The moment is gone.
A thought crosses his mind that it’s better like this anyway.