Gift Fic For mynamelessname (2/4)
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
They’re cutting back hours at the net cafe. Seems like the one Ninomiya works for is a chain, and it’s in trouble. A quick search online reveals that several locations have closed in the last year. Market’s over-saturated, it seems. So as the days continue, Ninomiya’s home more often.
It’s Sho in the living room with his laptop and Ninomiya in his bedroom with the door shut and his TV blaring. He’s caught a peek inside here and there when Ninomiya goes to the bathroom, heats something up in the kitchen. Cords and cords and cords for every game system known to man.
He looks in on Sho from time to time, seems fascinated by his job hunt. If Ninomiya was smarter, Sho thinks, he’d be looking for a new job too. Ninomiya offers criticism, sitting behind Sho and reading over his shoulder. Sometimes he’s munching on something, biting into an apple and telling Sho his application would be stronger with a different word choice here, a different verb there. Sho takes his advice half of the time. He’s gone on one interview so far in person and had two more calls, but still no takers and Sho’s starting to wonder if all his applications are shit. If he’s on a blacklist somewhere.
Matsumoto’s wounds have mostly healed, and to Sho’s surprise, Ninomiya was highly concerned about them. That first day after, he’d overheard a muttered conversation taking place in the kitchen, the usually cold and off-putting Ninomiya admonishing Matsumoto for “not hitting that asshole back” and for not going to the police. His voice almost begging, pleading with Matsumoto to tell him everything that happened. Everything else about Ninomiya seems polished, rehearsed. A witty remark ready to go any time Sho opens his mouth. But Sho wonders now if it’s mostly an act and that Ninomiya’s far gentler than he appears.
It’s mid-afternoon on a Thursday, and Ninomiya sits down beside Sho on the floor, leaning his head against his shoulder. Sho would be annoyed, but it’s not the first time Ninomiya’s done this and he’s learned that it’s not to be mean so much as Ninomiya just touches. Sho’s seen him fuss with Matsumoto before, picking a stray hair from his shoulder or nudging him for seemingly no reason. For someone who shuts himself away for hours at a time, he’s not shy about invading personal space.
“What’s this one?” Ninomiya asks, and Sho almost enjoys the body heat beside him. It’s not like anyone else has much interest in touching him. Sho shoves down the happy thought of Matsumoto coming within five feet of him. Since that night, he’s been avoiding Sho desperately.
“Customer service,” Sho replies, scratching his neck. “Over the phone. Call center.”
“Ugh,” Ninomiya remarks, irritated. “Don’t do it. I did that once.”
“If I can handle teenagers, I can handle this.”
“Is there really nothing else you’re good at?” Ninomiya asks, leaning away if only to grab Sho’s glass of water and help himself to a sip of it.
Sho gives him a dirty look. “Thanks for your support.”
“Sho-chan, I’m just messing with you.” How quickly he’s allowed himself to be familiar, though Sho’s not about to start calling him “Nino” in return, if only because he knows how much that would please him.
Ninomiya leaves him alone after that, but within a few hours he’s back in the living room, only halfway interested in the movie Sho’s watching. Matsumoto comes home for at least an hour, showering and changing before leaving again. As soon as the front door closes, Ninomiya sees nothing wrong with grabbing the remote and turning the TV off.
“Hey, I was watching that,” Sho protests.
Ninomiya stares at him, his rather small fingers worrying at a loose string at the bottom of his t-shirt. “Did Jun-kun tell you what happened that night? You brought him home, he told me that much.”
Why Ninomiya’s asking him and not Matsumoto, Sho doesn’t know. “I brought him home, but it’s not my business.”
Ninomiya’s smile is rather sad. “You don’t even know where he goes, do you?”
“Again,” Sho insists, “that’s not my business.”
And honestly, it’s not. Nor is it Ninomiya’s. But Sho has, of course, been curious about it. He’s fairly certain Jun doesn’t have a job, but his clothes are nice. He always smells like expensive cologne. Gambling, Sho’s figured. Explains why he can afford the nice things he has without having a regular job. Maybe he’s a compulsive, an addict. It would explain why he goes almost every night. And if he loses, if he can’t pay up, it makes sense that some underground gambling house would have their bodyguard beat him up.
“Oh Sho-chan, I’ve been trying to get him to stop,” Ninomiya admits. “I was actually glad you moved in, to tell you the truth. I thought maybe together you and I…well, that maybe it would be more persuasive coming from you.”
Does the guy want to stage a fucking intervention? “I barely know him. Or you. How on earth could I get him to stop…whatever it is that needs stopping?”
Ninomiya looks embarrassed. “Well, he never brings anyone home so I figured there was something about you he trusts.”
Now it’s Sho’s turn to feel nervous. “What about Keito-san? Why do you need me to get involved?”
“Keito-san doesn’t give a flying fuck about any of us. He’s an envelope of cash and not much more,” he says. “Look, I’m worried about Jun, and this was not the first time he’s gotten hurt. But I want it to be the last. You sit here all day and apply for jobs like a good little boy. Make him do the same. Hell, have him go be a telemarketer with you.”
“It wasn’t telemarketing,” Sho interjects needlessly, growing concerned about the expectations Ninomiya has for him. “Look, if Matsumoto-kun has a problem, he has to want to help himself.”
Ninomiya’s expression turns to confusion. “What?”
Sho sighs, grabbing the remote control back from him. “If he has an alcohol problem or a drug problem or a gambling problem or whatever…”
“Sho-chan, he’s…” His eyes go so wide, it’s comical. “Sho-chan, he picked you up at that bar, I thought…”
Sho feels that the room’s temperature has gone up several degrees in the last few minutes without him realizing it. “It wasn’t like that…”
Ninomiya’s fingers find his wrist. His hand is ice cold. “He has sex with people for money. Ever since he lost his job, he’s done this. You had no idea? You and he didn’t…”
Sho recoils from the man’s touch. “What? No!”
A gambling problem, Sho’s told himself. But why would a gambling addict care so much about what he looked like? It’s been there, staring him in the face for weeks. The cologne, the clothes. The bathroom overstuffed with creams and hair gel. That magnetic pull Sho’d felt from the second he laid eyes on him. And then the night he’d called Sho, desperate and alone. How he’d pulled away from Sho’s questions, had curled up in the car. How stupid could he be?
“Sometimes they don’t feel like paying,” Ninomiya says, like it’s so obvious a thing.
Where Sho expects to feel disgusted or furious or misled, he doesn’t. He’s jealous, if only for the first few moments. How many, Sho wonders. How many have there been? If Sho hadn’t been so drunk, hadn’t been so miserable that night they’d met, maybe he too…
But then it’s sadness that slips in, wraps around Sho’s heart and squeezes. Sometimes they don’t feel like paying. This was not the first time he’s gotten hurt.
“It wasn’t my place to know,” he says quietly. “He’d have told me if he wanted me to know. He’s an adult, isn’t he?”
Ninomiya frowns. “Well now you know. You can’t just sit around and watch him leave. You can’t just sit around without worrying now.” He gets up, almost shaking in anger. Is he angry at Matsumoto? At Sho for not immediately jumping in to interfere?
Sho doesn’t get the chance to ask, because Ninomiya’s retreated, disappearing back into his room. Back to the place where he can turn up the noise and drown out the sound of his friend going out every night and putting himself in potential danger.
Matsumoto returns earlier than usual that night, and Sho’s lying on the couch. He’s half-asleep, lost in a dozen or more scenarios, Matsumoto out and about and giving all of himself just to have the money coming in. The scenarios keep shifting though, from some invisible stranger to Sho himself. To Sho slipping bills from his wallet, putting them in Matsumoto’s mouth, watching his lips close on them before reaching to unzip his pants. The more Sho thinks about it, the more vivid they become. In his mind, Matsumoto is just Jun, more and more, if only because what Sho demands of him in these fantasies is far from polite.
Jun’s just about to put a blanket on him, to show him more concern when he’s asleep than when he’s awake, and Sho stops him.
“Wait.”
“What is it?” He smells like a bar, smoke clinging to his clothes.
Do you prostitute yourself for money? Did you only come up to me that night in hopes of me helping to keep you afloat? Will you keep doing this until someone puts you in the hospital? Or worse?
Would you make me pay?
“Nino’s worried about you,” he mumbles.
Because Sho’s so close to being asleep, Jun has no qualms about tracing his fingers along Sho’s brow, an almost tender gesture that Sho can barely handle. He wants to awaken fully, pull Jun down beside him, convince him to mend his risky ways in a manner Ninomiya can’t.
“Get some sleep,” Jun whispers before walking away.
-
All three of them are in the living room when Keito-san comes home a week later. This is technically Sho’s first sighting, but there’s not much to see. The door unlocks, and in an instant, Jun and Nino know who it is. Sho’s pulse races when he sees the way Jun’s entire body seems to lock up, freezing. His eyes stare straight ahead, looking at the TV screen but probably not seeing a thing.
He’s a tall man, in a black leather jacket, and he’s carrying a huge silver case that looks heavy. Nino takes charge, offering a “Welcome home” that sounds halfway sincere. Keito-san, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, has a plain face save for a nasty looking scar running from his left ear to his jaw. Sho looks away and takes nothing else in as the man, still in his jacket, moves quickly to his bedroom and shuts the door.
The TV’s making some sort of noise, but it’s not registering for Sho. As far as he knows, Keito-san doesn’t come home like this too often, not this early in the evening. Nino shakily takes the remote, changes the channel and turns up the volume. Jun still hasn’t moved.
“There was blood,” Nino comments. “On his pants.”
Sho crosses his arms. “I…I didn’t see.”
“You didn’t know to look.”
Jun suddenly bolts, not seeming to care that he’s in nothing more than a t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. He puts on his coat and the first pair of shoes he can grab in the genkan (Sho’s, not his own), and he’s out the door. Leaving the TV volume as it is, Sho moves until he’s right next to Nino on the couch.
“What the fuck are you not telling me?” Sho hisses.
Nino turns to him, and he’s not smiling. “He’s always paid his fair share…”
“What did he do to Jun?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Nino says. “Nothing I know about.”
“And he has blood on…”
The bedroom door opens, and Sho shuts up. Keito-san’s got on a different pair of pants now, jeans. He disappears into Jun’s bathroom, which Sho knows is technically a bathroom they share, and locks the door behind him. Sho looks back at Nino, who is already getting up from the couch. Before Sho can try and get more out of him, he’s gone to his room.
Sho didn’t see the blood on Keito-san’s pants, but from Jun’s reaction he has no reason to believe Nino would lie about such a thing. And the implication was that this was not the first time. The implication was that it wasn’t Keito-san’s blood either. That silly conversation he had with Aiba weeks ago comes back, and it’s not funny anymore. Aiba’s wife thought Keito-san was a serial killer. It amazes Sho what he’s managed to step into, living in this house. Where the person who prostitutes himself is not the most peculiar resident. Where a person comes home with blood on his clothes, and it’s okay because hey, at least he pays his rent on time.
He doesn’t want to be in this house a second longer. He doesn’t want to even know how many times this Keito-san has come and gone from the house, with that hideous scar and bloody clothes, with Sho asleep and vulnerable and completely oblivious. He grabs the pair of sneakers Jun didn’t manage to take and his own coat, fishing his keys out of the lame little bowl they keep in the genkan.
He stands in the carport for a few moments, wondering if he should drive to Aiba’s, ask to sleep on his sofa until he can find a way to get out of this place permanently. But no, he doesn’t want to burden him. Aiba’s kept Sho’s secrets for a long time already, and it’s not fair to drop this new mess in Aiba’s lap.
So he walks, past the other houses in their fairly quiet neighborhood. It’s funny how their house fits in with all the others, the families over there, the places shared by a mixture of people on the other side. Has anyone ever been curious about what happens in their house? About the people who live there? Has anyone ever gotten the pleasure of seeing Keito-san?
It’s only a few blocks before it shifts from residential quiet to street noise, lit up restaurants and izakayas and businesses along the main road. The train station is a beacon of light about half a mile away, and Sho thinks he could buy a ticket and see how far he could go before they stop for the evening. Grab a hotel room and sleep. But he doesn’t have the money to throw away on that. It’s not like he has a steady income from sucking cock like someone else he knows.
He crosses the street when he spies Jun in those pajama pants and his big glasses, standing at a magazine rack inside a convenience store. Sho walks in, is embraced with the all too clean smell of the store, the chatter of some teenagers arguing over some curry pan. Jun is pretending to be engrossed in a men’s magazine, but the page he’s looking at only has an ad on each page, not much to look at.
“Are you okay?” Sho asks, not wanting to hang back and spy on him.
Jun doesn’t flip the page, exhaling heavily. They’re playing some instrumental version of a Mister Children song in the store, and it’s strange without vocals. “I’ll be fine.”
Sho grabs the first magazine in front of him, something golf, and opens it, standing at Jun’s side. Out the store window, it’s blissfully normal. People coming home from work, others heading out for a bite to eat, for a drink. And only a few blocks away, Keito-san’s probably in the bathroom he shares with Jun and he’s washing blood from his hands.
“What does he do? Keito-san?”
Jun turns the page finally, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Yakuza. Probably.”
“Probably?”
Jun pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and it seems like he’s stepped closer to Sho. Not like Sho could do a damn thing to protect him if Keito-san came after them. “We don’t actually know. It’s not like we’ve asked him.”
The thought of them living with a man like that for all this time irritates Sho more than he can handle. “You let me move in. You’ll happily take my share of the rent, and you didn’t think it was my business to know something like that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Sho asks coldly, setting the magazine back because he can’t keep feigning interest in drivers and putters. “Or is every person you encounter just money to you? Hey, it doesn’t matter what Sakurai does, he’ll pay his share. It doesn’t matter if Keito-san’s a fucking criminal because he’ll pay his share. Is that what it’s like when you go out at night? You’ll do whatever so long as you get your money?”
Jun roughly puts the magazine back, and Sho’s astonished to see the hurt in his eyes. Where he should be angry, should be something, anything else, he’s almost in tears. “Sho-san…”
“I told you everything. And you’ve told me nothing.”
He turns and walks out of the store, and he’s going back to the house. He’s going to pack his things until his piece of shit car is almost bursting, and he’s going to his parents. He’s only been delaying the inevitable, all this time. “Mom, Dad, I’ve failed. I’ll do whatever you ask,” he’ll say, and at least he’ll know what he’s getting. At least living at home comes without surprises, without secrets. Maybe his dad can even get him a job in the civil service. Sho’s never wanted to benefit from the man’s connections, but striking out on his own has led him nowhere.
“Wait,” he hears when he’s just crossed the street. “Sho-san, wait.”
He keeps walking, away from the street lights and back to the quiet rows of houses. Let Keito-san be curious as Sho goes in and out with his boxes. What does it matter? He’ll never see Sho again.
“Stop.”
They’re maybe a block away and Jun’s got him by the arm. Sho’s dramatic flight comes to a quick halt. He looks at Jun’s hand on his sleeve before looking up, seeing the hurt in his face.
“We should have told you everything.”
“Should have. But didn’t.” He tries to move again, but Jun holds onto him firmly.
“It’s my fault. We had an ad online about the room. He came by, and it was just the two of us then, me and Nino, and we’d lose the house if we didn’t…” Jun takes a deep breath. “Nino wasn’t home, and I said it was fine, and I didn’t ask any questions. I guess you’re right, after all. All I can see is money…”
He feels his anger lessening. “I didn’t…I shouldn’t have said that about you…”
Jun finally lets him go, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m not proud of it, you know.”
“Then why do it? Why keep doing it?”
Jun still looks like he’ll cry any second. “Because it’s easy. I was never a person who took the easy way out. I put in my hours and then some. I wanted to make the company better. And when we were on the chopping block, none of that mattered. Not my time, not the love I had for the company or the products. None of it. And I told myself it would be a one-time thing. Or that this would be the last time. Or this time would be it, I’m done, I’ll do better. I’m not the person I want to be right now, Sho-san, and I’m sorry.”
His desire to leave keeps slipping away. Jun and Nino are in so deep they can’t find a way out. And if Sho leaves them, what will happen? With Keito-san, with everything?
“We could go to the police. About Keito-san.” He hesitates before resting his hand on Jun’s shoulder. “All three of us, together.”
“He left blood behind in the sink once,” Jun says shakily. “And I just knew it wasn’t his. I clean in there all the time, but I can’t forget it.”
“Then we’ll make sure he goes away. If not the police, then we’ll ask him to move out.”
Jun smiles, a sad smile that just about cracks Sho’s heart in half, and he knows that the person he met in the bar that night was just an act. Sho knows that leaving him, leaving Jun, is kind of impossible now. “You don’t think Nino and I haven’t had this conversation a thousand times already? What’s to stop him from coming after us?”
“So you’re fine with him living under your roof, knowing he’s out there doing horrible things? That he’s probably hurting people, or worse?”
“I’m not fine with it,” Jun says. “I’ve never been fine with it.”
“Well?”
Jun starts to walk back toward the house, none of the usual confidence in his stride. “A little more time. I need more time.”
When they return, Nino’s sitting just inside, and he looks relieved when the both of them return together. He scrambles to his feet. “He’s gone. It’s okay.”
“When?” Sho asks. “What happened?”
“He took a shower, and he went back out. That’s it.” Nino gestures to the table. “He left his rent early, said he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.”
“We have to do something about this,” Sho says. “Soon.”
Jun and Nino exchange a look, seeming to have an entire conversation without uttering a word. Finally Nino turns to Sho and nods. “Soon then.”
-
To both Sho and Nino’s surprise, Jun doesn’t go out for an entire week, save for visits to the grocery store or to a job center. He even asks to borrow Sho’s computer so he can submit applications online. Perhaps the thought of Sho going away, leaving him and Nino to deal with Keito-san alone, has given him the motivation to give up the darker part of his life. The items he comes back from the store with are sale items, cheaper brands. He makes meals that’ll feed him for days.
They’re almost good friends, sitting in the living room each night, watching TV together. Nino pushes the lid down on Sho’s laptop, demands that he takes a break. One night they even order a pizza to split, and the fourth bedroom almost seems like it doesn’t exist.
Jun’s flipping channels, nibbling on his pizza crust, when Nino interrupts the pleasantries with a noisy “Stop! Stop, stop! Go back. Go back, I said!”
Jun rolls his eyes, and Sho laughs. Lately Nino’s been obsessed with this commercial, some actress he’s into who’s blowing bubbles and jumping around in a sun dress. But it’s not the commercial Jun finds when he goes back to the previous channel.
It’s a news report, and they’ve just identified the body of a man pulled from the Arakawa River the other night. “…Shibasaki Keito-san, of Yashio, Saitama, age 41 was found with his throat cut and…”
When they put up the photograph, there’s the scar. The otherwise unremarkable face. He’s dead. Keito-san is dead. The news broadcast becomes background noise. They gave his address as Saitama, miles away from the house. They list him as unemployed. No family.
He’s dead.
Almost as one person the three of them rise from the living room furniture, moving together as the news switches to the next story, Keito-san’s murder just one item on the evening agenda. They walk past Jun’s door, past his bathroom, to the door at the end of the hall.
“We shouldn’t,” Sho says quietly. “We call the police, and then none of our fingerprints are in there.”
“He’s right,” Jun says. “You heard it. He was killed. They threw his body in the river…”
Nino shakes his head. “No. No, they don’t even know about us. They’ve got his name, they confirmed it was him. They’ve spent days on this already, so they don’t know he was coming here. They’d have had cops swarming this place otherwise.”
“You can’t know that for a certainty,” Sho replies. “Isn’t his name on the lease here?”
Jun and Nino exchange another one of those looks that drives Sho crazy.
“He’s not on the lease?” Sho chuckles bitterly. “What the hell, am I even on it?”
Nino ignores Sho’s warning and opens the door. Keito-san never locked it, something that surprises Sho a great deal. Perhaps he knew how much he intimidated them, assumed they’d never pry into his business. Well, he’s gone now.
Sho stays in the doorway, and Jun only steps a foot inside. But Nino’s quick, pulling down the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt and covering his hands. The room is just as empty as it had been that one day Nino had shown him, save for one very noticeable change.
Nino’s covered hands brush along the top of the silver case, the heavy looking case Keito-san had brought home with him that night. “Don’t…don’t touch it,” Jun says half-heartedly, but Nino’s already turning the case around on top of the bedspread, fumbling with the clasp through the fabric of his sweatshirt.
It opens with dual clicks, and Sho exhales. Nino looks up, meets their eyes for just a moment before lifting the lid.
“Holy shit.”
-
Thirty million yen in the silver case, all large bills. But that’s not all. They find small stacks of cash in the pillowcase, between the mattress and the box spring. Stacks of cash in the chest of drawers between Keito-san’s jeans and other slacks. Added together by all three of them over the past two hours, checked and double-checked, and they’ve got sixty-two million and change.
They’ve emptied the case, and the three of them are standing in the middle of the bedroom. They’re surrounded by money, more money than they’ve seen in their lives. They said very little once Nino found it, the three of them just dividing up the stacks of bills and counting, Jun pulling out his phone and using the calculator function to check and check and check.
The counting is done though, they’ve surely found it all. Jun sinks down to his knees, clutching his phone, laughing in a way that’s somewhere between charming and creepy. Nino says nothing at all. Sho’s brain has been numbers and cash for the better part of two hours and now reason, stupid reason, is coming back with a vengeance.
“We can’t keep it,” he says, simply because at least one of them has to say it out loud. They should have gone to the police, but now they’ve touched it, they’ve counted it, this dirty money. How many people were hurt? How many might have even died for the money they’re covering with their fingerprints?
But it’s sixty-two million yen, and Shibasaki Keito’s name was never on the lease. Nino’s days from losing his job, Sho hasn’t had any luck, and Jun’s only income for the better part of a year has come from…well.
“We can’t keep it,” Sho says again, with more strength behind it, waiting for one of them to agree.
“The bills aren’t in numerical order. And they’re not new,” Nino decides. “Probably not being traced then.”
Sho laughs. “Nino, come on.”
He shakes his head, tapping the case on the bed with his fingertips. “We get rid of the case. All the money goes in the attic, can’t put it in the bank unless we make small deposits. We keep track of what we spend. We clean this room out.”
“Nino!”
Jun gets up, moves to the case on the bed. He closes it and picks it up. “Okay.”
Sho can’t believe this, but then again, why is it so surprising? Nothing about the two men in the room with him should surprise him anymore. They let someone like Keito-san move in. Neither is all too eager to face reality, and then again, neither is Sho. He leapt at the chance to move in, to do anything that would keep him from having to confess his failure to his parents.
And now he’s gotten himself an equal share of Keito-san’s blood money. He just has to say okay, like Jun has.
“You’re sure that nobody could trace Keito-san back here? How do you know he never told anyone?”
“I’ve got about sixty-two million reasons why,” Nino replies. “Whether he stole this or it’s his personal stash, he kept it here for a reason. Why would he tell anyone?”
Jun’s looking at him with such expectation, such hope in his big brown eyes that Sho understands immediately why people can fall for him so easily. For a night or, in Sho’s case, for good. But isn’t it all too easy? Too convenient? Keito-san’s dead, and he just happened to leave his cash behind here? The answer to all their money problems, a way to survive without having to work. Or to sell themselves in Jun’s case. Something to get them through until the world wants the three of them for proper jobs.
“Sho-chan, we’ll go to the police if you want,” Nino says calmly, so calm it’s unnerving. The stacks of bills have brought back his cold side, his calculating side. “We’ll tell the police that Keito-san’s been living here for months. That we knew he was involved in something shady and said nothing.”
“I wanted to go to the police,” Sho protests.
“Well, you didn’t go. You could have,” Nino shoots back. “But as far as I see it, you’re an accessory, the same as me and Jun-kun, right?”
Sho’s eyes widen. Jun’s looking at Nino with disgust. “Nino, don’t…don’t do this to him.”
“Or what? A third of this belongs to him.” He picks up a loose stack of money, flings it at Sho. It flutters through the air, landing in a messy pile at his feet. “Why won’t you just take it? It’s not like we’re going to blow through it in a week, travel the world and bathe in champagne. Or well, if that’s what you’d like to do, then do it. You’ve been in here counting this the same as we have. You’ve been doing the math, how many months’ rent it is, the cost of a new suit for an interview. A better car. Eating something besides ramen. Don’t lie to me.”
“Where are we keeping it?” he asks, giving in. Because every time he’s convinced himself that he’s going to walk away, something keeps dragging him right back.
There’s a cord that hangs down from the ceiling right by Sho’s bedroom door. It’s been here the whole time, and he’s never really thought about it. Nino gives it a tug and down comes a staircase. The three of them count the money again, dividing it in three parts and shoving it in duffel bags, in trash bags. They each take a cardinal direction. Nino’s money goes to the north, Jun’s south. Sho puts his east, covers it with a blanket from the trunk of his car. He’s the last to leave the attic, and when he climbs down, Nino’s waiting.
“I know there’s a lot you don’t like about this,” Nino says.
“But.”
Nino grins. “But I knew you’d make the right choice.” He slips a 10,000 yen bill out of his pocket, something he’s already taken from his stash. He wiggles it in Sho’s face. “We’ll go for beers tomorrow night, and I’ll even pay for them.”
Sho watches him walk away, shoving the money back in his pocket. He lifts up the attic stairs, feeling them snap back into place. They’re incredibly noisy, with hinges that probably need oiling. If one of them goes upstairs, there’s no mistaking it.
So long as the other two are in the house to hear it.
-
The beers are postponed because they have to erase Keito-san’s presence from the house first. The silver case is well-made, heavy, and probably the most “Keito-san” thing they have. If anyone around town, any cameras, captured him with that case, it means that it has to be as far away from the house as they can get it.
Nino takes charge of cleaning the room, vacuuming and scrubbing, washing every surface. Jun’s got Keito-san’s clothes, and he washes them all, hangs them to dry. And once they’re dry, Sho’s up. He’s the one with the car. The three of them divide Keito-san’s clothes up into multiple bags, and they go into Sho’s trunk along with the silver case. They didn’t manage to find anything with blood stains, so Keito-san must have saved them the trouble and disposed of his crimes on his own. Even though he doesn’t have to come, Jun sits in the passenger seat as Sho drives them out of town.
It’s about 2:00 PM when they stop the first time, getting off the highway and pulling into a strip mall. Sho leaves the engine running as he pops the trunk, grabs one bag of clothes. There’s a charity collection bin at the end of the line of shops, and he sends the bag into the chute. When he gets back into the car, he’s shaking.
Jun puts his hand on his leg, squeezes. “You did fine.”
They’ve looked these places up, where the bins are, and tried to find the ones that are most isolated. Not an easy thing to do when they live in Tokyo. They looked for places where there might not be many cameras, where they won’t even pick up the bags for weeks. They’re washed too, Keito-san’s scent washed away, and among the t-shirts and jeans and socks, there’s nothing that seems to be all that unique. No t-shirts for a favorite sports team, for a local business.
But Sho’s still scared out of his mind. You’d think they were the ones who killed Keito-san.
Jun programs the next address they’ve got into his phone. They’ve still got four stops to make - three more clothes bags and then the silver case. The bins are all about forty to fifty miles apart from each other, and it’s only by the third bin that he realizes that they have two choices: get back to Tokyo in the middle of the night or just get a room and head back in the morning.
Sho waits until they dump the last bag of clothes before bringing this up. “Well,” Jun says, programming in the final address. “We can afford it. I’d rather not risk either of us falling asleep behind the wheel.”
“Do you think Nino will be mad?”
Jun shrugs. “I don’t really care.”
It’s after dark when they get to the lake. Jun carries the case inside a shopping bag, and Sho has the flashlight. There’s nobody out here but the crickets, and they slowly walk from the empty parking lot through the trees and down to the shore. During the summer, it’s a popular place for picnics and renting rowboats. The boat rental shop is closed for the season, and the dock that stretches out over the water will give them access to the deepest water they can get to without stealing a boat and rowing to the middle of the lake themselves. They’re lucky the lake hasn’t frozen over.
They set down the shopping bag and open the silver case by the dock. Sho stays with it, heart racing, as Jun disappears. He returns with rocks and pebbles and sand from the shoreline, gathered up in a small bucket they bought at a 100 Yen Shop that morning. Back and forth Jun goes, and Sho wonders if they should have just filled the case down at the shore. But once the thing’s full and Sho gets it closed, it’s going to take the both of them to move it.
In the dark and with the flashlight precariously held in his mouth, he and Jun walk along the dock, cold black water all around them as they inch past the rental shop and toward the edge. They set it down for only a moment before Sho pushes it with his shoe. They hear only a gentle splash and then it’s gone, off to settle at the bottom.
He and Jun stand there a few moments longer, and he feels Jun’s fingers lace together with his. They’re rough, a little gritty from digging around on the shore for rocks and sand to weigh down the case. Sho doesn’t mind. He’s actually glad Jun’s come with him. The plan had been for Sho to go alone. Nino thought the pair of them would look more suspicious if they were caught on camera.
“I’m sorry, Sho-san. For everything.”
Sho squeezes Jun’s hand. “We could move. The longer we stay in that house…”
“We could,” Jun mumbles.
“Start over.” He knows he’s blushing and is grateful that it’s dark. “Nino, too, obviously.”
“Right.”
He lets Jun’s hand go. “We should get out of here.”
-
Sho rents the room and pays cash. Two double beds and the cheapest room they have available is next to the ice machine. He considers something nicer for only a moment, paranoid about the police tracing the money. He considers a room with a single king bed for a little longer than a moment. But he’s not so very brave.
They’ve only got the clothes on their backs, the shopping bag, and the sandy bucket. Jun puts the bag and bucket in the dumpster around the other side of the hotel and returns. Sho’s sitting up in the bed closer to the door, watching a nature documentary, when Jun locks the door, slides the chain. He draws the curtains and unlaces his shoes.
“You mind if I shower first?” Jun asks, and Sho’s mouth goes dry. Jun looks down in embarrassment. “Sho-san…”
“Right. Go ahead.” It’s easier back at the house. Nino’s back at the house. Jun taking a shower means nothing more than getting clean. It’s not a preamble to something more, and Sho knows that. “I texted Nino, told him where we are.”
“Good,” Jun says, and the bathroom door closes.
Sho shuts his eyes, trying to keep from losing it. Jun just on the other side of the wall, naked, water streaming through his hair, down his back. How many hotels has Jun been in, hotels like this that are amenity-free and with thin walls? Where they’ll take your cash and look the other way when a man comes in and they can see another one sitting in the car just outside, waiting.
Jun’s in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, plain and blue and not as flashy as Sho anticipated, when he emerges. “Water pressure sucks,” Jun complains, rubbing his head with a towel. He sits down on the other bed, and it creaks noisily in a way Sho’s doesn’t. “I hate sleeping in beds that aren’t mine.”
Sho bites back a comment, a crude comment he doesn’t have to really say. “There’s nothing on TV,” he says instead.
Jun mutters another complaint, lying back and covering his face with the towel. Sho takes the quickest shower of his life, if only because he desperately wants to jerk off and doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop once he starts. It’s easier in his room at night, imagining Jun going out smelling like expensive everything but coming back and telling Sho he’s the only one who counts. Now that Sho knows about him, about Jun’s secret life, he only wants him more.
He wants that mouth, taking and taking because Jun gives and gives for pay. He wants to be the reason Jun stops and stops for good. He has to wait to come back out until he calms down, brushing his teeth with his finger and cleaning his ears, anything mundane to keep him from walking across that worn-down carpet and letting Jun see just how pathetic and desperate he is and has been from the moment they met, despite everything.
Jun’s in the same position he left him in, feet planted on the floor and flopped back against the bed, towel on his face. Sho allows himself only a few breaths to look where Jun’s t-shirt stops and his boxers begin, to look at his pale, lean thighs, knees, calves.
Sho makes it to the bed, pulling the blankets down and yanking them out from where they’ve been tucked unnecessarily tight at the foot of the bed. And then he’s under, able to pile the blankets up and hide again. He turns onto his side, watching Jun.
“You awake?”
“Yep,” comes a muffled response from beneath the towel.
“Not going to fall asleep like that, are you? You’ll be terrible to deal with tomorrow.” Jun’s the opposite of a morning person, and Sho’s learned to mostly avoid him before 10:00 AM if he can help it.
“Bed sucks.”
“Sorry.”
“Swap with me, you sleep like a log no matter where you are.”
Sho grins. “Fuck no.”
He pulls the towel away from his face, turning to glare at Sho. “I bet you knew this bed was noisy. When I went to throw that shit in the dumpster, you tested them both.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” Jun says, his bed giving an extra disgruntled creak as he sits up, his damp hair a mess. He wore his contacts today, if only because Nino gave him a lecture about “obnoxiously large glasses” making one stand out in security camera footage. “Swap with me.”
“No, thank you.” He leans over to turn off the bedside lamp. But Jun’s quicker, off the bed with his hand wrapped around Sho’s wrist before he can flip the switch.
His touch is electric, his fingers tight around Sho’s wrist as he stares down at him so intently. “Swap with me,” he says, and his voice is different. Instead of his whining, it’s the voice Sho recognizes from the bar, when Jun thought he was being charming by adding five years to Sho’s life.
It’s a staring contest now, and Sho’s convinced that the complaints about the creaking bed were just an excuse. Maybe Jun’s as interested as he is. After all, there’s been a huge shift in their lives in the past 24 hours. Keito-san is dead. They’ve taken his money. The two of them have turned into undercover operatives, doing clothing donation dead drops in small towns. A lot of excitement, tensions are high. Also, they’re alone for the first time in a very long time.
How badly do you want me, Sho wants to ask. Do I pay now or later?
Saying something, though, will spoil it. So he just wrenches out of Jun’s grasp and flips the switch, and now all that’s left is the glow from the TV. Jun’s mostly in shadow, and Sho instinctively turns onto his back. Before he can push the covers off, Jun’s moving on top of him, a knee on either side of him. Sho lets out a soft moan at the sudden contact. Jun has to feel him, he has to know.
Jun leans forward, breathing in and out, taking Sho’s hands in his and pushing them back. Sho closes his eyes as his hands and Jun’s settle above his head, thumping awkwardly against the headboard. He feels cocooned, stuck under the blankets because Jun isn’t letting him move. It takes him a few moments to realize Jun isn’t trying to kiss his mouth to start. Instead he feels the warmth of Jun’s breath at the side of his face, beside his ear. Testing and experimenting.
He likes the weight of Jun atop him, squeezing his hands as he lets Jun’s mouth wander across his face, feeling helpless to do anything but enjoy it. It’s a bad kiss, their first one, because Sho’s a few steps ahead, opening his mouth and expecting Jun to go for tongue instantly. He doesn’t, offering a rather cruel chuckle before pressing soft, patronizing kisses all along Sho’s cheeks, his chin. But then he comes back, each of his kisses lengthier than the one that came before it.
It’s a strange feeling, being in a bed, both half-naked, and not skipping ahead. Sho’s used to such things, having never had anything long-term. Kissing is fine, kissing is great, but before too long things have to get to the point. Jun’s not that type, he learns, because he’s so painfully slow. Every time Sho tries to move, to arch up against Jun and get a reaction, to move things along, Jun just kisses him longer, kisses him harder, licking at the corner of his mouth, resisting Sho’s upward movements with surprising strength.
Jun’s finally moving a few minutes later, letting go of Sho’s hands. He moves, away from his dangerous place atop Sho and onto his side, one of his legs sliding up to lie across Sho. With Sho’s arm for a pillow, Jun traces his fingers along his jaw before sliding up into his hair, pulling him back for another kiss. Sho’s got one arm free now at least so he lets it down and it finds Jun’s leg.
He’s a little ticklish, grumbling a complaint against Sho’s mouth when Sho teases his fingers up his bare skin, up into his shorts. He’s so warm, and being trapped under the blanket is like a sauna. He’s probably sweating, but Jun’s still not too interested in more. Sho vaguely hears the TV station switching to a commercial break, some obnoxious jingle, and he slips his hand out from Jun’s boxers only to grab his ass through the fabric instead.
“Jun…”
“Ssh, quiet.”
Jun protests by tugging on strands of Sho’s hair, something that would probably hurt him, irk him, if he didn’t have him pressed so solidly along the length of his body, those dangerous lips of his pressed to his own. When Jun finally relents, it’s only so he can tug on Sho’s t-shirt instead, pushing it up. In that instant, he kind of wishes he’d gone to the gym more, but Jun seems satisfied enough with what he finds, tracing his fingers so slowly up Sho’s ribcage that he has a feeling he won’t last much longer. He’ll be a disappointment, that’s for sure.
Sho wants to do more, wants to contribute more, but Jun’s doing all the driving. Somehow he gets a hand under the blankets at some point, tracing figure-eights on Sho’s abdomen. “Fuck,” Sho begs him. “Please.”
And Jun’s laughter is a mesmerizing thing, his teeth catching on Sho’s earlobe just in time with his hand slipping further. “I haven’t even done anything yet,” comes his whispering, teasing voice. What a fucking liar.
It’s probably unattractive, kind of sad the way Sho’s whimpering now, any further noises of protest or pleasure or both lost against Jun’s mouth. His hand, his free hand, is just selfish enough to fumble under the covers to find Jun’s, help him along. “There, please. There.”
“Shut up, you’re noisy,” Jun chides him, but it’s with affection, and somewhere beneath it all, need. Jun needs him, wants him just as much. It’s so good, so good, and it’s just his hand, his fingers, steady and firm and eventually way too much.
“Wait,” Sho complains, trying to still Jun’s hand, trembling in increasing desperation. “Jun, wait.”
“I’ve wanted this. From the moment I saw you.” Jun’s given up on kissing him, seems perfectly content to just get Sho off. “I’ve wanted to know what I could do to you.”
It’s kind of embarrassing, how quickly he comes, how dirty he feels as it gets all on the cheap cotton sheets. He’s stuck in that perfect limbo, that place he’s not so keen to leave, and for the first time it’s Jun who’s taken him there. In a few moments Jun’s wrenching the blankets off him, the sheet that’s managed to bear the brunt of Sho’s frantic orgasm. Jun balls the sheet up and throws it into the corner of the room, and before Sho can adjust to the shock of the suddenly cooler air, Jun pulls the other blankets back.
He settles in on the other side of the bed, taking up considerably more than half, and even in Sho’s euphoric state, he can feel the smugness radiating off of Jun in waves. He wants to return the favor, but Jun’s already turned over, head on the pillow. He’s given up on the swap and has claimed the bed anyway. Sho’s a few inches from falling off the edge, only staying on by leaning closer to Jun.
Sho somehow manages to get the TV off, and he lies there in the dark listening as Jun’s breathing grows heavier. Maybe, he thinks in irritation, he should have just gotten that king bed.
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
They’re cutting back hours at the net cafe. Seems like the one Ninomiya works for is a chain, and it’s in trouble. A quick search online reveals that several locations have closed in the last year. Market’s over-saturated, it seems. So as the days continue, Ninomiya’s home more often.
It’s Sho in the living room with his laptop and Ninomiya in his bedroom with the door shut and his TV blaring. He’s caught a peek inside here and there when Ninomiya goes to the bathroom, heats something up in the kitchen. Cords and cords and cords for every game system known to man.
He looks in on Sho from time to time, seems fascinated by his job hunt. If Ninomiya was smarter, Sho thinks, he’d be looking for a new job too. Ninomiya offers criticism, sitting behind Sho and reading over his shoulder. Sometimes he’s munching on something, biting into an apple and telling Sho his application would be stronger with a different word choice here, a different verb there. Sho takes his advice half of the time. He’s gone on one interview so far in person and had two more calls, but still no takers and Sho’s starting to wonder if all his applications are shit. If he’s on a blacklist somewhere.
Matsumoto’s wounds have mostly healed, and to Sho’s surprise, Ninomiya was highly concerned about them. That first day after, he’d overheard a muttered conversation taking place in the kitchen, the usually cold and off-putting Ninomiya admonishing Matsumoto for “not hitting that asshole back” and for not going to the police. His voice almost begging, pleading with Matsumoto to tell him everything that happened. Everything else about Ninomiya seems polished, rehearsed. A witty remark ready to go any time Sho opens his mouth. But Sho wonders now if it’s mostly an act and that Ninomiya’s far gentler than he appears.
It’s mid-afternoon on a Thursday, and Ninomiya sits down beside Sho on the floor, leaning his head against his shoulder. Sho would be annoyed, but it’s not the first time Ninomiya’s done this and he’s learned that it’s not to be mean so much as Ninomiya just touches. Sho’s seen him fuss with Matsumoto before, picking a stray hair from his shoulder or nudging him for seemingly no reason. For someone who shuts himself away for hours at a time, he’s not shy about invading personal space.
“What’s this one?” Ninomiya asks, and Sho almost enjoys the body heat beside him. It’s not like anyone else has much interest in touching him. Sho shoves down the happy thought of Matsumoto coming within five feet of him. Since that night, he’s been avoiding Sho desperately.
“Customer service,” Sho replies, scratching his neck. “Over the phone. Call center.”
“Ugh,” Ninomiya remarks, irritated. “Don’t do it. I did that once.”
“If I can handle teenagers, I can handle this.”
“Is there really nothing else you’re good at?” Ninomiya asks, leaning away if only to grab Sho’s glass of water and help himself to a sip of it.
Sho gives him a dirty look. “Thanks for your support.”
“Sho-chan, I’m just messing with you.” How quickly he’s allowed himself to be familiar, though Sho’s not about to start calling him “Nino” in return, if only because he knows how much that would please him.
Ninomiya leaves him alone after that, but within a few hours he’s back in the living room, only halfway interested in the movie Sho’s watching. Matsumoto comes home for at least an hour, showering and changing before leaving again. As soon as the front door closes, Ninomiya sees nothing wrong with grabbing the remote and turning the TV off.
“Hey, I was watching that,” Sho protests.
Ninomiya stares at him, his rather small fingers worrying at a loose string at the bottom of his t-shirt. “Did Jun-kun tell you what happened that night? You brought him home, he told me that much.”
Why Ninomiya’s asking him and not Matsumoto, Sho doesn’t know. “I brought him home, but it’s not my business.”
Ninomiya’s smile is rather sad. “You don’t even know where he goes, do you?”
“Again,” Sho insists, “that’s not my business.”
And honestly, it’s not. Nor is it Ninomiya’s. But Sho has, of course, been curious about it. He’s fairly certain Jun doesn’t have a job, but his clothes are nice. He always smells like expensive cologne. Gambling, Sho’s figured. Explains why he can afford the nice things he has without having a regular job. Maybe he’s a compulsive, an addict. It would explain why he goes almost every night. And if he loses, if he can’t pay up, it makes sense that some underground gambling house would have their bodyguard beat him up.
“Oh Sho-chan, I’ve been trying to get him to stop,” Ninomiya admits. “I was actually glad you moved in, to tell you the truth. I thought maybe together you and I…well, that maybe it would be more persuasive coming from you.”
Does the guy want to stage a fucking intervention? “I barely know him. Or you. How on earth could I get him to stop…whatever it is that needs stopping?”
Ninomiya looks embarrassed. “Well, he never brings anyone home so I figured there was something about you he trusts.”
Now it’s Sho’s turn to feel nervous. “What about Keito-san? Why do you need me to get involved?”
“Keito-san doesn’t give a flying fuck about any of us. He’s an envelope of cash and not much more,” he says. “Look, I’m worried about Jun, and this was not the first time he’s gotten hurt. But I want it to be the last. You sit here all day and apply for jobs like a good little boy. Make him do the same. Hell, have him go be a telemarketer with you.”
“It wasn’t telemarketing,” Sho interjects needlessly, growing concerned about the expectations Ninomiya has for him. “Look, if Matsumoto-kun has a problem, he has to want to help himself.”
Ninomiya’s expression turns to confusion. “What?”
Sho sighs, grabbing the remote control back from him. “If he has an alcohol problem or a drug problem or a gambling problem or whatever…”
“Sho-chan, he’s…” His eyes go so wide, it’s comical. “Sho-chan, he picked you up at that bar, I thought…”
Sho feels that the room’s temperature has gone up several degrees in the last few minutes without him realizing it. “It wasn’t like that…”
Ninomiya’s fingers find his wrist. His hand is ice cold. “He has sex with people for money. Ever since he lost his job, he’s done this. You had no idea? You and he didn’t…”
Sho recoils from the man’s touch. “What? No!”
A gambling problem, Sho’s told himself. But why would a gambling addict care so much about what he looked like? It’s been there, staring him in the face for weeks. The cologne, the clothes. The bathroom overstuffed with creams and hair gel. That magnetic pull Sho’d felt from the second he laid eyes on him. And then the night he’d called Sho, desperate and alone. How he’d pulled away from Sho’s questions, had curled up in the car. How stupid could he be?
“Sometimes they don’t feel like paying,” Ninomiya says, like it’s so obvious a thing.
Where Sho expects to feel disgusted or furious or misled, he doesn’t. He’s jealous, if only for the first few moments. How many, Sho wonders. How many have there been? If Sho hadn’t been so drunk, hadn’t been so miserable that night they’d met, maybe he too…
But then it’s sadness that slips in, wraps around Sho’s heart and squeezes. Sometimes they don’t feel like paying. This was not the first time he’s gotten hurt.
“It wasn’t my place to know,” he says quietly. “He’d have told me if he wanted me to know. He’s an adult, isn’t he?”
Ninomiya frowns. “Well now you know. You can’t just sit around and watch him leave. You can’t just sit around without worrying now.” He gets up, almost shaking in anger. Is he angry at Matsumoto? At Sho for not immediately jumping in to interfere?
Sho doesn’t get the chance to ask, because Ninomiya’s retreated, disappearing back into his room. Back to the place where he can turn up the noise and drown out the sound of his friend going out every night and putting himself in potential danger.
Matsumoto returns earlier than usual that night, and Sho’s lying on the couch. He’s half-asleep, lost in a dozen or more scenarios, Matsumoto out and about and giving all of himself just to have the money coming in. The scenarios keep shifting though, from some invisible stranger to Sho himself. To Sho slipping bills from his wallet, putting them in Matsumoto’s mouth, watching his lips close on them before reaching to unzip his pants. The more Sho thinks about it, the more vivid they become. In his mind, Matsumoto is just Jun, more and more, if only because what Sho demands of him in these fantasies is far from polite.
Jun’s just about to put a blanket on him, to show him more concern when he’s asleep than when he’s awake, and Sho stops him.
“Wait.”
“What is it?” He smells like a bar, smoke clinging to his clothes.
Do you prostitute yourself for money? Did you only come up to me that night in hopes of me helping to keep you afloat? Will you keep doing this until someone puts you in the hospital? Or worse?
Would you make me pay?
“Nino’s worried about you,” he mumbles.
Because Sho’s so close to being asleep, Jun has no qualms about tracing his fingers along Sho’s brow, an almost tender gesture that Sho can barely handle. He wants to awaken fully, pull Jun down beside him, convince him to mend his risky ways in a manner Ninomiya can’t.
“Get some sleep,” Jun whispers before walking away.
-
All three of them are in the living room when Keito-san comes home a week later. This is technically Sho’s first sighting, but there’s not much to see. The door unlocks, and in an instant, Jun and Nino know who it is. Sho’s pulse races when he sees the way Jun’s entire body seems to lock up, freezing. His eyes stare straight ahead, looking at the TV screen but probably not seeing a thing.
He’s a tall man, in a black leather jacket, and he’s carrying a huge silver case that looks heavy. Nino takes charge, offering a “Welcome home” that sounds halfway sincere. Keito-san, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, has a plain face save for a nasty looking scar running from his left ear to his jaw. Sho looks away and takes nothing else in as the man, still in his jacket, moves quickly to his bedroom and shuts the door.
The TV’s making some sort of noise, but it’s not registering for Sho. As far as he knows, Keito-san doesn’t come home like this too often, not this early in the evening. Nino shakily takes the remote, changes the channel and turns up the volume. Jun still hasn’t moved.
“There was blood,” Nino comments. “On his pants.”
Sho crosses his arms. “I…I didn’t see.”
“You didn’t know to look.”
Jun suddenly bolts, not seeming to care that he’s in nothing more than a t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. He puts on his coat and the first pair of shoes he can grab in the genkan (Sho’s, not his own), and he’s out the door. Leaving the TV volume as it is, Sho moves until he’s right next to Nino on the couch.
“What the fuck are you not telling me?” Sho hisses.
Nino turns to him, and he’s not smiling. “He’s always paid his fair share…”
“What did he do to Jun?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Nino says. “Nothing I know about.”
“And he has blood on…”
The bedroom door opens, and Sho shuts up. Keito-san’s got on a different pair of pants now, jeans. He disappears into Jun’s bathroom, which Sho knows is technically a bathroom they share, and locks the door behind him. Sho looks back at Nino, who is already getting up from the couch. Before Sho can try and get more out of him, he’s gone to his room.
Sho didn’t see the blood on Keito-san’s pants, but from Jun’s reaction he has no reason to believe Nino would lie about such a thing. And the implication was that this was not the first time. The implication was that it wasn’t Keito-san’s blood either. That silly conversation he had with Aiba weeks ago comes back, and it’s not funny anymore. Aiba’s wife thought Keito-san was a serial killer. It amazes Sho what he’s managed to step into, living in this house. Where the person who prostitutes himself is not the most peculiar resident. Where a person comes home with blood on his clothes, and it’s okay because hey, at least he pays his rent on time.
He doesn’t want to be in this house a second longer. He doesn’t want to even know how many times this Keito-san has come and gone from the house, with that hideous scar and bloody clothes, with Sho asleep and vulnerable and completely oblivious. He grabs the pair of sneakers Jun didn’t manage to take and his own coat, fishing his keys out of the lame little bowl they keep in the genkan.
He stands in the carport for a few moments, wondering if he should drive to Aiba’s, ask to sleep on his sofa until he can find a way to get out of this place permanently. But no, he doesn’t want to burden him. Aiba’s kept Sho’s secrets for a long time already, and it’s not fair to drop this new mess in Aiba’s lap.
So he walks, past the other houses in their fairly quiet neighborhood. It’s funny how their house fits in with all the others, the families over there, the places shared by a mixture of people on the other side. Has anyone ever been curious about what happens in their house? About the people who live there? Has anyone ever gotten the pleasure of seeing Keito-san?
It’s only a few blocks before it shifts from residential quiet to street noise, lit up restaurants and izakayas and businesses along the main road. The train station is a beacon of light about half a mile away, and Sho thinks he could buy a ticket and see how far he could go before they stop for the evening. Grab a hotel room and sleep. But he doesn’t have the money to throw away on that. It’s not like he has a steady income from sucking cock like someone else he knows.
He crosses the street when he spies Jun in those pajama pants and his big glasses, standing at a magazine rack inside a convenience store. Sho walks in, is embraced with the all too clean smell of the store, the chatter of some teenagers arguing over some curry pan. Jun is pretending to be engrossed in a men’s magazine, but the page he’s looking at only has an ad on each page, not much to look at.
“Are you okay?” Sho asks, not wanting to hang back and spy on him.
Jun doesn’t flip the page, exhaling heavily. They’re playing some instrumental version of a Mister Children song in the store, and it’s strange without vocals. “I’ll be fine.”
Sho grabs the first magazine in front of him, something golf, and opens it, standing at Jun’s side. Out the store window, it’s blissfully normal. People coming home from work, others heading out for a bite to eat, for a drink. And only a few blocks away, Keito-san’s probably in the bathroom he shares with Jun and he’s washing blood from his hands.
“What does he do? Keito-san?”
Jun turns the page finally, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Yakuza. Probably.”
“Probably?”
Jun pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and it seems like he’s stepped closer to Sho. Not like Sho could do a damn thing to protect him if Keito-san came after them. “We don’t actually know. It’s not like we’ve asked him.”
The thought of them living with a man like that for all this time irritates Sho more than he can handle. “You let me move in. You’ll happily take my share of the rent, and you didn’t think it was my business to know something like that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Sho asks coldly, setting the magazine back because he can’t keep feigning interest in drivers and putters. “Or is every person you encounter just money to you? Hey, it doesn’t matter what Sakurai does, he’ll pay his share. It doesn’t matter if Keito-san’s a fucking criminal because he’ll pay his share. Is that what it’s like when you go out at night? You’ll do whatever so long as you get your money?”
Jun roughly puts the magazine back, and Sho’s astonished to see the hurt in his eyes. Where he should be angry, should be something, anything else, he’s almost in tears. “Sho-san…”
“I told you everything. And you’ve told me nothing.”
He turns and walks out of the store, and he’s going back to the house. He’s going to pack his things until his piece of shit car is almost bursting, and he’s going to his parents. He’s only been delaying the inevitable, all this time. “Mom, Dad, I’ve failed. I’ll do whatever you ask,” he’ll say, and at least he’ll know what he’s getting. At least living at home comes without surprises, without secrets. Maybe his dad can even get him a job in the civil service. Sho’s never wanted to benefit from the man’s connections, but striking out on his own has led him nowhere.
“Wait,” he hears when he’s just crossed the street. “Sho-san, wait.”
He keeps walking, away from the street lights and back to the quiet rows of houses. Let Keito-san be curious as Sho goes in and out with his boxes. What does it matter? He’ll never see Sho again.
“Stop.”
They’re maybe a block away and Jun’s got him by the arm. Sho’s dramatic flight comes to a quick halt. He looks at Jun’s hand on his sleeve before looking up, seeing the hurt in his face.
“We should have told you everything.”
“Should have. But didn’t.” He tries to move again, but Jun holds onto him firmly.
“It’s my fault. We had an ad online about the room. He came by, and it was just the two of us then, me and Nino, and we’d lose the house if we didn’t…” Jun takes a deep breath. “Nino wasn’t home, and I said it was fine, and I didn’t ask any questions. I guess you’re right, after all. All I can see is money…”
He feels his anger lessening. “I didn’t…I shouldn’t have said that about you…”
Jun finally lets him go, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m not proud of it, you know.”
“Then why do it? Why keep doing it?”
Jun still looks like he’ll cry any second. “Because it’s easy. I was never a person who took the easy way out. I put in my hours and then some. I wanted to make the company better. And when we were on the chopping block, none of that mattered. Not my time, not the love I had for the company or the products. None of it. And I told myself it would be a one-time thing. Or that this would be the last time. Or this time would be it, I’m done, I’ll do better. I’m not the person I want to be right now, Sho-san, and I’m sorry.”
His desire to leave keeps slipping away. Jun and Nino are in so deep they can’t find a way out. And if Sho leaves them, what will happen? With Keito-san, with everything?
“We could go to the police. About Keito-san.” He hesitates before resting his hand on Jun’s shoulder. “All three of us, together.”
“He left blood behind in the sink once,” Jun says shakily. “And I just knew it wasn’t his. I clean in there all the time, but I can’t forget it.”
“Then we’ll make sure he goes away. If not the police, then we’ll ask him to move out.”
Jun smiles, a sad smile that just about cracks Sho’s heart in half, and he knows that the person he met in the bar that night was just an act. Sho knows that leaving him, leaving Jun, is kind of impossible now. “You don’t think Nino and I haven’t had this conversation a thousand times already? What’s to stop him from coming after us?”
“So you’re fine with him living under your roof, knowing he’s out there doing horrible things? That he’s probably hurting people, or worse?”
“I’m not fine with it,” Jun says. “I’ve never been fine with it.”
“Well?”
Jun starts to walk back toward the house, none of the usual confidence in his stride. “A little more time. I need more time.”
When they return, Nino’s sitting just inside, and he looks relieved when the both of them return together. He scrambles to his feet. “He’s gone. It’s okay.”
“When?” Sho asks. “What happened?”
“He took a shower, and he went back out. That’s it.” Nino gestures to the table. “He left his rent early, said he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.”
“We have to do something about this,” Sho says. “Soon.”
Jun and Nino exchange a look, seeming to have an entire conversation without uttering a word. Finally Nino turns to Sho and nods. “Soon then.”
-
To both Sho and Nino’s surprise, Jun doesn’t go out for an entire week, save for visits to the grocery store or to a job center. He even asks to borrow Sho’s computer so he can submit applications online. Perhaps the thought of Sho going away, leaving him and Nino to deal with Keito-san alone, has given him the motivation to give up the darker part of his life. The items he comes back from the store with are sale items, cheaper brands. He makes meals that’ll feed him for days.
They’re almost good friends, sitting in the living room each night, watching TV together. Nino pushes the lid down on Sho’s laptop, demands that he takes a break. One night they even order a pizza to split, and the fourth bedroom almost seems like it doesn’t exist.
Jun’s flipping channels, nibbling on his pizza crust, when Nino interrupts the pleasantries with a noisy “Stop! Stop, stop! Go back. Go back, I said!”
Jun rolls his eyes, and Sho laughs. Lately Nino’s been obsessed with this commercial, some actress he’s into who’s blowing bubbles and jumping around in a sun dress. But it’s not the commercial Jun finds when he goes back to the previous channel.
It’s a news report, and they’ve just identified the body of a man pulled from the Arakawa River the other night. “…Shibasaki Keito-san, of Yashio, Saitama, age 41 was found with his throat cut and…”
When they put up the photograph, there’s the scar. The otherwise unremarkable face. He’s dead. Keito-san is dead. The news broadcast becomes background noise. They gave his address as Saitama, miles away from the house. They list him as unemployed. No family.
He’s dead.
Almost as one person the three of them rise from the living room furniture, moving together as the news switches to the next story, Keito-san’s murder just one item on the evening agenda. They walk past Jun’s door, past his bathroom, to the door at the end of the hall.
“We shouldn’t,” Sho says quietly. “We call the police, and then none of our fingerprints are in there.”
“He’s right,” Jun says. “You heard it. He was killed. They threw his body in the river…”
Nino shakes his head. “No. No, they don’t even know about us. They’ve got his name, they confirmed it was him. They’ve spent days on this already, so they don’t know he was coming here. They’d have had cops swarming this place otherwise.”
“You can’t know that for a certainty,” Sho replies. “Isn’t his name on the lease here?”
Jun and Nino exchange another one of those looks that drives Sho crazy.
“He’s not on the lease?” Sho chuckles bitterly. “What the hell, am I even on it?”
Nino ignores Sho’s warning and opens the door. Keito-san never locked it, something that surprises Sho a great deal. Perhaps he knew how much he intimidated them, assumed they’d never pry into his business. Well, he’s gone now.
Sho stays in the doorway, and Jun only steps a foot inside. But Nino’s quick, pulling down the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt and covering his hands. The room is just as empty as it had been that one day Nino had shown him, save for one very noticeable change.
Nino’s covered hands brush along the top of the silver case, the heavy looking case Keito-san had brought home with him that night. “Don’t…don’t touch it,” Jun says half-heartedly, but Nino’s already turning the case around on top of the bedspread, fumbling with the clasp through the fabric of his sweatshirt.
It opens with dual clicks, and Sho exhales. Nino looks up, meets their eyes for just a moment before lifting the lid.
“Holy shit.”
-
Thirty million yen in the silver case, all large bills. But that’s not all. They find small stacks of cash in the pillowcase, between the mattress and the box spring. Stacks of cash in the chest of drawers between Keito-san’s jeans and other slacks. Added together by all three of them over the past two hours, checked and double-checked, and they’ve got sixty-two million and change.
They’ve emptied the case, and the three of them are standing in the middle of the bedroom. They’re surrounded by money, more money than they’ve seen in their lives. They said very little once Nino found it, the three of them just dividing up the stacks of bills and counting, Jun pulling out his phone and using the calculator function to check and check and check.
The counting is done though, they’ve surely found it all. Jun sinks down to his knees, clutching his phone, laughing in a way that’s somewhere between charming and creepy. Nino says nothing at all. Sho’s brain has been numbers and cash for the better part of two hours and now reason, stupid reason, is coming back with a vengeance.
“We can’t keep it,” he says, simply because at least one of them has to say it out loud. They should have gone to the police, but now they’ve touched it, they’ve counted it, this dirty money. How many people were hurt? How many might have even died for the money they’re covering with their fingerprints?
But it’s sixty-two million yen, and Shibasaki Keito’s name was never on the lease. Nino’s days from losing his job, Sho hasn’t had any luck, and Jun’s only income for the better part of a year has come from…well.
“We can’t keep it,” Sho says again, with more strength behind it, waiting for one of them to agree.
“The bills aren’t in numerical order. And they’re not new,” Nino decides. “Probably not being traced then.”
Sho laughs. “Nino, come on.”
He shakes his head, tapping the case on the bed with his fingertips. “We get rid of the case. All the money goes in the attic, can’t put it in the bank unless we make small deposits. We keep track of what we spend. We clean this room out.”
“Nino!”
Jun gets up, moves to the case on the bed. He closes it and picks it up. “Okay.”
Sho can’t believe this, but then again, why is it so surprising? Nothing about the two men in the room with him should surprise him anymore. They let someone like Keito-san move in. Neither is all too eager to face reality, and then again, neither is Sho. He leapt at the chance to move in, to do anything that would keep him from having to confess his failure to his parents.
And now he’s gotten himself an equal share of Keito-san’s blood money. He just has to say okay, like Jun has.
“You’re sure that nobody could trace Keito-san back here? How do you know he never told anyone?”
“I’ve got about sixty-two million reasons why,” Nino replies. “Whether he stole this or it’s his personal stash, he kept it here for a reason. Why would he tell anyone?”
Jun’s looking at him with such expectation, such hope in his big brown eyes that Sho understands immediately why people can fall for him so easily. For a night or, in Sho’s case, for good. But isn’t it all too easy? Too convenient? Keito-san’s dead, and he just happened to leave his cash behind here? The answer to all their money problems, a way to survive without having to work. Or to sell themselves in Jun’s case. Something to get them through until the world wants the three of them for proper jobs.
“Sho-chan, we’ll go to the police if you want,” Nino says calmly, so calm it’s unnerving. The stacks of bills have brought back his cold side, his calculating side. “We’ll tell the police that Keito-san’s been living here for months. That we knew he was involved in something shady and said nothing.”
“I wanted to go to the police,” Sho protests.
“Well, you didn’t go. You could have,” Nino shoots back. “But as far as I see it, you’re an accessory, the same as me and Jun-kun, right?”
Sho’s eyes widen. Jun’s looking at Nino with disgust. “Nino, don’t…don’t do this to him.”
“Or what? A third of this belongs to him.” He picks up a loose stack of money, flings it at Sho. It flutters through the air, landing in a messy pile at his feet. “Why won’t you just take it? It’s not like we’re going to blow through it in a week, travel the world and bathe in champagne. Or well, if that’s what you’d like to do, then do it. You’ve been in here counting this the same as we have. You’ve been doing the math, how many months’ rent it is, the cost of a new suit for an interview. A better car. Eating something besides ramen. Don’t lie to me.”
“Where are we keeping it?” he asks, giving in. Because every time he’s convinced himself that he’s going to walk away, something keeps dragging him right back.
There’s a cord that hangs down from the ceiling right by Sho’s bedroom door. It’s been here the whole time, and he’s never really thought about it. Nino gives it a tug and down comes a staircase. The three of them count the money again, dividing it in three parts and shoving it in duffel bags, in trash bags. They each take a cardinal direction. Nino’s money goes to the north, Jun’s south. Sho puts his east, covers it with a blanket from the trunk of his car. He’s the last to leave the attic, and when he climbs down, Nino’s waiting.
“I know there’s a lot you don’t like about this,” Nino says.
“But.”
Nino grins. “But I knew you’d make the right choice.” He slips a 10,000 yen bill out of his pocket, something he’s already taken from his stash. He wiggles it in Sho’s face. “We’ll go for beers tomorrow night, and I’ll even pay for them.”
Sho watches him walk away, shoving the money back in his pocket. He lifts up the attic stairs, feeling them snap back into place. They’re incredibly noisy, with hinges that probably need oiling. If one of them goes upstairs, there’s no mistaking it.
So long as the other two are in the house to hear it.
-
The beers are postponed because they have to erase Keito-san’s presence from the house first. The silver case is well-made, heavy, and probably the most “Keito-san” thing they have. If anyone around town, any cameras, captured him with that case, it means that it has to be as far away from the house as they can get it.
Nino takes charge of cleaning the room, vacuuming and scrubbing, washing every surface. Jun’s got Keito-san’s clothes, and he washes them all, hangs them to dry. And once they’re dry, Sho’s up. He’s the one with the car. The three of them divide Keito-san’s clothes up into multiple bags, and they go into Sho’s trunk along with the silver case. They didn’t manage to find anything with blood stains, so Keito-san must have saved them the trouble and disposed of his crimes on his own. Even though he doesn’t have to come, Jun sits in the passenger seat as Sho drives them out of town.
It’s about 2:00 PM when they stop the first time, getting off the highway and pulling into a strip mall. Sho leaves the engine running as he pops the trunk, grabs one bag of clothes. There’s a charity collection bin at the end of the line of shops, and he sends the bag into the chute. When he gets back into the car, he’s shaking.
Jun puts his hand on his leg, squeezes. “You did fine.”
They’ve looked these places up, where the bins are, and tried to find the ones that are most isolated. Not an easy thing to do when they live in Tokyo. They looked for places where there might not be many cameras, where they won’t even pick up the bags for weeks. They’re washed too, Keito-san’s scent washed away, and among the t-shirts and jeans and socks, there’s nothing that seems to be all that unique. No t-shirts for a favorite sports team, for a local business.
But Sho’s still scared out of his mind. You’d think they were the ones who killed Keito-san.
Jun programs the next address they’ve got into his phone. They’ve still got four stops to make - three more clothes bags and then the silver case. The bins are all about forty to fifty miles apart from each other, and it’s only by the third bin that he realizes that they have two choices: get back to Tokyo in the middle of the night or just get a room and head back in the morning.
Sho waits until they dump the last bag of clothes before bringing this up. “Well,” Jun says, programming in the final address. “We can afford it. I’d rather not risk either of us falling asleep behind the wheel.”
“Do you think Nino will be mad?”
Jun shrugs. “I don’t really care.”
It’s after dark when they get to the lake. Jun carries the case inside a shopping bag, and Sho has the flashlight. There’s nobody out here but the crickets, and they slowly walk from the empty parking lot through the trees and down to the shore. During the summer, it’s a popular place for picnics and renting rowboats. The boat rental shop is closed for the season, and the dock that stretches out over the water will give them access to the deepest water they can get to without stealing a boat and rowing to the middle of the lake themselves. They’re lucky the lake hasn’t frozen over.
They set down the shopping bag and open the silver case by the dock. Sho stays with it, heart racing, as Jun disappears. He returns with rocks and pebbles and sand from the shoreline, gathered up in a small bucket they bought at a 100 Yen Shop that morning. Back and forth Jun goes, and Sho wonders if they should have just filled the case down at the shore. But once the thing’s full and Sho gets it closed, it’s going to take the both of them to move it.
In the dark and with the flashlight precariously held in his mouth, he and Jun walk along the dock, cold black water all around them as they inch past the rental shop and toward the edge. They set it down for only a moment before Sho pushes it with his shoe. They hear only a gentle splash and then it’s gone, off to settle at the bottom.
He and Jun stand there a few moments longer, and he feels Jun’s fingers lace together with his. They’re rough, a little gritty from digging around on the shore for rocks and sand to weigh down the case. Sho doesn’t mind. He’s actually glad Jun’s come with him. The plan had been for Sho to go alone. Nino thought the pair of them would look more suspicious if they were caught on camera.
“I’m sorry, Sho-san. For everything.”
Sho squeezes Jun’s hand. “We could move. The longer we stay in that house…”
“We could,” Jun mumbles.
“Start over.” He knows he’s blushing and is grateful that it’s dark. “Nino, too, obviously.”
“Right.”
He lets Jun’s hand go. “We should get out of here.”
-
Sho rents the room and pays cash. Two double beds and the cheapest room they have available is next to the ice machine. He considers something nicer for only a moment, paranoid about the police tracing the money. He considers a room with a single king bed for a little longer than a moment. But he’s not so very brave.
They’ve only got the clothes on their backs, the shopping bag, and the sandy bucket. Jun puts the bag and bucket in the dumpster around the other side of the hotel and returns. Sho’s sitting up in the bed closer to the door, watching a nature documentary, when Jun locks the door, slides the chain. He draws the curtains and unlaces his shoes.
“You mind if I shower first?” Jun asks, and Sho’s mouth goes dry. Jun looks down in embarrassment. “Sho-san…”
“Right. Go ahead.” It’s easier back at the house. Nino’s back at the house. Jun taking a shower means nothing more than getting clean. It’s not a preamble to something more, and Sho knows that. “I texted Nino, told him where we are.”
“Good,” Jun says, and the bathroom door closes.
Sho shuts his eyes, trying to keep from losing it. Jun just on the other side of the wall, naked, water streaming through his hair, down his back. How many hotels has Jun been in, hotels like this that are amenity-free and with thin walls? Where they’ll take your cash and look the other way when a man comes in and they can see another one sitting in the car just outside, waiting.
Jun’s in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, plain and blue and not as flashy as Sho anticipated, when he emerges. “Water pressure sucks,” Jun complains, rubbing his head with a towel. He sits down on the other bed, and it creaks noisily in a way Sho’s doesn’t. “I hate sleeping in beds that aren’t mine.”
Sho bites back a comment, a crude comment he doesn’t have to really say. “There’s nothing on TV,” he says instead.
Jun mutters another complaint, lying back and covering his face with the towel. Sho takes the quickest shower of his life, if only because he desperately wants to jerk off and doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop once he starts. It’s easier in his room at night, imagining Jun going out smelling like expensive everything but coming back and telling Sho he’s the only one who counts. Now that Sho knows about him, about Jun’s secret life, he only wants him more.
He wants that mouth, taking and taking because Jun gives and gives for pay. He wants to be the reason Jun stops and stops for good. He has to wait to come back out until he calms down, brushing his teeth with his finger and cleaning his ears, anything mundane to keep him from walking across that worn-down carpet and letting Jun see just how pathetic and desperate he is and has been from the moment they met, despite everything.
Jun’s in the same position he left him in, feet planted on the floor and flopped back against the bed, towel on his face. Sho allows himself only a few breaths to look where Jun’s t-shirt stops and his boxers begin, to look at his pale, lean thighs, knees, calves.
Sho makes it to the bed, pulling the blankets down and yanking them out from where they’ve been tucked unnecessarily tight at the foot of the bed. And then he’s under, able to pile the blankets up and hide again. He turns onto his side, watching Jun.
“You awake?”
“Yep,” comes a muffled response from beneath the towel.
“Not going to fall asleep like that, are you? You’ll be terrible to deal with tomorrow.” Jun’s the opposite of a morning person, and Sho’s learned to mostly avoid him before 10:00 AM if he can help it.
“Bed sucks.”
“Sorry.”
“Swap with me, you sleep like a log no matter where you are.”
Sho grins. “Fuck no.”
He pulls the towel away from his face, turning to glare at Sho. “I bet you knew this bed was noisy. When I went to throw that shit in the dumpster, you tested them both.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” Jun says, his bed giving an extra disgruntled creak as he sits up, his damp hair a mess. He wore his contacts today, if only because Nino gave him a lecture about “obnoxiously large glasses” making one stand out in security camera footage. “Swap with me.”
“No, thank you.” He leans over to turn off the bedside lamp. But Jun’s quicker, off the bed with his hand wrapped around Sho’s wrist before he can flip the switch.
His touch is electric, his fingers tight around Sho’s wrist as he stares down at him so intently. “Swap with me,” he says, and his voice is different. Instead of his whining, it’s the voice Sho recognizes from the bar, when Jun thought he was being charming by adding five years to Sho’s life.
It’s a staring contest now, and Sho’s convinced that the complaints about the creaking bed were just an excuse. Maybe Jun’s as interested as he is. After all, there’s been a huge shift in their lives in the past 24 hours. Keito-san is dead. They’ve taken his money. The two of them have turned into undercover operatives, doing clothing donation dead drops in small towns. A lot of excitement, tensions are high. Also, they’re alone for the first time in a very long time.
How badly do you want me, Sho wants to ask. Do I pay now or later?
Saying something, though, will spoil it. So he just wrenches out of Jun’s grasp and flips the switch, and now all that’s left is the glow from the TV. Jun’s mostly in shadow, and Sho instinctively turns onto his back. Before he can push the covers off, Jun’s moving on top of him, a knee on either side of him. Sho lets out a soft moan at the sudden contact. Jun has to feel him, he has to know.
Jun leans forward, breathing in and out, taking Sho’s hands in his and pushing them back. Sho closes his eyes as his hands and Jun’s settle above his head, thumping awkwardly against the headboard. He feels cocooned, stuck under the blankets because Jun isn’t letting him move. It takes him a few moments to realize Jun isn’t trying to kiss his mouth to start. Instead he feels the warmth of Jun’s breath at the side of his face, beside his ear. Testing and experimenting.
He likes the weight of Jun atop him, squeezing his hands as he lets Jun’s mouth wander across his face, feeling helpless to do anything but enjoy it. It’s a bad kiss, their first one, because Sho’s a few steps ahead, opening his mouth and expecting Jun to go for tongue instantly. He doesn’t, offering a rather cruel chuckle before pressing soft, patronizing kisses all along Sho’s cheeks, his chin. But then he comes back, each of his kisses lengthier than the one that came before it.
It’s a strange feeling, being in a bed, both half-naked, and not skipping ahead. Sho’s used to such things, having never had anything long-term. Kissing is fine, kissing is great, but before too long things have to get to the point. Jun’s not that type, he learns, because he’s so painfully slow. Every time Sho tries to move, to arch up against Jun and get a reaction, to move things along, Jun just kisses him longer, kisses him harder, licking at the corner of his mouth, resisting Sho’s upward movements with surprising strength.
Jun’s finally moving a few minutes later, letting go of Sho’s hands. He moves, away from his dangerous place atop Sho and onto his side, one of his legs sliding up to lie across Sho. With Sho’s arm for a pillow, Jun traces his fingers along his jaw before sliding up into his hair, pulling him back for another kiss. Sho’s got one arm free now at least so he lets it down and it finds Jun’s leg.
He’s a little ticklish, grumbling a complaint against Sho’s mouth when Sho teases his fingers up his bare skin, up into his shorts. He’s so warm, and being trapped under the blanket is like a sauna. He’s probably sweating, but Jun’s still not too interested in more. Sho vaguely hears the TV station switching to a commercial break, some obnoxious jingle, and he slips his hand out from Jun’s boxers only to grab his ass through the fabric instead.
“Jun…”
“Ssh, quiet.”
Jun protests by tugging on strands of Sho’s hair, something that would probably hurt him, irk him, if he didn’t have him pressed so solidly along the length of his body, those dangerous lips of his pressed to his own. When Jun finally relents, it’s only so he can tug on Sho’s t-shirt instead, pushing it up. In that instant, he kind of wishes he’d gone to the gym more, but Jun seems satisfied enough with what he finds, tracing his fingers so slowly up Sho’s ribcage that he has a feeling he won’t last much longer. He’ll be a disappointment, that’s for sure.
Sho wants to do more, wants to contribute more, but Jun’s doing all the driving. Somehow he gets a hand under the blankets at some point, tracing figure-eights on Sho’s abdomen. “Fuck,” Sho begs him. “Please.”
And Jun’s laughter is a mesmerizing thing, his teeth catching on Sho’s earlobe just in time with his hand slipping further. “I haven’t even done anything yet,” comes his whispering, teasing voice. What a fucking liar.
It’s probably unattractive, kind of sad the way Sho’s whimpering now, any further noises of protest or pleasure or both lost against Jun’s mouth. His hand, his free hand, is just selfish enough to fumble under the covers to find Jun’s, help him along. “There, please. There.”
“Shut up, you’re noisy,” Jun chides him, but it’s with affection, and somewhere beneath it all, need. Jun needs him, wants him just as much. It’s so good, so good, and it’s just his hand, his fingers, steady and firm and eventually way too much.
“Wait,” Sho complains, trying to still Jun’s hand, trembling in increasing desperation. “Jun, wait.”
“I’ve wanted this. From the moment I saw you.” Jun’s given up on kissing him, seems perfectly content to just get Sho off. “I’ve wanted to know what I could do to you.”
It’s kind of embarrassing, how quickly he comes, how dirty he feels as it gets all on the cheap cotton sheets. He’s stuck in that perfect limbo, that place he’s not so keen to leave, and for the first time it’s Jun who’s taken him there. In a few moments Jun’s wrenching the blankets off him, the sheet that’s managed to bear the brunt of Sho’s frantic orgasm. Jun balls the sheet up and throws it into the corner of the room, and before Sho can adjust to the shock of the suddenly cooler air, Jun pulls the other blankets back.
He settles in on the other side of the bed, taking up considerably more than half, and even in Sho’s euphoric state, he can feel the smugness radiating off of Jun in waves. He wants to return the favor, but Jun’s already turned over, head on the pillow. He’s given up on the swap and has claimed the bed anyway. Sho’s a few inches from falling off the edge, only staying on by leaning closer to Jun.
Sho somehow manages to get the TV off, and he lies there in the dark listening as Jun’s breathing grows heavier. Maybe, he thinks in irritation, he should have just gotten that king bed.
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4