Archive of Our Own ^beta

Junes was built for crowds, built for noise. Vaulted ceilings, to amplify the sounds of shopping and socialising. Glaring lights. Colours picked for their garish qualities. Posters everywhere, advertising specials, novelties, free gifts with new products, clearances on old ones. There was piped-in music, interrupted periodically by a friendly female voice, announcing featured items and shops. The food court was situated smack bang in the middle, to ensure maximum permeation of food smells. There'd been studies done: the more overwhelming the shopping experience, the wider the wallet would spread. Junes took this idea to extremes. It sucked in customers, bombarded them, bamboozled them, and spat them out greasy-fingered, laden with merchandise, and addicted to the whole process. Beautiful.

There'd been a handout, at some long-ago corporate seminar, depicting the public as a sea of mouths. No bodies--just mouths, wide open, tongues extended. And Junes was a huge bird, flying overhead, upending a sack of consumer goods into them.

Yosuke had saved the handout, folded into his wallet. Something that awful had to be preserved, in the interests of mockery. But, somewhere along the line, the humour had gone out of it. Probably about the same time he'd looked in the mirror, and seen the Junes shitbird staring back.

He frowned, and tried to focus. The hum of the fluorescents was driving him insane. The same high ceilings that echoed the chatter of shoppers all day spent the night magnifying small, annoying sounds into a symphony of irritation. His pen scratched. His fingers tapped on the keyboard. The radiators ticked, as the heat went out of them. The air purifier puffed asthmatically. The coffee machine burbled. Taps dripped. Clocks ticked. Air sighed in the plumbing--that sound? That's when the toilet gets indigestion, and groans in its sleep. So, don't flush paper down there. His father had explained it that way, when Yosuke had been small, and afraid of the funny noises.

A faint smile appeared, and disappeared as quickly, as the memory was displaced by more pressing concerns--namely, the staff schedule. The boutiques and food court stalls handled their own hours, but the grocery and electronics departments, the cleaning and maintenance staff, mascots, entertainers, security--all these fell to Yosuke. And most of them insisted on sticking handwritten requests in his drop-box, ignoring the electronic system he'd been at great pains to install. A week of sleepless nights, about a thousand calls to tech support--and for what? So he could deal with this:

no wensdy PLZ and 29th bdy so----------THXXXXXX <3 <3 <3--a message from Mars?

I WILL CALL IN SICK ON SATURDAY--a request? A threat? Remarkable prescience?

Ok, i can work 3 days a week, but not mondays (i babbysit), and also no tuesday morning, weds between 1-4pm, thurstday afternoon, or fri 12-2pm. i have tennis and the drs appts. also if u could not put me on sunday, bcoz i need to rest sumtime lol. oh, ALSO, yeah i know but bare w me, on the wed n fri, i cant work mornings bcoz of the sale, it will stress me out 2 much for my irritable bowls. do not call me after 5 w/questions, thx.

He flipped that one over, and wrote Saturday only, instead.

Forty shifts left to fill, and enough staff to cover twenty-one. Brilliant. He'd end up floating about himself, selling TVs, looking for lost kids, selling melons, cleaning up puke, selling housewares, mediating disputes, selling the Junes line of bull: every day's great, at your Junes.

He rested his forehead on his blotter. His eyes felt gritty. His stomach ached. Trying to eat itself, probably. There hadn't been much chance to eat anything else. He thought forlornly of lunch, abandoned on a table at the food court, in favour of a crisis in the third-floor toilets. Yeah, some crisis--a big cockroach. Tell me there's no-one else who can smash a roach!

Dinner, now, there was a laugh. He'd had an hour, shortened to forty-five minutes by an argument between a red-faced customer and a disaffected clerk. Forty-five minutes to visit his father, take a shower, and get back to work. And, of course, he'd got caught in traffic. So long, shower.

Someone had changed the nameplate on his door again, while he was out: YouSuck Hanamura, this time. Last week, it had been YouSoGay. Before that, Batman. He'd kind of liked that one, till he'd found out it was an obscure slur on his sexuality--and perhaps an accusation of kleptomania, into the bargain: Why does Batman stay after closing? So he can do some Robin.

He sat back up. The clock read eleven. He reached into his desk drawer for the bag of almonds he'd been saving, and came up empty-handed. Someone had taken his nuts. Someone had come in his office, rifled through his desk, and taken his goddamn nuts. He'd been keeping himself going, with the promise of those. A little treat, for all his hard work, and didn't he deserve it?

Oh, yeah. Great way to spend a Saturday night. Thinking about nuts.

He got out his phone, and dialed a familiar number. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth--not fair, calling him all the time, just to--

"Hello?" The greeting was sluggish, thick with sleep.

"Oh--I woke you up. Sorry, man. I thought you'd be out, this time on a Saturday night. Sick?"

"Mm...just tired." Souji yawned, on the other end. Yosuke fancied he could hear his spine crackle, as he stretched. "Long day. Long week. How's your dad?"

Yosuke hesitated, listening to Souji shuffling around--probably heading for the kitchen, with coffee in mind, or maybe somewhere comfortable to sit. Maybe Yosuke's old chair, once red, now faded to orange, and soft as a cloud. Maybe--

"Yosuke?"

"Hm? Oh. Mind wandered. Uh, my dad...." He pushed his pen to the top of his blotter, and watched it roll back down. Stupid uneven desk. "Thought he recognised me, today. Then, I realised I was wearing my Junes blazer, with my name pinned to the front. 'My name is Yosuke Hanamura. How can I make your day great?'" Yosuke blew air through his nose, disgusted. "Then, he said I was dressed weird for a funeral, and went back to sleep."

Souji made a sympathetic noise, and rustled about some more. Putting a filter in the coffee machine, from the sounds of it.

"I swear, sometimes I prefer when he doesn't wake up. I know it's a shitty thing to say, but--ugh! He'll seem almost like himself, and I'll get my hopes up--then, the next day, it's like talking to a carrot." He flicked his pen with his finger, sending it careening up the blotter. "Sorry to lay this on you. Again."

"Tell me one thing. Hold on, just let me--" A tap squeaked. Water hissed into the coffee pot. What I wouldn't give to be back there, back at-- "Sorry about that. Too much blood in my coffee-stream. So. Tell me you're not still at work."

"I'm not still at work."

"Liar."

"I'm nearly done. The schedule's got Swiss cheese syndrome like whoa, and I've got like nine voicemails, and next week's requisitions--I've got to at least--oh, screw it. I'm not going home. So, I thought, hey, if I don't get to sleep, neither does Seta."

Souji made a little "hmph, hmph" noise: his idea of laughter. "Actually, I'm glad you called. Lay down for a catnap, after dinner, and--what time is it? Eleven? I was supposed to study with--what do you call them, again?"

"The Jesus Christ people?"

"Yeah, them. Don't know why you call them that. They're not Christians."

"That one girl is. Remember? Her top button came off, and she had a cross round her neck?" Yosuke leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. "But it's not that. They're so--I don't know. Pious. Like, you can bet none of them's ever failed an exam, or got totally ratfaced, or had Jesus Christ monkey sex over a library table."

"Neither have I."

"Yeah, but you're--"

"Our Father, who art in Heaven."

"What's that?"

"A Christian prayer. I'm a Jesus Christ person, Yosuke. Better watch out. I might baptise you."

Yosuke snorted. "That sounded almost...dirty."

"Hmm...." A faint tinkling sound drifted down the line: Souji stirring sugar into his coffee. He always did it with the same spoon, a long-handled one with a tiny bowl. Because that spoon held the perfect measure of sugar, to sweeten a single cup. "I guess you're not coming tomorrow, huh?"

The smile withered on Yosuke's lips. "Sorry, Souji. I've got to cover the afternoon, and by the time I got into town--"

"--you'd have to turn round and go back. I know. It's okay. I should study, anyway. Next weekend?"

"Yeah. Probably. No, wait--I have that retraining thing. The sales staff doesn't hate me quite enough: now, I've got to rip apart their performance."

"Poor YouSoGay."

"Oh, haven't you heard? It's YouSuck, now."

Souji made a lip-smacking sound, testing his coffee, perhaps. "It's really a kind thing you're doing, for your family." He coughed. "Not to be patronising, or anything."

"Ha, not really. I just--what else can I do?" Yosuke sat up, reclaiming his pen from the blotter. "Speaking of which, I'd better get back to it."

"All right. Don't sleep in the stockroom, hm?"

"I won't."

"'Night."

"Yeah, 'night."

Yosuke was already attacking the schedule with an eraser. He missed his pocket when he went to put his phone away, and dropped it on the floor. The display cracked.

Two hours later, he was curled on a plastic-covered sofa in the stockroom, fast asleep. An instant after that, too swift for dreams, morning came. Yosuke washed himself in the staff bathroom, leaning over the sink. Back at university, he'd still have been in bed, at this hour. He'd have stayed there till noon, slouched around in his pyjamas till dinner, maybe teased Souji about studying on a Sunday.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe he'd left that life behind, more than a year ago--that he wouldn't wake up one fine day, and find his Junes nightmare just that. Other times, like now, his memories felt like scenes from a movie. He wasn't sure which he missed most: his father, the life he'd had, or the future he'd imagined for himself. Or Souji. All seemed equally distant, from this perspective.

***

Kuriyama was sweating. Sweating lots. Not glistening, not dripping, but melting. Yosuke hovered in the doorway, trying not to picture the man's arse-sweat soaking into his chair. For such a large, malodorous man, the branch manager was remarkably skilled at appearing unexpectedly. All had been deserted, two minutes ago, when Yosuke'd gone to the toilet: not a whiff of garlic, not a ponderous footfall, not a wheeze, a fart, a swooshing of corduroy, to advertise Kuriyama's presence. And yet, here he was, occupying Yosuke's office, drinking Yosuke's coffee, smiling like a toad.

"Come in, son."

"Sorry, sir." Yosuke caught himself apologising reflexively. Great. A Pavlovian brownnosing response. Pucker up, Hanamura; time to--

Kuriyama chuckled richly. "Sorry, already? Shall I take that to mean you know why I'm here?"

This was a losing game, no matter how Yosuke played it. Kuriyama always had a laundry list of complaints. No matter which Yosuke chose, the response would be the same: Oh, really? That hadn't come to my attention, but now that you mention it.... Anyway, the purpose of my visit--the meat of the issue, if you will--

"Is it the fountain thing? I talked to the landscape guy, but the entrance is a no-go. There's no plumbing, so--"

Kuriyama threw up his hands. "So, get a quote from a plumber. Honestly! But, no. I've already cleaned up that particular mess. I've a bigger bone to pick with you." He steepled his fingers, and leaned back in Yosuke's chair. The wonky footrest popped up, and struck his meaty calves. "What's the matter with this chair? Every time I come in your office, it tries to break my ankles. What if I were a supplier, or the manager of another store? Would you pay the legal expenses, if your chair snapped my hamstring?"

"I--"

"It was a rhetorical question, Hanamura. That's when I ask you a question, but your answer doesn't interest me." He frowned. "I hope you're taking this seriously. Your future at Junes isn't as certain as you seem to think. Not nearly as certain. The complaints I've been getting about you--these are major concerns, son. Very weighty." As though to emphasise the weight of his concern, Kuriyama bunched up his shoulders and pulled in his head, giving himself a triple chin. Yosuke's blood ran cold. Kuriyama played a lot of nasty games, but bluffing wasn't one of them. If he said Yosuke's job was in danger--

"Hanamura! Quit woolgathering. See, this is precisely the problem. You're off in your own little world, and in the meantime, the gears are getting rusty. The gears of the Junes machine. Now, seeing as I'm filling your father's shoes--not just as manager of Junes, but as a paternal figure for you--a guiding hand, you might say--"

Yosuke launched himself across the desk with the force of an express train. The chair snapped in two, dumping Kuriyama on his back. Yosuke knotted his fingers round that slick, wattled neck, and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. Kuriyama's eyes bugged. His tongue poked out. His face turned red, then purple, then--

"--so, dismissing you would be painful. No man likes to dismiss his own son. Not even his redheaded stepson. Or, redheaded surrogate son, in your case." Another oily chuckle bubbled up. "Unless, I suppose, your mother and I--"

That's it. Really doing it. Tomorrow's headlines, here I come. Fucking die.

"--been ignoring schedule requests?"

Yosuke shook his head. He felt hot and tightly-wound, like the slightest provocation would catapult him, elastic-band-like, at Kuriyama's throat.

"Really?--because this letter was in my dropbox, this morning." He fished a folded paper out of his breast pocket. Yosuke noted, with an involuntary grimace, that it was damp, bleeding ink. "Here, listen to this: 'I put in my schedule request as usual, this week, and Mr. Hanamura only put me on Saturday, but I had--' Well, et cetera, et cetera; it goes on quite a while. But she says she had four half-days available, none of which you booked. And I see three of those have slots open. Care to explain?"

"Two of those were sale day mornings. She requested those off, as the stress aggravates her medical condition. The last, she'd have had to leave at eleven--but the morning shift ends at noon. I'll talk to her, next time, see if she can--"

Kuriyama positively crowed. "See, that's managerial thinking, m'boy! Involve yourself with your staff. Of course, it should be second nature to you, by now. I always have to nudge you in the right direction. How do you expect to move up in the world, if you can't think for yourself? How do you--"

Yosuke waited out the lecture, cultivating his best meek expression. As soon as Kuriyama had gone, he got a paper bag out of his desk, and breathed into it till the dizzy, prickling feeling went away. He knelt on the floor to do this. His chair was so wet it looked pissed-on, and smelt like a pickled onion.

***

"You can't put that here." The janitor scowled and spat.

"Why not?" Yosuke leaned over the back of his chair, short of breath. He'd wrestled the damn thing down two flights of stairs, skated it across the icebound car park, and dragged it to the garbage shed, only to get the knockback from the lowest employee on the food chain. Kick me in the teeth. No, kick me in the crotch. That's fine.

"It has wheels."

"So?"

"So, it's a liability. Kids'll find it, ride it through the car park, smash their teeth on the pavement."

"Can't you take the wheels off?"

"You can. My shift's just ended." The janitor dug a screwdriver out of his toolbelt, and tossed it to Yosuke. Yosuke fumbled on the catch, and caught the business end with his foot. A few drops of blood soaked into his sock. He opened his mouth to squawk, and shut it again with a snap. Not worth it.

"Make sure you drop the screwdriver in my box, when you're done."

And, there it is. Insult, meet injury.

***

Yosuke froze, curled on the toilet with his knees to his chest. He hadn't been trying to eavesdrop, but now it was too late. He'd pulled his feet up when he'd heard the door open, in case it was Kuriyama. Kuriyama would think he was hiding--hell, he kind of was--and he'd get in more trouble than ever.

Only, it wasn't Kuriyama. It was--

"I know! If it wasn't for his dad, he'd be lucky to get my job, let alone--"

"No kidding! Did you hear what he did to my girlfriend?"

"You mean when he scheduled her on her birthday?"

"No--well, yeah, sort of. She went to his office to set him straight, and he sexually harassed her!"

"No!"

"Yeah! He leaned over the desk, like 'If I let you off on your birthday, what will you do for me?' Of course, she laughed in his face, and took the day, anyway. Like anyone's scared of Batman."

"I thought he was gay."

"Maybe he's bi. He's so trendy--probably can't decide."

"Exactly. If 'plant-sexual' ever caught on, he'd be the first one humping the ficus."

"Oh, Hanamura, suck my stem!"

"Stop, Hanamura! I've already been watered!

"Oh, Miss Ficus! You're the only one who lets me part your leaves! Sniff! Sob!"

The door hissed open and shut, and Yosuke was alone again. A year ago, he'd have cried. Now, he hardly frowned: anything started to feel normal, if it happened often enough.

He washed his hands, straightened his tie, and went back to his office. If he appeared a little downcast, a little red in the face, it was just fatigue. Nothing more.

***

He took the late bus home. Driving seemed like a bad idea. His eyelids were drooping. His limbs felt all sandbaggy. He got out his phone and checked his texts, to keep from falling asleep. There was only one, an hour old, from Souji: go home, yosuke! i can feel you working! ;-P

He thumbed in a reply: on the bus now...u?

Souji wrote back right away: in the bath. playing with my rubber ducky. j/k...maybe....

Yosuke blinked. Sometimes, he'd swear Souji was flirting. But it would be weird to ask. What if Souji said no? Or, worse--what if he said yes? Would Yosuke be obliged to flirt back?--and what if he did, and Souji was all "Ew, dude, I was joking!" He stared at the reply screen, at a loss. When the flashing of the cursor started to make his eyes go funny, he keyed in a quick *blinkblink*.

i'm just THAT impressive, hmmmmm? :-D btw, next fri, any chance you can get away?

Yosuke's ears reddened. He chewed his lip. for a bit, maybe. if ur ducky's not involved. y?

got research assistant spot!!! j. christ ppl too jealous to celebrate. neeeeeeed you.

Yosuke felt more than a twinge of jealousy, himself. Not that he'd have been in the running for a research position, if he'd stayed in school. But he hadn't been doing badly. There would've been small victories, things to celebrate. Still, he was mostly happy for Souji. Souji had worked hard. He deserved to enjoy himself. And--

i'll be there. knew u'd get it. 8:00 OK?

perfect. ducky & i will see you then. ;-) ;-) ;-)

Dammit, Souji!

***

Yosuke's heart sank, when he walked in the door. His mother was waiting for him on the sofa, eyes ringed with mascara. No, not mascara--just the dark bags of exhaustion she'd been carrying, lately. If she'd stayed up to talk to him, something must be wrong. Something new. Nevertheless, Yosuke summoned up a smile, as he sat down next to her.

"Hi, Ma. Get you some tea?"

She gestured at the low table. "Got some, thanks. How was work?"

"Good. Think they're finally starting to warm up to me."

Mrs. Hanamura brushed Yosuke's hair away from his face. "You need a haircut. And you've lost weight." She pursed her lips. "Yosuke, is it really getting better for you?"

He nodded, not wanting her to hear the lie in his voice.

"Good." She looked away, in the direction of the window. Yosuke followed her gaze. There wasn't anything out there, except a couple of overgrown garden decorations: a miniature windmill, its sails trapped in ivy; an ugly gnome, lying on his ugly back. The faint light of the porch lamp made the yard look more decrepit than it was.

"I'll weed the garden on Monday," he said, just to have something to say.

"You're a good boy, Yosuke." Mrs. Hanamura folded her hands in her lap. "It wasn't good news, today. Dr. Ishida said they're not seeing the improvement they'd hoped for. There might even be some deterioration. They think he's had another stroke, one of the small ones."

Yosuke closed his eyes. He couldn't breathe. He felt like the Red Sea had closed over him, miles of dark water cutting him off from the surface. He hadn't thought there was any hope left in him, and still, he felt it die. It surprised him to hear his own voice, strong and assured, comforting his mother. A selfish little part of him wished Kuriyama could see him now, and maybe the bathroom gossips, too. If they saw what a good guy he was, they wouldn't hate him, any more. Might even like him, a little.

Another part of him wondered if there'd be relief mixed with the sadness, if he were to come home next week, or next month, or next year, and find his mother waiting to tell him his father had died.

Mostly, he wanted to go upstairs, fall into bed still dressed, and dream about something good. But it was nearly midnight, before he crept under the covers. And when he did, he couldn't sleep.

***

Yosuke lay in the dark, listening to the night slipping away. The sound of time flying, it turned out, was a composite of other sounds: the trickle and bump of the deer scare, the rustle of dead winter grasses, the complaint of a night bird. A board creaked. A toilet flushed. A car went by, with a bad muffler. Every sound ate up part of the night. Yosuke's face felt hot, but his feet were cold. He couldn't get comfortable. When he lay on his side, his stomach hurt. When he lay on his stomach, he couldn't find a good place for his hands. Lying on his back made his legs twitch--he couldn't figure that one out.

He went to the linen closet, and got an extra pillow. Passing the stairs, on the way back, he heard his mother on the phone. The words were too low to make out, but they didn't sound like happy ones.

Having two pillows was worse than having one. They folded in around his head, forcing his hair into his ears. He tried putting his head on one pillow, and draping himself over the other, but that made him feel...pathetic--like the type of guy who would fuck a ficus.

Yosuke dreaded sleepless nights. As long as he kept busy, he was all right. He could convince himself there was a certain nobility in his struggle: was he not saving his family? Had he not given up everything, for a life of drudgery and humiliation? Did he not drag himself to work every morning, no matter how tired, depressed, or outright sick he got?

His pain was for something. It meant something.

Only, in the dead of night, alone with his thoughts, he found that it wasn't; it didn't. It would be one thing if he was fighting a war, or rebuilding after an earthquake, or even caring for his father by himself. Something truly difficult. But all he had to do was go to work. Anybody could do that.

He wondered if it would feel good to rub himself against the pillow, and disengaged himself from it hastily, so he wouldn't be tempted to find out. He wasn't reduced to that. Not yet, anyway. Though, getting himself off in a less mortifying fashion--looking at dirty pictures online, for instance--might not be a bad idea. Just to get to sleep. Not for perverted reasons. If someone at his ISP happened to be monitoring his browsing, maybe they'd take note of the hour, and not judge him too harshly.

Life would be easier, if he didn't care what anyone thought. Like Souji. He tried to picture how Souji would get himself off: shamefacedly, under the covers? Not likely. Sitting on the toilet, with a rude magazine balanced on his knees? In the bath?

Maybe....

Yosuke kicked the covers away, and got out of bed. He locked the door as quietly as possible, so his mother wouldn't hear the click, and think he was up to something dirty. He closed the blinds, and pulled the curtain down. He turned on the radio, to cover the whirring sound of his computer booting up. It seemed to take forever. He glanced at the door. Flimsy, he thought, like it couldn't muffle a flea's cough, let alone anything indecent he might be about to do. His face went hot. Best not to think about it. Best to get it over with quickly, like washing his hair, or going to the toilet--

--oh, that's attractive--

--then, he'd go right to sleep.

The computer finished booting up. Yosuke slipped on his headphones, and leaned forward in his chair, hiding the monitor from the prying eyes of--of whom? His mother, smashing through the door, to catch him looking at porn? The spider in the corner, asleep--possibly dead--in his web? The ghosts of Hanamuras long-buried, looking for one last taste of life and vitality?

Idiot...idiot....

He clicked on an oft-used bookmark, coyly mismarked "TAX INFO," and was taken to an equally--shamefully--well-trafficked image board. He scrolled past the first few posts: too young--is he even...too old--go away, Grandpa; too freaky--don't even want to know how that gets in there; too--

--Souji? He squinted at the screen. The man in the picture was blindfolded, his face turned away from the camera, obscuring all but his jaw and ear, and the corner of his mouth. That, and a spill of absurdly red hair, cut in a style he'd know anywhere. Yosuke clicked on the thumbnail, to enlarge the picture. The resemblance was even more striking, up close. It was like looking at Souji's redheaded twin. In bondage.

He Xed the popup away. There was a discussion thread with the image. Against his better judgment--it's late; I'm tired, and no way is that--he expanded the posts, and began to read.

>>hu is dis gai? need MOAR!

>>dunno, but...A+, would raep

>>iawtc^^

>>pff, he looks like tom petty, with that hair. would shave, then fap on his head unf unf unf

>>HAHAHA...in soviet russia, his head faps on J00000000!

Yosuke scrolled faster, trying not to let any disturbing mental images take root. Apparently, half the Internet had felt compelled to comment--and as crassly as possible. About forty comments down, he found what he was looking for.

>>thats frm fucktrain 7...full vid clicky clicky. trust me, DO want. 4 guys destroyin this twink's hole. hes liek nooooo, and theyre liek take it bitch...mmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmm. haha scary endin tho, dont say i didnt warn u.

>>scary???????? so is this porn or horror?????

>>its porror! JUST WATCH IT, srsly, ull cum.

>>lol porror...NEW MEME IZ NEW? i came.

>>gtrfo newfag.

>>*gtfo

Yosuke contemplated doing just that. His tastes ran along tamer lines. Certainly, nothing that could be described as "porror." But what if it was Souji? What if he'd got drunk, or high, and hadn't even known he was being taped? Shouldn't someone...tell him, or--?

Stupid. Souji wouldn't. He just...wouldn't.

He hesitated, mouse hovering over the link.

Can't hurt to make sure.

He clicked, missed, clicked again. A popup appeared: "In order to view our high-quality ADULT pix and vids, please purchase a monthly or yearly subscription. Subscribers get access to...."

Really, Yosuke? Peeping on your best friend? Paying to do it? Is this who you want to be?

He wasn't sure whether it was concern, morbid curiosity, or sheer stubbornness that made him enter his name, address, and credit card information. But he pulled his pants back up, before downloading the video. Even if it wasn't Souji, he had no intention of stroking himself off to that.

The video got off to an abrupt start. There was a black screen with a red explicit content warning, then a grainy, overexposed shot of an empty room. The camera angle was low. Yosuke could make out an unevenly-boarded floor, a patch of corrugated metal wall, and little else. Offscreen, floodlights hummed.

A naked man stumbled into the frame. Pushed, Yosuke thought--he'd been pushed. He had to bend almost double, to keep his feet. His wrists were bound behind his back, too tightly. His hands were purple. He seemed out of breath, judging by the rapid rise and fall of his stomach. To Yosuke's annoyance, his upper half wasn't in the shot, when he straightened up. From the ribs down, he could've been anyone. Nice body; average-sized cock. Flat stomach. Phenomenal arse. Bizarrely long toes. Yosuke tried to remember what Souji's feet looked like. He always wore socks, indoors. Except when he'd just had a bath--then, he wore slippers. Not helpful.

Four more sets of legs, leather-trousered and booted, strolled onscreen. Yosuke found himself chuckling at the sheer absurdity of it all. Were they going to shoot the whole thing from the waist down? He supposed that covered the critical bits, as far as porn was concerned, but--

His laughter died abruptly, as two of the trouser-wearers ganged up, to kick the naked man off his feet. Mr. Naked managed to avoid the first couple of blows, cock swinging foolishly as he danced out of the way. The third kick caught him square in the back of the thigh, knocking him off balance. A boot to the bum sent him careening across the room. He lunged, skittered, and kept his feet. He didn't cry out. Even when a barrage of brutal kicks sent him to the floor--even when he failed to catch himself, and his face struck the boards--the only sound he made was his breathing.

The camera followed him down. It zoomed in on his face: not much help, there, either. A red-and-gold scarf concealed his eyes, and hung down over his nose. The shape of his mouth was difficult to discern. He'd bitten his lip, or maybe his tongue, and the lower half of his face was black with clotting blood.

Say something.

He didn't so much as groan. Maybe he'd been stunned by the fall. The reason for the low camera angle soon became apparent: when the leather gang swooped in, manipulating their naked victim to his knees, their faces remained neatly offscreen. An anonymous thumb wiped the blood away, leaving a thin maroon smear behind. Another hand plunged between his legs, and started jerking him off. It looked rough. Painful, even. Yosuke searched for a reaction--a gasp of pain, perhaps, or a spasm of the fingers. Nothing.

"Oh, yeah, he likes it!"

"Squeeze his balls. He likes that more."

"Fuck. Look at him. Hey! Shrimp boy! Wake up!" The camera zoomed in tight. A gloved hand flew, slapping Souji's face so hard his chin hit his shoulder. His mouth hung open. Unconscious, maybe.

If that is Souji, I'll find whoever's attached to that hand, and separate him from it.

"Gonna fuck you till you shit yourself."

Souji's lip trembled, almost imperceptibly. Still conscious, then. Yosuke clapped a hand over his mouth--could've gone my whole life, without picturing that. He wondered if anyone found that sort of dialogue appealing. The camera pulled back again, revealing a fat, wet cock being slapped against Souji's backside. It left shiny strings of precum in its wake. Souji's thighs wobbled. The tips of his fingers were almost black. Another cock was being thrust into his open mouth, snapping his head back with every push. The camera closed in on his face, cheeks hollow with the effort of taking the cock, spit running down his chin.

Yosuke had to avert his eyes. Looking at porn was always an exercise in self-loathing, for him, but this--fuck, no! He was half-hard, and ready to be sick, at the same time. He wanted Souji, wanted him badly, but not like this. Not spying on him, or someone who looked very much like him--someone who even sounded like him. Someone who was making the same muted coughing noises Souji did, when he was hurt.

Yosuke raised his eyes. Things had got worse, a whole lot worse, since he'd looked away. Souji had been untied, and pushed onto all fours. He was trying to rest his weight on his hands, but it didn't look like he could feel them. His wrists were bent at acute angles. His mouth was open, as though he were screaming, but only those tiny, pained coughs escaped. And someone--some complete bastard--was fucking his arse, gripping his hips and banging away. Nearly breaking his wrists, by the looks of it.

"Hey, check it out." The fucker pulled out his cock, streaked with blood. "Think he's on the rag." Yosuke pressed both hands to his mouth. The camera swung in for an intimate shot of Souji's gaping hole. Yosuke could see inside him. Some unidentifiable, or possibly just unspeakable, fluid was leaking out.

Yosuke looked at his own legs. They were shaking. He grabbed a tissue and spat into it. He'd been swallowing compulsively, while watching the video, leaving his stomach watery and unsettled.

When he returned his attention to the screen, Souji had gone perfectly limp. There was a fist tangled in his hair, moving his head up and down in a rude facsimile of a blowjob. Though the camera was concentrating on his face, it was obvious, from the helpless jerking of his body, that he was getting it from both ends. As Yosuke watched, Souji drooled a thick load of cum down the shaft violating his mouth. A few drops pattered onto the floor.

"What do you think this is, high school? You're supposed to swallow."

Yosuke stared numbly, as several sets of fingers scooped the spilt cum into Souji's mouth. Souji swallowed. It was like watching a baby being fed, only--

--only, not like that at all. That's--that's sick. Why do I think things like that?

A new cock took over the assault on Souji's mouth. It pumped in and out carelessly, and too deep. Souji was making weird clicking sounds, like a deathwatch beetle. Without warning, he pulled back, cheeks distended, exhaling harshly through his nose.

"What's the matter? Gonna puke? Tilt your head back more--here. That's right; swallow me. No, keep breathing. Keep--god, are you stupid? Don't move your head. Useless cumbag. Don't--"

Souji pulled away again, with a hideous, liquid burping sound. His wrists gave way, and he fell forward, regurgitating a mouthful of cum onto the floor.

"Hey, no spitting!"

"Lick that up."

Souji tilted his head, as though to look at his tormentors. The gesture was achingly plaintive. His lips moved, soundlessly.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I...." Souji coughed. "I threw up."

A cold sweat broke out on Yosuke's face and neck. That voice--

"Yeah, and we don't want your puke on our floor. Get down there and clean it up."

Souji shook his head. Someone seized him by the scruff of the neck, pushing his face down. Yosuke couldn't watch what came next. The soundtrack was bad enough: Souji's wet gasps and snuffles; the dog-drinking-water slurps he made, reingesting his own vomit; the constant stream of laughter and abuse, in the background.

And still, it got worse. Yosuke gawped, frozen in place, as Souji was fed a handful of his own cum, while taking two cocks up the arse. He was fucked on his back, on his knees, on his side; with one cock in each end, and one in each hand; with a dildo as wide as a coffee mug. Even then, he didn't scream or cry, though his whole body quivered, and he didn't seem to be breathing.

The blindfold came off, near the end. By then, it didn't matter. Yosuke wasn't surprised to see familiar grey eyes blinking and watering under the assault of the floodlights. Souji knelt there, half-blinded, swaying slightly. He didn't move, when all four men crowded in on him. Yosuke wasn't sure he could see them, at all.

"Want us to clean you up?"

Souji squinted, hiccuped, and finally managed a nod.

"Hear that? His hole's still dirty, even after his cumbath." A hand descended on Souji's head, tousling his hair. "All right--go get it." Souji's jaw dropped, like he'd just come to a terrible realisation. Yosuke wasn't sure what to expect, but Souji's fright was infectious. His stomach did a slow roll.

The picture juddered, and faded to black. When it came back on, Souji was on hands and knees, struggling almightily, as some sort of hose, attached to a bag-and-bulb apparatus, was threaded into his arse. He wasn't being quiet, any longer. It made Yosuke shiver, hearing restrained, gentle Souji scream.

"Hold him still; you're spilling it all down his legs."

"Naw, he's just pissed himself."

"Seriously, can't you sit on him, or something?"

"Got something to hit him in the head with? He doesn't have to be awake, for this."

But Souji's struggles were losing steam. His screams had turned to wheezes. Yosuke thought he might be crying, but the camera was avoiding his face, in favour of a loving closeup of some cloudy fluid being pumped into his hole. Yosuke bit his knuckles. He only had the vaguest idea where this was supposed to lead, but he was sure it wouldn't be pleasant.

At last, the hose was pulled free. A thin trickle of yellowish water ran down Souji's thigh, but nothing else happened. The camera pulled back, to take in the whole miserable tableau. Souji looked like he was in agony. His face was flushed an angry red, the colour extending all the way to his chest. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, and his eyes narrowed to slits. His nails were digging into the floor, turning his knuckles white. His stomach looked painfully distended.

"Come on, then. Stop clenching."

Souji shook his head.

"Can't hold back forever."

Souji shuddered all over, and made a sound like a rat dying in a glue trap.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Would somebody help him along?"

A foot rocketed towards Souji's stomach. Yosuke jerked his head away, just in time to avoid watching. He tore his headphones off, telling himself he hadn't heard that awful splattering sound, hadn't heard Souji's wail of terror, hadn't heard that wail deteriorate into retching.

***

Yosuke waited till he was sure he wasn't going to hurl. Then, he called Souji.

"Whozis? Threeinnamorning...."

"It's me. Yosuke. Are you all right?"

There was a rustling sound, like Souji was sitting up in bed. "Tired.... What's wrong?"

Now that he had Souji on the line, Yosuke hadn't a clue what to say. Somehow, "Hey, Souji. Just saw you take it like a bitch, on the Internet, and I was wondering...were you okay with that?" didn't seem like the best way to broach the subject.

"Yosuke? Is it your father? Did something happen?"

"No. I, uh--just, are you hurt, or...?"

"Me?" Souji cleared his throat. "Confused, but fine. Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that must've been it. I thought you were..." ...the new poster child for violent colon cleansing. Seriously, Souji, what the hell?

"Want to talk about it?"

Fuck, no! "Nah. Go back to sleep. Sorry I freaked you out."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. See you Friday."

Yosuke hung up, more unsettled than ever.

***

Yosuke fussed about the room as long as he could. He watered the plants, and snipped the wilting blossoms. He adjusted the angle of the blinds, shook out and refolded the spare blanket, wiped imaginary dust off the nightstand. When there was nothing left to do, he sat by the bed, and thought about pleasant things (the softness of well-worn clothes; long, hot summer days; riding a motorbike; hearing something nice about himself--it happened, every once in a while) till a genuine smile wreathed his features. Then, he laid his warm hand over his father's cool one, and gave it a gentle shake.

"Dad?"

Mr. Hanamura stirred. One eye opened; one hand twitched. His tongue poked out, moistening papery lips. His hair, gone thin and fine, of late, floated about his head in wisps. There was more grey on one side than the other. Yosuke tried to look without seeing.

"It's a nice day," he said. "Sun's chirping; birds are shining. Remember you used to say that?" Yosuke paused. It was a formality: he neither expected nor got a reply. "Anyway. Work's pretty good. Haven't managed to lock myself in the meat freezer, lately. Taking tonight off, to--"

Mr. Hanamura made a noise, and pooched out his lips.

"Oh. Yeah, sorry." Yosuke dug a stick of lip balm out of his pocket, and applied a coat to his father's mouth. "Are you hungry? I brought bananas." He reached into the plastic bag between his feet, and broke one off the bunch. It was rebuffed, with a half-mouthed scowl. "No? Well, I'll leave them on the nightstand. I had one on the way over. They're good. Not too mushy."

"Not paying for those." The words came out garbled, but Yosuke was used to the slurred cadence.

"No, Dad, I paid already. They're from Junes."

"You work at Junes."

"That's right." Yosuke beamed, a little too brightly.

"You were shortchanging. I fired you. How did you get back in?"

Yosuke bit the stalk off the banana, and began to peel it, to hide how his face fell. "Guess I was sorry, and you took pity on me." A piece of banana-string fell onto his knee. He flicked it away. "Oh, yeah--the sale ended, this morning. We did really good. Mr. Kuriyama said 'good thinking,' about my idea, with the concert tickets. Remember, I mentioned--?"

Mr. Hanamura closed his eyes.

"Oh. Okay, you're tired." Yosuke hesitated. "I thought, if you were up to it, maybe we could talk a while." His suggestion was greeted with silence. "Is it all right if I talk?" The silence wore on. "It's just, lately, at work, I've been--"

"Shut up."

Yosuke shut up, the last of his good mood flaking away. Anger crossed his mind, but he couldn't quite get there. Hurt was easier. It didn't lead to confrontation. Better to say nothing, when even an apology might upset the applecart. He'd been given his walking papers, so he walked.

It was too late for lunch, by the time he got back to Junes.

***

Yosuke waited till Kuriyama was out of sight, before turning his phone back on. He'd missed three calls and a text, during the meeting. The calls were all from his mother: the first two, requests that he fetch groceries from Junes; the third, an apology for forgetting he'd be heading to the city, after work. The text was from Souji: hey...how much do you love me?

He slipped into the bathroom, to reply in private. Closed doors weren't allowed, anywhere else. Kuriyama thought closed doors led to sex--as if Yosuke was likely to get any of that. He leaned against the door, and thumbed in a message: uh-oh. what did u do?

wore myself out. :-( still want to see you, tho...ok if we just hang out, tonight? movie?

The idea had merit. Yosuke was pretty wiped, himself. A night of doing nothing in particular sounded good.

count me in. bring u anything from junes?

just the prince. <3

Now, Souji was making fun of him. Yosuke shot him a curt l8r...jerkwad, then followed it with a smiley face, so Souji would know he didn't mean it. He stuck his head out of the bathroom, checking the hall for unfriendly faces, before he made his exit. He could almost hear Souji's good-natured laughter.

Before he left for the day, Yosuke hit up the grocery department for a couple of Inaba "delicacies" Souji often claimed to crave--though, how anyone could pine after lemon-fried chicken feet, or cinnamon-spiced noodles, he couldn't imagine.

***

Souji wasn't answering his door. Yosuke shifted from foot to foot. The cold had been trying to settle into his bones, all the way from the train station, and now it was getting its chance. The window at the end of the hallway was open, and a chill wind whistled through, exiting via the stairwell. Yosuke dug out his phone, and tried calling. Souji picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hah?" Souji's greeting was somewhere between a yawn and a "hello". Yosuke couldn't help but laugh. Must've been out like a light.

"Hey, Rip van Winkle. How's the beard coming along?"

"Wha...ha?"

"It's Yosuke, goofoff. Let me in."

"Oh. Oh! I was just...." Souji made a weird, throaty snuffling sound. "Sorry. Coming." He didn't hang up the phone. Yosuke could hear him shuffling around, bumping into something, shuffling some more. The deadbolt clicked back, in stereo. Yosuke broke the connection, as the door swung open.

Souji looked pathetic. His hair was flattened to his head, on one side, puffed up like a thistle bloom, on the other. His eyes were red and swollen with sleep. He was wearing something that looked like a nightgown, but revealed itself, on closer inspection, to be a sorry excuse for a shirt. His slippers were equally ratty, worn through at the toes. He was still holding the phone to his ear. But it was the expression on his face that got to Yosuke: eyes squinched, mouth slightly open, head cocked to one side. Bloody him up a bit, rake some cum through his hair, and that's his face, when the blindfold came off.

On impulse, Yosuke hugged him. It was sudden, and unintentionally rough. The bag of food thumped against Souji's back. Souji coughed and dropped his phone, but after a moment, his head found its way into the crook of Yosuke's neck, and he returned the hug without restraint. Yosuke had to fight the urge to stroke his back and tell him everything would be all right.

It was Souji who finally pulled away, stepping aside to invite Yosuke in. "Not that I don't appreciate the affection," he said, "but what was that for?"

"Don't know." Yosuke thrust the bag into his hands, by way of distraction. "Here. Noodles and chicken feet. Don't eat the feet in front of me."

"Why not?"

"They jiggle, when you bite them. They look alive." Yosuke shook his hands at Souji, who tch'd and rolled his eyes.

***

Souji was yawning, five minutes into the movie, and fast asleep after ten. Yosuke took the opportunity to scrutinise him. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Anything out of place, really: any sign of injury or hardship. Souji looked thinner than Yosuke remembered, but by no means gaunt. His hair was messy, but glossy. Yosuke thought he detected a fine tremor in Souji's hands, but it was only his heartbeat, agitating them, as they lay curled against his chest.

He looked all right. Not great--a little pale, a little unkempt--but no worse than he had after any number of all-night study sessions. Souji always pushed himself too far. It was how he got what he wanted. People thought it was his easy charm, or his family's money. But charm didn't win top marks, or science prizes, or research positions. And Souji's parents were adamant that he make his own way in the world. He studied with the Jesus Christ people, and worked in the university library and cafeteria. He lived above a coin-op laundry, and sometimes worked there, too. All his stuff smelt of soap powder. He smelt of soap powder. He kept his head down, did his best, and--

--and, just for kicks, starred in low-budget shock porn?

What the fuck?

Souji twitched in his sleep. He couldn't be comfortable, the way he was sitting, half-curled against the back of the sofa, shoulders nearly at right angles to his hips. He'd stretched his legs straight out in front of him, so they wouldn't intrude on Yosuke's side.

"Hey." Yosuke reached out with his toe, and poked Souji's knee. Souji pulled away, murmuring unhappily. "You'll kill your back, sleeping like that." No response. "Damn. I was hoping you'd let me play with your rubber ducky."

That got Souji's attention. He arched a brow, without opening his eyes. "Really?"

"Hmph. Thought you were asleep."

Souji stuck out his tongue. "I was, till you kicked me."

"Seriously, want me to head out, so you can go to bed?"

"No." Souji straightened, ground his knuckles into his eyes. "This is so frustrating. First time I get to see you in--how long's it been? A month? Six weeks?--and I can't keep my eyes open. Oh--that wasn't supposed to be a dig at you, or anything. I know it's a long ride, and you're busy. And it's not like I exactly--"

Yosuke held up his hand: quit that. "I know. It's fine."

"Is it? Do you know what you look like, Yosuke?"

"That's a rhetorical question," said Yosuke. "When you ask me a question, but my answer doesn't matter."

Souji frowned. "You mad at me?"

"No--that was...." Yosuke blew his hair out of his eyes. "My boss--Kuriyama, you know?--he said something like that, the other day. To make me feel like shit. Didn't mean to throw it back at you. It sounded different in my head. Silly, instead of angry." He shrugged. "Anyway, go ahead. Tell me what I look like."

"Like...you know when the weather starts to get warmer, and there's a really big icicle hanging off the eaves? And you keep looking at it, because you know sooner or later, it's going to come crashing down and scare the hell out of you?"

"A really big icicle, huh? Thanks. Means a lot to me." Yosuke tried to kick him again, but Souji was too quick.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Yosuke felt the wind go out of his sails. "All right; maybe it's not fine. Maybe I miss school, and my freedom, and you, but...." He shook his head. "It's late. I can't talk about this, now." The sofa felt suddenly softer, more inviting. He leaned back, closed his eyes. Souji scooted up beside him--Yosuke felt the cushions lift and depress, heard his slippers pat along the floor. He thought Souji might put an arm around him, maybe pat his leg. Instead, he gave him a kiss: light and quick, but not hesitant.

Yosuke opened his eyes, and found himself looking directly into Souji's. "Hmm. That was--"

Souji kissed him again. He seemed eager; a little desperate, even. He nipped at Yosuke's lower lip, and tangled his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, as though to hold him in place. Yosuke opened his mouth, with some half-baked idea of saying something, and Souji darted his tongue in and out. Like a kitten with a bowl of cream, he thought, amused. He put his hand on Souji's arm, and was rewarded with a quiet gasp. Encouraged, he tried kissing back, copying what Souji was doing. That elicited an outright moan. He nearly laughed--what, Souji, been a while?--but he was afraid it might seem impolite.

Souji's free hand found his, and entwined itself tightly with his fingers. Yosuke squeezed back. He was enjoying this--enjoying it immensely, and it was hard to concentrate, with Souji's fingers sneaking about, tracing the contour of his ear, pinching the lobe, following the line of his neck to his collarbone--nothing invasive, nothing lewd, but fuck, it felt....

It felt good--even sounded good, the way Souji responded to the slightest touch with a sigh, or a purr, or a deep, shuddering breath.

It felt good--but at the same time, off-kilter. Yosuke felt pulled in two directions. He wanted to follow Souji's lead, let him do whatever it was he had in mind. At the same time, he felt the same compulsion he'd felt earlier, when he'd greeted Souji with a hug. He wanted to kiss him on the forehead, instead of on the lips; whisper words of comfort in his ear, instead of filthy nothings. Hold him. Protect him. Tell him he'd never make him do those things.

He put his hand on Souji's hip, to hold him still, for a moment--long enough to talk. But his shirt had bunched up, and Yosuke found himself caressing bare skin. Souji pulled away, on his own.

"Wait--hold on a second."

Yosuke withdrew his hand. "Sorry. I didn't realise you were--you weren't wearing--" He felt the tips of his ears go hot.

"I forgot." Souji rearranged his shirt. "I, uh.... I can't. I mean, I'm not ready for...." He looked away. "I've never done this before."

Yosuke stiffened. Was Souji lying to him? No--he must mean relationships. He's never been in a relationship, before. Only, he has. He and Rise used to.... "You've never done what, exactly?"

"Had sex. Assuming you wanted to, that is."

"You've--" Yosuke's throat felt tight. He swallowed. "You mean, you've...never been on top?"

"No. I mean, never, at all."

"You're telling me you're a virgin?"

Souji nodded.

"All right." Yosuke kissed Souji one more time, without passion. He wanted to make it a kiss goodnight--a peck on the cheek, and out the door--but Souji was looking at him expectantly. Yosuke winked at him in what he hoped was an offhand manner, and turned up the volume on the TV. "Let's just watch the movie."

Souji looked like he was about to protest, but Yosuke put his finger to his lips: ssh. He couldn't let Souji say anything else. Not now. Not before he'd had a chance to calm down. Not before--

"Yosuke?" Souji was staring.

Yosuke turned the volume back down. "Look, I'm not weirded out, or pissed you didn't want to...." He made himself meet Souji's gaze. "We don't have to. You don't need an excuse. Even if this whole thing was you being lonely, and making a mistake, I don't mind. Well, I do, but I'll get over it. As long as you're honest with me."

"It wasn't a mistake." Souji stretched out, resting his head on Yosuke's lap. "Not for me, at least." Yosuke waited for him to say something else--explain himself, hopefully--but he only smiled. The next time Yosuke looked down at him, he'd gone back to sleep. Resting easy.

What if it wasn't him, after all? The video was pretty grainy, and his face was hidden, till-- What if I saw him because I wanted to see him?

He'd watch it again--just the part where the blindfold came off. Make absolutely sure. And then....

Yosuke watched the movie. He didn't want to think, any more.

***

Yosuke woke up a few minutes before his alarm was set to go off. A cold had settled into his head and chest, during the night. He'd felt it toying with him, on the ride back from Souji's--a tickle in his throat, a faint pressure behind his eyes--but now it was waging all-out war on his body. His eyes burned. He couldn't breathe through his nose. His cough had taken on a deep, booming quality, and the hairs on his neck and forearms bristled with chills. A sick sweat had soaked into the bedclothes, and moulded his nightshirt to his skin. Gross.

When he got to the bathroom, he discovered his mother had used the shower before him, and most of the hot water was already gone. He settled for a quick, lukewarm scrub--just the important bits--and no hairwash. His throat rattled. He coughed and spat into the sink, frowning at the poisonous taste. When he cupped his hand over his mouth and sniffed his breath, he thought he detected the rotted-meat stench of a strep infection. Hard to tell, with his nose simultaneously stuffed and streaming. He sniffed, wiped his face, and got dressed, avoiding his steamed-up reflection, in the mirror. If he looked even half as bad as he felt, he didn't want to know.

Halfway down the stairs, his phone peeped. He answered with his work-voice: a little deeper than normal, more reserved. Kuriyama liked to get on his case, first thing, before his defenses were up. Then, when he got to work--

It took him several moments to register that it wasn't Kuriyama on the other end, and drop his stuffed-shirt persona. Not Kuriyama, but Souji. Yosuke's expression softened. Souji was to be handled gently, he'd decided, at least till he had a better idea what was going on, there.

"Hey, lazybones. Get a good night's sleep?"

"Not really." Souji sounded uncharacteristically subdued. "Couldn't get back to sleep, after you left. About last night--"

Yosuke stopped, hand on the banister, spotting his mother drifting about the kitchen, when she ought to be on her way to work. More bad news? Please, not today. Not--

Souji was still talking. "--acted like you were some kind of sex maniac, didn't I?"

Yosuke heard himself respond, on autopilot. "Maybe a little, yeah." His mother looked his way, and tapped a fingernail on her watch. He nodded, and held up a finger: just a minute.

"--wanted to, but when it actually seemed like a possibility, I--" Souji clucked his tongue. "I freaked out. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Yosuke tried to keep his tone both neutral, for his mother's benefit, and kind, for Souji's. The result was somewhere between creepy and croaky. "Hey, it's a relief to know you can freak out. Mr. Perfect."

"I wish people wouldn't say things like that. I'm not...." Souji was mumbling. It was weird, finding a crack in his confidence. Yosuke turned towards the wall, and the semblance of privacy. "Hey, are you sick, or something?"

"Huh?"

"You're sniffing. And your voice is all...." He broke into a passable imitation of Clint Eastwood. "'D'you feel lucky, punk? Well...do you?'"

"Oh. Yeah. Must've picked up a bug, at work. There's always something, this time of year. Anyway, I have to go--think Ma needs to talk to me. Eat oranges, today, in case I passed it on to you. And get some damn sleep."

"I'll try. Uh...." Souji muttered something, too low to make out. Yosuke's money was on take care of yourself, or maybe love you, man. He offered a distracted "You, too," and hung up.

"Who was that?" His mother poured him a cup of coffee. Yosuke stared at it, wondering when she'd forgotten he couldn't stomach coffee, first thing in the morning.

"Just Souji." He sat down, sipped politely, wishing he had some toast, to soak up the caffeine. "Stressing out over school."

"So early! It's still dark out." Mrs. Hanamura tut-tutted. "Did I hear you say you're not well?" She put her hand on the back of his neck. Her fingers were damp. "You feel warm. You should wear a mask to work, today. I think it's nonsense, wearing a mask; I think germs get through, anyway. But you have to show you're making an effort." She smoothed out his hair, and straightened his collar. "Yosuke, I'm selling the house."

Yosuke put his cup down, and said nothing. He'd seen this coming. He hadn't wanted to think about it, but--

"I'll be staying in Okina, after next week." She sounded almost defiant. "The commute eats up too much time and money. You can come too, if you can find work. Otherwise--"

"What about Dad?"

"What about him?" She went to the pantry, and started taking things out, sorting them into boxes. "He doesn't recognise us. He doesn't want us around. I'll see him on Sundays. You should do the same. It's making you too sad, spending so much time in that place."

"Ma...."

"You should have a couple of weeks, before the new family wants to move in. I'd have told you sooner, but I didn't want you upset over nothing, if I couldn't find a buyer."

Yosuke took another sip of coffee, needing something to do with his hands. He tried to put things into perspective. Moving to a smaller place, he'd expected. Losing his mother to Okina, not so much. It was comforting, having someone else around--someone to share the burden. He'd have to visit his father more, now that he'd be the only one. He picked at a jagged spot on his thumbnail. It felt fucked up, thinking in terms of burdens and obligations, of how this was going to affect him, first and foremost.

"Oh. If you're such good friends with Souji Seta, you should have him talk to his uncle about that spare room he's got. There's a boarder, right now, but I heard--"

Yosuke pushed his chair back from the table. He couldn't listen to this, right now. He'd get mad, and that wouldn't help anyone. "Sorry, Ma. Didn't notice the time." It felt almost natural to flash her his work-smile, all teeth and insincerity. But it dismayed him, to get her work-smile, in return. When did we become strangers?

He finished his coffee at a gulp, and half-ran upstairs, to finish getting ready.

***

Yosuke spent a dismal morning running between the sales floor, the stockroom, and the toilet. When lunch break rolled around, an hour past schedule, he had no desire to eat. Instead, he retreated to his office, with a humidifier borrowed from the staff lounge. He pulled his blazer over his head, and hung his face in the steam, not caring if anyone saw. Water beaded on his forehead and nose, and plastered his hair to his cheeks. Every breath itched, deep in his chest, and he had to struggle not to cough. Coughing only deepened the itch, and turned the back of his throat to sandpaper. There was a nasty taste in his mouth. It made him want to spit.

"Yosuke? Whatcha doing, smoking opium?" A light, playful voice interrupted his thoughts. He straightened quickly, almost guiltily. The blood rushed out of his head, and he had to lean forward, elbows on his knees, to let his circulation catch up to his position.

"Rise...where'd you come from?"

"Oh, wow, you look--" She chuckled. "Well, I won't say how you look. It would only make you feel worse. And then you'd look worse, too. Vicious circle."

"Thanks a lot." Yosuke raised his head, more carefully, this time. He tried to cultivate a grouchy expression, but found himself grinning broadly. "I didn't know you were home."

"I'm not. I mean, I am, but just for today. Thought we could do something, but, aww--poor thing! What are you doing at work? You need to be in bed, or eating soup--or, no, being spoonfed soup! Come on, let me--"

Yosuke raised his hands, in a warding-off gesture. "No, don't come in. I'm all contagious, and stuff."

Rise stuck out her lower lip, pretending to pout. "But, I have to come in. I promised Souji I'd give you something, from him." She bounced on the balls of her feet. Just looking at her, all movement and energy, made Yosuke tired. "Anyway, I never get sick." And in she came, as though that settled everything. She always had done exactly as she pleased, when push came to shove. "So, want your present?"

Yosuke didn't know whether to be charmed or confused. He went for a bit of both. "You're...really nice. Nurse Rise. When'd you see Souji?"

"I didn't, exactly." She shifted from foot to foot. "You want it, or not?"

"I guess so. But what does that mean, you didn't, exactly? How did he--"

"You have to get up."

Yosuke stood up. His knees wobbled, and he had to lean on his desk. "What--?"

"This." Rise put her arms around Yosuke, and squeezed him tight. She nuzzled his shoulder for a long, pleasant moment, before stepping back. "There. Feel better?"

Yosuke sank back into his chair. In fact, he felt worse--shaky, short of breath, and emotionally fragile--but he nodded anyway. It had been the highlight of his day. He tried not to think about how it must've felt for her. Damp, gross, and kind of smelly, no doubt. She was right: he didn't belong at work. Bed sounded like heaven, right about now. Cool sheets, fluffy pillows, maybe a hot water bottle, to soothe his sore feet. And about a week's worth of sleep. Oh, God, yes. That would be--

"--so, wanna come?" Rise was looking at him quizzically, like she was beginning to suspect he hadn't been listening. Which, of course, he hadn't been, not really. He racked his brain: something about a concert. Her concert, next month in Tokyo? Yeah--that had to be it. He tried for an urbane wink, and ended up blinking owlishly at her.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Me and Souji, we...." He coughed into his hand, swallowed phlegm. "Sorry. We bought tickets, the first day they came available."

She threw a wadded-up paper at him. "Silly. I know you're coming to the concert. I was asking you to a party, after. Souji said he'll come if you will, so.... Anyway, you don't have to decide, right now. You look like you want to throw up."

Yosuke smiled weakly, tried for a joke. "Well, I don't want to, but I might do it, anyway." He massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. "Don't worry. We'll be there. Can't believe...how...famous you...." A sneezing fit caught hold of him, leaving him messy and embarrassed, wiping his face and hands on his sleeve. "Ugh; out of tissues. I'm so sorry--sorry you have to see--" He sneezed again. Rise handed him a plastic packet of tissues, from her purse. "Thanks. Hey, if you talk to Souji, I just had the sniffles, okay? He gets all worried, and...I can't get this open." Yosuke fumbled with the tissues, feeling stupid.

"Let me." Rise unzipped the package with her nail, and handed it back. "Think he might be right to worry, in this case. Come on, my car's waiting outside. I'll take you home."

Yosuke wiped his nose, and shook his head. "Can't. Saturday's schedule day. But I'm going home as soon as that's done. Promise."

"You better." She gave him another hug, before making her exit. This one, she said, was from her.

Yosuke kept to the letter of his promise, if not the spirit, heading home the moment the schedule was done. That it was well after midnight was neither here nor there.

***

Souji called, just as Yosuke was settling into bed. Checking up on him, he said. Yosuke thought he sounded kind of down, but he didn't seem to want to talk about anything weighty. Soon, Yosuke fell asleep, listening to Souji talk about the noise from the laundry downstairs, how it sometimes annoyed him, but he felt weird on Sundays, when they didn't open till noon; how it was extra-noisy, when people overloaded the dryers; how soap sometimes came out of the showerhead, when he first turned it on; how nice it felt, to put on a warm shirt, fresh out of the....

He didn't sleep long, but he slept deeply.

***

Yosuke noticed the latest change to his nameplate after lunch, two Wednesdays after his visit with Souji. Lunch, in this case, meaning twenty minutes of browbeating by Kuriyama, a speed-limit-defying race across town, stony indifference from his father, something wet and sticky under the handle of his car door--God, what is that?--and a not-so-triumphant return to Junes, nine minutes late. Change, meaning "Grossuke Hanamura." There was a cartoon, underneath: a crude representation of him, hands exaggerated to grotesque proportions, copping a feel off a teary-eyed girl in a Junes uniform. He ripped the cartoon down so hard it tore. The upper right corner--his hair, described in a series of messy, red, upside-down Vs--stayed taped in place.

He turned and ran to the bathroom. All at once, the ceilings felt too high, too cavernous, the open-plan office space too exposed. A weird, full-body nausea rushed through him, concentrated mostly in his head and stomach. Colours seemed brighter, voices louder. A panic attack, he supposed. He'd been getting a lot of these, lately. As long as he found a private place to ride them out, they didn't get too bad. The worst had been on the bridge, driving out of Inaba: no room to pull over; no place to go but over the side. He'd avoided out-of-town drives, after that. There was always the bus.

Fortune was with him, this time: nobody in the bathroom. Yosuke locked himself into a cubicle, perched himself on the toilet, and got out his phone. Something to do with his hands--that helped, too. He found Souji's name in his contacts list, and sent a text: hey...how r u?

It took Souji a while to respond. Yosuke waited with his head in his hands. Every so often, his knees started to tremble, and he had to will himself to relax. It felt like forever, before Souji's reply popped up, but the timestamp told him it had been five minutes.

just puked. :-(~~~~~ it was neon yellow.

Yosuke concentrated on long, deep breaths, and on ignoring the way his eyeballs bulged in time with the beating of his heart. He could feel them doing it. He could see it, too. The antiseptic white of the cubicle door kept exploding into colour. Red, mainly--red, bursting bright, then fading to a meaty, pinkish shade. Hard to look at; harder to look away from. His thumb was clumsy, as he composed his reply.

still sicj? wgere r u?

Souji had come down with a cold, the day after Yosuke. He'd refused to stay home from school, and now, more than a week later--

bathroom by the cafeteria. 2 more hrs of class. *cry* come over later?

Yosuke bit at his lower lip, pulling a strip of dead skin free, and some living skin with it. It stung. He felt a little calmer.

want 2. cant. call u tho?

yeah. miss you. :_(

Yosuke started to respond, but his phone chose that precise moment to ring: Kuriyama, missing him in a much more forceful and ear-splitting way. Yosuke tucked his phone out of sight, and hurried back to his desk, reminding himself to text Souji back, as soon as he got a moment alone.

Somehow, he never did.

***

After dinner, he went to see his father, again. He was thinking about Souji, when he got his phone out, en route. But he decided to try his mother, first. He hadn't been able to get in touch, since she'd gone to Okina. And she hadn't been home on the weekend. She hadn't come, but the new owners of the house had, barging in on Yosuke first thing Sunday morning. He'd been sitting on the stairs in his underwear, bawling like a kid who'd lost his blanket. It had been an intensely awkward moment. They'd waited on the porch, till he'd got himself together and got out. Their son, five feet of mouth on three feet of kid, had watched him go, all curiosity: "Why's that man here, Daddy? Why's he crying? Was he burgling us?"

Yosuke didn't mean to jump in with the recriminations--with that horrible, whiny tone, Yosuke--why do you do that? You're not five years old--as soon as his mother picked up. Nonetheless, a quick call on the road turned to a drawn-out argument in the car park. It left him slumped over the steering wheel, feeling small, stupid, and in the wrong.

***

Yosuke tried not to shiver. It was hard, fitting his whole body under a coat designed to hang to mid-thigh. It took planning, and perseverance, and some truly inspired squirming. The success of the manoeuvre hinged on a shoulder tucked firmly--but not too firmly--into the corresponding sleevehole. With one side of his coat thus secured, he could grab the opposite lapel, and spread out the fabric like a tent. Then, in came his knees, pulled to his chest, inch by inch. One false move, and the whole system would collapse. But the next step was the most crucial. Folded in like a jackknife, his feet still stuck out, just a smidge. He had to roll his shoulder out of his sleeve, and kick out at the same time, to make his coat scootch down over his toes.

Assuming his wriggling met with success, all that remained was to stay perfectly still. It wouldn't do to shiver, and send his coat slithering to the floor.

He took shallow breaths, mindful of every movement. The heating had cut out before he'd run out of work, but at long last, he was thawing out. He was even kind of comfortable. The cushion from his new chair made a passable pillow. The night noises, so irksome when he was trying to work, were relaxing, even companionable, as he edged towards sleep. He dipped his cold nose between his knees. It tingled, as frozen nerves returned to life. Maybe tomorrow--

His phone vibrated, in his coat pocket. He answered on the second ring. The first, he used for a silent prayer, the same one he always sent up, when someone called late: please, not bad news. His coat bunched up in his lap, as he raised himself on one elbow.

"Hello?"

"Hi?" Souji sounded shy, like he wasn't sure how his call would be received. Yosuke winced.

"Souji. I was going to call you, but.... Shit. I'm such a--I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Tired. Helped out downstairs, for a while. Hey...did your ears go all funny, when you had the cold?"

Yosuke lay back down, rearranged his coat as best he could. "No, but I only had it a couple of days. You've been--"

"Did I do something--"

"What?"

"Sorry. Go on." Souji coughed a ragged, exhausted cough.

"I was just going to tell you to stop running yourself into the ground. You?"

"I.... Just a moment." There was a soft click--the phone being deposited on the nightstand--then an undignified honk. Souji blowing his nose. "You still there?"

"Yeah."

"I just.... Normally, when I'm sick, I can't get rid of you. Did I completely misunderstand, when you--I mean, did you not want--?"

"It's not that." Yosuke closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. Dammit, Souji, not everything's about you. Sometimes, it's--

"Then, what? We've barely talked, since...."

"Fuck! I told you, it's not--" He reined himself in, at the sound of Souji's shocked gasp. "No, don't get upset. Please. I didn't mean to shout. I...shit, Souji, I've got nowhere to live. I've got everything I own--which fits into a couple of boxes, by the way--hidden behind the remainders from the summer sales. I'm sleeping on a couch with a plastic slipcover. There was one apartment ad in the paper, this morning--one--and it wasn't even in Inaba. If I get caught sleeping here...." He stopped, swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I didn't know." Was that a hint of reproach, in Souji's voice--an implied because you didn't tell me?

"I should've called. I said I would." He shrugged into his coat, hunching his shoulders against the cold. "Hey, you ever see one of those movies where someone gets stuck in a store overnight, and there's this cheesy montage of them trying on clothes, riding bikes down the aisles, eating a million doughnuts, and so on?"

"I think so."

"Well, it's not like that, at all. I have to stay all the way at the back of the stockroom, quiet as a mouse--can't even flush the toilet, in case the night guard hears. And if I get hungry...ugh. I had five packs of cheese puffs, last night, from the vending machine in the staff room. And I had to pay for them. And they turned my lips orange. I'm running out of clean shirts, and I don't know how to do laundry. Can you believe it? I don't--I'm...."

"How do you not know how to do laundry? What did you do, at school?"

"I kept throwing mine in with yours. You never said anything, so...."

Souji laughed. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Why don't you come see me, tomorrow? Bring your shirts. I'll show you what to do."

"Can't. I'm working till six, and then--"

"Please, Yosuke." Souji coughed again. It sounded painful, dry and rattling.

Yosuke ran through his schedule in his head. It wouldn't be the end of the world, if he left a little early. He could pick up a couple of extra hours, in the morning. What difference would it make? "Okay," he said. "Promise you'll stay home all day, though. Sleep. Watch TV. Get some of those vitamin drinks we used to make fun of--the ones with the stupid names. Do that for me, and I'm yours all evening."

"Mine.... Yosuke?"

"Hm?"

"If we were in a movie, locked up in Junes, I'd distract the guard, so you could do all that stuff. Or I'd distract you, with...you know. Better stuff. Like, I'd feed you a big, messy slice of watermelon, and lick the juice off your chin." He sighed sleepily. "Or curl up next to you, on that crackly plastic couch, and play with your hair till we both fell asleep."

Yosuke turned onto his side. Hearing Souji talk that way turned his loneliness to a physical ache. It occurred to him that no-one had ever held him through the night. Souji wouldn't understand. He might or might not have had a whole lot of sex--Yosuke suspected he had--but if he didn't want to be alone, he didn't have to be. Everyone loved Souji. It was like a law of the universe. It was--

"Yosuke? Did you fall asleep?"

"Oh. No. Sorry. I was just picturing what you said. Sounded nice."

"Yeah. I could use...hey, stay the night, tomorrow. First train's at quarter to six. You could be at work by nine."

"I start at seven."

"Is that a no?" Souji's voice had been getting quieter and quieter. Now, he was almost whispering. Yosuke thought he sounded like a ghost. Cold and distant. It made Yosuke want to pull him back, warm him up.

"I guess I could ask about coming in a bit late."

"Thanks. Uh...." Souji seemed nervous, like he wanted to say something else, but wasn't sure how. Yosuke could hear him fidgeting with the keychain he kept clipped to his phone, clicking it against the plastic casing. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Sure. I'll try to make it around seven or eight."

They said their goodbyes, and hung up. Yosuke took off his coat, and embarked on the dumb-looking rigmarole that would get him underneath it.

***

Yosuke had got pretty good at showing people the face they needed to see. He conjured smiles from memories, and wore them like clothing, as a matter of modesty. Nobody needed to see what he had underneath. But Souji was about to get an eyeful. Yosuke started talking, to keep his expression from congealing into anything that might betray his shock.

"I didn't know what you had around here, so I brought, well, everything." He held up a pair of bulging Junes bags. "Frozen soup--chicken and vegetable. Couldn't remember which you liked. It thickens, when you heat it, so it's best if you add water." Yosuke put the soup away, noting that Souji's freezer was empty. He'd have to berate him for it, later. "Next up: a huge grapefruit--or maybe, it's a pomelo." He offered the fruit for Souji's inspection. Souji looked dazed. "Either way, I thought it would be good for you. Lots of vitamins, but not so acidic as an orange. And, here: grapes, and this blackcurrant drink. It's imported. You're supposed to heat it up, and grind ginger into it. Settles your stomach." Souji's eyes had gone round. Yosuke realised he was babbling, but he needed time to compose himself. "And in the other bag, cough syrup, throat drops, and this." He produced a thick, garish quilt. The look on Souji's face, somewhere between touched and horrified, brought Yosuke's smile out of hiding. "I know. Ugliest thing ever, right? Feel it, though." He shook it out, and draped it round Souji's shoulders.

Souji rubbed his cheek against the hideous fabric. "Soft. Feels nice."

"Found a bunch of them in the stockroom, this morning, doing inventory. We sold them last winter, or tried to. Nobody wanted them because, well, people have eyes, and...."

"You didn't have to do all this."

Yosuke shrugged. "Yeah, I did. It's kind of an apology, and--hey, sit down, before you keel over." He put his arm around Souji's waist, and guided him to the sofa. Souji felt warm, and a little damp.

"You forgot your--" Souji doubled over, coughing. Yosuke rubbed his back till the fit passed. "Forgot your laundry."

Yosuke resisted the impulse to smack Souji's head. "Didn't think you were serious. Besides, what kind of twat would I have to be, to make you wash my shirts, when you're all...like this? You can write down some instructions, later."

Souji opened his mouth, as though to argue, but all that came out was a weak harrumphing noise. He pulled the quilt closer around himself, and sagged against the cushions. Yosuke let his smile die. No sense pretending, when Souji had his eyes closed. His eyelids looked thin and taut, blue veins showing through. His lips had the same bluish cast, except in the corners, where the skin had reddened and cracked. The irritation had spread across his cheeks and chin, and scaled over with some unhealthy white substance. When his tongue darted out, to lick at the wounded skin, that looked whitish, too.

Yosuke hadn't expected Souji to look good, after nearly two weeks fighting the cold from hell. But this was downright alarming.

"Hey."

"Mm?" Souji didn't open his eyes. He looked like a corpse, the way he was lying, arms crossed, chin drooping against his chest. He'd dropped a lot of weight.

"Have you been to the doctor?"

He nodded. "Sort of. Saw the nurse, at school."

"That's not--"

"Hold me, a while." Souji crept into Yosuke's arms. His teeth were chattering. Yosuke massaged his arms and back, trying to improve circulation. It was a long time, before the shivers died down completely. When they did, Souji went to sleep.

***

"You want me to go poking around your...cervix?" Yosuke made a face. "Unless you're hiding something pretty important, I don't think you have one of those."

"Not funny, Yosuke. Just check."

"I'm not sure where they are." He eyed Souji's neck nervously, trying to reconcile the real thing with what he remembered from school. It had been a long time, since he'd cracked the books. "Don't suppose your skin comes off, like in the diagrams? Maybe you've got some of those little labels, under there? 1a - anterior cervical lymph nodes?"

"As long as you don't look for the posterior ones up my arse."

Yosuke faked a laugh--a sardonic ha, spoken flatly--and turned Souji's head from side to side. There wasn't much to see: fading pink patches under his jawbone, one on each side, where he'd just been poking at himself; a couple of nicks, where he'd cut himself shaving. "This is seriously weird. I'm not sure what they're supposed to feel like."

"Compare them to yours."

Yosuke probed around under his own chin, not sure what was what. Souji felt a bit different: warmer, and--"Maybe. Yeah, a bit swollen--this one, on the right. And the one underneath. But you have a cold. What do you expect?"

Souji swallowed. Yosuke could feel parts of him moving about, under his skin. His voice cracked, when he spoke, and Yosuke felt that, too: a break in the vibration of his vocal cords. "There are some over the clavicles, as well. What do you see?"

Yosuke loosened Souji's collar. He'd imagined himself doing this, often enough, but not under quite these circumstances. Souji was giving him the eye--evaluating his expression, no doubt. Searching for any sign of consternation. Yosuke tried to maintain a bland facade. There was a lump over Souji's right collarbone, visible to the naked eye. The skin above looked red and tender. Yosuke prodded at it. It felt hard and warm. "This one, too. You've got to leave them alone. You'll make them worse, checking them all the time."

"I wasn't. I didn't even notice that one, till I was taking a shower, and it hurt to touch." He moved Yosuke's hand. "Here--under my arm, too. And--" Souji unbuckled his belt, raised his hips to push down his trousers. There was a wreath of red, flaking skin around his middle, stretching from one hip to the other. It looked like a sunburn.

"Souji, what--?"

"Please. You can leave my underwear on. Just follow the line of my hipbone--no, not on the bone; just to the left. Is it--?"

Yosuke's pressed his fingertips into the hollows of Souji's groin, self-consciousness forgotten. Anxiety had long overtaken embarrassment. What if Souji took his inexpert manhandling as a substitute for medical attention? He'd miss something important, and--

Souji made a pained hissing sound.

"Hurts?"

"Yeah. Sort of. Do you feel anything?"

"I think so." Yosuke unzipped his own flies, and thumbed along the crease of his thigh. "They're harder, on you, than on me. Like lima beans under your skin. What's this rash from?" He lifted the waistband of Souji's pants, for a better look. It was worst where the fabric had lain against his skin. There were tiny, wet-looking blisters, along the lines left by the elastic. "Ow--that doesn't look so good."

Souji sat up, curling one arm protectively around himself. He didn't say anything. Yosuke could hear him breathing. His respiration was noisy and uneven. Not knowing what else to do, Yosuke pulled him close. Souji didn't react, at first. Yosuke found himself describing his week at Junes--an edited version, where the cartoon on his office door was funny, and Kuriyama's bark was worse than his bite. Every once in a while, he stopped to kiss Souji behind the ear, or at the nape of his neck. It seemed to calm him--after a while, he lay down again, face hidden against Yosuke's stomach, arms around his waist.

There was another swollen lymph node, behind the flap of his right ear. Yosuke didn't call attention to it. He had all night to ask questions. For now, he could offer the comfort Souji must've been craving, all week.

***

Yosuke finished washing the last of the dishes he'd found stacked up in Souji's sink, and plopped down next to him, on the sofa. Souji looked better, after getting some food into him. The colour had returned to his cheeks, and he seemed more alert than he had done. Scared, though--that, and ashamed. He sat with his shoulders hunched, looking down at his hands. Yosuke chucked him under the chin, to make him look up.

"So, uh...I know you've always wanted to play doctor with me, but--" Yosuke slapped himself lightly on the forehead. "Sorry. Sounded better in my head."

"Don't--" Souji coughed again, spat discreetly into a tissue. "Excuse me. You don't have to be like that, with me."

"Like what?"

"Repressed. Always second-guessing yourself. I miss your big mouth."

"Pff. That'd make you the only one. Ma says the most valuable thing that ever came out of my mouth was when I lost a filling." Yosuke glanced at Souji. He was scratching absently at his stomach, probably making that rash of his worse. "Anyway, you're seeing a real doctor tomorrow, right?"

Souji hid his face amongst the cushions.

"Souji? What's wrong?"

"I can't."

"Why not? I'll take you, if you're not up to going it alone."

"That's not it." Souji looked him straight in the eye. "And you're not going to be too happy with me, in a minute. I've been lying to you, about something pretty bad. Something you need to know."

"Yeah?" Yosuke dug his nails into his palms. That too-sharp, nauseated feeling was back. Souji's teeth looked unnaturally white. They gleamed, in the flickering light of the TV. Yosuke was suddenly, irrationally convinced Souji was going to bite him. His palms were sweating. His armpits itched. He closed his eyes. Not being able to see helped a little. As long as Souji gave him a moment, to collect himself--

"I'm not a virgin. I've been sick since summer. I'm pretty sure it's HIV." Souji spat the confession out like something rotten he'd accidentally put in his mouth.

Yosuke's lungs wouldn't fill up. There was a pain in his stomach that hadn't been there before. He reached out blindly, in search of Souji's hands, found his knee, and squeezed that, instead. His lips were moving, spelling out words, but his tongue wasn't doing its part. A strangled moaning sound emerged. At first, he thought Souji was crying; then, he realised it was coming from him. He sipped air in quick little breaths, opened his eyes, and tried again. This time, he managed a guilty whisper: "I didn't notice."

"I kept it from you on purpose." Souji was whispering, too. "I was going to tell you when I knew for sure."

"So, you--" Yosuke took Souji's hands. He wanted to do more--hold him, curl up against him, cling to him--but he was afraid he'd be pushed away. "You tested positive?"

Souji squeezed Yosuke's hands hard, and pressed his lips together.

"You did get tested, right?"

"I made an appointment. A few appointments."

"But...?"

Souji picked at a pink, half-healed cut on Yosuke's knuckle. "Something always happened. They'd call my name, and I'd sit there like a lump, till they moved on to the next person. Or I'd throw up on the bus, on the way over. I nearly went through with it, last time, but when the nurse tried to take my blood, I passed out."

What am I supposed to do, here? Yosuke looked over Souji's shoulder. The bathroom light was on. He wondered if Souji would be offended if he hid in there, for a while, got his thoughts together. He was afraid to speak. The words trembling on his lips were angry ones, selfish ones. Ones that demanded to be shouted, not spoken. His mouth felt like it didn't belong to him, and might defy his will at any moment, spewing out every nasty, vicious thought he'd ever had.

Souji was talking, too rapidly, too glibly, using words like lymphadenopathy and seroconversion--words Yosuke kind of remembered, but not really, and didn't want to think about. Hiding panic in his own way, perhaps. He kept blinking and gulping, like he was trying to swallow a pill. It might've been funny, under different circumstances.

"Yosuke?"

"What?" He tried for a light, jovial tone, but got small and snappish, instead. "So, what, you're diagnosing yourself, now? To avoid a needle? Smartest guy I know, scared of a little jab?"

"Scared of what happens after." Souji seemed to be done with the torrent of medical terms. He pulled a hand free, and wiped at his eyes. "Can I...is it still all right if I...." He took a deep breath, and coughed it out. "Are we still friends?"

"Stupid question...." Yosuke tugged Souji into his arms, and toyed with his hair, in a way he hoped was soothing. "Just mad at you, right now. So mad. Top student in biology, how many terms in a row? You should know better than anyone, not to wait with something like this." He gave Souji a little shake, then softened it with a kiss on the nose. "Jackass."

"I'll make another appointment. Next week, when I'm--"

"No. Tomorrow, Souji. We'll go together. Or--shit, I can't. Call me, when you get there. I'll stay on the phone with you." He shook his head. "Can't believe you did this. Wanna hit you, or something."

"Don't. You'd get my blood on you."

Yosuke quailed. He'd started to calm down, with Souji's warm weight nestled against him, but this--

"You say that like it's...like you've been thinking about it every day, all this time--like it's perfectly normal, that your blood would be--" His voice was spiraling higher and higher. His heart was pounding. "You told someone, right? Tell me it's not just been you, all this time."

"Couldn't...." The response was muffled. Yosuke looked down. He was squeezing Souji too hard, squashing his face into his shirt. He let go, with some difficulty, nudged Souji to sit up.

"Listen, I--I forgot my--I've got the worst headache. How late's that store open, across the road?"

"All night, but I've got some--"

"No, I need--I'll be back in a second, all right?" Yosuke fairly sprinted out the door, and almost went headfirst down the stairs, in his haste. He had to get away, get out of earshot, before he lost his dinner. It wasn't Souji's fault--it wasn't the thought of his blood, or his sex life, or even how awful things must be, for him. It was everything, all lumped together, turning his thoughts to a nest of snakes, and his insides to water. He burst through the door, darted round the side of the building, and knelt down. His body heaved, once, twice, and on the third try--

"Yosuke? You okay?"

Shit. Souji had followed him. Yosuke rocked back on his heels, swallowed forcefully, repeatedly. It hurt--throat, chest, and stomach--and he could hear the puke gurgling back down his oesophagus. His stomach churned and spasmed. For a while, he was sure he was going to vomit, in spite of his best efforts, and Souji would take it the wrong way--how could he not?--but nothing happened. Yosuke wiped at his forehead, with the back of his hand.

"Sorry. Panic attack. Needed air." He stood up, frowning. "Where's your coat?"

"On you." Souji was smiling, but he looked more afraid than amused.

Yosuke shrugged out of Souji's coat, and helped him into it. He didn't try to explain himself further. Souji might've claimed to miss his big yap, but insulting his intelligence with excuses didn't seem like a good idea.

They helped each other back up the stairs. Neither said much: they ended up in bed, by tacit agreement, consoling one another in the dark. Yosuke tried to stay awake, so Souji wouldn't be left alone with his thoughts, but the day had been long, and profoundly strange. And Souji was warm, and somehow calm, in spite of everything. It wasn't long before Yosuke gave up the struggle.

***

Yosuke's phone alarm woke him up at quarter past five, vibrating against his chest. Souji didn't stir.

Poor Souji; looks so tired....

Souji was breathing through his mouth. Yosuke timed his respiration by the clock on the wall: four seconds in, five out, two of nothing at all, like he was summoning strength to draw his next breath--or debating the worthiness of the effort.

Wake him up?

Maybe this was how people died in their sleep: their bodies simply stopped trying. Laid down arms and quit the battle, while their minds wandered in dreams.

Let him sleep.

Stupid. Souji was sleeping deeply; that was all. He couldn't have had too many restful nights, lately. It would be verging on cruelty, to disturb him, now.

Yosuke eased out of bed. He was reluctant to go. He'd have liked to close his eyes for a few more hours, wake up mid-morning, tangled with the sheets, and with Souji. He wanted those few sleepy moments, before the world came into focus, where they'd smile at each other, knot their fingers together under the blankets, mumble shy "good mornings."

Only, for Yosuke, reality had already sunk in. Work awaited. And it would probably hurt Souji to smile, with those raw, weeping cracks at the junctures of his lips.

Yosuke sneaked out, as quietly as he could. He left a note on the table: You know what you have to do, today. Call me whenever you need to, as much as you want to. PS - school can suck an egg. GET SOME REST!

He left a box of noodles out, too, a reminder to eat.

***

Mr. Hanamura scowled. It made a crooked line appear between his eyes. Lately, Yosuke had begun to notice a similar line on his own forehead, faintly present, even when he wasn't frowning. The scar of a wound to the heart, his mother had said.

"That woman. Freckles. Long, red hair. Haven't seen her in...." The scowl, and the line, deepened. "Used to visit just before you, in the afternoons. Started to get hungry, whenever she'd leave--knew you'd be along with food, in a while."

Yosuke brightened. He hadn't heard his father talk this much, or this coherently, in a while. "Kazue Hanamura," he said, and watched for any sign of recognition. There was none. "She's, uh.... She must've been here while you were sleeping. Said she'd be back soon. Maybe this Sunday." It wasn't exactly a lie. She had promised to come on Sundays. She'd probably just been busy, settling into her new life. If she'd just start picking up her phone, Yosuke could tell her she was wrong, about not being recognised or wanted. Then--

"What day is this?"

"Friday, already. Hey, Dad? Ma's red hair, remember what you used to--"

"Friday. So, that's today and tomorrow, with only you." He bit into one of the apples Yosuke had brought. "Bring these more often. They have apples here, but they're...what's the word? Like biting into wet dirt."

"Mushy?"

"No. That's not it. You're a bad student, aren't you?" Mr. Hanamura waggled a finger at a spot just to the right of Yosuke. "I remember that about you."

"I got better. I was going to be a teacher. You took me out to celebrate, the day I--"

"You're that thief. You worked at Junes. I fired you."

Yosuke fanned the spark of hope he'd been nursing, and managed a rueful smile. "Yeah. You sacked me good. I'm cleaning toilets at Aiya, now. On beef bowl day." He picked up an apple of his own, and started polishing it on his knee.

"Mr. Hanamura?" Yosuke turned. A woman had materialised in the doorway. She didn't look like a nurse, or a volunteer. She reminded him of a blackbird, all dowdy plumage and beady eyes.

"I'm Yosuke Hanamura. This is my father. Did you need me to get out of the way, or...?"

"Actually, it was you I was looking for. Would you mind?" She glanced in the direction of the offices down the hall.

"Sure. Just a moment." Yosuke squeezed his father's shoulder. "Sorry, Dad. I'll be back, this evening. Eat all of that apple, okay?"

He left his father munching away, and let himself be herded into a dingy office, hardly bigger than a closet. The birdy woman didn't introduce herself, or offer any of the usual platitudes. Instead, she went pecking through her filing cabinet, and came up with a pristine manila folder. She extracted a cheque, with a red line drawn through it, and handed it to Yosuke.

"As you can see, we were unable to cash your mother's cheque, for next month. We haven't been able to reach her, on the number provided. Either you or she'll need to come up with an alternate form of payment, within the next five days." She gave Yosuke a reproving look, down her beaky nose. "There'd normally be a surcharge for the dishonoured cheque, but we're going to waive it, just this once, as your payment record's otherwise perfect."

Yosuke got out his chequebook, hoping he could cover the charge. He'd already forwarded his share of the fee to his mother--hadn't he? Could he have forgotten? Monday was bank day; surely, he'd gone. He had: he'd got a smile from the manager, on her way back from lunch, and he'd thought it was nice. People didn't normally--or, had that been two Mondays ago?

My fault?

He felt like everyone was staring at him, on his way out. Like they could somehow tell what had happened--like they were laughing at him. Or, worse, regarding him with the casual pity ordinarily reserved for victims of distant tragedy.

***

Kuriyama was waiting in Yosuke's office, standing, this time. Standing, because all Yosuke's worldly possessions had been dumped onto his chair. It was a pathetic showing: a pile of dirty laundry, a handful of loose photos, an electric shaver, a few books and knickknacks--and, perched atop the pile, giving every appearance of overseeing the sorry spectacle, a pair of novelty glasses.

"Well, Hanamura? Care to explain?"

"It's just--I've been keeping some--" His phone rang. "Hang on. Sorry. Might have to--" The name on the call display read The King of Spain, but the number was Souji's. "--yeah, gotta take this. Family emergency. Hello?"

"I don't think I can do this."

You and me both, partner. Yosuke licked his lips nervously. "Where are you?"

"The hallway, outside the doctor's office." Souji sounded hoarse.

"Hey, that's good. You made it all the way there, right? How long, before your appointment?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Okay. Go to the--" Yosuke glanced at Kuriyama. Still staring. He lowered his voice, and edged towards the door as far as he dared. Kuriyama was listening in unapologetically, his annoyance at being upstaged by a phone call plain. "Go to the bathroom. Splash water on your face, sit down for a couple of minutes, take some deep breaths. Can you do that?"

"The bathroom's inside. Can't go in there. Sorry; got to--"

"Wait! You still there?" Silence on the other end, but the line hadn't gone dead. Yosuke pressed on. "What can I do, to make this easier?"

"I don't know. Be here?"

"I--all right. Do this, and I will. Right after work. I'll--"

Kuriyama cleared his throat. Yosuke shot him a murderous look: not now!

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just--sorry about that. Nothing. I'll be there. Promise. Are you okay to go in, now?"

"Not even remotely." Souji laughed again--at least, Yosuke hoped he was laughing. The thought of him standing out there crying made Yosuke want to break down, himself. "I'm doing it, though. Can I call you back, if...?" He left the question unfinished.

"Of course. If you need anything, at all."

Souji murmured his thanks, and hung up. Yosuke kept the phone to his ear a few moments longer, putting off the inevitable confrontation. When the silence became unbearable, he told the dead air "Love you," and folded his phone into his pocket. Kuriyama had oiled closer, in the meantime. Yosuke could smell him: sweat and garlic, and store-brand aftershave--sharp, and faintly minty. Old men bought it, because it was cheap. Old men, and Kuriyama.

Kuriyama put a meaty hand on his shoulder. Yosuke--

--(shrugged it off roughly. He hated when Kuriyama got all paternal. He had a father. The last thing he needed was some sleazebag boss sticking his oar in. "Don't touch me. Don't--")

Yosuke stood stock still. He was calm, but it wouldn't take much to change that. Kuriyama's hand felt heavy and damp.

"Who was that? Your mother?"

Yosuke nodded.

"What's the matter? She not feeling too well?"

None of your fucking business! Yosuke stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, so he could clench them unnoticed. "She's...yeah. Not too good. I have to go to Okina, after work. Would it be okay if I left a little early, again?"

Kuriyama still had his hand on Yosuke's shoulder. He gave it a limp squeeze. "Any other night, I'd let you go. But, that brings me to the main purpose of my visit." His hand rose and fell, punctuating his speech with a series of heavy pats. "The loss prevention reports came in, today." Thump. "Not good, Hanamura. Not good, at all." Thump, thump. "Everyone's staying late, to get a jump start on inventory. I need you here, to supervise." Yosuke felt a new pressure on his arm. He was being turned around, pushed in the direction of his desk. "Speaking of inventory, some rather unusual items were found, in the stockroom. I trust I don't need to remind you that Junes isn't a hotel, or a storage facility."

"No, sir." Yosuke's skin was starting to crawl. He could feel Kuriyama's sweat soaking through his shirt, infusing it with a food court smell.

"I've let the night guys know to check all the staff areas, from now on, even if the doors are locked."

Yosuke nodded again, feeling like a puppet, with his head on a string. One of his shirts was draped over the arm of his chair. His name was embroidered over the breast pocket, in red. He read it over and over again, to block out the rush and flutter of panicked thoughts.

Yosuke Hanamura. Yosuke Hanamura. Yosuke Hanamura. Yosuke...where do I sleep, tonight? The garbage shed?--but there's garbage, in there! Can't come to work smelling like--Yosuke Hanamura. Yosuke...need a shower so bad. Should've used Souji's, when I had the--I promised Souji! What--where'd the money go? Why can't I--Yosuke Hana--

Kuriyama clapped him on the back. Yosuke jerked, but the shock cut the chatter in his head. He realised he'd been holding his breath, and let it out in a string of apologies. "Sorry about that, sir. I was in the middle of moving. Forgot I left that stuff here. I'll take it home, tonight."

"Mind you do."

Yosuke set to work clearing the mess off his chair, as his heart rate returned to normal. Kuriyama stayed and watched, for a while. His shadow, cast dark and oppressive by the hall lights, slurped over Yosuke. That little wittering voice started up again--getitoff, getitoff, getitoff--but with no real urgency, this time.

Eventually, Kuriyama went away. As soon as Yosuke heard the swinging doors hiss open and shut, letting in a burst of noise from the sales floor, he changed into his last clean shirt.

Souji texted, a few minutes later: i did it. i feel sick. going home.

***

The train was gone. Yosuke stood on the platform, hands on his knees, panting hard. Inventory had been a royal clusterfuck: he didn't even want to think about it. The lion's share of the work had fallen to him--supervising, my arse--and on top of that, one of the stockboys had pulled a shelving unit down on himself. He hadn't seemed hurt, beyond scrapes and bruises, but Yosuke had driven him to the hospital, anyway.

In spite of everything, he'd got everyone out by nine, closed up by half past, and made the station just after ten. The last train had pulled out at ten on the dot, taillights dwindling into the distance, as Yosuke'd huffed and puffed, and clutched at the stitch in his side. Two minutes late--if he'd driven faster; if he hadn't stopped to grab some water; if--

--Souji's gonna...dammit--Souji!

He thumbed in a text, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

fuuuuuuuuuuck. missed last train. u ok?

not sure. :-( 7-10 days for results. can't stop thinking about it. can you drive?

Yosuke wiped his face with his sleeve. He thought about it. If he burned rubber the whole way, he might get there in four hours. That would leave him--what? Three hours of night?--three hours, to pat Souji on the back, put him to bed, and run for the early train. He'd have to leave the car, if he wanted to be back before Kuriyama got in. And he was tired. Exhausted. Probably fall asleep at the wheel, and--

too tired. sorry. sunday for sure. did u sleep?

Souji called, instead of texting back. He sounded so unlike himself that Yosuke nearly mistook him for a wrong number. It was beyond strange, to hear Souji falter and stammer and trip over his words. Falling apart was Yosuke's department. Souji was supposed to smile--shit, that smile was irritating, when Yosuke was in full-on freakout mode--and get on with the business of fixing whatever was wrong.

Can't so much fix this one, can he?

Yosuke trudged back to his car, distracting Souji with jokes, gossip, whatever popped into his head. He could hear Souji, on the other end, pacing about, running water, opening and closing the fridge--being restless.

"Lie down," he told him. "Just...lie down, and get warm. I'll stay on the line, and bore you to sleep. How's that?"

It took some convincing, but Souji went to bed, after a while. Yosuke stretched out across the back seat of his car, and kept up a dozy, meaningless monologue, till he heard Souji's heavy breathing turn to congested snoring.

When this is all over, and he's feeling better...I'm telling him he snores.

Yosuke lay awake till dawn, watching the lights of Inaba twinkle in and out of being.

***

"It's not that, Souji. I swear, it's not." Yosuke found himself imitating Souji's usual demeanour, steady and kind. He wasn't doing so well. He figured it sounded about as natural on him as hysteria did on Souji.

Souji didn't respond. He tended to go quiet, when he couldn't keep the tremors and hitches out of his voice. Yosuke hadn't known that about him, till this week.

"You've got to believe me. If I had a choice between a month-long, all-expenses-paid holiday in the sun, or holding you, just for today, you'd win. Only--"

--I've got nothing in the bank, nothing in my pocket, and if I try to use my credit card, they might well cut it in half. If you know of a way to get to you on half a tank of petrol and a couple of shriveled apples--

"Look, I'll try and make it, this week. Maybe tomorrow. The second I can get away." He stretched his lips into a wide, empty grin, trying to keep the smile in his voice. "I guess my promises are pretty worthless, by now, hm?"

Souji made a froggy noise, a croak cut short by a gulp.

"Hey, don't--don't do this to yourself. Even if it's positive, you won't be some kind of untouchable. The people who love you, the ones who respect you, always will." Yosuke hoped he wasn't wrong. Soothing Souji's fears was hard. Trying to put him back together, if the world turned its back on him, would be beyond his power.

***

The stairwell was dark, and smelt of mildew. There were lightbulb cages bolted to the wall, one for each floor, but the bulbs within were broken, or missing entirely. A truly monumental cobweb hung above the fifth-floor landing. Yosuke hoped the spider was home. The thought of it at large, somewhere, possibly in search of prey, made him itch all over. Soon, he'd give up, and get up. He'd been here, keeping vigil between the fifth and sixth floors, since noon. Now, it was full dark. He'd committed the shapes of the water-stains on the whitewash to memory. His body was forming its own memory of his impromptu stakeout, written in aches and pains, and creakings of joints. He checked his watch: closing in on nine. Face it. No-one's coming.

It was time to go--but where? His car didn't have enough juice to get him home. He might make it as far as Okina station, but what then? Hop on the back of a train? Sneak past the conductor?

First, the phone. One more time.

He tried the house phone, first. He could hear its faint brrrrng, brrrrng, from just above, and down the hall. After ten rings, someone in the next apartment started banging on the wall. Another five, and banging turned to shouting: "Answer your fucking phone!"

Yosuke thought the shouter had a point. It was high time his mother answered her fucking phone. He kept up a chant of please, please, please, under his breath, as he tried her cell. It rang, and this struck him as a hopeful sign: as recently as an hour ago, it had been going straight to voicemail. He sat up a little straighter, going over what he wanted to say.

The voicemail picked up, on the third ring. Yosuke nearly tossed the phone over the banisters. He settled for mouthing along with the greeting, a sour expression on his face. You've reached Kazue Hanamura. Please leave your name and number, and you'll hear from me soon!

"Ma? It's me, again. Did you get my messages?" He paused, to leave room for an answer. He always did that, and always felt silly, when he caught himself at it. "Well, in case you didn't, I'm still here, outside your place. Tried to catch you at work, but they said you quit. Call me back, okay? I'm--"

The voicemail cut him off.

"--worried about you." He entrusted the tail end of his message to the stairwell.

Time passed--five minutes, fifteen, then twenty. Yosuke left at half past nine. It wasn't too cold, in the heart of the city, but he was shaking all over. He got into the back of the car, and curled up like a woodlouse, face pressed into the seedy old upholstery. A single sob escaped his throat, but he was too tired for tears. As soon as his nerves settled down, he got out and started walking.

***

"Where are you, anyway?" Souji sounded better, now. Capable of complete sentences, at least. A pair of headlights approached, and Yosuke stuck out his thumb. No good: the car whizzed by, without slowing.

"Out for a walk," he said. "Had to clear my head. Been a long day--car trouble."

"I got yelled at, on the Internet."

Yosuke laughed. "Why? Were you trolling?"

"Yeah. I was like, rrr, arrrgh, and then I asked if anyone knew the quickest way to drown a bag of kittens. Oh, and I had a picture of Mao making out with Hitler, as my icon."

"Wow. I'm not sure what to say, to that."

Souji's tone went sober. "No, it was on the student body forum. I posted anonymously, to see...." He stopped talking. Something crackled, in the background.

"To see what?"

"What people would think, if.... I asked if students with HIV should have to disclose their status. Ridiculous question--I mean, who'd say yes to that?--or, so I thought, at any rate. I just wanted to see if...you know, if anyone found out, if they'd--if I'd have to leave, or--"

Yosuke kicked at a pebble. This conversation was going to piss him off. He could tell. "How would they find out? Besides, they can't make you leave. You paid. You're--"

"You don't understand!" Souji was almost shouting. Two more cars passed by, unnoticed. "The first couple of replies were like 'Of course not. It's none of anyone's business, unless you're bleeding on them, or--well....' But, then--then, they were calling me a--they were trying to figure out who I was, which department I was from. Asking the admin to post my name. I didn't use my home computer, so I don't think.... But they wanted me out, Yosuke. Some of them wanted to hurt me, or--or, oh, God...."

"Calm down. No-one's going to hurt you. It's online. People say stuff, on the Internet, but if they had to look you in the eye--"

"They wouldn't look me in the eye! They wouldn't come anywhere near me. Getting online's like getting drunk, or getting really mad: you'll say all the disgusting things buried in your head, everything you'd normally hide. And then, afterwards, you say you didn't mean it because you were drunk, or angry, or whatever. But everyone knows you did."

Yosuke swallowed his anger. He could taste it, strong and coppery, thickening his spit. He wanted to yell and rage, right along with Souji, but he summoned a laugh, instead. "So, that time, when I baked all that tomato sauce onto the stove, and you called me a--what was it?"

Souji was breathing hard, but he went with it. "Sloppy, inconsiderate jerk?"

"Close--but wasn't it more like sloppy, filthifying swine, who'd shit over the Mona Lisa, if it wasn't behind glass?" Another car approached. Yosuke remembered to thumb for a lift, this time. The car slowed, ground to a halt twenty yards down the road. He hastened to catch up. "So, you meant that, did you?"

"You really want me to answer that?"

"Dick."

"Pig."

"Love you, too." Yosuke switched his phone to the other ear. The driver had rolled down the window, and was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Listen, I've got to go. Mrs. Tatsumi's just come around the corner with a bunch of bags, and I really would be a pig, if I didn't help. Call you in a bit?"

"Yeah. And, thanks. For being there, and.... Thanks."

The driver leaned out the window. Yosuke said his goodbyes and hung up quick, so Souji wouldn't hear a voice that clearly wasn't Mrs. Tatsumi's, and start to wonder.

"Where you headed, buddy?"

"Inaba."

"I can drop you at the exit--good enough?"

"Perfect." Yosuke got in. He laid his head against the window and closed his eyes, as soon as the car got moving. Bad hitchhiking etiquette, perhaps, but he was in no mood to chat.

***

The produce section was something of a refuge, for Yosuke. It was quiet, and had a fresh, pleasant smell. He often found excuses to be there, for a few minutes at a time--long enough to flush his head of the noise, and his nose of the aromas of the food court. Today, he was clearing out "brownstock:" Junes-speak for bruised, wilted, or otherwise damaged fruits and veg. It wasn't his job, but with payday more than a week off, it was the only way he was going to get anything to eat.

He separated the brownstock into two boxes: mouldy grapes, wormy apples, black strawberries, the worst of the worst, in one; bruised bananas, gouged dragonfruits, wilted leeks, in another. Towards closing, he could scavenge the bakery for stale bread and deflated cream puffs. Almost a balanced diet, if you squinted hard enough.

Going to get the runs, from all this crap. Ugh--maybe I can--

"Mr. Hanamura?" Someone was tugging at the hem of his apron. A little kid, judging by the voice. Yosuke turned around. His hip bumped a flat of blueberries. A few of them tumbled out, purpling up his white shoe. The kid giggled. He was barely higher than Yosuke's knee, and cute as a button.

Yosuke smiled. "Hi, kid. What can I get you?"

The kid pulled a face. "Aren't you supposed to say 'How can I make your day great?'"

"Okay. How can I make your day great?"

"You can suck my dick!" The kid crowed gleefully, and ran off, disappearing round the corner. Yosuke heard him shouting "I did it! I did it," followed by the laughter of older children.

He cleaned up the blueberries he'd spilled, and wheeled the brownstock out to the garbage shed. Standing over a dustbin, shoveling slightly rotten fruit into his mouth, didn't seem quite so humiliating, compared to what had just happened.

***

"Not tonight, either?"

Yosuke leaned against the fire exit. His breath puffed out in a lazy, white plume. "Still doing inventory. Kuriyama won't let me leave, as long as the stockroom's unlocked. Heaven forbid he should be the one to stay late." He spat on the ground, to rid his mouth of a foul taste. Somehow, he had to get his hands on a toothbrush.

"Yosuke, can I ask you something kind of gross?"

"Sure. Nobody's puked in the food court yet, today. I'm behind on my nasty quota."

Souji was quiet, for a moment. Fidgeting, probably. He tended to do that, when he got embarrassed. Yosuke waited for him to find the words he was looking for. "Well, remember the other week, when we were watching that movie, and I--and we--you know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Yeah. That was nice."

"Mm-hm. But, would you--if the test comes back positive, I mean--could that ever...could it happen again?"

Yosuke laughed. "Is that your gross question?"

"It's not funny."

"Sorry." Yosuke's feet were getting numb. He stamped them on the ground. "Don't see why not. I mean, if you have it after you get your results, you had it then, too. Only difference is that I'd know about it."

"Would you have sex with me?"

Yosuke spluttered. "Jeeze, Souji!" He looked around. The car park was deserted. "I don't know. I suppose I might, if you used--if we were--I'd have to think about it. We never even did that before, you know? I mean, are we.... Are we serious? Shit. Sorry. I'm messing this up. Uh, take that as a 'maybe,' I guess?"

Souji snorted. "Just glad you didn't say 'Ew, no--keep that diseased--keep that--'" He sniffed quietly.

"Hey, ssh. I didn't say it, remember?"

"Yeah." Souji sounded deflated, and Yosuke wasn't sure why. "You should probably get back to work, hm?"

"I should think about it. You going to be all right?"

"You'll know when I know." Souji hung up, before Yosuke could reply. He stood out in the cold, for a couple more minutes, wondering where he'd screwed up. There were, he reflected, entirely too many possibilities.

***

Dojima cornered Yosuke in the electronics department, between the DVD players and the game systems. Yosuke had always got the idea Dojima didn't like him. This notion was only reinforced, when he turned around to find the man standing directly behind him--nearly on top of him--scowling blackly. The scowl was clearly meant for him.

"Help you find something, sir?"

Dojima ignored the question. "What's going on with my nephew?"

"Going on? Why would I--"

"Don't do that." He waved his hand, in an oddly prissy gesture. "Don't waste my time. I know the two of you keep in contact. What's wrong with him?"

Yosuke looked down, cowed. Green and white tiles were laid out in an irregular pattern, on the floor. Dojima's right shoelace was about to come undone. "You should give him a call," he said. "He needs all the friends he can get, right now." He turned and walked away. Dojima was good at getting people to say more than they should. Souji forgave a lot, but he might not take kindly to Yosuke betraying his confidence, even to his uncle.

"Wait! Hanamura! Hey--I'm talking to you!"

He kept walking. Dojima didn't follow. Back in his office, Yosuke played the encounter over and over in his head, alternately afraid he'd said too much, and not enough.

***

"Souji? Still with me?"

"Yeah." Souji didn't sound sad, or angry, or much of anything else. Lifeless, thought Yosuke; it's like everything's drained right out of him.

"What's going on? We've been on the phone ten minutes, and you've barely said two words."

"It's Friday." He sighed. "Seven days, today. Thought I might've heard something."

"Oh." Yosuke fished for something to say. Nothing seemed to fit. "Going crazy, huh?"

"Yeah. Think I'll go to bed. Don't stay up too late, yourself."

Yosuke was asleep by midnight, sheltered under the counter of a boarded-up shop.

***

Monday morning dawned clear and cold. Yosuke stood in the staff bathroom, freezing in his underpants. It had taken the sink water nearly ten minutes to run lukewarm. He leaned down and stuck his head under the stream. Stray rivulets ran down his neck and shoulders, losing heat as they went. It was pure torture, working the shampoo through his hair. The cold settled into his scalp, and made his ears ache. Rinse and repeat--fuck off. Doing this once was bad. If he tried it twice, Kuriyama would have to chip ice out of his ears, before any yelling would get through.

He scrubbed the rest of his body as thoroughly as he could bear. By the time he was done, he was covered in gooseflesh, and he was pretty sure his balls had gone into hiding. It felt like his skin had shrunk three or four sizes, not to mention other parts of him. He laughed without humour: wonder if Souji would want to fuck me, if he could see me, now?

He dressed as fast as he could, and jogged to his office. There was a space heater hidden in his desk drawer. Sooner or later, it would get him in trouble--but for now, it stood between him and hypothermia, and he was grateful for it. He'd take the dressing-down, in exchange for his life.

Souji texted once, just before opening: dreamed the phone rang. nearly wet the bed. help.

Yosuke sent several replies, and called a couple of times, but got nothing. On his lunch break, he stopped by Inaba's lone pawnshop, and sold his watch and mp3 player. It didn't net him much--maybe enough to visit Souji, a couple of times, or to bus it to Okina, and pick up his car. Or to eat something that wasn't garbage, or bring his father fresh fruit, or get a room, for the night (a hot bath; a proper bed; TV, to lull him to sleep!). The choice wasn't really a choice. It never was. There was the right thing to do, and the rest was just dreams.

Late in the afternoon, as the shadows began to lengthen, he fell asleep at his desk. He only meant to close his eyes till the sting went out of them. A minute, maybe two--he put his head down with the best of intentions. It felt good, to shut out the glare of his desk lamp, the flicker of his monitor, the wallpaper whose pattern seemed to float free, when he let his eyes go unfocused. It was nicer to let himself float free, he mused. And then--

"Excuse me?"

He sat up, blinking. He must've been in the deepest troughs of sleep: his cheek was tacky with drying drool, and he was clammy with night sweat. His mind struggled to catch up with his body. Someone was talking to him. Someone short, female, and kind of silly-looking. Pink-streaked hair. Nose ring. Junes blazer, with peace sign pins stuck through the lapels. "Miyuki, right? What can I do for you?"

Miyuki wrung her hands. She had long, thin fingers, like spider legs. "I just wanted to give you some warning," she said. Her voice was high and little-girly. Fake-sounding.

"Warning?" Yosuke snagged a tissue from the box on his desk, and wiped his face.

She nodded. "That, and say I'm sorry, I suppose. Sorry in advance. I feel really bad about this, but it's kinda too late, now."

"What is?"

"Well, I guess you've heard the rumours going around about you, by now?" She cocked her head in a way she probably thought was cute. It made Yosuke tired, to look at. "Yeah, I'm kinda...the one who started those. My boyfriend was all into some rich chick, and Aiko--you know, from that Vietnamese place--told me he was gonna break up with me. So, I told him you sexually harassed me."

Yosuke felt his eyes glaze over. He was still asleep, face planted on his blotter. Had to be. His lips moved, but nothing came out. He wasn't sure what he'd been planning to say.

"Anyway, it totally worked. He got all protective, and stuff, and things were great all week." She pursed her lips, and picked at her nose ring. "But then, it kinda wore off, and we started fighting again. So, well, long boring story, but every time things started to suck between us, you'd do something else to me, and--"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

She tittered, covering her mouth with her fingertips. "Um, kinda--like, some of the stuff people said about you was pretty funny, when the story got out." Her smile faded. Yosuke couldn't quite identify the expression underneath--panic? Guilt? Whatever it was, he didn't trust it. "But now, my boyfriend's making me report you to Mr. Kuriyama. So, whatever happens to you--like, if you get fired, or whatever--I want you to know it wasn't supposed to go that far."

"If I get--if I...?" Yosuke found his voice. "No! You can't do this. You--listen, if I lose this job, it's not just on me. My father's sick. It's costing me everything I make, taking care of him. My mother and I have already lost our home. I've been eating brownstock, and day-olds from the bakery. You do this, and my family falls apart. Please."

Miyuki pouted. It was a grotesque expression, almost sexual, and thoroughly surreal. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll be punished, too. Whenever I think of the poor, sad man I ruined--like, years and years from now--my guilt will--"

"You're kidding me, right? Who put you up to this?"

She shrugged. "You don't have to be a jerk about it. I told you, it was the only way."

"The only way?--the only way to do what? What do you think this is, some fucking after-school drama? You can't destroy three lives, so you can--what are you, fifteen?"

"Fourteen."

"Fuck. Fuck! You're joking, right? This is a prank. Someone's put you up to this, and--" Yosuke stood up so fast his chair hit the wall. "They're waiting outside, aren't they? To laugh at me, when I start to cry?" He ran to the door, looked up and down the hall. No-one was there. "So, what, you've got a tape recorder--is that it? Tomorrow morning, when I come in, everyone's going to--"

Yosuke was interrupted by the shrilling of his phone. He flipped it open, without taking his eyes off Miyuki. She was blubbering, now, cheap mascara running down her cheeks. Bad sign. Bad--

"Hello?"

"Yosuke?"

"Souji? Is that you?"

There was a hissing noise on the line. Yosuke thought it was static, at first, but it was too steady, too loud. Like a shower running, in the background. He checked the call display: definitely Souji.

"What happened? You hear something from the doctor?"

"I...."

He could hear another sound, now: fast, raspy breathing. "Come on. Sit down. Slow breaths. You're going to hyperventilate, make yourself sick. What's going on?"

"Need you. Need you, need you, need you."

"Okay. Hang tight. I'm leaving work, right now."

"Hurry."

Yosuke opened his mouth to say he was coming, he was running, but Souji had already gone. Miyuki, unfortunately, was still there, staring at him with big, tragic raccoon eyes. He curled his lip at her. "Obviously, I've got to go. You'd better tell that boyfriend of yours the truth." A spiteful thought struck him, and he spat it at her. "He's history, anyway, once I'm not around to play the bad guy. He's never going to like you for who you are. Who you are is a manipulative little--"

Yosuke snapped his teeth shut on a word that really did verge on sexual harassment. His coat was draped over the back of his chair. He grabbed it and rushed out, throwing one last remonstrance over his shoulder: "Don't do it. Don't. Some things, you can't take back."

He called Kuriyama from the train. To his surprise, he didn't get yelled at. Maybe Kuriyama was saving the yelling for later. Or maybe--maybe Miyuki had already reported him, and there was a pink slip waiting in his mailbox. Maybe Kuriyama was saving his lungpower for whichever poor sap would replace him.

He tried to call Souji, too, but nobody answered.

***

Souji's door was open, so Yosuke went in. He found Souji on the sofa, and sat down next to him, without breaking the silence. He'd decided to let Souji talk first.

Souji looked up, and stabbed him in the gut with two words: hide me.

Yosuke tried. He took off his coat, and wrapped him in it, pulling the hood over his head. Souji did the rest, himself. He sheltered against Yosuke's chest, and let himself be held, that way. It reminded Yosuke of the time he'd been looking for a good spot to fish, and a small, startled bird had flown into him. He'd caught it reflexively, and for a moment, it had perched in his cupped hands, all warmth and fright. A heartbeat with feathers, he'd thought, and it had struck him as both funny and scary--a reminder of his own fragility. Of anyone's.

Souji fell apart piece by piece. He did it in a diffident, methodical fashion, like an inexperienced musician picking out notes on a piano. At first, he simply lay there, face concealed in the folds of Yosuke's shirt. When he started to cry, he was so quiet about it that only the sharp rise and fall of his chest gave him away. Yosuke held him tighter, to keep the coat from slipping off his shoulders. After a while, the irregularities in his breathing became audible: tiny huffs and gasps; throaty clicks, when he tried to hold back. Yosuke fought the impulse to shush him--or, worse, to promise him everything would be fine.

Souji's hands curled into fists. He thumped them against Yosuke's sides, but his position afforded him little leverage. There was no force behind the blows. His breath came in noisy, wheezing bursts, which he let out in harsh coughs. Sometimes, the coughs turned to choking moans. It sounded weird. Yosuke realised he'd never seen Souji lose it before--not like this. It made him want to follow suit, especially when Souji dug sharp little nails into his back, just below the shoulderblades, and began to scream.

That, he'd heard before. Once. It was as shocking, now, as--

Hold him still; you're spilling it all down his legs.

Yosuke swallowed. He could practically hear those faceless, vulgar men, grunting with exertion as they did that--that thing--to Souji. He turned his head to the side, as though to look away from--

Got something to hit him in the head with? He doesn't have to be awake, for this.

--from something unpleasant.

He felt sick. Sick with guilt, at the images that sprang to mind, unbidden; sick at the thought of Souji suffering like that, all over again. He had to stop those screams. Had to ease the pain that gave rise to them.

"Hey, Souji, Souji--I'm here." Yosuke rocked back and forth, cradling Souji's head, through his hood. He could feel the tendons on his neck standing out. Souji wasn't calming down. If anything, he was getting worse. His hands scrabbled at Yosuke's back. His screams took on a grinding, gurgling quality. The breaths that came between were short and whistling.

Oh, Souji, your throat's going to hurt so bad....

Yosuke hummed tunelessly, having some vague idea that might prove soothing. Souji either agreed, or ran out of energy around the same time. His screams subsided into pitiful sobs. His hands went still, and hung against Yosuke's back. Yosuke coaxed him into a more comfortable position, and waited for the storm to pass.

It was a long time, before Souji was quiet and still. Yosuke thought he'd gone to sleep, and was considering how best to put him to bed, without waking him, when he spoke up.

"I'm so stupid, so completely moronic."

Yosuke put one hand under Souji's hood, to stroke his hair. He ended up poking him in the ear. Souji twitched, but didn't complain. "You're not stupid. Anyone could get HIV. I could've just as easily--"

"It's not HIV."

"Huh?" Yosuke pushed the hood back--slowly, so Souji could stop him, if he wasn't ready to show his face. It was hard to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot, and swimming with tears. "Wait--that's good news...isn't it?"

"I don't know." Souji wiped his eyes. It didn't do any good. "I thought it would all be over, today--the waiting, anyway--one way, or the other. But...." He sniffed, coughed, and caught his breath. "I was at the hospital today--that's where I was, when you kept trying to call. They kept doing tests--a lymph node biopsy, X-rays--there's a mass on my liver, and I have to go back tomorrow, so they can look for...for more of it. It's--there's--when they found out how long I'd left it...." His hand found Yosuke's, and squeezed till it hurt. "Do you have to go, tonight?"

"No." Yosuke massaged Souji between the shoulderblades. He felt like the ground had fallen out from under him. He'd been ready with reassurances, if it had been HIV. People lived a long time, with HIV. Long enough to die of old age, in some cases. With medication, and a healthy lifestyle, and a bit of luck, things didn't have to be so bad, with HIV. With this, he had no idea.

"You know why I didn't get tested?" Souji sat up, shrugging Yosuke's coat away. "Embarrassment. I kept thinking, what would I do, if the doctor sat me down, and I knew it was coming, because he'd have that pitying look on his face--and then, he'd say 'Sorry, Mr. Seta; your test came back positive.' I asked myself, what would I do, then? And I had nothing. Nothing, beyond that point. Like I'd have died of shame, or something." He sneered. "If I die, you can put it on my grave: Souji Seta: mortified."

Yosuke cringed. "That's not--"

Souji cawed laughter. The sound frightened Yosuke. "Thought I was getting off easy, when he said my results only showed--well, something antibiotics will take care of. Don't look at me like that, Yosuke. Didn't you just say anyone can get an STD?"

"What? I wasn't--"

Souji kept going, as though Yosuke hadn't spoken. "But then, he said my symptoms concerned him, and he wanted to...." He hit himself in the forehead, suddenly, savagely, with the heel of his hand. Yosuke caught him by the wrists, to prevent further violence. Souji wrenched free, and began to pace. "The best I can hope for is late-stage lymphoma, or--I don't know. I don't even know. This is--you'll come with me, tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"This is a nightmare."

Yosuke pinched himself surreptitiously, on the offchance it really was a bad dream. Souji saw him, and rolled his eyes. "Nice try. I'd make fun of you, but I did the same, this morning. And again, when I got home." He slapped himself across the jaw, making his eyes water anew. "For fuck's sake, somebody wake me up!" He doubled over suddenly, gripping his knees and panting. "Shit, I...can't breathe. I can't--" The colour that had risen in his face, with his furious tirade, drained back out, and he fell to his knees. "I can feel it. It's everywhere. My lungs, they're--"

Yosuke knelt in front of Souji, and put a cautious hand on his knee. "Wouldn't it have shown up on the X-rays, if there was something in your lungs?"

"Screw the X-rays! It's there. I'm suffocating. I'm--oh, God, I'm going crazy. I can't--I can't."

"Sure, you can." Yosuke offered the assurance without knowing quite what Souji thought he couldn't do, or what he was promising. "Just try. For me. Copy my breaths, okay? It'll work. You'll feel better, in a minute--breathe with me."

Souji hung his head. His respiration steadied gradually. "Nothing there. Nothing--just.... Not thinking straight. I feel like.... Fuck. Sorry. Like I've been living this horror, since...." He drew a long, deep breath, and coughed it out. "I did something incredibly dumb, and it's haunted me in more ways than I'd ever have thought possible--this being one of them." His eyes met Yosuke's for a moment. "Funny thing: I'm not totally convinced it's the worst of them."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. Not now." Souji got to his feet, with a visible effort, and turned his back on Yosuke. When he spoke again, the last of the anger had gone out of his voice. "I guess we'll have to, if--well, if it turns out I have a future, and if you and I...."

Yosuke tapped Souji on the elbow, to get him to turn around. His lips were cracked and bitten, but Yosuke kissed them anyway. They tasted of salt. "Come on," he mumbled, when he'd drawn back. "Let's think about something else, for a while. Watch bad TV--what do you say?"

Souji didn't say much. He fell asleep, curled around Yosuke's coat, almost as soon as the TV went on. Yosuke waited till he was sure Souji wasn't waking up, any time soon. Then, he went to the bathroom, and let the panic have its way with him. He didn't have the luxury of screaming, so he soaked a wad of toilet paper in cold water and put it on the back of his neck, instead.

Twenty minutes later, he was all right. Maybe. Sort of.

***

There was a loose tooth, near the back of his mouth, on the right hand side. The gumline felt spongy and sore. Yosuke couldn't stop tonguing at it. He was probably making matters worse. Was it his imagination, or had it loosened further, since he'd started prodding? With his luck, he'd push it right out. He'd have to go to the dentist. He couldn't afford the dentist--he'd have to live with a gap. It would whistle when he talked, and the Junes staff would add that to their crude impressions of him. Oh, he knew all about it, the way they'd scruff up their hair and mince about like Liberace, asking each other if they'd mind working an extra shift or two. He didn't walk like that, dammit. And there was more to his job than--

Dojima came back in, and handed him a bag of ice. He pressed it to his jaw. The cold sent twinges straight to the roots of his teeth. He winced.

"So, I--ow. Shit." Talking wasn't helping. Breathing wasn't helping. His head felt like it was full of glass, and he didn't want to see what he looked like under his shirt. If his ribs were half as bad as his face, he was better off not knowing. "Sorry."

Dojima sat down heavily. He looked tired. Yosuke could smell him from across the table, all coffee and shoe polish. Coffee would be nice, right about now. Coffee, plain noodles, and a good night's sleep. Or a time machine, so he could go back a few hours, and not act a complete nit.

"What happens now?" He sounded bad, even to his own ears. Cowed. Depressed. Thoroughly beaten, in every sense of the word.

"Not a whole lot." Dojima made a puffing sound, blowing his breath out in a series of plosive bursts. "Doesn't look like anyone's interested in pressing charges. I'll need a statement, in case that changes; then, you're free to go."

Yosuke nodded. He'd almost been hoping to be kept overnight. It was cold, and too late to go back to Souji's.

Dojima swigged coffee, and started the tape recorder. He stated the date and time, his name, and Yosuke's. "All right, kid. You're on. Tell me why I'm here with your dumb ass, instead of home with my daughter."

"Wait--sorry. Was there anything on my phone?"

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. More texts than a library. And a voicemail, I think." Dojima glowered. "All from my nephew." His choice of words wasn't lost on Yosuke: my nephew. Don't fuck with him. He stopped the tape. "Off the record, for a sec--I called him, to tell him to quit worrying about you. Sounded like hell; wouldn't say why. Any ideas?"

"He was supposed to talk to you, tonight." Yosuke's shoulders slumped. "Or, at least, I told him to. He keeps putting everyone else before himself. Doesn't want anyone upset, or inconvenienced, or--or whatever."

"Except you?" Dojima had a funny look on his face. Skepticism, maybe. Or suspicion.

"Yeah, well, I kind of found out by accident."

Dojima scratched his chin. His five o'clock shadow was greyer than Yosuke remembered. "Not going to tell me, huh?"

"No, I--I guess I am. Just don't say anything to him, okay? I promised I'd keep quiet. I'm only telling you this because--"

--because I'm no fucking use to him. Look at me: broke, bloody, and under arrest. And still in Inaba, when I said I'd be back by--

Yosuke cleared his throat. "I'm only telling you because I'm not sure he's going to, and.... Well, he's pretty much alone."

***

The oncologist had a droney, soothing voice. He said things like "good five-year survival rate," and "responds well to treatment," which sounded hopeful. He also said things like "very late stage," which didn't. Yosuke wished he'd stayed in school longer, so he could make sense of the rest of it.

"--not going to be able to determine the extent, till the end of the week--bone marrow results won't be back any sooner. Then, we'll have to--"

Yosuke was afraid his presence had proven more of a pain than a help. He'd spent most of the day waiting, sometimes with Souji, sometimes for him. He'd made Souji eat lunch, then waited outside the bathroom, apologising profusely through the door, while he'd vomited it back up. Then, they'd waited together, while a sympathetic nurse had gone for water. Attempts to draw Souji into conversation had been met with variations on the theme of "What? Sorry. Wasn't listening."

Now, he was sitting in the doctor's office, waiting some more. Waiting for Souji to be done bombarding the man with questions. The exchange went over Yosuke's head, but Souji's face was easy enough to read. He looked relieved, at first, then surprised, concerned, scared, and finally despondent. It didn't seem he was getting the answers he wanted.

"--won't lie to you; your lymphocyte and white counts aren't where they should be, but there are factors in your favour, as well. Your age, for one, and--"

Souji reached out, and Yosuke took his hand. It felt cold and brittle; it shook in his grasp. He traced the outline of a heart into the palm, and immediately felt stupid. Souji gave no sign of having noticed.

***

Yosuke picked at a bumpy bit on the surface of the table. It gave him something to do, besides look at Dojima. "Sorry. I'm not sure what else to tell you. It's--I don't really understand it, all the medical terms, and--"

Dojima struck the table with both hands. Yosuke jumped, and hissed with pain.

"I mean, he's not dying, or anything. Or, I don't think he is. The doctor, today, he said most people make it, even when they leave it as long as he did. He said--"

"What's wrong with him?"

"I--it's--shit. Shit. It's on the tip of my tongue. Hodgkin's disease, or--or, yeah, I think that's it." He stared at the tabletop. The veneer had started to flake off, where he'd been chipping away at it. He covered up the damage with his palm, half-expecting a reprimand. But Dojima wasn't talking. After a few seconds, Yosuke felt compelled to fill the silence. "The doctor patted his shoulder, at the end, and said 'We're going to fix you up.' That's a good sign, right? He wouldn't have said that, if...if, you know. Oh! And they let him go home. They'd have admitted him, if it was that bad--right? Wouldn't they?"

Dojima gave his stubble another going-over with his nails. "I don't know, Yosuke. I haven't a f--haven't a clue." He shook out a cigarette, and let it dangle between his lips, without lighting it. "So, you decided you'd let out some of that nervous energy on the locals--is that it?"

Yosuke coloured. "Not exactly. I was supposed to stay with Souji, tonight. I'd squared it with work, and everything. But then--"

***

The kettle was whistling. Yosuke took it off the burner. "Decide what you want, yet?"

Souji didn't open his eyes. "Pick for me."

Yosuke opened the cupboard. The bottom shelf was just as he remembered it: a pocket of untidiness, in Souji's otherwise immaculate apartment. Colourful boxes and tins were stacked up in no particular order, some labeled, some not, all containing tea. Souji had been more of a coffee man, till he'd roomed with Yosuke. Still was, except in the mornings. I like your little ritual, he'd said. Looks relaxing, the way you loaf around with your crossword, waiting for your tea to steep. Yosuke's lazy mornings hadn't held up to the stresses of school, but Souji's tea-drinking had persisted.

"What are these?" Yosuke held one of the tins out, for Souji's inspection. Instead of tea, it was filled with dense, fragrant balls of leaves and petals.

Souji looked over, and smiled. "Oh--those are tea flowers. Drop one in a cup of hot water. You'll see."

Yosuke did. The ball bubbled, quivered, and unfurled into a spiky pink bloom. The water turned amber. He snorted. "Very manly, Souji. Milk? Sugar?"

"No, thanks." He took the tea, and sipped at it. The flower floated up, and poked him in the lip. "Aren't you going to have some?"

"Maybe later."

"Later...." Souji leaned back, and closed his eyes. "Let's not have a later."

"How do you mean?" Yosuke slapped on a goofy grin, entirely for his own benefit. Souji wasn't looking. "Because, if you're about to suggest some kind of murder-suicide deal, you can forget it."

"Murder--? Pff...dork. No, I meant, let's just sit here. Let's sit here in silence, and do nothing at all. No TV, no radio, no talking--let's stare at the wall, till we're so bored time stops." He raised his teacup again. Yosuke noticed he was only pretending to drink. Maybe he still felt sick. Maybe he'd only agreed to tea, to keep Yosuke from fretting. "Nothing hurts too much, right now. If time froze for us, here, I think...." He left the sentence hanging.

Yosuke didn't know what to say. The ringing of his phone saved him from having to think of something. Though, saved was a bit of a misnomer. You couldn't say you were being saved, as you leapt out of the frying pan, into the fire.

***

"--then, Ma called." Yosuke wasn't sure he had to explain this much, wasn't sure Dojima even cared, but the need to justify himself won out. "I'd been trying to get hold of her, for a while. There was a problem with--huh?"

Dojima was holding up his hand. "Wait--don't you live with your mother?"

"I did, but she sold the house, a couple of weeks ago. She's been in Okina. Anyway--"

"Where are you living?"

"Closer to Junes. I found a place, in the shopping district." A friendly floor--that counts, right? When he was sure Dojima was done interrupting, he went on. "So, she finally got back to me--that was around five, a little after. Said I had to come home right away. I thought it was Dad, that he...." His throat closed up. He wasn't sure what he was feeling--panic? Anger? Sadness? He ignored it, and kept talking. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

***

"I'm leaving your father." She said it in the same tone she'd used to tell Yosuke she was getting rid of the house.

Yosuke stirred his coffee. That was the same, as well. How had he responded, then? Had he responded? Or, had he just sat there, while she--

"I've met somebody else. Actually--" And, there was that defiant tone, again, like he was the parent; she, the rebelling child. "There's been someone else, the last six months, or so. Someone at work. He's being transferred to Beijing, and I'm going, too."

Now, he remembered. She'd said she was going to Okina. And he'd said--

"Don't ask about your father. I'm your mother. I know your thoughts. I can see you, getting up your courage, to ask." She tapped a sugar packet against her finger, to shake all the sugar to the bottom. "It's been over a year. We're paying a fortune for that place, and what good has it done? I'm having him moved out of private care, next month."

Yosuke put down his spoon. It made a small, polite clink, against his saucer. "You can't," he said.

"I can, and I am. I'm starting a new life. As for you--" She reached across the table, and stroked his cheek with her thumb. "--you should go back to school. I've been thinking a lot about this. It's the right thing. You might not think so, at the moment, but--"

"You can't!" He'd scarcely raised his voice, but people were starting to look his way. Yosuke closed his eyes, breathed coffee vapour. "Where are you going to put him?"

"Hospital. There's space on the geriatric ward. It's for the best."

"You keep saying that." He picked up his spoon, again. "What about when we sat up all night, and figured out how we were going to keep him out of there? 'No matter what,' remember?"

Mrs. Hanamura huffed, and checked her watch. "I hoped you'd be a little more mature, about this. You're nearly--"

"It's still the same place, Ma. Still smells like puke and death and boiled carrots. Still full of old people in wheelchairs, sitting out in the hall, for no reason. Or, I thought there was no reason--but what if they're waiting for visitors? What if nobody ever comes? Do they just wait? He asks about you, you know. 'Where's that red-headed--'"

She slapped him. Yosuke recoiled. Silence settled between them, heavy and awkward. Yosuke tried to finish his coffee, and spilled it down his front.

There was nothing to say. At length, Mrs. Hanamura stood up, smoothing out her skirt. "I'm due back in Okina. I'd like to have dinner with you, before I leave for Beijing. All three of us. You, me, and Mr. Leung."

Yosuke felt his face go hot, at the mention of his mother's lover. For some reason, hearing his name felt obscene.

***

Dojima looked uncomfortable. He tapped his unlit cigarette on the ashtray--a gesture of impatience, most likely.

Yosuke shrugged. "That's about it. I waited a while, so I wouldn't see her when I left, and then--well, I left." He pointed at the tape recorder. "Might want to start that again."

Dojima rewound the tape, and began the recording anew.

***

The train station was within shouting distance, when Yosuke heard his name called. He didn't turn around. The voice was familiar--unpleasantly so. One of Kuriyama's dicknose nephews. No job--no need for a job--nothing to do but--

"Hey, Hanamura, wait up!"

"Yeah--what's the rush?"

"Toldja, he and Seta are butt-buddies. He's on his way there, now, with a box of extra-small condoms."

--nothing to do but hang out with his equally dicknosed friends. Yosuke sighed inwardly, as they caught up to him, matching his pace.

"So, what, does he use a strap-on, when you two fuck?"

Morons.... Yosuke broke into a jog. No use. The head jerk--Ears, he thought--people called him Ears, because he had a giant set--got in front of him, forcing him to slow down.

"Well? Does he?"

Yosuke shouldered Ears out of the way. "Piss off."

Ears slung an arm round his shoulder. "Oh, yeah--how does he piss? Does he have to sit down, like a girl? Or does he use some kind of tube? My grandpa had to piss through a tube, after he got bit by a dog." Laughter bubbled up.

"I bet Hanamura has to help him. He finishes wiping piss off the urinals, at Junes; then, he goes to Seta's, and--"

"I always piss on the floor, on purpose, when I'm at Junes, so Hanamura has to--"

"--yeah, does he wear one of those piss bags?"

Yosuke stopped in his tracks, angry and bewildered. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

More laughter.

"Yeah, like you don't know." They were nudging each other, giggling stupidly. Yosuke thought about telling them they sounded kind of girly, themselves, but he didn't feel like getting his arse handed to him.

Ears got in his face again, close enough that Yosuke could count his blackheads. This time, when he tried to push past, he met resistance. He looked around warily. The road was deserted, save for an old lady waiting at the bus stop.

"C'mon, guys. This isn't high school. You can't--"

"Aw, we're not going to hurt you." Ears grinned. He had perfect teeth. "Just tell us what it's like, having a boyfriend with no dick."

Yosuke blinked. He wasn't sure whether to deny having a boyfriend, or defend Souji's anatomy. He opted for silence.

"I heard there was nothing there but a flap of skin." The arsehole chorus started up again.

"Yeah, kinda like a cunt, only, no hole."

"Did they seriously chop it off?"

"Yeah." Ears was talking to his friends, but staring right at Yosuke. Staring him down. "Kenji totally saw it. They tied him up, fucked the shit out of him--literally--then sliced his dick off. Kenji said it kept wiggling around, like when you cut a worm in half."

That was when Yosuke threw a punch. It never connected. Next thing he knew, he was coming to his senses in the back of a police car.

***

"--and I can't remember what he said, to make me so angry, but old lady Takahashi was right. I went for him, first. Don't think I hit him, but...." He coughed, flinched, coughed some more. "Sorry. Frog in my throat."

Dojima stopped the tape recorder, with a click.

***

Yosuke left the police station as the clock struck three. Instead of heading for the abandoned shop, to sleep, he made for Junes. Catching up on work, he thought: if anyone sees me, and asks, I'm catching up on work.

***

Yosuke had that feeling, again, that shitty, queasy, this-can't-end-well feeling. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet--nothing terribly wrong, anyway. Maybe it was a sign, that Souji's video was missing from its spot between Fucktrain 6: Tunnel of Doomcocks and Fucktrain 8: Riding the Tubesteak. A message from the universe: run along, Yosuke Hanamura. Quit snooping--this is not a train you want to catch.

He hovered his mouse over the X button. Changed his mind. Typed furiously, but briefly. Clicked, clicked, and typed again. Hesitated--

Seriously? Again? At work?

--deleted, deleted, deleted. Typed some more.

I need to know. If there was more, if they did something to him, I--

--hit POST.

>>hey...anyone know what happened to fucktrain 7?

Hit REFRESH. And REFRESH, and REFRESH, and--

>>lolol...wat do u mean?

He wiped his hands on his knees. They left faint, sweaty prints.

>>it's gone....

>>hahahahahaha...wtf *cough*NEWFAG*cough*

>>HAY GAIZ, HAZ ANYONE SEEN THE INTERNETS? I THINK THEY'RE GONE???

>>FUKTRAIN 7 IS WITH CEILING CAT, WATCHIN U MASTRB8

>>srsly. what internets r u from? ft7 is everywere. when i want milkz for my cerealz, i hold up my bowlz, and ft7 rains milk upon them, mmmmmmmm,mmmmm,mmm. and strawberry jam for my toastz. <3 <3 <3

>>POASTING IN LEGENDARY THREAD! Also, in b4 FAIL macro!

This wasn't going well. Yosuke watched the FAILboats, FAILtrucks, and, oh, God--FAILtrains--pile up. He hit F5 a few more times--what the fuck do I do, now? The macros multiplied. Someone posted a disturbingly convincing ASCII rendition of Souji taking a facial. Yosuke tried the honest approach.

>>fine, whatever, i fail. but i need to know what happens at the end. did they hurt him? i know him, and im worried.

>>AHAHAHAHAHAAAA! obvious troll is obvious!

>>haha, i call REAL. too stupid to be a troll. dude, their is at least 2-3 ft7 threads per page since friday. lolz plus the HUGE ASS BOLD LINK AT THE TOP OF THE PAGE. lurk moar.

>>u srsly no him? TITS NAME AND NUMBER OR GTFO!

>>SECONDED! Also, pics or it didn't happen.

Yosuke scrolled up--and up, and up, and up--how could there be so many people, poised, vulture-like, at their keyboards, ready to mock? And up, and up, and there it was: a yellow box, at the top of the page. It read:

1) DO NOT POST UNDER 18 ON THIS BOARD!!!!!!! CHILD PORN = IP BAN FOREVER.
2) ADMIN POLL CLOSES SATURDAY. VOTE OR STFU
3) FT7 GUY = GOATSE FOR THE NEW GENERATION!!1111ononeonenoen - LINK IS HERE, POST HIM EVERYWHERE! NAME + NUMBER GET'S GOLD FTP ACCESS 1 YR / WINNER OF CAPTION CONTEST GET'S 6 MOS GOGOGO!!!

Souji's name and number? Yosuke blanched. With the goddamn thing making the rounds of Inaba, it was only a matter of time, before--

"Fuck, Souji! Why?"

Dojima would find out. People at school would find out. And then--then, what? Everyone knew Souji. Envied him. Yosuke could see that envy turning ugly, once Souji toppled from his pedestal. Nobody wanted to be the sole voice of derision, in a chorus of praise. But it was fine to be one among many. Fine to throw stones, once the first had flown. Even the Jesus Christ people had shown signs of wanting to take Souji down a peg or two: there'd been comments, here and there, little jabs and nitpicks. Testing Yosuke out, to see if he'd harboured the same feelings. He hadn't.

But, those were his friends. If they weren't above wanting to see him take a fall--

Haven't got all night.

Yosuke cast a paranoid glance over his shoulder. Were those footfalls in the hall, or the soft flumps of gulls landing on the roof? He listened intently, and heard nothing at all. Must've been his imagination. Reluctantly, he returned his attention to the monitor. He clicked HERE, and found himself face to face with a wet, unhappy Souji. The image wasn't overly crass, but it brought a tightness to his chest. There was a caption underneath, animated so the last word kept changing:

OH SHI-- FORGOT THE

(TOILET PAPER?
MAYONNAISE?
SHEEP?
WAY OUT! HALP!
FERRET?
COWBELL?
GERBIL?
SCRIPT (lol)?)

Yosuke scrolled down, so the picture vanished off the top of the screen. He didn't want to see Souji like that, all powerless and contaminated. More than that, he couldn't bear the idea of other people seeing. Souji was supposed to be famous for his brilliance. He was supposed to make a groundbreaking discovery, even win a Nobel Prize, not shoot to notoriety as an Internet shock icon.

Yosuke drew his knees up to his chest, and read on.

THE LEGEND OF FT7 GUY, aka FORGETFULTRAIN7, aka FUCKTRAINWRECK, aka ?????? <----HIS NAME HERE, WITH YOUR HALP!

FT7 Guy became Internets legend for his lulzy/tragic performance in FUCKTRAIN 7, by SY Productions. There are 2 known versions of FT7:

ORIGINAL: posted to SY's site, later removed due to excess leeching by...hahaha, everyone ever. lol. Ends right before teh guro~~~~ (u see him lying there for a second, but no blood). DL this version if your a pussy. Link: mirror 1 mirror 2

UNCUT: leaked by bajsmannen777 right after SY removed teh original. Mostly the same, but with full, VERY bloody ending. DL this version if you like to barf. Link: mirror 1 mirror 2

FT7 Guy is e-famous for 2 things:

1) teh lulz: getting totally mutilated on camera
2) teh tragedy: taking several mid-pr0n coffee breaks (all in the last 5 mins, if u want to skip to teh wtf) to yap about something he forgot...BUT HE NEVER SAYS WHAT IT WAS! Pls post his name and number, so we can call him and ask, and also ask him how it feels to be the next goatse/2 girls 1 cup.

POST HIS ACCURATE NAME & NUMBER FOR 1 YR GOLD FTP MEMBERSHIP! FAKE INFO = IP BAN. ALSO, WHOEVER POSTS THE BEST/LULZIEST GUESS AS TO WHAT HE FORGOT GETS 6MOS MEMBERSHIP. NO PRIZE FOR GUESSING RIGHT, EXCEPT +1 EPENIS.

The rest of the page was devoted to user comments. Yosuke avoided reading them. He snagged the video--clicking the link gave him a wrenching chill--and navigated away from the page.

***

It was worse, this time. Infinitely worse.

There were less than five minutes he hadn't seen. Four minutes and twenty seconds, or thereabouts. Piece of cake--yeah, right.

Painful, but quick. Rip off the bandage.

It took him four minutes and eighteen seconds, to work up the nerve to open the file; another forty-nine seconds, to skip the bits he'd already seen. He didn't skip quite far enough. That ghastly shriek split his head, for the second time. It was exactly as bad as he remembered. Fucking horrible. He closed his eyes, covered his mouth, and waited till the splashing and choking had petered out. Then, he hit PAUSE. It was nearly nine minutes more, before he was ready to proceed.

Souji had fallen on his side. Yosuke couldn't tell whether he was fighting for breath, or simply crying. After a few seconds, he raised himself on one elbow, bunched up his shoulders, and gathered his knees under him. At first, Yosuke thought he was trying to be sick, or maybe coil up tight, to protect himself. Instead, he lurched forward, collapsed on his stomach, lay still for a moment, and repeated the process. He was inching across the floor, bit by bit. Crawling away from the mess he'd made. It wasn't working. If anything, he was making it worse, spreading it around.

With three minutes and fifty-two seconds remaining, he struggled to his knees. He stayed hunched over, seemingly incapable of sitting up straight. His midriff was already darkening into one massive bruise. A gloved hand descended on his head, and a cock hoved into view, aiming for his mouth. He turned aside.

"Wait." Souji held up one hand, and nearly lost his balance. His stomach muscles rippled, contracted, and relaxed. He leaned forward, as far as the hand on his head would allow, and spat a mouthful of something onto the floor. Yosuke's mouth watered in sympathy; he gagged, a little.

"Stop. Stop--let me...." The camera got up close and personal with Souji's face. There was something wrong with him: one pupil was dilated, while the other had shrunk to a pinprick. "I forgot--I can't...." He blinked twice. After the second blink, only one eye opened all the way. "I forgot the--forgot--"

"Forgot how to suck dick? Don't worry; it's like riding a bike. Speaking of which, you oughtta have Schwinn tattooed on your arse, all the rides you've had. Open wide!" The dick poked at Souji's mouth. He let it in, sucked briefly, and pushed it out with his tongue. Turned away again. His mouth hung open, dripping strands of spit.

"Puke on the floor, and you're licking it up."

Souji cupped his hands, just in time to catch a gout of thick, dark vomit. He bent almost double, to rest his elbows on the floor. "Stop it. Please. I can't--I've forgotten...forgotten...please."

Two minutes, fifteen seconds to go. Yosuke's vision blurred and doubled. He hit PAUSE again.

It's all right. Whatever happens, it's not like he dies.

Not helping.

Long, slow breaths. In.... Out.... In...in...in--need air, need to--

He hid his face in his hands. When he felt steady enough to look again, nearly twenty minutes had passed.

All right. Okay. Nearly over. I can do this.

They were crowding around Souji, again. Slapping him around. Trying to make him spill the--

--don't think about it. Ssh. Don't think--

--trying to make him spill what was in his hands. Souji swayed and shook, but held his position. Yosuke felt an out-of-place surge of pride: that's it, Souji. Don't let them win.

Souji looked up, tried one more time: "Please. Let me go--I just--I forgot. Can't you see? I--" His frantic pleas broke into a disgusted yelp, as someone kicked him in the hands, splattering puke over his face and chest. Another cock entered the picture--or maybe it was the same one, from before--and all hell broke loose. Souji twisted free of the hand in his hair. More took its place, but Souji was dripping, and wriggling like an eel. He broke free, and--

"No!"

Maybe he couldn't see. Maybe the floor was slippery, or his momentum was too great, or he simply panicked. Souji went crashing around the room like a moth in a jar, colliding with everything in his path. He careened off the walls, struck the doorframe headfirst, staggered off at a tangent, and got tangled with the floodlights. One went over immediately, and shattered on the floor. Souji tried to catch himself on the next one. He skittered across the floor with it, caught up in a jerky, unbalanced dance. The picture alternated between blown-out whites and murky shadows, as the bulb swung this way and that. Someone was shouting, offscreen: "Kill the lights! Kill the fucking power--kill it now!"

Souji caught a foot on the cable, and the dance ended. He fell amongst the shards of the broken lamp. The second light came down on top of him, ending his scream. Someone pulled the plug, at last, and the remaining floods cut out. A faint yellow glow remained, from an overhead bulb. Just enough to see by, as two of the brutes--still faceless, by virtue of darkness--knelt by Souji's side.

"Shit--shit! Did he get a shock?"

"Fuck should I know? Hey! Idiot! Why'd you do that? Why'd you--"

"I can't find a pulse."

"Try his neck. What's that smell? It's like--it's like meat. Roasting meat. Is he burned?--ugh! I can't look. Help me turn him over."

Souji looked dead. His head flopped back at an unnatural angle, when the larger of the two men pulled him free of the debris. He didn't stir, or make a sound. Yosuke couldn't tell how badly he'd been hurt. There were dark smears across his chest and forearms--

--blood--that's blood--

--and a black hole between his legs, from thighs to navel--was that all blood, or had his bruise darkened so much, already?

Fifteen seconds left. They were sitting him up, now. Thumping him on the back.

"Breathe--come on. Arsehole. How do you do CPR? Is it from the front or the back?"

"You're asking me? Just leave him. Let's--"

"Hey, he's alive! I just saw him stick his tongue out."

"Fucking--"

The clip ended.

Yosuke slammed his computer shut.

Someone was coming. He could hear whistling, and footsteps, and the whish-SLAP of the swinging doors. It was too late to turn off his light. Hopefully, whoever it was didn't like him enough to say hello. The odds of that were pretty high.

The whistling stopped. Yosuke heard a familiar grunt. Kuriyama. Great. The one person who would investigate, guaranteed.

"Hanamura?"

"Catching up--" His voice was trembling. Trembling. He cleared his throat, but didn't try again. He needed time, a few minutes. Water, air--

Kuriyama's shadow appeared in the doorway, followed by the man, himself. "Everything all right? Wasn't expecting to see you in, today."

Yosuke nodded.

"Maybe you should take the day off, anyway. You look like you've been in the wars." Kuriyama came in. "How's your friend?"

"He's...." Yosuke gulped. He thought about Souji dragging himself across the floor, Souji hiding from the world in his arms, Souji pretending to drink tea. "Not so good. I should--excuse me." He got up. Kuriyama stood aside, to let him pass. A ticklish feeling broke loose between his ears, like he'd opened a can of soda in his brain. It seemed to want to come out through his nose. He put a hand to his face, to hold it in.

"Hanamura!"

"Uh?" It was hard to focus, with--

--with....

***

He came to slowly, by stages. First, there was a red haze--light shining through closed eyelids--and something cool being pressed to his forehead. Then, there was sound: the rustle of a cheap suit, the drip and trickle of water, in the sink down the hall. The smell of cheap aftershave filtered into his consciousness, next, and the discomfort of his keys biting into his arse. They must've fallen out of his pocket, when he collapsed.

Yosuke opened his eyes. Kuriyama was looking down at him.

"Sorry," he said. "Stood up too fast."

Kuriyama shook his head. "No need to lie, on my account. I'm perfectly aware of what happened, last night." He made a growling sound, in his throat. "Any illusions I had, about that nephew of mine--you know, he's twenty-seven years old, and never had a job?"

Yosuke sat up. His stomach turned over, but his head stayed steady. "I'm sorry." He sniffed, blinked hard. His eyes were watering.

"Don't let it get to you." Kuriyama stood, and offered Yosuke a hand up. "Here, sit back down. Take the chair." He perched his own massive frame on the edge of Yosuke's desk. It creaked. "I owe you something of an apology, Hanamura. I've come down on you hard, since I took over, here. Can't have been fun to live with."

He seemed to be waiting for a response. Yosuke forced a "No, sir" past the lump in his throat.

Kuriyama gave him a long, appraising look. "You reminded me of my own son, at first. He's about your age. Lives with his mother, in Tokyo. Another one, who's never had a job." His brows drew together, lending his face the appearance of a tengu mask. "And there you were, no idea how to run a store, getting on everyone's nerves. Took me a while to realise how hard you were trying. And then, I thought I might be partly responsible for that, with all my pushing." The desk creaked again, as Kuriyama resettled his weight. "You do an excellent job, Hanamura. For the most part."

"Thank you, sir." It was getting harder and harder to speak. He felt weepy and lifeless. A lecture would've been easier to take--then, he'd at least have had anger to stiffen his spine. Kuriyama's kindness left him at a loss.

"That said, there is something...." For the first time he could remember, Yosuke thought Kuriyama looked uncomfortable, the way he drew back his lips, to tap a short, neatly-filed nail against his teeth. "I hadn't meant to spring this on you now, but I need to talk to you about damage control." The demon eyebrows were back. "Miyuki. She's been saying unpleasant things about you for some time, now. I turned a blind eye, as long as they weren't brought to me directly. Unfortunately, that's changed. She has filed a report, but--"

Yosuke shut his eyes, to keep them from leaking. It didn't work. He hoped Kuriyama wouldn't call attention to his problem. Hoped he wouldn't notice, at all.

"--but parts of it have already been shown false by security camera records. In addition, I've done some asking around. As far as I can gather, the rumours are a ruse, to garner attention." Kuriyama picked up Yosuke's paperweight, and turned it over in his hands. "Always wondered how they got the dandelions into these things. Got to be some kind of illusion, hmm? At any rate, you see my position. If a fourteen-year-old girl were to run crying to the police, for instance, I'm sure you can imagine the fallout."

"So, you're--" --firing me? The words stuck in his throat. He sniffed again, and stifled an undignified whimper.

Kuriyama laughed richly. Yosuke normally loathed that laugh. Today, it came as a relief. Nobody--not even Kuriyama--laughed like that, as he delivered the dreaded pink slip. "Oh, no. No. I'm not letting you go. You wouldn't be fired, over an isolated, unsubstantiated incident. But if it got to the point of an investigation, a note would go on your file: 'SUSPECTED SEXUAL HARASSMENT'--no context, no mention of any of the evidence in your favour. You'd spend the next twenty years doing the same job you are, right now. Which would be a shame, for someone as bright as you." Kuriyama replaced the paperweight, taking care to put it precisely where he'd found it. Yosuke watched him position and reposition it. He felt like he'd fallen asleep, and got lost in a dream. It was a sickly, surreal feeling.

At last, Kuriyama got the paperweight positioned to his satisfaction, and smiled faintly--at the desk, rather than at Yosuke. He seemed as reluctant to meet Yosuke's eyes as Yosuke was to meet his. "I've recommended you for a position in the Okina store. Not too far from your father, and closer to your friend. And out of Miyuki's sight. How does that sound?"

Yosuke managed to squeak out a "thanks," before he dissolved completely. After an tense, strange moment, Kuriyama showed him one last act of kindness: he went away.

Half an hour later, Yosuke was calm enough to leave, as well.

***

Yosuke made a lemon-suck face. Fucking hallway was like a wind tunnel in Antarctica. He'd lost all feeling in his arse half an hour ago, and his ears felt like he'd tried to clean them with an icicle. If Souji didn't show up soon, he'd need a pickaxe and a bucket of antifreeze, to get Yosuke off his doorstep.

Dammit, Souji--where'd you go?

He nursed his outrage at being left in the cold, to keep out the niggling what ifs: what if Souji was hurt? Sick? Angry? What if he'd gone to class?--and what if he had to work, after? What if he didn't come back till late? Yosuke drew his feet under the hem of his coat, and hunched his shoulders. His eyes hurt, and he let them drift shut. He slept, and the morning lurched past: he opened his eyes to the glare of direct sunlight. The frost on the window had burned away, and meltwater was seeping in through the cracks in the putty. The washing machines had started, downstairs, and soap-scented steam rose from the vents. He stretched and groaned.

It wasn't the washing machines that had awakened him, but untidy sounds from the stairwell. Someone shuffling and cursing, bumping about like a pachinko ball. There was a yelp, and the banister creaked, as whoever it was nearly went tail over teakettle.

"Souji? That you?"

A silly giggle floated up. Definitely Souji. Yosuke found his feet, and went to stand on the landing. "You okay, down there?"

"Mm-hmm. Hey, Yos--Yosu.... Hey!--g'morning." Souji woozed into view, weaving and swaying. He had a death-grip on the banister.

"Almost afternoon, I think." Yosuke took in the strange spectacle, vacillating between amusement and irritation. Was Souji drunk?

"Oh...ha! Afternoon. Think my watch stopped."

"You're not wearing a watch." He watched Souji navigate the stairs, bumping his toes on the risers. "Where'd you come from, anyway? Didn't you get my texts?"

Souji stopped, a study in comic puzzlement. Yosuke could practically see the question mark bopping into existence, above his head. He reached into his breast pocket, got out his phone, and promptly dropped it. When he bent to get it, he lost his balance, and went down hard. "Ow--that kinda...hurt." He laughed again, but to Yosuke's consternation, he couldn't seem to get back up. "Help?"

Yosuke bounded downstairs, two at a time. Water had pooled on the landing, and he nearly took a spill, himself. Then, Souji nearly finished the job, trying to climb up his legs. Trying, nothing: succeeding, and if Yosuke didn't put a stop to it, soon--

"Whoa! Sheesh--watch where you're--" He got his hand on Souji's head, just in time to avoid a face/crotch situation. Souji snickered, swayed, and turned a little green. He put his hand over his mouth--why did people do that, when they thought they were going to puke? It wasn't like they could hold it back, that way, and if they tried--

--oh, yuck--mental image; mental image!

Yosuke sidestepped, just in case. Souji swallowed, licked his lips, and tried for another trouser-climb.

"'S okay. 'Cause I feel really good, now. Feels like I'm--hey, is that a trouser-penis, or your real penis?"

"Wha--?" He pushed Souji's face away, for a second time. "You're drunk, aren't you? No--you are! You smell like an accident at a distillery." He got his arms round Souji--no mean feat, with him squirming and wriggling, and trying to rub his face in embarrassing places--and hauled him upright. "Okay, party's over. Time to go home."

Souji giggled some more, and blew booze fumes in Yosuke's face.

"Ugh--I'm getting second-hand smashed, just breathing near you. What the hell's a trouser-penis, anyway?"

"It's when...." He stopped, laughed, nearly collapsed in Yosuke's arms. Yosuke nudged him, to get him moving again. "'S when your zip bulges out, so it looks like a--a--ha, ha--"

Had to ask, didn't I?

They gained the top of the stairs with a minimum of misfortune. Yosuke hustled Souji inside, and deposited him on the sofa. Souji flumped into the cushions with a startled oof. His shoes left polish-marks on the floor. Yosuke knelt down, and began to untie them.

"So? What's the big idea?" He tugged Souji's left shoe off, and massaged the warmth back into his foot. "Of all the times to get ratted, you pick now?"

"Wanted to try it, once. In case...." He sighed, and wriggled his toes. "That feels nice, what you're doing."

"Did you have fun?"

"Fun...yeah. Lots and lots." He swallowed, sniffed, rubbed his nose. "Drank like...five or a thousand whiskies. Glasses of whisky. Shots? Did lines in the bathroom, with some guy--and then he tried to buy me, for the night. Danced.... Oh, and then I threw up on this plant, this big, spiky plant, so I had to drink some more."

Yosuke shook his head, and got started on Souji's other shoe. He must've laced it while drunk: it looked like a sailor had been practicing knots on it. "Tell me you didn't go alone."

Souji grinned. "Nope! Went with Rise. I told her, no, but she said.... I forget what she said. But it worked." Souji chuckled, and got a malicious look on his face. "Think she wants me. Wants to get back together. Made me dance with her--just me. She was--mmph! Grinding. Doing things to me...nearly came in my pants." He shifted his hips. "Maybe I did. 'S all blurry."

Yosuke looked away, more crushed than, perhaps, he had the right to be.

"It's really bright in here." Souji pulled a cushion over his face, sneezed, and threw it away again. "What do you think?"

"About the lighting, or about you getting back together with Rise?"

"Me and Rise...should I?"

"Suit yourself." Yosuke yanked Souji's shoe off, roughly enough to pull a thread out of his sock. "Whatever makes you happy. I have to put these away." He stalked off, shoes hooked on his fingers, and a thick feeling in his throat. When he returned, only a few moments later, Souji was curled up, breathing funny. Yosuke put a tentative hand on his neck. "You all right?"

Souji shook his head. "I lied, again."

Yosuke exhaled sharply, and said nothing.

"I mean, Rise was there, we were--we had a couple--but...." He picked at a little purple stain on his shirttail. "I was being kind of...jerky. A supersize prick, in her words. She bailed, when I--when I tried to get her to do X with me. So, I sat by myself, and I told some dude my life story, and.... God, it was depressing. Nothing happened, like that. I didn't...."

Yosuke waited a few moments, to see if Souji had more to say, but he seemed to be done. His confession had left Yosuke both worried and infuriated. It took him several deep breaths, to get his temper down to a low simmer. "Right. Well, thanks for admitting it, I guess. Why do you feel the need to lie to me?"

Souji ducked his head, and insinuated himself into Yosuke's arms. He whispered something, below the threshold of hearing.

"Huh?"

More whispering; a sleeping-hedgehog snort.

"...so, I'm sorry." Souji looked up, all shame and woe.

"I probably forgive you--but I have no idea what you just said. So, if it was something about you, a giraffe, and an extra-long condom, I might have to rethink my position."

That got him a meek smile. "Said I wanted to see if you'd get jealous."

Yosuke tried to push Souji off him, but he was heavy and awkward, and somehow entangled with his coat. He settled for cuffing his ear. "Jealous? Try sick, hurt, stunned--that really wasn't nice." Souji flinched. Yosuke kept talking, anyway. "Don't play games, all right? I can't take it. Or, I take it seriously. I don't want to wonder where I stand, with you."

Souji nodded, groped around till his hand found Yosuke's.

"That's my real hand, by the way." Yosuke met Souji's puzzled look with a wink. "Not a trouser-hand. Or my--you know."

A tear ran down Souji's cheek, and soaked into Yosuke's shirt, but he was smiling. Smiling and sniffling. And taunting: "Your what, now?"

"You know."

"Say it."

"My, uh--" Yosuke tried to swat Souji again, but this time, he evaded the blow.

"Your...catfish? Your...rubber chicken?"

"Shut up!"

"Your monkey wrench?"

"My cock. There. I said it." He glared, defiant. "Satisfied?"

"Not yet." Souji shifted, pinning Yosuke neatly and firmly in place. "You know," he reflected, "there are a lot of things I've been wanting to try. Like...here, shut your eyes; let me--" He drew Yosuke's lids shut, with the side of his hand. "Say something filthy."

Yosuke squawked. His eyes flew open, but Souji covered them with his palm.

"No, don't look. Say you want me."

"You're drunk."

Souji kissed him. He wasn't gentle, this time. He tasted of whisky, and of something sour and curdled. Yosuke found himself responding, anyway. It was hot, in a gritty sort of way--Souji's hand blocking his vision; Souji's weight settled too squarely on his chest, so he couldn't get enough air. When he tried to turn away, Souji turned with him, and bit his lip. He didn't remember that from before, either, nor the way Souji cradled his head in his free hand--all tenderness, till that hand became a fist, clenched rudely in his hair.

Souji's teeth were chattering, turning his kisses shaky and strange. He trembled, tensed, made odd little noises, like he had something stuck in his throat. It shouldn't have been a turnon, but Yosuke was hard, sweating, dizzy from lack of oxygen. Souji let go of his hair, and squeezed his balls, instead. Yosuke gasped. Twitched. Pulled back--what the hell am I doing?

"Wait--wait, I--"

Souji tightened his grip. "Don't move. And say it."

"Uh...."

"You want me."

"I--I think we need to talk, or--"

Souji nipped Yosuke again, and slapped his cock. It stung, even through his trousers. His yelp of protest was lost in another unkind kiss. He wasn't sure whether he was being seduced or punished, but the inclination to struggle was fast being superseded by a less complicated desire. It had been a long goddamn time, and Souji knew just what he needed--how could he possibly--? But he did, and--

--and he's drunk, and God knows what else; shouldn't be--

Souji was making it hard to think, grinding against him at an odd angle, so Yosuke's cock lay in the hollow of his hipbone, rather than beneath his own. He mumbled against Yosuke's lips, between ferocious kisses. "Not now. Tell me you want me. Tell me, tell me."

Yosuke huffed--like hell I do. Only, he did.

Souji leaned closer, to moan in his ear--and closer still, to trap his earlobe between his teeth. When he bit down, Yosuke thrust his hips involuntarily. He was desperate to cum. Or maybe, he needed to breathe. Souji seemed to get heavier with every passing moment--either that, or the air was getting thinner.

Against his better judgment--no, forsaking judgment, or forethought, or conscious thought--he grabbed Souji by the waist. He'd only meant to touch, insofar as he'd intended anything, at all, but he found himself rubbing, kneading, squeezing. Souji felt warm, even through his clothes. Warm, and strong. Yosuke fancied he could feel the ripple of muscle, the rush of blood, through fabric and skin. It was hard to believe Souji was--

--shit; this isn't right; this is--

"No." Souji jerked free of his grasp. "Don't look. Don't touch. Just say it--tell me."

"Fuck, Souji!"

"Want me to?" He guided Yosuke's hand between his legs, pressed his hand to his erection. "Me, too. Feel how hard I am?" Yosuke did. Souji thrust into his hand, and whimpered, like it hurt. Yosuke's stomach did a slow roll, and he finally found the strength to struggle.

"Wait--stop!"

"No." Souji buried his face between Yosuke's neck and shoulder, breathing hard. In spite of his verbal refusal, he did stop. "What is it?"

"Can't do this. Can't--hey, sit up. Let me breathe."

Souji sat up. He shook himself--or shuddered violently--and folded his arms across his chest. "Okay now?"

"No. No--I'm not doing this. When you've sobered up, if you still want to, we can talk about it, but--"

"Why?" Souji hit him, backhand across the chest. It didn't hurt, but Yosuke rubbed the struck skin, anyway.

"Calm down. This isn't you, all this violence. What's the matter?"

"It has to be now." Souji was still arguing, but the aggressive edge had gone out of his voice. He stared at Yosuke's hand, covering the patch of pink, smacked skin. "Please. I'm not doing this again--getting drunk, I mean. I hate it. So it has to be now. I want to."

Yosuke put his hands on Souji's waist, again--carefully, this time. Reassuringly. "You want to? I don't think you do. Listen to what you're saying. If you need drugs, or booze, or whatever you're on, just to get this far--"

"Please."

"No, Souji."

"But--but what if, if I--" Souji slumped against Yosuke, squashing his chest, again. "If I don't make it; if I don't have long, I'll never have.... I know it's stupid, but, please--I want to try it."

Yosuke combed his fingers through a tangled patch, at the nape of Souji's neck. "You have tried it, remember?"

"But I didn't like it." Souji sounded so forlorn, so petulant, that Yosuke nearly laughed.

"You might not like it with me, either. I'm not exactly a--a wanton sex god. Last guy I was with looked at me after, while he was getting dressed, and told me I could be tighter. Started showing me these exercises, to make my--fuck; why am I telling you this? Just pretend you never heard that, and take it easy. And don't laugh. It's not funny. All right, it kind of is, but--man, you are a huge prick, when you're trashed. There--relax. That's it." He rubbed Souji's back, slowly and firmly. It seemed to be working: he'd stopped shivering, and begun to hiccup weakly, instead. "Tell you what: I'll hold you, instead. As long as you want. We can both get some sleep. A good night's sleep's better than lame, drunken sex, hmm?"

"It's not night."

"Fine; a good day's sleep."

"Think I have to--" Souji squirmed, sat up halfway, and fell back. He'd gone an unhealthy shade of grey.

"Sick?"

Souji nodded. Yosuke helped him--carried him, mostly--to the bathroom, but by the time he was bent over the toilet, the nausea seemed to have passed. He cried for a while, instead, head on the porcelain, refusing all comfort.

When he was finished, he dried his eyes with a piece of toilet paper, and let Yosuke lead him to bed.

***

Souji's bedroom, at night, reminded Yosuke of a depressing near-future sci-fi flick--Bladerunner, maybe. Even with the lights out and the curtains shut, the city glow was enough to see by. Not that there was much to see, besides Souji, himself. Just mismatched furniture (a scratched-up table that served as a desk; a lamp with a motheaten shade; a chair with one leg shorter than the others), and a thin, pea-green rug, with bare patches worn into it, where Souji had scuffed his feet. He did that, when he was concentrating hard--toed grooves into the carpet. One of his few nervous habits.

There had been a bookcase, at one point, but it had migrated to the living room, when Yosuke had wanted to share it, then to the trash-heap, when it had been found to be riddled with woodworm. Now, Souji's books were stacked up along the wall, waist high, in places. It looked like he'd tried to keep them organised, at first: textbooks on the left, arranged alphabetically, and by subject; fiction in the middle; comics, biographies, and--sheesh, Souji, what the fuck?--self-help books, on the right. But chaos had set in, at some point in the recent past: the top stratum of books was stacked willy-nilly. 1,000 Easy Recipes rubbed spines with Ghosts of the Tower of London, which was about to nudge Caring for Yourself: An Owner's Manual for Your Soul out the window. Where it belonged.

Metal pipes with no apparent function--unless rattling and whistling in the middle of the night counted--crisscrossed the ceiling. Some had been whitewashed over, long enough ago that rust had begun to eat through the paint. Others, perhaps added later, were plain metal. The window was perpetually wet, from the clouds of steam billowing up from below. Droplets of water gathered, grew fat, and streaked down the glass. Being in Souji's room gave Yosuke the same melancholy feeling he got, when he was stuck inside during a rainstorm.

His ribs and jaw ached, from the beating he'd taken, and from the mauling he'd had from Souji, after that. Of more immediate concern, Souji had worked himself into an inconvenient position, in his sleep. He'd appropriated Yosuke's left arm, for use as a pillow, effectively cutting off circulation. His hair was sticking up all over the place, getting sucked up Yosuke's nose with every breath. Worst of all, he'd kept all his clothes on, and various seams, buttons, and belts were digging into Yosuke's bare skin.

"Hey...." Yosuke nudged him, with his chin. Souji sniffed, and wriggled a little closer. "Hey, weirdo--I know you're awake."

"...no, 'm not."

"Yeah, you are. I can hear you talking."

"No, you can't."

"Come on; get off. My arm's gone to sleep."

"No, it hasn't." Souji groaned, shifted, and added a sneaky-soft fuck off.

"I heard that." Yosuke nudged again, harder, this time. "Go have your hangover over there."

"Mean, Yosuke--I wouldn't push you out of bed, if you were...." Souji rolled onto his back, and sat up a little, to let Yosuke extricate his arm. He sniffed again, wiped his face on the blanket.

"You don't have to cry over it--I just wanted my arm back."

Souji chuckled. "I'm not. I'm done crying. For, oh, about the next ten years." He stretched, cracked his neck. "Mmph. That's...oh, God."

"Feel good?"

"Yeah." He turned on his side again, looked Yosuke up and down. "You look like you got trampled by a horse. Sorry about--you know. Crawling all over you, earlier. Did I hurt you?"

Yosuke shook his head. That hurt: stiffness had set in, while he slept. He hid his wince under a yawn.

"Liar."

"Yeah. But I like it, when you hurt me, a little."

"Really...?" Souji sounded interested in that revelation. His expression sharpened, then softened, became reflective. "Still, I owe you an apology. No--don't say anything, yet. The last couple of weeks have been...." He sat up, and loosened his tie. "Can't believe I slept in this. Sorry. This is hard. I--where do I even--?"

"You don't have to."

"No, I do. I've been dealing with a lot, lately--or not dealing with it, really; didn't have time, and--and what's with this? It's like it's trying to strangle me!" He yanked his tie loose, and threw it on the floor. It landed half-in and half-out of a ragged patch of light, cast through a hole in the curtains. "Actually, I'm lying, yet again. My tie was fine. I did that because I'm...."

"You're--?"

"It's all right." Souji retrieved his tie, and folded it neatly. "Everything hit me, all at once, everything I'd been avoiding. I caught that cold, and I couldn't...." He took a quick, gulping breath. "I really went nuts, on you, and--hah. It's not a side of myself I show. Didn't know I had it in me."

"I'd be worse, in your shoes."

Souji quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?"

"Jerk."

"Anyway, I--while you were gone, I found out I have to start treatment on Monday."

"Oh, shit, I--"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. As soon as I realised I'd have to get my head together, by then, face it with my chin up, I felt almost...." He lay back down, and put his forehead on Yosuke's chest. "But then Rise showed up--and, of course, she hasn't a clue--and there was just enough crazy left in me, to...." He snorted. "Sorry. I didn't even have a condom. We couldn't have, anyway."

"You and me, or you and Rise?"

"Stupid...." Souji tilted his head, just enough to bite Yosuke's nipple. Before Yosuke could bat him away, he'd soothed the sting with a flick of his tongue, and retreated on his own. "You like that, hmm?"

"Maybe."

Souji made a sharp, frustrated sound, deep in his throat. "I want you, but...." He kissed Yosuke's lips, without teeth, this time. "You've got work in the morning, don't you?"

"Mm-hm." Yosuke stole another kiss, knowing the moment, and the opportunity, would soon be over. "Got to catch the early train. I should get up, shower--" He checked his watch: nearly four o'clock. He'd slept longer than he thought, by several hours. "Maybe skip the shower. Make you breakfast?"

Souji grimaced. "Better not. Unless you want to see me do the technicolour yawn."

Yosuke laughed, and clambered over Souji, out of bed. "Stay here, then. Sleep more. Text me, later."

Souji nodded, and pulled the covers around himself. He watched Yosuke get dressed, with rapidly glazing eyes. By the time Yosuke got round to fastening his cuffs, his audience had apparently dozed off. He bowed sardonically in the direction of the bed, and hurried out.

***

Yosuke was forty-five minutes into his commute, when he dug his hand into his coat pocket, in search of mints, and found a folded envelope, instead. His name was on it, in Souji's neat, refined script. Curious, he thumbed it open. There was a letter, inside, less neatly-penned than the inscription on the envelope, with various blots and crossings-out. He turned to the window, to keep his neighbour from peeking over his shoulder, and began to read.

Dear Yosuke,

I started to write this yesterday, but Why are you so tired? I've been up for an hour--

--here, there was a particularly dark scribble, completely obliterating the words that had occupied the space beneath--

--sick as a dog, and half an hour after that, trying to decide what to write. Not only did you sleep through everything (and I wasn't exactly quiet), but you haven't moved a muscle. Are you all right? I've seen so little of you, lately. I've missed you been worried.

Anyway, I'm writing this because I never got the chance to show you how to do laundry. But then, it occurred to me that if anything happens to me on Monday, if I have a bad reaction, or I

Never mind. Ignore that. There's almost no chance of anything going fatally wrong. But if it does, this letter might be your last memory of me. So I feel like I should be writing more than washing instructions. I feel like I should, but I can't. I can't say goodbye to you. Never could. So. Screw it. Here it is: Souji's oh-so-marvelous guide to having clean clothes, in five confusing steps.

1) Wash all underthings, pillowslips, and similarly unsanitary items by hand, in warm, soapy water. You'll run them through the machine, too, but they won't come out properly clean, if they haven't had a good scrub. (Yes, I did this for you, when we roomed together. No, I'm not mad. Thank you for understanding the purpose of, and putting to good use, the toilet paper I always seemed to be replacing. However--and this is just a suggestion--you may want to remove your underpants, in future, before pleasuring yourself. Not only is it tidier, but (in my experience), it feels better. Ask me, if you require a demonstration.)

2) If there are obvious stains on anything, do your best to get them out by hand. But don't scrub TOO hard, or you'll rub them in even deeper. Use warm water and soap, and rub gently, in circles. Unless they're bloodstains--then, use cold water. Of course, if you have bloodstains on your clothes, you might have bigger problems than getting them out.

3) Separate whites, greys, & colours. Some people think you can put your greys in with your whites, but you can't. You know how my uncle's shirts are always dingy? That's because he's one of those people.

4) Put in your laundry soap & fabric softener (assuming you're using the liquid kind--don't put a softener sheet in the machine. Those go in the dryer.) Then, put in your clothes, and select the cycle. They're clearly labeled on most machines, but it's worth noting that if the temperature has a separate dial, always pick warm/cold, instead of hot/warm or hot/hot. It's gentler on your clothes.

5) Once the cycle's finished, put everything in the dryer, EXCEPT those ugly knit sweaters of yours. You have to let those air-dry flat, or they'll shrink. Why am I telling you this? I hate when you wear those. They make you look like an old man. Yes, they do. Quit mentally arguing with me. Everyone agrees with me. Yes, the subject really HAS come up. You'd look better in--well, just about anything else.

Oh, and don't leave your clothes in the dryer too long. Get them out while they're still a little wet, and let them finish on the clotheshorse. Otherwise, they'll get crispy.

You don't have any hand wash/dry clean stuff, but always check the labels, anyway, in case there are special instructions.

Well, that's about

I hope this isn't

These had better not be my last words to you. I'll text you something really intelligent, later, so you'll have something scintillating to remember me by. Not that you'll need it. I'll be fine. It's just my way of coming to

It scares me, that you won't be

I don't know how to finish this, so I'll quit while I'm ahead.

Thanks for everything,

--Souji

Yosuke read the letter twice. It made him smile, at first, then blush, then choke back an unseemly display of emotion, as he folded it away. The train car began to feel smaller, stuffier, lacking in air. He leaned back in his seat, and reminded himself that no-one had ever died of a panic attack--

--as far as I know--but I don't know everything. People could've died. Died in droves. Souji could die, too, and then--

--no. No-one ever died. No-one. Panic attacks don't kill. It's all right. It's safe. No-one ever died of a panic attack--

--till he was sure he wasn't going to cause a scene.

He nearly lost his composure at work again, instead. He'd just sat down at his desk, and let out a breath he hadn't been conscious of holding, when Kuriyama came puffing in, out of breath. Between pants, he informed Yosuke that he'd been ringing his long-disconnected house phone, since yesterday--to let him know his interview had been scheduled, for the Okina position.

In six hours.

At the main office, in Tokyo.

Shit.

Yosuke didn't think he'd be able to run, in his bruised and beaten state, but somehow, he did. He arrived at Inaba station with spots dancing before his eyes, and sweat soaking into his shirt.

Shit--I'm fucked.

***

Yosuke stretched out across the back seat of his car, avoiding the pokey spring that had worked its way through the upholstery, with malevolent intent. This was luxury--the richest of feather mattresses, comfort befitting the Emperor's palace--compared to the floor he'd been calling his bed. A small, strangled groan escaped him.

"What was that?" Of course, Souji picked up on it. Yosuke could picture his expression: sharp, alert, somewhere between amusement and suspicion.

"Nothing. Just getting comfortable. My back's all--fuck it. Never mind. How do you feel?"

"You're not calling me from the toilet, are you?"

"No! Dude--that's gross. You seriously think I'd--"

Souji was making whispery, sneezy laughing sounds. Yosuke wondered what it would take, to elicit an outright guffaw. He shook his head, glad Souji couldn't see his sheepish expression. "You certainly sound all right."

"I am. Felt a bit queasy, right after, but I think it was just in my head. Nurse said I probably wouldn't feel anything, till tomorrow."

"Where are you, now?"

"Work. Centrifuge broke, so I...." Souji trailed off, leaving Yosuke to fill in the blanks. He had a habit of doing that. He'd explained it, once, as self-consciousness, a fear of rambling.

"So you had nothing to do, and you were bored, and nothing says Yosuke Hanamura like abject boredom?"

"You said it." There was a creaking sound--Souji sitting down, most likely--and more breathy laughter. "What are you really doing? I hear cars."

"Procrastinating. Dad had a bad night. I should get in and see him, but this morning...." Yosuke's eyes itched. He rubbed them, and they itched worse. "Forget it. I'm whining. Wish me luck, hm?"

"I'll wish you strength."

Yosuke grunted. He thought about saying he was too tired for strength, and couldn't he be lucky, this once?--this one time? But Souji might be disappointed, then. Might even be angry. Sometimes, Yosuke thought--

"Still there?"

"Nope. Hung up on you, five minutes ago. You're talking to the centrifuge."

"Coming over, later?"

"Can't. Work, and...." His own mumbled apologies struck a sour note, to his ear. He wondered if Souji ever thought of him, when he read his dreadful self-help books. Yosuke had dipped into one, just before he'd moved back to Inaba: Man in the Moon: If He's Not There, Does He Truly Care? It had been a saccharine disaster, as expected, but one line had struck him as apt, and refused to be forgotten: Just as you make time for the things you're passionate about, so does the man in your life. If he's always busy when you need him; if he consistently chooses work, friends, or family over you; if you don't feel like you're a priority in his life--he doesn't care. And neither should you. He's a Man in the Moon, not the Shining Star you deserve!

"Tomorrow?" Souji sounded disinterested, like he already had a fair idea what the answer was going to be.

"Souji...." The silence that followed was not a comfortable one. "Listen, I--"

"I have to go."

"Wait, let me just--"

Souji hung up.

***

There had been a fly on his father's face, when Yosuke arrived, roosting on his eyebrow, like--

--like "I declare myself King of this forehead! All hail the conquering hero!--

--like a harbinger of misfortune. The sight of it, all fat body and hairy legs, had made Yosuke want to scream. Insects crawled on the dead. It wasn't time for that, yet.

Now, the fly was battering itself against the windowpane, trying to get out. Yosuke avoided looking at it. His father had something greenish crusted in the corner of his mouth--gooseberry jam? Phlegm?--and he kept his gaze trained on that. He'd keep looking at it, he'd decided, till it stopped grossing him out. It was a flaw in his character, that he could look at the man who'd raised him, and feel repulsed. But he'd eradicate it. He'd make himself better.

"So, I got the job," he said, aloud.

Mr. Hanamura stared at nothing.

"I tried to act like you, at the interview. Dignified, you know, and...I guess, deserving. Like I already had the job. I was so nervous, though. I thought-- I mean, my train got delayed, and I was nearly-- I threw up in the car park, right before...." Yosuke's false enthusiasm had dwindled, died, and turned to a dry whisper. But his father was looking at him, now, so he made a bluh noise, and cleared his throat.

"Sorry. Been up since three--in the morning, I mean, not two hours ago. Had to pick up my car, from Okina. I was going to drive it back after my first shift, but...." He finally looked away from the green crust (which, he'd decided, was neither jam nor phlegm, but chewed-up boiled cabbage). "That kind of brings me back to the bad news I mentioned, this morning."

Yosuke waited, fingers digging into his trouserlegs, for an angry outburst. None came. "It's about the job." He waited again--still nothing. "It's in Tokyo. Kuriyama messed up, and.... Well, it doesn't matter. Thing is, Ma's not letting me move you out of Inaba, and it's five hours by train, and...."

Yosuke pulled his hands into his sleeves, and returned his gaze to its rightful place. He was relieved to find that his disgust had faded--or, at least, been replaced by a deeper distress.

"Dad, do you understand me, at all?"

The fly bounced off the window, and got stuck in the blinds. It lodged there, buzzing angrily. Mr. Hanamura licked his teeth.

"You need to tell them what you want. Dr. Ishida, and Ma, and--can you hear me?"

The fly stopped buzzing. Mr. Hanamura looked past Yosuke, as though he were expecting a more interesting visitor.

"Here; take my pen." Yosuke pressed his ballpoint into his father's hand, and retrieved the notepad from the night-table. "Write something. Write that you want to come to Tokyo with me."

The pen slipped, as soon as Yosuke let go. It trailed down the pad, leaving a faint, wobbly line. Yosuke tore off the top page, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Please, Dad. It's important." He clasped his hand over his father's, making him grip the barrel of the pen. It felt like wrapping a corpse's hand round the funeral bouquet. Yosuke shuddered, and let go. The pen fell. It rolled down the counterpane, onto the floor. It landed on its nib, and left a blue dot on the linoleum.

"Okay." Yosuke patted his father's hand, and laid it back down, in what he hoped was a comfortable position. "Next time, all right? When you're feeling better?"

The fly buzzed, still caught in the blinds. Mr. Hanamura watched the door. When Yosuke knelt to retrieve the pen, it made his knees hurt.

***

"Sorry I hung up on you, yesterday."

Yosuke laid his head on the dashboard. He heard himself tell Souji he'd deserved it; heard Souji agree. Heard--or, fancied he heard--the crinkly-crackly sound of his ego shrinking a few sizes. He stifled a yawn. Souji had caught him sleeping. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. What time is it?"

"Don't know." Yosuke checked his wrist reflexively, found a watch-shaped patch of white skin. "Haven't got my watch."

Souji made a spitty noise: ptt. "Just my luck. Professor Saltzmann took the clock out of the lab; some idiot used it to--"

"Wait--you're at work?"

"Mm-hm."

"Why?"

"'Cause the world doesn't stop, just because...." Souji yawned audibly. "Sorry. I'm so tired I'm crying. Like, not literally, but you know when you can't keep your eyes open, and they start to water?"

"Can't you swap shifts with someone?"

"After this week."

"You okay, apart from wanting to sleep till New Year's?"

"Yeah, I--" Something clattered, and Yosuke thought he heard Souji swear under his breath. "Sorry. Dropped my tongs. Haven't been able to eat much, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Find a place in Okina, yet?"

"Just getting unpacked." Yosuke reached into the box of clothes perched on the passenger seat, and took out a pair of trousers, so he wouldn't be lying--not really, not technically. "Ugh. I smell. I need a shower."

"I like the way you--oh, nuts!"

"You like my nuts?" Yosuke's lips quirked into an odd little smile.

"Saltzmann's coming. Gottago; callyalater."

And Souji hung up on him, again. Yosuke put his head back down, and closed his eyes. He'd been here half a day, and Tokyo was already giving him a headache.

***

Yosuke's new office didn't look anything like his old one. He'd thought it would be bigger, maybe even a bit fancy: he'd entertained fantasies of modern furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, a chair that cradled his bony arse like--well, like a cradle. For arses. He was junior branch manager, after all--wasn't that a promotion? Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of reward for moving up the ladder, beyond extra hours and anxiety-inducing responsibilities? Some sense of accomplishment, of having arrived?

Instead, there was a windowless ground-level rabbit hutch, next to the janitor's closet, and directly across from a room full of broken display stands, empty boxes, and mannequin parts. Creepy. The previous occupant had left in a hurry--fired, Yosuke thought--and his collection of car magazines was stacked in boxes along one wall. His coffee mug was stuck to the blotter, and--fuck! Nasty!--his boogers were stuck to the inside of the pencil-drawer. His dry-cleaning hung on the back of the door; his haemorrhoid cushion lay in wait, on a swivel chair that no longer swiveled.

Yosuke picked up the cushion cautiously, between forefinger and thumb, and dropped it into the trash. The chair creaked, when he sat down. There was a note taped to his monitor, addressed to him. Or, to a Yosuke Yamamura, whom he presumed must be him. It said:

YOSUKE YAMAMURA!!!!!!!

Hope that got your attention! Don't worry; you're not in trouble ****yet****, but you'd better be good! ANYWAY, here's what I need you to do, today (I gave you HALF THE MORNING to settle in!!!!! I'm so nice!):

9AM - mtng w/Yamada & floor managers - say hi & run
9:15AM - mtng with OTHER Yamada (advertising Yamada), wrt print campaign (check file cabinet--LOTS of history with this one!)
9:45AM - mtng w/Yohji whatsisname (forgot), but he's the contractor for the new escalators, so who cares, right? Right!!!!!! Make him hurry up for god's sakes.
10:00AM - Applicants for new FM (x3)...pick one!!!! (god, we've had NOBODY good, so just take whoever doesn't stink of fish, ok? OK!!!!!)

I'll e-mail later w/more. You're having lunch with someone, in my place, but I forget who.

YOUR NEW BOSS,

--OTHER other Yamada. Just kidding. My name's--

Yosuke couldn't read the name crunched into the last available corner of paper.

***

"How was your first day?"

Yosuke wiped his forehead with a square of toilet paper, and threw it into the bowl. Some of his puke hadn't gone down, when he flushed, and the water was a porridgey shade of brown. He closed his eyes. Just my fucking luck: Souji has chemotherapy, and I barf. As if I--

"Yosuke?"

"Good. It was good."

"You sure? You sound all...." Souji hummed thoughtfully, searching for the word. "Hmm--harried, maybe."

"Harried--yeah. Just a little." He peeled his shirt away from his skin, frowning at the acrid reek of panic-sweat. He hoped he wouldn't run into his new boss, on the way out. This wasn't the first impression he wanted to make. Speaking of whom--"I think my boss is making me do his job for him. Or her job. Don't know. Haven't seen the man--or woman--all day. Keeps sending these e-mails, like I'm late for such-and-such; go smooth things over--only, with about ten million exclamation marks, and...." He tried to swallow, and couldn't. "That's funny, right? It should be funny?"

"Not if you get in trouble."

"No shit, right? I already got lost in Akasaka, and nearly missed--"

"Akasaka? Aren't you in Okina?"

"I, uh--" Yosuke leaned over the toilet, and spat as quietly as he could. It helped clear the taste from his mouth, but it didn't clear his head at all. "There was a meeting."

"Oh." Yosuke wasn't sure whether Souji sounded unconvinced, or it was his own guilty conscience, playing tricks on him. He hadn't meant to lie, as such--only to keep the more worrying truths to himself--but things were rapidly getting out of hand.

"I'll be free this Sunday," he said, partly because it was true, partly by way of distraction.

"Inviting yourself over?" There it was, again--something curt, in Souji's tone--something bitter.

"I'm not already invited?

There was a moment's silence--a telling moment, Yosuke thought. Then--"You're invited. I think...." Another meaningful pause. "We need to talk, don't we?"

Yosuke tried to swallow again, and gagged, instead. The panic was back. He bit the back of his hand, to stave it off.

"I didn't mean that in the I'm going to yell at you now way," said Souji. "More in the worried way, with a side of oh God, is he seeing someone else?"

Yosuke wanted to set Souji's fears--at least that particular fear--to rest, but he didn't dare open his mouth.

"Well, I'm still pretty tired. Guess I'll see you Sunday." The line went dead. By the time Yosuke had finished shivering and puking, and soothed the gravel out of his voice with a glass of water, Souji had turned off his phone. An automated voice informed him that this customer's mailbox is full, and advised him to please try your call again later.

***

There was music, from beyond the door. Old music; sentimental, wartime music. Music for lost fathers, and mothers, and empires. Yosuke stood and listened. Sometimes, he thought he heard Souji singing along. Hard to tell, over the wind and the washing machines.

His hands tingled with frostbite, right through his gloves. It was time to get out of the cold. Time to go in and face Souji; time to chicken out, and find a cafe--whatever, as long as he ended up somewhere with four walls and a heater. It was time, and past time--but still, he hesitated. He thrust his hands into his pockets. Listened to Souji's music. Souji was on an enka-and-oldies kick. Never a good sign.

"I'm not cheating," said Yosuke.

A doleful bassline drifted under the door.

"Wanna get away from it all? See the--the blue lights of Yokohama?" Yosuke hung his head. "I heard they're not really blue."

Voices keened, in harmony.

"It's never how you expected, is it? Anything, I mean: people, life...people? I thought...."

The door opened. Souji peered round it, wet-haired, frowning. "You're standing out there? Talking to--?" He poked his head out, surveyed the hall. "Nobody?"

Yosuke shrugged.

"You're two hours late."

"I had to--"

"If you say 'work,' or anything to do with work, I'll...." Souji clapped his hands in Yosuke's face. Yosuke jumped, gasped, inhaled spit. Choked. Souji turned his back, and left him coughing.

"Sou--Souji!"

"Just a minute." Souji disappeared into the bathroom. When he hadn't come back out, after a couple of minutes, Yosuke closed the door, and took off his shoes. A new song struck up, and ended. Yosuke sat down. One more song, and the CD stopped. Souji came out, and perched on the arm of the sofa--as far from Yosuke as he could get, without sitting on the floor.

Yosuke sat up straight. "So...are we going to have a fight, now?"

Souji acted like he hadn't heard.

Like talking to the fucking door. Yosuke let out a long, frustrated breath, and tried again. "I don't want to fight with you."

"That's because you don't...."

"I don't what?"

"Have time for me." Souji's voice was small and papery. "Even when you're here, you don't...."

"Do you mean that?"

Souji said "no," but he nodded.

"What do you--"

"Excuse me. Sorry." Souji got up, shuffled back to the bathroom. Yosuke heard the water go on, as soon as the door closed, covering whatever he was doing, in there.

"Maybe you're right." Yosuke kept his voice down, though it was unlikely Souji could hear him. "Even when I'm here.... I make it all about me, don't I? Like, just now, were you sitting far from me, or close to the--"

Souji's house phone rang. Yosuke picked up, reflexively. "Hello?"

"Souji Seta? Is this Souji Seta?"

"No, he's--" Yosuke fished for an explanation other than "He's in the bathroom," and came up blank. "Can I take a message?"

"Who's this?"

"Who's that?"

"This is, uh, bibbledyphlox."

"Huh?"

"Farflediner."

"Yeah, whatever. Was there a message, or--?"

"Uh--can you ask him--hold on."

Yosuke waited, while a muffled conference went on, down the line. A conference with a lot of giggling, or an excitable parakeet. The Jesus Christ people, maybe. Goofing around. They did that, a lot. They liked to--

"Hello? Still there?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Can you ask him if he's sucked a bag of dicks, today?"

Yosuke's heart did a weird squeezy-fluttery thing. His neck itched. He held the phone away from his ear, and brought it back. "Is this--could you repeat that, please?"

"Can you tell him if he's forgotten how to suck a bag of dicks, I offer bag-of-dicks-sucking lessons, at ten thousand yen an hour?"

Yosuke put the receiver back in the cradle. Stared at it. Raised one hand to his lips; nearly jammed his fingers up his nose, when the phone rang, again.

"Hello?"

"BAGGADICKS! BAGGADICKS! BAGGA--"

Yosuke smashed the receiver into the wall. Not good enough: he could still hear laughter, and--

"Shut up!" He tore the whole phone loose from the wall, threw it on the floor, stamped on it. Listened--was that a dial-tone, or a ringing in his ears? He gulped air, huge breaths, but--

--still there! Motherfucker! He's still--

He stamped on the phone, again. Jumped on it. Picked it up, coiled the cord round his hand, and dashed it against the wall, once, twice, again and again and--

--not working--oh, God, it's--oh, Souji--oh, fu--

He ran to the sink. Dropped the phone in. Ran water over it. Picked it up again. Ran to the window. Chucked it out. Turned around, panting.

Souji was standing there--shocked, pale, eyes wide as saucers. Whites showing, all round the irises. Souji's lips were moving. Yosuke tried to read them, because no sound was coming out. And his ears were still ringing. His head was spinning. His heart--

Souji's cell phone was on the table. Ringing. Souji's eyes lit on it, at the same time as Yosuke's. They both dashed for it, and Souji got there first. Flipped it open, and--

"Please! Shit! Please, please--please, don't answer that." Yosuke fell to his knees, hard. The floor was hard. His teeth clacked together.

Souji hesitated, with his thumb on the ANSWER button.

"Please. Please. You can't."

"What are you--"

"I'm dying. Please--I'm--" Yosuke clutched his chest. He was dying. His heart was pounding, but not in a normal way: in a slurpy way, like his blood had burst through the valves, gushed through uncontrolled. Like it was going to spray out, through his throat--drown him, splatter Souji. Maybe it would come out through his nose, too. Maybe-- "I'm having a heart attack--I...."

Souji dropped the phone. Yosuke heard it hit the floor. The sound was incredibly clear and distinct. A hi-fi sort of sound.

So, this is what it's like, the last moments, before.... It's so clear. I can hear--

Souji's footsteps: one of his socks half-off, slapping the floor. Souji's dressing-gown, making swishy, satiny sounds. Souji's quick, pained breaths. Souji. Souji. Souji.

"Souji...."

"Ssh--let me--"

"Don't shout; don't--it--"

"I'm not. Give me your--"

--don't touch me, don't touch me, don't--

Souji's hot, scaly hand, at his wrist, looking for a pulse.

--scaly?

Souji's minty breath. Souji's green tea hand soap. Souji's generic shampoo.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm--"

"Don't try to--"

"--sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry--"

Souji's other hand, his cool, wet one, on Yosuke's mouth. Cutting off his breath. Making him die. He could feel it happening. His body was shutting down. His lungs, his stomach, his heart, his--

"--just a panic attack. Try to--"

--his legs, his arms, his face: he couldn't control his face, like it was made of rubber, with strings attached, and it was twitching, and--

"--clammy hands, rapid pulse, terror of death: it's a panic attack. You're not--"

"Sorry--sorry, I'm--" Yosuke lunged past Souji, crawled, scrabbled, lurched, got his phone. Snapped it in half. Cackled like a hag. Couldn't stop laughing. Couldn't stop--and the breath was going out of him, on a tide of hysterical giggles, and--

--and everything was dark, and warm, and soap-smelling. Yosuke's first thought was that he'd fainted, but he was still laughing. Laughing into--into Souji's dressing-gown. Souji was holding him firmly--holding his arms to his sides. Yosuke kicked out, connected with nothing.

"Stop it. Ssh--stop it. Quiet down."

"Sorry, sorry--"

"Quiet. Breathe. Close your eyes, and imagine an umbrella opening. The sound, the feel, the colour--what colour is it?"

"Red. I'm sorry. Sorry, I--"

"Blue is better, don't you think? A nice, cool blue, for a rainy day?"

Yosuke breathed in, felt sick, breathed out in a hurry. Some of the tension--just a little--seemed to dissipate.

"That's better. I can feel your heart slowing down. Think of the rain, on your umbrella. You're waiting for the bus, and it's like, sssssh--like a curtain of rain. Smells like spring. It's nice, isn't it?"

Yosuke nodded, in spite of himself. He was beginning to feel a bit stupid. Stupid, and scared, and--

"I broke your--"

"Ssh. Not yet. We'll talk, but...." Souji loosened his hold, and, when Yosuke made no move to get away, laid a hand on the back of his head; scratched him like a dog, behind the ears. It felt surprisingly good. Time passed--Yosuke wasn't sure how much, but it seemed a fair stretch. Half an hour, maybe longer. Or five minutes. He couldn't be sure, with the aftershocks of panic working their way through his system. Fear did funny things to time.

After a while, he turned over on his back. Souji looked down at him, gravely.

"So, you know."

Yosuke closed his eyes. Stupid--he'd been assuming Souji didn't know, hadn't seen, on the Internet--assuming the call he'd intercepted had been the first. He nodded.

"You...saw?"

"I covered my eyes, for...." Yosuke swallowed. His throat clicked. "For parts of it. I--I'm--"

"Don't say you're sorry." Souji put his hand over Yosuke's eyes. "Don't look at me, right now. I'm so...fucking...I can't even--"

Yosuke didn't dare respond, or move, or so much as flutter his eyelids.

"I fucking hate myself!" Souji slapped his open palm on the floor, next to Yosuke's ear. Yosuke nearly screamed. A surreal, numb feeling passed over his body. His legs jerked, shook, and were still. He realised he'd wet his pants, a little. Maybe more than a little.

Shit, can he tell? Is he looking?--is he--

"I fucking...hate myself." Souji brought his hand down again, weakly, this time. "I--there's no explanation, that could--"

Yosuke waited. After a while, Souji let him see again. Yosuke kept his eyes closed, anyway. Waited some more. Souji stroked his hair, twirled it round his fingers. It was comforting--maybe to Souji, as much as to Yosuke.

"I didn't wash myself," said Souji. "All night, all the next day, after--after that, I didn't...."

Yosuke wasn't sure whether Souji had paused for a reaction, or only to gather his thoughts. An uncomfortable moment became an excruciating one, as more time passed, and no-one spoke. Yosuke was about to open his mouth, and probably stick his foot in it, when Souji spared him the trouble.

"I was covered in--well, you saw. I could smell it--them, myself, the--it was on me. You saw; you saw...." Yosuke heard the rustly, hairy sound of Souji shaking his head. "I wanted to scrub it off. And--what I did, when I found out I had cancer, and you came over, and I--I wanted to do that. Scream and scream. But I...." Souji put his hand over Yosuke's eyes, again. "But I...."

Yosuke tried to find Souji's free hand, and couldn't. Souji cleared his throat.

"Can't do this...can't do this. Never mind, what I just-- It was an accident. I'm not--they weren't supposed to degrade me, like that. I was meant to say something, if I couldn't take it any more, some silly word--something to do with animals, or tea parties, or--but I hit my head, and I couldn't--I never did remember; even now, I...." Souji made a mmph noise, like half a sob. "Do you need to know?--can I stop?"

"Stop--stop."

"Can I trust you?"

Yosuke nodded, opened his eyes. Souji was looking right at him. He looked more composed than Yosuke had expected.

"How bad can this get, Yosuke?"

"I have no idea."

"Guess we'll find out." Souji nudged Yosuke off his lap, not unkindly. "It's late--take a shower. I'll make tea. We'll talk. About something else. You can tell me how you like working in Tokyo."

Yosuke didn't bother asking how Souji knew.

He showered quickly, not wanting to leave Souji alone--or to be alone, himself--any longer than he had to.

***

The Junes jingle had lost pride of place, in Yosuke's hierarchy of most-hated sounds. It wasn't even in the top five, any more. The sputter of his car not starting, the honking of horns, his boss's laconic chuckle--he hated them all, more. He hated the drumming of rain on the windshield, and the various yammerings and bumpings and whooshings of foot-traffic. And he was starting to develop a phobic reaction to the shrilling of his phone.

His phone.

The city was beginning to awaken, and his phone was ringing. And that evil spring was sticking into his leg, again. There was nothing glamourous, or romantic, or charmingly bohemian, about living in a car. Not like in the rock band fantasies he'd entertained, as a teenager, where he'd taken to the road for a few weeks of inspiring privation, followed by success that would rival--

"Hello?"

"Oh, hey, Yosuke! So, what, you've been in town a whole month, and you weren't going to look up your oldest, bestest friend?"

Yosuke cocked his head, all sleepy confusion. "Uh...sorry? Is that--?"

"Rise, silly. I thought I saw you, a couple of weeks ago, with the drunken businessman brigade, in Roppongi. I was all, 'nah, couldn't be'--but it was, wasn't it? Mr. Big-Time Manager, huh? Hope they gave you a huge raise!"

"Yeah. Got an apartment in the clouds, and a car that goes vroom. I'd take you for a ride, but, ever try to park an imaginary car? Someone comes along and parks on top of it, and then you're stranded...."

Rise's laughter was musical, carefree. Kind of fake. Yosuke wondered if she was calling from work. "When'd you get all sarcastic, Yosuke? Souji says sarcasm's a cover for--hmm, what was it? All I can think of is impotence, but that wasn't quite...." Rise trailed off, apparently thinking. "Anyway, that's kind of why I called. Have you seen Souji, lately?"

"Souji? Sure--yesterday morning, first thing. Had coffee with him. Why?"

"Did he seem okay, to you?"

"Well...."

***

Souji slid a piece of paper across the table, face down. Yosuke lifted it cautiously, by the corner, peeked underneath, and slapped it straight back down. A couple of people turned to look.

"It was stuck to my back," said Souji. "Yesterday morning, after class. Or before. I don't know. I was halfway home, before anyone told me."

Yosuke laid both hands on the paper, fingers spread, as though to keep it in place. He pressed his lips together, making a thin, bloodless line. Souji was rolling the paper covering from a coffee-stirrer between his fingers. He seemed to be staring at something outside, but when Yosuke followed his gaze, he found himself contemplating a bus stop sign.

"Want another coffee? Something to eat?"

Souji sank down a little further in his chair, and shook his head. "Everything tastes funny."

"Funny how?"

"Funny like...there's a parallel universe on my plate, where it's five or six days in the future, and everything's spoiled."

"Not funny, ha-ha, then."

"You were supposed to laugh."

Yosuke looked at Souji, drowning in a coat that no longer fit him, then at his own hands, white-knuckled, restraining a sheet of notebook paper. He tittered obediently.

"Don't do me any favours." Souji dropped the straw-paper, reduced to a grey, sweaty ball, into his coffee cup. "Did you drive, today?"

"Huh?"

"Did you drive, or take the train?"

"Oh. I drove." Yosuke glanced at the clock. "I still have time, though, if you--"

"Can I sleep in your car?--twenty minutes, half an hour?" Souji stifled a yawn. "I wouldn't ask, but...."

"Go ahead." Yosuke skited the keys to him, across the table. "I have to pick up a few things. Wake you when I'm done."

He watched Souji cross the street, shoulders slumped, hood pulled forward. A fondly-preserved memory superimposed itself on the scene--Souji leaving the same cafe, pausing at the halfway point of the same crosswalk, to check if Yosuke was still looking his way. He'd had his jacket slung jauntily over one shoulder, a broad grin on his face. Yosuke had waved him away: go on, silly!

Souji had passed him a note, that day, too, maybe mocking, maybe flirtatious. Yosuke'd faked a coughing fit, to avoid--

"Are you, uh, y'know--do you want to maybe.... Are you flirting with me?"

"Oh. Oh. This is awkward. I didn't mean it that way."

--to avoid having to formulate a response.

This time, Souji didn't turn around. Once he was safely out of sight, Yosuke folded the paper up, without looking at it, and tucked it into his pocket. He stood up, buttoned his coat, and went to the restroom. There was a queue. When it came his turn, he got the note out, read it one last time, and shredded it into the toilet. Flushing it away wasn't as cathartic as he'd hoped it might be.

He let Souji sleep till the sun started to rise--nearly forty minutes; no time for anything but the hastiest of goodbyes. Watching Souji vanish into the subway gave him a queasy, horror-movie feeling. He could almost hear the music: low, rapid drums, to mimic an accelerating heartbeat; a high-pitched whine, over top, increasing in intensity, till--till monster time. A little voice gibbered in his head, nonsensical fragments of phrases, adding up to one disturbing idea: something could happen to Souji. At school, after school, on his way home. Someone could wait for him, or follow him, or simply run across him by chance, and decide to--

--take his books, hit him, kick him, cut him, strip him naked to see if he's really--

--do something to him.

Something worse than sticking an AIDS FUCKER sign to his back.

***

"Hello? Still there?"

"Huh?" Yosuke started, sat up a little straighter. Rise. On the phone. And-- "Oh, yeah. Yeah. He was good, I guess. Sorry. Just got up." He scratched the back of his neck. "Why?"

"Okay, you can't tell him I told you this, but I talked to him, too, last night, on the phone. I think he was...I don't know--high. Like, he wasn't paying attention, and then I--oh, hang on. Getting another call." There was a beep. "Hey, Chie? That you?"

"No, it's still--"

"Mm-hm. Talk to Yosuke, yet?" Chie sounded like she was talking with her mouth full.

"Hold on, Rise--Chie? I think you put me on--"

"Got him on the other line, right now. Think I woke him up." Rise clucked her tongue.

"Some things never change, huh?"

"Guys? I can totally--"

"Speaking of which, did you hear the latest in the saga?" A conspiratorial note had crept into Chie's voice. Yosuke rolled his eyes. Time to hang up. He didn't need to hear--

"Oh, yeah--poor Yosuke! He's got to be wondering why people keep looking at him, like that--and all he's trying to do is visit his dad! I can't believe people buy into that shit!"

Yosuke froze, mid-hangup.

"People believe what they want to believe." Chie sighed. "That manager guy, Kurimiya? Kuroyume?--no, that's that singer.... Well, anyway, he brought in about a million surveillance tapes. Dojima made me watch 'em all. Closest I saw to 'suspicious' was Yosuke running back and forth from the bathroom, all day."

"Maybe he ate something suspicious."

Chie made a farting sound with her lips.

"Ewww--how am I supposed to finish talking to him, with that image in my head?"

Chie snorted. Yosuke's face prickled with humiliation. He deserved it; he shouldn't be listening, but--

"Still--joking aside," said Rise, "these things usually have a kernel of truth, you know?" I mean, that girl had to get the idea from somewhere. And Yosuke is kind of, you know.... Like with you and me and Yukiko, back in high school--the leering, the comments--peeping on us at the hot springs? Can you say dirty old man in training?"

"Actually...."

"What? You can't just say that, and stop."

"I shouldn't."

Rise whined. "Wha-at?"

Shut up, Chie. You wouldn't. You wouldn't. You promised--

"Well...." Chie paused, for dramatic effect. "Let's just say Yosuke's interests lie elsewhere. Or, to put it another way, he's--"

Yosuke hung up. He thought about throwing the phone out the window, imagined the satisfying crunch of a passing car reducing it to shards. But he couldn't afford a new one. He turned it off, instead, and lay down to wait for it to be time to go to work. He couldn't even work up a good head of anger: it wasn't as if he'd never passed on a juicy secret, when he'd thought it was safe.

***

Yosuke was early. It felt weird, being back at school, as an outsider; weirder still, watching everyone else go about their business, without giving him a second glance. Not so very long ago, he'd been part of that business. He'd walked with a purpose, then, head down, worried about being late for class, or not understanding once he got there, or opening his mouth and saying something stupid. His dream had seemed fragile, even then, but it had been tangible. He'd held it in his grasp. Now, he'd be surprised if anyone remembered his--

"Hey, Hanamura!"

He summoned up a smile, as a pair of Jesus Christ people emerged from the press. They smiled back, expecting a greeting, no doubt. He couldn't remember their names. He'd taken to calling them Bishop and Cardinal, behind their backs, but he couldn't very well....

"Hi, uh.... Long time no see."

"Yeah." Bishop flashed his teeth some more. "So, you coming back? I'd say we've missed you, at study group, but you're pretty dumb."

Yosuke made a wry face. "Thanks. And, no. I'm just here to--"

--can you pick me up after class today?
--im in inaba. whats wrong?
--don't know. got a weird feeling, like something's going to happen.
--like what?
--not sure. just a bad feeling. please....

"To what?" Was Bishop taunting him, or was Souji's paranoia contagious?

"Nothing. Nostalgia?"

"For this?" Bishop made a sweeping gesture, and nearly dropped his books. "Whatever, man. You should come out with us. We're hitting the arcade, and then, who knows?"

"Can't, tonight. But it's been good, running into you. Maybe I'll...." He lost his train of thought, distracted by Souji, who'd just emerged from the stairwell. He was walking funny, stiff-legged, carrying his bag at arm's length. Cardinal saw where Yosuke was looking, and nudged Bishop to get an eyeful.

"Oh, dude! You're still hanging with him?" Bishop leaned in, lowered his voice. "He's got AIDS, like, full-blown, catch-it-if-he-coughs-on-you--"

"No, he doesn't. I really have to--"

"Yeah, he does!" Bishop grabbed Yosuke's arm, thwarting his escape. "Remember Taro whatzisname, says he's going to be the next Bill Gates? Well, he's running StudentNET, now, and he caught Seta posting, like, AIDS propaganda, all over the server. And, he's a gay porn star."

Yosuke wrenched his arm free. "Well, be sure to congratulate Taro on his fascinating new career, for me." He spun on his heel, was struck by a thought, turned back: "Some Christians you turned out to be."

"Christians?" Cardinal looked flummoxed. Bishop looked like he might be thinking of following Yosuke, making a nuisance of himself. Yosuke let discretion be the better part of valour, and hurried off, pushing his way through the crowd.

Souji was waiting near the fire door. He'd set his bag down, and was wiping his hands on his trousers, like he'd touched something dirty. He answered Yosuke's cheerful greeting with a sharp "Don't come too close."

"Why not?"

Souji grimaced. "I smell like shit. Literally. Someone used my bag as a bedpan."

"That's sick." People were looking their way--looking Souji's way. Some of them slowed down, unabashedly. Yosuke glared. Souji hung his head. He didn't say anything, but Yosuke fancied he could hear his thoughts, all anger and shame: I fucking hate myself.

Yosuke covered his hand with his sleeve, and picked up Souji's bag. "We should--"

"Check it out--Plague Boy has a plague-boyfriend!"

Two kids, maybe eighteen or nineteen, were leaning against the wall, taking in the scene--no, eavesdropping. Like a couple of grackles, after some juicy tidbit to take back to the nest. One of them--the speaker, Yosuke thought--waited for Souji to look up, and made a cock-suck gesture at him, tongue darting in and out of his cheek. Neither boy had the look of a born bully. Rather, they looked familiar, not because Yosuke knew them particularly, but because they could've been anybody.

Normal people....

Yosuke looked around, saw a hall full of anybodies. Some of them looked back at him. He flinched.

"Come on." Yosuke felt a tug at his sleeve: Souji, pulling him towards the exit. He resisted, at first, then shuffled along with his back to the wall, afraid to look away. Afraid one of the anybodies would break away from the stream, trail them out of the building, and--

--beat us up, spit on us, break our bones, our teeth, our--

"Wait, Souji--maybe we should--"

"Where did you park?" Souji had on his "leader voice," tight and firm.

"Recreation building."

"Okay. Let's hurry." Souji picked up the pace. Yosuke had to disengage from the wall, to keep up with him. His skin crawled with the sensation of being watched, the vague anticipation of danger. It took less than ten minutes to reach the car. Still, by the time they did, Yosuke felt like he was about to grow eyes in the back of his head.

He pulled over, a few blocks from campus, and let his head fall on the steering wheel. Souji reached for him, patted his leg. "We made it. We're safe." Souji's hand was shaking. So was his voice.

"Stomach hurts."

"Mine, too."

Yosuke closed his eyes, and listened to the blood thundering in his ears. He wondered if it was possible to go deaf, from that, but with the passage of time, outside sounds started to filter back in. A car door slammed. A baby screamed. Souji's feet scraped on the upholstery, as he curled in on himself. Cold--it's cold, and he probably wants to go home, and here we are.... He listened to the cars passing by, and tried to let his thoughts drift. It was calming, to think of nothing in particular. But one thought kept intruding, till he had to spit it out. "What do you do, on work nights?"

Souji snuffled, as though he'd been half-asleep. Probably, he had. "What?"

"On work nights. When you don't leave till late. What if someone--"

"Professor Saltzmann drives me home."

"Oh."

Souji unbuckled his seat belt, and leaned across the gearshift, to rub the warmth back into Yosuke's arms. Souji was comforting him. Comforting him--shouldn't it be the other way around? He cast about for something reassuring to say, and came up with "There's a copier, at Junes. I can use it for free."

"That's...nice?" Souji tugged at Yosuke's hair, to get him to look up. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah--not crazy, just yet. I meant, if your notes were in your bag, I could take them with me. Make you a copy that doesn't smell like...."

Souji stared, for a moment, apparently confounded. Then, his lips twitched, his eyes crinkled, and he burst out laughing. Yosuke thought he heard him gasp out a "thanks," somewhere in there. It was good to see him lose it in a silly way, for a change.

Half an hour later, he dropped Souji off at home, and headed for the station. He had an appointment to keep, in Inaba.

***

Yosuke flattened his back to the wall, counted backwards from fifty. He lost count at twenty-three, and fell to his haunches, dug his nails into his scalp. Pictured a blue umbrella, unfolding with a tidy rustle and snap.

Reminded himself to breathe.

Forgot, anyway.

Whimpered--such a stupid, stupid sound.

A fat drop of water detached from the eavestrough, and splatted on his neck. It was, he thought, the coldest, most unwelcome thing he'd felt all day. He pulled up his hood, and looked around. His was still the only car in the lot, parked under a grey, droopy tree. A miserable, spiteful tree, which had hosted a bird convention, in his absence. Shitty place to park.

He dug out a tissue, and sneezed into it. Allergies. Something in the cleaner they used; his dad hadn't liked it much, either. Hadn't liked it, at all.

***

Mr. Hanamura forced out a word, the first Yosuke'd had from him in nearly a week: "Stinks."

Yosuke flung the plastic container at the wall. Grilled catfish tumbled out, leaving fishskin-streaks on the wallpaper: from river to roadkill, in under six hours. A boiled carrot bounced off the lamp, and rapped Yosuke on the nose. It stung. He wailed. Hurled himself to the floor, drummed his feet on the linoleum. Screwed his eyes shut. Pissed his pants. Didn't fucking care. Didn't give one tiny--

"The floor. It stinks."

"Oh." It did kind of stink, like bleach and perfume. Yosuke set the container down, went to the window, found it locked shut. He shrugged. "Sorry. Guess they don't want you making a break for it, in the night."

Mr. Hanamura scowled, but Yosuke thought he was trying to smile. Maybe. "Try a bite, anyway? Fresh caught, this morning. Used your recipe, and everything."

"My...?"

"The best recipe. Try some? Got something for you, after." Yosuke speared a bite of fish, and poked it into his father's mouth. He was rewarded with the squidgy sounds of open-mouthed chewing, and a floppy thumbs-up.

Part of him still kind of wanted to throw a tantrum.

***

He sneezed again. He hated to sneeze: once he got started, it took him forever to stop. It started with his nose itching; then, it spread up his sinuses, into his eyes, his head, his throat, even his ears. Stuck with him all day.

His tissue'd gone damp and snotty. He wadded it up and dropped it between his feet.

"I could slap you with a fine, for that."

Yosuke gasped, inhaled phlegm, spluttered. Retrieved the tissue; tucked it into his sleeve. Swore: "shit!"

"Nice." Souji's damn uncle--where had he sprung from? How long had he been standing there, looking a little amused, but mostly irritated?

"Sorry. Can I...help you?"

Dojima got out a pack of cigarettes, and offered Yosuke one. He took it, held it gingerly between his lips. Dojima lit it from his own, leaning in to share the flame. Yosuke closed his eyes, and took a long drag. He didn't smoke often, but if there'd ever been a good time, this was it. He took his time, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as he could stand, blowing it out through his nose. The wet, sneezy feeling went away, leaving the beginnings of a headache in its wake. He opened his eyes. Dojima was watching him. Taking his measure.

"Better?"

Yosuke shrugged.

"How's your dad?"

"Good day, today. Think he recognised me, sorta...."

Maybe--

***

Yosuke dug the photo out of his wallet. He felt silly, now the time had come--silly, and cheap. What kind of present came out of a wallet, crinkly and faded; sat upon a thousand times; colours blobbed, in one corner, where water had seeped under the plastic sleeve?

"If you don't--"

"I know that kid."

"Dad?"

Mr. Hanamura took the photo, held it by its washed-out corner. "Yeah--him. Bratty. Cried all the time. Wet the bed till he was thirteen."

"Did not!"

"Good little fisher, though." He stroked photo-Yosuke's face with his thumb. "Taught him, myself." A smile appeared, immediately recognisable, this time: his lips still turned down, but the skin around his eyes crinkled.

He knows me. This time, for real, he--

"Think you could bring him by, some time?"

Oh. "Yeah, Dad. Next time."

***

Dojima cleared his throat. "Anyway, I thought you might come here, today. So, I swung by...and here you are."

"Here I am," agreed Yosuke. He took another puff of his cigarette, tried to blow a smoke ring, ended up sticking his tongue out at Dojima. "Sorry--you were looking for me?"

"Not for you, as such. Souji--seen him, today?"

"No; he's got--"

"Seen this?" He pulled a rolled-up tabloid out of his jacket, and thrust it at Yosuke. There were two pictures, on the front page: one of Rise, kissing a gaunt, hairless Souji on the forehead. The other showed Souji, by himself, naked and bound, private parts pixeled out. "RISETTE'S REUNION WITH PORN KING EX," blared the headline.

Yosuke handed the paper back, wiped his hand on his coat. "This is today's?"

"You don't look surprised."

"I--"

Dojima cut him off, with a brusque wave. "What's done is done--I don't want to know. I need you to call him. Might pick up, if it's you."

"Phone's dead. Forgot to charge it." For a moment, Yosuke was sure Dojima was going to hit him. The man seemed to have inflated to twice his usual size. He was looming, every bit the intimidating cop, and Yosuke flinched away instinctively. Something stung his fingers: the cigarette, burnt to the filter. He yelped, dropped it, and bent to pick it up, never taking his eyes off Dojima. Dojima met his gaze levelly, reminding him of a lion he'd seen, on a nature show. The lion had stared for a long time, blinking slowly, without fully closing its eyes. And then, it had sprung, and some panicked thing on hooves had died--but not before the lion had started eating it--and was Dojima going to eat him alive?

"I didn't--"

"Answer me one thing." Dojima narrowed his eyes. Yosuke felt faint. Now; now--this is where he-- "It is Hodgkin's, he's got, right? Not--" He shook the paper. "Not...something incurable?"

Yosuke nodded, covered his mouth with his hand.

"This says he was tested for AIDS."

"Isn't that supposed to be confidential?"

Dojima snorted. "You see anything here, looks the way it's supposed to?" His phone rang. He held up a hand: don't move!--and answered it. Listened for a moment, grunted agreement with someone on the other end, hung up. "You're off the hook."

Yosuke gulped.

"Nanako's got the flu. Needs me to pick her up." Dojima jabbed his phone at his pocket, missed, nearly dropped it. That was something Yosuke hadn't seen before: Dojima, anything less than controlled and precise. A lot like Souji, if Souji were bigger, rougher-- "Flu, my arse. Can you imagine how she had to hear about this?" He threw the paper back at Yosuke, who caught it mechanically. "You see Souji, you have him call me. Or call his parents. They're worried sick."

Yosuke watched Dojima head off at a jog. He braced himself, sure he was going to lose it, freak the fuck out--puke, scream, bash his head against the wall, something--but he felt calmer than he had, all day. Shock, maybe. He got in his car, without wiping the birdshit off the windshield, and peeled out of the car park.

***

Souji's apartment was dark and quiet. Yosuke dropped the spare key into the broken lamp, to the right of the door, and went in. A sudden, powerful nostalgia assailed him: coming back to an empty apartment had been a frequent occurrence, when he'd lived with Souji. He'd had a little ritual, for those times: first, he'd take something of Souji's--his tea strainer; his spectacle case; his nail scissors--and put it somewhere it didn't belong. Then, he'd stand in front of the fridge, door swinging open, helping himself to a little of everything. Then, if Souji still wasn't back, he'd lie down on the sofa, and watch the worst TV he could find: soap operas, makeover shows, celebrity scandal reports--

--wouldn't be much fun, today, would it?--

--till he heard footsteps on the stairs.

He reached for the light switch.

"Don't."

"Holy shit!" He jumped, knocked his funnybone on the doorjamb, bit his tongue. "Ow--fuck! What's the big idea, sitting--lurking in the dark?"

There was a terse rustling sound: Souji shrugging.

"I've something to tell you, something you might--"

"Not yet."

"Huh?"

"Sit with me, for a while, first. I've...." Souji swallowed several times, rapidly. It sounded loud, without the usual background noise. "Rough day."

Yosuke took off his coat and shoes, and sat down. For the first time he could remember, Souji didn't lean towards him. Instead, he sat stiffly, staring into the dark. His eyes shone faintly, reflecting the lights of the city. Yosuke got up and closed the curtains: the city lights were yellow.

"Yosuke?"

"Sorry. Bank sign was shining in my eyes." He sat back down. This time, Souji actually drew away. Yosuke waited. Normally, he'd have reached out, tried to close the distance, but tonight felt different. Uncomfortable. There was a jittery air about Souji, a nervous energy Yosuke could almost smell. He kept grinding his teeth, making clicking sounds in his throat, clenching and unclenching his fists. His fingernails made a papery sound against his palms, each time.

And then, there was no sound at all, not even the hitch and release of his breath. Yosuke was just trying to decide whether it would be at all funny to tell Souji he couldn't kill himself by refusing to breathe, when he let out a long, pained sigh.

"Hold my hand?"

Yosuke took his hand, without comment. It was cool and dry. He traced the tendons with his thumb. They stood out sharply, even when Souji relaxed.

"Eaten, today?"

"Mm. Ssh...." Yosuke took the hint, and shut up. He tried not to move, beyond squeezing Souji's hand, or bumping his thumb over his knuckles, when the tension grew too thick to bear. He wasn't sure if he was helping, or making things worse. Souji shuddered, jerked, and stilled. When Yosuke tried to edge closer, he made a nauseated little mmph sound, and snatched his hand away. But it came creeping back, moments later, to grip Yosuke's harder than ever. Time stole by, impossible to measure. The dark, and the charged atmosphere, made the minutes stretch and compress, by turns.

"Can I--" Souji coughed. It sounded painful. Felt it, too, the way his nails dug into Yosuke's palm.

"You okay?"

The skin-against-collar sound of Souji nodding said that, yes, he was.

"What were you going to say?"

"Can I put my head in your lap?"

"Go ahead."

Souji lay down. Even that seemed to hurt him. He moved slowly, and groaned as he settled into position.

"You sick, again? I mean, apart from--?"

This time, he felt Souji shake his head. He thought about touching his scalp, to see if it was smooth or rough, without hair. He found he wasn't too tempted to try it: it seemed a tasteless thing to do. He rubbed Souji's arm, instead, like Souji had done for him, that day in the car. After a while, Souji snagged his hand again, and cradled it like a favourite toy, against his chest. His heartbeat was too fast, like he'd just run up the stairs.

"Hey, you sure you're--"

"Say it, now."

"Huh?" Yosuke tried to get a read on Souji's expression, but the darkness was nearly complete.

"What you have to tell me. I'm ready to hear it."

Yosuke closed his other hand over Souji's. Souji went rigid, ground his teeth. "We can just sit, a while longer, if you--"

"Say it."

"Your uncle wants you to call him. Your parents, too. I guess they saw--I guess a lot of people saw--"

"That's what you came to say?"

"Huh? I came to see you. What's with the--"

But Souji was laughing, great, messy brays and guffaws, fit to shake himself to bits. He sat up, threw his arms around Yosuke, kissed his forehead; kissed his lips--silly, playful, smacky kisses. Laughed some more. Flapped his hand about, somewhere near Yosuke's head: "I'm okay; I'm okay--just, I--ha--oh, God!" He got up, stretched, chortled stupidly. When he collapsed on the sofa, again, he leaned against Yosuke with his usual easy affection. "I thought you were going to say you didn't want to see me, any more."

"Dumbass."

"My phone kept ringing--everyone I know, and about a million of those people, from the...from online--but it was never you, and...."

"Phone was dead. Tried calling you from Moel, but I guess you were screening." He poked Souji's forehead, just about where Rise had kissed him, in the photo. "What'd everyone say?"

"No idea." Souji sobered up quick. "Professor Saltzmann had to rescue me from my friends, this morning--had to cancel classes to take me home. The thought of picking up the phone, and hearing that stuff from one of you...."

"Your real friends wouldn't treat you like that."

"You sure about that?"

"Pretty sure. I wouldn't. Rise wouldn't. Your uncle--well, he might yell at you, but he'd mean well."

"I used to think I was special." Souji shifted, winced, settled himself against Yosuke. "I mean, I know how people can be. I've watched it happen to you--sorry--but, I didn't think it would be like that for me. I thought--" He stopped, took a deep, unsteady breath. The last few words came out in quick, clipped bursts. "Thought the--worst that would happen--was...pity."

"How bad--?"

"Dad was here, earlier. Slipped this under the door." Souji handed over a folded piece of paper. It felt coarse and thin, like one of the item slips from the laundry, downstairs. "I left the lights off, so I'd have an excuse not to read it."

Yosuke unfolded the paper, squinted at it. He could make out the outlines of words, little more than smudges, in the gloom. "Want me to look?"

"Yeah--but, if it's bad.... Yeah."

Souji got up, and turned on the lights. He kept his hand on the switch, as Yosuke read:

"Son,

"Words can't express how sorry your mother and I are. I wish I could tell you that, had I known how bad things were, I'd have sent the money you needed--but the truth is, I probably wouldn't. It pains me, that my anger over something so comparatively small allowed you to come to such harm.

"Please call, or come home--and then, there's a squiggly thing; think that's his signature, but he ran out of space." Yosuke looked up. "Why was he mad at you?--why'd he cut you off?"

Souji let his hand drop to his side. "Rise. Us dating--me being in the papers. It was embarrassing." He hmphed. "That was embarrassing--guess I showed him, huh?"

"Ouch, Souji! Go easy on yourself."

Souji raised one eyebrow.

"Gonna call him?"

"Maybe. No, I am. In the morning, though. It's late." He stood up a little straighter. One of his socks was missing, Yosuke noticed. He did have abnormally long toes. Monkey toes.

Souji caught Yosuke looking, and tucked his bare foot behind his leg. "I need a shower. If anyone calls, can you not, you know, toss my phone out the window, this time?"

Yosuke gave Souji the finger. Souji smiled a weird, shy smile, and vanished into the bathroom.

Sometimes, Yosuke didn't understand him, at all.

***

Yosuke read Mr. Seta's letter, again. It gave him a heavy feeling in his stomach, an envy so thick it verged on sickness. Followed by guilt, of course. Guilt: any minute now, it would show up, lecturing him in his mother's voice. Selfish, Yosuke! When will you learn that the sun doesn't exist to warm you?

The shame-voice never spoke up. Yosuke frowned. He was angry, he realised. Not frustrated, not piqued, not irritated or troubled or annoyed, but livid.

He folded the letter in half, and tucked it into a book. So, Souji was forgiven, just like that. Call us, Souji. Come home, Souji--just like that! Souji could sell off his dignity, where all the world could see, and get an apology from his parents, the support of a man like Saltzmann, Yosuke, himself--

--not fair--

--"and what do I get?" Yosuke bit his knuckles, nursing his rage. "I gave up everything, and nobody cares." And there was his conscience, late but not absent, wearing his father's voice, for a change: what do you get? What do you expect?--a sainthood, for doing the right thing? A parade? Key to the city? Why'd you really quit school, Yosuke?--after all the money I sank into you?

He shook his head. Maybe he had come home for the wrong reasons. Maybe he'd wanted his father to owe him. Maybe he'd pictured him coming to his senses, one day, and seeing Yosuke as an equal. Putting his hand on his shoulder, and thanking him for keeping the family together--

--which I didn't do. Couldn't even--

"I could still...." He sniffed, and shook his head, and thought angry thoughts. It was easy to get mad at his mother: she'd run away. Left him. His father wasn't hard, either--even when he did remember stuff, it was usually bad. Yosuke's bad grades. Yosuke's embarrassing moments. The time he'd been caught stealing, not from Junes, but from some tiny corner shop--how he'd made himself look bad, and his family, and Junes. How he'd messed up, his first day at work, and let everything in the coldroom spoil. How he'd run off to university, instead of helping pay for the house--and didn't he know there was a recession on? Didn't he know his father was working eighty hours a week? What if he had a stroke? What if the day came when he couldn't provide--what would Yosuke do, then? What if--

He ran to the sink, and fumbled with the cold water tap. It was stuck. He smacked it with his palm; yelped in pain, when it dug into his hand, instead of turning.

"I'm trying," he said. It came out whiny, instead of determined. He turned around, certain Souji would be standing there, curious and concerned. He wasn't. Yosuke glanced at the clock--shouldn't he have finished in the shower, by now? How dirty could he be?

Hear that? His hole's still dirty, even after his cumbath.

"Euch...." Yosuke's lip curled. He went to the bathroom door, and put his ear to it, not sure what he was listening for. There was the hiss of the showerhead, and after a while, he picked out a quiet, dismal undertone: Souji crying. Quiet, on the other side of the door, and shielded by the water; probably not quiet at all, in actual fact. No wonder he'd retreated so quickly, once everything was out in the open.

Yosuke retreated to the sofa, to give him the privacy he'd wanted.

***

Yosuke opened his eyes. He felt funny: he'd been dreaming, some confused, angry dream, and a dull discontent still clung. He wanted to shout. Or shrivel--had someone been shouting at him? He couldn't remember, and it was dark, again, and his legs felt warm and weird, like someone was--

--(Souji)--

Souji was sitting on him.

"Huh?--Souji?"

"You fell asleep." Souji sounded kind of playful; kind of...not. Reproachful, maybe. Only, not quite that, either. He sounded on edge, like he was trying to keep his temper, or about to do something dangerous, or-- "You're all sweaty."

"Sorry?"

"It's gross." Souji ran his hand through Yosuke's hair, and licked his fingers. "Salty."

"Ew--don't do that."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's nasty." Yosuke made a face.

"What can I do?"

Yosuke tried to sit up, and knocked his head on Souji's chin. "Ow. Uh...." He rubbed at the sore spot. "What do you want to do?"

"Fuck you."

Yosuke blenched. "That's...not very romantic, is it?"

"It is what it is." Souji's tone was flat. Disinterested. Yosuke reached for him anxiously, and got his hand slapped away. "Don't touch me."

"Don't I have to? I mean, if we're going to...." He couldn't say it--not in those words.

"Not really." Souji squirmed, bit his lip, reached down and adjusted himself. "Were you dreaming about me?" He bunched his fists into Yosuke's shirt. The collar bit into his throat. Yosuke coughed. Missed his next breath. Panicked. He wrenched himself free, clutching at his collar, nails scrabbling. There was a dry, itchy spot, at the junction of tongue and throat, driving him insane. He coughed again, wetly--probably spitting all over Souji. Souji grabbed for him again, maybe to help, maybe to choke him some more. Yosuke batted him away: back and forth, slapping, elbowing, shoving. Souji finished the scuffle with a palm to his chin, a knee to his side, and then he was draped over Yosuke, pinning his arms to his chest. His bare scalp brushed Yosuke's neck. It felt smoother than normal skin, tight-stretched and warm. Distracting. Yosuke concentrated on that, till his breathing settled.

Souji bit his ear, and whispered in it: "Sorry. I love you."

"You can't say it, like that."

"I know."

Yosuke reached up again, hesitantly. This time, Souji let his hand stay, high up on his back. He was making an odd, near-inaudible gasping sound. It took Yosuke a while to realise there were words, in there: still wanted...couldn't find...one time, like we're.... He couldn't make head nor tail of them, so he waited, and listened, and touched Souji's face, to see if he was crying again. He wasn't, but he didn't seem quite in control, either. By the time he'd subsided, Yosuke's leg was beginning to cramp. He wondered if Souji would take it the wrong way, if he tried to extricate himself.

They both decided to end the awkwardness, at the same time:

--Hey, I--
--Do you--

Souji sat up. "You, first."

"No--go ahead."

"Tired?"

"Not any more." Yosuke shifted his weight--it seemed safe, now. "You pretty much sank that ship."

"Can I kiss you?"

Yosuke baulked. The request seemed harmless enough. Souji sounded more like himself. But--

Fuck it. Why not?

"If you're nice."

Souji's kiss was mostly nice--firm, but careful; no nibbling, till the very end. But he covered Yosuke's eyes, despite the dark. Pressed down on his face, like he thought Yosuke might try to shake loose, catch a glimpse of--what? What was there to see? There wasn't much of a view, during a kiss, unless you were into extreme eyebrow closeups. It wasn't as if--

Souji pinched him, just above the belt. "Pay attention."

"I am!"

Souji pinched again--more of a scratch, this time. "Liar."

Yosuke thought about protesting--that wasn't nice!--only, it was. He licked Souji's chin, to see if he'd do it again. He did--and followed it up with a jabby knuckle, dug between Yosuke's ribs.

"Tickles--hey! Stop--fuck!" Yosuke fought back, but Souji'd got an arm across his throat--when'd he--? The fiercer Yosuke's struggles, the less air he got, till he had no choice but to give up and let it happen. His body twitched and spasmed; he could feel his feet drumming against the sofa, with no particular rhythm. The sticky-out bit at the bottom was barking his shins. Souji'd got his thumb in on the act, and it was worse, so much worse, tickling, tickling--motherfucker! Yosuke's abdominal muscles jumped and ached, rippled like there was a mild electric charge running through them. His stomach clenched. His bladder loosened. He squeaked, arched his back, threw Souji off balance long enough to croak out a plea.

"Quit it!--I'll piss on your cushions!"

Souji planted his knees more firmly on either side of Yosuke's hips. "Nice try."

"--mean it!"

"Aw...might be kind of warm, though?"

"Fuck...off!"

Souji made a mocking pssss sound, but he stopped tickling, flattened his hand on Yosuke's stomach. Yosuke felt weirder than ever: boneless and heavy, from the tickling; raw and fragile, from his dream, from the day he'd had--from the year he'd had. He blinked. Souji was playing with the hem of his shirt, trailing it around his navel.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't know. Can I take this off you?"

"I, uh--what about you?" Yosuke tried to sit up, again. Souji held him down.

"Me?"

"Yeah--it's not fair, if I'm half naked, and you're...."

"I'll take off my...."

"What?"

"Something. I have to think about it." Souji sounded so out-of-place solemn Yosuke nearly laughed. "So, can I...?"

"Yeah. But--seriously, be nice, okay? I mean, don't.... Don't get all scary."

He could feel Souji thinking that over. Souji thought for a long time--or, it felt long, in the stillness and the dark. He was grinding his teeth, again.

"If you've changed your mind--"

"I haven't." Souji patted Yosuke's chest, till he found the long end of his tie. He picked it up, caressed it, pressed it to his lips. Yosuke considered telling him the tie wasn't part of his body, and thought better of it. Maybe it didn't feel good, precisely, but there was something about it. Something that made him want to hold his tongue, and see what came next. Souji rubbed the tie on his face, and muttered something about polyester. Yosuke could pick out his features, dimly. His eyes were open and serious, his mouth set in a grave line. He was--

"Can you not look at me?"

Yosuke looked away.

"Close your eyes."

"Be nice," he whispered--but he found himself obeying.

Souji found the knot, and undid it one-handed, with apparent ease. His other hand was engaged in stroking Yosuke's forearm. It wasn't the provocative kind of stroking--too firm to tease; too slow to suggest passion--but Yosuke felt his cock twitch and rise. He wondered if Souji could feel it, too. His quick, ragged intake of breath suggested he could.

"I--no, don't look--keep 'em closed." Souji leaned forward, so he could cover Yosuke's eyes, while he worked his buttons loose. "I want...I'm--" He kissed the back of his own hand, twice, once over each eye. "I'm a little nervous."

Yosuke did laugh, then. "Yeah, I kinda got that." He lifted his hand, felt Souji stiffen, and dropped it again. "Anything I can do?"

"Not sure. Maybe--" Souji leaned back, to let Yosuke sit up, and helped him off with his shirt. The apartment was warm, but Yosuke felt his exposure acutely, especially when Souji didn't do anything else--didn't touch him, or kiss him, or even comment on his appearance.

"Souji?"

"Put your hands behind your back." Souji sounded tense. Not scared, but wary.

Yosuke obeyed, once again. Souji fumbled about, like he'd lost direction, patting Yosuke's stomach with dry, chilly hands. Yosuke thought about asking him, again, what he was doing--maybe he didn't know. Maybe he hadn't the faintest idea. Maybe he really hadn't been with anyone, except--

Curiosity got the better of him. "Uh--"

"Hm?--this all right?"

"Yeah. It's good. Just wondered...."

"What?"

"Have you, ah!--" He stifled an undignified yelp, as Souji undid his belt, and yanked it free, in one fluid motion. Then again, maybe he's not so--

"Have I what?" Souji'd got his trousers unbuttoned, somehow--Yosuke wasn't sure when.

"Have you-- You know. How far've you gone?--apart from...?"

Souji smacked his thigh, too hard to be strictly playful, but his reply was serene. "Not as far as you, apparently." He stood up--his knee joints popped, when he did--and took a step back. Yosuke felt stared-at. "So, did you do those exercises? To make yourself tighter?"

"Jerk!"

"Shitstain."

"Wh-what?"

"Thought we were calling each other names."

Yosuke's chest heaved. "Don't. And don't talk about--about...."

"Oh--so, you can ask me how far I've gone, but I can't--"

"I won't. Just--don't say stuff like that. It's--" His eyes watered, and for the first time, he was glad he had them closed. "It's not nice," he finished, lamely.

"Sorry." Souji flopped down beside him, and cupped his face in both hands. It was comforting, till he began to massage Yosuke's eyelids, to squeeze out the trapped tears. He bent close, and pulled at Yosuke's lashes with his lips. The tip of his tongue poked out, stabbed eagerly at the seam of his eye.

Yosuke shouldered him away. "Don't do that, either. Don't make me cry, and like it. That's--"

"Sick?"

"Mean. And you said you were going to take something off."

Souji snickered, high and strange. "My socks?"

"Not into feet."

Silence. Then, rustling--Souji messing with his collar. Then--

"Can't do this."

"You all right?"

"No. No--not really." He crumpled like a wet paper bag, leaving Yosuke little choice but to hold him. He was clammy, trembling, and obviously, incongruously aroused. Outside, a car horn blatted. Souji jumped, clung, made a dismayed peeping noise--a bird-stuck-in-a-deer-scare noise. Yosuke knew that noise. There'd been a bird, the day he'd moved to Inaba. He'd heard it crying, from the garden, but he hadn't been able to find it. It hadn't occurred to him to look inside the deer scare--not the first day, not the second. He'd worked it out just before dawn, on the third, but when he'd run out there in his nightshirt, he'd found it dead. Frightened, frozen--come on, Souji; snap out of it. He rubbed Souji's back, nuzzled the top of his head, rocked him back and forth. Souji twisted at a gymnastic angle, to pull the sofa blanket over both of them.

"Want to sleep?"

Souji shook his head.

"Talk?"

"Can I...."

"What?"

"You'll think it's weird. Or mean." Souji sat up, blanket draped round his shoulders.

"Try me."

"I'll take off my clothes, if you'll wear--if I can put something on you, so you can't see. And--" He fiddled with a holey spot on the blanket. "--and your hands have to be tied."

"You don't have to take off your--"

"I want to." He brushed his knuckles over Yosuke's knee. "I want you. Only, I'm a little self-conscious." He let the blanket drop. "So, can I?"

"I guess, if you're sure, but--"

"I'm sure." Souji got up.

"Wait!" Yosuke grabbed his wrist, and held firm, when Souji kicked out at him. "Hang on. I mean, why now? 'Cause if you're thinking I'll ditch you, if you don't put out, or whatever...."

"It's not that."

"Then, what?"

"Nothing. Why does it have to be anything? I want to feel good. I want to feel...skin, on mine. Nobody comes near me, any more, shakes my hand, brushes shoulders in the hall...claps me on the back, if I cough. Can't I just want that, without it being all complicated?"

Yosuke nodded, stunned. "Yeah. Of course. Didn't mean...."

"Fine. Give me a minute." Souji vanished into his bedroom. Yosuke heard him rustling about in his closet, knocking things over, swearing softly.

Surreal....

He re-emerged with what Yosuke took, at first, for a dishtowel. Then, he turned on the table lamp, and Yosuke recoiled.

"Why do you have that?"

Souji shrugged. "It's been washed."

"That's not the point! It's--I don't know. Creepy."

Souji held up the item in question, a heavy red-and-gold scarf--that scarf, the one he'd worn then--and folded it in half, lengthwise. "I need your tie, for your hands. Besides, it's too skinny. I don't have anything else."

"But--that? Seriously? It's had your blood on it."

"So have you."

Yosuke had nothing left to counter with. He sat still, and let Souji wrap the scarf round his head. An unwelcome mental image sprang to life: himself on his knees, face to the wall; Souji holding a gun to his head. An execution. "You're not going to hurt me...are you?" It was meant as a joke, but it came out cracked and timid.

"No." Souji nudged him to lean forward, and a moment later, he felt warm breath on his neck, a firm weight against his chest, the slithery-silky sensation of his tie being used for a purpose he'd never imagined, when he picked it off the bargain rack at Junes. He wriggled his hands experimentally--or tried to. Souji had made damn sure he wasn't breaking free.

Then, he was pawing at Yosuke's hair, muttering something about gathering his courage. He'd gone all stabby fingers and misplaced elbows. He bit Yosuke's chin, and snapped the elastic of his pants. His belt buckle chilled and dug; his shirt-buttons dragged. His nails clawed and scrabbled, dangerously close to Yosuke's balls.

He was better, drunk; this is--

Souji was leaning on his chest, forcing the breath out of him. And he couldn't get it back, because Souji's hand had found his throat, and that felt deliberate.

If he did decide to hurt me--

Yosuke's eyes flew open, under the scarf. He scrunched his shoulders, fingered the ends of his tie, in vain. Souji's mouth was over his, stealing his air. Souji's other hand was on his cock, stroking roughly. Too roughly. His hands were callused. His lips were soft. Yosuke was hard--

--fuck!--he'll think I like this!

"You're wetter than a girl." Souji loosened his grip. Yosuke gulped air, used it to dispute that declaration, and found himself being throttled, once again.

He'd be right. Feels good--feels....

Yosuke's head swam. He thought Souji let him breathe again, thought he made a stilted, ecstatic sound, thought Souji switched hands, at some point, covered his nose and mouth, and it was warm and acrid and slippery--he hadn't tasted himself, before. Not even on anyone's lips, after--after they'd-- He didn't do that. Wouldn't do that. Souji was making him do it, making him like it. Talking about it. His voice seemed to waver in and out. Yosuke caught a word here, a phrase there, all dirty ones.

Never've thought...Souji....

Souji was cheating. Still fully dressed. Composed--maybe. Kind of. Yosuke couldn't tell, the way he was drifting in and out of lucidity. He felt his eyes bulge and throb, wondered if everything would be going dark, if he wasn't already blindfolded.

Souji's clothes were going to be a mess, if he didn't either take them off, or quit what he was doing, post-haste. Yosuke tried to warn him, with a shift of the hips, and ended up thrusting into his hand.

Souji laughed--or someone did, from far, far away--and took his hand away. Wiped it on Yosuke's chest, and followed the slick trail with his tongue. Yosuke shuddered, and nearly came. He was ridiculously wet; he could feel it on his stomach, already.

The next time Souji let him breathe, he was ready: "You--promised!"

"Hm?"

"Your clothes."

"I lied."

"You--"

Souji stuck his fingers in Yosuke's mouth, still tasting of cum. Yosuke licked them. He heard the pluck and whisper of Souji unfastening his collar, working his way down the line of buttons. A sudden, aching longing swept over him: he wanted to see, to touch. He strained his eyes, but Souji had done a good job, obscuring his vision. He couldn't make out so much as the gleam of skin in low light, the ghost-outline of Souji's shirt drifting to the floor.

Souji was breathing hard. Yosuke couldn't tell whether it was down to lust or nerves. Breathing hard, and fumbling with his belt buckle. His nails clicked on the clasp, scraped on leather. Yosuke was torn between playing nice (You don't have to....), and letting his impatience show (Get on with it!). He bit his tongue, and did neither.

Souji took several deep breaths. "Okay," he said. "Okay. This time. I...."

There was the jingle and hiss of a belt being undone, the cat's-purr sound of a zip. Souji murmured something vague and displeased, as he wriggled out of his trousers and pants.

"What?"

"Yours, too."

"Kind of tied up, here."

"Mm. Not the best-laid plan." Souji tugged at Yosuke's trousers. It took several yanks to get them out from under his arse. He nearly slid off the sofa. Souji caught him under the knees, and swung him round till he was lying on his back, knuckles digging into his spine, head canted at a painful angle. Then...nothing. Yosuke craned his neck in Souji's direction.

"Souji?"

"Yeah. Don't move."

"Can't move."

Souji pushed his legs apart. "I mean it. Not a muscle. No matter what."

"What are you going to--"

"That includes your tongue."

Yosuke lay, obedient and passive, sweat turning cold on his skin. He hoped shivering didn't count as movement. Souji was taking his time, shifting from one foot to the other, clicking his incisors together. He reminded Yosuke of a nervous beetle, rattling its pinchers. Was it pinchers, or pincers? It felt pretty pinchy, when you got one up your trouser-leg, and it--

--Souji was really taking his time.

"Uh...."

"Sh!"

Yosuke flinched. Souji grabbed his knees, spread him wider. It was embarrassing. The way he was being arranged, he almost expected Souji to get out a camera, and--

Souji clambered between his legs. More elbowing followed--and now there were knees, as well, bumping sensitive places, digging into fleshy parts. Yosuke closed his lips on a yelp of pain. Souji edged closer, perhaps to give him a kiss, and abruptly sprang back, with a gasp that turned into a cough. "You moved. You moved, you moved, you moved."

Yosuke shook his head. He could feel Souji's arm, warm and a little damp, against his leg. He could almost feel the rest of Souji. He wanted to wrap his legs round his waist, pull him down till there wasn't a breath of air between them. Something told him Souji wouldn't take kindly to that, might even hurt him, for real.

Might be worth it....

"Just...hold still. I'm not ready."

Yosuke held still. A deep, burning stitch had settled into his lower back. His stomach and thigh muscles throbbed. His knees burned. He didn't even want to think about how his neck would feel, in the morning. Souji was--

--what is he doing?--

--taking short, shallow breaths, through his nose. Rocking back and forth, or--

"Seriously, are you--"

"Shut up!"

--jerking off. Yosuke could hear them, now, those small, familiar sounds. His face felt hot. He turned his head to the side, and waited for Souji to finish.

"Yosuke?"

He pressed his mouth into a tight line, and didn't answer.

"Sorry. I don't think...." Souji fetched a frustrated sigh. "Can't do it, like this. It's-- I don't know. Too much skin, or...can you turn over?"

"Not with you sitting there."

"Okay. I'll--no, wait. Might not even.... Let me check." Yosuke heard him spit, and a moment later, a cold, slightly wet finger prodded between his cheeks, fumbled around for--

"Souji, that's not how it's--ow! Shit!"

Souji extracted his finger, wiped it on Yosuke's leg.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Can't." Yosuke felt the cushions rise, as Souji stood up.

"What do you mean, you can't? I'm not--not, you know--tight enough for you? That hurt, just now, and then you decide--"

"No--I can't." Souji squeezed in beside him on the sofa, helped him sit up. "I didn't think there'd be that much resistance."

"Resistance? Maybe if you'd warned me, or--"

"No. You don't get it. It's not...." Souji trailed his hand down Yosuke's belly, toyed with his pubic hair. "You're.... You look perfect. Feel perfect. I want you, but...."

"But?"

Souji groaned, like he was in pain. Maybe he was. Maybe--

"You're hurt, aren't you? Because of...that?"

He felt Souji nod.

"How bad?"

"I.... There were burns. The skin's thin, tight--doesn't have much stretch. Feels like it's going to tear, or...." He made a hissing sound, like even the thought cut him deep. "Couldn't get myself off, for months. Fuck that--couldn't even wear anything to bed, or cover myself up, or I'd get these horrible dreams, where my stomach was being ripped open, and.... Awful--I'd wake up screaming my head off. Couldn't stop, sometimes, till I was sick, or--or Mr. Yoshida came up, one night. Thought I was being murdered." Souji made a sound that was probably meant to be a laugh.

"How'd you make it to class, like that?--or work? What did you--"

"I didn't. It was summer. Not long after you left." His voice had gone flat and listless. "I just...lay there, most days, glazed myself with antibiotic cream, stared at the ceiling, till I fell asleep. Couldn't cry about it, couldn't tell anyone--couldn't do anything you'd normally do, when every second feels like...."

"Because it hurt too much?"

"Because it was my fault." Souji cleared his throat. "Didn't deserve to feel sorry for myself."

Yosuke gaped. "Idiot."

"Me?"

"Who else?" Yosuke elbowed his arm. "If you make a mistake, and you pay the price, you're allowed to feel bad about it. Even if it was your fault--and I saw it, and I don't think--I mean, anyone could see something was wrong--anyone! And they just kept on--"

"I know!" Souji cried out with such anguish that Yosuke cried out, with him. "I know," he repeated, more calmly. "Let's not talk about it, okay? I don't want to think about it. Not now. Not naked, with you, while we're--we were...."

Yosuke nodded. "Untie me?"

Souji did. His hands were almost steady.

"And this...?" Yosuke tugged at the scarf.

"Yeah. Let me--" He fiddled with the knot, but only for a moment. "Let me put something on."

"Sure." Yosuke leaned back, rubbed his wrists, waited for Souji to come back. It didn't take long. He'd only taken the time to slip into his dressing-gown, from the feel of it. Yosuke reached for him, rubbed the back of his neck, as he worked the scarf loose. Souji allowed it, even seemed to enjoy it. Sighed, a little. Yosuke liked the sounds he made, when he was-- "Hey. You don't suppose Mr. Yoshida could hear--you know, what we were just--"

Souji laughed. "God, I hope not! The way you were groaning--"

"Me! What about you, with your phone sex voice? Oh, Yosuke, take me now!"

"I do not talk like that." Souji finished unwrapping the blindfold, and tossed it aside. "Don't open your eyes, right away. Lamp's pretty bright, sitting next to it."

"Why've we never had phone sex?" Yosuke stretched out, and let Souji slip in behind him, one arm draped over his waist.

"Because you're incredibly repressed?" Souji nipped at the back of his neck. "It's not like I never tried."

"So, you were--"

"Completely throwing myself at you?"

"That's not--wait; were you?"

"It was fun," said Souji. "And safe--didn't think you'd ever take me up on it. When you finally did...." Souji shook his head. His nose tickled the nape of Yosuke's neck. "You all right, if we just go to sleep? Don't think I've got it in me, any more, tonight--or in you, more accurately--sorry...."

Yosuke rolled his eyes, and scratched Souji's ankle with his toenail. "Suck you off, next time. Really gently." He was surprised to find himself already on the verge of sleep, chuckling as Souji pinned his foot beneath his own.

"Mm...." Souji seemed to be drifting off, as well.

"G'night."

"Night."

Somewhere, a dog barked. It reminded Yosuke of Inaba. He went to sleep with a weird expression on his face, somewhere between sweet and sour.

***

He awoke to the smell of laundry soap, coming in through the heating vents, and the sound of Souji on the phone, apparently making amends with his father. He'd retreated to his bedroom, and was talking softly, but the odd phrase reached Yosuke's ears.

No--no--yeah, Dad--yeah, I did; with Professor Saltzmann...you are? Really?--no, I'm sorry--try to finish out the year--no, it's safe--no, I--

Yosuke pulled the blanket up round his chin, and went back to sleep.

***

"What's the weirdest thing you ever…?"

Yosuke let his magazine drop into his lap. It had been a quiet morning--just the two of them, alone for the holidays. Nowhere to be but here, heads at opposite ends of the sofa, legs tangled together. Souji had endured a hard night--pain, chills, constant dashes for the toilet--but he looked all right, now. Pale, but content, draped in blankets. Yosuke considered the question. "Weirdest thing I ever…?"

"Got off to." Souji tapped the cover of his magazine. "Some guy in here, it was soda cans."

"Soda cans?"

"Yeah. The way they sweat, you know, when it's warm…."

"Nothing that weird, for me."

"Oh? Then…?"

Yosuke shook his head. "Not telling. You'd laugh. Or get offended. Or both, and either way, I wouldn't be getting any."

"What makes you think you're getting any, anyway?"

"I'm not?"

Souji waggled his brows and his magazine in concert, to disturbing effect. "Maybe if you tell me."

"You first."

"I asked first."

"You."

Souji stuck out his tongue. "No, you."

"No--I meant…you." Yosuke picked up his magazine, this time, to shield his face. He didn't think Souji was the type to get mad and throw things, but you never could tell, with him. "I got off to you getting off. See? Weird. Maybe not soda-can weird, but--fuck off! You're laughing. Quit laughing. Seriously, enough!"

Souji put his hand over his mouth, but it was a token gesture, at best. His laughter came out through his nose, in a series of decorous little snorts. Yosuke kicked him: last time I tell you anything personal! Just when he thought it was over--they'd both gone back to their magazines; Souji's mirth had diminished to the odd muffled tssk--Souji piped up, again: "When was this?"

"No way. No way. You'll just laugh again, and you won't tell me yours--which I noticed you didn't--and some day, when I'm least expecting it, you'll bring it up in the middle of--of something nice, and it'll be totally ruined, and--"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah--if you don't want to tell me, okay." Souji shrugged. "Of course…mine is soda-can weird. So, if you want to know…."

"Come on! I mean…yeah, right. You're just saying that, so I'll--oh, what the fuck." Yosuke sat up, full of half-arsed defiance. "Fine. I heard you, one time. When I still lived here. I was sitting right about where you are now--" (Souji shifted a little, at that--hah! Gotcha!) "--and you were through there--" He indicated Souji's room. "--with the radio on. Which was what caught my attention, in the first place. I liked the song--Osaka tsubame. And then, I heard you, kind of--" He made a hissing sound, followed by a low, stifled groan. Moaned into his cupped hand. Souji grinned. "So, I…I didn't do anything, right then, in case you heard me, or finished first and came out, or--you know. But later, picturing you, I…. I wondered how you--quit looking at me, like that."

"You wondered how I…?"

"How you do it. You know, if you--oh, shut up. You know what I meant, and it's your turn, and--yeah. Your turn."

Souji crawled up to Yosuke's end of the sofa, and squiggled under the blanket with him--a tight fit, but not uncomfortable. He pressed so close his lips brushed Yosuke's ear, and whispered. And whispered some more.

Yosuke's eyes widened. He felt the blood rush south, in spite of himself.

"Really?"

Souji nodded.

"Have you ever actually--?"

"No."

"Wouldn't that hurt?--like, a lot?"

"I'd imagine so…. Would you let me?"

"No! I mean…maybe, but--really? Is it…safe?"

Souji made a contented little noise, and snuggled closer. He slipped his own hand into Yosuke's. It was a slender hand, for a man's, but long-fingered. Not exactly tiny. Yosuke shuddered.

He's got to be joking. Got to be.

…Right?

***

Christmas morning was bitterly cold. Yosuke got a flat, on his way into Inaba. He walked the rest of the way, stepping briskly, to keep the chill from settling in. The lights of the Junes parking lot blazed in greeting. They'd be on at least another hour, till the sun began to penetrate the cloud cover.

He pulled his hood up and ducked inside. The precaution was unnecessary--no-one looked his way as he followed his feet to the food court, paid for a coffee he knew would be weak and overheated, and sat down. The food court looked the same as always. Smelled the same, too. He closed his eyes, and let the sounds wash over him. Those hadn't changed, either. Shoes scuffed or clicked. Employees walked by, aprons snapping irritatingly between their legs. Cash registers chimed. A soothing voice read out the daily specials, and faded into music--some American song. He tried to pick out the lyrics, and found his English had slipped badly.

He texted Souji: in junes fdcourt. got a flat, lol…. no spare, don't care. c ya tonite! ;-)

don't care? who are you, and what have you done w/yosuke?

Yosuke smiled. don't get me wrong...i FUCK'd so loud i scared this HUGE bird…but the walk was nice. needed fresh air after all the soap fumes @ your place.

not even going to comment…. :-P

He put the phone away. The American song had given way to something old and British. Yosuke knew the words, this time, and mouthed along: love was such an easy game to play...something, something; yesterday. He lingered over his coffee till the tune was finished. He might've stayed even longer, had he not spied Miyuki slouched near the fire door.

In the shopping district, he stopped for oranges, and was pleased to go unrecognised--or at least unmolested--even there. Not even Dojima catching up to him on the floodplain, full of pointed inquiries, could quite spoil his mood.

***

"Been a long time, since I've had one of these." Mr. Hanamura bit off the end of an orange slice, sucked the juice out of it, and discarded the rest. "You always get a bit stuck in your teeth--the pulp, the…."

"Dad?"

"How's work, son?"

Yosuke nearly choked on his own slice. His eyes watered, as orange juice found its way up his nose. "Wuh-- Work? Uh, it's--" He brightened, sat up a little straighter. "Great, actually. Well, not great, but not horrible, either. Thought they'd really tossed me to the wolves, sending me to Tokyo--and my boss was never around, and--" He caught a glimpse of himself in the window, happy as a dog licking gravy, and suppressed a laugh. "Once I got the hang of things, it was like…I don't know. I kind of freak out over nothing, sometimes.... Like 'that's weird--panic time!' Uh--yeah, you don't wanna hear that. Dad, I--"

"Your mother…." Mr. Hanamura's voice didn't rise at the end. It wasn't a question. Yosuke thought he heard regret.

He hung his head. "In Beijing. Work--you know. She…."

"Gone."

Yosuke nodded. Even now, he couldn't lie to his father.

"You always get a bit stuck in your teeth." Mr. Hanamura made a sucking sound. "Yosuke." He paused, as though considering some weighty declaration, and said "Peaches next time, hm?"

"Orange or white?"

"Peaches."

Yosuke stayed another hour, all smiles and hope, but the moment of clarity had been only that.

***

"Fuck…I'd be backstage, with my head in a bucket, right about now…."

Souji looked at him askance--did you say something?

Yosuke just shrugged: any answer he gave would be lost in the roar of the crowd. In his wildest dreams, he'd never pictured a crowd like this--or what it would be like to face one, alone. But Rise seemed to be taking it in stride. Graciously, even, turning this way and that, bowing, waving. Someone rushed the stage, was rebuffed by security, and erupted in obscenities. Rise opened her mouth in a laugh no-one heard, and waggled a finger. The cheering redoubled. Yosuke realised he was doing it, too, hooting at the stage. He glanced sideways, embarrassed, but Souji wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention. He was watching Rise warming up the crowd, with what struck Yosuke as a regretful sort of smile.

The lights went out. Whistles went up, and screams. A note of hysteria crept in. Yosuke just had time to wonder if that was supposed to happen, before the backlights came up, making a halo of Rise's hair…and lantern-paper of her dress. The audience heaved a collective sigh of appreciation. Yosuke glanced at Souji again: this time, he was looking at his own hands, folded in his lap. Yosuke nudged him, mouthed "you all right?"

Souji stood up, and tried to squeeze past the guy in the next seat. The guy pushed him back. Yosuke half-rose, ready to catch him, but Souji kept his feet. The guy glared. Souji shrugged, and sat down. His hat--a grey, fuzzy thing, which Yosuke had picked out for him at Junes--flopped over his eyes. It wasn't a good fit, but as a disguise, it was passable.

Yosuke nudged him again--wanna go?

Souji raised his hands, palms up--fuck it.

And Rise began to sing.

***

"When'd she get so--so awesome?"

Souji chuckled, and wiped at his mouth. "She always was." He flushed the toilet, spat, and flushed again. "Ugh. Got a mint, or…?"

"Lemon drop?"

"Sure." Souji pushed himself back from the toilet, and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. "I'll be fine, in a minute. Just the smell--all those people…."

"Yeah. I feel--ha, stinky by association." Yosuke crouched down next to Souji, felt his forehead: damp, but cool. "What happened with you guys, anyway, you and Rise?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? What--you just woke up, one morning, and you were like, 'Let's break up?'"

"Yeah." Souji let his head loll to one side. "Nah, not really. It was…. Things were great. She's great. But we were going in different directions--different dreams. Wanted to end it on a high note. Before differences of opinion could become fights."

"You miss her?"

"Mm-hm."

"Ever think about--?"

"Lately? No." Souji opened one eye. "Jealous?"

"Curious." It was a lie--but only a little one.

"You don't--mmph--" Souji hauled himself to his knees, bent over the bowl, and was quietly sick. Yosuke waited till he was done, and handed him a wad of toilet paper. It occurred to him that they'd miss the second half of the concert, and also that Souji might not mind. He'd seemed uneasy, in the crowd.

***

Rise leaned close to the mirror, to peel off her false eyelashes. Yosuke couldn't watch--it freaked him out, seeing the glue pull away in long, elastic threads.

"He's gonna be okay, right?"

Yosuke glanced at Souji, fast asleep on the sofa. "Yeah. Just sensitive to smells--fish, cabbage, certain perfumes--he can't--"

"No, I mean--not tonight, but…."

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, he is. I think…well, he said--says he's responding well to treatment, whatever that means, and--I think I believe him. I mean, he wouldn't lie about that, right? If he did--he's got to know if he wasn't okay, and he told everyone he would be, how much harder--"

Rise dropped her tweezers. They disappeared into the crack between mirror and table.

"Sorry." Yosuke fished for the tweezers, wedging them in further. Rise was watching him--waiting for reassurance. If he looked her way, her eyes would be wide, maybe glistening, a little. Her lip would tremble, and-- "I mean…yes. He is. Physically, anyway. Don't know about--"

She turned to look at him, one eye half-hidden under a shroud of lashes, the other still rimmed in globs and strings of glue. "How about you?"

"Me?"

Souji stirred, groaned, and let out a single, loud snore. Rise and Yosuke locked gazes, stifling laughter. A commotion broke out, on the other side of the door: a whiny voice argued with a gravelly one, was overpowered, and started up again. A shouty voice joined in. Rise grimaced.

"That's my cue, I think."

"Your cue?"

"You know. To wash my face, put on something that makes me look about fifteen years old, and go play nice with the fans." She kissed Yosuke on the cheek. He felt her lipstick leave a mark. "Hoped you guys could pose as my boyfriends, but I guess…." She looked at the sofa, at Souji's sleeping form, bunched up under a pile of coats. The regretful smile that crossed her face was the twin of the one he had had worn, before the concert. "Take care of him, for me."

Yosuke nodded. He wasn't sure what his own expression looked like, but he figured it wasn't far from hers.

***

He turned the key in the ignition.

"Wait."

"Huh?"

Souji made a twisting motion: turn it off.

"Sick again?"

"No. Just wanted to…." He leaned across the gearshift, careful not to poke himself, and kissed Yosuke just below the ear.

"What was that for?"

"Dreamed I did that, when I was--" He waved his hand in the direction of the exhibition hall, now dark, and mostly deserted. "And then…."

"And then--?"

"You threw me down, on the back seat…." Souji closed his eyes halfway. His hand, which had been resting primly on his knee, slid up his thigh, cupped his--

"Dude!"

"Mm?"

"Just--dude!"

Souji gave himself a couple of slow, lazy strokes, through his jeans, and let his hand drop. "You were good. With your mouth--you were…. You kissed me, and I was all 'no, vomit,' 'cause I never brushed my teeth…but you didn't care. And you took off my shirt, and you were licking my collarbone, and I asked how you knew I liked that. And you said--what was it? Oh, yeah: you said you liked the taste of my skin, and you'd lick me everywhere, if you could, and you'd swallow my--"

"O-kay!"

Souji laughed. "Repressed…."

"Reckless. Anyway, I'm not." He turned the key, again; the engine roared to life. "Not when I get you home, where Joe Schmoe with a camera can't jump out and--shit! Can you imagine the--"

Souji wouldn't stop laughing.

***

"This one, too?"

Souji nodded. He wasn't laughing, now. He was tense, white-knuckle rigid, back to the wall.

Yosuke frowned. "It's not, is it?" He straightened Souji's shirt, leaving the button in question fastened. Souji sagged a little.

"I--"

"Take your time." Yosuke kissed him. He did care about the vomit taste, still faintly there under the toothpaste, but not enough to stop. After a moment, Souji kissed back. He nosed at Yosuke's neck, slid his hands into his back pockets, blew at the long hairs hanging over his brow. For once, he didn't bite or pinch, or say anything vulgar. He murmured a few words, here and there--quiet endearments, muffled apologies. Yosuke stroked his back till the tension eased away.

After a while, Souji broke free, flattened himself to the wall. "Try again."

Yosuke undid one more button, and stopped. He'd seen Souji in less--in little more than his underwear--but now…. "Hey. Calm down--ssh."

Souji hissed.

"Tell me what's wrong." He held Souji's shirt closed. "Remember that time you made me poke your lymph nodes, looking for, um--remember? What's so different, about this?"

Souji turned his head away, and took a few deep breaths. "It's…I'm not sure. Maybe…if I looked like shit, back then, I was sick, right? Who cares? And it didn't mean anything. And I thought my life was over, and we were just--you were just…you know?"

Yosuke didn't know, but he nodded anyway. "Want to do it yourself? I--"

"No."

"Then, you want me to--"

"Yes."

"Not till you're settled. Lie down, at least? In the bedroom?"

"No!"

"All right--all right--hey!" Yosuke caught Souji's fist, just in time to keep it from pounding his shoulder. This time, he had to trap a squirming, scratching Souji against his chest, till the fight went out of him. It didn't take long. Despite his brief outburst, Souji didn't seem in the mood to be rough. Soon, he was pressed to the wall again, squeezing his eyes shut as Yosuke undid another button, then one more. The hall light was harsh, overhead. It gave Souji's skin a waxy cast, made a death's-head of his face. It didn't help, the way he was gritting his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarly grin, or a grinny snarl.

Worse, he was staring at the ceiling, in a way Yosuke didn't like--all glassy and fixed. No, not at the ceiling: at the lamp. Can't be good for his eyes.

Yosuke poked him--"Hey--how many dead flies?"

"Hm?"

"In the light. Looked like you were counting."

"Nineteen, I think. Or eighteen. Those two on the left might be one, with its wings bunched together. Keep going."

"Look at me."

Souji did, and that was almost worse. His stare was intense, unblinking. Yosuke plucked the last three buttons one after another--quick, like pulling off a bandage. Souji twitched, but didn't pull away. He let Yosuke help him off with his shirt, and hang his dressing-gown over his shoulders; dropped his hands, to allow himself to be held.

"Sorry about…."

"What?" Yosuke stood back, brushed a speck of fluff off Souji's stomach.

"Nothing. Keep going."

He crouched down to work Souji's belt. Souji stiffened. His breath, thick and shuddery, caught in his throat. He sniffled. Every so often, he started apologising again, which Yosuke took as his cue to stop, wait, tuck his hands safely out of sight. He was afraid to look up. Even now, it was weird, seeing Souji cry. Weird, and harrowing.

Eventually, there were no buttons left, no zips, nothing to unbuckle or push aside or untie. Nothing to do, but--

"Sure you're all right with this?"

"If I throw up on your head, you'll know I wasn't."

Yosuke glanced up sharply. Souji did look pale, and the tears-under-bright-lights look wasn't flattering, but he was smiling. Sort of.

"All right. But if you're going to do that, seriously, run; turn your head to the side--I don't care, but not on my--"

That got him a too-bright laugh. He took advantage of Souji's distraction to ease his jeans down over his hips. He'd prepared himself for worse--for the worst--but the sight of Souji's legs, marred with irregular scars and splotches of pink, melted-looking skin, made his stomach churn. He resisted the impulse to touch--to try and brush away the damage, like so much dryer lint.

Souji's jeans fell to his ankles, and he stepped out of them. "If you don't want to see…."

Yosuke shook his head. Forced himself to look, and keep looking, as he lowered Souji's underpants. The sight wasn't pleasant--the burns went from minor to horrific, just above the pubic bone. It looked like someone had poured boiling tallow in his lap, and it had bubbled and stretched as it dried. The worst of the damage was confined to a roughly circular area between navel and crotch, but small cuts and burns had spread themselves across most of his lower belly. The surrounding skin looked pink and irritated. His cock, though intact, hadn't been spared: a nasty curl of scar tissue stretched down one side, vanishing ominously underneath. It made Yosuke want to cross his legs.

Steeling himself against the feel of it--the slick, warm, awful feel--Yosuke closed his eyes, and laid his cheek against Souji's stomach. Wrapped his arms around his waist. Souji made a sound that would've been a wail, had he not kept it under his breath. His hands found Yosuke's shoulders, and squeezed. Night-sounds crept in, drowning out Souji's crying--or maybe he'd stopped. Maybe--

"What can I do…?"

Souji twitched. "Don't talk--tickles."

Yosuke sat back on his haunches. "Hurts?"

"Mm."

"Is there anything they can--"

"Don't know."

"So, you haven't--"

"No! No-one knows; no-one else. I mean--" Souji sniffed, wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "I mean, everyone knows, I guess, but…. Can't show anyone. Can't--can't talk about this. Can we just...go to bed, now?"

"You're still wearing your socks." Yosuke made to pull one off, only to have his hand footed away.

"I have stupid feet."

"Yeah. That's what's stupid about you."

Souji swatted him about the ear, with a laugh that wasn't quite natural.

Yosuke kissed him where smooth, pale skin gave way to a map of scars, and was surprised to find it came entirely naturally.

A little later, in bed, lazy, sleepy exploration of each other's bodies came even easier. Neither was inclined to push things too far, but it felt good, fooling around like teenagers, in the dark.

***

"Seat belts on."

Yosuke opened his eyes. Dojima was looking at him in the rearview mirror--looking at them, him and Souji, huddled together in the far corner of the back seat. Souji clung tighter, and didn't look up. Yosuke shook his head: he's done; he's settled--can't we just go?

"Look, you're cold, you're sore, you're tired--I get it. But there's ice on the roads. Buckle up."

Souji raised his head, winced, and burrowed back under Yosuke's coat.

"It'll hurt a lot more if you go through the windshield."

Yosuke closed his eyes. He needed to be somewhere warm and quiet, somewhere he could pass out for a few hours. He needed Souji to move, or Dojima to start driving. Or maybe he'd nap here, a while. Nap, and let Souji and his uncle sort out the seat belt situation. Wasn't his problem, not really. Souji was on him; he wasn't on Souji. Besides, he was already wearing his. Yeah: that's what was poking him in the gut. Dojima was getting exasperated, reaching back to pluck at Souji's hood, but that was just fine. No need to move. No cause for….

***

Waking up with Souji was good. Even with the washing machines filling the room with heat and noise, their skins sweated to the bedclothes and each other, it was good. Better still, after a week of waking up to the smell of exhaust and old upholstery, and a cop rapping on the windshield: oi! Move along.

Yosuke snuffed the alarm before it got through the first beep, but Souji stirred anyway. "'S morning?"

"Only for me. Go to sleep."

"Work?"

"Dad." He slid an arm round Souji's waist, tickled his navel. "There's some news."

"Oh?"

"Nothing bad, I don't think--Dr. Ishida left a message, like 'drop by, when you've got a sec.' Which--I mean, if it was an emergency, it'd be more like 'I need you to come in,' or 'There's something you should know,' or…."

Souji groaned, and scrunched a little closer.

"Ha, ha--don't sound so fascinated."

"Mm…'m listening."

"Really?" He cupped Souji's cock, nervous at first, lest his reaction be panic, instead of arousal--then playful, when his appreciation became obvious. "What'd I just say?"

"Something about how you're not leaving for hours, and in the meantime, we can--" He turned over, and stole a kiss, and another. His lips still tasted of the mouthwash he'd used before bed, just a couple of hours ago.

"Mm-hm." Yosuke let himself enjoy the idea, for a minute. It was warm, and Souji had found his tailbone, and was rubbing it rhythmically--an odd turnon he'd discovered, and did not hesitate to exploit. It was like there were nerves there, leading everywhere, spreading heat--not like having his cock stroked, but more mellow, relaxing…in a way that made him want to have sex. Sleepy, barely-lucid, fumbly-but good--

Yosuke cut himself off mid-daydream, reluctantly rolled away. "Quit that. Hey--what are you doing, later?"

Souji made a frustrated sound. "Class. Work. Giving people cancer." He struck the wall with the flat of his hand. "The usual."

"I'm sorry."

"No…not mad at you. Tired, horny; starting to get sick from yesterday's chemo--bad combination." He stretched, cracked his neck. "Five more minutes?"

Yosuke couldn't afford the delay--he'd miss the train, and have to drive, and his tank was almost empty, and that'd be another bite out of a paycheque he hadn't even got yet--but he stayed another ten.

***

He came to briefly, or dreamed he did, when Dojima lifted Souji off him. Souji made a weird shrieky-gaspy sound, which reminded Yosuke of an asthmatic old ostrich he'd seen at the zoo, and convinced him he must be asleep, after all. Souji wasn't an ostrich. Silly....

He woke up again--for real, this time--when Dojima buckled Souji in. The click of the seat belt brought him round. He wondered where he was.

His last brush with wakefulness came when Souji took his hand. That was nice. He squeezed: gotcha, man. He'd warmed about halfway to the idea of staying awake--Souji might need him--when thought dissolved into dream.

***

He tried to recapture the feeling of being in bed with Souji, that rich, dozy calm. Comfort--that's what it was. Someone should comfort him. Ma should be here, for this shit; she should put her arms around him, protect him from--from having to be responsible. Having to face--

"Mr. Hanamura?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I was just-- Could you leave us alone? I mean, unless there was something to sign, or--?"

Ishida capped his pen, with a frown. "Most people do have some questions."

"Um…." Yosuke stared at his hands. His knuckles were red with frostbite. The skin was starting to crack. "I mean, I do, I guess, but it's pretty overwhelming--like…I'd need to do some reading, talk to some people, uh--I've got a friend; he'd know more--maybe if I could call him? Or I could come back tomorrow, first thing, or in the evening, or--" He glanced at his father, for support, and saw only sick, naked fear, to match his own. Which wasn't right--wasn't fucking right, some asshole doctor with his gold-plated fountain pen and his shitty, shitty news, treating Dad like furniture, and Yosuke like an idiot--and how many questions would he have, if some jerkoff in a white coat came in and--

"Mr. Hanamura?"

"What?"

"You might want to think about taking him home. He's not in any immediate danger, and sometimes being in a familiar setting--"

"It's gone."

"I'm sorry?"

"His home--our home. It's been sold. I…could I come back tomorrow? If I had questions?"

"I'm not in, tomorrow. Did you want to make an appointment for next Thursday?"

"Sure. Yeah. Thanks, I--"

"Four o'clock?"

He nodded. The doctor was still talking--something about pamphlets he could pick up at reception, websites he could try, visiting hours ending at nine, knowing it was a bad time to bring it up, but could Yosuke stop parking by the trees? Because those spaces weren't officially reserved, but it was understood that the night nurses parked there; it was safer, after dark, and Yosuke was a healthy boy--and would he never fuck off?

Yosuke put his head down on the blankets, beside his father's hand, and held his breath till the need to cry had passed.

***

Souji didn't make a sound, all the way upstairs. Dojima supported him at first, then carried him. Yosuke trailed behind, wishing he could be carried, too. There was a bad taste in his mouth, like he might need to puke. His eyes felt sore and scratchy. And Dojima was saying something about hot cups of tea, and needing to talk, and would this fucking day never end?

***

Somewhere between hospital and highway, it had begun to snow. Yosuke blinked, and killed his highbeams. His eyes hurt, from squinting into the glare. He hadn't even realised he was doing it; hadn't noticed the change in weather. He was tired, and the river still lay ahead, and hours and hours of dull, dark road. He wanted to be home, crawling into his own bed, Ma listening to the radio downstairs--or maybe knocking at Souji's door, with a bunch of grapes and a sheepish grin: sorry to just show up, like this--um…hey, how'd you sleep, after I left?

And Souji would start talking about some weird dream he'd had--he always did that, if you asked how he'd slept--and Yosuke would laugh, maybe throw a grape at him, and things would feel normal, for a moment.

He bared his teeth, and thought about hitting the steering wheel. Hard on the heels of that thought came another--more a vision, this time--of his hand missing the wheel, slamming down on the horn; of himself freaking out, losing control of the car, skidding and screeching, turning turtle, tumbling into the ditch--and they'd find him there, in the spring, hanging upside-down from his seat belt, the skin of his head sloughed off and occupying the driver's seat, like the world's nastiest toupee, and--

"Fuck!"

--and his phone was ringing, and he wasn't sure whether he pulled over sharply to answer it, or only to get off the road before he lost it.

***

Yosuke didn't dare look up. He was very conscious of Souji, warm and heavy at his side, putting his arm to sleep with his weight. There was something humiliating about sitting still and passive, while Dojima draped a blanket over both of them--or maybe the embarrassment came from having to be here, probably intruding on a private family moment, because where the hell else would he go? His car was out of reach, parked across two spaces at Inaba station--he'd left it there and sprinted, and even the thought of sprinting was exhausting, and why hadnt he just….

He'd have to go get it, maybe tomorrow night, maybe on the weekend. He could sleep in his office, till then, unless he got caught, which would….

Maybe somebody would steal it, and he'd have to start sleeping in train stations; he'd be a real hobo, then, and smell like pee all the time, and have to wash his hair with hand soap--not even good hand soap, but the kind they have in public bathrooms, that always smells like little kids' dirty hands, and….

He could go now. The last train might still….

"--huh?"

"I said, don't get too comfortable. I need to go park, and heat some water. You two stay awake." Dojima squeezed Souji's shoulder. Souji flinched, and Yosuke looked away, battling a confusing onslaught of envy and shame.

***

His jeans were still wet, when he got to the hospital. He'd knelt in the snow, after Saltzmann's phone call, and before he'd decided to go back and catch a train. The snow had melted, and seeped through to his skin. He'd shivered.

A snowflake had gone down his neck, somehow making it past his hair, and his scarf, and two collars, and that had been it, the last straw. No matter what you did--no matter how hard you tried--that one flake would always get in, always melt to your skin, always fuck with you; it wasn't fair. He'd bent down again, like he had at his father's bedside, and planted his face in the snow. And somehow, he hadn't made a sound.

The trip to the station was a blank patch, in his memory. Probably a miracle he hadn't wrecked the car; he'd sped, he thought, barely seeing the road, worrying at what he'd gleaned from the crackling of a bad connection. There hadn't been much, and it'd all boiled down to one thing: Souji needed him, and he wasn't there. Again.

Had to be bad--why else would Saltzmann call?--why couldn't Souji? Unless he was unconscious. But he couldn't be--he'd been waiting for hours, and waiting implied consciousness. And Dojima was with him, already, which was good--but would he have come, if it wasn't an emergency? The guy worked all the time. He--

(Calm down.)

Couldn't be that bad--he'd said "no broken bones." Maybe, he'd said that. No way to be sure, with the howling of the wind, and the static--

--and what if it hadn't been an accident? What if someone--the kids who'd called him Plague Boy, the jerk who'd shat in his bag--what if they'd caught Souji alone, and--

(Shut up. Stop it.)

--of course it hadn't been an accident. 'Cause he'd said incident, on the phone, and you didn't say incident, when you meant accident. But Saltzmann was German, or Austrian, or something, so who knew what he'd say? Maybe everything was an incident, over there.

And maybe it was time to go in.

He tucked his chin into his collar, and headed for the big glass doors.

***

He was sinking into the couch. Literally sinking. Like, fall-out-the-other-side, land-on-the-floor sinking. Souji was looking at him; he could feel it.

"Don't get upset, if he yells at us."

Yosuke managed a shrug.

"He does that, when he's upset. Has to get it out of his system. He'll feel bad, afterwards…maybe even feed us."

Yosuke almost laughed. "You're thinking about food, at a time like this?"

"Hungry…." Souji sighed, and Yosuke wondered how many painkillers he was on, and if it felt good.

***

He picked out Professor Saltzmann in the waiting room, pretending to read a book. Yosuke could tell he was only pretending, because his eyes weren't going back and forth.

"Um…sir? Professor? Have you seen--"

"Mr. Seta. Yes. He's going to be fine--a couple of cracked ribs, cuts and bruises--nothing more. He was asking for you."

Yosuke felt the sudden need to justify himself. "I was home. With my dad."

"Ah, yes--how is your father?"

"I don't know. I…they said he might have Alzheimer's, now, on top of--on top of…even if he could recover from all the strokes he's had, I might never--" He batted at his eyes. This wasn't about him. "Sorry. Just got the news--still trying to process that, and…what happened? With Souji, I mean, what's--?"

Saltzmann stroked his beard. "He wasn't well, in the lab today--every few minutes, running to the toilet. I went with him, at first, but there was work to do, and I don't think he liked it, me seeing him like that. He slipped out on his own, and after class I found him…."

"Where?"

"Still in the toilet. Bleeding from his face. Beaten up."

Yosuke flinched. "And now?"

"With his father and uncle, waiting for stitches. You're to say you're his brother. They'll let you in."

"Thanks. For bringing him, for trying to look out for him--thank you."

Saltzmann grunted. "Go on. He'll be waiting."

***

He squeezed Souji's hand, under the blanket. Dojima had yelled, and ranted, and kicked a chair, and now he was lecturing. Shaking his head. Souji was taking it well, head bowed, eyes dry. But his hand shook, and Yosuke grasped it, and felt an answering pressure.

"You're an idiot," Dojima said. "Your father and I are in agreement--and that professor of yours, too. It'll all still be there, in a year. You'll even have your scholarship. And you knew all this--why didn't you take the time off? Cancer isn't a joke. You think if you kill yourself trying to do everything at once, your parents'll take it any better than a bullet in your brain?"

Souji shook his head.

"And don't give me that face. Nanako will be delighted to see you--and your friends, I dare say. You'll have your treatments; you'll get better, and then you can think about studying. Say 'thank you, Uncle.'"

"Thank you, Uncle."

"That's better. And you!" He rounded on Yosuke, who blinked foolishly.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. How old are you, now? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?"

"Twenty-one."

"Old enough. You're an adult. Time you grew up, stopped letting people push you around. No--don't open your mouth." Dojima held up his hand, counting off points on his fingers. "You're working full-time, driving nonstop to visit that father of yours, living in your car--"

Souji gasped, at that, but Dojima ploughed on, before he could say anything.

"You should be home, with your father, not driving that rustbucket of yours halfway across Japan, every chance you get."

"But, I--"

"You let a gossiping teenage girl push you out of your job--out of your life. Don't you know, that girl tried the same thing on the next guy? He called her parents, and that was that. And that home you've got your father in--you can't afford it. Work as hard as you like--without an education, you won't afford it. You should be in school. You should--"

"How?" Yosuke pulled his hand free of Souji's. "You're right. I do live in my car. I can't take care of Dad. I--I…what am I supposed to do? I can't just--I can't--" He bit his lip, embarrassed by his outburst.

"You'll come back with Souji and me. You'll enroll in night classes. Daytimes, you'll stay at our house--with your father. Souji can keep an eye on him, while you're in class. Once you've found your feet, you can--"

"Wait--you'd let us--you'd let me and my father stay with you?"

"Not forever. Till you've got your life in order." He frowned. "You and Souji can share his old room. Your father can't get up the stairs, so he'll take over the living room. It'll be a tight squeeze, but you can't keep going like this--either one of you. Souji needs you; you need an education; your father needs a home--there's no question."

Yosuke felt light-headed. "I'm not sure--I mean, it's generous, and all, but--"

Dojima snorted. "Generous--hah! It's not generosity. It's a wakeup call. Both of you have been stupid--you especially, Souji; don't think I'm finished with you--and Hanamura, your parents might not be in a position to set you straight, but I am, and if you're going to be spending so much of your time with my nephew, you can bet your scatterbrained arse I will. You can--and what do YOU find so amusing?"

Souji had hidden his face against Yosuke's arm, and was giggling quietly.

"Drink your tea. Both of you. And get to bed." He turned away, shrugging into his jacket. "I have to get home. But I'll be back with the car, to collect you both, so you'd better be ready by six."

"But my job--I'd have to give notice, and--"

"How much notice did they give you, before shipping your tail off to Tokyo?"

Yosuke subsided. Souji was warm, and the cushions were soft. The blanket was tickling his chin. He could argue some other time, when he wasn't so tired, when his stomach wasn't sloshing with tea, when Souji wasn't trying to fold himself into his arms.

He thought he remembered the door slamming, Dojima leaving, Souji murmuring something that sounded weirdly like an apology, but sleep swallowed any reply he might have made.

***

Souji's hair was almost finished growing back, by the time Yosuke found the apartment. Finished growing, in Souji's little world, seemed to mean long enough to comb into a bristly, upsticking mess. It had come in almost entirely white.

"Isn't it supposed to go darker, after you shave it off?"

"I didn't shave it," he pointed out.

"What's the difference?"

"Well, shaving involves foam, maybe twenty minutes with a razor. Cancer involves clumps of hair falling into the toilet, while you puke up your guts." Souji tried to cultivate a cross expression, but Yosuke was dangling a set of shiny new keys in his face.

"Jerk. These are yours."

Souji snagged them. "Grey hair's just a mix of black and white, anyway. Salt and pepper. The black ones must…must not've come back." He patted his head, looking lost.

"You look good."

"Really?"

Yosuke grinned, shuffling out of smacking range. "For a grandpa…."

Souji flung the keys.

***

Yosuke dumped out his tea. It left a swirl of bright blue pigment in the sink. Brush goes in the water. Dumbass. He clucked his tongue. Dad glanced up from a sky of wobblingly graceful lilac curlicues.

"It's not blue," he said, catching Yosuke looking. "You make yours blue, every time."

Yosuke rinsed out his glass, and turned to the window. Dad was right. The sky was more of an eggshell shade, bright but overcast: a perfect late autumn afternoon. "It's not your colour, either," he groused. "You'd be closer, leaving the paper blank."

"It's not blue."

"Souji'll be home, soon."

Dad grunted, and added a bristly acacia tree, black and fierce. Yosuke wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or annoyed at how rapidly his own artistic talents, such as they were, had been eclipsed. It had been Souji's idea, teaching Dad to paint. Souji's latest idea. Yosuke grimaced at the thought of his first one, the one that had almost broken them up. He'd walked in the door, half an hour early, to find Souji crouched on his haunches, and Dad on the floor. Souji had been smiling, watching Dad crawl towards him, red-faced with effort. Yosuke hadn't understood. He'd grabbed Souji by the shirt, fully intending to punch his lights out. Souji had quailed, so he'd shouted instead, threatened to leave, called Souji every dirty name he knew. He hadn't stopped till Souji broke away, crying.

Souji had crept back later, almost too late--Yosuke'd been packing a bag. Not that he'd had anywhere to go. Souji, ever tactful, had ignored that, and produced a much-thumbed printout. "See?--here, I wasn't hurting him. I was teaching him to walk--well, hopefully…see? Stroke patients can learn, but the memories they had--the neural pathways, they're gone. So you've got to teach them, like children--get them crawling, build the connections over again--he can walk, Yosuke, maybe, if we practice…if you don't go?" He'd been trying it in secret, he'd explained, in case it hadn't panned out as he'd hoped--in case it had proven too late. "I had to move his arms and legs for him, the first few times. He just lay there--thought he'd never catch on, but maybe five, six days in, I felt…his muscles were flexing. He didn't get anywhere, but he tried--and that's what I was doing--that's all. I wouldn't hurt him, Yosuke--you've got to know I wouldn't--"

Yosuke had never felt so ashamed and so elated, at the same time.

Dad wasn't walking yet, for all Souji's efforts, but he was feeding himself, reading a little--and now, painting.

He left the fun part for me, Yosuke thought.

"He does remember stuff," Souji whispered, the night of the big fight--that came later, after baths and tea and sneaky-quiet makeup sex, and Dojima either knocking on the wall or knocking something over, next door.

"Huh?"

"Your dad. You said he doesn't remember you, most of the time. But he does. Just not you now."

"Not me now?"

"Yeah--like, he remembers little you, and high-school you, working at Junes--it's only after that, he gets fuzzy." Souji kissed him on the forehead. Yosuke jerked back, and bumped his head on the wall. He shrugged apologetically: yup; still getting used to doing that under Dojima's roof. Souji rolled his eyes, and picked up his train of thought. "Nanako brought him some grapes in a Junes bag, today, and you were all he talked about, for an hour."

"Seriously?"

"Mm-hm."

"What'd he say?"

"Uh…." Souji frowned.

"C'mon, what?"

"He said, uh…he said you stole a pair of mittens, and he had to ask your Ma if he should…if he should beat you." Souji's guilty look was almost comical, but Yosuke couldn't laugh. "I'm sure he didn't mean--hey, you OK? Yosuke?"

He'd made Souji cry--only fair, he reflected, that Souji got his own back, however inadvertently. "I'm fine," he managed, between sniffles. "It's just…that's what he'd say, when I was little. If I'd fucked up somehow, or Ma'd yelled at me...I'd be moping in my room--but then Dad would come home, and he'd storm in with the frying pan, all red in the face, yelling to Ma in the kitchen: should he beat me green, or just black and blue?--and I'd try not to laugh, 'cause he looked stupid, and I knew he'd never…. But I'd always crack up, in the end." He wiped his eyes on Souji's shoulder. "Guess I miss him."

Souji made comforting sounds, but Yosuke hadn't let himself break down since Ma sold the house. He wound up sobbing into the pillow, while Souji hovered and shushed. Nanako came in, eventually, with a hug and a stuffed porpoise for him. Dojima showed up, too, all gruff and rumpled, to take her back to bed. He squeezed Yosuke's arm, without looking him in the eye.

It had been awkward, all of them under one roof--but he had to admit he missed the company. The new apartment was spacious, but Nanako's cooking had been nice. He liked eggs and rice. Dojima had been OK, too, once Yosuke'd figured out his bark was worse than his bite. And he didn't even bark that much, as long as you--

"Souji."

Yosuke cocked his head. Dad was right again: six o'clock, and the stairs were creaking. Definitely Souji. "The light's gone out of the sky. You should put up your paints."

"Now, it's blue."

Yosuke chuckled. The sky was blue, but not the fresh-from-the-tube cerulean he'd been using. The sunset had left a faded royal blue in its wake, swiftly deepening to black.

***

Yosuke stirred his coffee. The smell was making him queasy. He willed her to say something--anything: with the subjects of her flight, her hotel, her job, and his job exhausted, conversation had stalled.

"So…it pays enough?" She'd already asked him that.

He shrugged. The dairy farm was dull work, and smelly, but the hours were good; it sufficed. "It's temporary. And I'm getting substitute work at Yasogami Primary, and a couple of schools in Okina. Next year--" He swallowed. "Guess I said that already."

Ma was looking at him. He could smell her breath: more coffee, and something sweet. He wanted to turn away.

"Dad…um--I didn't tell him you'd be here, like you wanted, but I think if you came over--"

"Yosuke--"

"No--Ma, he's better, now. You wouldn't recognise him, from before. He's talking, reading; he can stand for ten seconds, by himself, peel an orange--he's barely even slurring his words. He can smile--"

"Yosuke."

He blinked. No tears. He couldn't blow this. No matter what, he couldn't--

"He's not the man I married."

"But…but he's better." It was his turn to repeat himself. He was fucking it up, but he pressed on--Souji wouldn't give up. "Really better, like, a lot. If you'd stop by, or let us bring him to you…. Or--or he likes the park, or the riverside. You could walk by, at least, and if you didn't like what you saw…?"

She unfolded her napkin, and dangled it in front of her, like a barrier. "He has Alzheimer's disease."

"He does not!" Yosuke pinched himself, under the table. Don't yell. Don't fuck up. Don'tfuckupdon'tfuckupdon'tfuckup. "I mean, they're not sure, but Dr. Ishida said he might've been depressed, or lonely, and that's why he wasn't getting better, 'cause he wasn't motivated--but it's different, now; everyone says." Yosuke tried to catch her eye, but she looked away. "Nobody came, Ma--no-one talked to him; they kept the curtains closed, so he didn't know if it was day or night…he told Souji. He talks a lot to Souji, and me too--I promise, Ma, he's Dad; he's still in there--"

"Does he shout at you to take off your shoes, when you come in from work?"

Yosuke frowned. "No."

"Stick his spoon in your cooking, and say it needs salt, no matter how much you used?"

"He's on a low-sodium diet. And he can't walk, yet; he can't--"

"Hoard all the papers in his study, till they pile up to the--"

"He doesn't have a study." Yosuke realised he was whispering, not wanting anyone to look over, not wanting this to be gossip. "It's a two-bedroom flat, and he reads on his Kindle, anyway; papers are too--"

"Then, I don't know him." Ma ripped the napkin, and crumpled it into a ball. "I don't want to see some--some stranger, wearing his skin. I don't want to. I can't."

"He's still Dad. He talks about you. Told Souji about when he proposed, and you thought he was kidding, and your father had to--"

"Stop."

Yosuke couldn't. "Ma, please--I'm begging: ten minutes, half an hour--"

"I'm not a horrible person, Yosuke." She dropped the napkin on her plate, and smoothed out her skirt. "Your father and I were drifting apart, even before he had his stroke. I stayed longer than anyone could've expected." When Yosuke only gaped, she glared at him. "He's not my blood."

"What about me?" There was a great sour lump in his throat, making it hurt to talk. "I'm your blood, right?" He blinked again. "I was living in my car--Ma, I had nowhere to go; I was sleeping in storerooms, an abandoned shop…on the floor, there, or in the back seat of my car--in Souji's hallway, one time; I was scared, and I thought Dad was going to die, and I'd be in Tokyo…. Ma? Why'd you…why didn't you--"

"I didn't know."

"You didn't ask."

"I couldn't bear to know."

Yosuke studied her. She looked younger than he remembered. She had on a lot of jewellery, and she'd cut her hair. It pissed him off, and made him feel bad for her, at the same time. She didn't look like herself. He reached out and took her hand. "Ma…? I love you."

"I love you, too."

He smiled at her, as best he could. "Would you call him, some time? Just say 'maybe'---I can't take another 'no.'"

She didn't say anything.

"You wouldn't have to see him--and I swear, you almost wouldn't know, on the phone. I call him from work all the time, when I forget what I'm supposed to pick up for dinner, and it's like nothing's changed, honest--"

"I'll call."

"For real?"

She nodded.

"When?"

"I don't know. Soon." She pressed her lips together. "I'm really not a horrible person."

"I know, Ma."

"Do you forgive me?"

"I…." He hung his head. He'd promised to bring her home--promised Souji. Souji had been dead set on this: he'd become fiercely attached to Dad, during the months they'd spent recovering together. "When you call. When you come. Doesn't have to be this time, but one day…you'll come, won't you?"

She looked at her watch, and the vulnerability Yosuke thought he'd glimpsed dropped away. "My taxi will be here. I should wait outside."

"Ma!"

"I don't know, Yosuke. Maybe. It's not…I'm not an awful person." She scooped up her handbag, and hurried off.

Yosuke got out his phone, looked at it, and jammed it back in his pocket. Disappointing Souji would be worst of all--but he'd at least do it in person.

***

Souji was pacing, on the other side of the door. He'd locked Yosuke out, which he never did--never. Dad was still dozing in his chair, looking crisp in his new shirt and tie. Souji must've set those out, for him. He'd set out Yosuke's Sunday best, too; Yosuke had smiled, to see that. Souji had wanted to come, but--but--

Why didn't I let him?

Souji was good at this shit. Yosuke, though, he'd got some bug up his arse about privacy, and family matters staying in the family--and what was Souji supposed to be, if not family? Stupid.

He knocked on the door, as quietly as he could. Souji stopped pacing. Yosuke heard him sit down; the chair scraped on the floor.

"Souji?"

Nothing.

"Souji, c'mon. We need to--"

"Get us some hot chocolate."

"What?"

"I--I need a minute. Please. Go to the cafe; give me some time."

Yosuke went. He bought three cups of cocoa, knowing Souji would've woken Dad, the second he was out the door. Souji was like that: he didn't care to talk, while he was still angry or hurt. He'd get out the paints, or a puzzle, or a DVD, to eat up the afternoon. Then, it would be dinner time, and news time, and bath time, and time for late movies. It wouldn't be till bedtime, bundled together in the dark, that they'd talk.

"So…you all right?"

Souji nodded. His hair tickled Yosuke's chin.

"You locked me out."

"That was for your benefit."

Yosuke snorted. "O…kay?"

"Didn't want you feeling bad for me, on top of everything else." Souji sighed. "What about you? Holding up?"

"Yeah." He smiled, lips against Souji's ear, so he could feel it. "Hey…wasn't a bad day, just the three of us."

"Your dad cheats at cards."

"Mm-hm."

"Let's take him boating, some time."

"Mm."

"You're half-asleep, aren't you?"

Yosuke faked a snore. Souji elbowed him, and yanked more of the pillow to his side.

***

"Gonna be sick."

"No, you're not." Yosuke pushed Souji's hair off his face. It was shaggy, in need of a trim. "Breathe--no, not like that. Through your nose." He demonstrated, sniffing in a deep breath, and blowing it out in a rush. "OK, now swallow. Yeah? See?--you're fine."

Souji hunched his shoulders. "Your dad's going to yell at me, in the morning."

"Yup."

"He hates being woken up."

"You only screamed once, this time. That's something."

Souji shifted closer. He was cool to the touch, and slimy, covered in nightmare-sweat. Yosuke shrugged out of his shirt, and used it to blot him dry, muttering something about catching his death of cold.

"Hey…I can tell Dad to go easy on you, if you want."

"Would he listen?"

"No," admitted Yosuke. "I just said that to make you feel better."

Souji laughed. His eyes were closing again, already: that was good. His bad dreams seemed to be losing their teeth. He'd still wake up screaming--or, worse, in tears--but the storms passed fast. Gone were the sleepless nights, the shivering, the pacing. Sometimes, Souji had thrown the covers off and torn at his clothes, convinced he was bleeding underneath, infected, dying. That had been bad. He'd claimed he could still feel himself melting, even when Yosuke rubbed aloe into his scars. But the worst had come when Yosuke brought home a stomach bug from work. Souji had been first to fall ill, and he'd been certain his cancer was back. Even when Dad had got sick, too, and Yosuke himself, Souji had lain under the covers, shivering and disconsolate, only bestirring himself to run to the bathroom.

That had been the worst--but also the turning point. After the flu, Souji had started sleeping through the night, making long-term plans, taking an interest in life outside the apartment. He'd found a part-time job, and got in touch with Dr. Saltzmann. He'd be starting classes again, in the spring: three days a week--two in the classroom, one in the lab. Maybe that was where tonight's terror had come from: Yosuke knew he was nervous about going back.

"I'll go with you, if you want," he whispered. "Your first day back, I mean."

But Souji only grunted, mostly asleep already.

***

It was just plain weird, Dad having a job. Even weirder, seeing him in a suit and tie, again. Souji said it was good for him to dress like that, even if he wasn't going any farther than the kitchen. Souji said there was something powerful about a suit--about a man in a suit--which gave Yosuke dirty ideas about Souji in a suit, which led to both of them in their birthday suits, which made Yosuke forget all about Dad sitting at the kitchen table, taking calls in his new red silk tie. Junes had hired him back, in their customer service department, which seemed to translate to getting complained at all day, and promising people coupon books for their inconvenience. Yosuke hated it, at first: it was demeaning. Dad had been regional manager. They should at least have given him Yosuke's old job, or something in accounting; he could do that from home, just as easily, or--

"Quit staring," said Dad. "If you've time to sit and stare, you've time to sweep the steps."

"Souji swept 'em."

"That was yesterday. There are more leaves, now: little pointy red ones, from next door. They get everywhere, if you don't stay on top of them. I see you, tracking them in on your boots. Leaves and blades of grass. Farmer John--that's you, wearing old clothes, tracking mud. Go away; get the broom. And quit--"

The phone butted in.

"Junes customer service, Taka Hanamura speaking. How may I make your day great?"

Yosuke rolled his eyes, and went to get his boots. He had to leave for work soon, anyway. That was weird, too: him and Souji both at school--Yosuke teaching, Souji learning--and Dad home alone. The first time that had happened, they'd called to check in so many times Dad had told them both to fuck off. Yosuke had been offended; Souji, amused.

***

Ma finally called on a Sunday morning, nearly two years after her visit. Souji answered. Yosuke could tell he was pissed, by the way he scowled and held the phone away from his ear. Still, he stayed polite, even cordial, till he handed her off to Dad.

He and Yosuke sat outside, on the steps, not wanting to overhear.

"What do you think they're talking about?"

Souji shrugged. "If it was me, and I'd been sick, and you'd ditched me for someone else…."

"Yeah?"

"Don't know. I want to say I'd give you a piece of my mind--or better yet, scream in your ear and hang up--but…I don't know." He blew at a stray hair. "I might want to hear your voice, anyway. Find out what you had to say for yourself. And if you said all the right things--or even just some of them--maybe, maybe…." He punched Yosuke's arm, hard. "Asshole! How could you cheat on me?"

"I didn't!"

"That was pre-emptive."

"Fine--then, I won't. Sheesh."

Souji leaned against him, tilting his head to watch a bird fly by. "What happens next?"

"Huh? With what?"

"I'll be done studying, next year. Don't know where I'll be working…."

"Hm." Yosuke considered. "I don't have to teach here--I'm still only part-time; maybe in a bigger city, I could find something permanent…."

"What about your dad?"

"I don't know. Maybe he'll stay here, but I was hoping…I mean, I know it gets awkward, the three of us, and with him turning the kitchen into an office, and his shirts all over the clothesline, but--"

"It's fine." Souji sighed. "I like your dad. Just feel bad, uprooting him again, when I don't even know--when everything keeps changing, and…." He made a frustrated sound. "Why can't Inaba be bigger, or Tokyo be closer, or all jobs be like your dad's, so you can do 'em anywhere?"

It was Yosuke's turn to shrug. "You're worried we'll break up."

"Sorta…."

"Do you want to break up?"

"No."

"Then, we won't. The rest…it's just details, right?"

"Pretty big details."

"Yeah, but…I mean, we survived you moving away, me working all the time, you getting…y'know, hurt--and cancer--and Dad living with us; Dad and your uncle and Nanako living with us, even--or us living with them…well, whatever; we got through it. This'll be fine…right?" He elbowed Souji in the ribs: better say 'yes.'

Of course, Souji took that as his cue to get silly. He hemmed and hawed, and made pointed references to Yosuke's occasional bedroom mishaps--hey! I'm not that quick!--till Yosuke had no choice but to mess up his hair and shove him off the steps. They were still tussling back and forth, when Dad came out to grumble about lunchtime having passed. He didn't mention Ma, and she didn't call again.

***

"Hey--don't I know you, from somewhere?"

Souji stiffened. Yosuke knew exactly what he was afraid of: Yeah! You're Risette's boyfriend, the porn star--hey, still got AIDS? How come you're not dead? Can I get Risette's autograph?

"Yeah…." The shopkeeper tilted his head. "You're…didn't you grow up in Yokohama? Yeah! You were like twelve, and you tried to buy sake, 'cause you had that grey hair--yeah! My dad kicked you out of his store."

Souji looked thunderstruck.

"C'mon, don't deny it. Souji Seta. My dad knows your dad. We used to walk to school, together."

"Maeda?"

The guy grinned. "One and the same. See? I knew it was you. Right when you walked in the store, I was like 'holy shit, it's Souji Seta.' I knew you'd've forgotten me, boring old Jun Maeda, but I know you--yes, I do--isn't it weird, running into each other, like this? Saw your ma, a few months back, and I wondered if you might come in--and lo and behold, Souji Seta--"

Maeda kept talking, but Yosuke could tell he'd lost his audience. Souji was sporting a wide, dazed grin, clearly a million miles away.

The nightmare, Yosuke thought--it's finally ending.