“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?” he says. He softly brushes his lips against mine. “I don’t know how long this meeting will take, and I need sleep.”
“Tomorrow,” I breathe. I open my eyes to see him staring down at me, smiling. He surprises me when he kisses me quickly on the mouth again, then pulls out of my grasp and cracks the door open. He slips through and is gone.
I’m standing here, shaking like a wet Chihuahua and wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to see patients and get through the rest of the day.
I am not fashionable. Or trendy.
The world (perhaps mostly the demographic of young women ages sixteen to thirty) has recently become obsessed with Korean pop bands. Young men and women with asymmetrical haircuts, bright, iridescent clothes and pouty, angelic faces.
I look nothing like this, and the fact that I am half-Korean is not immediately apparent. I get “something.” As in, “You look mixed with something.” I don’t look like a typical English bloke, but I don’t look thoroughly Asian either. I think if my hair weren’t this weird lion’s mane color and properly black or dark brown, I would visually identify more as the latter. I don’t dye it or do anything to it other than get it trimmed. It just grows this color—upstairs and down.
It’s Sunday. This particular Sunday has already been much more productive than my usual day off, which consists of lying around my flat watching Netflix and eating crisps until it’s time for shōgi. But today I skipped shōgi altogether (I texted Asao to let Haruka know). I’ve gotten my haircut and gone clothes shopping. I’ve also picked up a gift for dinner. A fancy variety set of organic green teas.
By four o’clock I’m stepping off the local train at Kurashiki Station. Jun wants to take me on a little momiji viewing tour around his city before we head to dinner at Haruka and Nino’s house at seven. He says he knows a quiet spot where the autumn leaves are particularly lovely.
When I’m standing outside the station, I pull my phone out from my back pocket and type out a quick message.
[I’m out front. Are you here?]
The little gray bubbles immediately pop up.
[Three minutes.]
The sun is already low in the sky like a work of art—brush strokes in gradient hues of soft pink, orange and gold. The clouds are heavy, but scattered and shadowy. Today definitely feels like autumn. I can smell rice fields being burned and prepped for the next harvest season as it drifts through the air. The breeze is cool against my face. I breathe in deep, pulling all of it into my lungs.
Reaching down, I adjust the hem of my jumper. In my effort to avoid being flashy, I think I’ve gone too far in the opposite direction. My trousers are navy blue and so is my jumper (which fits my shoulders properly, thank you). Underneath, my shirt is black, but there’s an embossed, subtle pattern there. Essentially, a mannequin at the department store was wearing this same ensemble in the window, and I pointed to it and told the shop assistant, “This. In my size.”
I’ve made a genuine effort to not wear something I’ve had for two decades. At this moment though, I’m not sure what’s more embarrassing—Junichi noticing that I’ve made an effort or his not noticing.
He’s a fashion designer. Of course he’ll notice.
When a black taxi pulls up to the curb, I watch as Junichi gets out, thanks the driver and shuts the door. His jumper is beige but has this intricate pattern throughout. There are brown suede patches on his square shoulders and his dress shirt underneath is beige as well. Stunning. It’s unfair, really.
He’s smiling as he walks toward me. He smoothly steps into me and whispers, “Hello, Doctor.” Instinctively, I lift my face since he’s so bloody tall, but when he places a firm kiss on my mouth, my chest tightens because we’re in public. There are lots of people bustling about, and Japan isn’t exactly keen on public displays of affection—especially queer ones. So the fluttery feeling in my heart is suddenly in direct conflict with the astute awareness of social constructs in my mind.
As if he senses my anxiety, Jun frowns when he pulls up from the quick kiss. “Everything alright?”
I take a breath to calm my nerves. “Yes. Hello…”
“You look delicious,” he says, stepping back and looking me up and down. “Who dressed you?”
A mannequin. The shop assistant? I bought the shoes it was wearing, too. “I dressed myself, you cheeky sod.”
He breathes a laugh, smirking. “I don’t understand your weird British lingo sometimes, but it’s cute so don’t stop doing it.”
Again with this “cute” business… I’m alright with this, but if he calls me weird, I might be triggered.
“What’s that?” he asks, looking down at the thick paper bag with handles that’s hanging at my side.
“A thank you to the hosts for inviting me to dinner.”
“How thoughtful.”
I lift my chin, haughty. “I’m a thoughtful human.”
“Hm… A Thoughtful Human isn’t nearly as good a book title.” He takes advantage of my gesture and sneaks in another soft, quick kiss. My heart skips. Christ. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this excited about someone. It’s slightly terrifying.
But I’m grateful, because it seems that my effort yesterday to make the first move has paid off. We’ve been talking on the phone for three weeks, so I was worried that being together in person wouldn’t translate—that we’d be awkward or uncomfortable. Doesn’t seem to be an issue, though.
“Shall we? The temple is only a fifteen-minute walk from here.” He steps forward and smoothly grabs my free hand, clasping my palm. He pulls me forward and my heart is in my throat: half from the sheer thrill of this little bloom of physical intimacy and half from being hyper aware that people are actually staring at us. I’m looking around, my eyes meeting all of theirs, when Jun suddenly stops.
He looks at me, then lifts his head to take in our surroundings and gives my palm a little squeeze. “You’re uncomfortable with this?”
“Ah, well… not really, I—”
Gently, he drops my hand, sliding both of his into his trouser pockets. He smiles. “Understood. Forgive me, Doctor. I’m very old and presumptuous at times. Follow me?” He walks on. I follow him feeling like… what? Shit? A coward? I’m on my first proper date since I can remember when, and with this leggy, statuesque creature. I’m not in the habit of being openly affectionate with another man in public, but… Why the hell should I feel shame or care what strangers think?
I take a few extra steps to meet his long stride. I hesitate, but reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist. He slows, looking over at me as I urge his hand back out of his pocket. “Not uncomfortable, just… not accustomed.” I smile. Having freed his hand, I slide my palm into his again and grip his fingers. He squeezes me in turn as we continue walking down the pavement.
He’s looking forward, a smirk on his lips. “I was wondering, ‘What happened to the bold man from yesterday?’”
“Well… he was behind a closed door.”
“Then I suppose I’ll look forward to being behind a closed door with you again.”
Fourteen
