"Hm? What did you say?" 

"She told them." 

"What?" 

"We have to go and take everything we want. They're going to be cleaning out the apartment in the morning." 

"I see." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. Give me one hour. I'll be ready." 

"All right." 

"Just go get your stuff. It'll be fine. It'll be okay." 

"Yes." 

"I promise, Shinobu. It will be all right." 
 

Stars
band: t.A.T.u.
album: 200 Km/h In The Wrong Lane
 

How did we ever go this far?
 

I don't take much. I don't need it. There are no belongings that hold memories any better than my mind. I will let them take care of my trash. I will let them dispose of my life. 

He is not like me. He is packing his things, whistling cheerfully. To him, this change is no more than another move, a temporary shift in location. I admire his light heart, love him for it, but even his smile is not lifting my mood. 

His car is small and compact, a deep, sleek blue. We load his things into the trunk, and fit my suitcases into the back seat. I have taken clothes and books and pictures, and I have left my past. It will gather dust and linger in this apartment, because I don't need it anymore. 

My bank account will last us for a while. I have expected this day ever since I first laid eyes on him. My graduate studies will have to be suspended until I can afford them on my own. 

What worries me is his job. He has worked so hard to get it. Should we stay in this town? Will everyone here soon know everything? Will his parents find out soon too? Everything seems dangerous. I am hounded by an insatiable need to protect him. But he's a man, and I'm not his mother. 

I'm the one he loves. 
 

You touch my hand and start the car
 

He pulls me towards the car, and I wonder why I'm in such a daze. It's night, but not so late that I should be tired. I can't focus. I can't seem to do anything but go where he leads me. 

He shuts the car door behind me, then goes back into the apartment, making sure we've taken everything we need. Things are replaceable. Things are temporary. 

He returns and slides into the driver's seat. One more time he glances behind us to the belongings piled there, and then to me. "Shinobu." 

I look up to him, his bright eyes glowing with strength and compassion. He reaches out and takes my fingers in his, entwining them. My hands are cold. He’s watching me, his eyes worried, but sure. I wonder how he can be like this. I wonder where his calmness comes from. I wonder what it would be like to be him.

He leans forward and kisses me gently, a reassuring kiss. I don’t want to break it, but we need to go. It would be better to be as far away from here as possible when the morning comes.

He pulls away after a minute and my lips feel heavy with longing. He pushes the clutch in and turns the key, and the engine thrums into life. He backs slowly out of the space, and turns in the driveway. My eyes trail over our old home, the apartment my parents had kindly provided for their son and his roommate. Surely they must have suspected all these years. Surely they must have known deep in their hearts who I need.
 

And for the first time in my life 
 

She had told them, I was sure. My only sister, the middle child in our family, always forgotten and dismissed among those who shone brighter than she had. My eldest brother was too kind and soulful to remain part of our family. He has the heart of a poet and dreamed in songs and lyrical verse. He was passionate only for his aspirations and his art. When he disappeared, I became the heir.

I was too brilliant for them, but this did not seem to be the problem. I was cold, always so cold, and never passionate about anything. My brother they could understand because he would lash out and rage in his zeal. I accepted anything they gave to me, and got what I wanted by my own means. They were thrilled with the concept that someone like me would take over the company. What they were not thrilled about was the fact that they had to deal with me in the meantime, while I grew up to be head of their precious business.

My sister, however, is like the rest of our extended family. She is passionate like our brother, but self-centered. She also possesses a cruel streak that my parents did not discourage. She has always hated me. She was the baby until I had come along. I ruined everything for her at birth and she has never forgiven me for it.

Which it why when she had walked in on us at our apartment curled together in one bed, I knew it was over.
 

I'm crying
 

Had it meant so much to me? My family had been nothing but a pack of hungry wolves, waiting for me to be in command of everything or to fail at something, eager and ravenous and unfeeling. But still they were my family. They had supported me in school all these years, clothed me and fed me, and had provided housing during university and graduate school.

Was it only that I was imperfect in my choice of love? Why did it matter, after everything that they knew I could have been to them, that I fall in love with my high school roommate? Why had they so utterly rejected me?

The phone call had been brief and terse, frozen and empty. My father’s voice from Tokyo spoke to me in sharp commanding sentences. I had replied, calm as ever, always a cold statue. There were no angry words exchanged. Just the facts.

His words echoed what my sister’s must have been, but hollowly. He knew as well as I that she could never run the business because she was too flighty and self-serving. He knew it would now be passed to someone outside the family, or perhaps one of my lesser cousins. I was the best chance. And I had failed him.

The dim scene out the car window starts to blur. I feel distant, as if my body is expressing my regret and pain without my heart. I will feel it there later, once reality sinks in. I hear myself give a little rasping gasp, and Mitsuru reaches over and seizes my hand tightly in his.
 

Are we in space? Do we belong? 
 

“I promise it will be okay, Shinobu,” he murmurs, and his voice is tense and dark. He is angry at my family. I know this, and somehow this seems to make it worse. This is not what I wanted. This is nothing at all like what I wanted. I just wanted to live forever with him and hold him and love him, not to antagonize my family to the point of being disowned.

I raise my free hand to my eyes to wipe away wetness and am surprised to find it is shaking. I tighten my fingers around his. He’s not letting go even to shift gears.

My voice is choked. “I’m sorry, Mitsuru, for all this… I’m sorry.”

He frowns. “Don’t be. You’re not wrong. Listen, we’ll go to my parents’ place and stay there for a while, and maybe we can find a cheap place in Tokyo. I’ll get work to transfer me to the branch in Uguisudani. You can take classes at TouDai. We can get through this. We always do.”

“We always do,” I echo, and I sound false. I take deep breaths, slowly. God, what I wouldn’t give for a cigarette.

He must sense this, because his voice is grim. “We’ll stay in a rest area tonight and sleep in the car. I brought all the blankets and pillows. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” I say quietly, and on impulse, from my knee I raise our linked hands and press a kiss to the top of his. He glances at me, wordless, but gives me a small smile.
 

Someplace where no one calls its wrong 
 

The callous monotony of the driving is punctuated by headlights and passing cars. My hand is still cold, but at least I am not crying anymore. I want to curl up and sleep, to make him stop the car and curl up in the safety of his arms, but I also want to get closer to Tokyo before we rest. I had never feared my family until today. There is something in every child that makes him want to listen to his parents. The lingering self-doubt shadowing my mind is a testimony to that power.

“Shinobu,” he says slowly, breaking the silence, and it startles me. I know what he wants to ask.

“The phone call. Yes. It was my father. Nagisa told him.”

“I expected as much.” He paused, glancing at me. “Does that make her the heir to the family now?”

“Heir, yes, when our parents die, but she won’t take over the company. She’s too unstable.”

“And you? Are you completely cut off?”

He has been taking everything, all the packing, the moving, the driving on complete faith in my word. In a moment, for me, he has changed his entire daily routine. I feel gratefulness welling up in the back of my throat, but bite it back.

“Yes. I am disowned.”

Hearing my own voice say it makes it seem so final. I realize there is no turning back.

He seems to as well, for he doesn’t respond.
 

And like the stars we burn away 
 

It’s so dark out. The illumination for the highway is splotchy and inconsistent, and by now, there are not so many other cars on the road. I yawn a bit indelicately, and Mitsuru glances over at me. “Do you want to stop soon?”

“Whenever you are tired. I don’t want you to push yourself. I can drive tomorrow if you want.”

“Sure, then I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“All right.”

He’s worried that I’m not teasing him as usual. But I’m thinking. I’m worrying.

“Dwelling on it won’t change it, you know,” he says softly. I’m doing that too.

“I know.”

“Are you going to try and talk to them later?”

“Maybe.”

“It might be a good idea to give them an adjustment period. You know, to get used to the idea.”

I know he’s trying to be helpful, but it feels like nagging. I sigh and do not reply and turn my eyes out the window. I have a sudden panic over the Descartes translation I had left unfinished in a notebook for a class tomorrow. I was going to finish that tonight.
 

The miles 
 

“Mitsuru, that’s the third time you’ve yawned in the past minute. Pull over at the next rest area and we can sleep.”

“You don’t want to live off coffee?”

“I’m not a writer.”

“No, you’re a philosopher,” he retorts. “That’s much worse.”

“That’s true. I don’t get a paycheck to brood.”

“Yet.”

I smile slightly. He has always been convinced that I should be a professor. Maybe I will now.

“Five more kilometers,” I read off the sign. “There are even little restaurants we can eat at.”

“You’ll get fat if you eat before you sleep.”

“Wouldn’t that just mean there would be more of me to love?”

He relaxes visibly. I am joking and smiling and it warms his heart. I am relieved to see him slough off his worry like an extra layer of skin. I like him to be happy.

He signals to turn left as the exit comes up, and pulls into the rest area.
 

How did we ever get this far? 
 

“It shouldn’t be too much further tomorrow. We could probably do it tonight if–"

“No. Definitely not. Let’s go to sleep.”

“You’re never up for a challenge.”

“I only partake in those I can win.”

“Hmm…” He pouts for a moment, but then in one motion takes off his seatbelt and turns around. He shovels through bags and belongings and eventually pulls out two blankets and two pillows. He tosses one of each at me.

“Wouldn’t it be a better idea to sleep in the back?” I am curious as to how comfortable this front seat could possibly be. I like to stretch out.

He stares at me a moment, then shakes his head slightly. “You are such a pain.” He hops out of the car and opens the door to the seat behind him, and begins transferring stuff. I don’t remember having all these things at home.

I join him, though my carefully made pile on the front seat hardly resembles his at all. I climb into the back seat, my blanket and pillow clutched in my hands, and adjust myself as necessary. This is not going to be a comfortable night.

He climbs in too, shutting the door, and then promptly falling over into my lap. He grins up at me, innocent in his mischievousness. I smile back slightly and raise a hand to stroke his hair.
 

It shouldn't have to be this hard 
 

I am glad for the darkness because that means no one can see into the car. I check and make sure all the doors are locked, then push him off my lap.

He looks startled for a moment, and starts to protest, but I lean forward and catch his lips with mine. About this he can’t complain.

Perhaps it’s the pressure of the day, perhaps the long inhibiting car ride, but I do not try to fight it. It would not be the first time in his car. Just the first that I had been disowned because of it.

His hands are eager. He’s always eager. He is like a puppy dog or a little boy and he’s beautiful and sweet and kind and gentle and I love him more than I love anything else, more than I could love anything else. I know how sensitive he is and exactly the right places to touch, and I do not hold myself back. I love him so much it makes my chest ache.

His hands have gone for the buttons on my shirt. He is clumsy, but years of practice have paid off. My shirt is off in a few moments. His hands are never shy.

His lips drift to my neck and an amusing thought occurs to me. Will it matter anymore if he gives me a hickey? There’s no one around to notice it. No other grad students, no professors, no shy students asking questions of the T.A.’s. No one.

There’s also no one around to notice if I give him a hickey…
 

Now for the first time in my life 
 

Mitsuru likes to bite, and I can’t say as I mind. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but just hard enough so that I know it’s teeth and I know that I’m his. He runs his tongue along the tendons of my neck, and I can do nothing but clutch to him. My neck has always been sensitive, as he well knows.

I tug at his t-shirt. There are no buttons to slip it off, so we have to break contact for a moment until the problem is rectified. The car windows are fogging. I am glad it is not a hot night.

I run fingers up and down his chest as he concentrates on my neck. I can hear myself moaning softly, like a darker shade of breath, but I am hardly conscious of it. His breathing is husky in my ear.

“We should take more road trips,” I murmur, trying to control my voice.

“Mm,” he replies noncommittally, and lowers his lips to my collarbone.

I feel hot all over, like my blood is rushing around everywhere, but increasingly loitering in one spot. It never seems to lose its charm, even after all these years.

My fingers latch onto his belt buckle and I realize it’s the one I have trouble undoing. “Damn belt,” I hiss, tugging at it. If only this boy would buy normal belts! He moves one hand from my chest to undo the belt for me.

With a yank and a flourish, he pulls it off, and I go to work on his zipper. This car is feeling increasingly smaller and I miss that large double bed we had shared in the apartment. I like to watch him. It’s much more difficult here to do that.
 

I'm flying 
 

Somehow he has gotten my pants around my hips without me noticing. His tongue starts heading toward my bellybutton but I stop him. I pull his chin up with two fingers until his is looking me in the eye. My voice is steady when I speak. “Ikeda Mitsuru, I love you.”

He grins. “You’d better by now, Tezuka Shinobu.”

I smirk, for one moment not remembering anything but him, and lean down.

Then sit up. “Your car was not made for this.”

“I couldn’t afford a van.”

“Maybe I’ll buy a truck.”

I’m teasing him and we both know it. As I’m speaking I reach out and stroke a little bulge in his pants.

“We must do something about this, Mitsuru.”

“Well, since you know everything, I’m sure you know the cure too.”

I smile and scoot down into the foot space at the base of the seat. This is awkward, but I’m not a contortionist. I pull on his pants and boxers and he obligingly lifts up his hips to assist me.

“Very nice,” I murmur appreciatively, and then I’m covering him with my mouth. His head arches back at the sudden warm sensation.

No, cars were not made for this. But they will do.
 

Are we in love?
 

Tongues are truly God’s gift to man. With them we can speak, sing, pray, curse, and fill our lover with pleasure. It’s hard to go wrong with the tongue.

His fingernails are digging into my shoulder, but I hardly notice. He’s beginning to buck into my mouth. He never could control himself when I went down on him. My tongue must be very skilled indeed.

He’s saying the nonsense things he always says during sex. They mean nothing but are meant to reassure me that he hasn’t forgotten about me despite himself. I’m concentrating on not gagging and trying not to be pushed into the back of the passenger seat. Yes, we definitely need to do this more often.

“Don’t… get it… on my… car…” he chokes out, and I almost laugh, but then something hits me in the back of the throat. I swallow and swallow and try not to choke, but when he’s finished I can’t help but pull away and start coughing.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice thick.

I wipe a hand across my mouth. “Yes. Just went down the wrong way.”

He looks concerned, but satiated, and I am pleased. I scoot back up into the seat and plop myself squarely in his lap. Cuddling is just as good as sex, and sometimes better.

He kisses me on the cheek, and wraps his arms around me. I rest my head on his shoulder. His breath is still a little rushed. He strokes my hair gently, recovering. Except for the lower half of my body, I am remarkably content.

He is not. “We’re still not finished, you know.”

I grin and lightly bite his earlobe in agreement.
 

Do we deserve
To bear the shame of this whole world? 
 

He positions me in a slightly better way, with my back against the door and him between my legs. He has divested me of my pants and underwear. His grin is almost feral.

“If you bend down in front of me, your ass will be waving out the window,” I point out kindly. “Pull your pants up first. I’d get jealous if anyone else saw that.”

He pouts. “I like the air!”

“And the exhibitionism?”

“Yes.” He grins again, and suddenly everything is drenched in white as I’m enveloped by his mouth. His hands explore as well, and despite this, I still can’t help but notice that his ass really is waving out the window. Well, as long as no one comes to investigate, we’re fine. The windows are fogged enough to obscure vision.

Mitsuru has a fairly talented tongue as well. I feel my heart beating faster and the prickling of sweat on my forehead. I remember our first time where he was very sincere and wanting to please, but had no idea how to do anything. He’s come a long way.

Why should such a simple motion be so engrossing? Up and down and up and down and sweet warmth and slickness, and my hips start responding on their own. I feel my back arching and my eyes close. Everything is focused on one spot. There is nothing but me and his mouth and I hold my breath and try to gasp for air at the same time and I climax and hope that it’s not all over his car because the world is a little strange like it always is after.

I hear him chuckling lowly. “At least I know how to swallow.”

“Damn you, come here and stop making fun of me.” I open my arms and reach for him. He obliges me and scoots in next to me. There is definitely not enough room, so I climb half on top of him. He’s warm and smells sweet and we are both content.
 

And like the night we camouflage denial
 

“Shinobu?” His voice is next to my ear.

“Mm,” I reply.

“It’s getting cold. Do you mind moving so I can get the blankets and the pillows?”

“Yes.”

“Please?”

“All right. I’ll get them.”

I pull myself up slowly and shuffle around till I grab hold of our blankets. I make him sit up so I can stick the pillows under his head. I drape the blankets over us so no questioning eyes can pry in the morning. It bothers me that there is not enough room to stretch out my legs, so our limbs are a tangled mass. But he is here. This is what matters.

I cuddle back up to him under the blankets. He’s warm, despite his complaints. “You’d better not snore.”

“I never snore.”

“Liar.”

My mind drifts back to my family in the dark. I wonder if they will ever forgive me. I wonder if my iniquity is something that can be forgiven, or whether it is indelible. I wonder if it is a false front that Mitsuru is putting up to distract me.

“Shinobu, you’re not allowed to go back to smoking because of this.” He knows what I am thinking about.

“Damn it.”

“I don’t like kissing you with a smoky mouth. I like you better pure and fresh like newly fallen snow.”

I kiss his ear. “Or something.”
 

How did we ever go this far? 
 

He does, of course, snore. He always does when he sleeps on his back. I do not sleep, but I listen to him and brood. Existentialism burns in my veins and my mind. This was all my choice. I could have done everything differently. I chose Mitsuru. I chose my path.

I must make it.

I would never have chosen differently in Mitsuru’s case. He is perfect for me, comfortable, fitted. We are opposites and the same in all the right ways. He is the day and I am the night. He is the emotion and I am the control. As I always tell him, he is the beauty and I am the brains.

I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. We first met when we were barely fifteen. We lived together for two years before the sexual tension in the room overwhelmed and engulfed us. He somewhat brokenly admitted having feelings for me. He did not want to disappoint his family or earn the disfavor of his brother any more than he already had.

I kissed him savagely in response, and since then, neither one of us looked back.

It was a challenge in those days to keep our secret from the other boys in the dorm. What would everyone say? How would they look at us? Tolerance was not unknown, but it was rare. Shun and Hasukawa would have let us be, but so many others would not have. Our parents surely would have been told. I would never have seen him again.

No. This way had been best. I tighten my arms around him slightly. He is here. I would change nothing.

I slip into sleep suddenly, like tripping, and just as suddenly, there’s sun streaming in and leaning on my eyelids.
 

You touch my hand and start the car 
 

My eyes flutter open and I hear laughter. “Are you awake now, sleepy head?”

I focus my eyes on the source of the sound. He’s grinning at me. “Mmph.”

“I didn’t have the heart to wake you. You looked so comfortable. But I’m starving, so we need to go eat soon. Which means we have to get dressed.”

Ah, yes, this will be awkward. I peek my head up and see few cars around us, but it probably wouldn’t do to be flashing any young mothers with children. I rescue the blanket that had been reserved for me off the floor and wrap it around me, and arrange his over him. Clean clothes are in my suitcases. I reach over the seat and rummage around.

A pair of pants, a t-shirt, socks, underwear... the shirt isn’t mine, but it will do. He sees and protests, and I toss him another. This quiets him. With a bit of difficulty, we pull on various pieces of clothing. His hair is a ruffled mess, but I do not point this out. It’s too cute to change.

We toss the things in the front back into the back seat, and I am not so neat now. We’ll just have to rearrange it later when we get to Tokyo. The food is heavy and ill-prepared, and we both order coffees to go. It’s still early and few travelers have decided to compete with us.

The return to the car quiets me. He offers to drive again, and I accept. Again, we slide in, and my worries press my mind. I do not voice them. I only crave cigarettes.

Or peace.
 

And for the first time in my life
 

I lean my cheek against the cool window. He flips on the radio to some easy listening station and starts humming along. He can’t sing and he knows this. But it’s nice to listen to him anyway.

I have a sick sense of certainty that my sister would somehow find us to gloat about her victory. What could I possibly say to her? That she hasn’t won? That I still belonged in the family? There is nothing to hold over her head. There is just my cold exterior to show her that she had not hurt me, that she could never hurt me.

There is always the other possibility that she will never come. Strangely, this seems to jab me in the heart. If she never came to taunt me, it meant that I had been cut off completely forever.

But why does it matter? My family never did anything for me. They were always emotionally estranged from me; they never took care of me more than bodily.

Even as I think these things, I know them to be false. Of course they had been kind to me. In their own way, they had loved me. My father had cared for me in his stern, gruff way, in hesitant praise for schoolwork and athletics. My mother had never been tender, but she had always made sure that my packed lunch was something I liked. My brother had shown me the joy of words and music, and the strength of emotions.

And my sister had taught me revenge.
 

I'm crying 
 

The scene out the window is a mess of blues and greens and yellows, and I can’t distinguish between anything. The only thing that is real and sure is the coolness of the window and the rocking motion of the car. My face feels hot and the dampness is annoying, but I don’t want him to know. He’s singing so peacefully.

I feel shame writhing inside me like a dying snake. Had I cursed Mitsuru to this existence, this hiding, this ignominy of loving another man? Had everything truly been his free choice? Did he stay with me out of habit, or maybe out of not wanting to hurt me?

This misery is all self-inflicted, I remind myself sternly. We chose these paths. We make our own ways.

Is anything ever really predetermined? Is anything really not predetermined? Could a God exist in a world such as this? How could He not?

Loss is gouging the back of my throat. Why? Why did it matter to them so much who I loved? I didn’t feel like there was anything wrong with me. It seemed so normal that I loved him, so irreversible. Why couldn’t they understand that he made me happy, that we cared for each other? Without him, I am nothing, unable to feel, unable to care. He opened the world for me.
 

Are we in love?
 

His voice is gentle. “Shinobu, when we get to the city, I’ll buy you some bubble tea, all right?” Bubble tea is one of his favorite treats. I feel sure we would have gone anyway, but it’s sweet that he would offer to go to make me feel better.

“That sounds fine.” My voice is the epitome of control. I am normal, completely and utterly normal. Apathetic and calm.

He is quiet for a long moment. “Shinobu, I know you’re crying. You can relax.”

I close my eyes. Of course he knows. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry. I know you’re worried and upset. I just don’t want you to hide it from me.” His fingers slip from the wheel to my cheek. He has to stretch a little. “I love you. I’m here to help you. I’m here to be your support.”

He’s too good to me. I don’t deserve this.

“Thank you, Mitsuru,” I say softly, and take his hand. I hold it tightly, for dear life, because he is the only thing that anchors me to anything. Without him, I’ll drift away into the sky.
 

Do we deserve
To bear the shame of this whole world? 
 

“We’ll be in Tokyo in an hour,” he murmurs. “I’ll call my parents from a pay phone. Sho’s away at school, so there will be an extra room. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks. I’ll call work from their house too. Do you need to call your school and see about transferring?”

“I think I’m going to try to get this semester removed from my record. Maybe they’ll reimburse me.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

There is silence, but it is not cold. My cheeks are tight from dried tears.

“It’s funny to think if I had never fallen in love with you that this never would have happened.”

My chest seizes with horror, and I turn to stare at him. I’m speechless.

He catches my look, blinks, and then laughs. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere. It’s just that something so simple, like who you room with in high school, can have a huge profound impact on the rest of your life. That random thing caused all this, you know? It makes me think about fate and free choice and how it seems that neither exists.”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t have a choice about falling in love with you. I just did. But it didn’t seem fated. Just... like it was right.”

I close my eyes and tighten my hand around his. I’ll never let go.
 

And like the night we camouflage
 

We pull into his family’s driveway, and he parks the car, leaving it in gear and turning off the engine. I get out and my legs are stiff. I see his mother peering out the door, her hair brightened with streaks of gray. She smiles and rushes to her son, embracing him. For a moment, I wonder if we still smell like sex and sweat.

Apparently not. She turns with no distaste to me, her warm blue eyes friendly. For a moment, longing tears at my heart for my own mother, for her eyes to look at me like this, but I push it aside. She hugs me too, and I’ve gotten used to her casual forwardness through the years. She’s smiling and happy like there is nothing in the world unusual about her son and his roommate showing up randomly on her doorstep.

Here we can be safe for a while. I’m still afraid, but less so. Feeling this welcoming atmosphere reassures me. Now he needs to call his work and tell them the situation, and I need to call my school. Descartes and his translations will have to wait. Logic demands it.

I follow them into the house. They are talking and laughing in that way that only family members can. I watch, trailing behind.

As the door shuts behind me, his mother bustles off to make us tea. He glances over to me, concern in his eyes. “Shinobu.”

I raise my eyes to him. His tone is serious. “Yes?”

“I’m going to tell them. So there are no surprises in case… in case something happens.”

He is a brave man. I nod slowly, and his mother comes back with two tea cups for us, smiling and laughing. I wonder how long that smile will stay in place.
 

Denial
 

“So how did it go?”

“Well. Surprisingly well.”

“What did they say?”

“They said they loved me. And that they had expected this for a long time. I couldn’t help but laugh.”

“Will they tell your brother?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I will.”

“And you called your work?”

“Yeah. The transfer is in process. You called school?”

“Yes. They said that all of my credits would transfer to Tokyo University.”

“Good.”

“Mitsuru?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am too. I’m glad we came here. We can stay as long as we need to.”

“How do you know?”

“Haven’t been wrong yet.” He grins and hands me a set of keys. “From my mom. Make yourself at home.”

He was correct. It’s going to be all right.