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Ojima was shivering from the wet and cold rain, which was coming down hard. He wished he were still on the train. It was crowded, but it was warm.
He was on a business trip with his father since his brothers weren't taking the family business, and his dad wanted to start training him. Ojima hated it mostly because he had to spend time with his father.
The moment Ojima expressed disinterest, his father raised a hand to him. He waited until his father left to get a drink to slip away into the night. He wasn't thinking. He took a train deeper into Tokyo. Now he was wet, cold, and somewhat hungry. What’s worse was that he wasn't sure how to get back. He’d lost the train station.
Ojima stood in the crowded room in the middle of a bustling market when he blanked out. His mind took him to a better place. A place where the sun was always warm, and the sky was colorful. A place where no one raised their hand to him. A place where—
He wasn't in that market when he came to. At least, not in the middle of it. And Ojima wasn't getting trampled either, which was a bit of a surprise.
There was a boy in his face. He was speaking softly, and Ojima couldn't quite hear him over the noise. Eventually, the boy gave Ojima an annoyed expression, grabbing his arm and tugging him outside. It was still raining. The rain pattered against his jacket, soaking him again. But the boy didn't stop when they were away from the noise, he kept going.
Ojima found his voice. “Where are you taking me?”
“Home,” the boy replied grumpily. “To my home.”
“But I don't even know your name!”
He didn't respond. Ojima studied him for a moment. The boy was smart— well, smarter than him, because he wore a rain jacket, which had the Japanese symbols for wind and rain all over it in a parallel pattern. It was black and white. It was puffy as well, so it was probably keeping the boy warm.
He also wore black sunglasses. Ojima hadn't noticed them in his earlier daze, but now that he did, he thought it was weird. It’s night. There were lights in their path, but no sun. Why did he need sunglasses? Ojima pulls his arm away. “Who are you?”
The boy sighs, placing his hands on his hips sassily. “Hiroaki Nakamigawa. Who are you ?”
Ojima was a bit flustered. His mouth opened and shut stupidly. “Ah— um, O-Ojima Takeshi. Where— right, your home. Um, why?”
Hiroaki paused to think about that. “Well— I assumed you didn’t have a place to stay. You kept muttering something about being alone forever when I dragged you away from the crowd. You should be thanking me, by the way. You could have been trampled!”
“Uh— t-thank you. Um.” The boy looked around his age. Ojima wonders, “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Oh— me too.”
“Cool. Can we go? I want to get out of this rain.”
“O-Oh, um, right. Yeah.”
Hiroaki huffs, turning on his heel to lead Ojima to his home. Ojima followed, shivering. The wind had picked up, but luckily Hiroaki turned toward a housing complex before it could do any real damage. “My parents aren’t home,” Hiroaki explains when he opens the front door for Ojima. “Date night. They won’t be home until tomorrow morning.”
“Oh,” Ojima said. He tried not to think about the implications of that. “T-Thank you.”
“Jesus, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Hiroaki sighs. “I’ll lead you to the bathroom. Take a shower. I’ll bring you some clean clothes and make tea.”
“A-Are you sure? I don’t want to—”
“Ojima, it’s fine. The bathroom is the door at the end of the hallway. Keep the door unlocked.”
“…Okay,” he relents. “Um, Nakamigawa?”
Hiroaki jolts at hearing his first name. He stares at Ojima.
“Just… call me Takeshi.”
Hiroaki nods slowly, “Alright. I’ll bring you in some clothes, Takeshi.”
“…Thank you.”
When Ojima was done showering, there were extra clothes for him on the bathroom sink. His other clothes were gone.
He put them on. They were surprisingly comfortable. Warm. Hiroaki even set out a towel for him. Ojima used that to dry his hair. He left it messy. He didn’t want to use the Hiroaki’s combs or brushes to style it. It was wet anyway, and he feels as if he has overstayed his welcome.
Hiroaki was waiting for him in the kitchen with his cup of tea. Ojima stopped before he could get to the counter. “…I really can't thank you enough—”
“It’s fine, Takeshi,” Hiroaki says, raising his hand. “I don't mind. Come sit, drink. It’s cherry blossom tea.”
Ojima sits down. The mug was hot to the touch, even though he had just showered. He hadn't turned the water up too hot, so he was still kind of cold. Ojima hadn't wanted to burn himself or use all the hot water.
“I put honey in it,” Hiroaki adds, voice softer.
“Thank you.”
Ojima blows on his tea before sipping it. It was pretty sweet. Almost too sweet.
“…So,” Hiroaki taps his nails against his mug. Ojima notices they're black with the middle finger red. “Why were you all by yourself?”
“Um… I really don't want to talk about it, but I guess I'm fine with telling you that I… sort of ran away from home,” Ojima turns to his mug so he doesn't have to look at Hiroaki. It was hard to tell what his expression was with his glasses, anyway. He still doesn't understand why he wears them, they're indoors, and the lights are dimmed.
“Alright. Well… you can stay the night here, but I can't promise you forever. I don't think my parents would be too upset with me, since your face is… but, I don't think they'll keep you. We’ll probably have to send you home.”
“That’s…”
“Or! We can use this to prove you're being beaten at home! You can stay with us and we can call the police on your fa—”
Ojima panicked, “I-I— I didn't say anything about getting beat —”
“Takeshi. When you were in the bathroom, did you see yourself in the mirror?”
“No, it was… the glass was foggy.”
“Before that?”
Ojima was too ashamed of himself to look at himself in the mirror, so he avoided it. He shook his head no.
“Takeshi, your right cheek has a bruise on it.”
“Oh,” Ojima says for the millionth time that day.
“It’s pretty nasty,” Hiroaki adds. He leans towards Ojima. The back of his hand traces down his cheek. Ojima feels jittery. He shifts in his seat and Hiroaki quickly pulls away. “I— sorry, should have asked. Did that hurt?”
“No, it didn't… sorry,” Ojima sighs.
Hiroaki gives him a small smile. “Let’s just get you to bed. You can take my room. Though, it… might be a little bit of a mess. It's my office space.”
Office space? “Oh, no, I can take the couch, really—”
“No, because I want the chance to explain to my parents before they see you.”
“I— a-at least sleep in your own bed. I can take the floor.”
“Takeshi, really. It's fine. I'll just take the couch.”
“But—… I really just don't want to be alone,” Ojima admits, voice soft.
Hiroaki hesitates. “…Fine. We can both sleep in my room. Just… take the bed. Please.”
Ojima bites his lip in thought. His eyebrows furrow. “…Can I take a look at your room?”
“Sure,” Hiroaki hops out of his seat. “Come on.”
Ojima follows, tea in hand. Hiroaki’s room was right next to the bathroom, and it was decently sized. It was a bit messy, and the bed was big. Without thinking too much about it, Ojima says, “How about we just share the bed?”
“I—“ Hiroaki chokes. “What?”
Ojima looks at him, “Is there something wrong with that?” They were both boys, right? Boys slept with each other all the time during sleepovers. He and his brothers used to always share the bed.
Slowly, Hiroaki shook his head no.
“What side do you want?”
“The side closest to the door,” Hiroaki croaks. He was acting weird. Why was he acting weird?
“Alright.”
Ojima pads toward the farther part of the bed. He gets under the covers. The bed was warm and comfy.
“I’ll come join you in a bit, okay?” Hiroaki says.
“Okay,” Ojima says sleepily. He sits up to take a sip of his tea. There’s an odd fullness in his heart.
Hiroaki smiles at him. He starts to close the door.
“Uh, Nakamigawa? Can you… leave the door open?”
Hiroaki nods. “Yeah, of course. Good night, Takeshi.”
“Night.”
Ojima didn't wake up when Hiroaki came to bed, but he did wake up in the middle of the night. He had a strange dream, a borderline nightmare. It was about the stress of the company.
Hiroaki was lying beside him, staring into the back of his skull. Ojima startled when he saw his eyes were a beautiful green clover color. Wait— the light beside Ojima was on. It was dark in the room when he fell asleep.
Hiroaki must read his mind. “I-I thought you’d like the light.”
“…Thank you,” Ojima said groggily. He yawns. “Can’t sleep?”
“Insomnia,” Hiroaki groans, relaxing. “It's a bitch.”
“Sorry about that.”
Hiroaki waves him off, returning a yawn. “It's fine, it’s fine. Not your fault, anyway. Just go back to bed.”
“…Right,” Ojima closes his eyes, but he feels sort of restless. Hiroaki’s eyes are still on him.
After a while, Hiroaki speaks, and Ojima lets out a sigh of relief. “Takeshi?”
“Yeah?” Ojima opens one eye to look at him.
“You grabbed me while you were asleep. Were you having a nightmare?”
Ojima hesitates. He bites his lip again nervously. Slowly, he nods, “Yeah, just… about my future. Nothing to worry about.”
“Does this help?” Hiroaki asks. At first, Ojima has no idea what he’s talking about until something warm enters his hand. Their fingers interlock. Ojima blushes.
He nods again, not trusting himself to speak. They fall asleep like that.
The next morning, Hiroaki’s parents find them like that. They’re more confused than upset.
Later that day, Ojima is sent home. There was nothing they could do for him.
His dad wasn't happy. And when they got to Sendai, his mom wasn't either.
He never saw Hiroaki again.
Ojima realized only years later that he had developed a crush on him. Even though he never forgot about Hiroaki, Hiroaki probably forgot about him. He was big now, one of the biggest fashion designers in Tokyo. Ojima never tried to reach out.
Ojima is nineteen now. He lives with his brothers. He has an illustration business. Ojima mostly works on children's books, but he opened commissions on the side.
One day, he got a phone call from an unknown number. Ojima pauses before picking it up, pressing the speaker to his ear, “Hello?”
“ Is this Ojima Takeshi? ” the man on the other side asked. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Ojima was always better with names.
“Yeah,” he answered. The man on the other line inhales sharply. “What’s up?”
“ I-I—… I don't know how to—… hi, ” the man amends.
Ojima makes a face. He was starting to get weirded out. “Uh… who is this?”
This time the man on the other end takes a long time to answer. “ …Hiroaki Nakamigawa. ”
In his shock, Ojima drops his phone. He scrambles to pick it up and ends up throwing it in the process. “Fuck,” he curses, “shit. Nakamigawa .”
“— want me to hang up? ” Hiroaki was saying when Ojima finally got his phone. He presses it hard against his ear.
“N-No! No! I— I’m so sorry, please don't. I'm sorry about that. I— hi.”
Hiroaki laughs. “ Hi .”
They end up talking for hours, ending the call with the promise to meet somewhere in Sendai. Ojima is shocked when Hiroaki follows up on that promise.
They're dating now, a few years later, and Ojima could never be happier. They live together and own fish because Hiroaki doesn't like any other domesticated animals, though Ojima occasionally tries to convince him in a half-hearted attempt to get a dog or cat.
Hiroaki is brash, but he’s kind, especially to Ojima. He’s never bored with Hiroaki. Hiroaki is smarter than you may think. He was way better at business than Ojima was, and he helped him get his own business up and running, a side hustle to making children's books. In a way, Hiroaki is just what he wants, just what he needs.
The feeling must be mutual if Hiroaki was willing to spend forever with him. And he does. They’re each others. Forever.
And ever.
And ever.