Chapter 13 The Truth Hurt

It was Hajime's first year of middle school, and he was walking home alone, the familiar weight of his backpack a small comfort. He heard someone call his name, a cheerful shout that cut through the mundane quiet of the afternoon. He turned, scanning the street, searching for the source of the sound.

"Hey, Hajime…" Keiji, a whirlwind of energy, rushed towards him, a wide smile on his face.

"What's the matter, Tsukumo?" Hajime asked, his voice even.

Keiji clapped Hajime on the back, a little too hard. "I've asked you to call me just Keiji many times, but you still refuse. Do you want me to call you Hinode-kun?" he teased, though there was a hint of genuine frustration in his tone.

"You can call me whatever you want," Hajime replied, a shrug indicating his indifference.

"Are you going home?" Keiji asked, falling into step beside him.

Hajime nodded.

"My brother will be coming home tomorrow," Keiji announced, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Tomorrow, let's go pick him up at the airport together."

"I'm not familiar with your brother, I think..." Hajime began, already formulating an excuse.

"He said he brought a lot of things," Keiji cut in, oblivious to Hajime's hesitation. "I want you to help me carry his luggage."

Hajime sighed internally. "Okay, I'll go with you."

Keiji grinned. "Okay, I'll ask the driver to pick you up at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

The next day, Hajime and Keiji sat in the bustling airport terminal, eating and chatting, their voices occasionally lost in the murmur of the crowd. Suddenly, a new voice, clear and warm, startled the two teenagers. They both stood up quickly, turning to see a young and strikingly handsome man smiling at them, his presence radiating an easy charm.

Keiji's face lit up, and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around the man. "How was the flight, Kenji?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine happiness.

Kenji smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's okay... the food was terrible, as usual."

Keiji, still beaming, pulled back slightly. "Oh, Kenji, this is my friend, Hinode-kun."

Kenji's smile widened, and he extended a hand towards Hajime. "Hinode-kun, nice to meet you."

Hajime took Kenji's hand, his fingers brushing against warm skin. He stared at Kenji for a moment longer than was polite, mesmerized by the genuine warmth of Kenji's smile, before finally letting go.

After the three of them left the airport, Hajime settled into the back seat of the car, watching the city lights blur past. Keiji and Kenji sat in the front, their voices a comfortable murmur as they caught up. Hajime listened, but his thoughts drifted inward, reflecting on his own life. He looked out the window, at the passing world, and wondered if one day he, too, would sit with someone and have a normal conversation, feeling truly connected, without the constant, gnawing feeling of being worthless.

"Hinode-kun," Kenji's voice broke through his reverie. "Hey, earth to Hinode-kun."

Hajime looked up, startled, and saw Kenji smiling at him through the rearview mirror. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I'm asking if you want to have lunch with us," Kenji repeated, his tone inviting.

"No," Hajime replied, shaking his head. "I'll help move the suitcases, and then I have to go home right away."

Kenji frowned, a hint of genuine sadness touching his features. "Oh, what a pity." But then his smile returned, bright and reassuring. "There will be next time."

From that day forward, Kenji often invited Hajime to gatherings, parties, and social events. Hajime didn't particularly like these kinds of parties; the loud music and the crowds often made him uncomfortable. Yet, he went anyway, drawn by the genuine warmth of Kenji's smile when he talked to others, finding a quiet comfort in simply being near him.

One evening, at a lively party, Keiji sat beside Hajime, slinging an arm casually over his shoulder. "Hajime," Keiji said, his voice a little slurred from beer, "are we good friends?"

"Yes…" Hajime replied, a faint smile on his lips.

"Since we are good friends," Keiji continued, leaning closer, "can I ask you something very personal?"

"Go ahead," Hajime said, bracing himself.

"I heard that you don't like girls... is it true?" Keiji blurted out, his eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and slight apprehension.

Hajime used to feel a sharp stab of hurt when someone asked him this question, a raw wound of shame and difference. But now, after years of similar interrogations, it didn't bother him anymore. He was used to it, his emotions dulled to such inquiries. "What you heard is true," Hajime stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

"The reason why you want to be friends with me is because you have a crush on me, isn't it?" Keiji pressed, a hopeful, slightly fearful expression on his face.

"No," Hajime said, meeting Keiji's gaze directly. "I've never had a crush on you. I like you as a friend."

Keiji exclaimed happily, a loud, joyful sound that cut through the party noise. "Oh... thank God... I don't want to lose a friend like you!"

"You don't mind?" Hajime asked, surprised by Keiji's genuine relief.

"I don't mind..." Keiji laughed, picking up his beer glass and drinking it in one gulp.

"Keiji... don't drink too much... we're underage," Hajime cautioned, a familiar worry creeping into his voice.

"I'm happy to have a load off my shoulders!" Keiji declared, his face flushed. "Also, you don't have to worry... my brother will take care of it." He got up, swaying slightly, and walked towards the dance floor, eagerly joining the dancing women.

Hajime sat there for a while, watching the swirling bodies of men and women on the dance floor. Looking at a woman dancing wildly in a tight miniskirt, he suddenly thought of his mother. This was the kind of nightlife his mother couldn't leave behind after becoming a wife and a mother. Hajime couldn't understand how his mother could truly enjoy this way of life: going home drunk, sleeping all day, then waking up at night to repeat the same empty cycle. He felt that such a life was utterly boring, a suffocating repetition, yet he could, in a detached way, understand why his mother clung to it. Instead of facing her problems and the harsh reality of her choices, she chose to drown her pain with alcohol, living out a desperate, fleeting fantasy. He stood up abruptly, a wave of discomfort washing over him, and walked out of the loud karaoke room.

Hajime walked out of the club and onto the quiet, cool street. He zipped up his jacket against the night air and began to walk, his thoughts turning inward once more. He wondered if he, too, would develop bipolar disorder later in life, a silent fear that often haunted him. He was lost in this unsettling thought when Kenji's voice called his name, pulling him back to the present. He stopped and turned around to see Kenji running towards him, concern etched on his handsome face.

"Are you leaving?" Kenji asked, slightly breathless.

Hajime nodded.

"You don't like it?" Kenji probed, his brow furrowed.

As an honest man, Hajime simply stated, "This lifestyle is not for me. Kenji-san, you can go back and enjoy it with Keiji. Please tell him I'm leaving first."

"Last time you didn't complain," Kenji said, a hint of confusion in his voice. "I thought you enjoyed it too."

"I don't like this, but I'm here for you and Keiji," Hajime admitted, a rare flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

Kenji smiled, a soft, understanding expression. "Okay, next time when Keiji wants to go out to play, I must let him know that his best friend doesn't like this kind of party."

Hajime knew, with a certainty born of bitter experience, that since Keiji had found out he was gay, this would likely be the last time Keiji would ask him to hang out. He knew that from now on, Keiji would slowly, subtly, disappear from his life. So, instead of letting others take the painful first step of abandonment, he had long decided to take that first step himself and not allow anyone else to hurt his feelings.

Hajime looked at Kenji, his gaze resolute. "You don't need to invite me next time." He held Kenji's gaze for a beat. "Good night, Kenji-san." He turned to leave, walking away from the fleeting connection.

Kenji quickly grabbed Hajime's arm, his grip surprisingly firm. "Hajime-kun, wait…" Hajime winced, a sharp snort of pain escaping him. Kenji immediately noticed that Hajime's arm felt softer, more delicate than normal. He quickly lifted Hajime's sleeve, and his eyes widened in alarm. "Hajime-kun, who did this to you?" he asked, his voice laced with shock and concern, revealing a network of angry bruises.

Hajime quickly pulled his hand away, his face hardening. "No one did anything to me. I fell down," he lied, his voice flat.

Kenji grabbed Hajime's other arm, finding a similar pattern of bruises. His expression turned grim. "I'll take you home," he stated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

"I can go home by myself," Hajime insisted, trying to maintain his independence.

"I'll take you home," Kenji repeated, his gaze unwavering.

Hajime didn't want to argue with Kenji, the exhaustion of the night weighing on him, so he reluctantly let Kenji drive him home.

Kenji parked the car on the side of the street near Hajime's dilapidated apartment building. Hajime got out. "Thank you for taking me home," Hajime said, closing the passenger's door, but then he noticed that Kenji had stepped out of the car as well. "What are you doing?"

"I will send you to your door," Kenji said, his stance protective.

"You don't have to send me off. I'm not a three-year-old. I've been walking this way since I was six," Hajime argued, a touch of his usual defiance.

"Is it because of those bruises on your body that you don't allow me to take you home?" Kenji asked, his eyes piercing, seeing through Hajime's facade.

Hajime sighed, a weary surrender. "Do whatever you want." He began walking away from Kenji, resigned.

As soon as Hajime returned to his mother's apartment building, Chibi was standing at the entrance, leaning against the doorframe, smoking a cigarette, the glowing tip a beacon in the dim light. The moment Chibi saw Hajime walking with a man, his eyes narrowed. He abruptly extinguished his cigarette, crushing it under his heel, and stared at Hajime, his expression turning frantically hostile.

"Hey... who the hell are you?" Chibi shouted, his gaze fixed on Kenji, full of aggression.

Kenji, calm and polite, replied, "I'm Hajime's friend, Kenji Tsukumo."

"I don't care who you are!" Chibi roared, stepping forward. "But do you know that my Hajime is a minor? I will report you and let the police prosecute you for kidnapping!"

"It's none of your business!" Hajime snapped back, his own rage flaring. "I don't interfere with you and my mother's affairs, so you don't interfere with mine either!"

Chibi rushed forward, his hand raised, and slapped Hajime hard across the face, the sound sharp and sickening. "How dare you talk back to me," he snarled, his eyes wild with fury. He raised his hand again to strike Hajime, but this time, Kenji moved swiftly, grabbing Chibi's wrist, his grip like iron.

"If you dare to raise your hand to hit Hajime-kun again," Kenji said, his voice dangerously low, a stark contrast to his earlier politeness, "I will report you for child abuse." He then pushed Chibi away from Hajime, a forceful shove.

Chibi gritted his teeth; his face contorted in a wild rage. "He is my son... I can do whatever I want!"

"You're not my father," Hajime said, his voice surprisingly firm despite the pain in his cheek. "You're just someone my mother dated." He turned to Kenji, his voice softening. "You can go now."

Kenji, however, grabbed Hajime's hand, holding it firmly. He took out his phone and pressed it into Hajime's palm. "If this person is harassing you or hitting you, call the police immediately," he said, his eyes conveying a silent promise of protection.

Hajime took Kenji's cell phone, a tremor running through him. "Mmm," he replied, a tiny sound of affirmation.

Kenji looked directly at Chibi, his gaze cold and unwavering. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. If I see Hajime has a new bruise on him, I will definitely call the police."

Chibi, seething, shoved Hajime roughly into the apartment, then slammed the door shut with a resounding bang. Inside, he spun around, grabbing a framed picture from a nearby shelf with his right hand. "Hajime…" he snarled, his voice guttural with fury. Hajime turned around, and Chibi, without hesitation, smashed the photo frame directly onto Hajime's face, the glass shattering and knocking Hajime to the ground. He lunged, jumping on top of Hajime, his hands seizing Hajime's throat, fingers digging in, cutting off his breath. "How dare you talk back to me... huh? How dare you..."