by Amy Tasukada
Subaru’s weight pressed onto the bed, and he mumbled something and wouldn’t stop. Sure, Hayato was supposed to be gone, but they weren’t just brothers. They were identical twins. Subaru would understand.
And Hayato would explain everything in the afternoon once Subaru slept off his scary manager mode and, hopefully, turned into the most understanding twin in the world.
Then a weight crashed into Hayato’s cocoon and elbowed him in the gut. He narrowed his eyes and pulled back the covers. Luckily, Subaru hadn’t decided to reenact their childhood roughhousing but instead was tongue deep in a kiss with his girlfriend, Fumiko.
“I think you’re on my spleen,” Hayato said.
Fumiko pulled away from the kiss and removed her arm from Hayato’s gut. The streetlight illuminated her rounded features in a delicate glow. She’d styled her hair in the same wavy curls she wore during dance competitions. Wait. If she’d dressed for a Lindy Hop… Shit! It wasn’t four in the morning but one. Subaru must’ve had the night off.
“This was your first New Year’s date, wasn’t it?” Hayato bit his lip. “Sorry for messing it up.”
The first date of the year set the tone for the rest, and thanks to him, Subaru was destined to not get laid for the remaining 363 days.
Fumiko’s smile was as sunny as her flower-printed dress, but Subaru gave Hayato that look. The look only a three-minutes-older brother who took his status way too seriously could give. Hayato’s stomach flopped like a ball of mochi, and he looked away. Not texting Subaru a heads-up about staying a few extra days had been a mistake.
“Did Jiro’s business trip get extended?” Fumiko asked.
A nervous laugh crept up Hayato’s throat. “We…ah, kind of got into a big fight.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. He didn’t dump you on New Year’s, did he? What a jerk!” Fumiko held up a fist. “Want me to give him a good talking-to?”
Hayato’s smile hurt. He didn’t deserve all Fumiko’s kindness, but it did help balance Subaru’s glare of a thousand lectures.
“No worries,” Hayato said. “I already gave him something to think about.”
Sure, he gave Jiro a lot of stuff to think about, like how Hayato had picked out the most delicious New Year’s food for them or what to do with all his clothes taking up their bedroom closet.
Subaru shook his head, his eyes speaking every word of his disappointment.
Fumiko slid off the bed and gave Subaru a peck on the cheek. “It’s getting late, honey cake. I should probably get going.”
They might’ve been twins, and Subaru even dyed his hair the same golden bronze as Hayato, but there the similarities ended.
Hayato liked men. Subaru liked women.
Hayato talked too much. Subaru listened.
Hayato looked like a skinny twink. Subaru looked like a gym rat. No one outside their boogie-woogie dance community knew all the muscles were for swinging Fumiko over his head. Not to mention, Subaru was the perfect beacon of generosity, kindness, and self-sacrifice. How had Hayato ended up as bad as he had with Mr. Perfect as an example?
Subaru escorted Fumiko to the door, and they whispered to each other before a final passionate goodbye kiss.
Once Fumiko left, Subaru disappeared into the bathroom, and the electronic hum of his toothbrush echoed in the small place. He came out a few minutes later, ready for bed.
“Sorry.” Hayato’s apology felt wholly inadequate.
“We’ll talk in the morning.” Subaru pulled the covers over his shoulders and turned his back toward Hayato.
Hayato hugged his pillow and pretended the cold shoulder didn’t hurt. A bottle of wine and the knowledge that Subaru would be home in a few hours had been the only way he’d managed to fall asleep in the first place. He couldn’t go to sleep knowing he’d pissed off Subaru enough to make him even quieter than usual. Especially in January.
How long Hayato lay there with his head buried in his pillow and thoughts swirling he wasn’t sure, but at some point, Subaru’s light snoring broke through the maelstrom. Centimeter by centimeter, Hayato squished closer until the mattress dipped and Subaru’s warmth radiated around him.
Hayato wasn’t alone. Subaru was there. Only then could Hayato quiet his monophobic thoughts and find sleep.
Hayato stretched out his arm, but no one slept beside him. A shock burned through his cold fingers, jolting him awake. Any notion of returning to sleep disappeared.
Hayato looked around and found Subaru drinking a beer at the tiny table next to the wall. The decorative label on the bottle looked expensive. Hayato sure had to have fucked up to send Subaru for the good stuff.
Hayato clenched his fingers around the bedsheet. He’d have to confess all his failures sometime. He slipped off the covers and grabbed a gray robe. Unfortunately, the robe didn’t feel like armor, and he spun the ring around his finger to center his thoughts.
Hayato moved to sit opposite his brother. “Sorry for messing up your evening with Fumiko. Did you guys have a fun date at least?”
“We got second at the New Year’s Lindy Hop.” Subaru pulled the beer away from his mouth so the words came clearly before taking another swig.
“That’s awesome. Congratulations!”
Subaru’s stoic expression didn’t change.
Hayato rubbed the back of his neck. “It must’ve sucked having me cockblock you.”
Subaru said nothing back, which only weighed down Hayato more.
“I lied about Jiro’s business trip,” Hayato said.
Subaru could beat Hayato down with a look, and the longer his brother’s silence wore on, the more it ate at him.
“Jiro and I got into a fight on Christmas, and I figured by New Year’s he would’ve cooled off, but he didn’t, and now…and now…” Hayato’s voice cracked, and tears leaked out with the truth.
Subaru’s chair scraped across the wooden floor. He closed the distance between them in an instant and hugged Hayato. The brotherly hug warmed him but also pushed Hayato back to the day when their world had turned upside down. He clutched onto his brother. He’d always be there.
“I’m sorry you and Jiro didn’t work out. I know you loved him,” Subaru said.
A heaviness knocked against Hayato’s stomach because his heart railed against the lie. Over the past year, he’d become indifferent in his relationship with Jiro. The energy and enthusiasm had been gone. Hayato had confessed to being a yakuza in hopes it would get their energy back. Too bad it had blown up in his face.
He hadn’t fought hard to get Jiro back, specifically. He only wanted his committed company. Hayato wanted someone beside him. Even though they’d grown apart, having Jiro beside him would have been better than facing the month alone.
“It’s just, you know, Mom’s death and… her depression leading up to it.” Hayato pulled back, dabbing his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. “Sorry.”
“It’s a hard month for me too.” Subaru’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Especially this year. We’re the same age she was. Come May, we’ll be older. How are children supposed to be older than their mother? It’s not right, and if I think too hard, I get as upset as you are.”
“I’m okay,” Hayato lied, hoping that hearing the words might subconsciously trick him into believing them.
“Still, you should’ve told me about you and Jiro sooner—”
“I know. It was stupid. I thought I could fix it.”
“Last night I asked Fumiko to move in with me. She said yes. Her lease is up next week.”
Hayato’s eyes widened. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but it was like a match to tinder in his stomach. Where was he going to live? Subaru’s apartment barely fit one. Three would be impossible. Hayato would have to move out. Find his own place.
Live alone.
He’d never lived alone in his life. The closest he’d come was two years ago when Subaru and Fumiko had first started dating. Subaru had been too busy practicing jigs and swing steps to look at the clock. Hayat
o couldn’t stand waiting, so he’d gone to the clubs. He’d met Jiro, and he’d been a lifesaver. His dependability had made up for his boring personality, and a month later, they’d moved in together.
“Congratulations.” Hayato hoped he sounded sincere. “I’ll be out of here by the time she moves in.”
Subaru squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I can help you look for a place.”
“I’ll be fine,” Hayato lied again and knew Subaru could tell with his stupid older-twin powers.
But Subaru played along, and why wouldn’t he? He was looking forward to all the things society said he should want: marriage, kids, a cute little house, and a fluffy dog called Snuggles. But Subaru couldn’t do any of those things with his brother tagging along. It didn’t matter if being alone for more than half an hour gave Hayato heart palpitations.
“I know your monophobia gets bad sometimes,” Subaru said, accidentally twisting the knife a little more.
Hayato laughed and waved his hand. “I got over that years ago.” Another lie.
“If you change your mind, I understand.”
Hayato wanted his brother to have a life with Fumiko. Fumiko would make a wonderful sister-in-law who could hold her own as a yakuza’s wife. Their children would be adorable, and their dog would be so disgustingly cute they’d give it its own social media page. It would probably end up with more followers than most D-list celebrities. The only thing stopping Subaru from his future and true happiness was Hayato. He couldn’t hold his brother back anymore. He needed to find some way to live by himself.
“I want my own place, so don’t even think about asking me to change my mind.” Hayato laughed. “You’ll need to get busy cleaning up all those dildos and porn mags under the bed before Fumiko moves in.”
“Those are yours.” Subaru laughed, and Hayato already missed the rich, soulful sound.
“Jiro thought all that stuff was too kinky, and I wasn’t about to throw it all away. Those things are expensive.” Hayato took a few steps toward the bathroom, his heart pounding in his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
“She can get a place for a month if you can’t find anything.”
“Nope. No, no, no. I’ll find something. I just need to slap on some lip gloss, then I’ll head over to one of those agencies.”
Another lie. Hayato was going to hit the manga café and drown his panic in stories about pirates and gay sex.
6
Masuo arrived at his parlor an hour before it opened. Deep down he’d hoped a few people would be standing outside, but the only thing waiting for Masuo was the cold.
Unlocking the parlor didn’t give him the same warmth it had the day before, even with Daichi’s charm attached to the chain. Stepping inside no longer filled him with hope. Instead, reality hit him harder than a winter’s storm. He pulled out his list of morning activities and scratched off opening the door. The smaller the task, the easier to complete, and he needed an early win.
An unsettling musk lingered in the air. Masuo narrowed his eyes and squatted next to the biggest of the mysterious stains on the carpet. He pressed his nose against the matted fibers and sniffed. A pungent rusted-iron odor flooded his nose.
Blood.
He fell back on his ass and got his first real look at the yellow patches on the ceiling. He stood and followed the lines of patches down the wall where they’d been painted an off shade of green in a vain attempt to match the lime-colored walls. He rubbed his palm over one of the patches, and the plaster broke away until the outline of a round hole remained.
Bullet holes.
He gulped and backed into one of the pachinko machines. All summer the Kyoto yakuza had fought against a Korean mafia faction called the Double Moon. Masuo had been considered too new a recruit to join the battles and too senior to directly deal with any cleanup. If the previous manager had been gunned down in the parlor, Masuo would honor him by bringing it back to its full glory.
First on his list was replacing the carpet. Hopefully, the day after New Year’s was popular enough for pachinko players for him to actually earn the money to replace the carpet. Maybe he could try steam cleaning the stain first.
Masuo spent the rest of the hour picking up some air freshener at the corner store and spraying it all over the parlor until it smelled like spring at a neglected bathhouse. He turned on all the machines, popped in some earplugs to block the noise, and opened the doors to the world.
Morning turned to afternoon, and then an older gentleman entered. His lips were stained from his lunch, and he held a cigarette between his fingers. He exchanged some money for balls and sank into a taped seat in front of a machine.
Finally hearing the metal balls bounce around made Masuo’s chest swell. For the first time, it felt real. He was a yakuza and finally fit someplace in the family. Masuo tried not to appear too eager, walking by only once before going to stand behind the prize display case.
“Hey, kid.” The man whistled.
Masuo had turned twenty in November. He wasn’t a kid anymore. Still, he marched over. “Yes, sir?”
“What happened to Mr. Suzuki? Is he in the back?”
Masuo couldn’t say the dark stain on the floor was what was left of Mr. Suzuki.
“He retired,” Masuo said.
The man said nothing more, and Masuo awkwardly returned to the prize case.
The man stayed for about an hour before losing all his balls and leaving. It meant some profit for the parlor but not enough to pay the electric bill.
The remaining late-afternoon hours faded to early evening, and at six, Hayato strolled inside. His hair wasn’t as styled as yesterday, but something made his eyes glow like shards of amber. Maybe he’d put on eyeliner, or maybe the lights of the machines made them pop, but whatever it was pierced Masuo’s heart and brought him back to the soft glow of Hayato’s skin underneath the pink lights of the love hotel. The lascivious way he’d parted his legs while Masuo nipped at his inner thigh.
Hayato clanked a metal briefcase onto the display case. A handcuff dangled from the briefcase’s handle and connected via a short chain to a cuff around Hayato’s wrist.
“So you are into the kinky stuff,” Masuo blurted out.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Masuo bit his tongue before he could say anything else, but it didn’t stop more memories from surfacing. Hayato’s sweet moans, his skin burning beneath Masuo’s hands. Even if Hayato was a jerk, Masuo couldn’t help but be attracted to him.
Hayato gestured to the empty parlor. “Is there even any money in your safe?”
“It’s the first day.”
“Exactly. The grand opening. Did you even put an ad in the newspaper?”
“Like that would even work.”
“If you do it right, it does. Take notes on the people who come in and aim for the papers and magazines for that demographic. Start a social media account. Find a cute mascot for the parlor and take daily photos of it in different locations. Or are you worried about breaking something else?”
Masuo crossed his arms. He didn’t have to respond to the cheap jab.
Hayato tapped his fingers on the counter. “Did you set up the phone?”
“Of course I did.”
Hayato stepped behind the counter and opened the office door like he owned the place. He picked up the corded phone on the desk and dialed a number. Masuo leaned against the doorframe, his heart speeding up. Hayato couldn’t be calling Endo to announce the lack of profits, could he? It was the first day. What did they expect? An overflowing safe with enough cash to make up for all the days the parlor had been closed?
Hayato twisted his finger around the cord while the phone rang. A small crease crossed his brow.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the line came through loud enough for Masuo to hear.
“Oh, so when it’s a number you don’t recognize, you finally pick up.” Hayato’s caustic tone piqued Masuo’s attention. “Don
’t you fucking dare hang up on me, Jiro, or I swear I’ll walk over to the tiny office you have at Sunrise Electrics and make sure everyone there knows your dick has been all over this yakuza ass. Then you can kiss your promotion into upper middle management goodbye. Do I have your attention now?”
Masuo turned away so he could pretend he wasn’t listening.
“I want my stuff back,” Hayato said. “Put it in a box outside the apartment and tell me when to get it.”
“Don’t come anywhere near the apartment, or I’ll call the police!” Jiro screamed.
Hayato’s ex sounded like a jerk. No wonder they had been together. Jerks attracted jerks. Whatever. Not Masuo’s problem.
“Can I at least have the picture back?” Hayato’s voice had lowered in desperation. “Hello, Jiro? Are you there? Jiro!”
Masuo shook his head. Why did he feel bad for Hayato? The man had called him an idiot. The picture was probably a nude. It was Hayato’s own damn fault for sending them to someone untrustworthy.
Hayato slammed the phone back into the cradle and groaned.
Masuo grinned. “So you got back with your boyfriend?”
“I dumped his ass.” Pain laced Hayato’s words.
He was shit at hiding his emotions. It was almost sad.
An uncomfortable lump formed in Masuo’s throat. No. He refused to feel bad for Hayato. He was a jerk. Still, even jerks could be defenseless.
“Wanna go for a drink or something?” Masuo asked.
Hayato pointed to the briefcase. “Unlike yours, the other parlors actually make money.”
“I mean after you’re done.”
Hayato rolled his eyes. “I have enough going on right now, and I don’t want to listen to your lame pickup lines so you can relive some New Year’s fantasy.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh.” Hayato glanced down.
Masuo knew he wasn’t hard, but he checked anyway. Hayato laughed. Bastard.
