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Ugetsu was halfway through his artist-in-residence tenure with the Shanghai Symphony when he found Mafuyu busking on the street. Busking was a strong word; what Ugetsu mostly saw was Mafuyu dozing, limbs wrapped around his guitar, like he was back in high school again, the gangly half-formed enfant terrible that Ugetsu had first met years ago. On the conservatory campus, Mafuyu looked just like any other student trying to nap before a lesson. Probably, he was only a few years older than the students Ugetsu occasionally taught in music theory.
He stood over Mafuyu, casting a shadow over his face, like dappled sunshine. It summoned an emotion he wasn't ready to articulate yet, but hoped he would, one day. Since leaving Akihiko and Japan, he'd started to understand, if not get comfortable, with the effect he had on everyone. It was something like the long arm of a thunderstorm, something like being washed clean by a typhoon. Something like finding peace only after you've slit yourself across the stomach, bleeding.
But Mafuyu, when he'd been just a teenager, had seemed untouchable, impenetrable, sitting in Ugetsu's basement apartment studio, drinking coffee. If Ugetsu had touched his heart then—if—
Mafuyu opened his eyes. They were the same color Ugetsu remembered, an impossible amber, and still sent a chill down his spine. "I was looking for you," he said, as if still asleep, as if this were a dream and Ugetsu the endpoint.
"Here I am," Ugetsu said, smiling back.
He took Mafuyu home.
This was his second apartment in Shanghai, an older unit in the French Quarter, above a line of silk stores. He had developed a bad habit of moving often and arbitrarily. The longest place he'd ever stood still was that basement apartment in Tokyo, and he'd done it because—and he could be honest about that now—it meant that if Akihiko wanted to come back for him, he would always know exactly where to find him. It took him years to let go of the lease, long after no one lived in it, long after he stopped using it as his weigh station in Japan, long after Akihiko had moved on. Despite relative poverty, an indifference to physical manifestations of feelings, and very few personal belongings, it was Akihiko who was the best at nesting. Without him, cut loose from that obligation, Ugetsu had lost sight and the ability to settle down. His last partner had told him, "it's like you're still running away."
"From what?" Ugetsu had snapped.
"Fuck if I know," the man had said, and slammed the door on his way out.
But that was a continent away, four apartments ago. He was between partners, and there was no one in this apartment but Ugetsu himself. He deposited Mafuyu on the small two-seater couch and went over to open the windows and air out the room. He'd been abroad for the last week, and the wind made the apartment feel less lonely, less obviously the home of a single man.
Mafuyu got up anyway, leaving his guitar—caseless, Ugetsu noticed with disapproval—on the couch. When he was younger, Ugetsu remembered, Mafuyu had a way of moving that was almost zig-zagged, like a small dog unsure of where his owner might be. It was hard to tell in the smallness of Ugetsu's apartment if that was still true. Mafuyu made a bee-line for the two mugs that sat, pristine, on Ugetsu's counter, and picked one up.
"Make me coffee?" Mafuyu asked.
Ugetsu shrugged. "If you're okay with instant. I don't keep much here. There are too many good coffee shops around."
"I don't mind."
They waited in silence while Ugetsu boiled water. There was something portentous about Mafuyu's presence, Ugetsu could tell, but he didn't know to what end. When the kettle started squealing, Mafuyu handed the mug to Ugetsu, but Ugetsu shook his head.
"I don't use those," he said, and winced. He'd never said this next part out loud, but even years ago, Mafuyu inspired the courage in Ugetsu to put words to his most painful truths. "I just keep those. On the counter. As a reminder."
"He's not with Haruki-san anymore," Mafuyu offered, the mug still outstretched.
Ugetsu didn't move. The kettle kept screeching behind him. He didn't trust himself to reach out for it. He was worried about burning himself; he was worried he would burn himself on purpose, to run away from this conversation.
"I didn't ask," he finally managed to croak out.
"I know," Mafuyu said. He held out both cups this time, still smiling. "But I'm telling you."
He watched Mafuyu make his way to the stove, turn off and lift the kettle as if it were weightless. Mafuyu poured hot water into both of the cups. They were unmatched, as white as the day Ugetsu bought them from the household goods store down the road from his first apartment in Shanghai. Dust floated on the surface of the water. Ugetsu couldn't remember if he had ever cleaned them. They were never going to drink from them, Ugetsu thought to himself. It was just a test, but he didn't know whether he had passed or failed. He cupped his hands around the mug, burning them as he knew he would. Mafuyu left his untouched.
"I'm not with Ritsuka anymore either," Mafuyu said. Instead, he left unsaid, I am here.
They didn't make coffee. Mafuyu didn't say anything else about Haruki, or Uenoyama, or Akihiko. Instead, he retreated to the couch, stretched out with his toes tucked under a cushion, and asked Ugetsu to play the violin. Ugetsu did, a little snippet from one of Tchaikovsky's violin concertos that he was practicing for an upcoming performance. There were sections in it that Ugetsu hadn't quite figured out yet, and he played them over and over again, eyes closed, trying to map out what it was that kept eluding him. When he emerged from his fugue, it was getting dark, and in the half-dusk he saw Mafuyu watching him intently. It was a categorically different kind of watching than Ugetsu was used to, and he felt himself squirming, even though he never did on stage. Mafuyu wasn't watching his fingers on the violin, or his face. It wasn't appreciation of Ugetsu's looks or his music, but rather like Mafuyu was trying to see all the way through his head, trying to see how it was that Ugetsu saw the music.
"Are you a fan of classical music?" he asked.
"No," Mafuyu said, blunt despite the sleepy air to his voice, and Ugetsu was surprised into laughing. "But when you play it," Mafuyu said, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, "I think I like it. Because it's obvious Murata-san loves it."
His heart rose in his chest like a wave, breaking against his ribs in desperate, painful heartbeats. He bent down to pick some errant bowstrings off the floor, to hide the look on his face. He didn't know what look he had on his face, only that he didn't want Mafuyu to see it. "You haven't changed," he muttered.
"Haven't I?" Mafuyu mused, then, like a petulant child, "I'm hungry. Will you come with me to get something to eat?"
It had been years, and Ugetsu didn't know who in Japan he could call. He knew with some certainty that the number he had for Akihiko was still current, but even if he didn't know all the rules of the game Mafuyu was playing, it felt obvious to Ugetsu that calling Akihiko to check would be a violation of them. He'd never had the numbers of the other members of the band, if they were still a band anymore. He thought he might have emailed Haruki, once. But it had been a long time ago. In the end, he called no one. He walked Mafuyu to a family restaurant nearby. They ate noodles in silence, Mafuyu's eyes glued to the TV in the background that was playing some sort of webdrama about swordsmen. Ugetsu let Mafuyu follow him back to his apartment without a word, let him watch Ugetsu unpack and sort out dirty laundry without a word. It had been years, and Ugetsu's memory was always better with sounds, smells, things felt instead of seen. He couldn't tell if Mafuyu had gotten taller, or even if Mafuyu looked older. All he could tell was that the intensity was still there: a raw, wire-thin voice that wavered between piercing violence and salvation.
The apartment was a studio with a walled off kitchen. Ugetsu offered the bed, but Mafuyu shook his head, tucked himself under a blanket on the couch. Ugetsu tried going to sleep, but it was of course futile. Eventually he got up as quietly as he could and padded his way, barefoot, to the small balcony. It faced a rear street, where it was still safe to sometimes hang your clothes out to dry without attracting comments. Ugetsu's last sex friend had left some potted plants along the railings. He kept forgetting to water them, and they were dead now, but the soil made a good ashtray. He sat down on the ground and cued up a recording of the Tchaikovsky concerto, but it only made the restlessness worse. Instead, guiltily, he found the last recording he had of Akihiko playing guitar, and turned it up as loud as his phone would let him. It was bad quality, and wasn't even of Given, just a semi-pro thing that needed a pinch hitter.
He felt someone remove one of his earbuds. Mafuyu stood over him, his skin almost blue in the faint light. "That one time, in the apartment you shared with Kaji-san. You told me you wanted one thing to remain," Mafuyu said.
"It's cute that Mafuyu-chan remembers what I said," Ugetsu drawled, trying to reach for the earbud. Mafuyu jerked his hand back, expressionless, and Ugetsu let his hand falter between them them. "Especially since it's obvious now that I was just talking nonsense, like adults do."
Mafuyu ignored him. "Did it remain?"
"Did what remain?"
Mafuyu reached over to take the other earbud from Ugetsu's ear. He curled both of them in his hand. The music was so loud that the earbuds were like insects in Mafuyu's fist, still buzzing. Somehow, Ugetsu thought, Mafuyu must know it was Akihiko's guitar. He felt a little ashamed, like he'd been caught doing something dirty.
"The music," Mafuyu said. "Did it remain?"
Ugetsu stubbed out his cigarette in one of the flower pots and leaned forward, pressing his face into the railing. The metal was cold against his face. It occurred to him absently that summer was almost over, and soon it would get chilly. He wondered, just as absently, if Mafuyu would still be around then.
"I got what I wanted," he said. He smiled, false and a little bitter. "In the end, the only thing we had between us was music. I poisoned it. So we had nothing."
Mafuyu nodded, and rage surged through Ugetsu, like he had just thrown up and was now being forced to swallow his own bile. It was so easy for Mafuyu to accept, but it was a conclusion that had taken Ugetsu years to make peace with. Even now, even though he thought it was the right conclusion, he still chafed at the unfairness of it. He was sure if he ever summed up their relationship like that out loud to Akihiko, Akihiko would vehemently disagree.
But before he could open his mouth and say something he regretted, Mafuyu cleared his throat. "It's okay, you know. To let music come between you. You shouldn't feel guilty for not fighting harder."
Ugetsu blinked. "Then why did you leave him? What's his name. The black-haired one you were dating."
Mafuyu sat down. His face was luminous in the dark, no shadow now. He smiled up at Ugetsu, utterly at peace. "In the end," he said, "the only thing that remained was music."
He put the earbuds on the ground between them. The song had ended, and as Ugetsu took them back, he tried hard not to think of the silence as a sign. When it was clear Mafuyu had nothing more to say, he got up. Mafuyu watched him carefully, dispassionately, like he knew how to disassemble Ugetsu and then put him back together perfectly, and maybe he did. There was a high, shrill note in Ugetsu's head, the sound of a kettle. He knew more than anyone how easily things could break to pieces, shatter utterly and never come back together. The image came to him, unbidden: his pricked fingers bleeding as he tried to find all the ceramic pieces, he and Akihiko both laughing even as he cried. But maybe there was no use trying to preserve something, if it was always meant to break. Maybe Mafuyu was right.
He reached for Mafuyu's shoulder, and let himself be burnt up in the touch.