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For someone who spun tales for a living, painting the world with words and delineating the emotions of his creations with poetry, Gentaro finds himself time and time again at a loss when it comes to admitting his own feelings.
Perhaps spending the majority of his life keeping his emotions pent up is to blame. He chooses not to entertain this thought.
In the same fashion of many of his characters, is it not enough to spend his days yearning? Must the feelings dwelling in his heart be revealed at his own admission?
Well, with someone as dense as Dice, it seems they must.
Gentaro had been under the impression that his flirting was obvious, that any normal person would catch his drift so to speak, but Dice proved himself to be anything but a ‘normal’ person.
The extra touches, lingering gazes, invitations to spend more time together, writing an entire song in which Dice is his messiah, unabashedly calling Dice his star-crossed lover for Christ's sake; every last gesture went straight over the gambler’s head.
Perhaps this was some otherworldly deity’s way of punishing Gentaro for beating around the bush. Certainly the star-crossed lover admission should have been obvious, but he had to admit that playing it off as a joke probably lessened its impact.
From an outsider’s perspective—if anyone were able to read him, that is—Gentaro was sure he’d appear emotionally impaired. His stubbornness and never ending torrent of lies a front to prevent him from dwelling on what resides in his heart; in truth, far too many sentiments clouded his heart and mind.
Every day of his life has been spent bottling every thought, every feeling, every memory. The metaphorical shelves holding all of these bottles creak dangerously but somehow stay standing, row after row of them growing weak under the strain of so much weight, spending the years collecting dust.
Maybe if therapy had been easily accessible and free of taboo from society he would’ve gone many years ago. Maybe not, though. Who’s to say?
Regardless, in place of a psychiatric professional, he confides in another human being.
The bits and pieces he’s let slip to their dear leader, a man who’s much better at keeping his mouth shut than Gentaro had initially suspected, hadn’t been admitted up easily. Even times where he initiated the conversation Gentaro found himself tensing up, struggling to let out what he’d spent hours preparing to say. When he finally did manage to free the words from his throat, Gentaro felt better opening up than he had ever expected. As minimal the information he shared was, a noticeable weight was lifted from his chest.
Of course Ramuda’s willingness to listen hadn’t been free of consequences, the author was expected to keep his schedule as open as possible for Ramada’s antics, and he found himself footing the bill for the trios food more often than not, but the exchange for Ramuda’s silence only felt fair.
Ever the perceptive one, Ramuda had suspected tumultuous feelings brewing from the very start. His general teasing towards his posse members felt no different than normal as, again, Dice was incredibly dense. Any incriminating remarks of Gentaro’s affections towards him went in one ear and out the other.
As far as physical changes to their dynamic, Gentaro’s position as Ramuda’s left side arm-candy was given up in an obvious attempt to get him more physical contact with Dice. The pink haired menace had linked arms with Gentaro from the left (“Doing this the same way every day is soooo boring, so it’s Gentaro’s turn in the middle~!”) and given him a knowing smile and a wink as Dice’s threw his arm over the author’s shoulder without question, pressed to his side to avoid taking up too much room on the scramble crossing as they walked.
Gentaro routinely found Ramuda dipping early, leaving his teammates alone together at izakayas, cafes, shopping centres, you name it. With the unspoken agreement to continue their time together after being ditched, Gentaro soon found himself heading back to his apartment with Dice in tow just about every night.
A spare toothbrush now lived permanently next to Gentaro’s, a bottle of eucalyptus scented shampoo found itself amongst Gentaro’s collection of bath products, the bottom drawer of the dresser in Gentaro’s closet became home to a variety of Dice’s extra clothing and belongings that he has yet to gamble away. What began as a one-time granted request to crash on the couch became much more permanent than Gentaro had anticipated.
Despite the lack of preparation for his semi-permanent home invader, Gentaro couldn’t find himself upset with the situation. Call it intuition, but somehow he had known from the very beginning that this crush wouldn’t be fleeting. The closer Dice got the worse the tightening in his chest became, and yet, Gentaro couldn’t muster up the strength to resent their newfound closeness. It seemed from the beginning he had accepted his fate, and so he allowed it to take it’s course. Attempting to shut out Dice was futile.
Maybe this is good enough, he had thought one evening, the two men seated opposite each other at the kotatsu in Gentaro’s living room. Gentaro sat up from his hunched writing position, stretched his arms above his head and extended his legs under the table from their crossed position. His sock clad foot nudged something solid. Dice let out a startled noise at the same time, and lifted his head from where it had been resting on his folded arms. The two men made eye contact, Gentaro had opened his mouth to utter an apology, but was quickly shut up by the huffed laugh and gentle grin that stretched across Dice’s face.
Nevermind, he had thought, heart rate picking up and cheeks feeling significantly hotter, this won’t ever be enough.
——
Barely a minute passes between Gentaro’s editor taking his leave and Dice sliding into the now empty seat across from the author.
“How’d it go?” Dice snags Gentaro’s half finished drink and takes a sip for himself.
Gentaro folds his hands in his lap, “Just fine,” he bats his eyelashes as his voice takes on a feminine pitch, “I hope you’re enjoying your indirect kiss from me.”
Dice throws back an unimpressed look, “Don’t make it weird.”
“Make what weird, dearest?”
Dice’s forehead drops to the table with a thud, navy hair splayed around his head, “You’re such an ass, what’s up with that?”
Gentaro smiles fondly, knowing it will go unseen, “And yet you continue to seek out my company,” he rests his elbow on the table, cheek resting against his open hand, “This heart of mine is only one, it cannot be known by anybody but myself.”
“Huh?” Dice’s face appears again, chin resting directly on the table, eyes peering up at Gentaro, “Wuzzat supposed to mean?”
Gentaro hums, “Perhaps you would know if you spent more time reading the books in my house instead of playing gacha games on your phone for hours on end.”
“`s not my fault I ain’t good at readin’ kanji...” Dice grumbles, “Speakin’ of your place, you mind if I swing by? I left my charger again.”
Like clockwork.
“I suppose so.”
——
Despite Ramuda’s persistent playdate requests, eventually real life must take precedent. Gentaro finds himself hunched over the writing desk in his living room (one of three in his spacious apartment) surrounded by crumpled balls of paper, fingers stained black with ink as they’ve been many times before.
The sound of a key turning in the lock is hardly a surprise anymore, though the fact he had given away said key in the first place remains a surprise in itself.
Moments later the door is being pushed open and Dice is heard stepping into the genkan, “Yo.”
“Welcome,” Gentaro doesn’t look up from his work, “What business do you have here this evening?”
Gentaro hears the sound of Dice’s ratty coat being shrugged off his shoulders, his shoes being slipped off and tucked against the wall side by side, “You just been busy, figured I’d come visit.”
Gentaro feels his chest tighten, hand stalling in the middle of its pen stroke, “Did we part, yesterday, or a thousand years ago? Even now I feel your hand on my shoulder.”
“It’s been like, 2 days,” Dice pauses, “Did I touch your shoulder last time I saw you? Why would you remember that?”
The confusion audible in Dice’s tone would be cute on any other occasion, and it is, but the fondness Gentaro feels is heavily underlying a baseless hope that maybe Dice would’ve understood.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to find your own entertainment, I have a deadline coming up.” He crumples the piece of manuscript paper in front of him, tossing it into the overflowing wastebasket to his right.
Dice plops down onto the couch and turns the TV on, flicking to a game show and lowering the volume considerably, “No prob. Let me know if you want me to grab ya anything.”
The offer makes Gentaro’s chest bloom with warmth.
“Thank you,” he murmurs thoughtlessly as his hand hovers over a new page.
——
“You look exhausted.”
Gentaro supposes he’s seen better days. The telltale bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, a brilliant purple against his pale skin, are the most prominent issue, but there's a plethora of other physical attributes, “I was up a bit late,” the hoarseness of his voice being another.
Dice winces, “You didn’t hafta come hang with me. You coulda just stayed home an’ slept.” There’s a genuine tinge of concern in Dice’s voice as the two of them fall into step, traversing Center-Gai as they find themselves doing just about every day.
“I’m quite fine, I’m sure the rush of watching you play pachinko will wake me right up.” Gentaro says monotonously.
Dice’s lips twist in confusion as his eyes map the author’s tired face from the side, “I figured we were just goin’ to check out Mandarake. You hate watchin’ me play pachinko,” of course the jab flies right over his head.
Gentaro lets his head tiredly fall onto Dice’s shoulder, “Exorcising the aching of my desire, pouring a fountain of refreshing youthfulness,” a yawn, “into my body wracked by the troubles of life...” his voice trails off tiredly towards the end.
Dice blinks at him, then narrows his eyes, “Yeah okay, I’m takin’ you home and you’re goin’ to bed.”
Gentaro can’t find it in him to protest as Dice’s arm wraps around his waist. He wishes he had the mental strength to ask Dice to join him when they reached their destination.
——
Dice’s hand is on the doorknob to the bathroom when Gentaro steps out of his bedroom and into the hallway, “Ah, you’re awake.”
Dice nods sleepily, “Ramuda making us get up early should be a crime.”
Gentaro sighs, leaning against the doorframe, “He said this was the soonest he could book the photo studio, and the only available time slot was early morning.”
“I woulda been fine waiting a few weeks to do this if it meant not waking up at 6 am,” Dice groans.
“Our leader works in mysterious ways,” Gentaro muses, thinking briefly of the many times they’ve found themselves in strange places at unreasonable hours, “Anyways, if you’re showering first I’ll make us some tea.”
“Is that my shirt?”
Gentaro looks up at Dice and notices the man staring at his chest. The author follows his gaze to the oversized band shirt he’s wearing and can distinctly feel his face turning red. He had indeed fallen asleep in one of Dice’s shirts, intending to change out of it before the gambler awoke. So much for that plan, thanks to his sleep addled brain.
It was time for damage control.
He poses demurely against the wall, shyly looking away, “My darling’s keepsake robe, I wear beneath my clothes, til we are once more face-to-face, should I ever take it off?”
Or not.
Dice furrows his eyebrows, “Are you making fun of me again?” he pauses, then lets out a defeated sigh, “Never mind. `s too early to be deciphering the weird shit you say.”
Gentaro hums, ignoring the way his face is still on fire, “I didn’t realize this was yours,” a flimsy excuse, he’s never even heard of this band, “it must’ve gotten mixed up with my own clothing in the laundry. I’ll wash it again and return it to your drawer.”
“Nah don’t worry ‘bout it,” Dice finally turns the doorknob and waves dismissively with his free hand, turning to step into the bathroom, “It looks good on you.”
Gentaro has decided that that was perhaps the worst lie of his career. As the door closes, he contemplates moving to a different continent.
——
Empty chu-hi cans litter the ground of Ramuda’s apartment. Moonlight filters in through the large glass doors leading to the balcony, illuminating the trio where they lay on different sides of an obnoxiously pink kotatsu.
Gentaro rests his head on his arms, eyes open from having drifted back into the waking world. Ramuda lays sprawled about the floor to his left, legs only barely covered by the thick blanket; it isnt their leader Gentaro is paying attention to, however.
Dice, adjacent to the author’s right, lays with his head pillowed on his arms in a similar fashion to Gentaro. Navy hair hangs loosely over most of his face, but Gentaro’s eyes linger on what’s still visible. Thick eyelashes rest against his cheeks, eyebrows neutral to match his serene expression; his shoulders rise and fall slowly with every breath, a contrast to the way Gentaro’s heart feels about ready to burst from his chest.
Tentatively, Gentaro slides his fingers across the small gap between them. He pauses as he lifts his hand, frozen mere inches from the gambler’s face. Perhaps the alcohol still buzzing in his system gives him the little bit of courage he needs as his fingers gently move to brush the strands of hair away from Dice’s face.
A wave of relief washes over him as Dice remains unconscious.
He’s so beautiful, Gentaro thinks. He wonders if Dice knows just how lovely he is, if he has any idea of the effect that has on people. He wonders if Dice knows how easy it is to get people to go along with his whims. Well, maybe not all people, but Gentaro will always come when he calls. How had it come to this?
His hand rests gently against Dice’s cheek, “Since we met, but a few days have passed: So why more strongly, blindly, madly, do I yearn for you?”
Silence follows, and relief soon changes to melancholy. For once, he wishes for a reply.
——
Living in the residential outskirts of Shibuya has its perks. It’s nothing perfect, still too close to the main city to rid the sky of light pollution entirely, but the view of the moon from Gentaro’s balcony is hard to beat.
It’s not often he finds himself enjoying it, but the chill of winter had finally faded and spring’s relative warmth swept in soon after. So here he sits, back pressed against the wall gazing up at the sky, an occasional cloud of smoke invading his peripherals as the man next to him works on a cigarette.
Despite the long, agonizing months he’s spent pining, Gentaro enjoys the silent company Dice provides. He’d never expected the gambler would be able to keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes, but people have surprised him before. And so they sit, a foot of space between them, illuminated by the night sky and the distant lights of skyscrapers.
Maybe this is good enough, Gentaro finds himself thinking again. And maybe, it will have to be good enough. His futile attempts at flirting had been rather embarrassing, in hindsight. Of course none of them landed, of course nothing had changed. Every seemingly affectionate action Dice took that gave Gentaro even a sliver of hope was soon repeated to the other friends in Dice’s life. An arm around Ramuda, a compliment to that strange navy man from Yokohama; hell, he’d even learned Dice was going out to get drunk with the Matenrou salaryman at least once a month
Admitting his feelings outright is out of the question. Despite the desire that boils inside him to do so the words stay locked away, he isn’t sure he could manage to say them even if he tried.
Dice snubs out his cigarette on the ashtray beside him, running his now free hand through his hair. Gentaro keeps his face forward, but lets his eyes wander. It’s not nearly summer but Dice has exchanged his usual garb for a black tank top and a pair of sweatpants, his long legs are drawn close to his chest. He looks unusually peaceful, as if his mind isn’t surely buzzing with thoughts of his next big gamble.
What was it about him that Gentaro had fallen for in the first place?
Dice is reckless, loud, uncontrollable, infuriatingly persistent, drags Gentaro from his home on days he wishes to stay in, owes Gentaro an absurd amount of money and favours, and yet, none of this had been a deterrent; on the contrary, however, Gentaro is nothing Dice wants. He’s everything Dice has tried to run from. Hard to read, settled down, controlling, stubborn, unlovable. Gentaro may be able to overlook the other man’s flaws, but there’s no way Dice can do the same. They’ve been doomed from the start—if there was even a there to begin with.
Such is fate, he muses bitterly. The heaviness in his heart fails to dissipate upon accepting this, though really, its most likely because he can’t bring himself to accept it.
It aches. Were his constitution not nearly as strong as it was, Gentaro is certain he would be in tears by now. There’s a faint sting to his eyes, a lump in his throat, but nothing comes of it. Sitting here under the night sky with the man he’s pined after for months on end—no, the man he’s in love with—is agony instead of a dream come true.
Telling him would ruin the friendship they have, the bond they’ve formed. It had been foolish to risk it, all the times he recited overwhelmingly affectionate poetry, let his touches and gazes linger. Idiot.
Leave it to a fool to speak his feelings aloud one last time.
“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I love you.”
Gentaro stops breathing. There should’ve been no way for someone whose brain is entirely street smarts to know what that means.
5 seconds pass, then 10, and this is just going to feel more and more awkward, isn't it?
Gentaro laughs with no amount of mirth, hoping Dice doesn’t hear how shaky it sounds as it leaves his mouth “I’m amazed you knew what that meant, I was merely testing your literary knowledge.”
“What?” Dice shifts into his field of view, eyebrows turned upwards in confusion, “About the moon?”
The strength it takes Gentaro to meet Dice’s eyes is astronomical, “Yes, the thought occurred to me and I wondered if you knew of Natsume Souseki’s translation,” a forced smile, “Have you been reading while I wasn’t looking?”
Dice looks at Gentaro as if he’s grown another head. Silence passes between them until Gentaro shifts uncomfortably, “ I am a Cat seems very befitting of you if we’re discussing Souseki’s work.”
“No, I—Gentaro, I dunno know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Gentaro can feel his pulse picking up, he’d said it right to his face that he knew what Gentaro meant, why the backpedaling? Why— His blood feels cold. He’d figured it out. Was Dice making fun of him? Oh, god.
Gentaro swallows the lump in his throat, “It’s one thing for me to tell lies as a jest, and another for you to play with my feelings like this.”
It’s too much to handle, his palms are sweaty as they clutch the fabric of his house robe. He shifts uncomfortably and begins to rise to his feet, eyes pulling away to stare at the space in front of him, “It’s getting a bit late so I suppose I—“
“No, Gentaro wait—“ there’s a frantic edge to the other man’s voice as he watches Gentaro rise. A rough hand grabs for Gentaro’s wrist, “‘m tellin’ you I’m in love with you.”
Now it’s Gentaro’s turn to look at his companion as if he’s grown another head.
Confusion soon mingles with pure unadulterated anxiety, This can’t be happening. Good things don’t just happen for him. Dice’s eyebrows turn upwards as he seems to register Gentaro has practically gone into shock. His pale hands tremble, mouth closing, then opening again, but no words find their way out.
“Gentaro?” Dice says, and Gentaro notices his free hand hesitating in the air between them. The author can’t find it in him to answer, but Dice seems to make up his mind on his own, emphatically tugging Gentaro back down to sit beside him. The hand hanging in the air prior finds its way to Gentaro’s face, cupping his cheek to turn him towards himself, “I haven’t been readin’ this wrong, have I?”
His touch feels like fire. The tinge of hurt in his voice makes Gentaro want to cry again. Everything feels like a blur as his mind struggles to piece together what’s happening. Dice’s other hand comes to rest atop one of his own, trembling against his knee.
“Maybe it was just me but um, this whole time I kinda felt like you were tryna tell me something,” he says softly, “Dunno if it’s just been wishful thinking but the way you’re actin’ right now makes me think I got it right?”
For a moment it feels like Gentaro’s heart has stopped.
“Tell me if I’m making a mistake. Please.”
His voice is barely a whisper, a desperate edge to it as he tilts Gentaro’s head and leans in. Gentaro’s entire body feels like it’s shut down, unable to do anything but stare as Dice’s eyes close and there’s pressure against his slightly parted lips. It’s warm, gentle. Gentaro’s eyes sting again, this time tears really do begin to spill down his face.
Feeling the wetness on his hand Dice pulls away and blinks his eyes open, “Woah woah woah, Gen, what’s wrong?” The hand that was covering Gentaro’s own moves to cup his other cheek, Dice’s eyes are filled with panic.
“Gen are you—“
“This is a dream.”
Dice blinks at him in confusion, gears turning in his head as he formulates a response “I—No? It’s—you’re not dreaming,” he swipes a thumb across one of Gentaro’s wet cheeks.
Gentaro’s lip trembles, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Incredibly childish of him to ask such a thing, he knows.
Slowly, a fond expression finds its way to Dice’s face, “I ain’t the liar in this group. When you go to sleep for real, and wake up for real, I’ll still be here.”
That smile is all Gentaro can take. Embarrassment is overshadowed by every ounce of hurt and longing in his body, months of unfortunate and frankly depressing attempts at divulging the emotions he learned to keep at bay. Gentaro finally closes his eyes and lets a sob wrack through his body. Dice is there immediately, strong arms drawing him close, murmuring softly into mousy brown hair, “I promise, I’m real and I’m not messin’ with you.”
Gentaro’s fingers dig into the front of his shirt as everything pours out; everything he’s held back, every self loathing thought and stifled desire trails down his face as hot tears and choked sobs. The facade fades away. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Had it been when his parents died? When his brother was hospitalized?
Ah. It always seems to happen when he’s abandoned.
“This whole time,” he starts feebly, sniffling before he continues, “I-I wanted you to know. But I also hoped you would stay oblivious forever. I don’t deserve you, and I... I don’t want to lose you like everything else in my life,”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry to do this to you, to subject you to this.” A hard sob shakes his frame.
Dice’s hand rubs slow circles on Gentaro’s back as he nuzzles into the crook of the younger man’s neck, breathing in the scent of the body soap Dice must have borrowed in his shower earlier. Inhale, exhale, bring his body back to normal and stop the oncoming panic attack he feels creeping up.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Even if I didn’t have feelings for ya I wouldn’t leave. That’s some cowardly shit right there.” Dice says, voice steady and sure, “I always thought I was the one who didn’t deserve you. We were both wrong though, I think.”
Gentaro’s throat feels dry. He takes in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes tighter and willing the tears to stop.
“A swing should be swung, and love should be taken.”
One of Dice’s arms nudges under the lighter man’s legs, the other around his back. He shifts, crossing his own legs, and pulls Gentaro into his lap. Gentaro’s fingers curl in his shirt again. Both strong arms twine loosely around his torso.
“Who’s that one by?” Dice asks.
“Takajo Mitsuhashi.” Gentaro says back softly, hesitating before letting his head fall to the side to rest against Dice’s shoulder again.
Dice hums, “I like it.”
As his chin comes to rest on top of Gentaro’s head, his arms tighten somewhat. How easily they fall back into a sense of normalcy. How easily Dice ameliorates his troubles when he needs it the most. The assurance that Dice refuses to pry into his friend’s lives stays in place even here, no further questions asked after a boundary breaking meltdown. Gentaro feels warm, maybe in part from the heat Dice’s body always seems to radiate, but also from the sense of safety he feels in this moment.
No... It isn’t just this moment. For once, he’s sure that this is a commitment. A lingering hope of protection that had ached within him for months finally manifesting here and now in the most unexpected way. No damsel in distress, but a man desperate to feel something other than distrust for once in his life. There’s a ways to go, many conversations to be had and bridges to be crossed. In his mind Gentaro makes a futile attempt to map their excursion. Ink spills across the paper and blocks the path before they can even take a step. But who are they, if not fools who will traverse the universe together without guidance? (Ramuda included, of course.) Was Stella not enough of a promise to stick together through it all?
Of course it was. It always would be.
Things are far from perfect, and yet, a soft smile breaks out across Gentaro’s face.
“I do, too.”