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Teruki is not listening to this meeting.
It’s not entirely his fault. Setting up a business of recruiting young espers to help them had much more financial concerns than he initially thought, and he’s just been through a long flight. Lawyers and advisors swarmed him after he got off the plane, steering him into a private car for their discussions. It’s a big vehicle, but it feels crowded with so many people. Teruki would rather not think right now. He’d rather nap until he gets to his apartment. He’s jetlagged and a little hungover and he hasn’t had a cigarette for more than twelve hours.
It is a dark evening in Seasoning City, or it looks like it, from what he can see through the tinted windows. The view of the buildings roll over his gaze lazily. The lights streak across his vision. His ears dull out every sound.
The black sedan slows to a stop and Teruki gives a curt goodbye to his advisors. The autumn has settled into an uncomfortably cool wind. Teruki can hear leaves crunching under his feet as he gets out. The driver hauls his bag out the trunk and hands it to him. Teruki nods a greeting to the doorman as he enters the apartment building.
He notices a taxi waiting by the side of the road.
This is what Teruki looks like: better than ever. Fur coat, sunglasses and curled hair. Designer suits and custom footwear. He walks into the large lobby as if he owns the building, struts with the bravado of a newly formed bachelor. His steps echo around the room. His smile is unwavering and cool. His confidence is an aura. People know who he is.
(He wears leather gloves over his wedding ring.)
The lights are open in his penthouse. That’s unusual. He frowns at the sight that used to be a comfort to him. A part of him awakens, aura coiling around his fingertips, subtly gearing up for some kind of fight.
He takes off his shoes silently by the genkan. He notices a pair of slightly worn out sneakers by the corner.
Oh.
It won’t be that kind of fight.
It’s only then does he notice the other esper aura in the apartment. Warm, gentle, suppressed. It’s vast and inescapable, permeating from the walls like the ocean in a beach house. It’s been a synonym for going home these past few years that it completely slipped under his radar.
“Why didn’t you text?” Teruki calls out into the apartment, walking into the hallway. “Where are you?”
“Kitchen.” Shigeo replies. His voice bounces off the marble walls.
Okay.
Where the fuck is Teruki’s kitchen?
“Hey,” he greets once he finds it moments later. He stays by the entrance, slightly far from Shigeo.
Shigeo stands with Beatrice, their siamese cat, clinging to his shoulder. He cradles her like a baby. “Hey.” He says. “Our calendar said your flight was tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well. It got rescheduled.”
“Ah.”
A beat.
Teruki finally walks into the kitchen, deciding to keep himself busy. He opens cabinets just to look at them. He takes out sparkling water from the fridge so his hands have something to do. Shigeo stands still, barely watching him. He doesn’t react much, despite this being the first time they’ve seen each other in months. His stance is unreadable, face static. Teruki grits his teeth.
“So. What are you doing here, Shigeo?” He asks, fiddling with the bottle cap.
“Oh,” Shigeo gestures to Beatrice. “I came to give her back.”
“I’ve been in Paris for three weeks and you only came now?” Teruki smirks in feigned flirtatious teasing. “So close to my flight date. Did you actually want to see me?”
Shigeo shrugs. Genuinely, “Maybe.”
Teruki stops. He bites the inside of his cheek. There’s a bitterness that claws inside his chest. It’s such a dissonance to what he used to feel, like a coin flipped upside down. An unwelcome anger, building up for overflow. Shigeo’s presence shouldn’t make him react like this. He doesn’t like it. It feels too much like his old self.
It’s because of the loss. Because of the absence. His old self has always been more familiar with the anger and arrogance of it, but not the bereft.
He’s not suited to grieve, not right now.
But this, whatever Shigeo is planning, simply won’t do. This anger can’t handle kindness right now. It demands to be justified. He needs Shigeo to be horrible.
Teruki sees his windows open. The ashtray from the windowsill is emptied.
“You noticed?” He points to it casually. It’s a landmine as old as their relationship. “I started smoking again.”
Shigeo doesn’t take the bait. “I heard you’re with Edano now?” He asks.
“Oh, we broke up.” Teruki answers plainly. He tilts his head. “Can’t keep up?” He teases, referring to the rapid fire tabloid headlines about his current dating life.
Shigeo still gives him nothing, turning around to put Beatrice on the floor. Teruki doesn’t see his face when he says, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Uh huh.” Teruki sizes him up and down, jaw locked, looking for any indication of lying. A thought festers in his mind, scratching around his skull to get out. He exhales. “How about you? Are you seeing someone?”
A beat. Shigeo mulls it over. He turns back to Teruki. “I’ve seen Emi a few times but it’s nothing serious.”
Teruki pops his lips. “Ah. Her.” He says it as if in air quotes. “‘The writer.’” He lets the bitterness seep into his voice. Unlike Shigeo, he actually says what he feels. He doesn’t let it fester inside him until it turns into resentment.
“She’s really nice, actually.” Shigeo replies.
“That’s nice.” Teruki pauses. He can’t get himself to say he’s happy about it. He throws away the empty bottle and shrugs off his coat. He passes Shigeo briskly. “I’m… gonna go shower. Long flight, you know.”
“Oh, of course.” Shigeo straightens. There’s a quick flash of understanding that eclipses his face for a few seconds. “I’ll go then—“
“No,” Teruki says. He’s already halfway out the kitchen. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn back, not trusting his expression to be the one he wants Shigeo to see. He says, “I mean… Beatrice gets ansty the first few days she’s back here, especially when she’s alone. She likes you more than me.”
“Okay.” Shigeo says it lightly. “Guess I’ll stay for a bit.”
#
The shower clears Teruki’s head in an instant. It washes the anger down to just a simmer. His clarity comes in the form of one embarrassing thought: oh god, what the hell was I just doing?
He emerges from his bathroom in his pajamas, drying his hair off with a towel. He enters his obnoxiously big bedroom. It’s filled with wall-length windows that overlook the city. The lights are low and soft. He finds Shigeo by the bookshelves in front of his bed, plucking Beatrice off it before she can push anything off.
“I’m sorry about that,” Teruki says, announcing his presence. He sits on the foot of the bed, feeling the silk under his skin. “About earlier. I was trying to get a rise out of you. I don’t—Jetlag. I forgot to have a filter. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Shigeo looks at him almost fondly. “It actually reminded me of how we first met.”
Teruki chuckles. “Oh, you too, huh?”
Beatrice jumps out of Shigeo’s grasp and onto the bed. Though she settles on the other end of it, by the headrest. Teruki and Shigeo watch her wordlessly. She hides herself under the pillows.
“You were right.” Shigeo says. “She does get stressed with all the moving, or just the divorce in general.”
Teruki continues to stare. “Makes two of us.”
He hears Shigeo sigh. “I’m not enjoying this either, Teruki.”
Teruki blinks. He turns back to his husband slowly. He observes. He looks. He says, “It seems like you’re doing fine.”
And Shigeo does. His face doesn’t flicker much with much despair. His stance leans more to confidence than anything else. He looks at Teruki with a washed out expression, unfazed, a calm monotony.
Teruki sighs. He lies down on the mattress with his arms spread out like a starfish. “Or…I don’t know.” He admits, tired, staring at the ceiling. “What do I know? Maybe you’re having the absolute worst time in your life and I just don’t know it.”
They both know what he’s referring to, even though he doesn’t specify it. It’s air. It's a collective memory. It’s the rings both still on their fingers. Late June. Dewy midnight. Smudged out, hazy. It was raining. It was a disagreement. It was a fight.
Shigeo says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.”
There is a dip by his side. Teruki feels Shigeo sit next to him.
He closes his eyes. His words come out wet and vulnerable. “You couldn’t even…”
A pause.
The grief is right at his throat.
“You couldn’t even cry in front of me.” He says. It’s lined with guilt and sadness. “Can you believe that? You couldn’t even cry in front of your own husband?”
He flits his eyes to Shigeo, whose back is turned to him. The distance between them feels greater somehow, the way one and two have an infinite amount of decimals between them. His suit jacket is barely hanging onto his shoulders. His collar isn’t folded properly. When he sighs, his whole body follows. His hands are on his side, near Teruki’s. It’s almost invasive.
Shigeo looks at him just a little, just so half of his face is visible. If the words hurt him, he doesn’t show it. Teruki lifts his arm to cover his eyes.
“You chose right.” Shigeo says in that voice of his. “Signing those papers, I mean. Look at you now. Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
Teruki laughs hollowly. “Oh, please. You hate my business. What did you call it again? A ‘manipulative, self indulgent excuse to parade myself because I missed being famous’?” He lifts his arm to check on the reaction.
Shigeo squeezes his lips to a thin line. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Do you still believe it?”
He shrugs, doesn’t answer. Stubborn as always.
Teruki smiles and groans. “I miss you.” He says, placing his arms on his sides. “I think I’ve been missing you for a long time.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s just me.”
There’s a pregnant silence, a patient waiting. Waves lap upon the sand somewhere in the city. Cars honk. Plants grow. Shigeo lies down next to him. Teruki holds his breath.
Beatrice emerges from the pillows, ruffling the sheets as she does. She strolls to them in mild anxiety. She looks down at Shigeo and pats her paw on his forehead. He lifts up a hand to scratch her neck.
Teruki watches this silently, expression melting into something familiar. His heart beats in the hollowness of his ribs. “I wouldn’t have made you hurt people, you know? If you had joined me.”
“We don’t need to talk about it.”
“I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t.”
Shigeo doesn’t look at him, just focuses on Beatrice. “It wasn’t you. My powers just— I just can’t control them. They were bound to get out of hand.” He frowns ever so slightly. “You were lucky to get out before that happened. I could’ve hurt you even more. You don’t deserve that.”
“Stop it.”
“What?“
“Stop describing our marriage like I had to survive you. I just loved you, that’s all.”
Shigeo softens, shrinks down as if the fact is too great to handle.
“I think my taxi left already.” He says. He was never a great liar. “Can I stay here tonight?”
Teruki nods.
Without looking at him, Shigeo’s hand reaches out and holds Teruki’s. Their wedding rings hit each other as their fingers intertwind. It’s warm and it’s gentle. It thrums just underneath the skin, suppressed. Teruki feels as if he’s drowning in something immeasurable. It permeates from the walls like the ocean in a beach house.
Shigeo says, “I miss you too.” And it’s a synonym.