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Some little antique store, tucked away in its own little corner in the city. Mima happened upon it one day, searching for something to ease his mind. A ‘comfort’, Shiki-san called it. The shop had a rickety sign that swayed in the wind and a bell over its door. Moss and life itself crawled into the cracks in the wall, filling the cold stone with green. Beyond its worn windows, a cosy light shined; warm and inviting. Maybe that’s what beckoned Mima to step onto that fuzzy doormat and pull at the doorknob. Hinges whined and the dust mingled with the fresh rush of wind.
It was like stepping into another world.
The woman behind the counter was wise, the years etched into her kind face. Mima found himself in polite conversation with her as he perused her shelves. Old chests lined with gold, pretty bottles and jars, heavy books and knitted, warm things. All lovely and worth their weight in stories. Even objects can live long lives, and tell their tales. He considered the books and their pages lined with text, the letters so small he had to squint and hold the book against the light. He also considered a dainty little teacup and its little plate; elegant and shining despite its age.
An empty journal wouldn’t have been his first choice. Mima wasn’t one for writing, despite enjoying literature. Yet it slotted perfectly against his fingers. Running through its blank pages calmed his soul; soft and light and delicate. It was just the right size for his pockets. What would he write in it? Anything, maybe everything. He’ll think about it.
Mima paid for the journal. He refused the bag, opting to place it in his pocket. The door opened with some struggle, and he braced himself against the cold wind.
Just as he did, he stepped into a puddle. He reached out and hummed when he felt rain against his palm.
Ah. I forgot to check the weather app.
Without thinking, he protectively cradled the book in his pocket, and felt its answering warmth.
For a few days, he didn’t open it. Content with simply carrying around and feeling its weight. Sometimes he placed it on his desk at work, or placed it on the table while he ate his meals. A mix of natural airheadedness and stress made a lot of things slip from Mima’s mind, but he always remembered to bring the diary with him. Strangely, it was like a friend, or a companion. Maybe he was finally at the age where he craved company.
A mix of loneliness and overworking, he figured. That must’ve been it. Reasonably and rationally speaking. For what other reason could there be for words to appear where there previously hadn’t been any, fresh ink on lined paper, letters so delicate and demure.
Hello?
He blinked. The words were still there. He picked up a pen, writing back.
Hello.
Oh!
Mima chuckled a bit at the response.
Ah, that was so rude! I’m so sorry, I haven’t talked to anyone in so long…
No, you weren’t rude at all. Don’t worry about it.
I’m Ichikura Hayate, I’ll be in your care.
Mima Takayuki. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hayate-kun.
Talking to a diary was strange. But even stranger was the way his lips curled into a smile, and the comfort he felt as he communed with someone he had never met.
Someone he had come to adore.
Ichikura Hayate was a kind, albeit clumsy person. His words were meek and sweet, and he wrote so prettily; somehow his letters lilted like a song. Careful and polite. Mima-san this, Mima-san that. Even the simplest of things seemed charming when Hayate talked about them. Like when he rambled about his favourite novels and his favourite games, his dreams, hopes and doubts, and even his clumsy habits and little snippets of the life he lived. Now, Mima had the pleasure of seeing the page fill with text as Hayate shared his love of animals; particularly of the mini, furry kind.
What do you like about them, Hayate-kun?
Um, well, I guess…it’s nothing in particular but… everything?
They’re so sweet and honest, when you let them be.
Sometimes it takes a bit for them to open up.
But that’s okay, I think. Some people are like that too…
They come in a lot of shapes and sizes
Tiny, big, round, fluffy…
No matter what, they’re cute!
Um, hamsters
Hamsters are my favourite.
But it’s hard to pick a favourite.
I love all of them.
You should try petting one, Mima-san!
Fondly, he brushed against the page with his fingers. The brief contact made him imagine, not for the first time, what Hayate looked like. Was his skin as silken and gentle as this paper? It matched the image of the delicate, willowy young man in his mind. Quick to blush and pink all over. Sweet, honest, and open – if you get to know him, coaxing his excitement with care and time. Hayate has grown to be more casual with him, even if he wouldn’t let go of his Mima-san’s.
If hamsters are like you, I will try it.
Eh? I’m not like a hamster at all…
Well, I suppose I wouldn’t know. I’m just basing off of your description.
Mima-san just called me big and round.
The words tickled, light as air and quick as laughter. The end of the sentence curled and lifted off just barely, trailing off into a short-lived line. Mima imagined it – Hayate’s lashes fluttering shut, meeting his cheek in a faint caress, as his mouth opened wide and his head pushed back at the force of his happiness. Hayate’s laughter…what kind of sound would it be?
What do you look like, Hayate-kun?
I’m sure I’m not as handsome as Mima-san.
You can see me?
No, but I feel you when you hold me.
You’re gentle with me. Your hands feel big but kind.
Is that so? I’m flattered, but I don’t believe it.
Why not?
Tell me more first.
Hmm…
Mima-san is…
Mima thumbed at the leather cover, now knowing that Hayate could feel him. He took extra care when moving the diary to his lap, following the flowy lines of Hayate’s pretty handwriting with his fingers.
Larger than me.
You can tell?
Your hands feel bigger than mine.
My classmates used to tease me and call my hands small.
If it’s not much, I want to know more.
Ah, because it’s Mima-san, it’s okay…
So his hands are small. Mima had a feeling they would be. The diary is compact and its leaves are light. Perfect for his pocket, but little against his palms. He once tore one of his pocket books as a young man, and he felt anxious holding small things ever since.
My hair is short and brown
My eyes are brown too
I wore a lot of sweaters
I like how it feels, and how baggy it is
Aha…I’m a bit plain, I think
No, don’t say that, Hayate-kun.
Afterall, you’re quite precious to me.
Precious?
We all have our little comforts. Hayate-kun is mine.
A beat of nothing. He imagined Hayate’s shy face aflame and warm. In the silence, Mima wished nothing more than to feel and see it – the man written in the pages, real and alive in his arms.
I’ve never been precious to anybody.
You are, to me.
Most beloved of all.
He pressed his lips against the cover with all the affection he could. As fleeting as a shooting star brushing against the earth. He closed his eyes, thinking of the man he had come to love. He breathed in the scent of ink and paper, and Hayate was no longer thought and story.
Startling both of them, Hayate spilled into Mima’s lap, nearly tipping over the chair, if not for Mima quickly steadying both of them; feet firmly planted on the ground and hands tight against Hayate’s waist.
He was all fawn and clumsy limbed, fingers sprawled across Mima’s broad chest. He was delighted to find that he was right – watching adoringly as Hayate’s cheeks coloured with warmth. His lovely lips parted open in shock, formed in the shape of words that he was helpless to say. Mima’s gaze roamed, from his straight, brown hair and the way it fell on his round face, to his pinking ears, and his smaller shoulders. Then he peered up at Mima, nervousness softening to an awed little smile.
“Is…is this real? This feels like a dream…”
Mima chuckled. “I’ve been asking myself that,” Briefly, his gaze darted down to Hayate’s lips. He kissed him once, but it wasn’t quite right. “Is it alright if I…find an answer?”
He leaned down to kiss him, but was stopped by a sudden pinching pain on his cheek.
Mima blinked.
“If it hurts, then it’s not a dream right?” Hayate muttered under his breath. Then he paused, stunned at the closeness of Mima’s face. Mima saw the exact moment that realisation dawned on him, and Hayate flung his hand away. “Ah! Sorry, sorry, Mima-san, that…I…”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, tugging Hayate closer to him. Mima reached out to pinch him gently. “There. Now we both know this isn’t a dream.”
Really, he could kiss him right now. But Hayate was too busy curling himself up into a little ball on Mima’s lap. He’ll kiss him later, and then maybe a couple more times after that. For now, he was content to hold Hayate in his arms.
He should thank Shiki-san, and that kind old lady, if he could remember where that store was again.
Instinctually, Mima reached over to the table to jot it down in his to-do list.
Ah.
Right. He doesn’t have a journal anymore.
Nevermind. There are more important things to think about.
Carefully, Mima coaxed Hayate out of his little burrow, and finally, they kissed. There was nothing that could matter more than this.