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He could not recall whether this image was a memory, a dream or a thought fabricated by his mind, but he sometimes found himself drawn back to it. A strange melancholy filled him as the vision was summoned by some mysterious, independent part of his mind – whether he wanted to indulge and withdraw or not was up to him.
He regretted not being able to determine the truth behind this “memory”, he regretted so much. Such a long time had passed, colouring this picture in new lights, blurring the lines between reality and personal preferences… With each reminiscence, he questioned its authenticity, always in vain.
However, it always began the same way: he opened his eyes.
No, not exactly. First, he woke up, limbs so heavy even stretching them required effort. Comfortable warmth enveloped him, followed by the sensation of another, familiar body against his.
No doubt, no uncertainty, no awkwardness; everything was in its right place, including his feelings.
The fluttering, delicious uneasiness of early passion has settled into peace and confidence. He loves, is loved back – this is absolutely certain. Whatever will happen from now on, he is ready to face, a companion he trusts on his side.
When reliving the memory, this thought always stung. Somehow, he did not want to feel ready to face pain and loss. Somehow, he wanted his heart to be torn in halves in excruciating agony, unredeemable, unusable, only fit for being tossed and forgotten. But this love had changed him, made him stronger, made him realise how resourceful he was, how, even in the depths of sorrow, he would dedicate himself to his beliefs and resist shadows. This man had changed him, for better and for worse.
Under his fingers, quiet skin that still resisted the call of a new day. He gently brushed it, kissed before him, rubbed his forehead against delicate hair, not to seek a response, but as a simple, tender gesture.
Then came his favourite part, the one he sometimes jumped to, not without feeling sorry for the loveable antecedents. He opened his eyes.
In the soft blur, as he struggled to adjust to daylight, he barely distinguished the other face, so close he could then have counted every eyelash. Had sleep drawn them to this close embrace in some unconscious mutual yearning, or had they fallen asleep in this exact position, deep slumber keeping them still and loving?
He could remember times when sharing a room troubled their rest, before they grew used to each other’s presence. They were both loners at heart; by what miracle had they decided to sleep in the same bed and stubbornly disturb each other until their bodies grew accustomed to it?
There was absolutely no way Kosuke could feel any regret about it, especially not as he recalled – perhaps imagined – the beloved frame nestled against his, perfectly relaxed.
Before him, he could recognise none of the usual expressions that defined his loved one’s personality: a confident smile on lips quick to tease him, lowered eyebrows, narrowed eyes… His eternal, heavy glasses had disappeared, softening features into a neutral, unusual peace. Only his hair, slightly retaining the shape a daily morning routine gave them, hadn’t completely surrendered to gravity, the fringe still parted on its left. A single strand of hair crossed one eye, almost tempting Kosuke, who refused to succumb to the fear it might bother his rest and let go.
He seemingly slept too deeply to be bothered. If he ever was, Kosuke would kiss any obstacle away.
His throat tightened, love mixing with regret as he focussed on the mental image. How ignorant he had been, how much more he could have done if he had known what his beloved hid from him… Yet he knew for sure that their feelings had been honest and that, at this moment… if it had ever existed… at this moment, they had been closer than ever.
He had guessed something had been hidden from him, from everyone – he hadn’t been mistreated at all, his lover pushing everyone away regarding this matter. Kosuke had learnt to live with it, to believe the unspoken topic would be no obstacle in their existence. The one he loved had had good reasons to conceal what he had concealed.
It didn’t taint the memory in any other way than placing Kosuke in front of his very own helplessness.
He had dropped another kiss, reaffirming his grip on him. Through the window, light cast the shadow of a tree on their embracing figures, on the bedsheets, on the wall… Where had it happened? This single detail made him question the authenticity of this moment more than any other. It couldn’t have taken place in their shared apartment… Had his mind constructed this mysterious tree? For what purpose…? Except the obvious one that Kosuke had always dreamt of taking him on holiday, far from Azumano, at least once…
He had been so absorbed in lazily admiring his boyfriend he had forgotten whether any sound had surrounded them… No ocean, no traffic, no voice… Only the intuition it couldn’t take place in an inn.
Focussing only blurred the image by placing his attention on what didn’t really matter. He had to quickly turn back, return to the sleeping face, to the delicious pressure against his lips, for fear of tainting the vision further.
Thus ended the reminiscence. He had never shared this memory with anyone; with who, anyway? No one was willing to hear the ancient intimate tales of some middle-aged man, and he definitely wasn’t willing to put such a personal piece of what he’d call his heart on display. Only Kei would have had an interest in this story. Only Kei would have listened.
He would have listened, grinning in silence. Under Kosuke’s embarrassed inquiries, he would have refused to confirm the veracity of the event to better play with his confusion. One way or another, it would have become a shared moment, but…
Ultimately, Kosuke had not hallucinated their closeness. Doubt would always remain, of course – how could an historian ever be satisfied with unconfirmed personal recollections? – yet he chose to suppose that, at one moment of their time together, Kei had woken up, arms around him, and slowly noticed the fondness on his admiring lover’s face. Whatever he had felt back then was up to him, his own story he couldn’t tell anyone.
Kosuke could always believe; no one, nothing would ever take this away from him.
