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The great city of Tokyo never stopped. Between the trains, the honking horns, and the crowds rushing forward, the noise seemed to have fused with the very air. For Nakamura, however, the days had begun to look far too much like one another: wake up, eat breakfast, work eight hours, go home, and sleep.
He was tired of that life, though he didn't know how to imagine another. Ever since Hirose Aiki—the boy he had fallen in love with in high school—suddenly moved to the countryside due to his grandmother's illness, something inside Nakamura had remained suspended in time. Since then, he hadn't heard a word from him.
Ten years could sweep everything away or leave a wound perfectly intact. Nakamura studied Economics and, shortly after graduating, landed a job at a firm in the capital thanks to a recommendation from his father. He was grateful for the opportunity, yes, but his life had become a succession of gray days: working until exhaustion only to return to an apartment that was far too silent.
In his moments of deepest loneliness, he would open an old box of high school memories. He kept photos, small objects, and traces of a time that sometimes felt foreign and other times far too close. Among it all, there was one image he guarded like a treasure: a photo from a school trip where he and Hirose appeared with their arms around each other, smiling on a pier. It was the only one he kept with an almost painful devotion.
He thought of him constantly. And he didn't know how to stop. Since then, he had never felt anything like it for anyone else. He was no longer sixteen, and he understood that love could take different forms over time, but even so, he never fell in love again. His family didn't pressure him to find a partner; in fact, his younger sister, Kana, had started her own family just six months ago in South Korea. Still, Nakamura acknowledged an intimate truth: he was still too romantic, too sensitive, and deep down, he feared loving again only to lose once more.
One evening, while trying to loosen his tie, he felt the knot tighten around his neck like a noose. A single thought of any detail regarding Hirose was enough to make his pulse race, as if no time had passed at all. Annoyed with himself, he left the building and decided to take refuge in a bar.
The bar was just a few blocks from his workplace. It was usually a quiet spot, but that night a beer promotion had filled it with raucous laughter, glasses clinking against tables, and conversations that blended into a thick hum.
"Nakamura! Long time no see," the barman greeted him with a mocking tone while wiping down glasses. Nakamura tried to remember his name. I think it was Yuki… "What do you fancy tonight?"
"What do you recommend?" he asked, resting his face in his hand as he observed the clientele.
"You look nostalgic. How about a rum and coke?"
"Do I look that old to you? I’m barely twenty-seven," Nakamura protested, settling into his seat. "But fine, pour me one."
"As you wish, Captain," the young man replied, exaggerating a military salute.
After a couple of drinks and a handful of salted peanuts, Nakamura began to feel slightly lightheaded, though also strangely buoyant. Then, another group of young people entered the local, and one of them tripped over Nakamura's briefcase, nearly falling against the bar.
"I’m sorry! I didn't see where I was going," the young man apologized with a sweet and strangely familiar voice. Nakamura accepted the apology, though internally he thought that wearing a cap in such a dark bar was a terrible idea. However, one detail stuck in his memory: a sun tattoo on the neck, small and impossible to ignore.
He paid his tab and returned home. While getting ready for bed, he found himself staring at the palms of his hands, caught in an discomfort difficult to name. Why did he keep thinking about that stranger's voice? The music had been too loud, the light too dim, and yet he felt that something about that boy had brushed against a very ancient part of his heart.
The next day, the routine closed in on him again: calls, balance sheets, clients, and the incessant murmur of the office. Sometimes Nakamura regretted being so reserved; he didn't even have anyone to exchange a few relaxed words with. While buying a can of coffee from the vending machine near the elevator, he saw a small group of people walking out.
Wait… what?
His gaze locked immediately onto the sun tattoo on the neck of one of those young men. This time he wasn't wearing a cap, and Nakamura noticed another detail: the nape of his neck dyed an ash blonde.
"Excuse me, do you need something?" asked the person accompanying the tattooed youth, before losing their breath upon realizing who they were facing.
Hirose? The same Hirose who had inhabited his thoughts for years? The one he hadn't heard from in a decade? Was he truly standing in front of him?
"Hirose…" he murmured, unaware he had said it out loud. The impact was so sudden that the can of coffee slipped from his hands and hit the floor. His mind went blank, as if the world had suddenly lost its sound.
"This is going to sound bad, but… do I know you?" the brown-haired man asked. Embarrassment flooded Nakamura instantly, as if he were seventeen all over again. Hirose, however, held out a napkin with a shy smile. "It’s just that you splashed coffee on your shirt."
It was exactly like their first conversation in high school. Still stunned, Nakamura accepted the napkin. It made sense that Hirose didn't recognize him: he now wore his hair slicked back, was dressed in a dark blue suit with a light blue striped shirt and a burgundy tie, and had grown several inches since his teens.
Hirose, in contrast, wore green sneakers, faded black jeans, and a red sweater that revealed the tattoo on his neck. His hair was dyed, though he kept his natural color at the top. He still looked beautiful, Nakamura thought—perhaps even more so than in his memories, as if time had been cruel to everything but him.
"Nakamura… I’m Nakamura Okuto," he finally said, drying his shirt while watching Hirose’s eyes widen and a faint blush creep up his cheeks.
"Nakamura, you’ve changed so much!" Hirose exclaimed, euphoric, impulsively grabbing his hands. Then he pulled back with a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I’m just excited. But really… you look totally different. I can’t believe it."
Nakamura could barely manage a smile in response. Inside, however, he felt a fierce disorder, as if something long dormant had suddenly jolted awake.
"Well… you don’t look so bad yourself," he finally said. Hirose turned red immediately and gave him a couple of playful taps on the chest.
"Thank you very much," he replied somewhat shyly, leaning subtly toward Nakamura’s ear. "Tell me, how would you feel about stopping by my apartment when you get out of here? We could have a drink and catch up."
Nakamura accepted with a slight nod. Shortly after, Hirose said goodbye along with his companion and returned to the elevator. Nakamura looked down at his phone screen, where Hirose’s new number glowed, and could only cling to a single thought: if this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.
When the workday finally ended—a disastrous one, including an argument with his boss—everything seemed bearable for one reason: he was going to see Hirose that night. In another time, imagining he could even brush his hand would have felt like a dream. Now, he felt like anything could happen.
After buying a few cans of beer near his apartment, he took a taxi. Looking at his watch, he saw it was almost ten at night. He was dressed more casually: dark jeans, brown loafers, and a blue turtleneck sweater. Standing before Hirose’s building, he sent a message.
> Nakamura Okuto.
> Hi, I’m outside.
> Sent 09:54 p.m.
> Hirose Aiki.
> Hi! I’ll let you in right now.
> Sent 09:56 p.m.
A soft buzz indicated the door was open. Nakamura took a deep breath and silently encouraged himself as he climbed the stairs in search of apartment D-12. When he finally stood before the door, he took another breath and knocked softly, as if even the sound might betray him.
"Coming!" a voice called from inside. A few seconds later, the door opened and Nakamura froze. Hirose was wearing a loose white t-shirt, olive green Bermuda shorts, and was barefoot. His hair was damp, as if he had just stepped out of the shower. There was something so simple and intimate about this domestic image that, for a moment, Nakamura lost his breath. "Hey, come in," Hirose said, stepping aside.
"Excuse me," Nakamura murmured, trying to process the sight before him as he removed his shoes. "I brought some beers. I hope you like them."
"What a relief! I was just about to go out and buy some. I have some food to heat up; follow me."
Nakamura followed him in silence. He had always been taller than Hirose, but now the difference was even more pronounced. He also noticed how toned Hirose's legs were, as if he exercised frequently.
"This is my living room. Make yourself at home while I bring some onigiri I had left," Hirose said, looking a bit embarrassed, before jogging to the kitchen. The place wasn't decorated with great care, but it had a quiet warmth: small plants by the window, some family photos, and a minimal clutter that made it feel real, lived-in, his own.
"Here I am," Hirose announced upon returning. Nakamura startled as he saw him sit down right beside him.
Right next to me!? Relax. Don’t think about the scent of clean soap coming from his hair.
"What became of you all this time?" Nakamura asked as he opened the beer cans.
"Ugh, what can I tell you… I was in the countryside for a long time because my grandmother was very ill. She eventually recovered, though she’s still weak," Hirose shared, taking a sip. "Later, when I was about to start university, my family hit some financial trouble and I had to work part-time jobs. I nearly went crazy."
"It must have been very hard being so young," Nakamura replied. It hurt him to think that the person he had loved so much had gone through all that far away from him, in a place he could never reach.
"It’s still a bit hard. I couldn't find the time to study, but I work delivering packages and sometimes as a model," Hirose admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "I like what I do, but I would have preferred something more stable, like you."
After many anecdotes, soft laughter, and shared beers, they left a movie playing in the background that neither seemed to be truly watching. Despite the years, the closeness between them retained a disconcerting naturalness, as if they had never been apart. As the hours passed, Nakamura felt a light weight on his shoulder: it was Hirose, warmed by the alcohol and the trust between them.
"Mmm, Nakamuuura…"
"Tell me," he replied softly.
"Can I tell you a little secret?"
"I suppose."
"When I lived in the countryside… I used to love watching the sunset..."
"And?" Nakamura asked. Thinking Hirose had fallen asleep after that sudden silence, he turned slowly toward him. It was a mistake. A small but firm hand held his face with a determination that stopped his very breath.
"And I always remembered you. That school trip… when you asked me to be friends. But I didn't actually want to be your friend," he said, not breaking eye contact. "I was in love with you."
It was as if the alcohol had evaporated instantly. The silence that fell between them wasn't empty: it throbbed. On the outside they seemed still, almost serene; on the inside, however, their hearts were seventeen again.
"Are you playing a joke on me?" Nakamura asked, uncertain.
"No! I would never joke about something like that. I had a hard time admitting my sexuality and, even though I dated some girls in high school, I was only trying to keep people from judging me. I… I was afraid," Hirose confessed, trembling subtly at the memories of his adolescence. "But ten years have passed and now I’m free. It’s my life. I can be with whoever I want… right?"
With all the tenderness overflowing in his chest, Nakamura hugged him. It was a long, silent, deep hug; one of those hugs that seem to arrive late and, yet, find exactly their place. When he pulled back just enough to look at him, he kissed him.
At first, Hirose was surprised. But Nakamura whispered against his lips the only truth he had kept all those years:
"Not once, in all these years, did I stop thinking about you. And I could never fall in love with anyone else, because you were still occupying that untouched place in my heart."
That was enough for Hirose to cling to him.
Sometimes the answer one waits for takes years to arrive. But that night, both understood with a serene and definitive clarity that they never wanted to be apart again. No matter what.