Chapter Text
That was the longest 3 hours and 57 minutes of my life.
After the additional 6 minutes accrued from scoping out parking in downtown Kyoto, Hanamaki Takahiro was sure he would die in this Honda.
“Takahiro, are you still asleep back there?” his mother’s voice seemed overly desperate for his affirmative response, making Hanamaki’s jaw clench.
“No,” he grumbled.
“Good, then out of the car we go.” His father didn’t wait for anyone’s response. He was already two meters away stretching out his arms by the time Hanamaki could unclick his seatbelt.
Hanamaki tried not to see his mother wipe the tears off of her face. He knew she didn’t want him to see it either, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d cried the whole car ride anyway.
“Alright, my college boy,” she turned back at him and smiled, the thin lines creasing around her steel gray eyes, “off we go!”
After suppressing a roll of his eyes, Hanamaki shoved the car door open with his entire body weight.
His mother got out of the car slowly, but her demeanor changed when she saw her husband approaching the nearby crosswalk.
She nearly sprinted to catch up with him. “Masaki, wait! Where are you going?”
“To the administrative building. I want to see exactly where all this money I’m spending is going toward.” He didn’t bother turning around.
“Don’t you want to help your son move into his new home?” her voice waivered near the end.
“Takahiro-kun,” Masaki looked over his shoulder, “Can you handle moving three suitcases by yourself.”
Hanamaki jammed his hands into his pants. “It might be quite the imposition, dear father.”
“You see that,” He turned to his wife, “he’s still a smartass, he’ll manage without me. Besides, Yuka, you’ll be there to micromanage everything as usual.”
Yuka gawked. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Before he could answer, Masaki’s phone rang. He answered it without hesitation, crossing the street as he did. He didn’t seem to mind the three almost accidents he nearly caused.
“Masaki! Just, unbelievable! Can you believe this Takahiro?” Hanamaki opened his mouth comically wide to answer her even though he knew his mother didn’t want him to. “He’s missing out on your big day! He doesn’t care that our baby boy is moving halfway across the country to start his new life! You know what, I’m going after him. Masaki!”
She didn’t bother looking for cars as she dashed after her husband; luckily traffic was held up in the nearby intersection. Once Hanamaki saw that she caught up to his father he leaned back against the driver’s side door, eyeing the keys in the ignition.
He made eye contact with his reflection in the side mirror. “It’s only three hours from home if we speed, what do you say?”
The reflection had the same smirk, but Hanamaki didn’t like the look he saw in its eyes. He sighed, pushing himself off the door and opening it, taking the keys out of the ignition to unlock the trunk
One of the bags was a duffel, so he could sling that over his shoulder to free his hands for the other two. All of the bags were way too heavy, overstuffed with far too many articles of clothing, in Hanamaki’s opinion. He tried to reason with his mother weeks ago as she shoved yet another rolled up sweater into the mix, but to no avail. Now he regretted letting that fight go.
He tottered across the street while keeping the rolling bags level to the best of his ability. It wasn’t until he made it to the middle of the main campus quad that he realized he had no idea where he was going.
A bright voice rang out from behind him. “Are you lost?”
Hanamaki turned to see a tiny, spritely girl with large brown eyes staring up at him. She was cute; she almost looked like the girl in those new skincare ads. And she was definitely sizing Hanamaki up.
“What gave me away, the blank stare or the truck load of possession I’m lugging?”
She laughed a little too hard. “Both. Which residence hall are you in?”
“Hashimoto.”
“Oh?” Her voice picked up another couple of notches. “I’m in Ginryuu! Hashimoto is our brother dorm
“What a lucky coincidence!” Hanamaki hoped the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t too obvious.
“I know!” Apparently it wasn’t. “Well, I can take you over there if you want, where are your parents?”
“They’re doing some office stuff right now, I told them to just call me when they were done.” Lying about his parents was second nature by now.
She scrunched her eyebrows together. “Oh, okay, well at least let me help with one of your bags.”
“Hey—be careful, they’re hea—“ she grabbed one of the handles and pulled, and the unexpected weight nearly jerked her backwards.
“Oh my god,” her voice dropped a little lower, losing its extra feminine edge, “what’s in these, cement bricks?”
Hanamaki had to laugh. “You’d think so, but my mother is just very cautious about winter.”
“I’ll say,” she gritted her teeth and pulled the bag behind her with both hands.
Luckily, Hashimoto Hall wasn’t too far of a haul. Check-in with the resident advisor upon arrival revealed that Hanamaki’s room was on the first floor, so no stairs were necessary.
Hanamaki took back his bag from the now exhausted girl beside him. “Thanks for the help.”
“No problem,” she got the phrase out between pants. She flipped her hair, doubling her renewed feminine charm. “I’m Mizudera Natsue, by the way.”
“Hanamaki Takahiro.”
“Well, you go get settled in.” She lightly skipped through the threshold back into the sunlight and flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Hanamaki-kun!”
Once she was fully out of sight, Hanamaki chuckled bitterly to himself.
She’s adorable. Too bad I’m gayer than Lance Bass.
The walk to the dorm room was embarrassingly tiring given the extra weight, and once Hanamaki opened the door he shed the bags dramatically onto the floor. Inside the room was pretty typical: two twin beds flanked with simple desks and wardrobes on each side, almost identical except for the doorway to the suite bathroom on the right side. Neither bed seemed to be claimed. Hanamaki nudged his duffel bag to the left enough to mark his territory and flopped face first onto the plastic covered mattress.
“Not going to bother with making your bed, Takahiro-kun?”
Hanamaki didn’t have to look up to know his father was standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a disapproving scowl.
“Eh, if I never put the sheets on I don’t have to take them off in ten months,” he mumbled into the mattress.
“Could you be serious for once?”
Hanamaki rolled on to his back and propped himself up on his elbows. “Who called you earlier?”
Masaki rolled his eyes. “The office.”
“Who from the office? Was it Rena?”
“Considering Tsuji-kun is my partner, yes, she called.”
“Partner? Wow, it’s pretty bold to announce it so casually like that.”
“Takahiro,” Masaki’s voice had dropped to an uncharacteristically low octave, “you need to watch your tone.”
Hanamaki let out a laugh. “Oh? My tone? That’s what the issue is, not the accusation?”
The dorm room suddenly felt ten times smaller as two of them locked eyes, refusing to break away or disturb the silence. This wasn’t the first time Hanamaki had alluded to his father’s unusually close relationship with his business partner, and every time his father didn’t give him an answer either way.
“Masaki!” his mother’s call caused both men to jump. She sounded out of breath, and when she finally entered the doorway it was obvious she’d just been running. “I told you to wait for me while I was in the bathroom!”
Masaki reached out and rested his hand on his wife’s back. “I’m sorry, Yuka, I wanted to make sure Takahiro-kun made his way to the dorms instead of boarding the next train to Tokyo.”
“Ah, but you see, father, I can always wait for you and mom to leave before making my grand escape to Harajuku.”
Yuka seemed to consider his statement for a brief moment before her gaze hardened on Hanamaki. “Takahiro, are you even going to bother making your bed?”
Hanamaki smiled in spite of himself. Sometimes it was easy to see how his parents were meant to be together in the grand cosmic sense of things. They were both particular, traditional, no nonsense individuals burdened with an eccentric, nonsensical son. They even have the same wrinkle between their brows from scrutinizing Hanamaki’s schemes: another identical mark to forever bind them together.
“I’m liking the feel of this university-issued vinyl casing, so I might just forgo the sheets altogether.”
His mother and father sighed in unison. “Masaki, do something with your son.”
Masaki stretched out his arm, pushing up a sleeve to check his watch. “Well, it looks like I only have time for a light scolding.” He glared at his son from over his glasses. “You’re in college now. Try to take things seriously and grow up some.”
Hanamaki leapt off the bed and raised his arm in a salute. “Aye, aye, sir!”
Masaki shook his head and turned out of the room. “Yuka, I’ll be waiting in the car for you to finish your goodbyes.”
Before Yuka could interject or Masaki could fully exit, Hanamaki yelled out. “Be sure to say bye to Rena for me!”
Masaki only slightly faltered in his step, never breaking stride as he left the room. Hanamaki winced as he looked toward his mother who smiled at him seemingly unfazed.
“Takahiro,” she reached out and stroked the side of his face, “my baby boy, starting college, off on his own.”
“Mom, I wouldn’t put it past dad to leave you behind if you take too long.”
Her smile remained as she turned her face away, though her expression turned slightly bitter. “He is always in hurry isn’t he?”
When she looked back at Hanamaki, Yuka’s smile had vanished completely. Her eyes welled up with tears, and they seemed to be pleading with him. “Are you going to miss home at all?”
Hanamaki grabbed his mom and pulled her into a hug, mostly because he couldn’t stand looking at her like this. “Of course I will.” He let go of her and leaned back, relieved to see the eagerness had left from his mother’s eyes. “You underestimate my capacity for compassion.”
Yuka chuckled bitterly, raising her eyebrows in skepticism. “Well, like you said, your father would probably leave me behind if I stay too long, so I’m going to head out.”
She smoothed out her blazer before starting out the door. She hesitated slightly and turned back. “Please call.”
Hanamaki rolled his eyes. “I will call,” he groaned.
His mother smiled at him one last time before she walked away. Hanamaki waited until he couldn’t hear the clacking of running in high heels anymore before shutting the door to the hall.
Finally, finally, Hanamaki didn’t have to spend every waking minute trying to exist within the pretense of normalcy his mother needed to survive. He’d always been cheeky, but the last month after graduating high school pushed him to his limit.
Masaki allegedly had a business trip the first week of March and couldn’t be there for the family celebration Yuka spent months planning. Yuka couldn’t make it to pick up the catering equipment she wanted to rent for the party, so she sent Hanamaki to pick it up. Conveniently, the caterers were located down the street from Hanamaki’s high school boyfriend, Yamazaki, so before heading back home the two of them met up for a final hook up before starting college.
It was on the way back that Hanamaki saw them. Yamazaki lived not only by the caterers but also by the apartment complex where Masaki’s business partner lived. It must have slipped Masaki’s mind that his son’s “friend” lived in the house up the hill from Rena’s place. At least, that’s what the shock on his face suggested when he saw his son post-car make out session. That was the only time Hanamaki’s father ever looked small to him. There was a brief moment where the power balance shifted dramatically between them; Hanamaki had the power to destroy his father’s life.
But of course, he didn’t. Hanamaki couldn’t hurt his mother like that, and when Masaki “returned” from the business trip, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the safety of his marriage. He sauntered in the house, proclaimed he was too tired for dinner, and retreated to the bedroom as if nothing had changed.
Maybe nothing did change. It was no secret to Hanamaki that his parents didn’t have the best relationship, despite the fact they were supposedly soulmates. The last time Hanamaki remembered his father telling his mom that he loved her was one morning before school in the second grade. His mother stopped saying it sometime during middle school.
Masaki and Yuka weren’t the most verbally affectionate people, but they didn’t look at each other the way other kids’ parents did. They didn’t look at each other the way Masaki looked at Rena in the apartment complex parking lot.
Hanamaki’s last month at home was a tense war with repressed aggression, but now it was finally over. Hanamaki was free from worrying about his mother or being trapped in a room with his father. He could do whatever he wanted with no consequences for anyone but himself.
That’s not to say Hanamaki wouldn’t miss anything from back home. The beach was a lot closer than it is now and he’d miss his old friends from high school, especially his teammates from the swim club. Especially Yamazaki. The two of them weren’t really serious or anything, Yamazaki was just seriously hot. Backstroke was definitely good to him.
Hanamaki shook the thought out of his head. Now was no time to think about his ex-boyfriend’s muscles. His new roommate could walk in at any minute and stumbling upon him jacking off would be kind of a bad first impression.
He started unpacking, but only the essentials. His clothes could stay in the suitcases until he wore them. Why bother putting everything in the wardrobe now just to take them back out again over time?
Instead he unloaded his laptop, his stereo and speakers, along with the stack of memorabilia CDs. All the greats: XTC, the soundtracks to Howl’s Moving Castle and Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (along with half of David Bowie’s entire discography), and the first CD he’d ever burned, full of a bunch of popular American songs at the time as well as 80s hits.
And he did end up making his bed—but just so his roommate wouldn’t think he was a weirdo with a vinyl fetish.
In all fairness, he could have a vinyl fetish, ooh, or a scat-play kink.
Hanamaki grimaced. Maybe he should stop watching so much porn.
The last item in his bag was the miniature disco ball he won at the arcade a few days before. His side of the room didn’t look too different from before, just as if a very tidy drifter with decent access to technology decided to crash there for a few days.
Now, what was a drifter to do with his newfound solitude? He could be responsible and set up the wi-fi on his laptop along with his school email account, maybe walk around campus and see where his classes are, meet some other students, etc.
Lol, yeah right.
There was allegedly a pool on campus, but “on campus” really meant three city blocks away, i.e. way too far. Plus he ran the risk of running into a tall, dark-haired boy with sleepy eyes whose resemblance to Yamazaki would set off a Pavlovian response in his speedo. And he’d never mastered the rudder technique.
Pavlov’s dog already seemed at attention within his sweatpants anyway.
Damn, three weeks without getting laid and I’m already this eager?
It seemed the masturbation evasion plan was shot; it was time for plan B. The bathroom was always relatively safe at home; maybe it could serve as a safe haven at Imadegawa Uni. Hanamaki grabbed his shower caddy—the Ziploc bag his mother packed his shampoo and soap in—with a towel and dashed into the bathroom.
It looked like his suitemates hadn’t had a chance to get in there yet; there was no shower curtain or toilet paper on the roll. Just perfect.
Hanamaki locked the door back to his room and to the adjoining dorm before setting up camp. He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and opened the radio app. It was always good to have extra cover noise.
His clothes hit the floor with an effortless quickness acquired over years of stripping down for swim practice. He turned the water on and gave it a few seconds to heat up before stepping inside.
Maybe it was the additional perversion of the setting combined with the anticipation of a possibly grueling dry spell, but Hanamaki found himself coming before the first song ended. He toed the embarrassing evidence along the tiled shower floor and down the drain. Now that business had been taken care of, he could really enjoy himself.
Hanamaki loved showers. There was something about the steam-filled room, the complete muscle relaxation, and the potential for complete dissociation that could keep him holed up for the better part of an hour. And now that he had an accompanying soundtrack, who knew how long he could be in there. Hopefully none of his suitemates would show up in desperate need to pee any time soon.
He was just about to call it quits when it came on—that old Katy Perry song Hanamaki couldn’t help singing along to even though he’d never kissed a girl and would most definitely not like it if he ever did.
He shut off the water and began drying himself off in time with the song, lifting his voice to the highest register possible, mimicking the syllables of the English in the verses before belting out the chorus he’d embarrassingly memorized.
He wrapped the towel loosely around his waist and scooped his clothes up off the floor, plopping his phone on top of the pile. He closed the app, but continued the song on his own as he danced back into his room and over to his bed.
Hanamaki nearly unsheathed himself from the towel before he saw the new suitcase sitting to the right of the door. His voice stopped completely in his throat. His head spun around, the lingering drops of water flying off the tips of his hair.
“Oh please, don’t stop on my account.”
The mellow tenor voice didn’t quite match the hulking figure sprawled across the second twin bed. And it definitely didn’t match those eyebrows.
But Hanamaki couldn’t show weakness now, even if he was caught in this vulnerable position: butt-naked save for a towel, his horrible Katy Perry impression out in the open. That was a level-three friendship sort of thing.
“Please, buy me dinner first,” Hanamaki scoffed, thankful for years of experience in parentally induced improvisation.
The boy on the bed cocked one of his impressive brows. “But Ms. Perry, we just want you to finish the song.”
Hanamaki had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling. “As a platinum status recording artist, I require at least meager compensation. Far beyond your reach, college boy.” He mimed flipping long, neon blue hair for emphasis.
“Oh, shit!” the boy on the bed crumbled into laughter, and Hanamaki noted that it was a very nice laugh. “Am I rooming with a theater major or something?”
Hanamaki finally allowed his poker face to dissolve. “Nah, man, accounting.”
“Ew, seriously? Are you gonna be one of those boring fucks who studies all the time?”
“Yep, but I’ll do it mostly naked while impersonating American pop stars.”
The boy made a face, something between a grimace and a smile. Hanamaki didn’t give himself enough time to decipher it—he didn’t want to get caught staring.
“Alright, that’s cool with me.” He rose off the bed. Damn, he was tall. And broad. “I’m Matsukawa.”
Hanamaki extended his hand. “Hanamaki Takahiro”
“Damn, first and last name?” Matsukawa took Hanamaki’s hand between both of his, bowing slightly. “How professional.”
“Comes with the territory,” Hanamaki mumbled off-handedly, trying not to marvel at the size of the hands surrounding his. He was definitely staring now. “What’s your major?”
“Film.”
He’s not letting go of my hand, oh god.
“Should I expect a bad smoking habit and horrible movie nights once a week?’
Matsukawa didn’t miss a beat. “The smoking is scheduled for next year and I’m gonna make you watch Pulp Fiction so many times you’ll start to believe you’re John Travolta.” He brandished the statement with a lopsided smirk.
Oh no.
“Uma Thurman or no dice.”
“You’ve already seen it?” Matsukawa let go of Hanamaki’s hands to place his own over his chest. “Be still my heart, Makki.”
Makki. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I’ve seen a gifset, Mattsun.”
Matsukawa laughed—it was such a nice laugh—and nodded to himself. “Well played, Makki. You’re cool, bro, this year is gonna be awesome.”
-Gay guys say ‘bro,’ it’s okay. -We don’t know for sure he’s not straight, though. -He could be bi too, don’t forget.
Hanamaki couldn’t be certain what his response was—he just knew it made Matuskawa chuckle and turn back to his bed to give him some privacy. Which was great considering the growing problem taking shape under his bath towel.
He turned to face the opposite corner of the room, peeling the towel off delicately over his half hard-on. Why did this guy have to be so tall, and so broad, with the messy dark hair and the sleepy eyes? It’s like some evil seduction scientist created the ultimate weapon to combat Hanamaki’s self-restraint.
Hanamaki glanced back as inconspicuously as he could. Matsukawa had returned his attention to his laptop, reclined back against the wall and absent-mindedly chewing on his bottom lip. Hanamaki barely suppressed a full-body shudder.
Matsukawa glanced up, his eyes locking with Hanamaki’s. “Oh, yo, bro?”
Hanamaki nearly jumped out of his skin. He kept his body facing the opposite direction of the hot roommate. “Yeah, man?”
“I meant to tell you earlier, but I was thrown off by the concert. My parents are swinging by later to drop off some more stuff for the room, like a fridge and a tv—is that cool?”
Hanamaki turned his head to assess the room the best he could without revealing himself. “Will it fit in here? Space is pretty tight.”
Matsukawa laughed again, and this time he sounded a little embarrassed. “Um, yeah it’ll fit. We measured stuff while you were competing for the ‘World’s Longest Shower’ title. But, uh, that’s not a problem right? That my parents are buying more stuff for the room?”
“No, no, that’s fine. The world’s longest shower comment, however…”
“Oh, get over it, Ms. Perry, don’t turn into Cher on me.” He finished the sentence with a chuckle and a mischievous grin that sent chills down Hanamaki’s spine.
Oh, shit, he’s perfect.
Hanamaki took a deep breath and desperately wished he could return to the bathroom without raising suspicion.
Instead, he settled for a mantra.
I will not fuck my roommate.