The Piano Man (Iwaoi)

Chapter 23

        The most ironic part of the whole thing was that they used Wakatoshi Ushijima's car to get to Kyoto, where Tooru's parents lived. Hajime had asked him to borrow it for his day off without giving a reason and Wakatoshi, who without hesitation would trust Hajime with his life, allowed him to without asking for one. Tooru had laughed dryly when he'd imagined what Wakatoshi's reaction would have been. Giving Hajime his car so that he could drive Tooru to his parents' house, a car that they had driven in together, kissed in, fucked in. He hadn't laughed because it was funny. He had just laughed at the sheer irony of it all, and he'd laughed in hatred of himself.

        Tooru felt both comfortable and terribly uneasy sitting in the passenger seat of Wakatoshi's car while Hajime drove. The car was familiar, at the very least there was that. Tooru's body fit perfectly into the car seat, molded and scooped out specifically for him after all the times he'd sat there. Petty, rude, absolutely horrible to his earnest, tactless driver. After his conversation with Michiko, he'd started have strange recurring nightmares. Like the one where Hajime comes to see him, and then disappears, telling Tooru that he'll spill his own blood for him. He also had nightmares about Wakatoshi, prostrating himself, kissing Tooru's feet while Tooru kicked him down into an abyss of unrequited love and unapologetic exploitation. Usually there were monsters down in that abyss, and Tooru was forced to watch as they devoured Wakatoshi. Tore him limb from limb, ripped the skin from his body until he was unrecognizable.

        The only reasonable conclusion Tooru had been able to come to was that he missed Wakatoshi. More than a lover, he'd been a really good friend. Tooru had to keep reminding himself that surely, surely he didn't miss Wakatoshi because of Wakatoshi; he missed Wakatoshi because he had given Tooru something comfortable, easy, given him something he could latch onto, and now that was gone. It had been gone for months. So it was strange that Tooru was still tossing and turning at night, seeing Wakatoshi's broken face as he held out a ring that Tooru would never wear.

        Now, in his car for almost six hours, he could smell Wakatoshi, could feel him so strongly that he might as well have been in the car with them. Sitting between them, maybe trying to pry their fingers apart. Tooru wanted to see Wakatoshi. Whether it was from guilt, selfishness, a genuine desire to see him again, he wasn't actually sure. But he was thinking of Wakatoshi and he wanted to see him and apologize again. He wanted to say that he wanted to stay friends—because, Ushiwaka, you're such a good, good friend. But he figured Wakatoshi wouldn't want to hear that. Because he'd already admitted that he would love Tooru for the rest of his life, and you couldn't really be friends with someone you love so passionately. Tooru had already tried.

        "Your hand is sweating," Hajime observed. One hand on the steering wheel, while the other absentmindedly held Tooru's hand.

        "It's hot."

        Hajime threw a cursory glance to the passenger seat, but only for a moment before directing his gaze back to the road.

        "How are you feeling?"

        "I'm...fine. I feel a fever coming on."

        He was exceptionally tired—one of those days where the same beast that distorted his fingers and took piano away from him made him so absurdly fatigued.

        "We'll try not to stay long. Just take it easy."

        Tooru nodded, but now that he was reading the signs on the road that directed them to Kyoto, he started to feel queasy. He was thinking of how amazing it felt that Hajime was coming with them—in fact, he had absolutely refused to let Tooru come by himself, and having that support from the one person he wanted it from was a feeling of ecstasy that rivaled the most intense orgasm. But he was also thinking of the way Wakatoshi never talked to him anymore. And, the worst of all, he was thinking about his father. He'd been able to feel nothing but blinding, painful red rage toward his father since the day he saw Hajime, and cold disappointment with his mother. An explanation, he admitted to himself, would help him. Encourage him to move on and forgive, maybe. But, knowing himself, Tooru was not going to forgive anybody.