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—SPRING.
White. There is nothing in the sky but white today. A disappointment for Yonoi, because he had counted on it to be pink today, but it seems he may have miscounted the days. The streets have not been covered by the cherry blossoms, for they seem to be comfortable up in the branches of the trees above. It is like any ordinary day in Tokyo, people in business suits and blazers with their phones stuck to their ears walking along the street, trying to get to their destinations.
Yonoi leans against the red light, and when it turns green, he turns his head. "Come," he says. "Let's go."
Next to him, Celliers merely uncrosses his legs. "Coming," he says. He takes his hands out of the pockets of his coats and walks, and in no time, he is already ahead of Yonoi. Celliers weaves through the crowd like water passing between rocks in a river.
When Yonoi has caught up with him, he is flabbergasted. How could Celliers outpace him? Yonoi is supposed to be the tour guide today, as Celliers had asked him. Correction—Celliers had arrived on his doorstep, his luggage on his feet when Yonoi opened the door. Hello, he had said.
You, Yonoi had said, once the shock had gone through his system. I thought you came home for good. Why did you come back?
You said something about cherry blossoms, Celliers had said, as though everything was normal. As though Yonoi had not missed him and had not wanted to scratch him when he saw him at his doorstep.
And yet, here Yonoi is, as Celliers had wanted. Celliers wanted to see cherry blossoms, so they took the train here. It is far from Yonoi's apartment, and yet, Celliers never complained, not even when he didn't get a seat on the journey here. On the train, he is the only man over one hundred and eighty, towering over the others, and yet no one bothered to pick him apart. As usual, Celliers could morph into anyone, everywhere, and yet a piece of him will always remain. A chameleon by heart.
"Britain isn't so different from Tokyo, you know," Celliers muses.
Yonoi does not know, of course. He has never gone to Britain. "How," he asks.
"For starters, we all walk bloody fast." That is true. Yonoi hasn't had to slow down ever since Celliers arrived. Not like when he had to support a drunken Hara on the way home, dragging him all the way in the alley until he passed Hara to a disapproving Lawrence. "We don't waste our time getting from one place to another."
"And the differences?"
Celliers points his fingers upright at the cherry blossoms. "This," he says, "is not the type of view you'd get in Britain. Though this is my first time, I would like to see this for eternity."
A great shock passes through Yonoi as he realises that this is Cellier's first time seeing the cherry blossoms. And then, more shame.
Yonoi stops in his tracks. "I have to apologise," he says.
"Why for?"
"They are not pink yet," Yonoi says, regretful. "Maybe in two or three days, they will be."
Celliers stops. He turns his head to look at Yonoi, a gaze that would be normal on any other people, but it has become intimidating with his different-coloured eyes.
"It is most beautiful when it's pink," Yonoi tries to explain again.
The explanation seems to satisfy Celliers, because he hums. He looks up, neck lengthening like an animal looking for prey in the trees. "Then we will simply come back tomorrow," he says, like he is very sure that will happen.
Somehow, the finality in which Celliers says that calms Yonoi down. Finally, he nods, and Celliers smiles.
"Good," Celliers says. He rests against the railings above the river. Under the sunlight, his hair is nearly as white as the cherry blossoms, like feathers of a swan that is calmly swimming in a lake. A graceful view.
"By the way, Yonoi," Celliers suddenly says. "You're supposed to be staring at the cherry blossoms, not me."
Like being doused by ice water, Yonoi comes to his senses again. He has opened his mouth to say something, but then he stops when he sees the slight bit of teeth in Cellier's smile. Celliers is teasing him, Yonoi realises. Yonoi has a suspicion that he will get that a lot. He turns his face away, trying to diminish the heat he gets whenever he talks to Yonoi.
"I see the flowers a lot of times," he says. "I rarely see you."
It is a feeble attempt to defend himself. Nonetheless, Celliers chuckles. "Don't worry," he says, turning to the cherry blossoms once more. "You will see a lot of me."
—SUMMER.
The heat is astoundingly unbearable. Colourful umbrellas pop around in the streets amongst bright billboards like options of a vending machine. The back of Yonoi's shirt is damp and a shade darker than his chest, and walking around feels sluggish, even though Akihabara has a lively atmosphere and is filled with families and couples buzzing and talking. In contrast, Yonoi wants nothing more than to sit and relax.
Hara, however, does not share the same sentiments with him. Unlike Yonoi, he is walking around quickly, similar to a child first being released into the wild. "Look!" he exclaims. "Look at all those!" He turns to Yonoi, and if Yonoi had not known how happy he is by now, seeing the wide smile on Hara's face will make him understand. "Yonoi, Yonoi, let's take pictures!"
"No," Yonoi says, eyes narrowed. He can hear Celliers chuckling behind him. Oh, so now he understands Japanese. "I don't want to. Find someone else."
Hara pouts. "You are too serious! You need to loosen up."
"I don't," is Yonoi's reply. He does not need to loosen up, especially when Celliers is ready to take note of everything Yonoi does. He will not let any impurity slip out of his cracks.
"I'll join you," says Lawrence all of a sudden. He's well dressed for the weather, wearing a baseball cap and an oversized dark shirt that hangs loose on his arms. Out of the four, he is the only one who looks pleasantly relaxed and enthused at the same time. "Do you want to go to take a picture with the cosplayers, Hara?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Let me finish my ice cream first," Lawrence says, and he licks down the remaining matcha on the cone in his hand. It is gone in an instant, the weather helping to melt down the ice cream. He bites the cone eagerly until it is no more than the size of a thumb. "Now, shall we?"
Hara grins. "I knew I could always count on you, Lawrence."
Hara's English has gotten marginally better since the first year of university in which they first met Lawrence and Celliers, yet he still calls Lawrence's name the same—Rorensu. It has become an inside joke between them, something that shows the camaraderie that had grown between the two men.
Or maybe even more, Yonoi thinks, as he sees Hara linking his arm with Lawrence's. They come up to one of the cosplayers, yet they do not make haste for it, as though they are mere tourists. They look happy.
"Why don't you want to take pictures with the cosplayers?" asks Celliers, coming up from behind him. He is close to Yonoi, the heat from his body adding to the sun from Yonoi's back, yet Yonoi does not mind.
Yonoi shakes his head. "Hara is…" he starts, searching for the right word. "He has eccentric tastes."
"And you have the straightest tastes possible," says Celliers. "One might be questioning why you two became friends in the first place."
A matter of convenience, Yonoi supposes. He had been assigned to a dorm thirty minutes away from campus, and when he entered his room, there Hara was, already claiming the top bunk. It escalated from there. "I question that every day, too," says Yonoi.
Celliers laughs, but he does not sound as dry as usual. Yonoi turns to look, and immediately he is filled with concern when he sees Celliers's pink face. "Are you alright?"
"Not very much, I'm afraid."
"Did you not wear sunblock like I told you?" Yonoi steps closer, bringing up his hand and touching the back of his palm to the pink on Celliers's cheek. He hears the hiss coming out between Celliers's teeth, leaving him perturbed. "You are extremely hot."
Yonoi does not miss the way the corners of Celliers's mouth quirk upwards. "I did not know you still think of me that way, Yonoi."
Yonoi takes his hand away from Celliers's skin, and this time, he is the one who feels hot all over. "Your temperature," he hisses, though the way Celliers so easily joked with him does not make him shrivel. How can a man be so endearing and yet so infuriating at the same time? Only Celliers can throw him off like that. "Your body feels very hot to the touch."
"I am freezing, actually," says Celliers. He is being sarcastic, the lies spilling out of his mouth as easy as the beads of sweat rolling down his temples.
"We must cool you down." Yonoi looks around, searching for any indoor store that might take in a heat-exhausted foreigner and his tired, concerned friend. They have just gotten out of the electronics district, and souvenir shops are now surrounding them. Their only option is—
"A maid cafe," Celliers says, leaning on Yonoi as they stop in front of what Cellier has so plainly stated. He is thinner yet as light as he looks, one arm slinging around Yonoi's shoulders, hand slipping inside Yonoi's hand.
"It is the only one indoors," says Yonoi. He drags Celliers inside, nodding at the hostess. She had enthused a lovely greeting, Welcome, Masters! until she laid eyes on Celliers and gasped. "Excuse me. My friend is sick. May we—"
"No, no, Yonoi," Celliers says, straightening his legs and handsomely smiling at the hostess. "We want to order one of your lovely performances, yes? I reckon that would cure me fast."
"Celliers," Yonoi protests, but Celliers is already waving him off. They are directed to the stools in front of a little stage, where Celliers hunches over as soon as he sits down. "Celliers, are you okay?"
"I will be," Celliers says. "Sweet ice tea, please."
"No. Water," Yonoi says, overriding his order to the maid. "Sweet ice tea will make you even more thirsty."
For once, Celliers shrugs. Does not protest Yonoi's order. He must have been really out of it, then.
Yonoi waits next to him, a growing worry starting to settle uncomfortably in his stomach. He has never felt like this for someone before. He watches Celliers closely, counting the laboured breaths he takes, the burnt-red skin on his cheeks, like a crustacean on a beach shore. Shame, Yonoi thinks. They will be painful to the touch.
"You have to start taking care of yourself, Celliers," says Yonoi instead. The worry in his mind is much too strong to bear. "You must tell me if you feel sick."
"I'm fine." A pause. "Well, I will be."
"You could have fainted in the middle of Akihabara."
"Good. I like the attention."
"Well, I don't," Yonoi snaps. "Not when you worry me."
Celliers does not reply to that. A flush of darkness washes over his face, on his expression. And then, instead of being repulsed, he smiles, a weird crooked grin that has become familiar to Yonoi.
"My, my, Yonoi," he says. "You are a—what do they say? A tsundere, aren't you?" He tilts his head. "You're worried about me?"
It is as though the heat exhaustion has zapped to Yonoi, and he looks away, embarrassed. Celliers always manages to take away every brick from the walls he has built around himself, baring his vulnerable soul to share. Yet Yonoi does not attempt to build more walls like he used to. Not to Celliers.
"Yes," he admits. Are you happy now, he wants to say.
A warm hand touches his wrist, and Yonoi returns his gaze to Cellier's face.
"Yonoi," Celliers says with a small smile, "I'm not going anywhere." He squeezes Yonoi's wrist, and pats him once, twice. "Now, stop bloody worrying, and let's just enjoy the performance by these lovely girls, shall we?"
Behind the stage, two maids have come bearing drinks with ice. Celliers does not take his hand away from Yonoi's, but he leans forward, his free hand coming up beneath his chin. In the middle of the performance, he frowns. "Do you think I'd look good in one of those costumes?" he asks.
"Celliers," Yonoi says again, but when he sees Cellier's cheeks returning to its normal pale colour, he cannot help but smile too. He shakes his head. This is Celliers at his most normal. Like he said, he will be fine.
—FALL.
For the life of him, Yonoi can not remember when he was last sick. It feels like a lifetime ago, lying on his ear on his mother's lap, suffering from the heat that has somehow been solidified in his body and sledgehammering his head.
He remembers his father's descending shouts. His mother's hushed whispers. A cool hand on his forehead, whispering that he needs to gain his strength soon, don't be sick, Yonoi, your parents can't go to work when you are sick. He remembers the immense guilt that comes whenever he is awake and watches his mother set the rice cooker into PORRIDGE and make miso soup. His father is watching him from the door, a roll of cigarette in his hand.
"And what about your dog?"
Yonoi blinks his eyes rapidly. The image of his father has dematerialised, shifting into an angelical extraterrestrial being, and morphs once again into a thin blonde man leaning against the shoji of Yonoi's apartment.
"Your dog, Yonoi," Celliers reminds him again. His voice is softer than usual. "You said you had a dog once."
"How did you know about my dog?"
"You were talking about him in your sleep," says Celliers. He crawls and arrives next to Yonoi, slipping his feet underneath the kotatsu. The back of his hand touches Yonoi's forehead, and Yonoi nearly sighs at the touch. "You're running a fever again."
Yonoi hums. Celliers's hand is a soothing coolness, and he almost lets out a forlorn sound when Celliers takes it away. Soon enough, Celliers's hand comes back again, though this time, it is with a spoon. "Say ah."
Yonoi does not want to. Shakes his head to show it. He is sick; his requests must be respected. "Please, Yonoi," Celliers says with a sigh. "It breaks my heart seeing you like this, you know."
No, Yonoi does not know this. Again, Celliers opens his mind to the unknown. And then Yonoi thinks, please don't let me ever be the one who breaks your heart. He can not bear the thought. He opens his mouth and musters enough strength to bring his mouth around the spoon, drinking down the dark liquid with a wince.
"Thank you," Celliers says with a smile, putting down the spoon on the tray with a clank. He brushes back the sticky hairs on Yonoi's forehead. "You'll probably be asleep in ten or five minutes after drinking that medicine."
"What medicine?"
"The one in your cabinet."
"That is for diarrhoea."
"That's the green one. I gave you the red one."
"Ah," Yonoi says, surprised. "I thought you misread it."
Celliers shakes his head. "I've returned to Japan for seven months already," he says. "What kind of gaijin would I be if I couldn't read kanji by now?"
That is right. "Why did you return here in the first place?"
He had not meant to ask that now. For months Yonoi had been content with the thought of Celliers going back to Britain and never returning again. For months they had returned to their rituals without Yonoi ever asking Celliers or Celliers explaining to Yonoi.
It is not as though Yonoi had not tried to ask Celliers about it, too. When he does drop the question, Celliers has always trickily submerged that question and brought forth another conversation topic to the surface.
He is prepared to have a similar thing happen today too, but perhaps Celliers has finally relented because finally, he sighs.
"My brother," he says. "It was his wedding a few months back. I haven't seen him in a while, so I came back for him, trying to mend our relationship. I was so sure I wouldn't come back again, so that's why I left you with such a tearful goodbye."
Yonoi remembers Celliers's goodbye. It was not tearful, in fact, Yonoi was so angry afterwards that Hara had to drag him to the bar. Lawrence had come after Hara called him, and he had answered as Yonoi expected from him: No, Yonoi. I'm sorry. I don't know why Jack left. What did he tell you before he left?
I am going back, Celliers had said in the morning. Where to? Home. When will you come back? I don't know. So, you are leaving me. Silence. Is it because of what I said last night? Silence again. Shame, we have not seen the cherry blossoms together yet.
"No," Yonoi croaks. "Tell me about the other thing."
"Which thing, Yonoi?"
Yonoi ducks his head. "You haven't told me why you left me after I told you I love you."
For once, he is glad for the fever. It gives him a shield, he supposes. Celliers could not run away again from him, for he was an honourable man, and Yonoi has begun to trust him again.
"I am," Celliers starts with an inhale, "deeply, very sorry about that." He swallows. "I was—afraid, I suppose."
"Afraid," Yonoi repeats. "Why?"
"I wasn't sure what to say," says Celliers. "I wasn't sure how I felt, even. It was easier for me to run away. A coward's way, I know."
"No," Yonoi says. He is starting to understand, somehow. Even a man like Celliers can be afraid. Such is the proof that he is human, just like Yonoi. "You are the most brave man I've ever known."
Celliers smiles. "And you are the most sentimental man I've ever known." He touches the back of his hand to Yonoi's forehead again, and his smile morphs into a focused frown. "I don't think your fever is settling down."
Yonoi shrugs. "Maybe it will come down after I tell you about my dog."
"Alright," Celliers says, bringing his hand to his lap. "Tell me about your dog."
Yonoi closes his eyes, conjuring another memory. "Kiyomi. She was an Akita," he starts. "Like Hachiko."
"I know that one. It was a depressing movie."
"She was not depressing. She was the happiest dog in the world. When she was little, I used to play with her all the time. She was my first best friend. One day, she grew big enough to start guarding the house. My father told her to stay put in front. She always barked at everyone who came near. My neighbour…" Yonoi swallows, trying to hold back the lump that has lodged in his throat. "My neighbour hated her barking. Said it was too noisy. Always taunted us that he was going to poison her if she didn't stop barking, but we never listened to him."
Celliers's hand has started making circular motions on Yonoi's back. Yonoi lets him. "One morning, we woke up and she was lying there, on the ground. I rubbed her stomach, trying to get her to wake up, and she was—she was—"
Celliers wraps his arms around him, and Yonoi lets go. He sighs onto Cellier's arms, his head ducked down as Celliers shushes him. "I shouldn't have asked," he says, voice low.
Yonoi shakes his head. "You know a part of my life now," he says. So, please do not take it away. He curls his fingers on Celliers's arms around him. "Please. Stay."
Celliers tightens his holds on him. "I won't leave you," he says. "This time, I won't. I promise." He presses his lips below Yonoi's ears, down to his neck, and then he rests his chin on Yonoi's shoulders.
And perhaps Yonoi is being wishful, being stupid angry again, but anything is better than how he felt a year ago, broken hearted and looking at the door, waiting for Celliers to come back. For now, Celliers is here, and he is with Yonoi, and that cools his feverish heart.
—CHRISTMAS.
White. It is white everywhere except for a few things: the dark sky, the leaves on the lower branches of the trees, and people in colorful coats walking around in the park. The snow is rarely this heavy in Tokyo, and so Yonoi finds himself in awe as he looks around from the bench. It is a beautiful day to be alive.
"You know," Celliers suddenly says, "I rather like your hair like this."
Yonoi blinks, his beanie frozen in the middle of the air and not just from the freezing cold. "Like this?" he asks, pointing into his disarrayed hair, having just taken off the beanie. He feels very messy, like a little boy who does not know how to layer.
"Mmhm," Celliers says with a grin. He takes the beanie from Yonoi's arms and pits it under his arm. "Much better than that awful buzzcut. No offense, Hara."
"None taken," Hara says. He has been sitting next to them for a long time. The cigarette in his hand has lost a quarter of its body already from burning so long. "As long as Lawrence likes it, my hair will stay like this." Rorensu, he still pronounces it, with the fondest tone in the end.
"I very much do," Lawrence says, wrapping an arm around Hara's shoulders and pretending to make a mess out of Hara's buzz cut. "Shut up and worry about your own boyfriend, Jack."
"Fine," Celliers shrugs. "Yonoi, don't ever cut your hair into a buzzcut."
"Okay," Yonoi agrees.
"Smitten," Hara says in Japanese, taking a drag from his cigarette while Lawrence laughs.
"I am bored," Celliers announces, standing up. "Walk with me, Yonoi."
They walk, leaving the area where the crowd is centered at and to the part where the trees are located. As soon as they are out of Lawrence and Hara's sight, Celliers curls his hand around Yonoi's arm. Yonoi hides his smile—Celliers loves to have skinship between them, and Yonoi is grateful for that. Adds warmth, too.
"I know he is your best mate, but if I hadn't met you, and Hara hadn't met Lawrence, I reckon I'd go for Hara," Celliers says dryly.
"He is very entertaining," Yonoi agrees.
"He has a funny face and a funny personality, that man." Celliers steers him in front of the largest Christmas tree. There is another crowd in front, and Yonoi frowns. But then, Celliers kept going, and they are now walking along a new path. At the end is a smaller tree, not as big and not as crowded as the others, but it is somehow the most beautiful one Yonoi has laid his eyes upon, with bright lights encircling its stem. Celliers stops, and he turns to Yonoi. He is smiling.
"Why are you smiling?" Yonoi asks.
Celliers comes closer. "You took me to see the cherry blossoms," he says. "And now, I am taking you to see the snow."
It is a simple concept, yet the earnestness and passion in Celliers's tone makes it up. Yonoi puts his hands inside Celliers's cold, freezing ones—again, he did not want to put on gloves when Yonoi nagged him to—and squeezes them. "Thank you," he says. "This is beautiful."
"No, Yonoi," says Celliers, shaking his head. He slips his fingers between Yonoi's, pulling him closer. "Thank you. You have waited for me. So now, please… forgive me. If you are willing, please accept me." He looks down at their joint fingers. "But I understand, of course, if you don't. I don't want to hurt you again."
"Celliers," Yonoi says. How can a man be so intelligent yet so gullible at the same time? Again, only Celliers can. "I have forgiven you for a very long, long time." He brings Cellier's hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the knuckles. And then, more sure: "I love you."
Celliers lets out a relieved sigh. "I've been scared for a long time, but I think I'm ready now." He puts his hands around Yonoi's cheeks, moving his thumb on Yonoi's cheekbones as he touches their foreheads together. "I love you," he says. "It is—terrifying me, but I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."
He presses his mouth to Yonoi's, and Yonoi opens his mouth to him, and so does his whole soul. Their lips touch, like pathways to their souls, linking together into one. When Celliers pulls away, his smile is bright and warm.
"Before I forgot," Celliers says, "merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Jack," Yonoi says. It is equivalent to I love you, and he feels content.