August 10, 2022
“We have arrived, sir.”
Hokuto’s eyes flew open and for a moment, he was trapped – crushed under the weight of the earth, left gasping for air. His heart thrashed like a cornered canary and blood rushed to his ears. Where the fuck was he?
Mentor. Side gig. Tutor. Rich family. Oh, right.
The pieces flashed in Hokuto’s mind in rapid succession, forming a story that had started weeks ago. He wasn't in danger, he had just fallen asleep in the back of a Mercedes, atop gleaming leather seats that appeared untouched. As if this Mercedes had been rolled out specifically for his journey. The driver opened the back door with little warning, jolting out the last bits of drowsiness from Hokuto.
So, he had arrived at the home of the Watanabe family.
“Thank you…” Hokuto trailed off, hoping the driver would fill in the burgeoning silence with his name. No such response came. He disguised his embarrassment with a cough and filed past. The driver wasted no time speeding away, but Hokuto barely noticed. He was too busy picking his (metaphorical) jaw up off the driveway.
His mentor had, of course, warned him of the Watanabes’ opulent lifestyle, forged by generations of family wealth that had only multiplied over the decades. Some said they possessed the Midas touch. Hokuto just assumed they were like all successful businessmen – shrewd, opportunistic, and willing to build their empire on the blood of the working class.
Their family home was living proof of it. Past the grand veranda, Hokuto could see acres of artfully landscaped lawns, manicured hedges, and fountains of marble. Trees that must have been centuries old yet too picturesque to have simply been incidentally there framed the property. The home itself was an architectural dream, all rustic pillars, romantic arches, and vintage stone. Fall leaves swirled in the driveway, left to the mercies of the gentle afternoon breeze. Hokuto took a deep breath, marveling at the quality of the air out here. His mentor had been right – the city had stifled him, he couldn’t breathe there anymore. He had to get away. Now, here he was. This was his away.
Hokuto took in the scene before him one last time before tearing his eyes away from the grandeur of it all, lest he be caught ogling in the fancy high-tech security system he could vaguely make out on closer inspection. His mentor had lauded him to the Watanabes as an academic, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.
After ringing the bell – a surprisingly normal bell, he had half expected a live orchestra to announce his arrival – he was greeted by a woman, standing just past his shoulders, an inquisitive smile on her face.
The words Hokuto had prepared died on his lips – okay, he really had expected a butler to open the door.
“Good afternoon, you must be Mr. Matsumura,” her smile reached her eyes, Hokuto noted, she was the continuation of the autumn sunshine he had just witnessed outside. “I am Mina Watanabe. Please come in.”
He followed after her, his words may have withered away but hers flowed from her with ease, “I believe you spoke to mother about the arrangement with Ren. It is so nice to meet you, I have been hearing about you for weeks! You are all she can talk about. Your brilliant dissertations, articles, even poetry!”
She stopped abruptly and turned to face him, mirth flitting across her gentle features. Hokuto noticed she appeared around his age, early thirties, and was even more beautiful than he had originally thought. Dark hair, falling in soft waves, framed her warm eyes, her golden skin. “I barely know you and yet you are already like the older, more beloved brother I never had.”
“I’m… Sorry.” He whispered, not sure of what else to say.
She laughed in return, “No, don’t apologize. I am glad mother has found someone to adore half as much as Ren, you know.”
Mother – Sayuri Watanabe. She was the catalyst to all this, Hokuto supposed. An old friend of his mentor, she had been struggling to find the right tutor for her grandson. Emphasis on the right. A fastidious, downright unpleasant heiress, she had left more than one academic in tears after the first interview. They were all too slow, too clever, too quiet, too loud, too nosy, too aloof, too short, too tall for her. His mentor had finally suggested Hokuto take on the challenge and while every fiber of his being wanted to decline, he could not just turn down the woman he respected so much.
So, he met the surly, ill-tempered Sayuri Watanabe and she hired him that very day. In the following weeks, several letters would arrive from her daily, containing her fleeting thoughts, observations, and once, an arithmetic equation she wanted taught to her grandson, scribbled on a napkin that smelled of expensive eau de parfum. She read his works, no she critiqued his works – sometimes in English, but mostly in Latin, French, and languages Hokuto had never even seen. He was reaching for the dictionary more often and had recently given up entirely and downloaded Google Translate onto his ancient phone.
Sayuri Watanabe was eccentric, but Hokuto seemed not to mind as much as he thought he would. He would dutifully write back and their relationship evolved into that of penpals. An odd pair of penpals, he thought. A queer heiress and a could-barely-make-ends-meet professor on the brink of collapse.
Because that is where he had been – on the precipice of failure. The Dean of his university had made it abundantly clear that if things continued on course, Hokuto would not be asked to return to his seasonal position as Professor of the Classical Arts. He had gone home that night, chugged all the cheap wine left in his kitchen, and then proceeded to break all the glasses left in his kitchen. It had made the worst mess of his home and the ensuing hangover had been brutal, but it offered him some form of temporary release. And god knows he had needed that badly for years.
The days of shattered glasses and cheap wine were behind him now. He would spend the fall term tutoring an eight-year-old banking heir in his humble 10,000 square foot abode before the start of his winter term at a Swiss boarding school.
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Watanabe,” Hokuto finally chimed in.
Mina’s expression clouded so quick Hokuto startled, “Even my mother does not go by Mrs. Watanabe. Please, call me Mina.”
“I…” She was right – he would never dare call Sayuri Watanabe, Mrs. Watanabe. “I apologize. Mina. Call me Hokuto, as well."
And just as soon as the storm had arrived, it vanished. It felt familiar somehow, this dance. Mina was all smiles as she toured him across the home, through the spacious main living room with an exquisite grand piano centerpiece, a kitchen that put most industrial ones to shame, and a dining room that was far too perfectly staged to ever truly have been used. They paused at the base of the grand staircase. To be honest, Hokuto was winded from all the striding about – rich people needed to fit, he concluded, if the walk from one end of the kitchen to the other was going to take several minutes.
“Your quarters will be on the upper floor, just to the left. I had it fitted to your requirements, even brought over the books my mother would like you to read over the term. I know, she can be infuriatingly rigid with her expectations.” On that point, Hokuto could agree with Mina. If Sayuri was almost unbearable as a peer, Hokuto pitied the woman before him for being born her only daughter.
Before Mina could continue, a resoundingly chirpy voice called out, “mother!” and Hokuto had barely any time to assess the situation before a small creature launched itself into her arms.
Mina laughed, arms wrapping around what Hokuto could now confirm was a boy. Of approximately eight years of age. The illustrious grandson, he presumed, Ren.
He stood awkwardly at the side as mother and son reunited. Before long, Ren’s curious gaze turned to him.
“Hello,” Hokuto waved, deciding it was the right thing to do.
~
They settled in quickly after introductions. As it turned out, Ren was as naturally amiable to unfamiliar people as his mother was. Bright, inquisitive, and brimming with endless questions, it appeared that Hokuto had already started tutoring a day ahead of schedule.
Mina grinned as she appeared in the doorway of Ren’s room watching from afar as her child forced Hokuto to explain Newton’s laws and falling apples and the link between them. Hokuto could barely keep up, but he enjoyed how occupied he felt at the moment. It was better than being left caged with his own thoughts. This was exactly what he needed. After everything that had happened.
“Mina, darling, I was looking all over for you. Has Ren arrived?” A figure appeared in the doorway, moving to stand beside Mina and Hokuto had only a moment to register the voice – that painfully familiar voice he would know even in death – before their eyes locked. His heart sank, into the deepest of pits, his throat suddenly parched. This could not be fucking real.
Before him stood the source of his sleepless nights, the root of his downfall, the need for his escape, his tormentor himself. Taiga Kyomoto.
Mina was too busy responding to her husband to note the way Hokuto visibly blanched.
“He got in just now.”
“I see.” Taiga’s eyes never left his. There was hesitation there, so fleeting Hokuto may have imagined it, before a coldness settled in. This was the Taiga he had last known, anyways, hard and unyielding. Ruthless.
Mina finally caught up to the eye contact game played between her husband and son’s tutor.
“Do you two know each other?”
Taiga didn’t miss a beat, “Of course not. But, I assume he is the new tutor. Matsumura.” Each word felt like a nail being driven into him.
He had known Taiga the longest out of anyone in this room, after all. Knew him as the purposefully reckless teenager, then the overly cautious young adult. He knew every cadence of his tone, every microexpression he put on to serve his calculated facade. And right now the full arsenal of his malice was directed at Hokuto, the man he had once proclaimed to love forever.
Hokuto flinched as Taiga bent down in front of him, reaching eye level. He offered a hand and Hokuto hated himself for noticing the silver wedding band, resting perfectly on his ring finger, “It is nice to make your acquaintance.”
September 10, 2005
An uneventful summer had withered away into a dull autumn, signaling that it was yet again time to return to St. Agatha’s. Taiga yawned, settling into his seat outside the principal’s office. Beside him was a boy who looked absolutely frightened, legs jittering, hands holding down the sides of his chair with a deathly grip.
“First time?” He asked casually, unable to conceal a bemused smile. He knew to be kinder, to have more empathy, but it was somewhat endearing to see a student afraid of authority in these halls. After all, St. Agatha’s was the dumping ground of the city’s elite, kids who had grown up eating caviar and riding horseback. The principal spent his summers amongst their private yachts and mountainside cabins – how could they ever fear the man shamelessly pandering to their parents for cheques and donations?
So, Taiga knew then: the boy was either unmarked by the plagues of being rich and privileged because his parenting had been humble and pure. Or he was one of St. Agatha’s charity cases offered a full-ride scholarship so they could slap his face on pamphlets and proclaim they were a school built on merit and not on how fat the bank accounts of the parenting body were.
The boy beside him, still ashen, still shaking, replied, “Yes.”
“It’s okay, at least you’ll be considered cool now,” he mumbled before promptly dozing off. Might as well catch some sleep before having to sit through one of Mr. Gallagher’s sermons on the decorum and mannerisms expected of a St. Agatha student.
-
“Kyomoto! Wake up this instant. Mr. Gallagher will see you now.”
Taiga groaned, an agitating voice knocking him out of his peaceful slumber. He knew it to be Jason, Gallagher’s secretary extraordinaire and an annoyingly righteous pain in the ass. Rising from his perch, Taiga rubbed roughly at his eyes, while making his way into the principal’s office based on muscle memory alone. It was only when he had almost cleared the entryway he realized he’d gotten up from someone’s shoulder. Or more accurately, Nervous Boy’s shoulder. The bemused smile returned as he faced Gallagher.
“Pink hair. Breaking St. Agatha’s code of conduct and it’s only been a few days. I have to say I’m quite impressed, Kyomoto. Are we trying to set a record for quickest expulsion?” Gallagher wasted no time with niceties, a grim expression on his otherwise lackluster face. The whites in his hair had become more apparent – being an educator could be a thankless profession.
“Natural hair is allowed,” Taiga replied.
“Pink is not natural.”
“And how will you prove that?”
Taiga swore a muscle in Gallagher’s temple twitched, “Kyomoto. You have had dark hair since I have known you. From age six.”
Now this was the fun part. “Yes, you’re quite right. Maybe we can discuss this further with my legal guardian. I can invite her over tomorrow, maybe we can schedule some time in your calendar?”
Gallagher’s face paled, but he recovered quickly, “that won’t be necessary. I am giving you a week’s time. Dark hair, Kyomoto. No exceptions for a student at St. Agatha’s.”
“Of course,” Taiga feigned his most thankful voice, even doing a little bow before strolling away.
He had no intention of dying his hair black. And so he never did – it remained pink up until the day of his graduation.
-
Hokuto couldn’t help it, he watched in awe as the boy with pink hair – no Taiga Kyomoto – walked off, burgundy blazer unbuttoned, backpack slung haphazardly off one shoulder. Pink hair! The color of half chewed bubblegum, Hokuto would never have thought someone, let alone a boy, could willingly dye their hair in such a brazen shade. But, it somehow suited this particular someone – with his curved lashes, soft features, and alabaster skin, the pink just didn’t seem as unnatural.
Hokuto’s face heated at the recollection, but it wasn’t as if he’d chosen to notice such details. Taiga was the one who’d fallen asleep on his shoulder without a second thought, as if they were old friends and not strangers who had exchanged three sentences three seconds ago. He spent the first minute silently stewing, debating whether he should just push the encroaching head off his shoulder, but had quickly decided against it. The parents of these kids were powerful people, he’d heard, so he couldn’t really afford to piss off these trust fund brats if he could help it. Besides, he was already going to face the principal’s wrath for late documents that his father had been tasked to send, he didn’t need to add to the shit pile that was his life at St. Agatha’s.
In the end, he had remained as still as stone so the prince beside him could get some well-earned beauty sleep.
How fucking unfair. He gets to break every rule in the rulebook and I still have to grovel so I don’t get on his bad side.
As if he knew, Taiga turned around suddenly. Hokuto’s eyes widened, heart racing, even though he knew there was no possibility that the other boy could have read his mind. Rich people couldn’t buy superpowers, right?
“Thank you, by the way. I am Taiga,” and Hokuto hated the way a part of him delighted in the gratitude that radiated from the figure before him. It was pathetic and pitiful.
“It is nice to make your acquaintance.”
August 11, 2022
He was unsure, really, how he had made it through the night. Sleep evaded him, but at least he had fought the urge to simply jump out his bedroom window and flee as fast as his legs would carry him. Away from here.
Away from him.
And yet, despite his desperate silent pleas to the powers that may be, morning had come. Hokuto sat at the dining table, suppressing a yawn, trying to blink away the tiredness from his eyes. He knew he didn’t appear the most presentable – his hair refused to stay combed down, the shadows beneath his eyes were more prominent than he would’ve liked, and his white collared dress shirt was dreadfully wrinkled. He hadn’t figured out the ironing system at the Watanabe house just yet.
Hokuto had shuffled down to the kitchen just as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the large, expansive windows of the home. If he started his day early enough, he would eliminate the risk of running into Taiga – the man was not a morning person at all. He could sleep through an entire surprise party planned for him, air horns, confetti, birthday song singing, and all.
He frowned at the memory. That had been another time, another Taiga, another Hokuto, another them. It would be unwise to live in the fractured past, when the present was, well, so present.
“You’ve been buttering that piece of bread for ages now.” A bemused voice knocked Hokuto out of his daze.
Taiga was standing just behind the open doorway to the kitchen, his hand resting on the frame. While his voice sounded level and assured, he looked timid, shoulders slouched, and eyes defeated.
“Mhm,” was the only reply Hokuto could offer, his hand pausing in the middle of the tenth swipe of butter. He didn’t even eat buttered toast. With a sigh, he abandoned his butter knife altogether with a clatter that rang too loud in the quiet kitchen. Even though he sat in a massive, open kitchen, it suddenly felt suffocating.
Taiga had caught him by surprise yesterday only because Hokuto hadn’t thought it possible to run into the devil himself in this secluded haven. Now that his expectations had been proven wrong, Hokuto was more than willing to play whatever game Taiga had initiated yesterday. He wouldn’t let the other man see him falter again.
“Kyomoto, is it? It is so nice to make you acquaintance.” He basically hummed, eyebrow raised in a way he knew would only earn Taiga’s ire.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t know what to do, with you… with you right in front of me.” Taiga did genuinely look appalled at himself, taking a step past the doorway, closing the distance between them.
Hokuto instinctively flinched without meaning to and Taiga froze.
“You’re really something, Kyomoto.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you always are.”
“Can I sit down?”
“It’s your house, do whatever,” Hokuto pushed his chair back, making way to hightail it out of there.
“Please stay for just a moment.”
And normally Hokuto wouldn’t have, but something in Taiga’s voice gave him pause. It was the lilt of it, the words coming out in short gasps, the pause at the end. He had only heard Taiga speak like this on a rare few occasions, and he despised the way his body naturally responded to the other man’s distress. Hokuto slumped down gracelessly into the chair he had barely abandoned and Taiga took his own seat in front of him.
“How long has it been?” Taiga mused, staring at Hokuto with an intensity that left him reeling. What was his angle here, anyways? Wasn’t he a married man, with an entire whole human child, nonetheless?
“7 years and 2 months.” Hokuto responded without missing a beat.
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah… It is,” Hokuto’s words caught in his throat. It had been a long time. Enough for you to get married to a doting wife, raise a child in your image, and build a beautiful, picture-perfect family, all the while I never moved on. I never left the home we built, the one you abandoned.
He felt pity for himself, anger and regret too. He should’ve left, he should’ve burned everything to the ground.
“I listen to your lectures every now and then. I know it’s odd to admit, but I can’t help but check in every now and then. You always had a way with words and that hasn’t changed. If anything, you’ve gotten more eloquent over time. More concise too,” an ill-concealed laugh slipped from Taiga’s lips. “I’m proud of you. I’m glad you followed your dream.”
Hokuto swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to digest the information he’d learned in the past few seconds. Taiga kept with his career – the one they’d spent years envisioning for him, celebrating every achievement that brought him closer to being a university professor. This was half the dream they had written together…
The words slipped out before he could stop them, “and you were supposed to be a musician.”
He shouldn’t have said it, knew the words to be cruel before they were even spoken. Taiga’s face darkened in response, his smile disappearing in an instant.
“Hokuto, I… I want to try being friends.”
“Look at you two! Getting right along!” Mina appeared, brighter than the sun shining outside. She leaned over, resting her arms on Taiga’s shoulders as naturally as if they belonged there. Hokuto said his hellos, returning his attention to the buttered bread with renewed enthusiasm. He could vaguely make out the married couple’s conversation – what should Ren do for the day? Where to vacation next year? – but his mind had wandered elsewhere.
This was the first time in over 7 years the man he’d loved had spoken his name. And then, he’d broken his heart all over again.
The fall semester passed painfully slow, or at least that’s what it felt like to Taiga. He slept through first period history, napped a little more during his English lectures and math sermons, and escaped to the rooftop during lunch and gym. Only during last period art class was he forced to stay awake.
As luck would have it, his art partner for the year was Nervous Boy. No, Hokuto. They both laughed together at the fate of it all, having just met at the door of detention and now destined to spend their last class together before heading off to detention – they had both been given a month’s worth of cleaning classrooms and organizing the library catalog.
That month, despite Taiga’s initial reservations, had turned into a particularly pleasant and memorable time. It wasn’t as if he was a loner, but he did prefer to be alone more often than not. Raised as an only child with few close friendships, he had a tendency to get lost in his own convoluted daydreams, favoring them over small talk with peers. And so, it was no surprise that other kids simply didn’t care to be around him either. It suited both parties just fine.
But, he did have friends. Ones he’d played with since they were all still in diapers. They just did not attend St. Agatha’s and so, Taiga appeared a loner and admittedly, he felt like one too. Until that month when Taiga was bound to Hokuto for a consistent two hours a day. Hokuto was surprisingly chatty and affectionate too – always leaning in too close, slipping an arm around Taiga’s waist, slapping his thigh during fits of laughter. Taiga appreciated these little physical gestures, they reminded him he wasn’t incapable of friendship, undeserving of camaraderie.
Besides, where Taiga was aloof, Hokuto, too, was odd. It was probably the sole reason they meshed together so well. If Taiga was a loser, Hokuto was an even bigger loser.
“What are you up to?” Hokuto appeared behind Taiga so suddenly, he startled, dropping the glass beaker he’d been cleaning. The apparatus shattered in the sink, a thousand tiny pieces where once there had been a whole.
Taiga barely had a chance to reproach his detention partner before Hoktuo was leaning over his shoulders to assess the mess, face so close that if Taiga turned…
He shuddered at the thought, glad that Hokuto had already busied himself with cleaning the shards of glass – as he should, it was his fault anyways. It wasn’t as if the other boy could read his mind, but Taiga felt embarrassed nonetheless because there were boundaries one should never cross. Not even in an imaginary world.
“Shit,” Taiga snapped out his reverie to Hokuto drawing his hand back from the sink, blood dripping down his index finger. More out of reflex than anything else, Taiga snatched his finger and put it into his mouth.
There was a painfully long pause before the two boys fully comprehended the situation and when the realization hit, they separated at once, practically leaping away from one another.
“Oh shit, shit, I’m so, so, sorry – It happened so fast,” Taiga was mumbling, stumbling over his words, trying to explain. Gross. How gross. Even Hokuto could only bear so much of his peculiarities. “It wasn’t intentional, I didn’t even realize–”
“Taiga,” Hoktuo said firmly, “I know. It's okay. Really.”
Taiga nodded in response, unable to meet the other boy’s eyes. He kept them trained on the ground. Hokuto would never treat him the same way again.
-
Hokuto treated him just as he had before, much to Taiga's relief. The remainder of the month was spent chatting through art class before walking over together to detention. Sometimes, they would grab dinner on the way home – cheap burgers and greasy fries. A month of chores passed by in a breeze. They never discussed the finger sucking incident ever again.
It was the last minute of their last day of detention. Hokuto leaned against the wall, Taiga sat nearby on a chair, the setting sun in the background. Neither was willing to be the first to break the silence. He supposed this was the part where they officially asked each other to be friends. Would they continue to see each other outside their scheduled classes?
Neither of them spoke. In the end, the clock struck 6 o'clock and they shuffled out with vague promises to speak again soon. Taiga chided himself for being so serious about it all earlier, it was a temporary friendship forced solely by external circumstances, yet his stomach had knotted at the thought of asking Hokuto… What are we now?
-
The month was over, but it wasn’t as if they turned into strangers. They simply spent less time together – now that they had a choice, they were not choosing each other. But, Taiga did not terribly mind the return to loner status. Sleep through the first few periods, escape during lunch, talk to Hokuto in art, walk home alone. The days were spent in such a predictable and peaceful way, he could not wish for anything else.
So why did he feel so uneasy now?
Taiga forced his eyes away from the canvas on which he was attempting to draw Hokuto’s likeness. Attempting because one of his many girl friends had decided now was the perfect time to do a meet and greet, arms locked around Hokuto’s shoulders, the full weight of her tiny frame leaning against his back. Hokuto wore a gentle smile, responded politely in intervals, and even reached out to ruffle her long blond hair earning him a peck on the cheek.
So, yes, Taiga had to come to terms with Hokuto blossoming into St. Agatha’s most eligible bachelor overnight. It had all happened suddenly – the council of popular girls had decided one day that Hokuto was handsome, sweet, financially unprivileged, and just the right amount of quirky to be cute, catapulting him into junior high fame. And he was sweet and attentive, almost saccharinely so, which only grew his likeability over time. Even the jock boys had started hanging around him though Taiga knew he could not throw a ball to save his life. It was rare to spot Hokuto alone anymore – he was a bright flame and St. Agatha’s student body the moths who could simply not resist being drawn in. But Taiga would try. He fucking hated fires, anyways.
The bell rang – not soon enough for him – and Hokuto’s talkative friend departed, but not before making Hokuto promise he’d take her out for a Saturday brunch. He obliged without hesitation. Taiga almost snorted watching the nauseating exchange play out in real time.
“Can I see it now?” Hokuto asked, unable to conceal his excitement.
Taiga gave a noncommittal shrug, turning over his easel so Hokuto could see his handiwork. He almost smirked at the sight of Hokuto trying to retain an inoffensive expression. It was a simple circle with two dots for eyes and a smile he’d spent half an hour drawing. He even took the time to add a toothy grin.
“It was really hard to draw you… when you were moving around so much, you know, and all the talking,” Taiga explained hurriedly, shoving pencils and notebooks into his bag.
“Sorry about that,” Hokuto replied sheepishly, “You did great anyways. I’ll see you around?”
Another nod. Hokuto had barely walked out the classroom before another wave of students approached him. Taiga glared openly now that Hokuto had turned his back to him. It wasn’t as if he had any right to feel betrayed and yet, he did. Hokuto – Nervous Boy – had been his secret. Maybe it was the only child antics in him coming out, but he hated the thought of sharing. Besides, had they not made an implicit pact to not somehow become popular and liked by the masses?
Whatever. At least Taiga was still holding his end of the pact. He was unpopular as always.
On his way out of the classroom, he turned to look at the canvas Hokuto had created for him. He stilled.
It was breathtaking – the strokes of charcoal coloured pencil capturing every movement of Taiga’s face, down to the microexpression, down to the way the light danced on his features. And the colors chosen were startlingly accurate; the soft pink pastel of his hair, the pale beige skin, the deep brown eyes. Taiga leaned in closer, squinting as he took in the detail, a gasp slipping out as he spotted the mole on his ear.
At that moment, Taiga did feel like the worst human to exist, maybe in the history of the entire universe.