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Simple Obsession

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When the new waiter started working at the cafeteria on the first floor, the place became livelier than before. It could partially be explained by the tasty food served at this place, but it was also due to the mysterious aura of the dark-haired waiter with a low voice.

Kurosawa had been working in this building for four years already, but the cafeteria had never been as packed as it now was. He was eating his sandwich, trying to look as composed as he could while Tachibana and the newbie from the PR-department were discussing the interesting sides of gay sex, and throwing remarks around about the way the new waiter was moving his hips while maneuvering between tables.

“There is nothing bad in watching a man and thinking how he would be in bed. Just believe me, I have experience,” Tachibana said in his usual manner, as if he knew everything and his words were meant to be believed by everyone.

The newbie choked on his water while Kurosawa, who had known Tachibana for a long time already, just waited for him to continue.

“I mean, everything is simple. If you know the basics you won’t have any problem with the practical side of things, you know?” Tachibana winked at the newbie, who tried to look like he really knew.

Kurosawa was used to Tachibana’s way of talking about women and sex, especially after his divorce, but after the new waiter appeared on his horizon, all of his thoughts centered around relationships between men only. It seemed like Tachibana was trying to persuade himself by exploring this topic, because he couldn’t get this waiter out of his head, and could only stare at his smooth skin, his well-built body and his face, so handsome that it seemed he glowed.

The new waiter was like a walking aphrodisiac for all the workers in this building regardless of their gender. They would stare at him. They would try to talk to him. The bravest ones would even venture to touch him, but the waiter with the low voice and irresistibly handsome face would only look back at them, preventing all attempts to gain his favor with his icy-cold eyes.

They all wanted him and for Kurosawa, that was a problem, because he wanted him too. He had no idea how or why it started. Maybe it was because of Tachibana’s stupid talks. Or it might be due to his recent break-up with the woman he had thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. Either way, the fact was that Kurosawa couldn’t take his eyes away from those dark eyes, the well defined lips, the stubborn chin, the neck where he could spot a pulsing vein and the smooth skin that looked way too soft for a guy.

It was like an obsession. He couldn’t find any explanation for the passion boiling inside his chest, for the desire that was making him feel hot all of a sudden.

It was just a simple obsession. But it had made him lose control.

It happened two weeks ago, in this building, on the first floor, in the toilet near the cafeteria, and late at night, when he had too much work left for him to be able to leave early. That day, when he had entered the men’s bathroom and looked in the mirror, Kurosawa had seen another pair of eyes looking straight back at him. Water hadn’t only been running from the tap; there had also been drops sliding down the waiter’s face.

Kurosawa later found out how cold the water was when he had leaned down and licked a drop from that smooth neck, right after the waiter had shoved him inside a stall and closed the door behind them with a loud bang. They had probably been alone in the whole building or maybe the security guard might have been there somewhere... These thoughts had crossed his clouded mind while hot lips had been trailing a path down his chest, but then his fingers had been lost in the waiter’s thick dark hair soon enough.

Kurosawa had lost control, but he hadn’t been alone in this. The waiter, Kyohei, had lost it too. He had turned Kurosawa’s life upside down, making him forget about everything else, and leaving only continually aroused lust, leaving no space for anything like words.

They hardly ever talked with each other, no matter where they met, be it in the toilet, the cafeteria’s kitchen very late at night, or in the stockrooms. There was no time for talking, not when someone could catch them at any moment.

Kurosawa couldn’t predict or even guess what his behavior would be at all. Every time he met Kyohei’s eyes, he would only see the desire in them, the urge that made his hands tremble and his mouth grow dry. Kurosawa would only want one thing then, to feel it again, that skin against his, those lips pressed on his, and that low voice whispering words in his ear that he didn’t understand or remember, because when Kyohei was near, Kurosawa would not only lose his mind but also his ability to talk properly and to act as a responsible person. He would just become a mess, a strange mess in Kyohei’s strong hands.

Is it possible to know another person’s scent? To feel him coming even before he appears? Kurosawa knows Kyohei’s scent, he hid his face in the crook of Kyohei’s neck and that scent was engraved in his memory forever.

At some point, Kurosawa stopped asking himself what was going on. He chose to live his life obeying his desire, he realized he was unable to fight this addiction, this obsession. If someone would ever ask him what was wrong, he had one answer.

It was just a simple obsession. But he couldn’t help it.

It was after two weeks of crazy encounters at different places in his work place that Kurosawa decided to invite Kyohei to his home. He was just waiting for a good moment to ask him about it.

Tachibana was still babbling about his night’s fantasies and Kurosawa fought against his inclination to stare at the waiter who was holding a tray in his hands and wearing an apron around his hips.

Kyohei had a phone but he never gave the number to Kurosawa. He never even called him by his name. He was like a mystery that Kurosawa was unable to solve. It seemed like Kyohei had no problem with the way things were between them. He had been very clear about his intentions and his desires, speaking only to tell how he liked it and what he needed at that moment.

Suddenly, Kurosawa felt hot. His tie felt too tight around his neck.

“Can I clear these away?” He heard a low voice speaking near him.

Kurosawa shivered.

Kyohei took the empty plates and as he left, Kurosawa’s eyes fixed on his back. His hair was tied up, uncovering the line of his neck. Kurosawa needed some air.

“What’s wrong with you? You are so red. Is it due to our interesting topic or the handsome waiter?” Tachibana asked dryly.

Ignoring the question, Kurosawa excused himself and left to hide in the bathroom, with the hope of washing away his desire with cold water. He covered his face, not feeling strong enough to see his own embarrassing reflection.

The next instant, someone entered the bathroom. Kurosawa knew this scent. He could recognize these light steps and the warmness of the body so close behind him. Hands found their way under his shirt to caress his flesh and a moan escaped from his lips.

It was broad daylight and the building was full of people. They couldn’t. That was crazy. That was absolutely crazy... but he still let Kyohei kiss and suck on his neck, pulling him closer to his body before he led him to a stall. When Kurosawa heard the click of the lock, he turned around to meet Kyohei’s eyes. They were clouded in the very same way his own definitely were. Kyohei’s lips were too inviting and Kurosawa couldn’t resist.

They were making it again, another mistake, but they didn’t really care. Maybe someone else would have learned from their mistakes but for them, it was a different case.

It was just a simple obsession. But they couldn’t fight it.


The next evening, Kyohei appeared on his doorstep. After ringing the bell, he entered the apartment as if he belonged there.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

Kurosawa started looking for food. They ate instant ramen, never taking their eyes off each other. Kurosawa talked a lot, because he couldn’t stand the silence. When Kyohei was eating, he was concentrating so hard on his food he didn't pay attention to his surroundings. It was like he didn’t care about Kurosawa’s stories, about his day at work, about how he had won against his boss on the last hold at the golf course or how he would maybe obtain a better salary next month.

When Kyohei was full, he appeared happy. It was different from the look he always showed at work. He constantly wore that kind of expression that would signal to people to stay away from him, but that wouldn’t always work because they would anyway come closer, like flies would to honey. They couldn’t resist, the exact same way Kurosawa couldn’t.

“Do you want to drink something?” Kurosawa asked. “Maybe a beer or some tea?”

He must want something, Kurosawa thought as he watched how Kyohei rose from his place and moved closer and closer, too close.

No matter what Kyohei wanted, he never had any problem showing it, being too intense, being everywhere with his lips and hands. Every touch burnt and Kurosawa wanted to disappear in this scent, in this warmness, as he turned into a mess again and just moaned a name, and secretly hoped to hear his own name being moaned in return.

He couldn’t think about tomorrow or what would happen next. He could only think about then and there, Kyohei in his apartment, their clothes scattered on the floor and them settling for the couch because they were too impatient to reach the bed instead.

Kurosawa didn’t care. He wanted to hear his name.

“Say, Aki,” he requested before falling asleep, surrounded by Kyohei’s warmness and wrapped in his arms.

It was just simple obsession. But he wanted it to last forever.


“Where are you living?” Kurosawa asked, as if he didn’t know.

“Nearby,” Kyohei lied, acting like he hadn’t seen Kurosawa following him all the way right up to the big mansion in another part of the city.


Kyohei was lying on the couch while switching between the TV channels aimlessly.

“Yes,” he lied again.

Kurosawa poured cold water into his empty glass and drank it, hoping to extinguish the fire that was suddenly tearing his chest apart from the inside. He was dying from jealousy, but he was scared to voice it, too afraid Kyohei could disappear any moment.

Sometimes, Kurosawa thought that Kyohei lived in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Wild and beautiful, he needed freedom far away from all those sticky stares and stretching hands. Every time, Kurosawa would afterwards think that this was the best place for Kyohei, here in his room, wearing his shirt, lying on his couch, barefoot, eating chips and spilled crumbs all around. He belonged in this place.

Every night, Kurosawa couldn’t fall asleep. He would either look at the black ceiling when he was left alone after Kyohei had gone back to his mansion or he stared at his sleeping profile for hours on the rare times Kyohei would stay with him. What drove Kurosawa crazy in these moments was that he had no idea what Kyohei was thinking, what was on his mind, inside his head, what he felt. Kurosawa had no idea, what was he to Kyohei? Did he know that every time he was near, he would make Kurosawa lose his mind? Didn’t he feel something? Anything?

“Don’t you have anything else to eat?” Kyohei asked, taking his eyes away from the TV.

“Stay with me! I want you to be here,” Kurosawa said.

A frown appeared between the perfect eyebrows before Kyohei stood up from the couch.

“What for?”

“I don’t know…” Kurosawa answered faintly, “I think I love you.”

Kyohei took off Kurosawa’s shirt, searched for his own T-shirt, but he was stopped by the cold palm that gently touched his chest and the long fingers that trailed lower and lower. They soon forgot about words and Kyohei forgot about his intentions to leave. Kurosawa felt crumbs against his bare back as he was pushed onto the couch.

He didn’t understand anything. Even his own behavior was a mystery to him, the same way Kyohei’s was.


Now, Kurosawa had Kyohei’s phone number but it was absolutely meaningless. No one ever picked it up no matter how many times he’d call. Even all of his messages were left unanswered.

Kyohei quit his job.

It was so stupid. Why did he decide to confess his feelings all of sudden? Who needed this love? Who needed anything else if they had been happy enough the way they were? Who cared if Kurosawa wanted more, who cared if it wasn’t enough anymore?

It looked like Kyohei was running away from him. He hadn’t even called Kurosawa by his name, ever. He did it on purpose, Kurosawa didn't have any doubt.

Kurosawa’s life was crushed. He even forgot what he used to dream about. Was that even important? Was love more important than his career? Was it even love? His thoughts were so confusing and he had so many questions but only one answer to all of them. He needed everything back. He needed Kyohei back in his life no matter what, no matter where, be it in his apartment, in his office or even somewhere else. He just missed his scent and his fingertips were burning with the need to touch Kyohei’s messy hair, to feel the pulse beating in his neck.

Kurosawa had never felt this before. He had no name for these weird and abnormal feelings. He didn’t care if he acted as a stalker whenever he’d stay all night near the mansion at the other side of the city, looking in the dark windows, hoping to catch there the familiar silhouette.

And one night, he saw it. For a moment, he thought he had some kind of hallucination but the black shadow started moving, it came closer and closer until it was right in front of him and that was when he realized it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. It was Kyohei.

“What are you doing here?” He asked with the same low voice, so familiar and Kurosawa’s head started spinning just at the sound of it.

“Looking for you.”

What happened next occurred so fast that Kurosawa first believed he might have really lost his mind for a moment, or that he might just be asleep watching a dream, a sick dream caused by his unsatisfied hunger through all these days and nights he had only been able to think about Kyohei’s hands and his voice.

This was real and Kyohei’s lips were on his neck and the familiar scent surrounding him took away the last remains of Kurosawa’s sanity. Kyohei’s hands were everywhere, hungry and passionate, and he wasn’t thinking about anything, not even caring that they were in a public place, only hidden by a few trees and the long grass, and that they would be caught if someone were to pass by.

Kurosawa woke up early in the morning, in a luxurious bed with four columns at the corners, in Kyohei’s bedroom and with Kyohei sleeping by his side. He was dumbfounded and at a loss of words, feeling both confused and stupid but still satisfied and happy.

It was just simple obsession. But did they have any future?


With the morning came the questions that were still left unanswered.

“Why did you leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know?”

“Do you know anything at all?”

“Shut up!”

They were staring at each other like two prize fighters ready to start a battle at any second.

“What about us?”

“There is no us!”

“But I told you that I love you!”

“You just want me, the same way I want you!” followed the irrefutable answer, which made Kurosawa happy.

They wanted each other the same way. So he wasn’t the only crazy one here. Kyohei kissed him again, still not calling by his name but whispering nonsense and pulling him closer. He was trembling with desire, just like Kurosawa was.

They were even.

“You should leave,” Kyohei said afterwards, his tone impolite.

“Why? You are waiting for someone else?” Kurosawa questioned, irritated.

“This is not your business, just leave.”

Kyohei’s eyes looked tired, as if he felt too much, as if it took him all of his strength, and if Kurosawa looked in a mirror at that very moment, he would have been able to see the same expression in his eyes. They were both exhausted from making mistakes over and over again, of trying to find the right place and the right answers, of trying to tame their own feelings.

“Sometimes I hate you,” Kyohei said at last.

Kurosawa knew it, because he felt the same.

Maybe if everything had begun differently, maybe if they had started talking with each other first instead of taking off their clothes, maybe then they wouldn’t have these problems now. Maybe… but no one could know for sure. Right now, they could only mock each other, hate and want to crush, to cause pain to the other, and just leave some marks to make sure the other one wouldn’t ever disappear. They wanted to tie each other and never let go, to feel every breath, every touch and every kiss burn again and again. There was so little sense in their desire and in their thoughts that they couldn’t even voice them without insulting each other.

Kurosawa left, only to come back the next day. The day after that, he had Kyohei back on his couch, relaxed and half naked with his messy hair and his cold toes, feeding him, touching him, and letting his scent envelop him, binding him tighter and tighter to never want to let him go.

Kurosawa didn’t ask any questions. Not anymore. Not out loud.

It was just a simple obsession. But what about love?


Kyohei had done it again. He had run away from Kurosawa, as fast as he could.

That was so frustrating and so hard to understand that Kurosawa decided to get himself drunk with the hope that he would forget everything, how complicated this relationship was and how weirdly Kyohei’s brain worked.

Why couldn’t they just have had a normal relationship, one as colleagues who would chat about their girlfriends or one-night stands?

All Kurosawa could think about was Kyohei’s eyes when they last saw each other, and also Kyohei’s lips, a little bit swollen because of their kisses but still perfectly shaped. His thoughts once again took a wrong turn, he emptied his glass in one shot, not really feeling the taste of the strong liquor.

Why was everything in his life always so hard? Why was Kyohei so thickheaded, blind and deaf to his feelings and words? Kurosawa could spend his whole life just watching the stupid stars with Kyohei by his side, just being together days and nights, always, hand in hand. What was so complicated about that?

Why couldn’t Kurosawa just find someone else, a nice person who would understand him and his intentions? Why was it that every time he would close his eyes, he could only see the face of that stubborn rude moron, still so handsome that he wanted to paint it in order to engrave every trait of that captivating face in his memory?

Why was his head so full of poetic crap that he couldn’t even concentrate enough to talk? What were those guys around him even talking about right now? They thought they knew everything about life and passion but had they ever felt this fire inside their chests, this unforgettable mix of pleasure and pain? Pain was always there, because every time Kurosawa had felt this absolute happiness warming his chest, it had always slipped away so quickly that he had never managed to grab it and pull it back for long, and only despair remained.

Kyohei was impossible, irritating and Kurosawa hated him with all his might. He hated to think about him all the time, to dream about him every night, to constantly feel his presence even though he was nowhere around him.

Again, Kurosawa decided to dial his number, already knowing that no one would pick up. Like always. It was so frustrating.

He wouldn’t say he was that wasted or maybe he was, because everything that happened in the bar in the next minutes was a total blur. He couldn’t even remember how it all started. There was a fight, he hit someone, and that someone punched him back pretty hard. There was the taste of blood in his mouth, yet still all he could see was Kyohei and there was only the sound of the long ringing tone lingering in his mind, the one he always had to listen to instead of the voice he wanted to hear so much.

He spent a few hours in the police station, feeling stupid and disgusted with his own behavior. How could he have acted like like a teenager , caught up in some stupid drunkards fighting, which he didn’t even know the origin of?

Tachibana came to his aid, taking care of all the details while Kurosawa tried to sober up a little bit. He felt so ashamed. He apologized to his colleagues and to Tachibana before escaping to the metro, seeking a place far away from their astonished expressions, away from their curious glances and their inquiries wondering about what happened to the calm and sometimes clumsy Kurosawa for him to act like that so suddenly.

Kyohei happened, but they shouldn’t know about that.

Kurosawa was still swaying on his feet a little bit and his jaw was hurting when he arrived at the mansion. There were no lights on. No matter who it was that lived with Kyohei, they weren’t around. Kyohei was alone there, maybe waiting for Kurosawa or maybe having fun looking at all the missed calls on his stupid phone? Why did he even buy it if it was to never answer it?

Kurosawa entered the mansion to find Kyohei alone in the living room, sitting on the floor with a few empty bottles of beer around him. What an idiot he was! He could have invited Kurosawa and they would have gotten drunk together, hating and wanting each other.

Kyohei opened his eyes, his messy hair framing his face.

“Why are you here?”

His voice was hoarse.

“Why do you never answer your fucking phone?”

Kurosawa sat on the couch, feeling too tired to move. His eyelids were so heavy.

“Why are you calling all the time? Don’t you have anything else to do?” Kyohei was drunk but didn’t appear to be as pitiful as Kurosawa. He was still too handsome but probably lonely, so lonely to be drinking in solitude. “Who did that to you?” he asked, pointing a finger at Kurosawa’s face.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Wanting to be closer to Kyohei, Kurosawa stood up.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“You are so fucked up,” Kurosawa spat the words. He was now beside him on the floor, so close to Kyohei that he could again sense his delicious but irritating scent.

“Go to hell!” Kyohei hoarsely answered, acting again as his impolite self.

“How many times do I have to say that I love you for you to believe me?” Kurosawa touched Kyohei’s cheek. At first, he had wanted to cause him pain but his touch was gentle instead. He just hadn’t been able to do it. No matter what Kyohei said or did, Kurosawa couldn’t really hurt him. He didn’t want to.

“ Go away,” Kyohei whispered.

They never had a normal discussion between them. It mostly reminds Kurosawa of some cheap soap opera with clumsy and illogical lines that made no sense to the others. Why could they understand all the mess they were creating with each other but still remain so far away from really understanding?

Why did all words lose their meaning so fast and all insults become pointless and harmless the very moment they started touching each other? Why was it so difficult sometimes to find any solution? Maybe it was just easier to obey their desire and follow the voices screaming in their heads, making them lose all sanity.

It was just a simple obsession. But it was destroying the world around him.


In books, people talk about strong feelings, about the passion that fills one’s life with sense and give them the strength to change themselves, the people around them and even the whole world. Kurosawa believed that books were stupid and that the people who wrote them had no idea about the things they were talking about.

All those feelings were mostly exhausting. It’s like a placebo effect, when you believe that things must be amazing and your life will be so colorful and full. In the beginning everything is truthful but then, days pass and you realized how fake it all is. Your heart is overwhelmed and there’s no place for anything else. Your thoughts, your actions, your every movement and every emotion obeys the whims of another person. Maybe he’s just playing with you or maybe he’s stupid enough to have no idea what to do with your heart that he holds in his hands.

Kyohei was an idiot who had no clue what to do with love. He probably didn’t have any idea of what love was. He was way too immersed in his own inner hell to care about anything else.

Kurosawa made a decision. It couldn’t continue that way. Not anymore.

He went to see his boss and they had a long serious talk about his future, while considering his past work history and all the benefits that Kurosawa gave to the office by being such an intelligent and perceptive young man. His behavior lately was unacceptable and maybe he needed some changes in his life, new scenery and the chance to meet new people. It was decided that Kurosawa should leave so he could start again somewhere else as a hopeful and fresh young man with a new experience. Everything would be ready in a week.

Meeting Kyohei one last time wasn’t an option. Kurosawa knew too well how everything would end, just like it always did over and over again, because they both didn’t have the strength to stop.

He dialed the familiar number from his office’s phone, hoping that maybe Kyohei would pick the call up since it came from a number he didn’t know.

“Kurosawa,” Kyohei answered, taking Kurosawa aback. He was silent for a few seconds, having no idea what to say and wondering how Kyohei knew. Could it be that in their messed up relationship, he wasn’t the only stalker? It couldn’t be possible, not with Kyohei.

“I’m leaving, for good. I think that’s for best. You can stop running away from me. Good bye.”

Kurosawa hung up hastily, too scared to say too much and to give his nervousness away. With trembling hands, he decided he would forget this number and never call back.

It was just a simple obsession. But he wanted it to stop.


When you’re making a decision, the most important part of it is to be true to yourself. And if that step is taken, there is no way back.

Those words filled Kurosawa’s mind during the whole week he spent packing, fighting against thinking too much and trying hard to erase all the memories that stalked him at night, and prevented him from sleeping.

Not being able to sleep was making it even easier to lose his mind. He kept on telling himself over and over again that it was the best option, the perfect end of their story, that it couldn’t have any more logical conclusion.

If Kyohei preferred to run, then maybe it was better to run in the different direction and as fast as possible. Probably, Kyohei didn't even care about Kurosawa’s whereabouts. He had spent days and night at his place so he knew his address very well. Yet, after the phone call, he never came. He had so many opportunities to keep in touch, to express his disagreement, just to say something. Silence was the answer Kurosawa received, and it was the worst one.

Kurosawa switched off the light of his apartment, grabbed his luggage and left. He checked a million times that he had his passport, his ticket and his phone, the phone with no light, with no life. A few days ago, he had turned it off, not because he had been scared that Kyohei would call him and destroy this thin and fragile determination that he had tried to hold into, but instead because he had been afraid of himself.

At this time, the roads were empty and the taxi was traveling fast. Kurosawa was staring outside, feeling that his life as well as everything and everyone he cared about was slipping from his hands, far away from his reach, and suddenly, at that moment, he clearly understood that this meant it was the end. He was leaving and probably wouldn’t see Kyohei ever again.

This guy was too unpredictable. Today he was here, but who knew where he would be tomorrow? He was absolutely crazy and impolite, and haunted by so many demons that were probably eating him from the inside, taking away any chance to find happiness. He was a stupid guy who had no idea how to show his feelings, yet he recognized Kurosawa’s call without even knowing the number.

Kurosawa hadn’t even noticed how completely that his life had been revolving around that impossible man with the handsome face but sealed off heart. What did he feel? What did he want? Why was he alone all the time? And why was Kurosawa always talking only about his love but he never tried to understand what was going on with Kyohei himself?

Why was it that, even when he had a flight ticket in his hands promising a bright future waiting ahead of him, he could only think about Kyohei’s eyes shining in the darkness, enveloped with solitude and screaming pain so clearly?

Kurosawa couldn’t leave. He just couldn’t.

It was just obsession. But it was the best thing that had ever happened in his life.


Kurosawa forgot all about his luggage and his flight, about his future and his career. He didn’t want Kyohei to drink alone in this empty mansion. He didn’t want those eyes to be dark with sadness. He had so much love in him that it could probably be enough for the two of them.

Kurosawa’s legs took him Kyohei’s place. From the big windows, no lights could be seen. There was no one inside. The wind blew strongly and Kurosawa realized that it was autumn already. He could catch a cold and no one would care. Kyohei wouldn’t even be near.

He was at risk of losing his job and becoming penniless for some time, with just his broken heart and his stupidity as company, and his mind was still screaming about this guy who turned his peaceful life upside down. It was just like a plague, destroying everything in its way.

After a long moment, Kurosawa decided to return to his apartment. He was shocked to find Kyohei on the doorstep. For a second, he believed he was hallucinating and even considered calling an ambulance, but Kyohei was really there, following him inside after he had opened the door.

They had yet to say a word to each other but there was already screaming in Kurosawa’s head. He turned around to meet Kyohei’s eyes, red and tired, and with dark bags under them. Kurosawa doubted he himself looked any better.

Kyohei took a step towards him, and another, slowly coming closer, until he was standing in front of him. He bowed his head and pressed his forehead onto Kurosawa’s shoulder.

“I thought you left.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know if I can give you anything at all.”

“I know.”

Sometimes, words, instead of helping, just make things more complicated and confusing. Kurosawa embraced Kyohei’s stooped shoulders. He was making the same mistake again, not really learning from the past or maybe, he had just learned something else? What was normal for others was not always normal for them. They couldn’t be happy. Just…

“Stop running away from me, Kyohei. Stop it! Stay with me. I won’t let you go,” he warned, pulling Kyohei even closer, showing him where his place was and that he would never let him go.

They could make it. Together, they would make it work. Kurosawa didn’t know how yet, but they would try, as long as they didn’t run away, neither of them.

They fell asleep on the couch, in each other’s embrace. Who cared how everything started? Who cared if the most important part of their relationship was their inability to stay away from each other? Feeling how Kyohei was clinging to him, as if his life depended on Kurosawa, made him realize that he was not alone in his madness.

Some people could scream their feelings out loud, being open and showing them to the world. Kyohei could only whisper, so faintly that it was almost impossible to hear.

Kurosawa woke up in the middle of the night and as he was about to stand, Kyohei’s strong hand held his arm instantly, pulling him back onto the couch.

“What?” he asked, sleepily.

“You are not leaving, right?” Kyohei asked back.

“No. I can feel you staring at me even when I’m asleep,” Kurosawa mumbled, turning to the other side.

“You did it all the time, Aki!”

Kurosawa snorted, pulling Kyohei back to his chest. He closed his eyes, caressing Kyohei’s hair soothingly and slowly falling back into slumber. Only in that moment did he realize how Kyohei had just called him.

It was just a simple obsession but with every step, a new door was opening, adding new color to Kurosawa’s life. Soothed by the familiar scent and presence, he fell asleep with a smile.

It was just a simple obsession. But he could no longer imagine a life without it.