"Resignation"
Mizuki resisted the urge to tug on the ridiculously itchy collar of the waitress uniform. After all—he mused as he stood in foyer of the restaurant—he was the adorable hostess who greeted everyone with a smile and a cheerful demeanor. He forced the bitter taste in his mouth down his throat as he greeted another customer with a fake female voice, and the exchange about reservations and "in what name, sir?" continued.
It was Christmas Eve, and from a business perspective, having the restaurant crowded with doting couples was satisfying. Deep in Mizuki's heart, however, he hated every single one of them. It had been years since he felt close to anyone, and like the idiotic child that he had been, he had thrown it all away.
Almost eight years ago, his mind cruelly whispered to him. If any of them saw you now…
Chances of that were unlikely, so he ignored the thought as another couple approached him.
"Good evening," he said with an artificially bright smile; "Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes," so came the expected reply.
"In what name, sir?"
"Fuji Yuuta."
Mizuki faltered, opening his eyes fully. It was like a ghost of the past stood before him. Granted, Yuuta had grown taller, but his hair was still short, his eyes gleaming with the same youthful strength that they had back in middle school. It was only professionalism that kept the smile glued to Mizuki's face as he took Yuuta and his date to a table and promptly left.
Once he had hurried back to the foyer, he whispered frantically to another worker; "Maiko, take over the front for me, will you? I'm taking a break."
The said Maiko looked at him incredulously; "On Christmas Eve? Our boss will have your neck."
"I know; I know. Just…please," Mizuki begged as he quickly slipped outside without waiting for an answer.
The cool air hit his face, helping him recover some composure. Muddy snow lined the alley, and Mizuki scuffed his shoe against some of the discolored ice as he was forced to accept that his nightmare was coming true. Yes, it was an old classmate of his from St. Rudolph, but it had been over seven years ago that he had graduated from that middle school, never to return. He had abandoned whatever farce of normal life he had built at that school. He thought about how sudden the change had been—the quiet phone call from his mother telling him that his father had passed away. When he first returned home, the distance between himself and his old self hadn't seemed that far. For a time, he kept somewhat in touch with his old teammates. But as life moved on, he graduated from a different high school, indifferent to his colleagues and his family. He had stopped sending letters, and the phone calls dwindled. Sighing, he was aware that there was no excuse for the outcome of his behavior. It was entirely his own fault, and he knew it.
I have reasons for staying away now, he thought with melancholy.
"Mizuki-san?"
Mizuki jumped at the voice and quickly turned to face the intruder.
It was Yuuta—so similar yet so detached from that strong, passionate boy that he had known in school. The two of them stared at each other in that still moment, studying each other questioningly. Mizuki remained silent while Yuuta's face relaxed.
"I wasn't sure if it was you," he said with a tiny smile. "You look really different, Mizuki-san."
Mizuki resisted the urge to let out a bitter laugh. You couldn't possibly be referring to the dress and long hair—how I've transformed into a drag queen?
"So do you," he quipped, trying so hard not to sound disdainful; "The girl you were with seems nice. Who is she?"
Yuuta sensed the undertone and sighed with defeat; "She's my fiancée."
Taken aback, Mizuki just stared at the taller man. As much as that statement hurt, he was again reminded that all of that pain was his own fault. It was he who had run away all those years before.
As though he was trying to smooth over what he had just said, Yuuta continued speaking; "Uh, she is nice, and it's funny how I never would have thought that she and I would end up engaged."
"Does she know you're gay?" Mizuki asked in a low voice.
Something twisted in Yuuta's face. "...What we had was a one-time fling. You made that very clear when you left."
Mizuki swallowed, guilt rising in him, as well as a petty desire to shock Yuuta. If the younger man could suddenly reappear in his life with a pretty thing attached to his arm, he believed that he, too, should be allowed the freedom to show Yuuta how changed everything was. Mentally preparing himself, he slumped against the side of the building.
"I have a daughter," he stated simply.
An amused scoff escaped Yuuta as he leaned on the wall beside Mizuki. "Yet you don't like my fiancée?"
"I never married the mother," the smaller man answered.
"Oh," Yuuta exclaimed a little in surprise as the statement sunk in. "Oh."
Mizuki couldn't help but chuckle at the naivety still lingering in his old friend. "Yes, you can imagine what happened. A one-night stand resulting in an unexpected child. I don't even know why I did it; maybe I was trying to prove to my mother that I wasn't abnormal. And now look at me."
"So, you and your mother—?"
"Hardly on speaking terms."
"I'm sorry."
Again Mizuki laughed softly. "Don't apologize as if it were your fault, Yuu—Fuji-san."
If Yuuta noticed the Mizuki's falter, he didn't comment. His eyes were occupied with the color and crowds visible at the end of the alley, laughter and music seeping from the main street. Mizuki followed the man's gaze and felt a pinprick to his cold heart when he saw all of the smiling people, oblivious to the existence of all sadness, of all regret, of all mistakes.
The dark-haired man felt a couple of fingers slowly intertwine with his. He didn't need to look.
"Isn't your fiancé waiting?" he murmured.
"I told her that I went to the restroom."
"You still shouldn't keep her waiting."
The hand now fully enclosing his own squeezed in response. Mizuki felt something heavy resonate inside of him as that one small touch reminded him of all the other warm touches, whispered endearments, fleeting kisses. His eyes closed, preventing the color of the outside world to blind his memory—his perfect memory of a lost time.
"How long has it been, Hajime?" Yuuta asked without really looking at the other man.
Hajime? Mizuki didn't know if he wanted to smile or cry. "Seven years, eight months, sixteen days."
He could almost hear Yuuta smile. "You're still so precise."
Mizuki's eyes were still closed as the sweet memories morphed into a shadowy void before him. He realized the same thing that he had brooded on for many years. You used Yuuta. First in tennis and then in romance. You never cared for any part of him, physically or emotionally. That is why you could leave as easily as you did. He wanted to think they were lies, but sometimes, he wasn't sure anymore.
"Hajime?"
A tug on his hand compelled Mizuki to look up, and when he saw those gentle brown eyes locked onto his own, he had to force himself to swallow the resentful tears. "Yuuta…I was such a jackass."
Yuuta bit his lip as both of his hands now cradled Mizuki's. He seemed to be considering his answer before he spoke; "No, you were just ambitious."
Mizuki's eyes flitted to the ground as he was aware of the sardonic laugh and lonely tear that both escaped at the same time. "Weren't we all," he muttered.
A gentle hand brushed his cheek, catching the fallen tear, wiping at the streak that marred his pale face. When he gathered enough courage to look up, it was only a little startling to find Yuuta standing so close to him. As a second hand touched the hair on his shoulder, Mizuki stared at the approaching face. As lips came to his, he could remember what they had felt like seven and half years ago. His hand groped for Yuuta's, and he clung to the other man's fingers so tightly, remembering the time when he had thought they would never let go of each other. As the kiss deepened, Mizuki could see those long years being erased. For that one brief moment, coldness was replaced with a warm affection, and two young boys stood in their place. There was no engagement, no illegitimate child, no wounds—just that illusion of happiness that they had chased after so eagerly in their youth.
All it took to shatter the dream was a soft push of Mizuki's hand against Yuuta's chest that allowed reality to retake its place in between the two men. Mizuki couldn't look at the other's eyes; he knew that if he tried it, he would again lose himself in those brown orbs.
"You should go back," he whispered, his gaze firmly planted on the ground.
"Yes, I suppose I need to," Yuuta murmured.
"You do care for her, don't you?" Mizuki asked, acutely aware of how close their bodies still were.
"Yes," Yuuta sighed; "I do."
Mizuki started to tug his arm away, and Yuuta released his hold on the smaller man. But as he turned to leave, some sort of urgency slid onto his face.
"Hajime, will I ever see you after this? How can I possibly know that another eight years won't pass before we meet again if ever?"
Mizuki just sniffed but then smiled sadly. He thought of the pleasant woman that he had seen with Yuuta, thinking about how her hand seemed to fit onto Yuuta's arm perfectly. Likewise, he thought of his own daughter; although it disturbed him at times to see so much of himself in a child, Mizuki could not deny that he loved the little being that he had thoughtlessly dragged into the world. He thought about his mother—of how she had cried about her only son being gay. He thought about Yuuta's family—how they had remained blind to what had been obvious in middle school; they had been lucky to avoid any such confrontation with their son as Mizuki's mother had endured.
That was a battle which he determined to never take Yuuta into.
"You won't. You can't know." The acrid words were difficult, so Mizuki had to nearly spit them out.
Yuuta's eyes clouded, but he didn't argue. He just nodded as the unspoken understanding went between the other man and himself. Without another word, he turned on his heel and reentered the restaurant, leaving Mizuki alone outside.
The air seemed to grow colder as Mizuki's trembling hand snatched a strand of hair to fiddle with. His gaze again gravitated down the alley to the moving crowd. Without commanding his feet, he felt them move, taking him closer to the people. His hand unconsciously lifted to his lips, feeling the soft tingling as it slowly faded. Regardless of his job and regardless of whatever words and touches had been exchanged but a few moments ago, he stepped onto the main street and walked away, drowning himself into the chattering mass of men and women.
There was no more bitterness, no more tears—just a dull realization that life was life. And it always moved on.
A/N: Wow…I thought that I wouldn't finish this until next week because of my family's trip, but…thank you, laptop! XD Well, I hope that you enjoyed the disgustingly heart-wrenching angst; for some reason, I imagine Mizuki with a ton of it…