Chapter Eight
Genrou winced as the voice on the other end throbbed dangerously. Maybe I should have just called once instead of chickening out so many times…
"Hi," he squeaked, trying to make his voice sound relatively normal, but hardly succeeding. "May I speak to Houjun please?"
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At actually getting a reply from the other end this time, Houjun calmed down marginally. The voice was unfamiliar though.
"That's me. May I know who's speaking?"
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Argh! Is he asking me for my name?! Is he? Does he remember me?! Shit, oh fuck, I should just hang up now…but I already said hi!
"May I know who's speaking?" Houjun repeated, a tinge of irritation coming through the receiver. Slowly, kicking himself and gritting his teeth, he gulped. Might as well go ahead.
"This is Genrou," his voice came out normal now. "You don't know me."
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Holy—is this one of those stalker calls?
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"I don't know if you remember me though." Taking a deep breath, he felt a hot flush spread past his neck and burn his face. "But we met about a year ago. At the rink."
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Houjun sat down heavily on the bed, his fingers almost dropping the phone in his stunned state. Are you…are you…
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"Can we meet?" Genrou closed his eyes the moment he said the words. There was a long pause at the other side of the line. This is the part where he calls me a loser and cuts the line. Then tomorrow, I'll see my fucking name on the fucking newspapers and then the cops are going to come arrest me, and then—
"Okay."
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He scribbled the other boy's number onto his writing pad with a black pen and confirmed the meeting place for tomorrow before he slowly set the receiver down. "Wow," he said aloud to the empty room. Shivering slightly, he noticed that he hadn't really finished his bath and stood, walking back quickly to the bathroom, leaving the towel forgotten on the bedspread. It's really been a year, hasn't it? This guy might not even be who I think he is. What have I gotten myself into now? Twisting the shower tap, he reached out for the soap.
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Genrou flopped back onto his narrow bed, making the springs creak dangerously under his weight as exhilaration flooded him. He flipped back and grabbed his phone again, punching in his best friend's number, as hysterical laughter bubbled up and spilled over.
"GODDAMNIT KOUJI, HE SAID YES!"
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[The next day]
Houjun leaned against the railing, looking at the people skating round and round in the rink. There was a children's class being held there every Sunday now, and he honestly did enjoy watching them laugh as they learnt the technicalities of ice-skating. His own skates hung clasped loosely in his left hand.
One of the regular instructors, Saihitei, looked up and waved at him. He smiled and waved back, but his heart wouldn't stop fluttering at the thought that he would—no, might—see him again soon.
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As he stepped out of the lift, he caught sight of the slim figure less than five meters to his right. Bright blue hair was shoved into a black cap, and tan skin gleamed in the harsh white light reflecting off the ice in the rink. Baggy dark blue shirt, tight black jeans, the skates in the left hand, the familiar profile…
It was him.
Somehow, the knowledge that he was going to see him hadn't been anywhere close to actually seeing him.