The First Day of Our Forever

Please Call Me Tomioka-san

Who is he?

He is...the love of my life.

And this man, the love of your life, does he know how you feel?

No. Not yet.

You haven't told him?

Well. I need to find him first.

+++

Sanemi Shinazugawa had a rough night.

It wasn't that he had to forcibly remove that greasy, 6-foot American sack of dicks from the Kabukicho host club. Bouncing was his job, and he didn't hate popping an angry upper cut on some meaty asshat mouthing off at the bartender.

It wasn't that some shit stain bartender had discovered he had slept with the boss' spoiled mistress and tried to blackmail him. Sanemi always made sure to have a few grade-A secrets in his back pocket to keep other people's sleazy selfishness in check.

It wasn't even that his motorcycle crapped out on the expressway halfway home, forcing him to wait on the side of the road in that freezing-ass downpour until the tow truck arrived. Shit happens, he knew. Boy, did he know.

What made this a rough night was the young man that Sanemi had met earlier that evening in a narrow and lonely alleyway a couple of blocks from the host club.

"Stand in the light," Sanemi said.

The young man stepped into the spray of amber light pouring from the streetlamp above. Raven hair, a little messy and tied into a loose ponytail. Sapphire eyes. Lean and muscular. Physically, this college brat fit the bill for sure.

Sanemi stared hard into the kid's wide blue eyes. He touched that flawless cheek. The young man shivered at the tenderness of his caress.

"Want to go someplace private? I live nearby," the young man said, pink sprouting on his cheeks.

"No thanks. Nothing personal." Sanemi let his hand fall to his side. He turned and sauntered down the alley, away from those befuddled eyes and that probably bruised ego.

"What the hell?! You made me come all the way out here for this? What the fuck is wrong with you!? Creepy ass motherfucker!" the young man yelled.

Sanemi heard the frustrated shouts, but they didn't turn his head or slow his pace. He grabbed the ever-present pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. He tapped one out and slid it in his mouth before he realized he didn't have a light. "Fuck." He sighed.

How many times had he arranged to meet men in dark alleys just to leave them confused and angry? Enough times for him to lose count. It was creepy; Sanemi knew it was. And probably horribly unfair to the men who were expecting to get at least one quick fuck for their trouble. Should he keep doing this? Was the search worth the hurt it was causing others, and himself? These were questions Sanemi refused to ask himself, much less answer.

"No big deal. He'll be fine," he told himself. The words he always used to sand down the spiny edges of his disappointment. Words that were faded and worn from overuse.

Sanemi spent the balance of his evening pounding down drinks and arrogant assholes; it was either that or think about how Fate had punked him yet again. Or how no matter where he went or who he met or how much they liked each other, a hollow space still roared inside him, an empty room reserved for a single soul. A someone he was determined to find, but had begun to wonder if he ever would.

Sanemi had a rough night. He really hoped it wouldn't be another rough life.

+++