Disposition

Collateral

"You were flirty," Hiro said, knocking the door behind him closed.

His boyfriend, Moon, kicked off his loafers and turned his back. The air in the flat was both something stretched infinitely and stifled, squeezed between God's fingertips within a Mobius strip. The length between the open windows and the tattered doormat was laid out at their feet.

"What?"

"With that guy back there, the one bringing Mojitos around."

"Don't know what you're talking about." Moon laid face-down in a corner of the couch, limbs splayed everywhere, headphones slipping off. Somebody was beatboxing in close distance, with a stentorian rhythm. "It's late, let me sleep."

"You kept doing that thing with your stud. Twisting it, and stuff."

"So what if I play with my earring, it's my earring." Moon's voice was flat and muffled in the pillows.

Parker had invited them to the opening of his contemporary gallery. It basically incapacitated Moon, who never tapped into artistic appreciation. Hiro didn't notice Moon's pupils flicker alive until they settled on some machismo waiter in the corner. The guy was a George Clooney-resembling motherfucker, so good for him; Hiro didn't have a fair chance at grasping Moon's attention, on the other hand.

Hiro shrugged off his coat and it fell to the floor. He felt lethargic. Pouring himself a glass of scotch, he leant against the kitchen bench. "Just say so."

"Say what? I'm tired. You're making no sense to me."

"Just tell me. If you want to break up." Hiro put his glass down quietly without sipping at it. "It's fine. It's better to say it sooner than later."

Moon slowly lifted his face from the couch with steely eyes. "What the fuck is in that drink?"

"I just thought—" Hiro started.

"You didn't think," Moon finished.

They had done this before, they would do it again. Hiro knew how this fight would go. This was the end; Moon would cut the conversation before it even started, he was proficient in minimalist communication. Behind closed doors, the argument would disintegrate between the sheets as they slept. If the tension was arousing that particular night, they would fuck lasciviously against the kitchen counter out of frustration.

But Hiro had expedited too much energy pretending to care less than he did. Eventually he knew there was potential for the ship to just wreck itself autonomously. Bad timing and bad placing. Its cargo would burn, and from the inside out, a vessel would sink. Chances were, his emotions would be collateral damage.

.

.

.

"Do you want something hot to drink before you go?" Hiro asked carefully the next morning. He was always careful the morning after. Moon appreciated personal space and graciously divided their bed in half with a pillow.

In response, Moon yawned, "Yeah, tea is fine, thanks."

Hiro poured out two cups of green tea and handed one to Moon, "A legal firm is no joke, even if it's just an internship for now. I hope you're looking after yourself in that kind of environment."

Hiro's old friends doing Bachelor of Law had all graduated already, but Hiro stayed back to do postgraduate studies. He was in his fourth year of university now, but he still felt like a kid doggy-paddling in deep water sometimes, needing to grapple his way clumsily to the surface so he could take shallow breaths and keep himself afloat. Meanwhile, Moon had no trouble getting a full-time, paid internship at a prestigious law firm fresh out of university.

"I've been surviving just fine over the past few weeks. I can do a few more." Moon embalmed his bitter words with a passing smile, "I mean, you don't have to worry so much about me. I'm not as little as I look, you know. I can hold my own."

"I know, and I don't doubt that for a second." Hiro nodded, clutching the teacup in his hand. "I just love you, that's all. I want you to be safe and well looked-after."

In his periphery, Hiro saw Moon's lithe fingers tighten over the shape of the cardboard, making slight indents in its side when he released the carton into the paper recycling bin. But nevertheless, Moon nodded with a sigh and thanked him.

They had been together for three years, nearly four now, although it felt like every day became heavier as the relationship struggled with the weight of its own intricacy.

Moon had always been polarised to Hiro, after all; he thought of them as kindred spirits but in the most contrary way possible. Four years ago in the first year of law school, Hiro was as saccharine and starry-eyed as fresh meat could come, down to the polished shoes and merino cardigan. And collegiate-inappropriate and leather-jacketed, teenage Moon had swept in through the French windows like an angry angel. It felt like a world away, looking back.