Where the Heart Is: An OTP Short

2012

The Road Back Home
Tokyo, Japan

Kenichi had offered to drive back.

Matt fidgeted in his seat. Behind them, the trees vanished and soon, the winding road turned from curvy to straight. Various gasoline stations began appearing. The radio was on and it was seven in the evening; classics played out and he dimly heard Kenichi singing from the drivers’ seat.

“And the road just goes on and on and on…”

The ginger barely blinked as he looked at his phone every few seconds, flicking to the right as picture after picture appeared.

“I’m on my way, way back home.”

The pictures showed the same face. Kenichi caught him wistfully stroking the screen and cleared his throat after singing, making the other man look up. A quick finger changed the station. Instead of oldies, a radio DJ was happily reporting the day’s events. He turned the volume down.

“Are you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” Matt replied, drawing his eyes away from the gadget. “Just apprehensive.”

Biting back a witty retort, Kenichi nodded and kept his eyes on the road. It was unusually empty for Saturday night, but he decided not to complain any further as he drove. He listened as Matt continued.

“I’m rarely afraid. It’s just…I don’t know what’s going to happen once I get there.”

“Hope for the best.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Matt, she isn’t going to throw you out–”

“But what if she does?”

Kenichi blinked.

“What if she’s moved on? Found someone else? Imagine me just barging in and a random bloke just sitting on the couch, watching the telly and not expecting some random stranger just breaking and entering,” he laughed bleakly, “That would make a horrible return. I’d get my arse beaten or arrested or something before she’d arrive.”

“Matt,” the Japanese said slowly, “I don’t think that’s possible. And before you say anything,” he added sharply as the other opened his mouth, “Let me just park over there first so we can get something to eat. And no, we’re not going to be late so suck it up.”

Matt merely nodded silently as the Japanese turned right and made way to a parking lot next to a convenience store.

Some noodles and soda later, Kenichi had his arms folded over his chest as Matt finished his food. “I’m going to explain. I’ve seen how you and A interact with each other. Don’t start. You look at her as if she’s the sun in its glory and she practically glows around you than with anyone else. It’s different than any other relationship.” He took a sip from the plastic bottle, “Yes, we’ve managed to somehow fuck it up because of this shitstorm we got into. But do you think she’ll let go so easily?” Kenichi didn’t wait for an answer. “She sure as hell wouldn’t. You know that.”

“It’s been months,” he argued weakly, but the other man would have none of that.

“Four months.”

“Four months she’ll never forgive me for!”

Kenichi cursed silently. Of course that would be the one plaguing him most.

“But she knows what you do for me. She had to expect it.” Matt ignored him and insisted more reasons, endless reasons. Kenichi kept disproving them until Matt’s quiet voice stopped him.

“She’s had so many people leave her, and now I’m on the list.”

Kenichi didn’t want to say anything about that. He knew, of course. It wasn’t a secret with anyone who actually knew A.

Finally, he gathered the words: the right words.

“You know,” he started carefully, looking at the blue-eyed man who dejectedly stirred the coffee in his paper cup, “There’s a difference between you and them.”

He received no answer, and he decided to push on.

“You’re coming back for her.”

*****

It was past eight when they had finally arrived. Kenichi parked and assisted Matt in unlocking the door (she had decided to change where she hid the spare), entering first and coming out a few moments later to confirm that no, there was no one else there and yes, the place looked how it seemed only a matter of months back.

He couldn’t help but frown at his best mate’s shot nerves.

“I told you not to drink coffee.”

“Can’t not drink coffee, you tosspot.” Matt gave his leg a shake. “I have to be awake.”

“She’s not going to vanish in front of you,” he said exasperatedly, but Matt kept shaking his head and pacing by the driveway. His steps resounded and Kenichi tightened his coat around himself.

He had started to say something when Matt’s movements halted.

She was on her way.

There was no doubt that the sound of a motorcycle on road belonged to her own. Matt choked a cross between a laugh and a sob while Kenichi gracefully ran off and went inside his car, starting the engine and driving somewhere more private. He ended up a few houses away, casually parked in front of a house for sale.

He hoped Matt remembered what to do.

Kenichi peered out of his window, shades on (despite it being night time, what a pillock he seemed to look like) and watched as Matt stood there, his bag on the grass and an unfathomable look on his face.

The sound of the motorcycle came closer.

It was as if they held their breath at the same time. Instead of stopping rather nicely, the motorcycle’s wheels gave a large screech that made him cringe, yet Matt appeared unshaken as he watched, fingers seeming to tremble as he fought the urge to pull her off the vehicle and lift her into the air.

The motorist didn’t seem to get off the motorcycle for a moment and dread filled Kenichi.

What if Matt’s assumptions were true? He began to unbuckle his seatbelt in haste, but the shout of a female made him stop.

Kenichi watched as the couple embraced, an unmistakable feminine form clinging on to Matt. He had his head buried in the crook of her neck, and Kenichi momentarily noticed his knees shaking.

They didn’t seem to break apart. Only when Matt’s hands rubbed A’s back did Kenichi realize that she was crying. He relaxed. They were okay. Things were okay.

So he shifted the gear to drive and slowly drove past A’s house. Matt caught sight of his friend and gave a short nod before kissing his lover on the forehead, bending to her ear to whisper something faintly. Kenichi then watched as he swept the female into his arms, and the twosome disappeared into the house.

The spectator merely smiled himself and drove away into the night.