“Shinjuku? Ni-chome? That’s, like, two, isn’t it? Ichi, ni, san.”

Roman was impressed despite himself. He hadn’t expected Cory to be able to count to three in any other language. Then again, he hadn’t expected Cory to ask where the gay bars were in Tokyo, either.

“You know Japanese? I wouldn’t have thought,” he bantered lightly, resisting the urge to fidget. He always felt boxed-in when he sat in the backseat of a car. The airport hotel shuttle was somewhat better, being a van, but the seats still felt too efficient for a North American to fit into.

Cory rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. The girls here love an all-American man. I know enough to get through the basics. Ichi, ni, san… hnnh!” He mimed thrusting his hips forward and up. Mercifully, the seatbelt stopped him mid-deflowering.

Roman pulled a face and snorted. “Classy as always.”

“What? Don’t the guys want to ride a little white lightning?”

Caught between suspicion of Cory’s sudden interest and amusement, Roman just shrugged. “Sure.”

“What the hell, man. I’m bored, and gay people know how to party. Show me where your people go.” Cory clapped his shoulder, seemingly unaware of how loud he was in the confined space of the van. Rude enough in North America, let alone here.

Roman hardly knew what to say. Maybe he’s trying to come around. Maybe someone had a word with him. I gotta give him the benefit of the doubt. He resisted the urge to sigh, and instead forced a smile. “Yeah, sure. It’ll be great.” Like a hole in the head. “Just don’t say anything that gets me kicked out, yeah?”

“Come on, man. I would never.” Cory launched into a ramble about his last drunken exploits in some exciting bar full of young women who dressed as nurses, and Roman was safe to tune him out for the rest of the drive.

* * *

As if today weren’t already weird enough, Cory didn’t freak out and bolt out the door of the first club Roman brought him to. Roman had promised himself he’d give Cory a chance for the first fifteen minutes. In that time, Cory actually seemed to be behaving himself.

He’d hung out with guys who wouldn’t even walk in the front door, so despite Cory’s previous attitudes, Roman was willing to give him a chance.

Maybe because of that attitude. Everyone knew homophobes often wound up being gay, desperate for someone to see through their charade while terrified of it at the same time. On the off-chance Cory needed to see that it was normal as hell, Roman was sticking his neck out.

It made Roman uncomfortable that gay guys suffering internalized homophobia were seen as a joke by most people, like a fitting punishment of the worst possible kind, instead of a tragic, screwed-up, dark thread choking his whole tightly-knit community.

If he hadn’t had his buddies by his side back in high school, god only knew where he would have ended up. Maybe laughing at limp-wristed TV caricatures like plenty of the other Knoxville boys his age, afraid of admitting what he was just realizing.

“They make the drinks strong here,” Cory whistled, drawing his attention away from his drink and back to him. He was out to have fun, not fix the damn world.

If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn Cory was flirting with him. He swiveled back and forth on his bar stool, pushing his drink around on the bar top.

Roman wasn’t sure how to treat Cory. From the surprise of even wanting to come here to hitting on him, what the fuck had gotten into him today?

Then a guy wandered past, shooting Roman a regretful look on the way by.

He’s cockblocking me. Which made about as much sense as the rest of it. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind, since he was in the middle of… whatever this was with Oscar. Roman sighed and shot the rest of his whisky. “What’s up?”

“What do you mean what’s up?” Cory grinned at him, sipping his whisky slower. “I’m just liking watching actual dancing. I knew the gays were good for something.”

Roman nearly banged his head on the bar as he waved for another drink. He was going to need several stiff ones to deal with this. “I mean, you suddenly wanting to come here.”

“Just, how the other half lives, you know?” Cory gestured around. “Where you come after a long flight. Everyone seems friendly here.”

Roman bit back his laugh. For the most part, they were, but he could picture Cory wading into drama without ever seeing it coming. By now, he had a few familiar haunts at the end of every long-haul route, and he was a known face there, too.

And, more importantly, he knew which bartenders had jealous boyfriends. Like the one watching Yu serving an awfully handsy twink with an Aussie accent. There was trouble brewing. Better wander down the block to his other favorite place soon.

“Sure. Big happy family.”

Cory didn’t notice his sarcasm. “And at least they don’t cheat you on the drinks. They’re cheap, man. I’d come here more if I weren’t worried about, you know, dropping the soap.”

It was all Roman could do not to roll his eyes. Same old Cory. If he is having some identity crisis, he sure as hell ain’t admitting it here. “Whatever, man. I’m pretty tired. I better get back before the trains stop.”

“I’m not staying here alone,” Cory almost yelped, scrambling to his feet. “I’m fresh blood.”

“You’re not that hot,” Roman shot back, unable to resist.

“And they’re into me, man. It’s the blue eyes.”

Roman couldn’t leave fast enough, pursued hotly by Cory. He led the way out of the twisting maze of alleys, past the adult shops that made Cory stumble to a halt and stare for a second at the gay magazines and leather straps framed by the light spilling from the tiny places’ windows.

He was tempted to turn right around and have another few beers, but if he took a drink every time Cory said something stupid, it would take more than the two days they had in Japan to sober up. If he didn’t give himself alcohol poisoning.

No, he could cope a healthier way, once he got them back to their fucking hotel.

An hour on the train felt like a year with Cory saying stupid shit about older guys he’d seen trying to pick up pretty young boys, and wondering out loud if gay men had less trouble dating because they were all equally likely to have wandering eyes.

By the time they got to the hotel, Roman barely said good night before he was off to his room, not even waiting for the elevator. He took the goddamn stairs, and he would have paid money to do it.

The burn in his thighs and lungs by the time he got to the fourth floor was totally worth it, but trying to work off the anger only brought more up. Why hadn’t he said more back to Cory? Or reported him before now? How long was Cory going to use things he’d said or seen against him at work now?

Roman changed into shorts and a t-shirt and found his way to the gym instead, one of his preferred methods for burning off the alcohol calories and coping with long stretches away from home. Gym equipment was pretty universal—minor details like kilos or pounds aside.

He was able to forget Cory for long enough to work through his routine, focusing all of his attention on not dropping a weight like a drunk dumbass. He hadn’t even had that much, but some of the dizziness he felt was probably jet lag.

“Moron,” he muttered at last, dropping the barbells on the floor and stretching out on the bench. He hadn’t noticed the sweat running down his spine until then, but the wet t-shirt stuck to him. He shuddered and groaned. “God.”

He could probably grab a train back to Tokyo if he really wanted time with “his people” without an asshole coworker lording it over him, but… this wasn’t what he wanted. None of it was.

For the first time since his first visit, Japan felt too big, too foreign, and he was homesick. He wanted a little town where the waiters at the pizza place knew his name, a house he could stay in longer than a few days…

And Oscar. This was about him, wasn’t it?

The realization made him so uncomfortable he slid to the floor to do a few more pushups until failure, but he couldn’t avoid it. When he finally hauled himself to sit upright, leaning on the bench, it was as certain in his mind as if he’d read it in a book.

He wanted Oscar. Whatever the fuck was between them, he was tired of putting a label on it, and then worrying whether it was the right one, and what the next label was supposed to be…

Why not just take it as it came, without worrying if they were husband material? There was clearly something there.

He pulled his phone out, then perked up. Nearly midnight here meant it was a decent hour back home.

The phone was ringing before he even thought twice.

“Hello?” It was Oscar’s voice, warm and familiar, and suddenly Roman wanted nothing else but it. It took the edge off the ache inside him.

“Hey. It’s me, Roman. In Tokyo. Well, near it. Airport hotel.”

“Oh! Hey. What’s up?” Roman could hear the worry in Oscar’s voice. “You still coming home, or have they persuaded you to stay?”

Roman chuckled. “Not yet. Nothing could keep me away from good old Tennessee.” He rested the side of his head against the bench and closed his eyes. Might as well be honest. “Just wanted to hear a familiar voice.”

Oscar paused for a moment and spoke again, his voice gentler. “Yeah, I know that feeling. Or remember it.”

Of course he’d get it without him having to say anything more. Roman felt bad that he was rubbing in Oscar’s… well, imprisonment, it must feel like. “How’s the leg?”

“Eh, so-so. I went for a walk this morning but I can’t get as far as I wanted.”

Roman grimaced. “Should be further along, shouldn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m seeing the physio again sometime… what day is it anymore? Tomorrow.”

“Good. Don’t strain it.”

Oscar hummed in agreement, then went quiet for a moment before he spoke up. “It’s been pretty boring here. J—one of my buddies from the company came by. That was all right.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice of him.”

“Mm.” Oscar didn’t sound like he agreed, but Roman didn’t want to upset him, so he left it alone. “Then I cleaned the kitchen.”

“That bad, huh?”

Oscar laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I’m turning domestic. I’ll make a good househusband soon.”

Roman caught his breath at that mental image—coming home to a warm kitchen and something freshly made, and Oscar aglow, talking about what he’d done that day over the dinner table.

“You there?”

“Um. Yeah,” Roman answered, pushing himself to his feet. “Just getting out of the hotel gym now. But, uh… I guess when we get back we should talk about… stuff.”

Oscar snorted with laughter. “Eloquent. But, fucking finally.”

“Now who’s eloquent?” Roman poked fun back at Oscar, making his slow way down the hall to the elevator. “Yeah. So, I guess I should get to bed.”

“That’s it? Set up a we need to talk and leave me dangling for, what, three days?”

“It’s not a bad thing. Is it?” Roman questioned himself. “It’s not on my side.”

“It’s not. I just… you know. We need to know stuff,” Oscar said, taking his turn to be vague.

Roman understood why. The thought of rules and labels and commitment was enough to make him itch, even if he yearned for what it meant: stability. Security. A loving embrace at the end of a goddamn long work week.

Maybe that was what he was after, not just putting a ring on it for the sake of it.

“Yeah. Stuff,” he agreed quietly. “But for now, uh. Take care. See you real soon.”

“See you soon, babe.” Roman stared at the phone for a second, but before he could put it to his ear again, Oscar’s voice squeaked, he cleared his throat, and he added, “Bye!”

“Bye?” Roman found himself laughing as he pocketed the phone and let himself into his room.

What the hell was going on? After the last few weeks of back-and-forth, most of which he fully recognized was his own fault, at least they were saying something about it out loud.

Despite his exhaustion, Roman tossed and turned in bed before his limbs finally grew heavy. A few days’ wait had never stretched in front of him so long.