Takizawa stared into the beads of condensation on the side of the glass determinedly, as though across their reflective surface would be written how he should think, how he should feel. He picked out the drops with a fingertip, trailing them together and watching them run into a little pool on the tabletop, something for Tsubasa to fuss about later, remind him how careless he was. It would leave a mark, stain the table, he should use a coaster. Takizawa found he almost wished it was enough to detain Tsubasa for another half an hour, make him change his mind about going in order to clean up.

  That wasn't fair, though, he knew. No matter how he felt about the date, he did his best not to let his feelings get in the way of his partner's. So he stared at the liquid in the glass without drinking it, listening to the muffled sounds of Tsubasa pottering around in his bedroom. He imagined the other man picking out clothes, being indecisive, trying something else on. Would he wear cologne? Takizawa imagined he probably would - not too much. Nothing overpowering.

  He refused to allow himself to look up as Tsubasa swept into the room, collecting his keys from their usual neat, ordered place on the coffee table. He didn't want to be able to paint a picture of Tsubasa on his date. He wanted to be left in the dark, wished he was in the dark about the whole thing.

  It had been a strange conversation. Tsubasa hadn't looked him in the eye when he'd brought it up over dinner. He was going on a date, he'd said. He hadn't decided where, yet. Takizawa had sat in silence, watching the man across from him pushing the food around on his plate nervously, the pasta a fascinating puzzle that, if solved, would clear the air between the two men.

  He hadn't asked who she was.

  The dinner had ended in silence, Takizawa not wanting to press for details that he didn't want to know, Tsubasa unwilling to volunteer them. The date had been a silent point of contention between them, hanging in the air over their silence, muting their conversation. Now Tsubasa hovered in front of the counter at which Takizawa sat, the glass in his hand demanding his full attention. He could imagine more than see the torn expression on his partner's face, the way he'd be willing their eyes to meet so some form of apology could pass between them. An apology they shouldn't need, but they both felt should be forthcoming, somehow.

"I'm going now."

Takizawa nodded, fingertip tracing a swirl of liquid onto the shiny countertop.

"... I'll see you later?" Somehow it came out more as a question than a statement, or at least Takizawa thought that was how it sounded. He didn't look up at Tsubasa's expression, pursing his lips as though he was thinking about the answer. Nodding, finally, he risked a glance up, but Tsubasa was already turning to leave, wrapping a scarf around his neck with a glance at the mirror as he pulled the front door open.

+++

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. He watched television for what felt like hours, but was perhaps only minutes. He poured glasses of juice he subsequently forgot to drink, lining them up on the counter like markers of the time he'd spent in the house on his own. It was lonely without the noise of someone else imprinting their life on it, and he tried hard not to think too much about how it might be going. He didn't want to wish failure on his partner, but black moods can bloom from even the warmest, most well-intentioned feelings, and as the day wore on it was harder to avoid thinking about it.

  When the empty glasses on the counter held no more entertainment for him, Takizawa retreated to the living room. He considered going to bed, despite the early hour; it would be too much to listen to the story when Tsubasa came home, practically glowing with pride. A half-crumpled piece of paper lay on the coffee table, the sole occupant of the otherwise orderly arrangement. Takizawa snatched it up, eager for anything to distract his wayward thoughts.

  A place and a time were printed in Tsubasa's neat handwriting across the paper. With an audible sigh, Takizawa let the paper drop, crumpled, to the floor. In his haste to leave, or perhaps his anxiety about Takizawa's feelings, he'd forgotten the note underneath his keys. His partner clearly hadn't needed the note to remember where his date was, however - a glance out of the window showed that the sky was darkening, taking Takizawa's mood with it.

  When Tsubasa arrived home, not much later, Takizawa was already in bed. He shifted under the covers slightly, taking care to lie as still as possible as he heard the door to his room creak open. He imagined Tsubasa standing there, peering in on his sleeping form. Perhaps disappointed. Perhaps relieved. It wasn't long before he heard the sharp snap of lights being turned off, the soft click of Tsubasa's bedroom door closing, and after that the sounds ceased altogether.

+++

  Things looked little different in the light of morning. Brief greetings were exchanged, the atmosphere subdued, the house bathed in a colourless grey light. There was a long moment of silence as each of them considered who was going to talk first, who was going to break the silence and draw out the wire-thin thread of tension.

"You went to bed." Tsubasa said, finally, eyes on the television as he balanced a mug on one knee. Takizawa could tell from his tone alone that he was clearly upset. No matter how level his voice was, how casual the assertion, Tsubasa's gaze remained firmly on the news, the sound turned down so low neither of them could hear it over the ring of tension in the small room.

"I didn't want to think about it." Takizawa admitted. There didn't seem to be anything to gain from lying about how he felt. Choosing to go to bed before Tsubasa came home was proof enough that he was opting out of involvement in the affair. He wondered if they would argue about this, if this would mark the beginning of the end of their so far relatively short spell at a shared domestic life.

"It wasn't easy for me, you know." Tsubasa continued, only now making to glance in Takizawa's direction, mug halfway to his lips as though he'd forgotten about it halfway there. "I tried."

"I know." Takizawa sighed. He knew he was the one in the wrong, the one acting out of turn. Tsubasa had tried to make it easy on him, tried to explain. Would it have been any better had he been kept in the dark? Probably not. "I'm sorry." He added, almost like an afterthought.

"Sorry for what?" Tsubasa inquired, holding the other man's gaze this time. "For not coming?"

Takizawa frowned, uncomprehending. Being angry with him for going to bed was one thing, but being inexplicably angry for wanting him to do something he hadn't even known about was another. Wanting him there to see the whole thing would have been even worse than sitting at home imagining it. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean this." A hand came up, the crumpled paper from last night held delicately between two fingers, something unsavoury found where it shouldn't have been. Even as his mind raced through the possibilities of what the scrap of paper meant (he couldn't possibly be this upset that I left it on the floor, could he?), the twist in his abdomen knew otherwise, without having to ask. He'd been so wrapped up in himself he just hadn't realised.

  There didn't seem to be anything to say. They exchanged words, haltingly, neither wanting to give away too much of how they felt. The words didn't really matter. Minutes later Tsubasa was vacating the house again, leaving each of them to their own thoughts. Night fell and he still wasn't home. Takizawa repeated his routine of the day before, too lost in his thoughts to even notice the television playing its words into the room. He grabbed a scrap of paper and scrawled on it hastily, writing untidy and slipping off the paper as though trying to escape.

  He left the note stuck to the closed door of Tsubasa's room before he went to bed ("I'm sorry. - Hideaki", signed with his first name, somehow hard to write, painfully personal), standing vigil for his partner's return where he couldn't. That night he didn't hear Tsubasa return, heard no noise of his presence in the house they shared.

+++

  The next day as he woke, Takizawa was filled with apprehension. Tsubasa usually woke up before him, he would pad into the kitchen in bare feet to find him already up and halfway through making breakfast, the television on low so as not to disturb his partner. Today the house was cold, the kitchen empty of Tsubasa and any sign of his presence.

  Dejected, Takizawa sloped into the living room. His note lay on the coffee table, face up, scribbled apology staring up at the ceiling. He sighed, mentally kicking himself for the memo. It was stupid, and clearly Tsubasa had thought so, too. He stared at it for a long moment, wondering what he could have done better. Reaching for it, he twirled the note between his fingers idly, frowning at the reverse.

  There, on the back of his apology note, was Tsubasa's neat handwriting again. A time. A place.

"Let's try this again."