The Mikasa river flowed from the hills near Mount Homan, whereupon wannabe uniters of Kyushu once took refuge from the might of Toyotomi. The waters, then witness to the summit and squabbles of the Takahashi and Tachibana families with such warfare, fled downhill into time where Dazaifu met them. During the troubled years of the war young men and women prayed to the plum blossoms and watched petals fall from the passing seasons until they floated away into the waters of the river. The flow passed the ancient stones of Ono castle, once a bulwark to the invasions of mainland oppression. Then already decayed and rotting when Ieyasu made his ambitions flesh against Hideyori in fields far off from their moss-ridden surface. It made its way through primordial Hakata in its own bay whose name was not changed to Fukuoka amidst the progression of time and the forgetfulness of fire. 

In Onojo City, cut apart by the Mikasa, Yobuhara Tsuyoshi watched the water flow.

Yobuhara’s head was spinning from the wind. It played with his hair, but he could not feel such a thing beneath the intoxication well-earned from the previous several hours of drinking. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his navy-blue sport coat, staring out from the tip of the shore where the Ushikubi terminated into the Mikasa river. Behind him a few younger coworkers were making a lot of noise in the park. Still, though he could hear their voices so clearly atop the wind and the sound of traffic in the midnight malaise, the open sky came down upon him with its lonely omnipresence. 

“Yobuha-san!” 

A shadowy figure ran from the light of the group and made its way to him. In the darkness of the riverfront, Yobuhara could not immediately distinguish his new cohort. Supposing even, drunk as he was, he would recognize any of the new recruits. Young people all looked the same, he thought. They had the same hair, and went to the same discount store to buy over-sized suits. Even abusing his name was not a direct tell to the man's identity until he had finally approached closer and enthused upon his senior. 

“Yobuha-san, do you want to get some drinks from the convenience store?” 

“Ah, is that you Katsuke-kun?” 

“Yobuha-san, are you already drunk? Of course it’s me, come on, the walk will sober you up. Why are you out here anyway, Yobuha-san? Come on, come celebrate the merger with us!” Katsuke swayed by himself, so he rested a hand on Yobuhara’s shoulder to stabilize. Yobuhara did not despise the act—if he was to walk anywhere he would also need support. 

“Nice, that sounds really nice! Let’s go then! Just you and me though, Katsuke-kun, I don’t want to buy any more drinks for that lout Matsunaka. Just the thought of it gets me fired up for a brawl!” 

Yobuhara wrapped an arm around the shorter Katsuke’s shoulders and stealthily led him along the bank of the river, out of sight from the group above in the park. They climbed up only when they reached the bridge which crossed the Ushikubi. Yobuhara sent his subordinate up first, with his younger limbs and smaller frame, to scout that they could make their escape in secrecy. At the top of the short climb, Katsuke peered through a few sparse weeds and laughed to himself as he waved for Yobuhara to follow. The two men hastily made their way over the crossing and disappeared into the town. There was, Yobuhara knew, a convenience store a few streets down. It would unfortunately not be a long walk. 

“So, what’s buggin’ you Katsuke-kun?” 

The younger man shrunk under his seniors arm. 

“Kasai replied to my message today, she was quite happy to hear from me again.” 

“Why, that’s great news! Look at you then, a real killer, aintcha?” 

Katsuke did not follow Yobuhara’s example by laughing along. Instead, he stared at the asphalt while they walked with each other. Too far gone to let go of the older man, and too ashamed to stay attached to his eyes. He was pulled to a stop by Yobuhara while a truck passed in front of them, roaring with its engine in the static night. Yobuhara swore at the vehicle. Then, he cursed himself more, because for all the known tortures he could see in Katsuke’s eyes, his own encouragement of the pursuit was, itself, to blame. She was right, he thought. 

“She does agree with me, and we get along well, but she doesn’t think of me in that way, you know? Kasai has a lot going on in her life. I’m not even sure she would be interested in a guy like me. I might not be her type, you know? Since her ex was such a brutish fellow.” 

Yobuhara pushed Katsuke forward, dragging himself along.

“Do you know that, though? Honestly, back when I was your age, we didn’t have the pleasant privilege of cellphones. I had to walk up to the girls and confess my feelings with my chest. Get some hair on your back, Katsuke. Just tell her already.” 

“It isn’t so simple these days, Yobuhara-san…” 

The two men turned onto another main street. Yobuhara let the statement linger in the silence. Occasionally, it was disturbed by a passing car whose brisk wind would batter the two inebriated men to the side. They passed a funeral home like that, swaying together while half-alive. Yobuhara did not like being a confidant. The pressure to give good advice was a pain in the neck. He had managed well enough on platitudes and vague soothsaying, but at such a critical junction in the lives of those two young people, he withheld his true thoughts. Yes, Katsuke should have just said what needed to be said, but that did not mean he would succeed. He would probably fail. Katsuke was a mouse-ish man with little going for him. Yobuhara knew how that impression was flawed by the context through which he knew Katsuke, but the fact that Katsuke had adopted such a state willingly made his gut churn. It was too familiar. 

The two men walked in half-silence, muttering illegible phrases of scorn or jokes and replying to each other in affirmative groans and chuckles. Neither said a thing of worth, and not a word traded between them was remembered even after the breaths were exhaled onto the cold wind of a May night in Fukuoka. In such a state, they crossed to the convenience store and stood outside, admiring the blinding lights. 

“Hey, Yobuhara-san, did you hear the Tigers lost the game last week?” 

“Yeah, the third baseman fumbled the ball.” 

“Honestly, how could someone like that make it to the big leagues?” 

Yobuhara led his subordinate to one of the parking rails outside the store and let the weight shift from his shoulder to it. Katsuke sat back against the rail, both hands grasping it behind him. Yobuhara adopted a similar pose, but he was able to stabilize well enough by leaning his rear against it. He slid his hands into his pockets again and stared at the parking lines without a thought in his head for the drinks inside. The white paint seemed to chastise him for his own inaction. It was only that pressure which drove a few honest words from deep within his hard-beating heart. 

“I don’t think you should give in to resentment.” 

“Yobuhara-san?” 

“I think—well, I’m an old fart now, so maybe I do that too much, thinking, that is. Anyway, I just don’t think you should worry, you know? You shouldn’t feel resentment. If you do, then she was—well I guess that’s bad to say. I mean that you should be honest to yourself, and not let anger or spite cloud what you feel, if that makes sense.”

Katsuke glared at his senior with tilted eyes. Without a word, though, he pushed himself up and walked into the store, emerging a few minutes later with two large cans of beer. He handed one to Yobuhara and they both cracked them at the same time. The fizzing was drowned by the quiet hum of the fluorescent store signs. Both men took long gulps of the golden liquid into their stomachs, breaking only to laugh and lean on each other again. They left the store, but did not return to their coworkers. Instead they made their way around the corner onto Prefectural Road 112 until they at last were standing on a crossing of the Ushikubi river. Each stared into the water of the canal, dark and foreboding, all-knowing. 

“Yobuha-san, I shouldn’t love her, should I?” 

“That’s not something anyone can say. If she has a bright soul, why not love her?” 

“But should I want to claim something like that?” 

“It’s okay to be selfish once in your life.” 

It was fine to be arrogant in one single motion. Each person, he thought, could be allowed that much amid the rest of the world. It would be too much to live with otherwise. He had spent his almost fifteen years before, and time had cost him his youth. Katsuke was almost there, at the point of his own penultimate arrogance. Yobuhara knew what was needed for his part, though he despised the matter of it. 

“I think she does feel the same. If you’ll take my opinion, I don’t think a woman like her would say all that she has said and feel nothing. If you are nice about it, and take it slow, she may develop that sentiment into the exact thing you want her to feel. She doesn’t hate you, and she thinks of you in a way that is better than a pedestrian she passes on the street. So, to that end, you’re probably going to be alright, Katsuke-kun.” 

Katsuke did not reply. He gazed into the dark downriver, towards where their coworkers were probably getting ready to leave for their homes. Off in that darkness Yobuhara knew that Katsuke could see everything but the night. Small words traded in passing, a few smiles here and there. Moments when both of them were genuinely laughing over an unserious comment. Yobuhara could see it all, and he knew that Katsuke must have been seeing the same thing. As they watched their memories play against the dark canal, Katsuke spoke up. 

“I’m not going to forgive the coach for hiring that guy.” 

Yobuhara laughed and threw his arm around Katsuke’s shoulders again. 

“To hell with baseball, it’s a stupid sport anyway!” 

Their words faded in the slow churning of the Ushikubi, which flowed down into the Mikasa River. Just like the plum blossoms, just like the swords and blood, just like the moss from ancient stone, the Mikasa river carried their laughter into the bay. If the sound of such breath could be held by the ears of a soul, in all the world and into the seas, then it would be received with a flat smile. For lies were comforts of the worst sort, but neither the wind nor water cared for the vain dishonesty of Man.