The scent of the sea brought him home. The scent of sweet bean paste brought him back to him.
Ten years ago, Minato left the sleepy seaside town of Shiomi-cho with a camera in his hands, three words caught in his throat, and a roll of film he never developed. He made it in Tokyo—his photographs are flawless, published, praised. But flawless isn't the same as alive, and lately his camera feels heavier than it should.
Now he's back, ostensibly on assignment. Really, he's back for the boy he left
Scent of Sea Breeze and Sweet Bean Paste - Lighthouse Dusk — A Ten-Year-Old Verbal Tic and Undeveloped Film
The scent of the tide had crept deep into the town overnight.
Minato lay on the bed, the hotel's small window left open, staring at the ceiling. Yesterday he'd made it all the way to the front of Matsubaya, seen Yuuma's figure beyond the noren curtain—and still couldn't take that step. The sound of the wooden spatula from the back of the shop was still lodged somewhere at the bottom of his ears.
*Ten years, and what exactly am I afraid of?*
He'd muttered it to himself any number of times. In Tokyo he'd made a name as a photographer, been featured in magazines, published a collection. On the job he'd photographed hundreds of people. And yet, to look an old childhood friend in the face, it took this much time.
Outside the window, the harbor lights were going out one by one. Dawn was close. Minato slowly sat up.
The hotel room was small—a bed, a little desk, and a built-in television, nothing more. On the desk sat a film canister he'd taken from his camera bag the night before. Film from ten summers ago, shot at the Shiomi Cape lighthouse, still undeveloped.
Minato picked up the canister and rolled it around in his palm for a while. It was light. Why did a single roll of film feel so heavy?
*Today. Today I'll look him in the eye and talk to him properly.*
He set the canister back on the desk and hung the camera around his neck. An old film camera. Its metal body was cool against the chilled morning air.
---
When he stepped out of the hotel, the town was still wrapped in a thin blue light.
June mornings come early. In the rotary in front of the station, two old taxis sat parked just as they had yesterday, and one of the drivers had gotten out and was stretching hugely. As Minato passed, the man gave him a slight bow. Minato nodded back.
He walked down the slope toward Shiomi Ginza-dori. The shops on either side still had their shutters down. But by the time he reached the middle of the street, that sweet scent came drifting toward him.
The fragrance of azuki beans. Sugar, and just a touch of salt.
*He's already started the prep.*
Minato's feet quickened of their own accord. His heart was pounding absurdly loud in the morning quiet. Yesterday that scent had drawn him in, and still he'd fled from the front of the shop. Today was different.
He stood before Matsubaya.
A two-story wooden building painted black. The indigo-dyed noren swayed softly in the breeze off the sea. The white characters on the curtain glowed, translucent in the morning light.
From inside came a light *kotton*—the sound of a wooden spatula striking the rim of a copper pot. Then a *shuu*, the hiss of escaping steam.
Minato closed his eyes once.
*It's fine. I'm just going to see him.*
One deep breath. Then he pushed up the indigo noren with his hand.
"Excuse me."
His own voice came out hoarser than he'd expected. There was no one on the earthen floor of the shop. From the kitchen in back, the sound of someone folding bean paste continued.
"Excuse me."
He said it again, a little louder this time.
The sound stopped.
A stretch of silence. Then a man in a white kappougi apron appeared from the back.
His soft chestnut hair was still slightly sleep-tousled from the morning's bustle. His almond-shaped, light-brown eyes caught sight of Minato standing on the earthen floor and went wide.
"...Minato?"
Yuuma's voice echoed through the quiet shop.
Minato felt his throat tighten. The first time he'd heard that voice in ten years. Unchanged from before—slow, low, and gentle.
"It's been a while."
That was all Minato could manage.
Yuuma gazed at Minato's face for a while. Then his expression softened. A small dimple formed, only on his left cheek.
"Want some anko?"
At those words, something deep in Minato's chest grew warm.
Ten years ago, on the way home from photography club, Yuuma had always said that. *Want some anko?* In the back of the shop, he'd spoon freshly made bean paste into a little dish, and the two of them would share it. Not a single word had changed since then.
"...Yeah. I'll have some."
Minato was doing his desperate best to keep his voice from shaking.
Yuuma smiled that faint smile again. Then he set down the wooden spatula in his hand and walked toward the earthen floor. The cuff of his white kappougi was flecked with a little azuki cooking liquid, stained a pale brown.
"Come on in. The anko's just finished cooking."
With that, Yuuma led Minato toward the back of the shop.
---
A small sitting room at the back of the shop.
Across a wooden table, Minato and Yuuma sat facing each other. The room was filled with the sweet fragrance of bean paste. An old calendar hung on the wall, and a pendulum clock ticked off the seconds.
"Hang on a minute."
Yuuma stood and disappeared toward the kitchen. After a while he returned, carrying two plates wreathed in white steam, one in each hand.
"Shiomi manjuu. Just steamed."
On each white plate sat two plump, round Shiomi manjuu. Steam curled up lazily from them.
"Try one."
Yuuma smiled, looking a little bashful.
Minato picked up one of the manjuu. Still warm. The white skin was soft and fluffy, a faint heat passing into his fingertips.
He took a bite.
The gentle sweetness of the white bean paste spread through his mouth. But it wasn't only sweet. There was the faintest taste of salt. A perfect balance, the way only a wagashi shop near the sea could manage.
"It's good."
Minato said it honestly.
"Glad to hear it. I've been worried people might say the taste has gone downhill lately."
Yuuma laughed and picked up his own manjuu.
"Are you running the shop alone?"
Minato asked the thing that had been on his mind since yesterday.
Yuuma's hand stopped for just an instant.
"...Yeah. Well, that's about the size of it."
Yuuma brought the manjuu to his mouth, his gaze dropping slightly.
"I've been posting help-wanted ads, but nobody ever comes."
"I see."
Minato couldn't say anything more.
"My old man died five years ago. I've been running it alone ever since."
Yuuma's voice was matter-of-fact. But Minato could tell. Yuuma was forcing himself to act cheerful.
"That must've been hard."
"Well, there's no such thing as a job that isn't hard. You're a photographer too, right? I saw it in the magazine. They were beautiful photos."
Yuuma said it, looking straight into Minato's eyes.
In those light-brown eyes, Minato's own reflection was visible.
"...You saw them?"
Minato felt something tighten deep in his chest.
"Of course I did. If a childhood friend's photos show up in a magazine, anyone would look."
Yuuma grinned, a little mischievously.
That smile was exactly the same as it had been ten years ago, and Minato felt like he might cry.
*I want to say, let me help you.*
*But I can't.*
Minato had to go back to Tokyo. He had work. He couldn't stay in this town.
And yet, he found himself wanting to be at Yuuma's side.
"...Yuuma, I—"
Just as Minato started to speak, Yuuma shook his head.
"Thanks. But your place isn't here, is it."
Yuuma smiled, looking lonely.
Those words sank deep into Minato's chest.
*That's right. My place isn't here.*
*I know that. I know it, and yet—*
Minato couldn't say anything more. He fell silent and put the rest of the manjuu into his mouth.
It should have been sweet, but it tasted a little bitter.
---
Leaving Matsubaya, Minato walked along Shiomi Ginza-dori toward the station.
The shopping street before noon had a little more foot traffic than in the morning. Elderly people carrying shopping bags, elementary schoolers on bicycles. Time flowed slowly for everyone here.
Before heading back to the business hotel by the station, Minato felt like walking a while. He turned his feet toward the harbor, toward the smell of the tide.
When he reached the middle of the street, a woman standing in front of a shop called out to him.
"Oh my, aren't you Minato-kun?"
He turned to find Maruyama Masako, the owner of Marushou Butcher Shop, standing there. She wore a white apron, her short hair pinned back. She must have been past seventy. Ever since Minato was a child, he'd bought croquettes from this shop.
"It's been a long time, Maruyama-san."
Minato gave a slight bow.
"It really is Minato-kun! Ten years, is it? I hear you became a photographer in Tokyo? That's wonderful!"
Maruyama clapped him on the shoulder, delighted.
"Well, something like that."
Minato gave a wry smile.
"More importantly, did you stop by Matsubaya? How's Yuuma-kun doing?"
Maruyama's voice turned a little serious.
"Yes, I was there until just now."
"I see... That shop's in trouble these days, you know."
Maruyama lowered her voice.
"Trouble?"
"Have you heard about the redevelopment? This whole Shiomi Ginza-dori area is about to be bought up by a big developer. Matsubaya's on the list too, apparently."
Minato's heart gave a heavy thud.
"Redevelopment..."
"It's a town revitalization plan. They're going to build a marina and commercial facilities on the east side of the harbor. This shopping street is part of it too. There are people for it and against it, but all the young folks are in favor. They say it's better than the town wasting away."
Maruyama sighed.
Just then, Ootsuka Mitsu, the owner of the neighboring Shiomi Bookstore, poked her head out from the back of her shop.
"Oh my, isn't that Minato-kun?"
Ootsuka Mitsu was a woman about the same age as Maruyama. She wore silver-rimmed glasses and a thin stole wrapped around her neck.
"It's been a long time, Ootsuka-san."
Minato found himself caught between the two of them.
"You went to see Yuuma-kun at Matsubaya, didn't you? Did he say anything?"
Ootsuka Mitsu looked at Minato with a worried face.
"No, nothing in particular..."
"I hear the shop's land and building have a mortgage on them from some real estate company."
Ootsuka Mitsu lowered her voice even further.
"A mortgage?"
Yuuma's face from earlier surfaced in Minato's mind.
"I don't know the details, but apparently Yuuma-kun's father borrowed money years ago to renovate the shop. The rumor is he put up the land and building as collateral."
"Yuuma-chan doesn't say a word about it, but everyone's worried the shop might be in danger."
Maruyama Masako's brows drew together in distress.
"There's even talk that if he agrees to the redevelopment, the debt would be wiped clean..."
The two women's words settled heavily on Minato's chest.
*Yuuma was carrying all of that alone?*
Minato thought of the smile he'd seen in the shop earlier. That lonely smile, the one that had said, *your place isn't here.*
*Behind that smile, all of that was there.*
Minato clenched his fist tight.
"Minato-kun, you were close with Yuuma-kun, weren't you? Do something to help him."
Maruyama Masako placed her hand gently on Minato's arm.
"...I will."
That was all Minato could manage.
---
Back at the hotel, Minato took a small plastic case from the bottom of his camera bag.
Inside was a single roll of old film.
Film from ten years ago, shot at the Shiomi Cape lighthouse, undeveloped.
Minato opened the case and took the film in his hand.
In the dark room, the film reflected a faint glimmer of light.
*Yuuma is in here.*
*And the words I couldn't say that day are locked in here too.*
Minato laid the film gently on his palm.
Outside the window, the harbor lights blinked slowly on and off.
The sound of the tide had been audible from far away all this time.
Just then, the smartphone on the desk gave a short buzz.
Minato set down the film and picked up the phone.
A message was displayed on the screen.
The sender was Hatayama Kento.
*Kento...*
Minato's fingers stopped for an instant.
Hatayama Kento. The other childhood friend he and Yuuma had shared. A man his own age who had taken over the family real estate company.
Minato opened the message.
*"Minato, it's been a while. Let's talk tomorrow. About Matsubaya."*
A short, businesslike message.
Minato star
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