1 post tagged “shibutani”

The first time it happened was after a concert. We were on the bus on the way to the hotel and he was having some sort of breakdown. He didn't think he did well enough on his solo and if you know him, it doesn't matter how many times you told him it was okay, he was not going to be okay. Because he's Subaru, and he has always been hard on himself. And I don't blame him, because after going through what he had gone through, it's only natural to be like that. Hell, I know how that feels. Since the start of our careers, we've always been on the same boat, experiencing things  the same way. And we were never ones who had things served on silver plates, no, my friend, we had it rough. The difference is that after years I've learnt to keep my fear and insecurities to myself. I learnt to keep a stable face expression. Unchanging. He does too, but his face just doesn't lie. His face can't lie. You can always tell what he's thinking and how he feels. To me anyway. His face is an open book.

He sat beside me. His lyrics book sat on his lap. I glanced over a little, the page was empty. I watched his fingers played with the pen he was holding. Unconscious, nervous movements, dancing out his worry. He tapped the pen to the empty page, tap, tap, tap. He was leaning to the seat, his eyes closed and in between the chattering sound of people around us to I could hear his constant sigh.

I quietly took the book from his lap, and took a pen out of my pocket.

There's going to be tomorrow. And tomorrow we'll work harder.

I thought he fell asleep, because he didn't notice me removing the book. The rhythm of his breath was slower. I put the book back on his lap, slowly. The bus was dark and quiet, I could only hear the faint voice of Anthony Kiedis, probably from Ryo's ipod. Everyone was asleep then.

We were passing a countryside, with tall trees. The moon shone very dimly, the soft light sent some sort of sheer reflection into my window. I rested my hands on my lap. That was when I felt his small fingers searched for my hands, hesitantly. I remembered freezing out for a moment, allowing myself for a little moment of uncertainty ; before I finally gave those fingers what they were searching for.

I closed my eyes and breathed the air, it was damp, smelling of sweat and occasionally of someone's strong cologne; scents I'm all too familiar with. I thought I saw a little smile on his face before I drifted fast into quiet, dreamless sleep.



The second time it happened was a year after the first time. I had received a phone call from my Mom, she was crying, her and my Dad just had a big blowout. It was not the first time it happened in the last year. It's just that everytime I heard something about it I can't help but to dwell over it. It's not like there was anything I could do, I was hundreds of kilometers away from them and couldn't just hop into the Shinkansen. I had work that day. A lot of work. But I made sure as soon as I stepped out of my apartment, I put on a face that says everything's fine and it's just another day in the life of Ohkura Tadayoshi.

We had shooting for a commercial that afternoon, and I came in half an hour early. When I got there, only Yasu and Yoko were around; Yasu seemed lost in deep thoughts writing lyrics and Yoko completely absorbed in his game. So I said my hi and left the room, heading for the rooftop of the studio. I was familiar with that studio, I remembered falling asleep there in its rooftop a few years back as I was spacing out by myself.

The sky was gloomy, and the clouds were hanging out in the horizon, as if approving my mood. I sat down on the concrete and lit myself up a cigarette. I don't usually smoke; especially not before I start working, but I cut myself slack sometimes. Usually on days like that. I needed the smoke, as much as I needed time to pull myself together before the camera rolled. There's only one way to do any job and that's by being professional. And my job is to sell dreams. Beautiful, happy-ending dreams. Getting captured with lifeless, sad eyes is never on my job description, it's not a choice. Nobody wants to buy nightmares.

I really wanted to come home and comforted my Mom. I've always been the closest son to her. My Mom never talks about personal problems to anybody else but me.

I didn't hear the sound of the door clicking and of someone walking toward me, I was too lost in my circles of thoughts.

A white cup with "Starbucks" imprinted on it was put in front of me. I looked up, and there he was. He had a faint smile, he's not really one to greet people ecstatically. His true personality is rather shy. I guess that's why I always had some sort of fondness for him. He's loud when the camera rolls, but as soon as it stops, he comes back being his reserved, shy, thinker self.

"Thank you." I said, rather quietly.
He sat beside me and pull out a cigarette box from his pocket.
"Got a lighter?"
I handed him my lighter, a Valentine present from an ex-girlfriend long time ago.
I glanced over him as he inhaled long smoke. His eyes were wandering out, filled with thoughts I could usually guess, but not that day. He looked simply content, his eyes were neither sad nor ecstatic. He didn't say anything anymore after asking for the lighter. We both just sat there, watching the gloomy Tokyo sky. I rested my head on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, except putting his hands around me, and pet my shoulder lightly.

I could smell his scent, the cologne he was wearing. It was musky and rather sweet but not too strong; it soothed me down. It stopped my thoughts from racing so fast.

The shooting ended without a hitch. It was yet another job done well, another sorrow hidden well. Right before we all left the studio, I received a text message.

Tomorrow is going to be better.

I looked at him, across the room from me, our eyes met. I thought I saw a smile on his face before he walked out; leaving the studio.



The drips of water felt nice on my skin. The steamy air in my shower felt smooth, doting my skin with warmth. It had been a long day. I did the shooting for the dorama, went out drinking with my seniors and had to watch them getting drunk off their asses, still put a smile on my face, put them on a cab home and paid for it. Seniority can be so overrated sometimes.

Ah, I'm so tired. I got out of the shower, put on my comfortable pair of sweatpants, and ate my dinner. I didn't feel like going to the grocery stores and cooking, so I bought a bento from a convenience store instead.

My mom called again, saying they were thinking of a divorce. I told her to try counseling if possible. But if divorce's the only way to make them both happier people, I guess there's nothing I can do. I gave up dwelling on it. I decide I'll just support whatever they want to do.

I poured myself some scotch, and slammed myself on the sofa. It was raining outside, and the sound of the water dripping to the concrete pavement lulls me. I always love the sound of rain hitting the ground. I felt at ease and was about to fall asleep, but then my bell rang.

He was in my door, soaking wet. For a second I just starred blankly there as he was shivering from the cold. He didn't say anything. He walked in slowly, his head hung low, his face pale white. I got him some towels, clean clothes, and made him tea.

I sat beside him, quietly, as he was sipping his tea and staring blankly into the TV screen. His knees were on his chest, he was hugging them with his thin arms. He was shaking, still, although not heavily.

I went to the kitchen and poured him more tea, and sat back on the couch. I didn't say anything and just sat there in silent. The silence between the two of us has never been uncomfortable. In fact, I think that's the only way we understand each other most. Silence is our language.

He came just a little closer, and rested his head on my shoulder, just like I did on his that day a few months ago. For a few minutes I just sat, my eyes fixed on the television. It's not like I was watching it, I can't even remember what was on. I felt a little nervous, my stomach was churning a little bit.

"Tadayoshi." He said, very quietly.

"Hmmm?"

"I'm tired."

"You can sleep here." I said softly, putting my arms around his shoulder, and resting my head on his. It felt like the right thing to do, and strangely, I didn't feel strange doing it.

He gave me the first smile of that night. "Ne, tell me. What's the soap you use?"

"Something along the line of Biotherm.. or something."

"I like the smell. Maybe I'll buy one for me, too."

I ran my fingers through his hair. Subconsciously. "Tadayoshi? Can we fall asleep now?"

I didn't move an inch, my heart beat faster that I was scared he could hear it hitting behind my skin. I gulped. "Dame?"* he asked, sounding a bit like a spoiled child.

I turned my head, facing him, looking at his eyes. "Y-yeah. I guess we can."

The next thing I remembered was his lips pressing against mine. It was quick, innocent, and guiltless. "Thank you, Tadayoshi." He murmured, then wrapped his arms around my torso.

"Anytime, Shibuyan." I let out a heavy sigh escaped my chest, closed my eyes, and concentrated back on the sound of the rain.

He fell asleep about five minutes after that, snoring very softly, I thought it was cute. I didn't move, or rather; I didn't want to move. There was a strange feeling slipping inside me, and I couldn't quite grasp what it was then. I made small circles with my fingers on his hair, inhaling the smell of his neck, of his body, a scent I've known for ten years, yet a scent I've never been this close to.

"You'll be better, tomorrow. You'll always be." I whispered to his ears before falling asleep.

I thought I felt his arms wrapping me tighter.




Nothing really changes after that. Except for small details, like his soft gazes to me, a or random text message saying "Have a great day" or "Good morning." every once in a while. I guess he picked that up from Yasu.

But other than that, we're still... us. Tadayoshi and Subaru. He'd fetch me coffee and sit quietly with me when I feel like crap, and I'd fall asleep with his head on my shoulder when he comes knocking on my door with sad eyes. There's never a question asked, not a single time.

And nothing has to change. Things are fine the way they are.

It's not until much later when I realized the strange feeling slipping inside of me that rainy night was happiness.







*dame = no good