...and we will become strangers - PiErika, PiYui; PG-13, AU
title: …and we will become strangers
author: ginzarhapsody
pairing: YamaPi/Toda Erika, YamaPi/Aragaki Yui
rating: PG-13
word count: 9469 words
summary: AU. YamaPi is a dancer. While living the dream, we sometimes hurt and get hurt along the way.
author's notes: written for tinyangl, originally based on the AU premise of Aragaki Yui and Toda Erika as rival rockstars. I embellished on it, heavily inspired by YamaPi's "Loveless" PV. (See if you can spot how many ways I invoke the PV/song! :) ) I began writing this April 2010, and then life got in the way and it was put on the backburner for years. Now I've finished it, nearly four years later. My love for tinyangl kept me hoping, kept me going. ♥ Much love to my beta, sinonymity, who helped make this ten times better than it originally was. It was so much fun working and torturing tinyangl with you, dear!
Everything was a blur.
The tall, imposing buildings overhead. The sidewalks overflowing with unfamiliar people. The bright fluorescent lights all around. The overwhelming cacophony of noises. The clashing of distinct, unfamiliar smells. Even the air he took into his lungs somehow tasted different.
He had expected culture shock-had even welcomed the thought of being overwhelmed by the newness of everything. However, he hadn't expected it to hit him so hard and so fast the moment he stepped out of the bus terminal into the dark night of the city.
Clutching the strap of his duffel bag slung across his shoulder tightly, he simply stood still, struggling to take in and adjust to all the stimulation of a world far, far away from Japan.
An older man bumped into him and YamaPi quickly stepped back and bowed slightly. Only after he had done so, he caught himself and mumbled a soft, "Sorry..." in his stilted English.
As he watched the foreign world of New York City rush past him on the sidewalk, YamaPi could feel the fear and dread building in the pit of his stomach. What the hell had he been thinking? Coming here just because he had a dream? His dreams couldn't have prepared him for how lost he felt in that very moment, with no clue as to how to move forward and no way to turn back. His dreams were useless in the face of his fear.
And then he heard her.
Through all the honking horns, the barrage of people chattering in a myriad of languages, and all the other sounds a city as big as New York could make, a clear Japanese voice cut through it all. Though it was barely audible to probably anyone else, for YamaPi, it was as clear as day-something comfortingly familiar in this alien chaos.
His feet carried him forward before he could even think and YamaPi found himself standing on the busy street corner, an old and beaten guitar case open before him. It was filled with a few small coins, none of those larger dollar bills he was more familiar with, but she didn't seem to care at all; she clearly wasn't playing for the money.
He watched her intently, waiting until she had strummed her final chords and her voice had fallen silent to call out to her. "Um, excuse me...?"
Her head snapped in his direction and she met his gaze with her large, brown eyes. Powerful eyes that demanded the world's attention, demanded his attention. "You..." she started in English, but then seemed to think better of it and switched to Japanese. "You speak Japanese."
YamaPi flashed a slightly nervous smile. "I can't be the only one who does in this city."
She smirked, tucking a long strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear. "No, you aren't, but usually I get stopped by American kids who are totally into anime or something."
"Do they ask you to sing anime songs?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you actually sing them?"
"Are you going to ask me to sing one?"
YamaPi chuckled and extended his hand out her. "I'm Yamashita."
She set her guitar down in her case and stood up from where she had been crouched. She reached for his hand. "I'm Toda."
*~*~*
"You've only been back in the country for a month, Yamashita-kun?"
Out of the three men sitting at the table before him, YamaPi looks directly at the one in the center who is skimming his resume-Ogata. "Yes. I was in New York for four years in a small dance troupe."
Ogata nods, still focused on the resume. "It seems you were doing well over there-why come back to Japan at all?" He finally looks up at YamaPi, honest curiosity in his eyes.
"After four years, I felt like I had done everything I could do there. I want to continue improving my own dance skills and sharing my love for dancing with others, so I decided to return to Japan." The words roll off YamaPi's tongue easily; he's prepared. How many times had he been asked this very same question during other auditions in the past month alone? He'd lost count.
His answer seems to satisfy Ogata well-enough because he glances back down at YamaPi's resume. "Well, you've got outstanding recommendations for someone who's been back for such a short time and our staff was fairly impressed with your audition." He passes off the resume to the staff member on his right, before taking another sheet of paper from the one on his left. "We showed Aragaki-san a video tape of your audition as well, and she is quite excited to work with you. As a formality, we would like you to have a meeting with Aragaki-san herself, but we are ready to bring you on." Ogata slides the sheet of paper to the edge of the table toward YamaPi.
YamaPi takes that as his cue, steps up to the table, and finds a written agreement designating his role as Aragaki Yui's lead backup dancer and choreographer. As he reads over the details, Ogata adds, "We will of course have a formal contract for you when you meet with Aragaki-san, but this is just to confirm that you will be joining us so that we can prepare the rest of the paperwork. That is, if you are still interested."
"If you will have me, I am still interested," YamaPi returns formally with a polite bow of his head.
Ogata extends his hand and smiles. "Welcome back to Japan, Yamashita-kun."
*
"You're dancing for…Aragaki Yui?!"
YamaPi rolls his eyes at the disbelief in Jin's voice. "You know, there are better things to say to your best friend who just got his first gig in Japan after a long month of auditioning."
"Like what?" Jin reaches forward to grab a can of beer off the coffee table and then crashes back onto the sofa cushions.
"At times like these, even though we may think it's weird, we're supposed to offer support and say congratulations," Ryo coaches as he carries over the box of freshly delivered pizza. "So, congratulations, Pi."
YamaPi opens the pizza box and quickly grabs a square slice of plain pepperoni. "Thanks, Ryo-chan. I think."
"Okay, okay, so congratulations on the job, Pi, but Aragaki Yui?" Jin is clearly stuck on this fact. "The last time I checked, she doesn't actually dance."
Ryo laughs and adds, "Yeah, yeah. She does all those soft and mushy songs!"
"It's nice to know that in your private time, you two can still be judgmental jerks," YamaPi scoffs, taking a swig from his own half-empty beer can. "I don't know what her sound is like right now, but her management-and Aragaki-san herself-is looking to give her a more mature adult image, so they want dancing."
"Everyone is doing the club sound and dancing right now," Jin remarks, cramming a large slice with barbecue chicken into his mouth. "Kuwokri Meifa isf soh hot."
"You would know, Jin," Ryo snickers, popping the top on his own can of beer. "You're like the king of the club sound. What was your last single? 'LOVEJUICE'?"
"Good to know that all those long-distance calls for English practice were put to good use." YamaPi rolls his eyes yet again.
"Yeah!! And now that you're back in the country, we can speak in English all the time!"
"So when is your big meeting with Aragaki?" Ryo cuts in, ignoring Jin's comment altogether.
"Next week, actually. They want me to do a trial one-on-one lesson with her to get to know her and then, once she gives the okay, I sign the paperwork and it all becomes official."
"Have you checked out her competition?"
YamaPi blinks, caught off-guard by Ryo's question. Having friends who are huge pop idols already kind of skews his perspective on the music industry, but on top of that he's been totally out of the loop for the past four years. "Actually, no. Should I?"
Jin and Ryo exchange a glance before Jin eventually answers, "You might want to."
*~*~*
YamaPi went to most of the big city sights already with Kusano (and he had a little headband replica of the Statue of Liberty's crown to prove it), but they hadn't gone to Grand Central Station. And so YamaPi decided to make a visit to the famous train station-his first adventure on the town by himself.
As he walked across the main concourse, he couldn't help but stare upward at the expansive ceiling and the ornate architecture. It was nothing like anything he had seen before. Most people would have marveled at the throngs of people hurrying about, but for someone who had lived in Tokyo for most of his teenage years, endless streams of people was an everyday reality.
"Be careful! You're getting in people's way!"
YamaPi stopped walking at the scolding, but playful Japanese warnings clearly directed at him. This of course did cause a passerby to run into his shoulder, making YamaPi drop his small duffel bag. Crouching down quickly to pick up his bag, YamaPi called out an apologetic, "Sorry!" to the person who simply continued to walk without a second glance at him.
"You don't have to say sorry, you know. Half the time, they don't care."
"Just like Tokyo," he mused, glancing at Toda standing next to him.
"Tokyo has such a bad reputation. Kobe is so much better," she scoffed.
"If Kobe is so great, then why are you here?" YamaPi teasingly asked.
She softly smiled, pausing for a moment before sincerely answering, "Same reason as you: big dreams." With a playful twinkle in her eye, she winked. "Bigger than either Kobe or Tokyo could handle."
As it turned out, Toda had been on her way to grab a late lunch at a nearby diner. And seeing that YamaPi had yet to eat himself, he joined her. Over a meal of authentic cheeseburgers and onion rings, the two chatted, swapping both stories and dreams. Listening to Toda, YamaPi couldn't help but admire the woman across the table from him. The amount of passion and determination she had invested in her music... He could only hope to one day have that much invested in his own dancing.
"...Are you free next week?" She looked up from her chocolate milkshake.
YamaPi chuckled. "Right now, yes. I will probably be free for the imminent future."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll find something! It takes time to find your feet in this city," she encouraged with a smile. Digging into her tote bag, she pulled out a pen and began writing on a clean napkin. "In the meantime, I have a gig next week at a small café in SoHo. You should come check it out."
Once she had finished writing, she slid the napkin across the table. YamaPi examined it intently, reading it, before looking back up at Toda.
"Just come."
*
Toda was laughing outright as they ran down the stairs and onto the subway platform, attempting to catch the train. They missed it by seconds, and YamaPi could only stare into the train through the dirty, scratched up windows as it began to move out of the station.
"Aaaaah," Toda sighed, and plopped down on a bench on the now empty platform. Her guitar case rested at her feet. "I told you we wouldn't make it. Pay up!"
YamaPi chuckled. Sitting down next to her on the bench, he dug into the pocket of his worn leather jacket and pulled out a pack of apple Hi-Chew. Toda's nimble fingers quickly snatched the candy from his hand. "When is the next train?" he asked, watching her unwrap a piece and pop it into her mouth.
She shrugged. "Probably in the next twenty minutes?"
YamaPi nodded, and there was a momentary pause in the conversation before he said, "Thanks."
"Hm?" Toda looked confused. "Oh, you mean for tonight? It's not a big deal."
YamaPi wanted to tell her it was a big deal. From that first smirk she had taken him under her wing. Open and honest, she had lent him a hand, invited him into her world-and oh, what a world it was! He had been entranced by her street performance that night on the sidewalk, but it was magnificent to watch her take the stage. Even if only for a short three-song set amongst the café patrons (most clearly there for someone other than her), she poured her everything into the music and it came across. At least to him. The rawness of her voice, the conviction of her emotions demanded he listen, and listen he did. It wasn't music to dance to, but music to be swallowed up by. YamaPi had never felt music like that before.
"You're beautiful," he said instead. He only realized what he had said when Toda looked at him, and for the first time, seemed genuinely startled. "Oh, um…I mean, your music is beautiful, Toda-san. Powerful."
She snapped away from his gaze quickly, and YamaPi worried that he actually might have offended her with his comment. "Stop calling me 'Toda-san'; Erika is fine."
"Only if you call me 'YamaPi'."
"What the hell is a 'YamaPi'?!"
YamaPi's laughter filled the near empty subway platform as he set out to tell her the story of "the YamaPi". Once he had though, Erika was laughing right along with him.
*~*~*
YamaPi walks into the dance studio only to realize that he's late.
Aragaki is already there. At least he thinks it's her; her back is turned to him, but he can make out her reflection in the dance mirrors lining the wall. She's playing with her hair, pulling it back into a low ponytail with her hand and then letting it go, shaking it out. She seems a bit self-conscious, and YamaPi totally understands because he gets nervous too (it took him two minutes to mentally prepare himself to open the studio door!), but it's kind of weird for him to watch her go through that as well.
Admittedly, it's kind of cute too. But he's not sure that's the best thing to say to your boss on the first day. Or maybe ever.
YamaPi announces his presence by dropping his duffel on the floor near the CD player. "I guess I'm late."
Aragaki gives a small yelp, and it takes everything in YamaPi to keep from chuckling. He's sure about this one-not a good idea to laugh at his boss on his first day on the job. "You're Yamashita-san?" Despite being flustered just moments before, Aragaki manages to be quite composed when she addresses him.
"Yes," he answers as he approaches her, then formally introduces himself. "Yamashita Tomohisa. Nice to meet you."
"Aragaki Yui. Nice to meet you." She smiles brightly, her awkward moment forgotten. Returning to her hair, she finally ties it back with a simple band. "So what's first? I've never done this, as I'm sure you know."
"But didn't you do those Pocky commercials?" he comments offhandedly.
Her cheeks immediately flush. "You've seen the Pocky commercials?!"
"Well, I did grow up here. They were all over the place like eight years ago."
She laughs. "I guess they were. But I don't know if I'd call that dancing."
He laughs right back; there's something about the way she tries to unsuccessfully hide her bashfulness that puts him at ease. "I think it's my job to be the judge of that!"
YamaPi takes her through some stretches first, not only to warm up, but to gauge where her flexibility is at. Once they finish, he introduces the short one-minute routine that he choreographed specifically for this lesson. When the music starts, Aragaki's eyes go wide; he doesn't miss it. He's dancing to 'Heart will drive' from her second album, Hug; the lyrics are indeed sweet, and he happens to like the beat a lot. The combination of his peppy steps and song's lightness and innocence brings a smile to his face while he dances. After a minute, the music fades out, and he stops in the final pose.
"Wow," she marvels, standing off to the side, still staring. "This is why I wanted you. I didn't know that song could be like that."
"Thanks." YamaPi runs a hand through his hair, giving a crooked smile. It's one thing when his friends compliment him, but it's another thing when it's his new boss at his new job that he himself isn't sure he's good at just yet. "But now it's your turn to try."
She's a little gangly at first, looking down at her feet more than looking up at her reflection in the mirrors. But soon enough, she gets the hang of it-watching YamaPi's reflection as he gives her the next move, and then watching her own reflection as she mimics it, making sure she gets it down right. Every now and then, he'll fix the angling of her arms or the positioning of her feet, but no more than that. Aragaki turns out to be a quick study, and a sincere one as well, making his job that much easier.
They take a break about halfway through the choreography, and as they are lounging on the floor, Aragaki again says, "I really like what you've done with the song. I don't really write music, so I've never thought about visualizing the stuff that I get to sing. Doing this just takes it to another level. It feels different."
YamaPi nods. "That's why I love dancing. Everything feels more real somehow. More intense. Because it's in every movement, every muscle, every bone."
Aragaki nods her head in return, but the look in her eye tells him that she doesn't quite get it. And he's okay with that. If she got it, he wouldn't even be here right now.
"So, we've still got an hour left before the meeting." YamaPi climbs back up to his feet. "Do you want to bother learning the rest of a routine you'll never perform?"
"Why not?" Aragaki chuckles as she stands. "I mean, I can still learn something. Besides, I'm enjoying it."
*
He watches her sing and it's just like when he first saw her perform years ago. Sure, there are differences. Instead of small stage against an old brick wall, she's on an elaborate set with décor to match the upbeat, forward tempo of the song. She's not alone on stage anymore either; a full band backs her up. But there's more that's the same. She's the same. The spark in her eyes. The confidence in her voice. The playful smirk on her lips. The stage might be bigger, but she fills it with her presence and it's just as intimate of a performance as that first one in the SoHo café.
"So you've heard of Toda Erika?"
"Huh?" YamaPi turns away from the television recording of the performance and toward Miyazawa. "Not really. I've only heard vague things about her from some friends in the industry in regards to her rivalry with Aragaki-san. This is the first time I've seen a recorded performance of hers." Not a total lie...
"Don't believe the hype," Aragaki pipes up with a smile, tossing her long, loose hair over her shoulder. "The media just wants us to be rivals. Most of the industry buys into it. And it sells, so..." She shoots a telling look Miyazawa's way which doesn't go unnoticed by YamaPi.
Next to her, Miyazawa bites his lip, bashfully bowing his head at Aragaki's unspoken rebuke. Ogata, seated next to YamaPi, shakes his head. "Yui-chan, we've gone over this. A little harmless rivalry has never hurt anyone, especially when it's strategically crafted."
That's the last time they discuss the rivalry between the two singers officially. The rest of the meeting is spent listening to Aragaki's new song that she's just finished recording and carving out an image for what the performance of said song might look like. Toda Erika's style is often brought up in contrast. As it turns out, Ogata, the marketing director behind Aragaki, has much more to say than Miyazawa, her day-to-day manager. But what surprises YamaPi the most is how outspoken Aragaki is in giving her own input, sometimes clashing with Ogata (and winning!). Her image may be "soft and mushy" (to take the words out of Ryo's mouth), but she has her own spunk. It's simply hidden beneath her smile-always there, but prudently revealed when needed. Very unlike what he remembers of Erika-overflowing, upfront, bold.
The meeting wraps up with the agreement that Aragaki will begin working with YamaPi as soon as he has the routine fully choreographed. YamaPi heads for the elevators, hoping to test out some of his ideas right away at the dance studio. Before he can hit the "down" button himself, though, someone beats him to it. He glances up to find Aragaki flashing him an impish smile. "Where you headed?"
The empty elevator arrives quickly and YamaPi allows her to step in first before following. "Back to the dance studio. Got to get to work, you know."
Aragaki gives a firm nod with a soft, "Hm," of approval. There's a moment of silence before she speaks. "I just wanted to let you know, please ignore all that crap you hear about me and Toda Erika. I respect her as a music artist. We're not friends, but we're not enemies either. At least on my side of things."
YamaPi arches his eyebrow. "So…Toda-san. She thinks differently?" After years of calling her by her first name, "Toda-san" doesn't roll off his tongue comfortably.
"We inadvertently run in the same circles," she sighs. "I tend to work with a lot of Johnny's idols. She tends to be friends or involved with a lot of Johnny's idols. There've been few awkward run-ins."
The irony of Aragaki's words are hardly lost on YamaPi. He wonders whether she would consider him an "awkward run-in" if she knew his full story. But somehow, it doesn't surprise him to hear that Aragaki is the more neutral of the two in their concocted rivalry; Erika's always put her heart before her head.
The elevator stops at the ground floor and YamaPi steps out first this time. "Don't worry. I'll judge you on how well you dance and nothing else."
As he walks away toward the exit, he hears her call out, "Wait! How was I today then?"
YamaPi laughs and then tosses back over his shoulder. "Let's just say, there's room for improvement!"
*~*~*
She first danced with him on New Years' Eve.
Despite having been "way past tipsy" for the majority of the night (according to Kusano), that dance was permanently imprinted onto his memory.
The rough but sheer fabric of her dress rubbing against his slightly curled fingers on her hip as he drew her in closer.
Her palm pressing fully against his own, their entwined arms held low and close to their bodies as they swayed back and forth to the slow beat.
The overhead blue lights washing across the club's cement floor as he self-consciously looked down at his feet to check if they were actually moving properly (and not clumsily bumping into, or worse, stepping on her feet).
The dark, seductive depths of her eyes pulling him in when he finally finally met them with his own, causing heat to creep up his cheeks.
Her face ever close to his as she brushed her lips against his, a sweet and lingering kiss. Their first kiss. And then again, a little more forceful, and a just a little hungrier, when he kissed her back.
Vodka and chocolate.
Erika tasted like vodka and chocolate.
*~*~*
"Yamashita-san? I didn't exactly peg you for one to be sitting at a club."
"And I never pegged you as one to be all dolled up at a club either, Aragaki-san."
"I like to go out sometimes, what can I say? …Oh no, you pegged me as the soft, quiet, and fluffy type, didn't you?!"
"…Well, only at first, and only because that's all my friends told me about you. But you totally blew that image out of the water after our first couple of meetings."
"And then what did you think?"
"That you were strong and level-headed. That you were a woman who knew what she wanted, but reasonably recognized the extents and limitations of the entertainment world at the same time. A woman capable of compromise."
"Oh…wow. I wasn't expecting you to say that."
"My turn. What did you think of me?"
"You had smooth lines…when you were dancing I mean! Hey, don't give me that look!"
"What look?"
"The 'is-the-girl-I-work-for-really-hitting-on-me?!' look. Don't lie; I see it."
"Woman."
"…What?"
"You're a woman, not a girl."
"…Oh. I guess even I get caught up in my image and forget sometimes. Toda-san's usually the woman, what with all the rumors buzzing around her and her rock-ish image. I'm just the good girl with the light, happy and fun songs. The one you pine after but can never reach. The ideal you want to take home to your parents."
"You don't sound bitter at all."
"It's like you said. I'm a woman. I'm just me. I have my moments. I just…want to be able to show that sometimes. For real. In my own music. In my own lyrics. I mean, sure…I am happy. But it's not always like that."
"And that's why I'm here. You're more than cute. And we're going to prove that to Japan."
"…Do you wanna dance? I mean, you could teach me some moves; I'm not paying for overtime though!"
"Ha, sure. But I'm pretty sure you've got a move or two you could teach me too."
*
YamaPi runs the choreography for Aragaki's song again. It's half done at this point and he's trying to figure out what to do through the bridge to connect to the final chorus. But the more he runs through it, the more stuck he becomes about where to go next. Forget writer's block. YamaPi has dancer's block.
Unsatisfied, he plops down onto the folding chair he's set up in the middle of the empty dance studio and stares at his defeated posture in the wall of mirrors before him. Aragaki's voice continues to fill the room as the song plays on repeat from the CD player in the corner. He likes the song well-enough (and even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter because that's not what he’s getting paid for), but there's something about it that's keeping him from moving forward.
He mulls over the events of the other night at the club. They danced together for three songs before Aragaki called it a night, citing an early morning magazine photo shoot as her reason. YamaPi left with her, walking her outside and helping her catch a taxi before heading to the nearest station to catch one of the last trains; later he got an earful from Jin for ditching him and Ryo at the club, but whatever. What Aragaki had said in their short exchange lingered with him the rest of the night-"For real. In my own music. In my own lyrics." And to be honest, it still does.
After a long, pensive moment spent staring at his reflection, YamaPi reaches into his hoodie's pocket and pulls out his phone, starting a text message.
Hey Ryo-chan. I've got a favor to ask...
*~*~*
"I'm home."
YamaPi walked in to the loft, slamming the door shut behind him. Exhausted, he slowly removed one layer after the other-jacket, shoes, socks-before collapsing onto their white sofa. The sun poured through the tall windows, bathing him in its late morning warmth. The television was on an episode of Music Station, a television show he hadn't seen since he left Japan.
"There you are!"
He heard her sock-covered feet padding across the wooden flooring before she actually appeared in front of him-her long nightshirt hanging off her right shoulder, her hair mussed, a half-eaten oatmeal raisin cookie in hand. "Welcome back," Erika greeted with a smile. She plopped down next to him, curling her legs up on the cushions, her bare knees brushing against his.
"Where were you?"
"In the kitchen, looking for something to eat." She nibbled on the cookie. "We should really get around to grocery shopping, there's no breakfast-"
"I meant, where were you last night?"
"Oh!" Erika shifted slightly on the couch, so that she was looking directly at YamaPi. "Well, Mari-chan and I were headed over to check out the troupe's showcase, but then her recording studio friend called. He got a bunch of extra hours and he knew we'd been having trouble getting time lately since we can't go during work hours...so, we went." She paused. "You're mad?"
YamaPi opened his mouth, and then hesitated. He wasn't mad, but… "A little, but I'll get over it."
She rested her chin on his shoulder and took his hand into hers. "There will be other showcases." Her voice was even, assured. She always had a justification for everything. Even when he wished she didn't. "This was just the first one. And I bet it didn't even go all that well. The first time never goes as well as you want."
Of course, she was right. While the showcase was great-Kusano finally nailed that double backflip he had been trying to get right for weeks!-the turnout wasn't. Something like thirty people showed up, and mostly because they were friends and friends of friends of someone in the troupe. The after party had been ridiculous because of that, though. Everyone who had come out to the showcase just continued on with them as they hit the bar, and then the club, and then another bar. YamaPi ended up dragging Kusano home, and catching a couple of hours of sleep on his lumpy couch before returning to their loft. He had a blast, and finally felt like he was on his way to building something.
It wasn't the perfect showcase, but it was a beginning. His beginning. A beginning he had really wanted to share with Erika.
"You get my text messages at least?"
"After I got home at like 4am," she admitted. "I tried to call you from the studio, but it's in the basement of this old building and I wasn't getting any signal."
"You got that new song recorded though?"
"Yes! Two more songs then I'll have a decent demo CD to send out to some labels."
YamaPi smiled, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand. That is what he loved about her, her gumption. She did what she needed to do, when she needed to do it. That was how passionate she was-it swallowed her whole.
Sometimes, it swallowed him whole too.
"Why are you watching this?" He glanced up at the television to catch the end of some song called "Daite Senorita".
"I dunno," she shrugged, glancing at music artists lined up across the screen. "Reminding myself of who I want to be, I guess?"
The two of them sat there for a quiet moment, watching Music Station as it ended and a commercial for vegetable juice came on.
"Look, I'll make it up to you." Erika sat up straight. "Why don't you take a shower? I'll get dressed and make some coffee, and we can go grab some food at our diner, and then I'll take you to my most favorite place in the city. You'll love it, I know it."
Before YamaPi could even venture an answer, Erika stood up from the sofa and headed into the kitchen to presumably start that pot of coffee. He simply shook his head-not surprised, just amused.
*
Erika lifted the heavy metal chain and ducked underneath it, holding it up long enough for YamaPi to follow her. She then grabbed his hand again in her firm grip and pulled him down toward the end of the wooden-planked dock.
"Isn't that supposed to keep people out?" YamaPi lightly joked, gesturing with his free hand back at the chains they had just bypassed.
When Erika didn't respond, he knew she hadn't heard him as her focus was elsewhere, forging ahead and dragging him along. Finally, when they reached the cement barricade that marked the end of the dock, she spun around to face him with wild and enchanted eyes. "What do you think?"
He took in her outstretched arms, and paused to really look at their surroundings. It was a dock, and, judging from the worn graffiti on the barricade and the chained entrance behind them, a dock that was no longer in use. But he knew that it wasn't that dock that she wanted him to see. It was the view of the entire Manhattan skyline across the water, shining before them in the gentle light of the cold afternoon.
"You sing here." It wasn't a question.
"I do. I sing here, I write here, I think here." She paused. "I found this place just after I moved to New York. Not many people come around, so it's quiet. But I can still see it." Erika leaned against the wooden railing of the dock, staring out, her voice a little more distant and wistful. "One day, everyone in that place will know my name. Know my voice. Know my music."
And then she started singing. It was one of her originals, a song he'd heard her perform several times before at her gigs. A favorite amongst her small troupe of fans. His favorite. It was different, though, as without her guitar, she slowed down the tempo. The normally boisterous song about having the determination to achieve one's dreams suddenly became a darker, quieter song-phrases drawn out; long pauses between verses; her voice overflowing with unbridled emotion, sometimes leaving notes unfinished. Her back was to him, but he could see it.
The struggle. The longing. The heartache.
He could feel her.
And then he started dancing. A dance he'd always had in mind for this song, but never actually put into movement. His arms locked, his legs slid, and his body spun as if he had performed this particular dance a thousand times, as if it was as normal as breathing. Head bowed, YamaPi pulled his beanie lower onto his forehead with an open hand, and then quickly raised his chin to find Erika no longer singing toward the high-rise skyline, but toward him.
For an instant, her eyes locked with his and he smiled at her. She smiled back.
She kept on singing. He kept on dancing.
*~*~*
"This is your fault, isn't it?"
YamaPi looks up from where he's stretching on the floor to see the dance studio door shutting behind Aragaki. "What?"
She doesn't say anything. Instead, she holds up a plain CD case for him to see. YamaPi's on the other side of the room, so he can't see if there's something written on it or not. Aragaki grabs the CD player sitting against the wall and brings it over, setting it next to his outstretched leg. Slipping out of her heels, she joins him on the floor, opens the CD case and pushes it into the player without pressing play. She motions to him, and he takes his cue.
The first twenty seconds is a piano line with a quiet, mid-tempo rhythm beneath it. The dancer in him feels the beat, finger tapping against his knee, already tossing around potential steps in his mind. And then her voice comes in, and his finger abruptly stops. He looks at her, but she's focused in on the song, eyes riveted to the CD player.
He's grown used to the feather-like, airy quality of her voice, having listened to her music a lot over the past month. So much so that the shades of darkness, the fullness of her voice, that come through in the opening words of the song surprise him. It ebbs and flows-her voice restrained and somewhat reticent in the verses and then calling out through the choruses almost like a siren-and he totally feels it.
The loss. The reluctance. The heartache.
The song finishes and the CD stops. Aragaki looks vulnerable, expectant.
"I like it. Especially the piano melody at the beginning." YamaPi begins casually, lightly, breaking the silence.
She nods, a little more reserved than her usual self. "Our demo version was a guitar. We changed it to a piano to give it a colder, lonelier feel."
"Well, Ryo tends to write all his songs on the guitar first, so that doesn't surprise me that he started that way with you too."
Aragaki stares at him for a long time. He imagines all the questions she might ask and comments she might make and attempts to think up appropriate responses. Eventually, she just breathes, "Why?"
"Why not?" The words tumble out of YamaPi's mouth before he can really stop them. He's pretty sure that's not the best answer, so he quickly elaborates. "You said you wanted to show yourself, and now you have. Ryo's a friend-sometimes a jackass, but a brilliant songwriter too. I thought he could help you write your song."
A strangled laugh escapes her and Aragaki quickly presses the back of her hand to her mouth. Tears are building at the corners of her eyes as she shakes her head and it takes her a moment to recompose herself. "Do you even know how excited Ogata-san was when we got a call from Nishikido Ryo's management asking to work with me on a song?" It's a rhetorical question, he knows that, so he doesn't answer and she continues, "I've spent the last four days straight working on this song; Nishikido-san insisted I be involved in every step of the process from the very first note. My appearances, interviews, and shooting schedules were completely rearranged. I was practically living in the recording studio.
"I was scared at first, you know? I mean, what do I know about writing a song? But then as we talked and laughed, started writing down pieces of lyrics and playing around with melodies, it became easy. Almost like I had too much to say for one song to hold." She casts her eyes down at her tightly clasped hands in her lap. "And then when I was actually singing it in the booth, it was just…liberating. Like it was finally real.
"Ogata-san is hellbent on making sure my next drama is with him now." Aragaki laughs outright this time, a stray tear absently falling down her cheek. She swallows and then looks directly at him. "Management wants this to be my next single instead. They want you to choreograph this in time so that my first performance of it can be on Music Station Super Live." She smirks, and YamaPi sees a bit of her lively spunk return. "But you already knew that, I'm sure."
He grins. "I heard from Ryo yesterday. He really likes the song too, and is glad that it works for you."
There's a moment of comfortable silence and then YamaPi jumps to his feet. "Well, if we only have until the end of the month, then that doesn't give me much time to put this all together, now does it?" He reaches out a hand to Aragaki and pulls her up to her bare feet. "And since you're here, you can help me. Let's see what we can make with your club dance moves."
They both are facing the mirrors now. He's loosening up, stretching out his shoulders, shaking out his arms, and he expects her to follow his lead, but she doesn't. She's standing still, deep in thought. "You know we've got to finish stretching first, Aragaki-san!"
"Yui," she finally says, staring straight at his reflection.
He doesn't miss a beat. "YamaPi."
She shoots him a befuddled look. "YamaPi? Really?"
YamaPi sighs in slight exasperation. "You can ask Ryo about it the next time you see him. Right now," he turns to the mirrors and assertively points, "we need to be there."
"Fine, fine."
And YamaPi and Yui start dancing.
*~*~*
YamaPi felt his knees give way just before he collapsed onto the mess of rumpled sheets, lumpy pillows, and tossed blankets that was their unmade bed. His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, until he finally was able to form a simple, "What?"
Erika stood on the other side of the loft, leaning against the kitchen table, and sighed. Not a casual sigh, not a frustrated sigh, but a heavy and painful sigh, one that made her shoulders tremble just the tiniest bit as she ran her fingers through her long bangs, pushing them out of her face; he didn't miss a single movement. "You don't have to come," she repeated.
YamaPi took a moment, then spoke. "You mean, you don't want me to come. To go back with you."
"I didn't say that." The fragility in her voice dissipated, replaced by her usual decisive confidence. "Weren't we just arguing about how I needed to go and you needed to stay? My career is waiting for me in Japan-a record label, a contract, finally! And your career is here-with the troupe taking off, and the new studio, how can you even-"
"My life is with you!"
Her eyes widened. Her lips tightened. "My life is my career."
YamaPi's jaw clenched at the even, matter-of-fact tone of her voice. He fell back to lie on the bed, turning over so that he was looking out the large window, and no longer at Erika. He knew the abrupt stop in the conversation would not sit well with her; as if on cue, she spoke up, quickly filling the painful silence.
"You've known this from day one; this has been my dream." He heard some shuffling, and moments later, she sat down on the bed next to him. YamaPi could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to meet them. "Remember, you and I, we have big dreams. Bigger than Kobe or Tokyo could handle."
"Then why are you going back? If Kobe and Tokyo weren't big enough."
"Maybe I was wrong."
YamaPi finally turned and looked up at her. "Maybe you're wrong about this too."
Biting her lip with a frown, Erika slowly shook her head. "No, I'm not," she softly, but emphatically said. "I've got to take this chance. I've got to start somewhere, right? "
"So what are you saying? Your music is more important than me?!" The instant the heated, spiteful words came out of his mouth, he regretted it. Not because he didn't mean to say them, but because he knew that they were true. And in this case, saying the truth out loud did not set him free. It only made him sick.
Erika shifted her eyes down to her hand resting on his leg and didn't say anything.
YamaPi quickly sat up and grabbed Erika's face in his hands, crashing his lips down onto hers. Desperation drove him, and when she finally began to return the kiss after her initial shock, he knew it drove her as well. His chest was burning, practically gasping for air, but he wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop. Until Erika started to crawl up his lap, attempting to push him back onto the bed.
He immediately sprang off the bed, his back turned to her. He took a few steps forward into the loft, away from the bed. "No," he said definitively. Sex would feel good, an escape from reality. But only a temporary escape. And then he would remember the words she said, the decision that she made on her own and... "No."
As he reached up to wipe away his tears with the palms of his hands, YamaPi then noticed that the back of his hands were wet too. With her tears.
*
YamaPi went with Erika to the airport. The taxi ride there was dead silent, except for the low murmurs of the talk radio show the driver was listening to in the front. He wasn't really sure why he went with her. It didn't seem like there was a point. He wasn't going to convince her at the last minute to change her mind and stay; he knew her well enough to know that was never an option. Determined and decisive to a fault. It was what he loved about her.
And now, what he loved was hurting him like nothing before.
She hugged him tightly as they stood on the airport curb beneath the "departures" sign. YamaPi could feel her breath on his neck as she whispered, "Goodbye," barely loud enough for him to hear. He didn't quite hug her back, his arms loose, resting gently on her hips. Once she pulled away, and they were face to face again, he returned, "Good luck," because that was all he could say.
He stood there for fifteen minutes after, staring at the automatic sliding doors she had gone through, some small part of him hoping she would come right back through those same doors. She didn't, of course.
Night had fallen by the time YamaPi started back into the city. Hands buried deeply into the pockets of his wool coat, he gazed out at the night lights of New York and began to imprint it into his mind. This was what New York looked like without Erika. Even at its darkest, it still could be vibrant and beautiful.
He refused to be angry. He refused to hate her. He refused to feel like he had lost.
Erika had only taken what she needed. A suitcase of clothing and her faithful guitar. When he got home, the loft hardly felt empty. Nothing was missing. On some days, it was like she was never there.
Those were the better days.
*~*~*
"This is all your fault."
YamaPi glances up from tying the laces on his black sneakers to see Ryo come up next to him out of the backstage chaos that is Music Station Super Live rehearsal. "This isn't the first time someone's said that to me."
Ryo leans against the back of the folding chair that YamaPi has propped his foot up against and looks out onto the main front stage buzzing with Music Station staff setting up for the next artist. Jin's voice-singing things like, "classy like none of these hoes"-serves as background while he runs through his soundcheck on the secondary back stage. "We're performing right after your girl now so that during the talk segment Aragaki and I can promote the song," he groans half-heartedly.
"You say that like I'm forcing you to eat nothing but sushi for the rest of your life," YamaPi chuckles, casually dusting off his pants as he straightens up.
Ryo rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother to look at YamaPi. "I'll admit, she's pretty cool and I enjoyed working with her on the song, but..."
"…It's more promotion work, you have to talk to more people, and you're just shy and lazy."
"Yes."
"Good to know nothing's changed over the years," YamaPi snickers.
"And after all the shit management gave me for even asking to work with her in the first place, now Johnny wants us to do a drama together! I can't even-"
"Oi, Dokkun!" A voice interrupts Ryo's complaining, and YamaPi turns around to see another member of Kanjani8; he makes an educated guess from the fact that Ryo is wearing a similar costume. "I've been looking all over for you; we're up in four performances after Akanishi's!"
"Sure, Hina. I'm coming," Ryo replies, and then nods at YamaPi. "Come by our room after rehearsals are done and hang out. I'll introduce you to the guys you haven't met yet."
"Sure," he returns. A second after Ryo's gone, YamaPi realizes that if Kanjani8 is up soon, then so is Yui, and therefore, so is he. Weaving his way through the sets, props, equipment, and people all populating the wings of the stage, YamaPi heads back toward the dressing rooms to meet up with Yui and her three other dancers that he auditioned himself.
He's reluctant to admit it, but he can't help but feel kind of overwhelmed. It's not a completely different world from the one that he had come from; there, the glitz and glamour was everywhere too. Here, it just feels more concentrated, more intense.
The intimidating, big name artists in each dressing room he passes. The overflowing hallways with unfamiliar people, costumes, and instruments. The florescent overhead lights making everything that much brighter. The intense cacophony of noises from the tuning of guitars to laughter. The clashing of distinct, familiar smells as people cram in a late lunch/early dinner before the real show starts-bentos of curry rice, tonkatsu, and mackerel. The air he takes into his lungs somehow tastes the same, and yet different.
He had expected the culture shock-as did Miyazawa, who helpfully explained to him the details of how things run behind the scenes of a large-scale Japanese music show like this. And he had expected this very moment. However, he hadn't been able to fathom how he might feel.
"YamaPi?" a voice calls out, and he thinks it's Yui's as he recognizes it's close to crunch time and he's just rounding the corner to her dressing room.
He stills, looking at her face as he can feel the smile on his own give way to shock. "Erika," he breathes.
"YamaPi," Erika says again, certain. Her forehead lightly wrinkles with confusion, but she still manages to give him a small smile.
"You're performing tonight?"
"Yeah. I'm the opening act actually, but since I've got some pyrotechnics in my performance, I'm going last during rehearsals. Just killing time till then."
She speaks so cavalierly, casually, and he dislikes how she does it with seeming ease. He doesn't know what to say to her. Or if there's anything to say at all. But he knows what she wants him to say-to explain why he's here now, in her world.
"You look well," he says instead, and he surprises himself by actually meaning it. Not that he ever hated her, but…there were days early on when he came quite close.
"Oh! Yamashita-san's out here!" One of the dancers, Tanaka, peeks out of the open doorway of Yui's dressing room behind Erika. Seconds later, Yui herself is in the hallway.
"YamaPi, you're late!" she chides, walking past a surprised Erika to grab YamaPi by his arm. Just as she's about to drag him back to the dressing room, Yui stops to acknowledge her supposed rival. "Oh, Toda-san, I should introduce you. This is Yamashita-san, my dance choreographer and lead backup dancer."
He bows formally, as he does in all his meetings where he is being introduced to new people, especially in the industry he's now chosen-his world. "Yamashita Tomohisa. It's nice to meet you, Toda-san."
Toda-san. It still doesn't come easily, but it is becoming more natural.
"Nice to meet you," she returns as per custom. Only he can recognize the small tremble in her voice, the one that verbally gives away her shock as she tries to hold it all together; he recalls another time, another place. "So, you're dancing now?" Toda scoffs callously, looking to Yui, hiding behind her bravado.
Yui shakes her head ruefully at Toda's tone. "I am. It's different. I like it." She smiles, unhurt and untroubled by Toda's attitude. "If you'll excuse us, my rehearsal time is coming up and I'd like to prepare with my team."
The minute Yui pulls him back into the dressing room, YamaPi doesn't have time to think about anything but work. Overall, the rehearsal goes well and they get to run through about half of the performance before they cut it short to adjust some of Yui's sound levels on her microphone. Turns out, rehearsals are recorded too, so YamaPi is able to get a preview of what the performance all put together looks like, and he's pleased. The costuming works out great. Yui blends in with him and the dancers in her black ankle boots and leather pants, but also stands out amongst them in a royal blue sequin top and matching blue beanie. She dances confidently, and YamaPi is glad he worked some natural breaks into the choreography in order to give her moments to shine vocally. As he watches the monitor, he can't help but smile-she's still cute, but there's a maturity to her that he hasn't seen in any of her prior performances; it's beyond the clothes, the dancing, the song, it's in her.
It's only about two hours later, when dress rehearsals are completely finished and there's a little bit of downtime backstage as they let the crowds into Makuhari Messe before the live actually starts, that he has a moment to reflect. It was surreal to see her again after two years, but not painful. Like seeing a long lost friend with whom he had fallen out, and remembering the good times and the bad. Then slowly realizing that too much has happened and too much time has passed for them to be anything other than acquaintances. There's absolutely no going back.
It occurs to him, he never got to see her rehearsal. And he's perfectly okay with that.
He drops by Kanjani8's dressing room at Ryo's earlier suggestion. Before he knocks on the door though, he spots Toda further down the hallway with a man-Ryo called him Hina earlier. They're standing close together-closer than friends would-her hand resting on his arm, and they appear to be speaking intimately. He watches a moment longer, and then turns his gaze away, giving them their privacy.
I'm glad you've achieved your dream.
And again, he really means it.
*~*~*
"Are you sure you want to go back?"
YamaPi shook his head with a chuckle and looked over at Kusano. "We're at the airport and you're asking me that?"
Kusano pulled YamaPi's last piece of luggage from out of his trunk and set it down on the curb. "I just want to make sure that you are sure," he insisted. "I mean, you've been here for four years. You're established and-"
"Jin's got a lot of connections now that he's a big shot idol. I'll be fine," YamaPi assured with a grin, slipping his sunglasses down over his eyes. "Since when did you become my mother?"
"You could end up dancing for Erika."
YamaPi tensed at the mention of her name. "Last I heard, Erika doesn't do dance music."
Kusano stared at YamaPi for a long moment.
"Erika and I have been over for a long time." YamaPi shut the car trunk and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Even if I did end up dancing for her, which would never happen, it'd be perfectly fine. Erika is Erika and I am me. That's the way she chose to live, and I…well, I had to accept it."
*~*~*
"Thank you."
YamaPi is startled when Yui hugs him. He's changed into his own clothes, duffel bag in hand, just about to leave. She's still in her costume, full of energy and maybe a little sweaty, just having closed the show with all the other artists on stage. "For what?" He can feel a heat creeping up his cheeks, and he's glad the other dancers left the dressing room before him.
"For tonight." She steps away from him and gestures at her outfit. "For this." She's glowing.
"It's my job, remember?" He teases. "You pay me to dance for you."
She shakes her head, and it's a playful shake, her long hair whipping back and forth from underneath her beanie. "You know what I mean."
YamaPi shrugs. He refuses to take credit.
"Do you wanna grab some coffee after this?"
In his surprise, YamaPi hesitates. Then-even though it's been a long day, even though he won't be able to sleep if he drinks coffee at this hour, even though he knows he'll get an earful from Ryo and Jin for not joining them for a nightcap-he says, "Sure."
"Okay." Yui smiles. "Give me ten minutes to get ready and then we can head out."
She shuts the dressing room door behind her and YamaPi leans against the wall next to it. He smirks to himself. She says ten minutes, but he knows it will at least take her a half-hour. But he doesn't mind waiting.
Because he's already (finally) said goodbye.
the end.
author: ginzarhapsody
pairing: YamaPi/Toda Erika, YamaPi/Aragaki Yui
rating: PG-13
word count: 9469 words
summary: AU. YamaPi is a dancer. While living the dream, we sometimes hurt and get hurt along the way.
author's notes: written for tinyangl, originally based on the AU premise of Aragaki Yui and Toda Erika as rival rockstars. I embellished on it, heavily inspired by YamaPi's "Loveless" PV. (See if you can spot how many ways I invoke the PV/song! :) ) I began writing this April 2010, and then life got in the way and it was put on the backburner for years. Now I've finished it, nearly four years later. My love for tinyangl kept me hoping, kept me going. ♥ Much love to my beta, sinonymity, who helped make this ten times better than it originally was. It was so much fun working and torturing tinyangl with you, dear!
Everything was a blur.
The tall, imposing buildings overhead. The sidewalks overflowing with unfamiliar people. The bright fluorescent lights all around. The overwhelming cacophony of noises. The clashing of distinct, unfamiliar smells. Even the air he took into his lungs somehow tasted different.
He had expected culture shock-had even welcomed the thought of being overwhelmed by the newness of everything. However, he hadn't expected it to hit him so hard and so fast the moment he stepped out of the bus terminal into the dark night of the city.
Clutching the strap of his duffel bag slung across his shoulder tightly, he simply stood still, struggling to take in and adjust to all the stimulation of a world far, far away from Japan.
An older man bumped into him and YamaPi quickly stepped back and bowed slightly. Only after he had done so, he caught himself and mumbled a soft, "Sorry..." in his stilted English.
As he watched the foreign world of New York City rush past him on the sidewalk, YamaPi could feel the fear and dread building in the pit of his stomach. What the hell had he been thinking? Coming here just because he had a dream? His dreams couldn't have prepared him for how lost he felt in that very moment, with no clue as to how to move forward and no way to turn back. His dreams were useless in the face of his fear.
And then he heard her.
Through all the honking horns, the barrage of people chattering in a myriad of languages, and all the other sounds a city as big as New York could make, a clear Japanese voice cut through it all. Though it was barely audible to probably anyone else, for YamaPi, it was as clear as day-something comfortingly familiar in this alien chaos.
His feet carried him forward before he could even think and YamaPi found himself standing on the busy street corner, an old and beaten guitar case open before him. It was filled with a few small coins, none of those larger dollar bills he was more familiar with, but she didn't seem to care at all; she clearly wasn't playing for the money.
He watched her intently, waiting until she had strummed her final chords and her voice had fallen silent to call out to her. "Um, excuse me...?"
Her head snapped in his direction and she met his gaze with her large, brown eyes. Powerful eyes that demanded the world's attention, demanded his attention. "You..." she started in English, but then seemed to think better of it and switched to Japanese. "You speak Japanese."
YamaPi flashed a slightly nervous smile. "I can't be the only one who does in this city."
She smirked, tucking a long strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear. "No, you aren't, but usually I get stopped by American kids who are totally into anime or something."
"Do they ask you to sing anime songs?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you actually sing them?"
"Are you going to ask me to sing one?"
YamaPi chuckled and extended his hand out her. "I'm Yamashita."
She set her guitar down in her case and stood up from where she had been crouched. She reached for his hand. "I'm Toda."
*~*~*
"You've only been back in the country for a month, Yamashita-kun?"
Out of the three men sitting at the table before him, YamaPi looks directly at the one in the center who is skimming his resume-Ogata. "Yes. I was in New York for four years in a small dance troupe."
Ogata nods, still focused on the resume. "It seems you were doing well over there-why come back to Japan at all?" He finally looks up at YamaPi, honest curiosity in his eyes.
"After four years, I felt like I had done everything I could do there. I want to continue improving my own dance skills and sharing my love for dancing with others, so I decided to return to Japan." The words roll off YamaPi's tongue easily; he's prepared. How many times had he been asked this very same question during other auditions in the past month alone? He'd lost count.
His answer seems to satisfy Ogata well-enough because he glances back down at YamaPi's resume. "Well, you've got outstanding recommendations for someone who's been back for such a short time and our staff was fairly impressed with your audition." He passes off the resume to the staff member on his right, before taking another sheet of paper from the one on his left. "We showed Aragaki-san a video tape of your audition as well, and she is quite excited to work with you. As a formality, we would like you to have a meeting with Aragaki-san herself, but we are ready to bring you on." Ogata slides the sheet of paper to the edge of the table toward YamaPi.
YamaPi takes that as his cue, steps up to the table, and finds a written agreement designating his role as Aragaki Yui's lead backup dancer and choreographer. As he reads over the details, Ogata adds, "We will of course have a formal contract for you when you meet with Aragaki-san, but this is just to confirm that you will be joining us so that we can prepare the rest of the paperwork. That is, if you are still interested."
"If you will have me, I am still interested," YamaPi returns formally with a polite bow of his head.
Ogata extends his hand and smiles. "Welcome back to Japan, Yamashita-kun."
*
"You're dancing for…Aragaki Yui?!"
YamaPi rolls his eyes at the disbelief in Jin's voice. "You know, there are better things to say to your best friend who just got his first gig in Japan after a long month of auditioning."
"Like what?" Jin reaches forward to grab a can of beer off the coffee table and then crashes back onto the sofa cushions.
"At times like these, even though we may think it's weird, we're supposed to offer support and say congratulations," Ryo coaches as he carries over the box of freshly delivered pizza. "So, congratulations, Pi."
YamaPi opens the pizza box and quickly grabs a square slice of plain pepperoni. "Thanks, Ryo-chan. I think."
"Okay, okay, so congratulations on the job, Pi, but Aragaki Yui?" Jin is clearly stuck on this fact. "The last time I checked, she doesn't actually dance."
Ryo laughs and adds, "Yeah, yeah. She does all those soft and mushy songs!"
"It's nice to know that in your private time, you two can still be judgmental jerks," YamaPi scoffs, taking a swig from his own half-empty beer can. "I don't know what her sound is like right now, but her management-and Aragaki-san herself-is looking to give her a more mature adult image, so they want dancing."
"Everyone is doing the club sound and dancing right now," Jin remarks, cramming a large slice with barbecue chicken into his mouth. "Kuwokri Meifa isf soh hot."
"You would know, Jin," Ryo snickers, popping the top on his own can of beer. "You're like the king of the club sound. What was your last single? 'LOVEJUICE'?"
"Good to know that all those long-distance calls for English practice were put to good use." YamaPi rolls his eyes yet again.
"Yeah!! And now that you're back in the country, we can speak in English all the time!"
"So when is your big meeting with Aragaki?" Ryo cuts in, ignoring Jin's comment altogether.
"Next week, actually. They want me to do a trial one-on-one lesson with her to get to know her and then, once she gives the okay, I sign the paperwork and it all becomes official."
"Have you checked out her competition?"
YamaPi blinks, caught off-guard by Ryo's question. Having friends who are huge pop idols already kind of skews his perspective on the music industry, but on top of that he's been totally out of the loop for the past four years. "Actually, no. Should I?"
Jin and Ryo exchange a glance before Jin eventually answers, "You might want to."
*~*~*
YamaPi went to most of the big city sights already with Kusano (and he had a little headband replica of the Statue of Liberty's crown to prove it), but they hadn't gone to Grand Central Station. And so YamaPi decided to make a visit to the famous train station-his first adventure on the town by himself.
As he walked across the main concourse, he couldn't help but stare upward at the expansive ceiling and the ornate architecture. It was nothing like anything he had seen before. Most people would have marveled at the throngs of people hurrying about, but for someone who had lived in Tokyo for most of his teenage years, endless streams of people was an everyday reality.
"Be careful! You're getting in people's way!"
YamaPi stopped walking at the scolding, but playful Japanese warnings clearly directed at him. This of course did cause a passerby to run into his shoulder, making YamaPi drop his small duffel bag. Crouching down quickly to pick up his bag, YamaPi called out an apologetic, "Sorry!" to the person who simply continued to walk without a second glance at him.
"You don't have to say sorry, you know. Half the time, they don't care."
"Just like Tokyo," he mused, glancing at Toda standing next to him.
"Tokyo has such a bad reputation. Kobe is so much better," she scoffed.
"If Kobe is so great, then why are you here?" YamaPi teasingly asked.
She softly smiled, pausing for a moment before sincerely answering, "Same reason as you: big dreams." With a playful twinkle in her eye, she winked. "Bigger than either Kobe or Tokyo could handle."
As it turned out, Toda had been on her way to grab a late lunch at a nearby diner. And seeing that YamaPi had yet to eat himself, he joined her. Over a meal of authentic cheeseburgers and onion rings, the two chatted, swapping both stories and dreams. Listening to Toda, YamaPi couldn't help but admire the woman across the table from him. The amount of passion and determination she had invested in her music... He could only hope to one day have that much invested in his own dancing.
"...Are you free next week?" She looked up from her chocolate milkshake.
YamaPi chuckled. "Right now, yes. I will probably be free for the imminent future."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll find something! It takes time to find your feet in this city," she encouraged with a smile. Digging into her tote bag, she pulled out a pen and began writing on a clean napkin. "In the meantime, I have a gig next week at a small café in SoHo. You should come check it out."
Once she had finished writing, she slid the napkin across the table. YamaPi examined it intently, reading it, before looking back up at Toda.
"Just come."
*
Toda was laughing outright as they ran down the stairs and onto the subway platform, attempting to catch the train. They missed it by seconds, and YamaPi could only stare into the train through the dirty, scratched up windows as it began to move out of the station.
"Aaaaah," Toda sighed, and plopped down on a bench on the now empty platform. Her guitar case rested at her feet. "I told you we wouldn't make it. Pay up!"
YamaPi chuckled. Sitting down next to her on the bench, he dug into the pocket of his worn leather jacket and pulled out a pack of apple Hi-Chew. Toda's nimble fingers quickly snatched the candy from his hand. "When is the next train?" he asked, watching her unwrap a piece and pop it into her mouth.
She shrugged. "Probably in the next twenty minutes?"
YamaPi nodded, and there was a momentary pause in the conversation before he said, "Thanks."
"Hm?" Toda looked confused. "Oh, you mean for tonight? It's not a big deal."
YamaPi wanted to tell her it was a big deal. From that first smirk she had taken him under her wing. Open and honest, she had lent him a hand, invited him into her world-and oh, what a world it was! He had been entranced by her street performance that night on the sidewalk, but it was magnificent to watch her take the stage. Even if only for a short three-song set amongst the café patrons (most clearly there for someone other than her), she poured her everything into the music and it came across. At least to him. The rawness of her voice, the conviction of her emotions demanded he listen, and listen he did. It wasn't music to dance to, but music to be swallowed up by. YamaPi had never felt music like that before.
"You're beautiful," he said instead. He only realized what he had said when Toda looked at him, and for the first time, seemed genuinely startled. "Oh, um…I mean, your music is beautiful, Toda-san. Powerful."
She snapped away from his gaze quickly, and YamaPi worried that he actually might have offended her with his comment. "Stop calling me 'Toda-san'; Erika is fine."
"Only if you call me 'YamaPi'."
"What the hell is a 'YamaPi'?!"
YamaPi's laughter filled the near empty subway platform as he set out to tell her the story of "the YamaPi". Once he had though, Erika was laughing right along with him.
*~*~*
YamaPi walks into the dance studio only to realize that he's late.
Aragaki is already there. At least he thinks it's her; her back is turned to him, but he can make out her reflection in the dance mirrors lining the wall. She's playing with her hair, pulling it back into a low ponytail with her hand and then letting it go, shaking it out. She seems a bit self-conscious, and YamaPi totally understands because he gets nervous too (it took him two minutes to mentally prepare himself to open the studio door!), but it's kind of weird for him to watch her go through that as well.
Admittedly, it's kind of cute too. But he's not sure that's the best thing to say to your boss on the first day. Or maybe ever.
YamaPi announces his presence by dropping his duffel on the floor near the CD player. "I guess I'm late."
Aragaki gives a small yelp, and it takes everything in YamaPi to keep from chuckling. He's sure about this one-not a good idea to laugh at his boss on his first day on the job. "You're Yamashita-san?" Despite being flustered just moments before, Aragaki manages to be quite composed when she addresses him.
"Yes," he answers as he approaches her, then formally introduces himself. "Yamashita Tomohisa. Nice to meet you."
"Aragaki Yui. Nice to meet you." She smiles brightly, her awkward moment forgotten. Returning to her hair, she finally ties it back with a simple band. "So what's first? I've never done this, as I'm sure you know."
"But didn't you do those Pocky commercials?" he comments offhandedly.
Her cheeks immediately flush. "You've seen the Pocky commercials?!"
"Well, I did grow up here. They were all over the place like eight years ago."
She laughs. "I guess they were. But I don't know if I'd call that dancing."
He laughs right back; there's something about the way she tries to unsuccessfully hide her bashfulness that puts him at ease. "I think it's my job to be the judge of that!"
YamaPi takes her through some stretches first, not only to warm up, but to gauge where her flexibility is at. Once they finish, he introduces the short one-minute routine that he choreographed specifically for this lesson. When the music starts, Aragaki's eyes go wide; he doesn't miss it. He's dancing to 'Heart will drive' from her second album, Hug; the lyrics are indeed sweet, and he happens to like the beat a lot. The combination of his peppy steps and song's lightness and innocence brings a smile to his face while he dances. After a minute, the music fades out, and he stops in the final pose.
"Wow," she marvels, standing off to the side, still staring. "This is why I wanted you. I didn't know that song could be like that."
"Thanks." YamaPi runs a hand through his hair, giving a crooked smile. It's one thing when his friends compliment him, but it's another thing when it's his new boss at his new job that he himself isn't sure he's good at just yet. "But now it's your turn to try."
She's a little gangly at first, looking down at her feet more than looking up at her reflection in the mirrors. But soon enough, she gets the hang of it-watching YamaPi's reflection as he gives her the next move, and then watching her own reflection as she mimics it, making sure she gets it down right. Every now and then, he'll fix the angling of her arms or the positioning of her feet, but no more than that. Aragaki turns out to be a quick study, and a sincere one as well, making his job that much easier.
They take a break about halfway through the choreography, and as they are lounging on the floor, Aragaki again says, "I really like what you've done with the song. I don't really write music, so I've never thought about visualizing the stuff that I get to sing. Doing this just takes it to another level. It feels different."
YamaPi nods. "That's why I love dancing. Everything feels more real somehow. More intense. Because it's in every movement, every muscle, every bone."
Aragaki nods her head in return, but the look in her eye tells him that she doesn't quite get it. And he's okay with that. If she got it, he wouldn't even be here right now.
"So, we've still got an hour left before the meeting." YamaPi climbs back up to his feet. "Do you want to bother learning the rest of a routine you'll never perform?"
"Why not?" Aragaki chuckles as she stands. "I mean, I can still learn something. Besides, I'm enjoying it."
*
He watches her sing and it's just like when he first saw her perform years ago. Sure, there are differences. Instead of small stage against an old brick wall, she's on an elaborate set with décor to match the upbeat, forward tempo of the song. She's not alone on stage anymore either; a full band backs her up. But there's more that's the same. She's the same. The spark in her eyes. The confidence in her voice. The playful smirk on her lips. The stage might be bigger, but she fills it with her presence and it's just as intimate of a performance as that first one in the SoHo café.
"So you've heard of Toda Erika?"
"Huh?" YamaPi turns away from the television recording of the performance and toward Miyazawa. "Not really. I've only heard vague things about her from some friends in the industry in regards to her rivalry with Aragaki-san. This is the first time I've seen a recorded performance of hers." Not a total lie...
"Don't believe the hype," Aragaki pipes up with a smile, tossing her long, loose hair over her shoulder. "The media just wants us to be rivals. Most of the industry buys into it. And it sells, so..." She shoots a telling look Miyazawa's way which doesn't go unnoticed by YamaPi.
Next to her, Miyazawa bites his lip, bashfully bowing his head at Aragaki's unspoken rebuke. Ogata, seated next to YamaPi, shakes his head. "Yui-chan, we've gone over this. A little harmless rivalry has never hurt anyone, especially when it's strategically crafted."
That's the last time they discuss the rivalry between the two singers officially. The rest of the meeting is spent listening to Aragaki's new song that she's just finished recording and carving out an image for what the performance of said song might look like. Toda Erika's style is often brought up in contrast. As it turns out, Ogata, the marketing director behind Aragaki, has much more to say than Miyazawa, her day-to-day manager. But what surprises YamaPi the most is how outspoken Aragaki is in giving her own input, sometimes clashing with Ogata (and winning!). Her image may be "soft and mushy" (to take the words out of Ryo's mouth), but she has her own spunk. It's simply hidden beneath her smile-always there, but prudently revealed when needed. Very unlike what he remembers of Erika-overflowing, upfront, bold.
The meeting wraps up with the agreement that Aragaki will begin working with YamaPi as soon as he has the routine fully choreographed. YamaPi heads for the elevators, hoping to test out some of his ideas right away at the dance studio. Before he can hit the "down" button himself, though, someone beats him to it. He glances up to find Aragaki flashing him an impish smile. "Where you headed?"
The empty elevator arrives quickly and YamaPi allows her to step in first before following. "Back to the dance studio. Got to get to work, you know."
Aragaki gives a firm nod with a soft, "Hm," of approval. There's a moment of silence before she speaks. "I just wanted to let you know, please ignore all that crap you hear about me and Toda Erika. I respect her as a music artist. We're not friends, but we're not enemies either. At least on my side of things."
YamaPi arches his eyebrow. "So…Toda-san. She thinks differently?" After years of calling her by her first name, "Toda-san" doesn't roll off his tongue comfortably.
"We inadvertently run in the same circles," she sighs. "I tend to work with a lot of Johnny's idols. She tends to be friends or involved with a lot of Johnny's idols. There've been few awkward run-ins."
The irony of Aragaki's words are hardly lost on YamaPi. He wonders whether she would consider him an "awkward run-in" if she knew his full story. But somehow, it doesn't surprise him to hear that Aragaki is the more neutral of the two in their concocted rivalry; Erika's always put her heart before her head.
The elevator stops at the ground floor and YamaPi steps out first this time. "Don't worry. I'll judge you on how well you dance and nothing else."
As he walks away toward the exit, he hears her call out, "Wait! How was I today then?"
YamaPi laughs and then tosses back over his shoulder. "Let's just say, there's room for improvement!"
*~*~*
She first danced with him on New Years' Eve.
Despite having been "way past tipsy" for the majority of the night (according to Kusano), that dance was permanently imprinted onto his memory.
The rough but sheer fabric of her dress rubbing against his slightly curled fingers on her hip as he drew her in closer.
Her palm pressing fully against his own, their entwined arms held low and close to their bodies as they swayed back and forth to the slow beat.
The overhead blue lights washing across the club's cement floor as he self-consciously looked down at his feet to check if they were actually moving properly (and not clumsily bumping into, or worse, stepping on her feet).
The dark, seductive depths of her eyes pulling him in when he finally finally met them with his own, causing heat to creep up his cheeks.
Her face ever close to his as she brushed her lips against his, a sweet and lingering kiss. Their first kiss. And then again, a little more forceful, and a just a little hungrier, when he kissed her back.
Vodka and chocolate.
Erika tasted like vodka and chocolate.
*~*~*
"Yamashita-san? I didn't exactly peg you for one to be sitting at a club."
"And I never pegged you as one to be all dolled up at a club either, Aragaki-san."
"I like to go out sometimes, what can I say? …Oh no, you pegged me as the soft, quiet, and fluffy type, didn't you?!"
"…Well, only at first, and only because that's all my friends told me about you. But you totally blew that image out of the water after our first couple of meetings."
"And then what did you think?"
"That you were strong and level-headed. That you were a woman who knew what she wanted, but reasonably recognized the extents and limitations of the entertainment world at the same time. A woman capable of compromise."
"Oh…wow. I wasn't expecting you to say that."
"My turn. What did you think of me?"
"You had smooth lines…when you were dancing I mean! Hey, don't give me that look!"
"What look?"
"The 'is-the-girl-I-work-for-really-hitting-on-me?!' look. Don't lie; I see it."
"Woman."
"…What?"
"You're a woman, not a girl."
"…Oh. I guess even I get caught up in my image and forget sometimes. Toda-san's usually the woman, what with all the rumors buzzing around her and her rock-ish image. I'm just the good girl with the light, happy and fun songs. The one you pine after but can never reach. The ideal you want to take home to your parents."
"You don't sound bitter at all."
"It's like you said. I'm a woman. I'm just me. I have my moments. I just…want to be able to show that sometimes. For real. In my own music. In my own lyrics. I mean, sure…I am happy. But it's not always like that."
"And that's why I'm here. You're more than cute. And we're going to prove that to Japan."
"…Do you wanna dance? I mean, you could teach me some moves; I'm not paying for overtime though!"
"Ha, sure. But I'm pretty sure you've got a move or two you could teach me too."
*
YamaPi runs the choreography for Aragaki's song again. It's half done at this point and he's trying to figure out what to do through the bridge to connect to the final chorus. But the more he runs through it, the more stuck he becomes about where to go next. Forget writer's block. YamaPi has dancer's block.
Unsatisfied, he plops down onto the folding chair he's set up in the middle of the empty dance studio and stares at his defeated posture in the wall of mirrors before him. Aragaki's voice continues to fill the room as the song plays on repeat from the CD player in the corner. He likes the song well-enough (and even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter because that's not what he’s getting paid for), but there's something about it that's keeping him from moving forward.
He mulls over the events of the other night at the club. They danced together for three songs before Aragaki called it a night, citing an early morning magazine photo shoot as her reason. YamaPi left with her, walking her outside and helping her catch a taxi before heading to the nearest station to catch one of the last trains; later he got an earful from Jin for ditching him and Ryo at the club, but whatever. What Aragaki had said in their short exchange lingered with him the rest of the night-"For real. In my own music. In my own lyrics." And to be honest, it still does.
After a long, pensive moment spent staring at his reflection, YamaPi reaches into his hoodie's pocket and pulls out his phone, starting a text message.
Hey Ryo-chan. I've got a favor to ask...
*~*~*
"I'm home."
YamaPi walked in to the loft, slamming the door shut behind him. Exhausted, he slowly removed one layer after the other-jacket, shoes, socks-before collapsing onto their white sofa. The sun poured through the tall windows, bathing him in its late morning warmth. The television was on an episode of Music Station, a television show he hadn't seen since he left Japan.
"There you are!"
He heard her sock-covered feet padding across the wooden flooring before she actually appeared in front of him-her long nightshirt hanging off her right shoulder, her hair mussed, a half-eaten oatmeal raisin cookie in hand. "Welcome back," Erika greeted with a smile. She plopped down next to him, curling her legs up on the cushions, her bare knees brushing against his.
"Where were you?"
"In the kitchen, looking for something to eat." She nibbled on the cookie. "We should really get around to grocery shopping, there's no breakfast-"
"I meant, where were you last night?"
"Oh!" Erika shifted slightly on the couch, so that she was looking directly at YamaPi. "Well, Mari-chan and I were headed over to check out the troupe's showcase, but then her recording studio friend called. He got a bunch of extra hours and he knew we'd been having trouble getting time lately since we can't go during work hours...so, we went." She paused. "You're mad?"
YamaPi opened his mouth, and then hesitated. He wasn't mad, but… "A little, but I'll get over it."
She rested her chin on his shoulder and took his hand into hers. "There will be other showcases." Her voice was even, assured. She always had a justification for everything. Even when he wished she didn't. "This was just the first one. And I bet it didn't even go all that well. The first time never goes as well as you want."
Of course, she was right. While the showcase was great-Kusano finally nailed that double backflip he had been trying to get right for weeks!-the turnout wasn't. Something like thirty people showed up, and mostly because they were friends and friends of friends of someone in the troupe. The after party had been ridiculous because of that, though. Everyone who had come out to the showcase just continued on with them as they hit the bar, and then the club, and then another bar. YamaPi ended up dragging Kusano home, and catching a couple of hours of sleep on his lumpy couch before returning to their loft. He had a blast, and finally felt like he was on his way to building something.
It wasn't the perfect showcase, but it was a beginning. His beginning. A beginning he had really wanted to share with Erika.
"You get my text messages at least?"
"After I got home at like 4am," she admitted. "I tried to call you from the studio, but it's in the basement of this old building and I wasn't getting any signal."
"You got that new song recorded though?"
"Yes! Two more songs then I'll have a decent demo CD to send out to some labels."
YamaPi smiled, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand. That is what he loved about her, her gumption. She did what she needed to do, when she needed to do it. That was how passionate she was-it swallowed her whole.
Sometimes, it swallowed him whole too.
"Why are you watching this?" He glanced up at the television to catch the end of some song called "Daite Senorita".
"I dunno," she shrugged, glancing at music artists lined up across the screen. "Reminding myself of who I want to be, I guess?"
The two of them sat there for a quiet moment, watching Music Station as it ended and a commercial for vegetable juice came on.
"Look, I'll make it up to you." Erika sat up straight. "Why don't you take a shower? I'll get dressed and make some coffee, and we can go grab some food at our diner, and then I'll take you to my most favorite place in the city. You'll love it, I know it."
Before YamaPi could even venture an answer, Erika stood up from the sofa and headed into the kitchen to presumably start that pot of coffee. He simply shook his head-not surprised, just amused.
*
Erika lifted the heavy metal chain and ducked underneath it, holding it up long enough for YamaPi to follow her. She then grabbed his hand again in her firm grip and pulled him down toward the end of the wooden-planked dock.
"Isn't that supposed to keep people out?" YamaPi lightly joked, gesturing with his free hand back at the chains they had just bypassed.
When Erika didn't respond, he knew she hadn't heard him as her focus was elsewhere, forging ahead and dragging him along. Finally, when they reached the cement barricade that marked the end of the dock, she spun around to face him with wild and enchanted eyes. "What do you think?"
He took in her outstretched arms, and paused to really look at their surroundings. It was a dock, and, judging from the worn graffiti on the barricade and the chained entrance behind them, a dock that was no longer in use. But he knew that it wasn't that dock that she wanted him to see. It was the view of the entire Manhattan skyline across the water, shining before them in the gentle light of the cold afternoon.
"You sing here." It wasn't a question.
"I do. I sing here, I write here, I think here." She paused. "I found this place just after I moved to New York. Not many people come around, so it's quiet. But I can still see it." Erika leaned against the wooden railing of the dock, staring out, her voice a little more distant and wistful. "One day, everyone in that place will know my name. Know my voice. Know my music."
And then she started singing. It was one of her originals, a song he'd heard her perform several times before at her gigs. A favorite amongst her small troupe of fans. His favorite. It was different, though, as without her guitar, she slowed down the tempo. The normally boisterous song about having the determination to achieve one's dreams suddenly became a darker, quieter song-phrases drawn out; long pauses between verses; her voice overflowing with unbridled emotion, sometimes leaving notes unfinished. Her back was to him, but he could see it.
The struggle. The longing. The heartache.
He could feel her.
And then he started dancing. A dance he'd always had in mind for this song, but never actually put into movement. His arms locked, his legs slid, and his body spun as if he had performed this particular dance a thousand times, as if it was as normal as breathing. Head bowed, YamaPi pulled his beanie lower onto his forehead with an open hand, and then quickly raised his chin to find Erika no longer singing toward the high-rise skyline, but toward him.
For an instant, her eyes locked with his and he smiled at her. She smiled back.
She kept on singing. He kept on dancing.
*~*~*
"This is your fault, isn't it?"
YamaPi looks up from where he's stretching on the floor to see the dance studio door shutting behind Aragaki. "What?"
She doesn't say anything. Instead, she holds up a plain CD case for him to see. YamaPi's on the other side of the room, so he can't see if there's something written on it or not. Aragaki grabs the CD player sitting against the wall and brings it over, setting it next to his outstretched leg. Slipping out of her heels, she joins him on the floor, opens the CD case and pushes it into the player without pressing play. She motions to him, and he takes his cue.
The first twenty seconds is a piano line with a quiet, mid-tempo rhythm beneath it. The dancer in him feels the beat, finger tapping against his knee, already tossing around potential steps in his mind. And then her voice comes in, and his finger abruptly stops. He looks at her, but she's focused in on the song, eyes riveted to the CD player.
He's grown used to the feather-like, airy quality of her voice, having listened to her music a lot over the past month. So much so that the shades of darkness, the fullness of her voice, that come through in the opening words of the song surprise him. It ebbs and flows-her voice restrained and somewhat reticent in the verses and then calling out through the choruses almost like a siren-and he totally feels it.
The loss. The reluctance. The heartache.
The song finishes and the CD stops. Aragaki looks vulnerable, expectant.
"I like it. Especially the piano melody at the beginning." YamaPi begins casually, lightly, breaking the silence.
She nods, a little more reserved than her usual self. "Our demo version was a guitar. We changed it to a piano to give it a colder, lonelier feel."
"Well, Ryo tends to write all his songs on the guitar first, so that doesn't surprise me that he started that way with you too."
Aragaki stares at him for a long time. He imagines all the questions she might ask and comments she might make and attempts to think up appropriate responses. Eventually, she just breathes, "Why?"
"Why not?" The words tumble out of YamaPi's mouth before he can really stop them. He's pretty sure that's not the best answer, so he quickly elaborates. "You said you wanted to show yourself, and now you have. Ryo's a friend-sometimes a jackass, but a brilliant songwriter too. I thought he could help you write your song."
A strangled laugh escapes her and Aragaki quickly presses the back of her hand to her mouth. Tears are building at the corners of her eyes as she shakes her head and it takes her a moment to recompose herself. "Do you even know how excited Ogata-san was when we got a call from Nishikido Ryo's management asking to work with me on a song?" It's a rhetorical question, he knows that, so he doesn't answer and she continues, "I've spent the last four days straight working on this song; Nishikido-san insisted I be involved in every step of the process from the very first note. My appearances, interviews, and shooting schedules were completely rearranged. I was practically living in the recording studio.
"I was scared at first, you know? I mean, what do I know about writing a song? But then as we talked and laughed, started writing down pieces of lyrics and playing around with melodies, it became easy. Almost like I had too much to say for one song to hold." She casts her eyes down at her tightly clasped hands in her lap. "And then when I was actually singing it in the booth, it was just…liberating. Like it was finally real.
"Ogata-san is hellbent on making sure my next drama is with him now." Aragaki laughs outright this time, a stray tear absently falling down her cheek. She swallows and then looks directly at him. "Management wants this to be my next single instead. They want you to choreograph this in time so that my first performance of it can be on Music Station Super Live." She smirks, and YamaPi sees a bit of her lively spunk return. "But you already knew that, I'm sure."
He grins. "I heard from Ryo yesterday. He really likes the song too, and is glad that it works for you."
There's a moment of comfortable silence and then YamaPi jumps to his feet. "Well, if we only have until the end of the month, then that doesn't give me much time to put this all together, now does it?" He reaches out a hand to Aragaki and pulls her up to her bare feet. "And since you're here, you can help me. Let's see what we can make with your club dance moves."
They both are facing the mirrors now. He's loosening up, stretching out his shoulders, shaking out his arms, and he expects her to follow his lead, but she doesn't. She's standing still, deep in thought. "You know we've got to finish stretching first, Aragaki-san!"
"Yui," she finally says, staring straight at his reflection.
He doesn't miss a beat. "YamaPi."
She shoots him a befuddled look. "YamaPi? Really?"
YamaPi sighs in slight exasperation. "You can ask Ryo about it the next time you see him. Right now," he turns to the mirrors and assertively points, "we need to be there."
"Fine, fine."
And YamaPi and Yui start dancing.
*~*~*
YamaPi felt his knees give way just before he collapsed onto the mess of rumpled sheets, lumpy pillows, and tossed blankets that was their unmade bed. His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, until he finally was able to form a simple, "What?"
Erika stood on the other side of the loft, leaning against the kitchen table, and sighed. Not a casual sigh, not a frustrated sigh, but a heavy and painful sigh, one that made her shoulders tremble just the tiniest bit as she ran her fingers through her long bangs, pushing them out of her face; he didn't miss a single movement. "You don't have to come," she repeated.
YamaPi took a moment, then spoke. "You mean, you don't want me to come. To go back with you."
"I didn't say that." The fragility in her voice dissipated, replaced by her usual decisive confidence. "Weren't we just arguing about how I needed to go and you needed to stay? My career is waiting for me in Japan-a record label, a contract, finally! And your career is here-with the troupe taking off, and the new studio, how can you even-"
"My life is with you!"
Her eyes widened. Her lips tightened. "My life is my career."
YamaPi's jaw clenched at the even, matter-of-fact tone of her voice. He fell back to lie on the bed, turning over so that he was looking out the large window, and no longer at Erika. He knew the abrupt stop in the conversation would not sit well with her; as if on cue, she spoke up, quickly filling the painful silence.
"You've known this from day one; this has been my dream." He heard some shuffling, and moments later, she sat down on the bed next to him. YamaPi could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to meet them. "Remember, you and I, we have big dreams. Bigger than Kobe or Tokyo could handle."
"Then why are you going back? If Kobe and Tokyo weren't big enough."
"Maybe I was wrong."
YamaPi finally turned and looked up at her. "Maybe you're wrong about this too."
Biting her lip with a frown, Erika slowly shook her head. "No, I'm not," she softly, but emphatically said. "I've got to take this chance. I've got to start somewhere, right? "
"So what are you saying? Your music is more important than me?!" The instant the heated, spiteful words came out of his mouth, he regretted it. Not because he didn't mean to say them, but because he knew that they were true. And in this case, saying the truth out loud did not set him free. It only made him sick.
Erika shifted her eyes down to her hand resting on his leg and didn't say anything.
YamaPi quickly sat up and grabbed Erika's face in his hands, crashing his lips down onto hers. Desperation drove him, and when she finally began to return the kiss after her initial shock, he knew it drove her as well. His chest was burning, practically gasping for air, but he wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop. Until Erika started to crawl up his lap, attempting to push him back onto the bed.
He immediately sprang off the bed, his back turned to her. He took a few steps forward into the loft, away from the bed. "No," he said definitively. Sex would feel good, an escape from reality. But only a temporary escape. And then he would remember the words she said, the decision that she made on her own and... "No."
As he reached up to wipe away his tears with the palms of his hands, YamaPi then noticed that the back of his hands were wet too. With her tears.
*
YamaPi went with Erika to the airport. The taxi ride there was dead silent, except for the low murmurs of the talk radio show the driver was listening to in the front. He wasn't really sure why he went with her. It didn't seem like there was a point. He wasn't going to convince her at the last minute to change her mind and stay; he knew her well enough to know that was never an option. Determined and decisive to a fault. It was what he loved about her.
And now, what he loved was hurting him like nothing before.
She hugged him tightly as they stood on the airport curb beneath the "departures" sign. YamaPi could feel her breath on his neck as she whispered, "Goodbye," barely loud enough for him to hear. He didn't quite hug her back, his arms loose, resting gently on her hips. Once she pulled away, and they were face to face again, he returned, "Good luck," because that was all he could say.
He stood there for fifteen minutes after, staring at the automatic sliding doors she had gone through, some small part of him hoping she would come right back through those same doors. She didn't, of course.
Night had fallen by the time YamaPi started back into the city. Hands buried deeply into the pockets of his wool coat, he gazed out at the night lights of New York and began to imprint it into his mind. This was what New York looked like without Erika. Even at its darkest, it still could be vibrant and beautiful.
He refused to be angry. He refused to hate her. He refused to feel like he had lost.
Erika had only taken what she needed. A suitcase of clothing and her faithful guitar. When he got home, the loft hardly felt empty. Nothing was missing. On some days, it was like she was never there.
Those were the better days.
*~*~*
"This is all your fault."
YamaPi glances up from tying the laces on his black sneakers to see Ryo come up next to him out of the backstage chaos that is Music Station Super Live rehearsal. "This isn't the first time someone's said that to me."
Ryo leans against the back of the folding chair that YamaPi has propped his foot up against and looks out onto the main front stage buzzing with Music Station staff setting up for the next artist. Jin's voice-singing things like, "classy like none of these hoes"-serves as background while he runs through his soundcheck on the secondary back stage. "We're performing right after your girl now so that during the talk segment Aragaki and I can promote the song," he groans half-heartedly.
"You say that like I'm forcing you to eat nothing but sushi for the rest of your life," YamaPi chuckles, casually dusting off his pants as he straightens up.
Ryo rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother to look at YamaPi. "I'll admit, she's pretty cool and I enjoyed working with her on the song, but..."
"…It's more promotion work, you have to talk to more people, and you're just shy and lazy."
"Yes."
"Good to know nothing's changed over the years," YamaPi snickers.
"And after all the shit management gave me for even asking to work with her in the first place, now Johnny wants us to do a drama together! I can't even-"
"Oi, Dokkun!" A voice interrupts Ryo's complaining, and YamaPi turns around to see another member of Kanjani8; he makes an educated guess from the fact that Ryo is wearing a similar costume. "I've been looking all over for you; we're up in four performances after Akanishi's!"
"Sure, Hina. I'm coming," Ryo replies, and then nods at YamaPi. "Come by our room after rehearsals are done and hang out. I'll introduce you to the guys you haven't met yet."
"Sure," he returns. A second after Ryo's gone, YamaPi realizes that if Kanjani8 is up soon, then so is Yui, and therefore, so is he. Weaving his way through the sets, props, equipment, and people all populating the wings of the stage, YamaPi heads back toward the dressing rooms to meet up with Yui and her three other dancers that he auditioned himself.
He's reluctant to admit it, but he can't help but feel kind of overwhelmed. It's not a completely different world from the one that he had come from; there, the glitz and glamour was everywhere too. Here, it just feels more concentrated, more intense.
The intimidating, big name artists in each dressing room he passes. The overflowing hallways with unfamiliar people, costumes, and instruments. The florescent overhead lights making everything that much brighter. The intense cacophony of noises from the tuning of guitars to laughter. The clashing of distinct, familiar smells as people cram in a late lunch/early dinner before the real show starts-bentos of curry rice, tonkatsu, and mackerel. The air he takes into his lungs somehow tastes the same, and yet different.
He had expected the culture shock-as did Miyazawa, who helpfully explained to him the details of how things run behind the scenes of a large-scale Japanese music show like this. And he had expected this very moment. However, he hadn't been able to fathom how he might feel.
"YamaPi?" a voice calls out, and he thinks it's Yui's as he recognizes it's close to crunch time and he's just rounding the corner to her dressing room.
He stills, looking at her face as he can feel the smile on his own give way to shock. "Erika," he breathes.
"YamaPi," Erika says again, certain. Her forehead lightly wrinkles with confusion, but she still manages to give him a small smile.
"You're performing tonight?"
"Yeah. I'm the opening act actually, but since I've got some pyrotechnics in my performance, I'm going last during rehearsals. Just killing time till then."
She speaks so cavalierly, casually, and he dislikes how she does it with seeming ease. He doesn't know what to say to her. Or if there's anything to say at all. But he knows what she wants him to say-to explain why he's here now, in her world.
"You look well," he says instead, and he surprises himself by actually meaning it. Not that he ever hated her, but…there were days early on when he came quite close.
"Oh! Yamashita-san's out here!" One of the dancers, Tanaka, peeks out of the open doorway of Yui's dressing room behind Erika. Seconds later, Yui herself is in the hallway.
"YamaPi, you're late!" she chides, walking past a surprised Erika to grab YamaPi by his arm. Just as she's about to drag him back to the dressing room, Yui stops to acknowledge her supposed rival. "Oh, Toda-san, I should introduce you. This is Yamashita-san, my dance choreographer and lead backup dancer."
He bows formally, as he does in all his meetings where he is being introduced to new people, especially in the industry he's now chosen-his world. "Yamashita Tomohisa. It's nice to meet you, Toda-san."
Toda-san. It still doesn't come easily, but it is becoming more natural.
"Nice to meet you," she returns as per custom. Only he can recognize the small tremble in her voice, the one that verbally gives away her shock as she tries to hold it all together; he recalls another time, another place. "So, you're dancing now?" Toda scoffs callously, looking to Yui, hiding behind her bravado.
Yui shakes her head ruefully at Toda's tone. "I am. It's different. I like it." She smiles, unhurt and untroubled by Toda's attitude. "If you'll excuse us, my rehearsal time is coming up and I'd like to prepare with my team."
The minute Yui pulls him back into the dressing room, YamaPi doesn't have time to think about anything but work. Overall, the rehearsal goes well and they get to run through about half of the performance before they cut it short to adjust some of Yui's sound levels on her microphone. Turns out, rehearsals are recorded too, so YamaPi is able to get a preview of what the performance all put together looks like, and he's pleased. The costuming works out great. Yui blends in with him and the dancers in her black ankle boots and leather pants, but also stands out amongst them in a royal blue sequin top and matching blue beanie. She dances confidently, and YamaPi is glad he worked some natural breaks into the choreography in order to give her moments to shine vocally. As he watches the monitor, he can't help but smile-she's still cute, but there's a maturity to her that he hasn't seen in any of her prior performances; it's beyond the clothes, the dancing, the song, it's in her.
It's only about two hours later, when dress rehearsals are completely finished and there's a little bit of downtime backstage as they let the crowds into Makuhari Messe before the live actually starts, that he has a moment to reflect. It was surreal to see her again after two years, but not painful. Like seeing a long lost friend with whom he had fallen out, and remembering the good times and the bad. Then slowly realizing that too much has happened and too much time has passed for them to be anything other than acquaintances. There's absolutely no going back.
It occurs to him, he never got to see her rehearsal. And he's perfectly okay with that.
He drops by Kanjani8's dressing room at Ryo's earlier suggestion. Before he knocks on the door though, he spots Toda further down the hallway with a man-Ryo called him Hina earlier. They're standing close together-closer than friends would-her hand resting on his arm, and they appear to be speaking intimately. He watches a moment longer, and then turns his gaze away, giving them their privacy.
I'm glad you've achieved your dream.
And again, he really means it.
*~*~*
"Are you sure you want to go back?"
YamaPi shook his head with a chuckle and looked over at Kusano. "We're at the airport and you're asking me that?"
Kusano pulled YamaPi's last piece of luggage from out of his trunk and set it down on the curb. "I just want to make sure that you are sure," he insisted. "I mean, you've been here for four years. You're established and-"
"Jin's got a lot of connections now that he's a big shot idol. I'll be fine," YamaPi assured with a grin, slipping his sunglasses down over his eyes. "Since when did you become my mother?"
"You could end up dancing for Erika."
YamaPi tensed at the mention of her name. "Last I heard, Erika doesn't do dance music."
Kusano stared at YamaPi for a long moment.
"Erika and I have been over for a long time." YamaPi shut the car trunk and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Even if I did end up dancing for her, which would never happen, it'd be perfectly fine. Erika is Erika and I am me. That's the way she chose to live, and I…well, I had to accept it."
*~*~*
"Thank you."
YamaPi is startled when Yui hugs him. He's changed into his own clothes, duffel bag in hand, just about to leave. She's still in her costume, full of energy and maybe a little sweaty, just having closed the show with all the other artists on stage. "For what?" He can feel a heat creeping up his cheeks, and he's glad the other dancers left the dressing room before him.
"For tonight." She steps away from him and gestures at her outfit. "For this." She's glowing.
"It's my job, remember?" He teases. "You pay me to dance for you."
She shakes her head, and it's a playful shake, her long hair whipping back and forth from underneath her beanie. "You know what I mean."
YamaPi shrugs. He refuses to take credit.
"Do you wanna grab some coffee after this?"
In his surprise, YamaPi hesitates. Then-even though it's been a long day, even though he won't be able to sleep if he drinks coffee at this hour, even though he knows he'll get an earful from Ryo and Jin for not joining them for a nightcap-he says, "Sure."
"Okay." Yui smiles. "Give me ten minutes to get ready and then we can head out."
She shuts the dressing room door behind her and YamaPi leans against the wall next to it. He smirks to himself. She says ten minutes, but he knows it will at least take her a half-hour. But he doesn't mind waiting.
Because he's already (finally) said goodbye.
the end.