Gift fic for soulpower
To: soulpower
From: win03die
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Title: Whirlwind
Pairing/Group: pre-slash/friendship Nagano/Sakamoto, co-starring almost everyone from SMAP to NEWS; but focus on J-FRIENDS.
Rating: PG-13 for themes?
Warnings: AU if you insist that it needs a warning, and some angst.
Notes: really really hope the recipient likes this, because the universe has somehow become my baby. But if you don’t, tell me and I’ll write something else. Very happy holidays!
Summary: Sakamoto Masayuki is a high-up in Kitagawa Medical Center. He is adept, focused and respected, but also considered ill-tempered and cold amongst his peers and subordinates. What no one really knows is that behind the top-notch doctor’s mask is an insecure and almost painfully lonely man, who fears rejection more than anything else. So when he loses (another) second-in-command, he is having great difficulties trying to understand the unreadable replacement, Nagano Hiroshi. No one (except maybe the sly CEO, Nakai Masahiro) was prepared for the new guy to turn the hospital, and Sakamoto, so effortlessly upside-down.
Phase 1. Windless
Phase 2. The wind picks up
Phase 3. The prevailing wind
Phase 4. The squall
Phase 5. The tailwind
Phase 1. Windless
Sakamoto Masayuki, the head of accident- and emergency department and therefore the sole ruler of the B-wing in Kitagawa Medical Center, had a fierce scowl on his face as he rushed down the cream-colored corridor on the fifth floor. His knee-length lab coat was unbuttoned and flapped behind him, revealing navy blue denim scrub pants and a simple, boring grey tie resting on the white button-down shirt he wore underneath.
He stopped for a second at the nurses’ station to slam a pile of patient files at the desk, startling the attractive brunette on the phone. He hollered an angry “Hold the lift, boy!” over his shoulder while he started speed signing the forms the nurse, still looking pale and shaken, handed over to him.
The sole person in sight, despite the nurses, glanced nervously to Sakamoto and back to his index finger that was suspended in the air, hovering two centimeters from the button that spelled ‘Floor 1: Lobby & Reception’. He fidgeted nervously, debating the pros and cons of waiting and not-waiting for the notoriously grouchy B-wing head. He didn’t even work in this wing, he’d just been sent to bring over a progress report and he certainly was no “boy”. If he was to be in the receiving end of bullying, he could immediately report it to his superior, who would then take it up with… nevermind, his own boss would most likely end up apologizing to the assaulter when faced with the frightening B-boss…
His musings were suddenly interrupted, when the elevator doors flew open. Junior Research Assistant Sakurai Sho found himself face-to-face with doctor Sakamoto Masayuki, whom he’d met personally only a few times over the least four years. Their faces were mere centimeters apart, and the older man’s expression was wrathful.
“Are you deaf or just otherwise retarded? I told you to hold the lift, did I not!” The words, accompanied by a fairly strong shove which sent Sho back-first to the opposite side of the elevator, were in the form of a question, but anyone listening would have realized that they required no answer.
Sho burrowed into the corner, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. When they reached the lobby, his superior let out an angry huff and exited the metal cubicle. After the elevator doors slid shut, Sho blinked a few times, tried to calm his breathing and counted slowly to twenty before pushing the button that opened the doors again. He then cast a few quick glances around and practically ran towards the friendly glowing light of the ‘Wing C: Research’ sign above the glass doors. His hands shook a little as he groped the deep pockets of his white coat, frantically searching for the ID-card that would grant him access to his own department. He found it, slid it through the scanner by the door and after the calming beep hastily opened the door, closed it behind him and leaned against the wall, still shivering.
When a hand touched his arm shortly afterwards, he actually yelped.
“Sho-kun? What’s wrong?” At the friendly, pleasant voice he dared to open his eyes and looked straight into concerned brown ones.
“Takizawa-san?” The relief was apparent in his voice.
The mentioned assistant staff manager furrowed his brows, shook his head so that his shoulder-length chestnut hair bounced and lead Sho deeper into the C-wing, towards the first floor break room. There he sat the younger man down in one of the periwinkle armchairs, gestured vaguely to the three female students in the room and watched as they quickly headed out. He took a seat next to Sho, close but not invading his personal space. Before he had the time to say anything, there was a soft knock on the door and one of the girls came in, holding two large ceramic mugs filled with coffee. Takizawa smiled at her in thanks as she placed the mugs on the table and silently left.
“Thank you.” Sho sipped his coffee, mentally chuckling at the ‘Drama Queen On Duty’ slogan his mug sported.
“You were going to tell me why you were panicking.”
“I was?”
“You were.”
“Oh.”
Takizawa waited, reaching for sugar cubes and a plastic spoon from the shelf. He mixed and taste-tested, looking delighted.
“Just don’t tell my girlfriend”, he winked when he saw Sho watching. “She’s going through a phase. Again. This time it’s kokuto, brown sugar.” He made a face. Sho smiled.
“It’s just…director Sakamoto was angry and I was a little confused, may have ignored him and he got mad at me. Like, really really mad at me.“ The words came out in a hurry.
“You haven’t dealt with him much, have you?”
“No. Um, you mean, that was normal?” Sho squeaked. Takizawa gave a small shrug.
“He is not the easiest person to get along with, especially when he’s under more pressure than usual. His wing’s deputy handed in his resignation last week, and to juggle two jobs… I’m not saying it’s an excuse to frighten people, and since I happen to know he doesn’t fit the profile of a fairy godfather even when less stressed…but if it comforts you I can promise, that he won’t remember even seeing your face tomorrow. Most likely he forgot it as soon as you were out of his sight.”
“Uh huh. I guess the hearsay about his character was no joke.” Sho shivered.
Takizawa smiled lopsidedly, then clasped Sho’s shoulder before standing up and stretching.
“I have a board meeting tomorrow 7am sharp, so I better get going if I’m going to get even five hours good sleep. You too, Sho. Drink that and go home.” With an energetic wave and a surprisingly fluid spin on his star patterned heels the man exited the room, leaving Sho to his thoughts.
Takizawa was right, for when Sakamoto reached the reception-information center in the main lobby, he had no recollection of even sharing the elevator with anyone. He glanced at his watch and grunted as he noticed that it was close to 22.30 again. He wouldn’t be home before eleven today either. There seemed to be no one around in the large round compartment in the middle of the enormous main lobby. He stood up straight and tried to see beyond the shelves and low walls inside the center, but had to give up after a while. Instead he rang the call-bell rather violently and called:
“Morita! Miyake! Why is the station left unattended?”
There was a ‘bonk’ to be heard from quite close range, and soon a man with dirty blonde hair and moustache rose up from the floor, holding his head and grimacing. In a flash, a dark-haired and boyish looking man appeared from seemingly nowhere to stand by his injured colleague.
“Ouch. A little less volume please. My head’s killing me”, the first one muttered.
“And you’re not even drunk.” A pause. “Yet.” The second one quipped, grinning. Then he punched a long number key in the computer with his left hand, while the right absently searched through a cooler box, found a gel pad and pressed it to the blonde’s forehead. The printer came to life and spit out papers the man expertly gathered together, put them in a map and handed the map over the desk to Sakamoto. Who stared at the map for a while, bewildered, but then got himself under control and the displeased expression returned on his face. He straightened his back and glared at the two heads of the rec-inf. When that didn’t work, he impatiently began tapping the stone floor with his shoe.
The understanding dawned on the two after a while.
“Good evening, Sakamoto-sensei”, they chorused. As Sakamoto’s attention turned back to the map in his arms, the two rolled eyes at each other.
“Well, at least you’re up to date in your work, Miyake. Keep it up. Morita, be less clumsy.” With that Sakamoto took a course to the main entrance. He heard the unmistakable giggling and a “Yessir!” behind him, and was certain that had he turned around, the two would have been standing in attention, hands risen in a military greeting. He shook his head, nodded at the tall and muscled security guard who held the door for him and descended the few stairs. Outside his searching eyes didn’t find what they were looking for, and so he took out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.
“Inohara! Where are you!?”
“In front of the B-wing’s personal entrance, sir” came the chipper answer.
“Well I am at the main door. Hurry up.” He slammed the phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket.
He didn’t have to wait for long. In just a few minutes the dark Mercedes slowed into halt beside him, and the driver, dressed properly in a driver’s uniform and even wearing a formal hat, hopped out to open the door for him. As they left the hospital grounds and dove to the night traffic, the driver adjusted the mirror so that he could see the back seat.
“Sir, are you supposed to wear the hospital coat outside the medical center?”
“Is the hired help questioning my appearance?” Sakamoto scoffed back, but there was no real edge in his voice this time. His driver didn’t even notice the jab, but continued:
“No, sir. Maybe you could leave the coat in the car and I can have it washed and all ready to go tomorrow morning.”
There was no answer; the doctor was lost in the documents and was overstriking the important info with a yellow highlighter. The car slowed down after half an hour, entering a suburban area of large houses and villas. The neighbourhood was quiet, as the wealthy ones usually are. The Mercedes turned onto a driveway, stopped for a few seconds so that the driver could enter the security code that opened the gates, and then drove further. Sakamoto tore his eyes from the papers, took his belongings and left the car. When he was halfway up the wide stairs, he turned back, lowered his briefcase on the ground and stripped off his white lab coat throwing it at the still-waiting driver.
“Do not forget to take care of that, Inohara.” He said. “Night.”
“Good night, sir.”
Once inside Sakamoto sighed, leaving his clothes in the wash basin to pick up the next morning. After a shower he sat down on one of the barstools lining the kitchen counter. The house was spacious, modern and almost luxurious and its well-kept garden impressive, but he rarely took any real pleasure in living in it. It had two floors, but as he had little use for so many rooms, he had left the upper floor completely bare of any furniture and placed a firm lock on the door at the top of the stairs.
Even the downstairs was minimally furnished; the only rooms that really showed any signs of someone living in it were his bedroom and the library. The big and well-equipped kitchen that the counter separated from the living room was mostly, still after nine years, practically unused. The living room had a fair collection of dvds and cds, a large flatscreen tv and a high quality stereo system that could, as the salesman had promised him, make his whole block either dance or buy earplugs in masses - depending on his taste in music. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used any of those.
He turned off the sole light in the hall and went to bed.
Phase 2. The wind picks up
The next morning came, sneaking in the mist, behind the mass of grey clouds the October wind had chased from the inlands. Sakamoto sat in the kitchen, finishing his cup of instant coffee and watching the darkness subside to the dim grey light. Promptly at 6.15 he closed the door behind him, nodded his brief morning greeting at Inohara and once safely in the backseat, opened his calendar.
The board meeting was scheduled for 07.00 and as the chief executive Nakai Masahiro entered the conference room at 07.01, everyone who should have been in, was there. The most of the first hour was spent on general matters, but as the clock neared 08.00, the CEO cleared his throat.
“There will be someone joining us in a few minutes. I trust everyone got my memo last night?” Without even looking at people to see or listen to their answers, he continued.
“After the mess last week, when the deputy of the B-wing walked out on us, I pulled in a few favours from some people. That is to say, the person joining us today is quite exceptional not only in research and practice, but also in administering. I think we will all benefit hugely from having him here with us.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. Then it opened. In stepped a handsome man with walnut-colored hair and a friendly air around him. He stood straight and gave each person in the room an inspective look and nod, until his eyes reached the CEO’s and he bowed.
“Nagano-san?” A startled question broke the silence and everyone turned to the research director, professor Joshima. The newcomer’s eyes widened and he smiled.
“Shigeru-kun? Now this is a pleasant surprise, if any.”
The meet’s participants cast each other dumbfounded looks, as the eccentric professor, who often didn’t socialize unless it was with close friends or otherwise obligatory, stood up and gave the stranger a one-armed hug. No one present could even remember anyone calling Joshima by his first name unless it was a joke played by the people he knew well.
Nakai coughed and gestured to the people present.
“Well then, I’m going to introduce the board of directors. I believe you already know the Medical Superintendent, our resident genius Kimura Takuya and head nurse Nakama Yukie. Here are are the PR manager Inagaki Goro, development manager Kusanagi Tsuyoshi, financial manager Katori Shingo and the staff managers Higashiyama Noriyuki and Takizawa Hideaki.
Others present are the director of C-wing Joshima Shigeru whom you already know, director of the B-wing and the one you will be working with most closely, Sakamoto Masayuki, director of the pediatric D-wing Fujiwara Norika, and the heads of the physiotherapy and orthopedic departments Yamaguchi Tatsuya and Kokubun Taichi.” He gestured towards everyone at their turns.
“Nagano-kun here has been both in Japan and abroad. Just to mention a few of his last assignments, he has been supervising the warzone hospitals in the Middle-East and up ‘til recently he worked in the international underwater research center Ultra in the Pacific Ocean. He is not only a renowned trauma surgeon, but also a psychologist. “
“Good to meet you, everyone. I hope we’ll be working well together.” Nagano’s polite words were accompanied by a warm smile. Nakai took a look at the wooden clock on the wall and slammed his open palm on the table.
“Ok, that’s it then. Everybody out, I’m sure you can find some actual work to do.” The CEO nodded at his secretary who hurried to him, arms filled with year-end reports, and put the high pile in front of the man.
Soon the room was cleared. Sakamoto took a straight course to his office in the B-wing and noticed that he was being followed by someone. In front of the elevators he turned around.
“Why are you following me like a lost puppy? Got nothing better to do?” He snapped.
The reaction he got was very far from what he had expected. The calm coffee-colored eyes didn’t waver but instead, to his surprise, glinted in amusement. Nagano reached to the elevator’s call button and as the doors opened, lifted an eyebrow.
“You coming? I do think we share the same destination.”
Sakamoto could almost feel the heat on his cheeks, as he stepped in. This was not going according to the plan. Usually all he had to do was to growl a little and he was left in peace, for his reputation preceded him by miles. Clearly this newbie hadn’t gotten that memo yet. Well, it was only a matter of hours ‘til he would.
The gossip mill in the hospital was terrible. By noon the new deputy of the B-wing was the topic on everyone’s lips. The most likely conversation to be overheard resembled the following:
“Did you hear that he’s worked in the Ultra?”
“For real?”
“Ultra! Man! That is so awesome.”
“And he’s young too.
“Don’t forget super handsome.”
Sakamoto sent his assistant, a skittish little thing called Horikita Maki, after his lunch from the hospital cafeteria. She was on her way in a blink, but as soon as she was gone, there was a knock on Sakamoto’s door. He looked up and was just about to tell the person to come in, when he realized that the one who had knocked was his new second-in-command and that he had most certainly not waited to answer, but leaned against the doorframe with a brown leather jacket in his hand. Before Sakamoto had the chance to scold the slightly younger man for his lack of manners, he asked:
“Seems like the cafeteria food isn’t really for me today. I think we should take a longer lunch break and visit the cozy looking udon place down the street.” A pause. “Come on, an invitation doesn’t get more literal than that.” And then the infuriating man grabbed Sakamoto’s coat from the rack by the door and was gone in two seconds. Sakamoto gulped and took off after the jacket thief.
It took two delicious servings of udon noodles before Sakamoto’s brain caught up with the situation.
Nagano’s memo on him was clearly going the extra mile with the snail mail, since he had actually invited (well, more like blackmailed) him out to lunch, and kept up a light conversation about the B-wing that didn’t require much participation from the extremely bewildered Sakamoto. He decided that he had to do something about this, this was just absurd.
“Khrm.” When he had cleared his throat twice and coughed three times and gotten no reaction, he gave up. When their after meal tea arrived, he stared at the menthol drink, words completely lost.
“It seems you’re coming down with a cold. Menthol tea is not very traditional, but it is highly recommended in the early stages of a flu.” Nagano smiled his easygoing smile and Sakamoto could have sworn that the man was hiding a smirk when taking a sip of his own honeybush tea. He had had enough.
“Look. I don’t know why you’re trying to be overly friendly with me. Everyone should have already told you to keep out of my way so I won’t fire you. I take my work seriously and demand the maximum from everyone, even if I have to be an asshole to do it. If you’re trying to suck up to me so I’d go easy on you, forget it. People don’t like me and I don’t like people. So keep to yourself from now on. Are we clear?” Sakamoto stood up to leave.
He was once again too slow. Nagano’s smile didn’t vanish. He left money on the table, pushed past Sakamoto and had his jacket on very fast. Then he faced the taller man, straightened the other’s collar and said so quietly that it almost went unheard despite their closeness:
“I doesn’t work that way, my friend.”
Phase 3. The prevailing wind
Sakamoto Masayuki was, for the first time in years, losing his composure. Repeatedly.
The new deputy director of the B-wing, Nagano Hiroshi not only seemed to get along with everyone, but he also excelled in his administrational duties and didn’t even lose his nerves with the many interns and nurses hovering around him, whether it was necessary or not. Patients liked his calmness and the sense of security, and the socially awkward oddball that was professor Joshima invited him to lectures and other outings like it was perfectly normal.
The most puzzling thing though was that Nagano had made it a habit to eat with Sakamoto every Monday and Thursday of the week. There were no exceptions; the man always came in precisely when Sakamoto was about to summon Horikita to go get him his meal. He didn’t downright threaten Sakamoto to join him, but usually some kind of persuation was needed that the older man followed him out. By the beginning of December the two had gone through every single one of the small food shops near the hospital. These ‘food meetings’ as Sakamoto had taken to refer to them, were actually quite pleasant affairs. They ate, mostly in companionable silence, but when waiting for the food or the next course, they discussed work. From recent research reports to progress that had been made to the B-Wing’s problematic issues and, although rarely, some patient cases.
Nagano was an intelligent conversationist, and was that without being garrulous. He had the skill to let few words and even silences to speak for him, and Sakamoto found this immensely pleasant. He dreaded overly talkative people; the only one such he could stand was his driver and Sakamoto had perfected the skill to tune him out years ago.
What scared him a little, was that he had begun to look forward to the time spent with the other man. Especially the Mondays. Sometimes on the weekends he caught himself thinking about telling Nagano about some medical article on C. difficile he’d just read or wondering what they would eat. Sakamoto convinced himself, that as long as they were only talking about work and work-related topics, he could afford to spend time with the other man. If it got personal, then…well, then he would have to think how to break it down that there would be no more lunches. Saturday became Sunday, December the 6th, as he watched the wind tease the fallen leaves in his yard. The tea lights he had left on the marble windowsill had burned out, so he took it as a sign to go to bed.
He hadn’t dreamt of his past for quite a while, but that night the dreams plagued him. How his parents had worked hard in the family’s vegetable shop so that he could go to medical school. How he had quit the school and gone to work for a publishing house, thinking that it’d be good money with easy work. How his graduating friends had sneered down at him and his stupidity. How it had taken a train wreck that killed his parents to pull him out of the stupidity. He had sold the vegetable shop, his inheritance, and went back to medical school to finish the degree. Ashamed and lonely he had worked hard for the remaining two years. After graduation he worked three years in a middle sized private hospital in Hiroshima. He had first befriended and then later fallen in love with a local banker’s daughter, Miho. They had been engaged. Even after all these years, it didn’t take much effort to remember how her hair had felt under his fingers, how she had smiled at him across the rooms. Ever easier it was to remember how she had come to his meager apartment one spring morning, eyes downcast and the ring gone from her finger. She had fallen in love with one of his colleagues, his very best friend. They had wanted to tell him before they would really cheat on him. Sakamoto’s dream-self choked back a hoarse laugh. Really cheat. They had been seeing each other behind his back for months, ever since the gas pipe explosion and him having to cancel the Christmas dinner with Miho. And they talked about ‘really cheating’. God, how it hurt.
After that he had locked himself in a shell, ready to rip the head off of anyone who even tried to come close. He got the good position at Kitagawa Medical and the regular paycheck accompanied with the rest of his heritage made him a rich man; a delectable bachelor. Some arranged dates were all social mingling he had done outside the obligatory hospital funding outings (where he usually sulked in the background) ever since.
His dream changed. Now it was Nagano who tore down his defenses, Nagano who bared him for everyone to see, and Nagano who laughed mockingly as he desperately tried to pick himself up from the dirt. He lost everything, he lost his job, his house, he couldn’t even pay for the maintenance of his parents’ graves, he…
Sakamoto jerked upright in bed, covered in cold sweat. He buried his head in his shaking hands.
“I don’t want to see you anymore.” Sakamoto didn’t even glance up from his desk, when he more sensed than saw or hear his office door open. He waited for a while to let the other take the words in and then looked.
Nagano’s leather coat was casually thrown over his shoulder as he calmly regarded the man sitting behind the crowded desk. His ever-present smile became a little lopsided for a second before his expression became serious.
“Alright.” His voice was as firm as always.
“Alright?” Sakamoto had not expected this to be so easy. Not when the other side was the man who had practically forced him out of his own world by stealing his jacket. Even if, when Sakamoto really honestly thought about it, he had to confess that maybe he somewhere deep inside had wanted to be dragged out and the coat had been just a catalyst.
“Sure. On one condition.”
“Condition?” Sakamoto groaned. He should have known.
“This Friday you’re coming with us to the karaoke and afterwards to my place for nabe party with everyone.”
Silence. Sakamoto could feel himself tremble. He dreaded that maybe Nagano, being ever-observant, noticed that too. He needed to be alone.
“I…” his voice broke “I need some time to think about it.” He took a deep breath and tried to relax the shoulders.
“You’ve got ‘til Wednesday. Call me.” Nagano closed the door softly behind him.
Sakamoto had only just slid down in his leather chair when his secretary came in and placed a pastel yellow paper bag on the desk.
“Nagano-sensei left this for Sakamoto-sensei.” And the girl skipped skittishly away, as if afraid that Sakamoto would hurl the offending item back at her.
The bag contained tonkatsu sandwiches and fried tofu with vegetables. He could distinctly remember eating this once in November and commenting to Nagano that it reminded him of his hometown.
He took the leftovers home with him.
Wednesday, December the 9th.
“Hello.”
“Nagano-kun? This is Sakamoto Masayuki.”
“I know.”
A brief silence.
“I just… if I come to this one s-so-social call, then you will keep your distance at all times?” His heart was hammering so loud he was sure the receiver would pick up its noise.
“Yes.” Nagano’s voice was calm, even stretching the vowels a little.
“I…do I have your word?”
“Yes. Yes you have my word for it.”
“Oh. Good. Well, I guess it then can’t be helped. I’ll come.”
“I will mail you the location.”
“Oh. Alright.” Sakamoto was trying hard to think how to end the call, but couldn’t decide which of the four phrases he’d written on the notebook laying on the kitchen table would be the best choice. It was only when he was about to speak again when he realized that he’d been alone on the line for quite a while already.
Phase 4. The squall
Friday came, and Sakamoto was so nervous he could hardly do his supervisor’s rounds with the usual efficiency. He found himself in the physiotherapy department, watching the impossibly young and almost frail-looking intern effortlessly help a muscled man to the twin rails and securely lead him through the exhausting routine, talking and encouraging the patient.
“He’s rather good, isn’t he?” The question startled him and he turned around to face the department’s head, Yamaguchi Tatsuya. He nodded, impressed.
“He’s actually one of yours, from the B-wing. Psychology intern. We were one man short a few weeks ago and he said he could use the experience. I don’t think we’re willing to let him go anytime soon, to be honest.”
“Indeed. I do remember him, hazily. Aced all the possible exams and did well with the patients too, if I recall. Tegota or something?” Sakamoto furrowed his brows.
“Tegoshi. He’s got a great spirit for this type of therapy. Never gives up, and when he understands the psyche too…Taichi wanted me to talk to you about getting him to a double major status.”
“Hmm.” Sakamoto nodded. “I assume you’ve talked to him already? If so, then fill in the papers, send them to his supervisor and me for signatures and I’ll see them to director Kusanagi.”
“That’s great, thanks. He’ll be something big one day. Although, I’m a little disgruntled at having him hanging out with me and the guys at times.”
“Why?”
“Ever tried taking out an overly cute little brother, who has perfected the puppy eyes-look? It can get expensive”, Yamaguchi laughed.
The address Nagano had mailed was a karaoke bar downtown. Inohara drove Sakamoto there just after 20.00. He figured that the later he arrived, the less time he would have to spend with the people. When he opened the door, the happy chatter in the room died down as fast as if he had thrown buckets of cold water at them. Then Nagano stood up from where he had sat talking to professor Joshima, Yamaguchi, Taichi and two of the hospital’s security guards, Nagase and Matsuoka. He handed Sakamoto a beer and made him sit down where he had sat a moment ago, clapping him on the back.
Slowly the chatter began to grow up again. Responsible were more or less the two men dubbed as the ‘Mad Scientists of Kitagawa’. Where professor Joshima was an oddball, Domoto Tsuyoshi and Domoto Koichi took the description on a flight over the moon. Now Koichi was attempting to prove the theory of relativity wrong by using a dozen shot glasses, some grapes and four pink mini umbrellas. Tsuyoshi was pretending to be listening while he actually took turns in filling Koichi’s shochu-glass and eating the grapes, when his research partner wasn’t looking.
The younger people present, mostly students and interns, had taken over the microphones and the lulling background music was almost constantly chipper pop.
Sakamoto had decided to mostly listen the others talking, but after a few hours he came to realize that maybe that hadn’t been that good of a strategy. Because not talking meant listening and, mostly, drinking, he was starting to feel buzzed before the clock was half past ten. Nagano had unceremoniously taken a vice-like grip on Joshima’s arm and the two of them had done a memorable version of a 90s hit ballad. That inspired Ken and Go to sing Choo Choo Train and when trying to do the legendary dance move, they knocked Sakamoto’s eyes were clouded over before long and he distantly heard someone announcing that they were going to vacate the premises for now.
When Nagano helped the wobbly-legged Sakamoto stand up and walk to the door, he turned around and addressed the two tall men gathering their property:
“Matsuoka, Nagase. Would you be so kind as to pry Masami-chan and Nino away from each other for a while, and then take Aiba and Jun down from the table and see that they get to my place safely? You can use some excessive force if necessary. Just watch the hair will you”, Nagano grinned as he lifted Sakamoto’s arm on his own shoulders and began navigating towards his car.
Nagano, Sakamoto learned, didn’t live in a house like he did. He had a roomy apartment in a respectable part of the city. There were many rooms, and everything but the living room was decorated in western style. He sat on the pile of soft pillows while his host worked his magic with the nabe, humming softly, distractedly something like “Ai ni wa ai de kanjiaou yo, koi no tezawari kienai you ni…” (*)
His eyes closed on their own accord. Afterwards, even when asked, he couldn’t recall much else than short glimpses of the time spent in Nagano’s living room. He could have sworn he heard Nagano declare Wien as the capital of Australia, Ken calling Go ‘Mokki’ and Nagase singing, for whatever reasons, Aerosmith’s Dudle (Looks Like A Lady) in broken English and Ninomiya and Jun ganging up on Sho to make the poor boy draw less honorable figures on the face of the passed out Ohno. He doubted any of it was real.
The next time Sakamoto came to for real, he was half-sitting half-laying on the backseat of his own Mercedes, with Inohara and Nagano quietly talking in the front seat. He growled in his mind, but couldn’t muster enough energy to do it for real. So he let it be and shut his eyes once more.
Inohara’s high-pitched squeal of “Oh, Nabe! It’s my kink!” woke him up when the car ceased moving. He more sensed than saw Nagano give his driver an incredulous look and shake his head in exasperation. The he was helped up the stairs and in the house.
Nagano stopped in the foyer to take care of their jackets and shoes, but Sakamoto unsteadily padded to the living room and collapsed on the couch. He heard the other man move around in the kitchen and turn the water cooker on, no doubt for tea. The steps went further away. Some doors were opened and closed. Then some more, and then there was someone shaking his shoulders and talking to him in a low, shocked voice.
“…long…like this...never knew…why…told anyone…when…” and his conscience became a dull grey again.
Sakamoto smelled the sweet scent of his roibos tea and could feel the cool compress on his forehead. He thought he could risk a look around and opened his eyes. It was still dark outside, and he was still on the couch. Nagano was also still there, sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching him. He wanted to laugh; this was too much. All he managed was a painful grunt.
“How long?” Nagano’s voice was quiet, serious.
He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to give it away. It was private and it was his.
“How long have you been living in a dead house?”
He kept his silence. His eyes were starting to burn, even squeezing his eyes shut didn’t help.
“How long have all the rooms been empty?”
Oh God. He was going to cry.
“When was the last time you invited someone home?”
His throat felt so tight he was sure he’d suffocate.
“Does anyone know you?” The question was almost a whisper.
He couldn’t take it anymore. The sound started as a sob, but he transformed it to words. He had to.
“No one has ever been here but me. In nine years, no one. This is mine, my tomb to keep. There is no one for me; I’ve driven everyone away or they’re always taken from me or they can’t care about me. I am not worth of knowing outside of work, for anyone.” He was half aware that the hot tears he felt on his cheeks were his own, that he was leaning against someone, that his face was hidden in someone’s shoulder and that while a hand was rubbing soothingly up and down his back, another kept brushing through his hair.
The first real sunbeams in weeks to reach the city tickled Sakamoto’s cheeks almost teasingly. He woke up, for the first time in ages feeling warm and content. His eyes felt heavy and as he started to feel the throbbing at the back of his head, the memories from last night surfaced too, one at time. He had told someone some of his deepest thoughts. And not just someone, but one of his coworkers, one who’d promised to leave him alone after spending one evening with the mixmatched group of people who worked at Kitagawa Medical. His whole body stiffened, when he understood that the very same man was asleep beside him on the sofa. Slowly he inched one eye open. Nagano’s face was turned to him, his expression even more peaceful and calm in the sleep than what it was awake. The morning sun made his hair look like a golden halo, and Sakamoto had to draw his hand back to not touch it. He wanted to follow the fine lines of the man’s cheekbones with his fingers, to burrow his hands in the hair that almost seemed liquid in the sun, to feel the dark lashes flutter against his hands… he jolted away mid-thought and landed on the floor. He must be going crazy, crazy for any kind of intimacy that had been so long denied before last night. He had never…
He took a shower to clear his head. When he emerged from the bathroom he found his guest in his kitchen, cooking breakfast with some ingredients that had found their way to his fridge the night before. Nagano glanced at him, his eyes unreadable.
“How are you?”
“I’ll be fine. You didn’t have to make breakfast, you know.” He sat down in his bathrobe and tasted the omelet. Delicious.
“It’s an apology, to be honest.”
“Apology?” A cold shiver ran through Sakamoto.
“I thought it best to tell you. I know I promised to leave you alone, but that’s a promise I can’t keep.”
“Oh. That.” Sakamoto let out the breath he’d been holding.
Nagano nodded, still and calm as ever.
“I…uh, I need a little time to think this thing over, all right? I would, I would like to continue with the lunches. Very much. But anything else is kind of difficult so…so I really need time.” The orange juice in the high glass was suddenly very captivating.
Nagano smiled, and it was the same natural, friendly smile he was so accustomed to.
They went to lunch twice the next week; talked about work and an interesting theory and therefore a possible alternative usage of radiotherapy the Domoto pair had worked to a theory level. It was when Sakamoto was saying goodbye to Nagano late on Thursday night when they were leaving, and the other man smiled and said: “Bye, Masa. See you tomorrow”, that he noticed there were two different reactions ready for action inside of him. The side of him that had been a constant partner for the last decade, his cool and detached self, wanted to call the younger man back and scold him for such improper and unprofessional ways. Then this new side that had only surfaced again last weekend, wanted to smile, truly smile because the other’s usage of an intimate nickname made him happy.
In a burst of foolish bravery he sent Nagano a text message on Saturday night. He didn’t get a reply before it was almost midnight, but he read the message multiple times before going to bed. He left the message open on the screen so that he could read it in the morning again. In the morning he read it, became embarrassed by his own stupidity and almost deleted the message. Almost.
Phase 5. The tail wind
Nagano had a motorbike he treasured, Sakamoto knew. But he himself had never even ridden one, and so when his friend suggested that they could take Thursday afternoon off and go for a little ride, he was nervous. Calling Nagano his friend made him beam in the inside, but what if something went wrong and he messed the balance up so that they’d end up in the ICU. Or the morgue. And if they were lucky and that didn’t happen, what if he got the strange urge to touch his friend again? He shared the first worry with Nagano, who laughed and said that he had to stop being such a worrywart and trust him. To trust him.
The feeling on the motorbike was nothing short of freedom, when the cold December air whipped around them as they rode closer to the beach. To Sakamoto’s surprise Nagano slowed down and parked the motorbike beside a small ramen shop some hundred meters from the shore. The food was good and warming, and the owner, an elderly woman was all too happy to get a few customers who “weren’t afraid to eat”. On the way back to the city Sakamoto tried to open his eyes as much as possible, so as not to let anything pass by unseen.
That night he had a dream. He had feared for the nightmares to come again, but in this dream he was in Nagano’s beige-colored office, watching his friend who had fallen asleep in his chair. He took his own jacket and spread it over the other for warmth. He couldn’t step away, couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop his hand from traveling from Nagano’s forehead to his cheekbone, tracing his jaw and finally caressing the lower lip with the pad of his thumb. He could feel his friend waking up, but he was frozen in place and didn’t dare to lift his gaze for he was afraid of the detestation and anger he could find.
He woke up, shivering.
Sunday morning came around, reminding him and everyone else that there were only four days until Christmas. Sakamoto always brought the nurses on his floor and his secretary marshmallows and those he had bought weeks ago, but this year was the first time in almost a decade that he had an additional, real present to buy. He wandered the streets cluttered with small shops for hours, but nothing stroke him as something he’d want to buy for his friend. Finally the crowd started to thin; the Christmas lights weren’t as blinding anymore. A gust of wind chased a few paper bags on the street, and he could feel rain starting to fall. He called Inohara, but the man was on the other side of the city and it’d take him a fair time to come. He looked at the nearest door; it was dark red wood, and there were carved vines on its sides. He tried the handle, and the door opened. He stepped in.
He was in a church. Or maybe it was rather a chapel for only a dozen benches separated him from the small altar. He sat down and thought for a while, wondered if there was a priest here and if he would be thrown out in the rain for asking what he wanted to ask.
“Horrible weather outside, isn’t it?” Said the stranger, a man in his early twenties, as he almost slammed the door shut behind him and went to take his drenched coat off to dry.
“I’m inclined to have the same opinion”, he nodded.
They sat a while in easy silence, while the stranger tried to sort his unruly long black hair out, without much success. Sakamoto decided to ask.
“You been here before?”
“A few times. Never seen you before though.” The man shivered. Sakamoto got rid of his coat, and handed the pullover he’d been wearing under it to the man. He gratefully took it.
“You know if there’s priest in here?” The man gave him an odd look at that.
“Um. It’s just that I had a question I wanted to ask”, Sakamoto shrugged and tried desperately to look nonchalant.
“Ask me.” At Sakamoto’s bewildered look he continued. “Well, it’s not like you’d be finding anyone else to ask when the typhoon is raging outside. So shoot, I don’t think it’s anything I haven’t heard before.”
He coughed. And decided that there wasn’t much to lose. So he told the stranger that he’d been alone for a while and how a new friend’s presence affected him. The man listened, all the time combing the wet locks with his fingers.
“Well” he finally said “I’m not an expert or anything, but I think you’ve got quite a gift, this friendship of yours. It sounds…happy, I guess. Warm. Wouldn’t wanna throw that kind of a thing away would you?”
Sakamoto shook his head.
“And if you both are comfortable with each other in the future and it were to become something more than friendship, would it be so bad?”
The stranger was right, Sakamoto mused when his eyelids started to weigh. Maybe he should tell the both sides of him, the cold one and the overly giddy one, to take a vacation so that he could try to find the middle path somewhere. His phone woke him up, blasting ‘Curry Rice’ so loudly that it echoed in the small chapel. Hurriedly he answered and directed Inohara to where he was. The black haired man, the stranger, was nowhere to be seen. His green pullover was gone too.
December the 23rd was darkening towards the evening, when Sakamoto’s doorbell sounded. Rationally there were only two possibilities of who it could be, and since Inohara had stopped by earlier already… Sakamoto opened to door to face two huge paper bags filled with groceries. Nagano’s smile was hidden behind them. He said that they were going to wake up his house, little by litte and room by room, as soon as he was ready for it.
Christmas Eve came and went. Sakamoto couldn’t remember much of it. All he knew was that his superb stereo equipment was made to play the complete discography of Chage & Aska and that it had taken almost a decade for his kitchen to become alive. That it had taken him over a decade to defrost.
He could hear his friend calling his name from the back porch. Huge, white pieces of paradise were falling down and Hiroshi was standing in the midst of snowflakes flying joyously in the wind, looking at him expectantly. He gave in and stepped out on the wooden porch barefoot, letting out a delighted laugh. Outside his body was shivering from the cold, but inside he was so warm he was sure he could melt an entire mountain of snow if it came down to it.
He closed the distance between himself and his friend and reached out.
They would make his house into a home, and they would learn if these inchoate feelings he could sense between them were more than friendship.
It would take time.
They had all the time in the world.
(*) “Feel love with love, so the feeling of love doesn't disappear” from Chage & Aska’s hit song ‘SAY YES’. (translation.
From: win03die
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Title: Whirlwind
Pairing/Group: pre-slash/friendship Nagano/Sakamoto, co-starring almost everyone from SMAP to NEWS; but focus on J-FRIENDS.
Rating: PG-13 for themes?
Warnings: AU if you insist that it needs a warning, and some angst.
Notes: really really hope the recipient likes this, because the universe has somehow become my baby. But if you don’t, tell me and I’ll write something else. Very happy holidays!
Summary: Sakamoto Masayuki is a high-up in Kitagawa Medical Center. He is adept, focused and respected, but also considered ill-tempered and cold amongst his peers and subordinates. What no one really knows is that behind the top-notch doctor’s mask is an insecure and almost painfully lonely man, who fears rejection more than anything else. So when he loses (another) second-in-command, he is having great difficulties trying to understand the unreadable replacement, Nagano Hiroshi. No one (except maybe the sly CEO, Nakai Masahiro) was prepared for the new guy to turn the hospital, and Sakamoto, so effortlessly upside-down.
Phase 1. Windless
Phase 2. The wind picks up
Phase 3. The prevailing wind
Phase 4. The squall
Phase 5. The tailwind
Phase 1. Windless
Sakamoto Masayuki, the head of accident- and emergency department and therefore the sole ruler of the B-wing in Kitagawa Medical Center, had a fierce scowl on his face as he rushed down the cream-colored corridor on the fifth floor. His knee-length lab coat was unbuttoned and flapped behind him, revealing navy blue denim scrub pants and a simple, boring grey tie resting on the white button-down shirt he wore underneath.
He stopped for a second at the nurses’ station to slam a pile of patient files at the desk, startling the attractive brunette on the phone. He hollered an angry “Hold the lift, boy!” over his shoulder while he started speed signing the forms the nurse, still looking pale and shaken, handed over to him.
The sole person in sight, despite the nurses, glanced nervously to Sakamoto and back to his index finger that was suspended in the air, hovering two centimeters from the button that spelled ‘Floor 1: Lobby & Reception’. He fidgeted nervously, debating the pros and cons of waiting and not-waiting for the notoriously grouchy B-wing head. He didn’t even work in this wing, he’d just been sent to bring over a progress report and he certainly was no “boy”. If he was to be in the receiving end of bullying, he could immediately report it to his superior, who would then take it up with… nevermind, his own boss would most likely end up apologizing to the assaulter when faced with the frightening B-boss…
His musings were suddenly interrupted, when the elevator doors flew open. Junior Research Assistant Sakurai Sho found himself face-to-face with doctor Sakamoto Masayuki, whom he’d met personally only a few times over the least four years. Their faces were mere centimeters apart, and the older man’s expression was wrathful.
“Are you deaf or just otherwise retarded? I told you to hold the lift, did I not!” The words, accompanied by a fairly strong shove which sent Sho back-first to the opposite side of the elevator, were in the form of a question, but anyone listening would have realized that they required no answer.
Sho burrowed into the corner, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. When they reached the lobby, his superior let out an angry huff and exited the metal cubicle. After the elevator doors slid shut, Sho blinked a few times, tried to calm his breathing and counted slowly to twenty before pushing the button that opened the doors again. He then cast a few quick glances around and practically ran towards the friendly glowing light of the ‘Wing C: Research’ sign above the glass doors. His hands shook a little as he groped the deep pockets of his white coat, frantically searching for the ID-card that would grant him access to his own department. He found it, slid it through the scanner by the door and after the calming beep hastily opened the door, closed it behind him and leaned against the wall, still shivering.
When a hand touched his arm shortly afterwards, he actually yelped.
“Sho-kun? What’s wrong?” At the friendly, pleasant voice he dared to open his eyes and looked straight into concerned brown ones.
“Takizawa-san?” The relief was apparent in his voice.
The mentioned assistant staff manager furrowed his brows, shook his head so that his shoulder-length chestnut hair bounced and lead Sho deeper into the C-wing, towards the first floor break room. There he sat the younger man down in one of the periwinkle armchairs, gestured vaguely to the three female students in the room and watched as they quickly headed out. He took a seat next to Sho, close but not invading his personal space. Before he had the time to say anything, there was a soft knock on the door and one of the girls came in, holding two large ceramic mugs filled with coffee. Takizawa smiled at her in thanks as she placed the mugs on the table and silently left.
“Thank you.” Sho sipped his coffee, mentally chuckling at the ‘Drama Queen On Duty’ slogan his mug sported.
“You were going to tell me why you were panicking.”
“I was?”
“You were.”
“Oh.”
Takizawa waited, reaching for sugar cubes and a plastic spoon from the shelf. He mixed and taste-tested, looking delighted.
“Just don’t tell my girlfriend”, he winked when he saw Sho watching. “She’s going through a phase. Again. This time it’s kokuto, brown sugar.” He made a face. Sho smiled.
“It’s just…director Sakamoto was angry and I was a little confused, may have ignored him and he got mad at me. Like, really really mad at me.“ The words came out in a hurry.
“You haven’t dealt with him much, have you?”
“No. Um, you mean, that was normal?” Sho squeaked. Takizawa gave a small shrug.
“He is not the easiest person to get along with, especially when he’s under more pressure than usual. His wing’s deputy handed in his resignation last week, and to juggle two jobs… I’m not saying it’s an excuse to frighten people, and since I happen to know he doesn’t fit the profile of a fairy godfather even when less stressed…but if it comforts you I can promise, that he won’t remember even seeing your face tomorrow. Most likely he forgot it as soon as you were out of his sight.”
“Uh huh. I guess the hearsay about his character was no joke.” Sho shivered.
Takizawa smiled lopsidedly, then clasped Sho’s shoulder before standing up and stretching.
“I have a board meeting tomorrow 7am sharp, so I better get going if I’m going to get even five hours good sleep. You too, Sho. Drink that and go home.” With an energetic wave and a surprisingly fluid spin on his star patterned heels the man exited the room, leaving Sho to his thoughts.
Takizawa was right, for when Sakamoto reached the reception-information center in the main lobby, he had no recollection of even sharing the elevator with anyone. He glanced at his watch and grunted as he noticed that it was close to 22.30 again. He wouldn’t be home before eleven today either. There seemed to be no one around in the large round compartment in the middle of the enormous main lobby. He stood up straight and tried to see beyond the shelves and low walls inside the center, but had to give up after a while. Instead he rang the call-bell rather violently and called:
“Morita! Miyake! Why is the station left unattended?”
There was a ‘bonk’ to be heard from quite close range, and soon a man with dirty blonde hair and moustache rose up from the floor, holding his head and grimacing. In a flash, a dark-haired and boyish looking man appeared from seemingly nowhere to stand by his injured colleague.
“Ouch. A little less volume please. My head’s killing me”, the first one muttered.
“And you’re not even drunk.” A pause. “Yet.” The second one quipped, grinning. Then he punched a long number key in the computer with his left hand, while the right absently searched through a cooler box, found a gel pad and pressed it to the blonde’s forehead. The printer came to life and spit out papers the man expertly gathered together, put them in a map and handed the map over the desk to Sakamoto. Who stared at the map for a while, bewildered, but then got himself under control and the displeased expression returned on his face. He straightened his back and glared at the two heads of the rec-inf. When that didn’t work, he impatiently began tapping the stone floor with his shoe.
The understanding dawned on the two after a while.
“Good evening, Sakamoto-sensei”, they chorused. As Sakamoto’s attention turned back to the map in his arms, the two rolled eyes at each other.
“Well, at least you’re up to date in your work, Miyake. Keep it up. Morita, be less clumsy.” With that Sakamoto took a course to the main entrance. He heard the unmistakable giggling and a “Yessir!” behind him, and was certain that had he turned around, the two would have been standing in attention, hands risen in a military greeting. He shook his head, nodded at the tall and muscled security guard who held the door for him and descended the few stairs. Outside his searching eyes didn’t find what they were looking for, and so he took out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.
“Inohara! Where are you!?”
“In front of the B-wing’s personal entrance, sir” came the chipper answer.
“Well I am at the main door. Hurry up.” He slammed the phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket.
He didn’t have to wait for long. In just a few minutes the dark Mercedes slowed into halt beside him, and the driver, dressed properly in a driver’s uniform and even wearing a formal hat, hopped out to open the door for him. As they left the hospital grounds and dove to the night traffic, the driver adjusted the mirror so that he could see the back seat.
“Sir, are you supposed to wear the hospital coat outside the medical center?”
“Is the hired help questioning my appearance?” Sakamoto scoffed back, but there was no real edge in his voice this time. His driver didn’t even notice the jab, but continued:
“No, sir. Maybe you could leave the coat in the car and I can have it washed and all ready to go tomorrow morning.”
There was no answer; the doctor was lost in the documents and was overstriking the important info with a yellow highlighter. The car slowed down after half an hour, entering a suburban area of large houses and villas. The neighbourhood was quiet, as the wealthy ones usually are. The Mercedes turned onto a driveway, stopped for a few seconds so that the driver could enter the security code that opened the gates, and then drove further. Sakamoto tore his eyes from the papers, took his belongings and left the car. When he was halfway up the wide stairs, he turned back, lowered his briefcase on the ground and stripped off his white lab coat throwing it at the still-waiting driver.
“Do not forget to take care of that, Inohara.” He said. “Night.”
“Good night, sir.”
Once inside Sakamoto sighed, leaving his clothes in the wash basin to pick up the next morning. After a shower he sat down on one of the barstools lining the kitchen counter. The house was spacious, modern and almost luxurious and its well-kept garden impressive, but he rarely took any real pleasure in living in it. It had two floors, but as he had little use for so many rooms, he had left the upper floor completely bare of any furniture and placed a firm lock on the door at the top of the stairs.
Even the downstairs was minimally furnished; the only rooms that really showed any signs of someone living in it were his bedroom and the library. The big and well-equipped kitchen that the counter separated from the living room was mostly, still after nine years, practically unused. The living room had a fair collection of dvds and cds, a large flatscreen tv and a high quality stereo system that could, as the salesman had promised him, make his whole block either dance or buy earplugs in masses - depending on his taste in music. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used any of those.
He turned off the sole light in the hall and went to bed.
Phase 2. The wind picks up
The next morning came, sneaking in the mist, behind the mass of grey clouds the October wind had chased from the inlands. Sakamoto sat in the kitchen, finishing his cup of instant coffee and watching the darkness subside to the dim grey light. Promptly at 6.15 he closed the door behind him, nodded his brief morning greeting at Inohara and once safely in the backseat, opened his calendar.
The board meeting was scheduled for 07.00 and as the chief executive Nakai Masahiro entered the conference room at 07.01, everyone who should have been in, was there. The most of the first hour was spent on general matters, but as the clock neared 08.00, the CEO cleared his throat.
“There will be someone joining us in a few minutes. I trust everyone got my memo last night?” Without even looking at people to see or listen to their answers, he continued.
“After the mess last week, when the deputy of the B-wing walked out on us, I pulled in a few favours from some people. That is to say, the person joining us today is quite exceptional not only in research and practice, but also in administering. I think we will all benefit hugely from having him here with us.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. Then it opened. In stepped a handsome man with walnut-colored hair and a friendly air around him. He stood straight and gave each person in the room an inspective look and nod, until his eyes reached the CEO’s and he bowed.
“Nagano-san?” A startled question broke the silence and everyone turned to the research director, professor Joshima. The newcomer’s eyes widened and he smiled.
“Shigeru-kun? Now this is a pleasant surprise, if any.”
The meet’s participants cast each other dumbfounded looks, as the eccentric professor, who often didn’t socialize unless it was with close friends or otherwise obligatory, stood up and gave the stranger a one-armed hug. No one present could even remember anyone calling Joshima by his first name unless it was a joke played by the people he knew well.
Nakai coughed and gestured to the people present.
“Well then, I’m going to introduce the board of directors. I believe you already know the Medical Superintendent, our resident genius Kimura Takuya and head nurse Nakama Yukie. Here are are the PR manager Inagaki Goro, development manager Kusanagi Tsuyoshi, financial manager Katori Shingo and the staff managers Higashiyama Noriyuki and Takizawa Hideaki.
Others present are the director of C-wing Joshima Shigeru whom you already know, director of the B-wing and the one you will be working with most closely, Sakamoto Masayuki, director of the pediatric D-wing Fujiwara Norika, and the heads of the physiotherapy and orthopedic departments Yamaguchi Tatsuya and Kokubun Taichi.” He gestured towards everyone at their turns.
“Nagano-kun here has been both in Japan and abroad. Just to mention a few of his last assignments, he has been supervising the warzone hospitals in the Middle-East and up ‘til recently he worked in the international underwater research center Ultra in the Pacific Ocean. He is not only a renowned trauma surgeon, but also a psychologist. “
“Good to meet you, everyone. I hope we’ll be working well together.” Nagano’s polite words were accompanied by a warm smile. Nakai took a look at the wooden clock on the wall and slammed his open palm on the table.
“Ok, that’s it then. Everybody out, I’m sure you can find some actual work to do.” The CEO nodded at his secretary who hurried to him, arms filled with year-end reports, and put the high pile in front of the man.
Soon the room was cleared. Sakamoto took a straight course to his office in the B-wing and noticed that he was being followed by someone. In front of the elevators he turned around.
“Why are you following me like a lost puppy? Got nothing better to do?” He snapped.
The reaction he got was very far from what he had expected. The calm coffee-colored eyes didn’t waver but instead, to his surprise, glinted in amusement. Nagano reached to the elevator’s call button and as the doors opened, lifted an eyebrow.
“You coming? I do think we share the same destination.”
Sakamoto could almost feel the heat on his cheeks, as he stepped in. This was not going according to the plan. Usually all he had to do was to growl a little and he was left in peace, for his reputation preceded him by miles. Clearly this newbie hadn’t gotten that memo yet. Well, it was only a matter of hours ‘til he would.
The gossip mill in the hospital was terrible. By noon the new deputy of the B-wing was the topic on everyone’s lips. The most likely conversation to be overheard resembled the following:
“Did you hear that he’s worked in the Ultra?”
“For real?”
“Ultra! Man! That is so awesome.”
“And he’s young too.
“Don’t forget super handsome.”
Sakamoto sent his assistant, a skittish little thing called Horikita Maki, after his lunch from the hospital cafeteria. She was on her way in a blink, but as soon as she was gone, there was a knock on Sakamoto’s door. He looked up and was just about to tell the person to come in, when he realized that the one who had knocked was his new second-in-command and that he had most certainly not waited to answer, but leaned against the doorframe with a brown leather jacket in his hand. Before Sakamoto had the chance to scold the slightly younger man for his lack of manners, he asked:
“Seems like the cafeteria food isn’t really for me today. I think we should take a longer lunch break and visit the cozy looking udon place down the street.” A pause. “Come on, an invitation doesn’t get more literal than that.” And then the infuriating man grabbed Sakamoto’s coat from the rack by the door and was gone in two seconds. Sakamoto gulped and took off after the jacket thief.
It took two delicious servings of udon noodles before Sakamoto’s brain caught up with the situation.
Nagano’s memo on him was clearly going the extra mile with the snail mail, since he had actually invited (well, more like blackmailed) him out to lunch, and kept up a light conversation about the B-wing that didn’t require much participation from the extremely bewildered Sakamoto. He decided that he had to do something about this, this was just absurd.
“Khrm.” When he had cleared his throat twice and coughed three times and gotten no reaction, he gave up. When their after meal tea arrived, he stared at the menthol drink, words completely lost.
“It seems you’re coming down with a cold. Menthol tea is not very traditional, but it is highly recommended in the early stages of a flu.” Nagano smiled his easygoing smile and Sakamoto could have sworn that the man was hiding a smirk when taking a sip of his own honeybush tea. He had had enough.
“Look. I don’t know why you’re trying to be overly friendly with me. Everyone should have already told you to keep out of my way so I won’t fire you. I take my work seriously and demand the maximum from everyone, even if I have to be an asshole to do it. If you’re trying to suck up to me so I’d go easy on you, forget it. People don’t like me and I don’t like people. So keep to yourself from now on. Are we clear?” Sakamoto stood up to leave.
He was once again too slow. Nagano’s smile didn’t vanish. He left money on the table, pushed past Sakamoto and had his jacket on very fast. Then he faced the taller man, straightened the other’s collar and said so quietly that it almost went unheard despite their closeness:
“I doesn’t work that way, my friend.”
Phase 3. The prevailing wind
Sakamoto Masayuki was, for the first time in years, losing his composure. Repeatedly.
The new deputy director of the B-wing, Nagano Hiroshi not only seemed to get along with everyone, but he also excelled in his administrational duties and didn’t even lose his nerves with the many interns and nurses hovering around him, whether it was necessary or not. Patients liked his calmness and the sense of security, and the socially awkward oddball that was professor Joshima invited him to lectures and other outings like it was perfectly normal.
The most puzzling thing though was that Nagano had made it a habit to eat with Sakamoto every Monday and Thursday of the week. There were no exceptions; the man always came in precisely when Sakamoto was about to summon Horikita to go get him his meal. He didn’t downright threaten Sakamoto to join him, but usually some kind of persuation was needed that the older man followed him out. By the beginning of December the two had gone through every single one of the small food shops near the hospital. These ‘food meetings’ as Sakamoto had taken to refer to them, were actually quite pleasant affairs. They ate, mostly in companionable silence, but when waiting for the food or the next course, they discussed work. From recent research reports to progress that had been made to the B-Wing’s problematic issues and, although rarely, some patient cases.
Nagano was an intelligent conversationist, and was that without being garrulous. He had the skill to let few words and even silences to speak for him, and Sakamoto found this immensely pleasant. He dreaded overly talkative people; the only one such he could stand was his driver and Sakamoto had perfected the skill to tune him out years ago.
What scared him a little, was that he had begun to look forward to the time spent with the other man. Especially the Mondays. Sometimes on the weekends he caught himself thinking about telling Nagano about some medical article on C. difficile he’d just read or wondering what they would eat. Sakamoto convinced himself, that as long as they were only talking about work and work-related topics, he could afford to spend time with the other man. If it got personal, then…well, then he would have to think how to break it down that there would be no more lunches. Saturday became Sunday, December the 6th, as he watched the wind tease the fallen leaves in his yard. The tea lights he had left on the marble windowsill had burned out, so he took it as a sign to go to bed.
He hadn’t dreamt of his past for quite a while, but that night the dreams plagued him. How his parents had worked hard in the family’s vegetable shop so that he could go to medical school. How he had quit the school and gone to work for a publishing house, thinking that it’d be good money with easy work. How his graduating friends had sneered down at him and his stupidity. How it had taken a train wreck that killed his parents to pull him out of the stupidity. He had sold the vegetable shop, his inheritance, and went back to medical school to finish the degree. Ashamed and lonely he had worked hard for the remaining two years. After graduation he worked three years in a middle sized private hospital in Hiroshima. He had first befriended and then later fallen in love with a local banker’s daughter, Miho. They had been engaged. Even after all these years, it didn’t take much effort to remember how her hair had felt under his fingers, how she had smiled at him across the rooms. Ever easier it was to remember how she had come to his meager apartment one spring morning, eyes downcast and the ring gone from her finger. She had fallen in love with one of his colleagues, his very best friend. They had wanted to tell him before they would really cheat on him. Sakamoto’s dream-self choked back a hoarse laugh. Really cheat. They had been seeing each other behind his back for months, ever since the gas pipe explosion and him having to cancel the Christmas dinner with Miho. And they talked about ‘really cheating’. God, how it hurt.
After that he had locked himself in a shell, ready to rip the head off of anyone who even tried to come close. He got the good position at Kitagawa Medical and the regular paycheck accompanied with the rest of his heritage made him a rich man; a delectable bachelor. Some arranged dates were all social mingling he had done outside the obligatory hospital funding outings (where he usually sulked in the background) ever since.
His dream changed. Now it was Nagano who tore down his defenses, Nagano who bared him for everyone to see, and Nagano who laughed mockingly as he desperately tried to pick himself up from the dirt. He lost everything, he lost his job, his house, he couldn’t even pay for the maintenance of his parents’ graves, he…
Sakamoto jerked upright in bed, covered in cold sweat. He buried his head in his shaking hands.
“I don’t want to see you anymore.” Sakamoto didn’t even glance up from his desk, when he more sensed than saw or hear his office door open. He waited for a while to let the other take the words in and then looked.
Nagano’s leather coat was casually thrown over his shoulder as he calmly regarded the man sitting behind the crowded desk. His ever-present smile became a little lopsided for a second before his expression became serious.
“Alright.” His voice was as firm as always.
“Alright?” Sakamoto had not expected this to be so easy. Not when the other side was the man who had practically forced him out of his own world by stealing his jacket. Even if, when Sakamoto really honestly thought about it, he had to confess that maybe he somewhere deep inside had wanted to be dragged out and the coat had been just a catalyst.
“Sure. On one condition.”
“Condition?” Sakamoto groaned. He should have known.
“This Friday you’re coming with us to the karaoke and afterwards to my place for nabe party with everyone.”
Silence. Sakamoto could feel himself tremble. He dreaded that maybe Nagano, being ever-observant, noticed that too. He needed to be alone.
“I…” his voice broke “I need some time to think about it.” He took a deep breath and tried to relax the shoulders.
“You’ve got ‘til Wednesday. Call me.” Nagano closed the door softly behind him.
Sakamoto had only just slid down in his leather chair when his secretary came in and placed a pastel yellow paper bag on the desk.
“Nagano-sensei left this for Sakamoto-sensei.” And the girl skipped skittishly away, as if afraid that Sakamoto would hurl the offending item back at her.
The bag contained tonkatsu sandwiches and fried tofu with vegetables. He could distinctly remember eating this once in November and commenting to Nagano that it reminded him of his hometown.
He took the leftovers home with him.
Wednesday, December the 9th.
“Hello.”
“Nagano-kun? This is Sakamoto Masayuki.”
“I know.”
A brief silence.
“I just… if I come to this one s-so-social call, then you will keep your distance at all times?” His heart was hammering so loud he was sure the receiver would pick up its noise.
“Yes.” Nagano’s voice was calm, even stretching the vowels a little.
“I…do I have your word?”
“Yes. Yes you have my word for it.”
“Oh. Good. Well, I guess it then can’t be helped. I’ll come.”
“I will mail you the location.”
“Oh. Alright.” Sakamoto was trying hard to think how to end the call, but couldn’t decide which of the four phrases he’d written on the notebook laying on the kitchen table would be the best choice. It was only when he was about to speak again when he realized that he’d been alone on the line for quite a while already.
Phase 4. The squall
Friday came, and Sakamoto was so nervous he could hardly do his supervisor’s rounds with the usual efficiency. He found himself in the physiotherapy department, watching the impossibly young and almost frail-looking intern effortlessly help a muscled man to the twin rails and securely lead him through the exhausting routine, talking and encouraging the patient.
“He’s rather good, isn’t he?” The question startled him and he turned around to face the department’s head, Yamaguchi Tatsuya. He nodded, impressed.
“He’s actually one of yours, from the B-wing. Psychology intern. We were one man short a few weeks ago and he said he could use the experience. I don’t think we’re willing to let him go anytime soon, to be honest.”
“Indeed. I do remember him, hazily. Aced all the possible exams and did well with the patients too, if I recall. Tegota or something?” Sakamoto furrowed his brows.
“Tegoshi. He’s got a great spirit for this type of therapy. Never gives up, and when he understands the psyche too…Taichi wanted me to talk to you about getting him to a double major status.”
“Hmm.” Sakamoto nodded. “I assume you’ve talked to him already? If so, then fill in the papers, send them to his supervisor and me for signatures and I’ll see them to director Kusanagi.”
“That’s great, thanks. He’ll be something big one day. Although, I’m a little disgruntled at having him hanging out with me and the guys at times.”
“Why?”
“Ever tried taking out an overly cute little brother, who has perfected the puppy eyes-look? It can get expensive”, Yamaguchi laughed.
The address Nagano had mailed was a karaoke bar downtown. Inohara drove Sakamoto there just after 20.00. He figured that the later he arrived, the less time he would have to spend with the people. When he opened the door, the happy chatter in the room died down as fast as if he had thrown buckets of cold water at them. Then Nagano stood up from where he had sat talking to professor Joshima, Yamaguchi, Taichi and two of the hospital’s security guards, Nagase and Matsuoka. He handed Sakamoto a beer and made him sit down where he had sat a moment ago, clapping him on the back.
Slowly the chatter began to grow up again. Responsible were more or less the two men dubbed as the ‘Mad Scientists of Kitagawa’. Where professor Joshima was an oddball, Domoto Tsuyoshi and Domoto Koichi took the description on a flight over the moon. Now Koichi was attempting to prove the theory of relativity wrong by using a dozen shot glasses, some grapes and four pink mini umbrellas. Tsuyoshi was pretending to be listening while he actually took turns in filling Koichi’s shochu-glass and eating the grapes, when his research partner wasn’t looking.
The younger people present, mostly students and interns, had taken over the microphones and the lulling background music was almost constantly chipper pop.
Sakamoto had decided to mostly listen the others talking, but after a few hours he came to realize that maybe that hadn’t been that good of a strategy. Because not talking meant listening and, mostly, drinking, he was starting to feel buzzed before the clock was half past ten. Nagano had unceremoniously taken a vice-like grip on Joshima’s arm and the two of them had done a memorable version of a 90s hit ballad. That inspired Ken and Go to sing Choo Choo Train and when trying to do the legendary dance move, they knocked Sakamoto’s eyes were clouded over before long and he distantly heard someone announcing that they were going to vacate the premises for now.
When Nagano helped the wobbly-legged Sakamoto stand up and walk to the door, he turned around and addressed the two tall men gathering their property:
“Matsuoka, Nagase. Would you be so kind as to pry Masami-chan and Nino away from each other for a while, and then take Aiba and Jun down from the table and see that they get to my place safely? You can use some excessive force if necessary. Just watch the hair will you”, Nagano grinned as he lifted Sakamoto’s arm on his own shoulders and began navigating towards his car.
Nagano, Sakamoto learned, didn’t live in a house like he did. He had a roomy apartment in a respectable part of the city. There were many rooms, and everything but the living room was decorated in western style. He sat on the pile of soft pillows while his host worked his magic with the nabe, humming softly, distractedly something like “Ai ni wa ai de kanjiaou yo, koi no tezawari kienai you ni…” (*)
His eyes closed on their own accord. Afterwards, even when asked, he couldn’t recall much else than short glimpses of the time spent in Nagano’s living room. He could have sworn he heard Nagano declare Wien as the capital of Australia, Ken calling Go ‘Mokki’ and Nagase singing, for whatever reasons, Aerosmith’s Dudle (Looks Like A Lady) in broken English and Ninomiya and Jun ganging up on Sho to make the poor boy draw less honorable figures on the face of the passed out Ohno. He doubted any of it was real.
The next time Sakamoto came to for real, he was half-sitting half-laying on the backseat of his own Mercedes, with Inohara and Nagano quietly talking in the front seat. He growled in his mind, but couldn’t muster enough energy to do it for real. So he let it be and shut his eyes once more.
Inohara’s high-pitched squeal of “Oh, Nabe! It’s my kink!” woke him up when the car ceased moving. He more sensed than saw Nagano give his driver an incredulous look and shake his head in exasperation. The he was helped up the stairs and in the house.
Nagano stopped in the foyer to take care of their jackets and shoes, but Sakamoto unsteadily padded to the living room and collapsed on the couch. He heard the other man move around in the kitchen and turn the water cooker on, no doubt for tea. The steps went further away. Some doors were opened and closed. Then some more, and then there was someone shaking his shoulders and talking to him in a low, shocked voice.
“…long…like this...never knew…why…told anyone…when…” and his conscience became a dull grey again.
Sakamoto smelled the sweet scent of his roibos tea and could feel the cool compress on his forehead. He thought he could risk a look around and opened his eyes. It was still dark outside, and he was still on the couch. Nagano was also still there, sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching him. He wanted to laugh; this was too much. All he managed was a painful grunt.
“How long?” Nagano’s voice was quiet, serious.
He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to give it away. It was private and it was his.
“How long have you been living in a dead house?”
He kept his silence. His eyes were starting to burn, even squeezing his eyes shut didn’t help.
“How long have all the rooms been empty?”
Oh God. He was going to cry.
“When was the last time you invited someone home?”
His throat felt so tight he was sure he’d suffocate.
“Does anyone know you?” The question was almost a whisper.
He couldn’t take it anymore. The sound started as a sob, but he transformed it to words. He had to.
“No one has ever been here but me. In nine years, no one. This is mine, my tomb to keep. There is no one for me; I’ve driven everyone away or they’re always taken from me or they can’t care about me. I am not worth of knowing outside of work, for anyone.” He was half aware that the hot tears he felt on his cheeks were his own, that he was leaning against someone, that his face was hidden in someone’s shoulder and that while a hand was rubbing soothingly up and down his back, another kept brushing through his hair.
The first real sunbeams in weeks to reach the city tickled Sakamoto’s cheeks almost teasingly. He woke up, for the first time in ages feeling warm and content. His eyes felt heavy and as he started to feel the throbbing at the back of his head, the memories from last night surfaced too, one at time. He had told someone some of his deepest thoughts. And not just someone, but one of his coworkers, one who’d promised to leave him alone after spending one evening with the mixmatched group of people who worked at Kitagawa Medical. His whole body stiffened, when he understood that the very same man was asleep beside him on the sofa. Slowly he inched one eye open. Nagano’s face was turned to him, his expression even more peaceful and calm in the sleep than what it was awake. The morning sun made his hair look like a golden halo, and Sakamoto had to draw his hand back to not touch it. He wanted to follow the fine lines of the man’s cheekbones with his fingers, to burrow his hands in the hair that almost seemed liquid in the sun, to feel the dark lashes flutter against his hands… he jolted away mid-thought and landed on the floor. He must be going crazy, crazy for any kind of intimacy that had been so long denied before last night. He had never…
He took a shower to clear his head. When he emerged from the bathroom he found his guest in his kitchen, cooking breakfast with some ingredients that had found their way to his fridge the night before. Nagano glanced at him, his eyes unreadable.
“How are you?”
“I’ll be fine. You didn’t have to make breakfast, you know.” He sat down in his bathrobe and tasted the omelet. Delicious.
“It’s an apology, to be honest.”
“Apology?” A cold shiver ran through Sakamoto.
“I thought it best to tell you. I know I promised to leave you alone, but that’s a promise I can’t keep.”
“Oh. That.” Sakamoto let out the breath he’d been holding.
Nagano nodded, still and calm as ever.
“I…uh, I need a little time to think this thing over, all right? I would, I would like to continue with the lunches. Very much. But anything else is kind of difficult so…so I really need time.” The orange juice in the high glass was suddenly very captivating.
Nagano smiled, and it was the same natural, friendly smile he was so accustomed to.
They went to lunch twice the next week; talked about work and an interesting theory and therefore a possible alternative usage of radiotherapy the Domoto pair had worked to a theory level. It was when Sakamoto was saying goodbye to Nagano late on Thursday night when they were leaving, and the other man smiled and said: “Bye, Masa. See you tomorrow”, that he noticed there were two different reactions ready for action inside of him. The side of him that had been a constant partner for the last decade, his cool and detached self, wanted to call the younger man back and scold him for such improper and unprofessional ways. Then this new side that had only surfaced again last weekend, wanted to smile, truly smile because the other’s usage of an intimate nickname made him happy.
In a burst of foolish bravery he sent Nagano a text message on Saturday night. He didn’t get a reply before it was almost midnight, but he read the message multiple times before going to bed. He left the message open on the screen so that he could read it in the morning again. In the morning he read it, became embarrassed by his own stupidity and almost deleted the message. Almost.
Phase 5. The tail wind
Nagano had a motorbike he treasured, Sakamoto knew. But he himself had never even ridden one, and so when his friend suggested that they could take Thursday afternoon off and go for a little ride, he was nervous. Calling Nagano his friend made him beam in the inside, but what if something went wrong and he messed the balance up so that they’d end up in the ICU. Or the morgue. And if they were lucky and that didn’t happen, what if he got the strange urge to touch his friend again? He shared the first worry with Nagano, who laughed and said that he had to stop being such a worrywart and trust him. To trust him.
The feeling on the motorbike was nothing short of freedom, when the cold December air whipped around them as they rode closer to the beach. To Sakamoto’s surprise Nagano slowed down and parked the motorbike beside a small ramen shop some hundred meters from the shore. The food was good and warming, and the owner, an elderly woman was all too happy to get a few customers who “weren’t afraid to eat”. On the way back to the city Sakamoto tried to open his eyes as much as possible, so as not to let anything pass by unseen.
That night he had a dream. He had feared for the nightmares to come again, but in this dream he was in Nagano’s beige-colored office, watching his friend who had fallen asleep in his chair. He took his own jacket and spread it over the other for warmth. He couldn’t step away, couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop his hand from traveling from Nagano’s forehead to his cheekbone, tracing his jaw and finally caressing the lower lip with the pad of his thumb. He could feel his friend waking up, but he was frozen in place and didn’t dare to lift his gaze for he was afraid of the detestation and anger he could find.
He woke up, shivering.
Sunday morning came around, reminding him and everyone else that there were only four days until Christmas. Sakamoto always brought the nurses on his floor and his secretary marshmallows and those he had bought weeks ago, but this year was the first time in almost a decade that he had an additional, real present to buy. He wandered the streets cluttered with small shops for hours, but nothing stroke him as something he’d want to buy for his friend. Finally the crowd started to thin; the Christmas lights weren’t as blinding anymore. A gust of wind chased a few paper bags on the street, and he could feel rain starting to fall. He called Inohara, but the man was on the other side of the city and it’d take him a fair time to come. He looked at the nearest door; it was dark red wood, and there were carved vines on its sides. He tried the handle, and the door opened. He stepped in.
He was in a church. Or maybe it was rather a chapel for only a dozen benches separated him from the small altar. He sat down and thought for a while, wondered if there was a priest here and if he would be thrown out in the rain for asking what he wanted to ask.
“Horrible weather outside, isn’t it?” Said the stranger, a man in his early twenties, as he almost slammed the door shut behind him and went to take his drenched coat off to dry.
“I’m inclined to have the same opinion”, he nodded.
They sat a while in easy silence, while the stranger tried to sort his unruly long black hair out, without much success. Sakamoto decided to ask.
“You been here before?”
“A few times. Never seen you before though.” The man shivered. Sakamoto got rid of his coat, and handed the pullover he’d been wearing under it to the man. He gratefully took it.
“You know if there’s priest in here?” The man gave him an odd look at that.
“Um. It’s just that I had a question I wanted to ask”, Sakamoto shrugged and tried desperately to look nonchalant.
“Ask me.” At Sakamoto’s bewildered look he continued. “Well, it’s not like you’d be finding anyone else to ask when the typhoon is raging outside. So shoot, I don’t think it’s anything I haven’t heard before.”
He coughed. And decided that there wasn’t much to lose. So he told the stranger that he’d been alone for a while and how a new friend’s presence affected him. The man listened, all the time combing the wet locks with his fingers.
“Well” he finally said “I’m not an expert or anything, but I think you’ve got quite a gift, this friendship of yours. It sounds…happy, I guess. Warm. Wouldn’t wanna throw that kind of a thing away would you?”
Sakamoto shook his head.
“And if you both are comfortable with each other in the future and it were to become something more than friendship, would it be so bad?”
The stranger was right, Sakamoto mused when his eyelids started to weigh. Maybe he should tell the both sides of him, the cold one and the overly giddy one, to take a vacation so that he could try to find the middle path somewhere. His phone woke him up, blasting ‘Curry Rice’ so loudly that it echoed in the small chapel. Hurriedly he answered and directed Inohara to where he was. The black haired man, the stranger, was nowhere to be seen. His green pullover was gone too.
December the 23rd was darkening towards the evening, when Sakamoto’s doorbell sounded. Rationally there were only two possibilities of who it could be, and since Inohara had stopped by earlier already… Sakamoto opened to door to face two huge paper bags filled with groceries. Nagano’s smile was hidden behind them. He said that they were going to wake up his house, little by litte and room by room, as soon as he was ready for it.
Christmas Eve came and went. Sakamoto couldn’t remember much of it. All he knew was that his superb stereo equipment was made to play the complete discography of Chage & Aska and that it had taken almost a decade for his kitchen to become alive. That it had taken him over a decade to defrost.
He could hear his friend calling his name from the back porch. Huge, white pieces of paradise were falling down and Hiroshi was standing in the midst of snowflakes flying joyously in the wind, looking at him expectantly. He gave in and stepped out on the wooden porch barefoot, letting out a delighted laugh. Outside his body was shivering from the cold, but inside he was so warm he was sure he could melt an entire mountain of snow if it came down to it.
He closed the distance between himself and his friend and reached out.
They would make his house into a home, and they would learn if these inchoate feelings he could sense between them were more than friendship.
It would take time.
They had all the time in the world.
(*) “Feel love with love, so the feeling of love doesn't disappear” from Chage & Aska’s hit song ‘SAY YES’. (translation.