fic for sky_fish7 (2/2)
For: sky_fish7
From: natsunonamae
Part 1
“Since when?” Sho asks, kneeling down to Nino’s eye level.
He’s honest in the throes of his pain. Nino tries not to cry out as his mouth barely forms words. “A while.” He is crouched on the floor, his back blazing with unnatural heat.
Sho hovers over him, unsure, shifting every which way and trying his best not to touch Nino. “How…what can I do to help?” His voice is steady, but his eyes are flashing in desperation. “Should I call the medic? Tell your manager?”
The audience laughs at the video showing outside as it booms over the entire dome. “Just get the pill box inside my bag. Right pocket.”
Sho looks at him worriedly before running off to retrieve the item. When he comes back, he already has an opened bottle of water and a pill in his hand. Nino feebly reaches out for the pill and drinks it down.
“How did you find me,” Nino rasps, eyes blinking as he tries to manage his pain.
“I was watching you,” Sho starts. “But that doesn’t matter, we’re due up there in two, three minutes max. Can you do it?”
Nino grunts. “Give me a moment.”
“Should you even be up there? You don’t look so good,” Sho warns, pushing back the tufts of hair that lay limp on Nino’s forehead.
“I’ve been doing fine all this time, Sho-chan,” he says as he slowly gets up on his feet. Sho’s hand is there on his elbow, guiding him. Nino doesn’t want it, doesn’t even want Sho to see him this way. He shakes him off.
“Nino.”
His tone is more venomous than he means. “It’s manageable. Don’t make it into a big deal, because it’s not.”
Sho looks like he doesn’t believe any of it, but he doesn’t say anything. The second half of the concert goes without hitch for everyone else involved. Nino barely convinces himself to push through it, the pill only dulling the pain enough for him to move. When it’s all over, he convinces everyone else that he’s just having a slow night.
The locker room door clicks into place, and he’s the only one left. Nino hardly has the energy to lift his arms to take his costume off. A sharp, ceaseless pain shoots up from his sides, creeping up to his skin’s surface like an osmosis of sorts. He can almost taste it in his mouth and tries not to sob. Sweat is still running down his face-he feels stupid for having his head stuck in his shirt, but he has to pause. It is pain that demands to be felt.
“Nino,” Sho says, and Nino is surprised at Sho’s nerve in coming back and pissed at his stubborn concern. “Let me help you.”
“Why are you here?” Nino croaks, unable to see anything, feeling pathetic. He feels tender hands the base of his neck as Sho helps him out of his shirt. Nino doesn’t have the energy to turn him away. The pain is searing for far too many seconds, but at last he is rid of his sweat-drenched shirt.
“Sho-chan-”
“Don’t tell me I’m not allowed to care, Nino. Anything but that,” Sho says, tender and grave, kneeling down by Nino’s side. He takes Nino’s hand in his.
Nino closes his eyes. “I just took another pill. It should kick in soon,” he says, the pain sharp and unrelenting, giant pinpricks on his back. Sho’s hand keeps him tethered to the present, refusing to let him float too far away.
When it abates a little, Nino looks Sho straight in the eye. “No one can know. I mean it.”
For a moment, Sho looks like he’s about to argue, but changes his mind quickly as he nods. “Okay.” And somehow, that’s all Nino needs to hear. He slumps forward to Sho, sure that he will catch him.
The next hour is a blur to Nino. Somehow, Sho manages to help him clean up and get into fresh clothes, to turn away their managers so they won’t find out, to drive the both of them to his apartment. The pill has kicked in and Sho is tucking him into bed, covering him softly with the duvet. Sleep is calling to him, clutching on to him, as he drinks in the sight of Sho’s bedroom. He’s never been to Sho’s apartment before, has never slept in Sho’s bed after he moved out of his parents’ house.
Everything smells like him, warm and citrusy, and Nino suddenly wants to bolt. Sho sits by his waist, touching his forehead. “Nino?”
“You don’t have to do this,” he says.
“Actually, I do,” Sho says, fixing Nino’s pillow. “And I want to. Stop fighting that.”
“You can’t mother me into feeling better, you know.”
Sho smiles for the first time that night. “Oh yeah? Watch me,” he says, reaching out to the side to turn on the diffuser. He then fusses with the way the duvet fits underneath Nino’s chin, pulling and tucking.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Go to sleep,” Sho urges. He stands up, and by some wild instinct, Nino grabs on to his wrist.
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“On the couch. It’s okay, it’s pretty comfortable.”
Nino lets go of him. “Don’t be an idiot. With a little effort, he scoots over for Sho.
“But I just fixed the pillows,” Sho whines.
Nino snorts and pats the recently vacated place beside him. Sho looks defeated in his boxer and shirt, lying down gingerly to make sure Nino won’t get hurt. He faces Sho, keeping a distance that he knows is comfortable for the both of them. Sho’s unreadable expression is bathed in the warm light of the lampshade, his hands palmed together under his cheek. His smile grows in silence, and Nino pauses, sunbeams spilling in his stomach.
“What’s so funny?” Nino asks, swallowing.
“I wasn’t laughing,” Sho says. “You just looked so peaceful.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. How are you feeling?”
It’s Nino’s turn to smile now. “Better. You’re beside me, aren’t you?”
Sho reaches out to him, hand caressing his bare arm. Nino wonders if he notices him shivering. “I always am.”
“Sho-chan, what happened today, you weren’t supposed to see it. I’m seeing a specialist and we’re just managing my medication right now so I won’t have any more episodes like this. I’m not being reckless.”
“You don’t have to bear it all by yourself,” Sho says. Being this near Sho could make Nino change his own mind about anything-and that’s what Nino’s scared of. He could believe the best of Sho, in any situation, because Sho has never given him reason to believe otherwise.
“You don’t have to volunteer all the time,” Nino whispers. “I don’t want to be your burden.”
“Idiot,” Sho says. He scoots closer, sharing breathing space with Nino. He is plunged into their closeness, remembering how Sho used to meld to his sides, leaving no room for anything but affection to pass through. When he reaches out to Sho’s waist, it’s like Sho remembers the exact sensations and feelings that Nino does. The world around them has changed, but when Sho hooks his ankle on his, Nino understands that he will always have this silence. Sho’s lips touch his softly, in a brief confluence of their combined warmth.
“Is this okay?” Nino asks, voice small, everything falling to the side. Sho kisses him on his eyelid.
“If you’re okay with it.”
Nino knows he has a galaxy of questions to ask-but then, he also has a million of places he wants to touch. When he bridges their distance again, Sho inches his way even closer, hand on Nino’s nape, thumb by his pulse. Where is it stronger, Nino wonders: through his veins, or through that moment when he opens up in a sigh, and Sho takes, gives even more? Something new is made, and Nino, Nino moves to accommodate the spark of their bodies in alignment.
Sho is gentler than Nino had imagined whenever he looked at him. “I won’t break,” Nino says, and Sho makes a show of believing him. Nino laughs into his kisses, and Sho takes him in his arms, shoulders shaking in mirth. Why Nino ever thought this would be complicated, if it ever even happened, escapes him. Instead, he is encircled by everything Sho is, surrounded the way he had only hoped for.
It’s why, when, the next morning, he finds the space beside him on the bed empty and cold, he feels that everything as it should be. Sho doesn’t ask him to stay, and Nino won’t question it.
Even if it hurts more than lying miserable on the floor of that locker room, in a pool of his own sweat.
*
It’s a thick scar, just right below Sho’s left eye. The skin on top of it is translucent, perhaps a fleshy peach in a certain light. It traverses Sho’s cheek diagonally, smooth and long as a finger.
Nino’s eyes couldn’t go upwards, so it tracks down to his throat. Sho has always had a neck that seemed both sturdy and pretty, something Nino couldn’t look away from. He loses himself in thoughts of those veins straining under the gale of Sho’s uncomplicated amusement. It’s not a huge jump from there, to thoughts of never being able to hear it again. Of not having heard it for so long.
In a way, Nino brought it upon himself.
“You can touch it,” Sho says. Nino trembles at hearing Sho’s voice.
*
Before Nino gets to lock his doors, Sho steals inside his car’s passenger seat, breath heavy with exertion.
“Get out,” Nino says. His mind is racing, thinking of ways to escape Sho’s presence without resorting to shoving him out of his car. “What are you doing?”
“Just drive,” and Nino bristles at the command in Sho’s tone. Nino knows there is no arguing with him now. He turns the ignition and drives out of the parking lot, prepared to stay silent.
“Stop pretending in front of me,” Sho says. “Please.”
Nino turns on the radio. The station is playing an overly cheerful girl group song. It is discordant with the tense, tight air brewing inside the car. Sho fidgets, turns toward him.
“Nino, don’t be stubborn.”
His knuckles are white on the steering wheel as he focuses on driving and ignoring Sho, whose gaze is a laser beam tracking on his skin. He could smell Sho’s shampoo, could imagine the newly-showered pink skin on his collar. If he closed his eyes, he could see Sho, as he was just less than an hour ago, bathed in cheers, fireworks, and adoration.
Sho sighs. “You can’t go on like this. It’s been three years since it started, right? Doesn’t it make sense that it’s something we all prepare for?”
Nino’s heart curls into itself, as if he could make it implode and disappear through his own effort. He wants to be alone. “What if I’m not there?” Sho asks, voice soft, and Nino thinks he could actually hate Sho, just for this moment, just for the thought. Nino is intimate with the ways he lacks, with everything having to do with him.
They cruise past a row of trees weeping with orange leaves, his headlights making them glow in the dark. Nino’s always liked autumn, for the way it seems more transient than the other seasons. He wonders if Sho really understands the implications of what he’s trying to suggest because Nino-Nino has thought about it more than anyone else. That things can fall apart faster than the time it takes for trees to shed away their aged, golden leaves. Nino has thought about it to the point of madness.
Sho wrings and cracks his knuckles. “Is this going to be a monologue?”
“Then why don’t you just shut up, Sho-chan?” Nino snaps.
If Sho is shocked by his words, he doesn’t show it. “You’re not supposed to be alone.”
Nino stops at the red light. “It’s my issue. Mine. If you don’t tell anyone, then nothing has to change. We do concerts, the fans scream, we do our jobs right. Tonight was just like all the other nights.” He doesn’t get it, not really. They’re the kind of group who never cross a certain line when it comes to private matters-it’s probably one of the things that make them so solid as a group, that kind of quiet consideration. Yet Sho is persistent on this one, has been persistent for years.
Tonight, the sharp edge of his ultimatum in the locker room is what finally sets Nino off. The others could have heard, and nothing about that sits right with Nino. In fact, he hates even thinking about the possibility of them finding out.
“Except you’re in pain,” Sho says. “How is that fine?”
“You’re there to remind me to take my medicines,” Nino says, irritated. “I just forgot tonight. Big deal.”
“That’s not the fucking point, Nino, and you know it.” The light changes to green. Nino’s stomach sinks. He’s had enough, has had years to steel against what he’s been trying to undo inside of him. The street suddenly feels too wide, even in the multi-color landscape that is night-time Tokyo. He withers inside.
“Then what is the point? That you want me to come clean? That you want me to apologize for using you? You don’t owe me anything.”
“Nino,” Sho breathes, stricken. He reaches out to Nino’s hand.
“Don’t touch me.” It’s like everything replays in his head, in agonizing, crytal clear detail. He wants the night to swallow him up whole and chew him apart into pieces-anything, apart from remembering.
“Stop the car, Nino,” Sho says, voice rough. “Listen to me, for once!”
“I don’t want to listen to you say it,” Nino says, face heating up, fingers cold. “Whatever you’re about to say, I know it already, okay?”
“Nino, slow down, you’re not making sense,” Sho says, reaching out again to touch him.
“I’m cruel for still having feelings for you, for letting that happen. I’m the worst,” Nino says, eyes stinging as he shrugs the hand away. Sho looks like he’s been punched in the gut. “But don’t make it out as I’m not doing my part or that I’m holding us back! I’m not okay with disappointing you, even if you find that hard to believe.”
“I never said that!” They’ve always been able to talk, been able to meet mid-way despite their differences, but this, this feels like an unraveling. “Can you please slow down? You need to understand something.”
Nino’s laugh sounds bitter even to his own ears. “I understand perfectly, Sho-chan. Don’t worry.”
“No, you don’t.” Sho scrubs his face with his hand. “I would never want you to get hurt! Isn’t that simple?”
“No need to explain,” Nino says, eyes on the road.
“Nino, I don’t-”
The white lights burn his eyes for a small eternity. He doesn’t hear the crash and only hears the words he supplies in his head “-love you”.
*
He doesn’t touch Sho’s scar. He wants to run away, right that second, but his thirst to see Sho wins. It costs him a lot, not to just stand there and take his fill. To hope that Sho is just a figment of his imagination, even as he takes in the familiarity of the planes of Sho’s face and the newness of his gaze.
“Follow me,” Nino says, gaining back his senses, worried that Sho will be recognized by the locals. To his credit, Sho doesn’t bristle at his command and only falls into step beside him, hands shoved in his jeans. Nino doesn’t dare to look at him as they walk through the grocery. He pays for his purchases at the counter, hoping that Sho tugs his bucket hat down further-Nino’s enjoyed anonymity in this small town for so long.
They step out of the grocery without any trouble. Nino’s feet take him to the nearest playground, right around the next corner. It is hidden by a copse of trees, a shady relief from the intensity of the heat. Nino drags his bike and leaves it by the side of the swings. He sits down on one, not watching Sho settle down beside him.
The swing creaks as Sho stretches out his legs. Nino used to think that he could live the rest of his life without having to sit through this moment. Didn’t he leave with that as one of his reasons, if not the biggest one? He could never trust himself around Sho again.
“How did you find me?” Nino asks, glancing his way.
Sho looks at him sideways. “Well, the others said-”
“-of course. I meant, how did you find me at the grocery?”
“I wasn’t trying to find you there,” Sho says.
“Oh.” Nino swallows, eyes landing on the scar again, his heart a shipwreck. His mind races with things to tell Sho. It hurts to see him, hurts to see the remainder of Nino’s selfishness. The gash on Sho’s face gashes him inside too, like a living thing. It scrapes along his guarded feelings, cracking it open, an inky blackness spilling out and seeping into his blood, into his thoughts.
“I was just looking for something to bring for you,” Sho admits.
“There’s no need for that.” No need for Sho to be so nice. No need to see him again.
“Everything that we were,” Sho starts, and Nino braces himself, “all of that-is it all really gone?”
“I don’t really know what you want me to say.”
“That you didn’t forget us so easily.” Sho’s voice is steady, a counterpoint to Nino’s resolve. He feels anger boiling inside him, looking for the nearest exist to burst through. How could Sho think that? How could Sho even spare any more thoughts for him?
“I want you back,” Sho says, and Nino closes his eyes, sinking all over again. “I mean, we want you back.”
Nino stands up, feeling his eyes stinging traitorously. “I can’t have this conversation. Don’t waste another day-off for me, Sho. I’m not worth it.”
He rides on his bike and doesn’t look back.
*
He wakes up in a hospital bed. It’s not his back that’s aching, but his leg that’s plastered in a cast, hanging suspended in mid-air. He also feels bruised and sore everywhere, as if he just got beaten up. His mother is by his side, holding his hand.
“Kazu,” she says, her expression somber.
“How many days?”
“Three.”
“Get me out of this thing,” Nino asks, struggling to move. “Where is he?”
His mother restrains him-not that he could move much, given the pain and his suspended legs. “You broke your right leg, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” Nino knows that she purposely didn’t answer his other question. Panic bubbles inside his stomach. She steps out of the room.
When the door opens again, it’s with one less face that he wants to see. Aiba and Ohno walk up to either side of him, throwing out casual hellos even as their eyes are grave as Nino’s ever seen them. Jun hangs back, clutching the railing at the foot of his bed.
“Where’s Sho-chan,” Nino asks, eyes scanning their faces for clues. Something doesn’t feel right.
“He’s fine,” Ohno says. “Worry about getting better, for now.” Aiba is looking at him like he’s about to cry, and Nino’s beginning to feel anxious.
“Fine? Can you please elaborate on fine?”
“He’s in the other wing, and he’s-“ Aiba begins to say, but Jun cuts him off.
“Leader’s right, you just need to rest.”
“You need to tell me about Sho. Where the hell is he? It’s all my fault,” Nino blabbers. “My fault!”
“Shh.” Aiba fixes the hair that falls to his forehead. “We’ve got him, okay?”
Horror clouds him, wondering if they knew what happened, what he and Sho were fighting about. Here they all are, looking at Nino like he’s some delicate piece of glass they have to handle with care. He closes his eyes, warm tears escaping out to the side.
“You’re okay now, Nino,” Ohno says, placing his hand on top of his. “You’re safe.”
Nino shakes his head, reeling at the intensity of his need to confess. “You don’t understand.” His shoulders shake as he tells them about what led to what happened in the car, sparing the details that he thinks they might end up hating him more for. It’s not his place to say that he’s been in love with Sho for so long, not when Sho made it clear that it’s never going to be mutual. Nino will do anything not to hurt Sho, to disrespect his wishes. Even if it’s too late.
Instead, he confesses about his back problem, how Sho is the only one who knows about it. Jun’s face crumples-“no, Jun, you don’t get to feel guilty about this,” Nino says, heart breaking at disappointing more people.
“Nino, that’s not something you should have faced alone,” Aiba says, wiping his tears messily with his index finger.
“So people keep telling me,” Nino says. “I’m a horrible person, basically. I was wrong to dump all of that on Sho-chan.”
“What’s done is done,” Ohno says, fingers curling into Nino’s, adamant and sure. “There’s nothing you can do to make us think that you’re a horrible person.”
“Then please just tell me how he is,” Nino pleads. “Why the fuck can’t anyone tell me that?”
Jun looks at him straight in the eyes, firm and piercing. “He has multiple injuries. A couple of broken bones. Bruised chest. A huge laceration on his face. He’s not okay, but he’ll live, Nino.”
“Jun,” Ohno remonstrates. But it’s too late. He looks at the three of them, holding him up together in loyalty and perhaps, habit, and he thinks that he doesn’t deserve any of it. And then there’s the thought of Sho’s broken bones, his beautiful face, marred by his intentions and his weaknesses-it stabs him so sharply that he just wants to close his eyes forever. His pain is a forest fire, razing everything he knows. There is only ruin in between his ribs.
What he treasured, he did not handle with care.
He feels so broken that he can’t even comprehend it. The sun in him had set.
*
When he approaches his house, there is a wooden sign attached on the slats of his picket fence. It is painted white, with “Café 83” written on it with yellow paint. His stomach sinks. He pedals inside to the small backyard, almost not surprised to see the new chairs and tables strewn around underneath the shade of the tree. They all have a battered wooden finish, and Nino sees Ohno in them before the real person steps out from the sliding doors.
“If you don’t like it, I have other buckets of paint in my truck,” he says shyly.
Nino gets off his bike, leaving it there. He goes inside and sees a pastry refrigerator whirring beside the counter. It’s already halfway full, filled up with more sweets and baked goods that Nino could name.
“You guys are a meddlesome bunch,” Nino accuses, as Aiba stands up from his hiding place behind the counter and Jun stares back at him defiantly, a tray of perfect-looking danishes in his hands.
“Hi,” Aiba says, smiling. “We know you wouldn’t spring for a legitimate refrigerator. Call it our gift to you.”
“And the furniture?”
“Cheap,” Ohno says. “Just your style.”
“Please don’t tell me you baked all of that,” Nino says. “I can’t bake, you know?”
Jun shrugs, a smile creeping on his lips. “Hire a commisary. Bulk-buy from the convenience store. Use your imagination.”
“And the dumb name?”
“You love it,” Aiba says, grabbing a piece of donut from the refrigerator.
He looks into all of their eyes, still the same, full of warmth and familiarity. His knees give in as he collapses into the nearest chair. “You can’t bribe me into going back, you know?”
Ohno laughs. “I told you you shouldn’t have bought the most expensive one, Aiba-chan.”
“But it’s so cool! You can even change the color of the lights!”
“Seriously, this is your bribe for me? Pimping up my café and setting me up for life?” Nino’s tone is joking, but he is overwhelmed with their combined presence, of basking in that atmosphere again. He doesn’t know whether it’s too late, or too soon.
“Watch us try,” Jun says, face kind and open.
“Ninomi, you’re not pushing us away again, right?” Aiba asks. Nino’s heart softens, always secretly, at Aiba’s feelings for display.
Jun ribs Aiba. “At least hang out with us, no pressure. We’ll want what you want.”
At ‘us’, Nino balks. “And Sho-chan? Were you just waiting to spring him on me like a surprise? I accidentally bumped into him at the grocery today. Or is it really accidental?”
Ohno sits down on the chair on front of him. “Nino,” he says. “Don’t you think that the three of us deserve at least even a small space in your life? Don’t we deserve a chance?”
Nino feels like he’s been punched in the gut, because it’s not supposed to be them asking for it. “Of course.”
“Then doesn’t Sho-kun deserve the best chance?”
Nino leans forward, catching his face in his hands. “If it were only that simple, Satoshi.”
“It’s not?”
“There are so many things I can’t take back. He doesn’t deserve my best, or my worst. He doesn’t deserve to be around a person like me. I scar everything I love.” He doesn’t even know what Ohno knows, but honesty is all he has now. He doesn’t have anything to lose, not anymore.
“Scars fade,” a voice says, and suddenly, there’s Sho, standing at the entrance.
Ohno stands up. The three of them file out in silence.
*
It takes almost a year until they release a single without Nino, a year before everything dies down enough that the agency could capitalize on the buzz around Arashi, or what’s left of it. Since he quit, he hasn’t turned on the television, steered clear of magazines, lived a life outside what he’s known for most of it. That’s why, it devastates him with a visceral force when a truck with those four faces stops by the intersection.
Nino finds out then that Sho and the management decided to keep his scar visible. Practical, because it’s too big to meticulously cover in makeup everyday. He never saw the shard of glass that lodged in Sho’s cheek. Could he have felt better, if he had seen just how far he tempted fate, how reckless he got when wrapped up in his own emotions?
The light turns green. Nino stays rooted in place, trembling like a leaf.
*
“You didn’t let me finish, that night.”
Nino knows he’s about to cry. He bites into his lips, overwhelmed at Sho’s presence. Somehow, he already knows that this is a moment that will be emblazoned in his memories forever: Sho, standing by the table, the muted afternoon light blurring his outline.
“Then what did you want to say?”
Sho takes a step towards him. When he reaches Nino, he kneels down by his side. Nino is plunged into the past, everything that he's been trying to hold together inside of him coming apart. He takes Nino’s hand and places it on his scar. It feels smooth under the pads of his fingers.
Sho leans into his palm. He can't turn back from this, not when Sho comes to him so open, so trusting of Nino's touch. There is no trace of any hesitation there. His thumb swipes over the wetness cascading down Sho’s scar, in wonder and trepidation.
“Nino, I don’t know if you’re still waiting for me.”
His stomach lurches. “What?”
"That was what I was telling you back then," Sho murmurs.
Nino tries to take it all in. "What does that even mean?" he asks, even though everything clicks into place and he just suddenly knows. Deep inside, he already knows. Nino fights not to crumble apart into tiny pieces right then and there. Sho spells it out for him.
“I wanted to ask, because I’m just as in love with you as you were with me. Still.”
His own tears flow down at every clumsy patch-job he’s done over the long days he’s been spending alone-meaningless, but real. Nino has no time for “what if’s”, because he has Sho here. There is time to undo the fear: that he could be wrong again and misread things. He will wrestle with the possibility that he could hurt Sho once more, because he can't run away again. He doesn't want to run away anymore. His eyes blur even further, in apology, in tender, consuming want. In everything he wants to say and hand to Sho in a neat platter.
“Still,” Nino whispers, is the only thing he can get himself to say. He places his other hand on Sho’s face, framing him. When he leans down, Sho is already there to meet him halfway.
*
✮✮✮✮✮
Arashi
Cafe N83
"When I'm with you, I draw confident dreams
with these hands over and over again
Wanting anything and everything, it fell through the gaps in my fingers
Crying and struggling to hold it all, it just spilled from them
There's no point in lamenting about it now
As the time passes, it leaves its mark on the palms of these hands"
If Cafe N83's album art is any indication of Arashi's direction as an idol group from hereon, then they are again changing the blueprint of what it means to be an "idol". There are no perfect faces on the cover. Instead, it almost looks like an indie offering, its muted colors and the obvious nod to their own youth surely making it stand out on the garrish idol group rack in stores. Genuis marketing ploy? A looming tie-up with Sony? Perhaps. But Cafe N83 is the real deal, and is humbly their best offering to date.
Cafe N83 is Arashi's 14th studio album release and marks the reemergence of Arashi as a group with five members, with Ninomiya Kazunari silently returning after two years of absence. Musically, it is easy to hear his influence on the record: he penned eight out of the thirteen tracks, all of the songs except the solos, with Sakurai Sho sharing some of the writing duties for the rap portions. Ninomiya obviously favors copious, stream-of-thought lyrics along with soft melodies boasting of the occassional dramatic, almost whiny, crescendo. But it's not a liability in this case. Arashi may still not the best of the crop, vocals-wise, but their harmonies in Cafe N83 is a treat to listen to, like a group of pals singing over a bonfire, guitar and a beatbox in their hands. Their voices aren't compressed to the idol sheen that was their standard before, and it is refreshing and immensely relatable. Ohno Satoshi's crystalline voice particularly shines in Nino's tender, almost feminine, songwriting.
As a whole, the record sounds like something you may have listened to when you were a teenager, staring out the windows as you ride the train. Maybe you were also listening with the same Walkman. It is unapologetically nostalgic, combining Arashi's strength-their rousing, infectious karaoke-worthy ditties-with a new-found, light handed sobriety. Not to say that this isn't idol pop, because it still is, by a mile. Even with the quirky, liberal touches of acoustic guitar and harmonicas, Cafe N83 is created and meant as pop best enjoyed when listened to as such. Indeed, what Cafe N83 brings to the table is sincerity and track after track of pop earworms that resonate emotionally, whether you're a fan overwhelemed by Ninomiya's unexpected return, or a casual listener recognizing bits of yourself in their softly-rendered paeans to friendship and love. Even the tracks covered in synths, obviously meant for dancing on music shows, are easy to memorize and, strangely enough, touching. You almost want to learn the choreography. Almost.
With Cafe N83 officially passing the overwhelming 1 million mark only a week after its release, Arashi has finally proved that they are still a force to reckon with, if not the pulsing beat of Japan's music scene for 2016. In their 30s, Arashi fully stands up to the long-disputed title "national idols", now proven to have clout even outside their loyal fanbase. But more than the petty fixations with labels, what Arashi has accomplished with Cafe N83 is something most musical acts struggle with for sometimes their entire career: they seem to have captured an essence that is truly, and only, their own.
This is a comeback that's both triumphant and subtle, a combination that Arashi has proven can be done with finesse. Cafe N83 is an album that will stand the test of time, proof that even the music snobs can be wrong. Arashi demonstrates in fine form that pop is alive and well, and can be the most affirming music to live alongside by. This is music that stays in your heart.
- - -
Credits:
Lyrics by yarukizero
Photo from markheybo
From: natsunonamae
Part 1
“Since when?” Sho asks, kneeling down to Nino’s eye level.
He’s honest in the throes of his pain. Nino tries not to cry out as his mouth barely forms words. “A while.” He is crouched on the floor, his back blazing with unnatural heat.
Sho hovers over him, unsure, shifting every which way and trying his best not to touch Nino. “How…what can I do to help?” His voice is steady, but his eyes are flashing in desperation. “Should I call the medic? Tell your manager?”
The audience laughs at the video showing outside as it booms over the entire dome. “Just get the pill box inside my bag. Right pocket.”
Sho looks at him worriedly before running off to retrieve the item. When he comes back, he already has an opened bottle of water and a pill in his hand. Nino feebly reaches out for the pill and drinks it down.
“How did you find me,” Nino rasps, eyes blinking as he tries to manage his pain.
“I was watching you,” Sho starts. “But that doesn’t matter, we’re due up there in two, three minutes max. Can you do it?”
Nino grunts. “Give me a moment.”
“Should you even be up there? You don’t look so good,” Sho warns, pushing back the tufts of hair that lay limp on Nino’s forehead.
“I’ve been doing fine all this time, Sho-chan,” he says as he slowly gets up on his feet. Sho’s hand is there on his elbow, guiding him. Nino doesn’t want it, doesn’t even want Sho to see him this way. He shakes him off.
“Nino.”
His tone is more venomous than he means. “It’s manageable. Don’t make it into a big deal, because it’s not.”
Sho looks like he doesn’t believe any of it, but he doesn’t say anything. The second half of the concert goes without hitch for everyone else involved. Nino barely convinces himself to push through it, the pill only dulling the pain enough for him to move. When it’s all over, he convinces everyone else that he’s just having a slow night.
The locker room door clicks into place, and he’s the only one left. Nino hardly has the energy to lift his arms to take his costume off. A sharp, ceaseless pain shoots up from his sides, creeping up to his skin’s surface like an osmosis of sorts. He can almost taste it in his mouth and tries not to sob. Sweat is still running down his face-he feels stupid for having his head stuck in his shirt, but he has to pause. It is pain that demands to be felt.
“Nino,” Sho says, and Nino is surprised at Sho’s nerve in coming back and pissed at his stubborn concern. “Let me help you.”
“Why are you here?” Nino croaks, unable to see anything, feeling pathetic. He feels tender hands the base of his neck as Sho helps him out of his shirt. Nino doesn’t have the energy to turn him away. The pain is searing for far too many seconds, but at last he is rid of his sweat-drenched shirt.
“Sho-chan-”
“Don’t tell me I’m not allowed to care, Nino. Anything but that,” Sho says, tender and grave, kneeling down by Nino’s side. He takes Nino’s hand in his.
Nino closes his eyes. “I just took another pill. It should kick in soon,” he says, the pain sharp and unrelenting, giant pinpricks on his back. Sho’s hand keeps him tethered to the present, refusing to let him float too far away.
When it abates a little, Nino looks Sho straight in the eye. “No one can know. I mean it.”
For a moment, Sho looks like he’s about to argue, but changes his mind quickly as he nods. “Okay.” And somehow, that’s all Nino needs to hear. He slumps forward to Sho, sure that he will catch him.
The next hour is a blur to Nino. Somehow, Sho manages to help him clean up and get into fresh clothes, to turn away their managers so they won’t find out, to drive the both of them to his apartment. The pill has kicked in and Sho is tucking him into bed, covering him softly with the duvet. Sleep is calling to him, clutching on to him, as he drinks in the sight of Sho’s bedroom. He’s never been to Sho’s apartment before, has never slept in Sho’s bed after he moved out of his parents’ house.
Everything smells like him, warm and citrusy, and Nino suddenly wants to bolt. Sho sits by his waist, touching his forehead. “Nino?”
“You don’t have to do this,” he says.
“Actually, I do,” Sho says, fixing Nino’s pillow. “And I want to. Stop fighting that.”
“You can’t mother me into feeling better, you know.”
Sho smiles for the first time that night. “Oh yeah? Watch me,” he says, reaching out to the side to turn on the diffuser. He then fusses with the way the duvet fits underneath Nino’s chin, pulling and tucking.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Go to sleep,” Sho urges. He stands up, and by some wild instinct, Nino grabs on to his wrist.
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“On the couch. It’s okay, it’s pretty comfortable.”
Nino lets go of him. “Don’t be an idiot. With a little effort, he scoots over for Sho.
“But I just fixed the pillows,” Sho whines.
Nino snorts and pats the recently vacated place beside him. Sho looks defeated in his boxer and shirt, lying down gingerly to make sure Nino won’t get hurt. He faces Sho, keeping a distance that he knows is comfortable for the both of them. Sho’s unreadable expression is bathed in the warm light of the lampshade, his hands palmed together under his cheek. His smile grows in silence, and Nino pauses, sunbeams spilling in his stomach.
“What’s so funny?” Nino asks, swallowing.
“I wasn’t laughing,” Sho says. “You just looked so peaceful.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. How are you feeling?”
It’s Nino’s turn to smile now. “Better. You’re beside me, aren’t you?”
Sho reaches out to him, hand caressing his bare arm. Nino wonders if he notices him shivering. “I always am.”
“Sho-chan, what happened today, you weren’t supposed to see it. I’m seeing a specialist and we’re just managing my medication right now so I won’t have any more episodes like this. I’m not being reckless.”
“You don’t have to bear it all by yourself,” Sho says. Being this near Sho could make Nino change his own mind about anything-and that’s what Nino’s scared of. He could believe the best of Sho, in any situation, because Sho has never given him reason to believe otherwise.
“You don’t have to volunteer all the time,” Nino whispers. “I don’t want to be your burden.”
“Idiot,” Sho says. He scoots closer, sharing breathing space with Nino. He is plunged into their closeness, remembering how Sho used to meld to his sides, leaving no room for anything but affection to pass through. When he reaches out to Sho’s waist, it’s like Sho remembers the exact sensations and feelings that Nino does. The world around them has changed, but when Sho hooks his ankle on his, Nino understands that he will always have this silence. Sho’s lips touch his softly, in a brief confluence of their combined warmth.
“Is this okay?” Nino asks, voice small, everything falling to the side. Sho kisses him on his eyelid.
“If you’re okay with it.”
Nino knows he has a galaxy of questions to ask-but then, he also has a million of places he wants to touch. When he bridges their distance again, Sho inches his way even closer, hand on Nino’s nape, thumb by his pulse. Where is it stronger, Nino wonders: through his veins, or through that moment when he opens up in a sigh, and Sho takes, gives even more? Something new is made, and Nino, Nino moves to accommodate the spark of their bodies in alignment.
Sho is gentler than Nino had imagined whenever he looked at him. “I won’t break,” Nino says, and Sho makes a show of believing him. Nino laughs into his kisses, and Sho takes him in his arms, shoulders shaking in mirth. Why Nino ever thought this would be complicated, if it ever even happened, escapes him. Instead, he is encircled by everything Sho is, surrounded the way he had only hoped for.
It’s why, when, the next morning, he finds the space beside him on the bed empty and cold, he feels that everything as it should be. Sho doesn’t ask him to stay, and Nino won’t question it.
Even if it hurts more than lying miserable on the floor of that locker room, in a pool of his own sweat.
*
It’s a thick scar, just right below Sho’s left eye. The skin on top of it is translucent, perhaps a fleshy peach in a certain light. It traverses Sho’s cheek diagonally, smooth and long as a finger.
Nino’s eyes couldn’t go upwards, so it tracks down to his throat. Sho has always had a neck that seemed both sturdy and pretty, something Nino couldn’t look away from. He loses himself in thoughts of those veins straining under the gale of Sho’s uncomplicated amusement. It’s not a huge jump from there, to thoughts of never being able to hear it again. Of not having heard it for so long.
In a way, Nino brought it upon himself.
“You can touch it,” Sho says. Nino trembles at hearing Sho’s voice.
*
Before Nino gets to lock his doors, Sho steals inside his car’s passenger seat, breath heavy with exertion.
“Get out,” Nino says. His mind is racing, thinking of ways to escape Sho’s presence without resorting to shoving him out of his car. “What are you doing?”
“Just drive,” and Nino bristles at the command in Sho’s tone. Nino knows there is no arguing with him now. He turns the ignition and drives out of the parking lot, prepared to stay silent.
“Stop pretending in front of me,” Sho says. “Please.”
Nino turns on the radio. The station is playing an overly cheerful girl group song. It is discordant with the tense, tight air brewing inside the car. Sho fidgets, turns toward him.
“Nino, don’t be stubborn.”
His knuckles are white on the steering wheel as he focuses on driving and ignoring Sho, whose gaze is a laser beam tracking on his skin. He could smell Sho’s shampoo, could imagine the newly-showered pink skin on his collar. If he closed his eyes, he could see Sho, as he was just less than an hour ago, bathed in cheers, fireworks, and adoration.
Sho sighs. “You can’t go on like this. It’s been three years since it started, right? Doesn’t it make sense that it’s something we all prepare for?”
Nino’s heart curls into itself, as if he could make it implode and disappear through his own effort. He wants to be alone. “What if I’m not there?” Sho asks, voice soft, and Nino thinks he could actually hate Sho, just for this moment, just for the thought. Nino is intimate with the ways he lacks, with everything having to do with him.
They cruise past a row of trees weeping with orange leaves, his headlights making them glow in the dark. Nino’s always liked autumn, for the way it seems more transient than the other seasons. He wonders if Sho really understands the implications of what he’s trying to suggest because Nino-Nino has thought about it more than anyone else. That things can fall apart faster than the time it takes for trees to shed away their aged, golden leaves. Nino has thought about it to the point of madness.
Sho wrings and cracks his knuckles. “Is this going to be a monologue?”
“Then why don’t you just shut up, Sho-chan?” Nino snaps.
If Sho is shocked by his words, he doesn’t show it. “You’re not supposed to be alone.”
Nino stops at the red light. “It’s my issue. Mine. If you don’t tell anyone, then nothing has to change. We do concerts, the fans scream, we do our jobs right. Tonight was just like all the other nights.” He doesn’t get it, not really. They’re the kind of group who never cross a certain line when it comes to private matters-it’s probably one of the things that make them so solid as a group, that kind of quiet consideration. Yet Sho is persistent on this one, has been persistent for years.
Tonight, the sharp edge of his ultimatum in the locker room is what finally sets Nino off. The others could have heard, and nothing about that sits right with Nino. In fact, he hates even thinking about the possibility of them finding out.
“Except you’re in pain,” Sho says. “How is that fine?”
“You’re there to remind me to take my medicines,” Nino says, irritated. “I just forgot tonight. Big deal.”
“That’s not the fucking point, Nino, and you know it.” The light changes to green. Nino’s stomach sinks. He’s had enough, has had years to steel against what he’s been trying to undo inside of him. The street suddenly feels too wide, even in the multi-color landscape that is night-time Tokyo. He withers inside.
“Then what is the point? That you want me to come clean? That you want me to apologize for using you? You don’t owe me anything.”
“Nino,” Sho breathes, stricken. He reaches out to Nino’s hand.
“Don’t touch me.” It’s like everything replays in his head, in agonizing, crytal clear detail. He wants the night to swallow him up whole and chew him apart into pieces-anything, apart from remembering.
“Stop the car, Nino,” Sho says, voice rough. “Listen to me, for once!”
“I don’t want to listen to you say it,” Nino says, face heating up, fingers cold. “Whatever you’re about to say, I know it already, okay?”
“Nino, slow down, you’re not making sense,” Sho says, reaching out again to touch him.
“I’m cruel for still having feelings for you, for letting that happen. I’m the worst,” Nino says, eyes stinging as he shrugs the hand away. Sho looks like he’s been punched in the gut. “But don’t make it out as I’m not doing my part or that I’m holding us back! I’m not okay with disappointing you, even if you find that hard to believe.”
“I never said that!” They’ve always been able to talk, been able to meet mid-way despite their differences, but this, this feels like an unraveling. “Can you please slow down? You need to understand something.”
Nino’s laugh sounds bitter even to his own ears. “I understand perfectly, Sho-chan. Don’t worry.”
“No, you don’t.” Sho scrubs his face with his hand. “I would never want you to get hurt! Isn’t that simple?”
“No need to explain,” Nino says, eyes on the road.
“Nino, I don’t-”
The white lights burn his eyes for a small eternity. He doesn’t hear the crash and only hears the words he supplies in his head “-love you”.
*
He doesn’t touch Sho’s scar. He wants to run away, right that second, but his thirst to see Sho wins. It costs him a lot, not to just stand there and take his fill. To hope that Sho is just a figment of his imagination, even as he takes in the familiarity of the planes of Sho’s face and the newness of his gaze.
“Follow me,” Nino says, gaining back his senses, worried that Sho will be recognized by the locals. To his credit, Sho doesn’t bristle at his command and only falls into step beside him, hands shoved in his jeans. Nino doesn’t dare to look at him as they walk through the grocery. He pays for his purchases at the counter, hoping that Sho tugs his bucket hat down further-Nino’s enjoyed anonymity in this small town for so long.
They step out of the grocery without any trouble. Nino’s feet take him to the nearest playground, right around the next corner. It is hidden by a copse of trees, a shady relief from the intensity of the heat. Nino drags his bike and leaves it by the side of the swings. He sits down on one, not watching Sho settle down beside him.
The swing creaks as Sho stretches out his legs. Nino used to think that he could live the rest of his life without having to sit through this moment. Didn’t he leave with that as one of his reasons, if not the biggest one? He could never trust himself around Sho again.
“How did you find me?” Nino asks, glancing his way.
Sho looks at him sideways. “Well, the others said-”
“-of course. I meant, how did you find me at the grocery?”
“I wasn’t trying to find you there,” Sho says.
“Oh.” Nino swallows, eyes landing on the scar again, his heart a shipwreck. His mind races with things to tell Sho. It hurts to see him, hurts to see the remainder of Nino’s selfishness. The gash on Sho’s face gashes him inside too, like a living thing. It scrapes along his guarded feelings, cracking it open, an inky blackness spilling out and seeping into his blood, into his thoughts.
“I was just looking for something to bring for you,” Sho admits.
“There’s no need for that.” No need for Sho to be so nice. No need to see him again.
“Everything that we were,” Sho starts, and Nino braces himself, “all of that-is it all really gone?”
“I don’t really know what you want me to say.”
“That you didn’t forget us so easily.” Sho’s voice is steady, a counterpoint to Nino’s resolve. He feels anger boiling inside him, looking for the nearest exist to burst through. How could Sho think that? How could Sho even spare any more thoughts for him?
“I want you back,” Sho says, and Nino closes his eyes, sinking all over again. “I mean, we want you back.”
Nino stands up, feeling his eyes stinging traitorously. “I can’t have this conversation. Don’t waste another day-off for me, Sho. I’m not worth it.”
He rides on his bike and doesn’t look back.
*
He wakes up in a hospital bed. It’s not his back that’s aching, but his leg that’s plastered in a cast, hanging suspended in mid-air. He also feels bruised and sore everywhere, as if he just got beaten up. His mother is by his side, holding his hand.
“Kazu,” she says, her expression somber.
“How many days?”
“Three.”
“Get me out of this thing,” Nino asks, struggling to move. “Where is he?”
His mother restrains him-not that he could move much, given the pain and his suspended legs. “You broke your right leg, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” Nino knows that she purposely didn’t answer his other question. Panic bubbles inside his stomach. She steps out of the room.
When the door opens again, it’s with one less face that he wants to see. Aiba and Ohno walk up to either side of him, throwing out casual hellos even as their eyes are grave as Nino’s ever seen them. Jun hangs back, clutching the railing at the foot of his bed.
“Where’s Sho-chan,” Nino asks, eyes scanning their faces for clues. Something doesn’t feel right.
“He’s fine,” Ohno says. “Worry about getting better, for now.” Aiba is looking at him like he’s about to cry, and Nino’s beginning to feel anxious.
“Fine? Can you please elaborate on fine?”
“He’s in the other wing, and he’s-“ Aiba begins to say, but Jun cuts him off.
“Leader’s right, you just need to rest.”
“You need to tell me about Sho. Where the hell is he? It’s all my fault,” Nino blabbers. “My fault!”
“Shh.” Aiba fixes the hair that falls to his forehead. “We’ve got him, okay?”
Horror clouds him, wondering if they knew what happened, what he and Sho were fighting about. Here they all are, looking at Nino like he’s some delicate piece of glass they have to handle with care. He closes his eyes, warm tears escaping out to the side.
“You’re okay now, Nino,” Ohno says, placing his hand on top of his. “You’re safe.”
Nino shakes his head, reeling at the intensity of his need to confess. “You don’t understand.” His shoulders shake as he tells them about what led to what happened in the car, sparing the details that he thinks they might end up hating him more for. It’s not his place to say that he’s been in love with Sho for so long, not when Sho made it clear that it’s never going to be mutual. Nino will do anything not to hurt Sho, to disrespect his wishes. Even if it’s too late.
Instead, he confesses about his back problem, how Sho is the only one who knows about it. Jun’s face crumples-“no, Jun, you don’t get to feel guilty about this,” Nino says, heart breaking at disappointing more people.
“Nino, that’s not something you should have faced alone,” Aiba says, wiping his tears messily with his index finger.
“So people keep telling me,” Nino says. “I’m a horrible person, basically. I was wrong to dump all of that on Sho-chan.”
“What’s done is done,” Ohno says, fingers curling into Nino’s, adamant and sure. “There’s nothing you can do to make us think that you’re a horrible person.”
“Then please just tell me how he is,” Nino pleads. “Why the fuck can’t anyone tell me that?”
Jun looks at him straight in the eyes, firm and piercing. “He has multiple injuries. A couple of broken bones. Bruised chest. A huge laceration on his face. He’s not okay, but he’ll live, Nino.”
“Jun,” Ohno remonstrates. But it’s too late. He looks at the three of them, holding him up together in loyalty and perhaps, habit, and he thinks that he doesn’t deserve any of it. And then there’s the thought of Sho’s broken bones, his beautiful face, marred by his intentions and his weaknesses-it stabs him so sharply that he just wants to close his eyes forever. His pain is a forest fire, razing everything he knows. There is only ruin in between his ribs.
What he treasured, he did not handle with care.
He feels so broken that he can’t even comprehend it. The sun in him had set.
*
When he approaches his house, there is a wooden sign attached on the slats of his picket fence. It is painted white, with “Café 83” written on it with yellow paint. His stomach sinks. He pedals inside to the small backyard, almost not surprised to see the new chairs and tables strewn around underneath the shade of the tree. They all have a battered wooden finish, and Nino sees Ohno in them before the real person steps out from the sliding doors.
“If you don’t like it, I have other buckets of paint in my truck,” he says shyly.
Nino gets off his bike, leaving it there. He goes inside and sees a pastry refrigerator whirring beside the counter. It’s already halfway full, filled up with more sweets and baked goods that Nino could name.
“You guys are a meddlesome bunch,” Nino accuses, as Aiba stands up from his hiding place behind the counter and Jun stares back at him defiantly, a tray of perfect-looking danishes in his hands.
“Hi,” Aiba says, smiling. “We know you wouldn’t spring for a legitimate refrigerator. Call it our gift to you.”
“And the furniture?”
“Cheap,” Ohno says. “Just your style.”
“Please don’t tell me you baked all of that,” Nino says. “I can’t bake, you know?”
Jun shrugs, a smile creeping on his lips. “Hire a commisary. Bulk-buy from the convenience store. Use your imagination.”
“And the dumb name?”
“You love it,” Aiba says, grabbing a piece of donut from the refrigerator.
He looks into all of their eyes, still the same, full of warmth and familiarity. His knees give in as he collapses into the nearest chair. “You can’t bribe me into going back, you know?”
Ohno laughs. “I told you you shouldn’t have bought the most expensive one, Aiba-chan.”
“But it’s so cool! You can even change the color of the lights!”
“Seriously, this is your bribe for me? Pimping up my café and setting me up for life?” Nino’s tone is joking, but he is overwhelmed with their combined presence, of basking in that atmosphere again. He doesn’t know whether it’s too late, or too soon.
“Watch us try,” Jun says, face kind and open.
“Ninomi, you’re not pushing us away again, right?” Aiba asks. Nino’s heart softens, always secretly, at Aiba’s feelings for display.
Jun ribs Aiba. “At least hang out with us, no pressure. We’ll want what you want.”
At ‘us’, Nino balks. “And Sho-chan? Were you just waiting to spring him on me like a surprise? I accidentally bumped into him at the grocery today. Or is it really accidental?”
Ohno sits down on the chair on front of him. “Nino,” he says. “Don’t you think that the three of us deserve at least even a small space in your life? Don’t we deserve a chance?”
Nino feels like he’s been punched in the gut, because it’s not supposed to be them asking for it. “Of course.”
“Then doesn’t Sho-kun deserve the best chance?”
Nino leans forward, catching his face in his hands. “If it were only that simple, Satoshi.”
“It’s not?”
“There are so many things I can’t take back. He doesn’t deserve my best, or my worst. He doesn’t deserve to be around a person like me. I scar everything I love.” He doesn’t even know what Ohno knows, but honesty is all he has now. He doesn’t have anything to lose, not anymore.
“Scars fade,” a voice says, and suddenly, there’s Sho, standing at the entrance.
Ohno stands up. The three of them file out in silence.
*
It takes almost a year until they release a single without Nino, a year before everything dies down enough that the agency could capitalize on the buzz around Arashi, or what’s left of it. Since he quit, he hasn’t turned on the television, steered clear of magazines, lived a life outside what he’s known for most of it. That’s why, it devastates him with a visceral force when a truck with those four faces stops by the intersection.
Nino finds out then that Sho and the management decided to keep his scar visible. Practical, because it’s too big to meticulously cover in makeup everyday. He never saw the shard of glass that lodged in Sho’s cheek. Could he have felt better, if he had seen just how far he tempted fate, how reckless he got when wrapped up in his own emotions?
The light turns green. Nino stays rooted in place, trembling like a leaf.
*
“You didn’t let me finish, that night.”
Nino knows he’s about to cry. He bites into his lips, overwhelmed at Sho’s presence. Somehow, he already knows that this is a moment that will be emblazoned in his memories forever: Sho, standing by the table, the muted afternoon light blurring his outline.
“Then what did you want to say?”
Sho takes a step towards him. When he reaches Nino, he kneels down by his side. Nino is plunged into the past, everything that he's been trying to hold together inside of him coming apart. He takes Nino’s hand and places it on his scar. It feels smooth under the pads of his fingers.
Sho leans into his palm. He can't turn back from this, not when Sho comes to him so open, so trusting of Nino's touch. There is no trace of any hesitation there. His thumb swipes over the wetness cascading down Sho’s scar, in wonder and trepidation.
“Nino, I don’t know if you’re still waiting for me.”
His stomach lurches. “What?”
"That was what I was telling you back then," Sho murmurs.
Nino tries to take it all in. "What does that even mean?" he asks, even though everything clicks into place and he just suddenly knows. Deep inside, he already knows. Nino fights not to crumble apart into tiny pieces right then and there. Sho spells it out for him.
“I wanted to ask, because I’m just as in love with you as you were with me. Still.”
His own tears flow down at every clumsy patch-job he’s done over the long days he’s been spending alone-meaningless, but real. Nino has no time for “what if’s”, because he has Sho here. There is time to undo the fear: that he could be wrong again and misread things. He will wrestle with the possibility that he could hurt Sho once more, because he can't run away again. He doesn't want to run away anymore. His eyes blur even further, in apology, in tender, consuming want. In everything he wants to say and hand to Sho in a neat platter.
“Still,” Nino whispers, is the only thing he can get himself to say. He places his other hand on Sho’s face, framing him. When he leans down, Sho is already there to meet him halfway.
*
✮✮✮✮✮
Arashi
Cafe N83
"When I'm with you, I draw confident dreams
with these hands over and over again
Wanting anything and everything, it fell through the gaps in my fingers
Crying and struggling to hold it all, it just spilled from them
There's no point in lamenting about it now
As the time passes, it leaves its mark on the palms of these hands"
If Cafe N83's album art is any indication of Arashi's direction as an idol group from hereon, then they are again changing the blueprint of what it means to be an "idol". There are no perfect faces on the cover. Instead, it almost looks like an indie offering, its muted colors and the obvious nod to their own youth surely making it stand out on the garrish idol group rack in stores. Genuis marketing ploy? A looming tie-up with Sony? Perhaps. But Cafe N83 is the real deal, and is humbly their best offering to date.
Cafe N83 is Arashi's 14th studio album release and marks the reemergence of Arashi as a group with five members, with Ninomiya Kazunari silently returning after two years of absence. Musically, it is easy to hear his influence on the record: he penned eight out of the thirteen tracks, all of the songs except the solos, with Sakurai Sho sharing some of the writing duties for the rap portions. Ninomiya obviously favors copious, stream-of-thought lyrics along with soft melodies boasting of the occassional dramatic, almost whiny, crescendo. But it's not a liability in this case. Arashi may still not the best of the crop, vocals-wise, but their harmonies in Cafe N83 is a treat to listen to, like a group of pals singing over a bonfire, guitar and a beatbox in their hands. Their voices aren't compressed to the idol sheen that was their standard before, and it is refreshing and immensely relatable. Ohno Satoshi's crystalline voice particularly shines in Nino's tender, almost feminine, songwriting.
As a whole, the record sounds like something you may have listened to when you were a teenager, staring out the windows as you ride the train. Maybe you were also listening with the same Walkman. It is unapologetically nostalgic, combining Arashi's strength-their rousing, infectious karaoke-worthy ditties-with a new-found, light handed sobriety. Not to say that this isn't idol pop, because it still is, by a mile. Even with the quirky, liberal touches of acoustic guitar and harmonicas, Cafe N83 is created and meant as pop best enjoyed when listened to as such. Indeed, what Cafe N83 brings to the table is sincerity and track after track of pop earworms that resonate emotionally, whether you're a fan overwhelemed by Ninomiya's unexpected return, or a casual listener recognizing bits of yourself in their softly-rendered paeans to friendship and love. Even the tracks covered in synths, obviously meant for dancing on music shows, are easy to memorize and, strangely enough, touching. You almost want to learn the choreography. Almost.
With Cafe N83 officially passing the overwhelming 1 million mark only a week after its release, Arashi has finally proved that they are still a force to reckon with, if not the pulsing beat of Japan's music scene for 2016. In their 30s, Arashi fully stands up to the long-disputed title "national idols", now proven to have clout even outside their loyal fanbase. But more than the petty fixations with labels, what Arashi has accomplished with Cafe N83 is something most musical acts struggle with for sometimes their entire career: they seem to have captured an essence that is truly, and only, their own.
This is a comeback that's both triumphant and subtle, a combination that Arashi has proven can be done with finesse. Cafe N83 is an album that will stand the test of time, proof that even the music snobs can be wrong. Arashi demonstrates in fine form that pop is alive and well, and can be the most affirming music to live alongside by. This is music that stays in your heart.
- - -
Credits:
Lyrics by yarukizero
Photo from markheybo