Eyes Like Honey - A Sakurai Sho Fanfic (2/?)
Pairing: Sakurai Sho x Fictional Female (Reader) *see note below
Rating: R for whole series, PG-13 for Ch.2 (suggestive language)
Beta: lianne29 (Thank you, hun!)
Genre: Romance, Drama
Word count: 2,105
Plot: A 33-year-old singleton, Nijishima Kokoro, finds herself at a host club where she meets the club's most popular host, Sakurai Sho. The encounter propels Kokoro to explore a different kind of love as Sho helps Kokoro discover herself.
NOTE: This story reads like a shoujo manga--it is written in a fictitious first-person narrative where the reader is the protagonist. Please proceed with caution if you are uncomfortable with JE members having relationships with fictitious female characters (even if that female is you!).
Chapter Two: The Second Hit
“It was just a drink, Kokoro,” Juri replied. “Never mind that. You tell me why your mind was drifting back to that asshole Ryota.”
“It wasn’t ‘just’ a drink. It was the most poetic thing I’ve experienced!” I clearly didn’t care to remark on the latter part of Juri’s concern.
Actually, it was more than that. The mysterious elixir had begun to consume my every thought. I wake up entranced by the aroma it left on my nose, and at night, dream of it swirling down my throat like a divine drug. And surely, it was. If not a drug, what? If not a drug, why the need for more?
A hand waved vigorously in front of my face. “Hello?? Did you not hear a word I said?”
I hadn’t. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
“Is it really about a drink?” Juri narrowed her eyes. “Because you seemed quite taken by that host. What was his name again?”
Is it really about a drink? What is she even saying?
Of course, it’s about a drink. THE drink, to be exact.
Taken by the host? What, 34?
Entertaining women is his job and not my business.
Sorry, but I’ve just about had it with men in general.
“Uh, I don’t know.”
“Excuse me? You spent hours with a guy and you didn’t even get his name?” Juri said in disbelief.
“Fine, do you remember yours?” I said indignantly.
“Naoto. He’s only the second most popular host there.”
Great. Foot in mouth. Again.
I traced my memory for clues. Did he have a nametag? Had he mentioned it in passing during our conversation?
“Sorry, Juri. I don’t even think he introduced himself,” I said, feeling defeated. “But does it matter? I’m talking about the drink.”
“Kokoro, please. Alcohol is a social lubricant. It’s merely an enabler.” Juri continued to grill me for my lack of social etiquette and ended her argument with a dagger.
“You can fall in love with a drink if you want to, but it won’t love you back.”
--
It was an unusually pleasant night for late July. Another long workday behind me, I felt accomplished. Hung heavily in the sky was a tired moon, burdened with the weight of the world. As I watched it emanate an orange glow, I was once again reminded of that heavenly place his drink had taken me. It had been about a month since I had last tasted its intoxicating flavors and yet, my lips still lusted for another affair. It's not so easy trying to forget a drink so divine and an experience so sacred.
Instead of taking my usual route home, I decided to be adventurous and take the long, scenic route. Busyness can sometimes deny your senses the pleasures abundant in the world. What a shame to rob someone of that. It was high time I pampered myself.
Alongside the bay, the ferris wheel screamed and shouted for attention with its booming colors and sounds. Beside it, business buildings twinkled as one by one, the lights inside each window flickered off. It was good night for the city, and as men and women in suits hurried home, I felt so distant from the hustle-bustle of the moment. It was freeing. I wondered why I had never thought to reward myself like this.
After about thirty minutes of walking, I decided to find a familiar bench by the water. A sense of calm fell over me as the passing breeze combed through my hair.
I could stay here all night.
Click.
Nearby, I hear the sound of a camera.
Click.
Wondering where it was coming from, I got up to look around.
By the waterside, a man looked intently through the lenses of his camera as if he were afraid of missing something important if he took a break to blink. Those golden bangs… The response was physical. On a moment's notice, my face flushed a vibrant red, the blood reaching my head again as I started feeling warm all over. It became harder to breathe with each inhale, and there was a haze in my brain. As if my legs had a mind of their own, they started carrying the rest of my body toward him, nearing him every step I took. What had taken control of me? I couldn't even understand my own actions.
“…Excuse me?”
“…?”
There they were, those inquisitive eyes from that fated night. There is no mistaking those.
“Do you remember me?”
“…?” A slight smirk I couldn’t comprehend crossed a full set of supple lips I failed to notice the other night.
“S-Sorry, god, I’m so embarrassed. What am I doing…” Realizing the situation-a customer speaking to a night club host completely out of context-I bite my tongue and fear the inevitable awkward silence, followed by the awkward goodbye.
“Of course I remember you, Miss Kokoro,” he said, bowing politely. “Or should I say, Miss 33?”
“I just continue embarrassing myself, don’t I…” I should have quit while I was still ahead. And yet, a part of me was relieved to know I wasn’t a complete stranger to him.
"I do this in my free time," he said casually. He looked at his camera, then at me, and raised the hand which held it.
"Oh." For being someone with a verbose mind, my mouth is embarrassingly unskilled at saying anything.
"Want to see?" he asks. Curious, I manage an awkward nod.
Rolling up his sleeves as he smiled back at my accepting his invitation, he walked up beside me and started to search through some of his harvest from tonight. Our bodies now only inches apart, he gave off a dangerously erotic scent, citrus overtones dancing over robust, spicy amber. His resemblance to the unforgettable drink was uncanny. Exposed forearms were glimmering a bit in the moonlight from sweat, and it accentuated the striations of the muscles he obviously did not neglect. The top button of his shirt was undone and his bare skin flirted with my glances, tempting me to lean in closer.
The second dose hit even stronger than the first.
"This is one of my favorite places to shoot," he grinned. The curiosity in his eyes brimmed with excitement like a child on Christmas day. He leaned in even closer to show me a photo of a boy wading by the water. The skyline reflected in the rippling water, undulating to the rhythm of the dance the boy was performing.
"I never knew the skyline could look so playful," I said softly, the end of the sentence trailing off as I looked up to lock a gaze with big, round eyes twinkling with delight. They seemed to agree and inquire, "Want to see more?"
Not realizing I hadn't blinked for a good 15-20 seconds, I let in an audible inhale and cast my gaze downward. There was a sort of magnetic quality to his eyes, and it was hard to look away.
--
"I'm really sorry, Kokoro. But please don't hate me. I didn't mean for this to happen."
I must have read that text message a million times. There were so many questions. What are you sorry about? Am I not allowed to I hate you? Why did you let it happen, then? Ryota had a habit of making me feel like the culprit. After I left that bar without having touched the gin and tonic he had ordered for me, I took the long way home and tried to take my mind off the fact that the world I knew had crumbled before my eyes.
I remember walking the same path, stopping at the same bench by the bay. The same colors reflecting in the water looked a lot more cynical then, mocking my loneliness with a sequence of hues, refusing to give me the quiet I needed.
But the funny thing about life is, memories are not stagnant things independent of one another. They evolve and mature. Painful recollections can metamorphose into beautiful moments. Once again, I owed this unintended closure to one man and his drink.
--
“Did you not like it?” he asked. Lost in thought, I had forgotten that my gaze was no longer on his photo.
“I’m sorry.” With eagerness in my eyes, I assured him that that wasn’t the case.
But in return, he tantalized with a mysterious smile. Then, looking at his watch, he seemed to have come to a decision.
“It’s getting late.” He looked up at the stars.
“I’m sorry! I interrupted you…” I was full of apologies tonight.
“I’ll walk you home.”
“Wh…no, no. It’s okay. I can make it back myself.”
He inched in closer, camera around his neck and hands in his pockets, bowed down and peeked up at me. There was no use fighting it; I returned the gaze.
“I knew you were that kind of girl,” he said with a profound look in his eyes.
What does that mean?
He straightened upright and turned his back toward me. “What’s wrong with letting someone take care of you, Miss Kokoro?”
“…”
Once again, he had hit a nerve. And he was right. After Ryota, I refused help from anyone. I can take care of myself, thank you very much, I had reassured myself time and time again. How was this instance any different from the rest?
“Come on.” And just like that, he started to walk ahead. Left with no choice, I shuffled my feet to catch up to him.
My home was about 20 minutes away by foot, just long enough to share a few conversations, I thought. But for most of it, 34 didn’t say much. Which was fine, too, because I didn’t really know what we’d talk about, anyway. Each step he took was poised, controlled, and deliberate, making it seem as though he was leading and didn’t need any directions from me. He slowed his pace to match mine so that we could walk side by side.
“Kokoro…?”
A lump in my throat so uncomfortable I could barely breathe. I know this voice. The door closed shut behind him, sealing and containing our past memories inside the corner bar. Of all the different routes I could have suggested to get home, I had carelessly decided on this one tonight.
What the hell is he doing here?
Does he still frequent this place without me?
Why am I letting him affect me still?
I look away as my mind begins to work overtime trying to focus on something, anything. Anything but this current situation.
“Is this the cognac guy?”
Excuse me?
His inquisitive eyes glimmered with curiosity. Scanning me for clues, he seemed to find the information he was looking for. Before I could make sense of the chaos, strong fingers found their way between mine, weaving gently through. The warmth from his hand sent a sensation bolting up my spine. My heart started to thump against my ribcage, sending too much blood up to my head.
“Who are you?” Ryota’s eyes shifted away from me and to the man now holding my hand.
“Why? Are you curious?” he politely provoked. His lips were smiling but his eyes told a different story.
“Let’s go, Kokoro.”
And with that, he gently tugged my hand and my body followed, leaving Ryota behind. His grip was firm, unwavering, and resolute.
“You okay?” he asked, a few minutes later.
Still in disbelief at the series of events unfolding, incoherent sounds were all I could muster. So instead, I looked his way, wide-eyed and wanting answers. Noticing it was perhaps a good time to clarify things, he parked his feet, turned my way, and slowly let go of my hand.
“That was the cognac guy, wasn’t he?”
“How did you know that?”
He raised his eyebrows and curled his lips upward. “I told you I’m a good guesser.”
Head spinning and feeling dizzy, I had no chance of responding to his clever remark. Although the encounter with Ryota was unwelcomed and unpleasant, there was an exhilarating sensation in my racing heart as if I had come out victorious from a battle I didn’t even know I was fighting. Feeling completely exposed and vulnerable yet again, I realized that no drinks had facilitated this emotional release.
Was Juri right all along?
Was it ‘just’ a drink?
“You got an hour or two?” he invited.
“…Excuse me?”
“You look like you need a drink. I hope I’m decent company.”
Before I could reply, he began leading the way. Like a lost ship at sea, I followed where the light took me.
Rating: R for whole series, PG-13 for Ch.2 (suggestive language)
Beta: lianne29 (Thank you, hun!)
Genre: Romance, Drama
Word count: 2,105
Plot: A 33-year-old singleton, Nijishima Kokoro, finds herself at a host club where she meets the club's most popular host, Sakurai Sho. The encounter propels Kokoro to explore a different kind of love as Sho helps Kokoro discover herself.
NOTE: This story reads like a shoujo manga--it is written in a fictitious first-person narrative where the reader is the protagonist. Please proceed with caution if you are uncomfortable with JE members having relationships with fictitious female characters (even if that female is you!).
Chapter Two: The Second Hit
“It was just a drink, Kokoro,” Juri replied. “Never mind that. You tell me why your mind was drifting back to that asshole Ryota.”
“It wasn’t ‘just’ a drink. It was the most poetic thing I’ve experienced!” I clearly didn’t care to remark on the latter part of Juri’s concern.
Actually, it was more than that. The mysterious elixir had begun to consume my every thought. I wake up entranced by the aroma it left on my nose, and at night, dream of it swirling down my throat like a divine drug. And surely, it was. If not a drug, what? If not a drug, why the need for more?
A hand waved vigorously in front of my face. “Hello?? Did you not hear a word I said?”
I hadn’t. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
“Is it really about a drink?” Juri narrowed her eyes. “Because you seemed quite taken by that host. What was his name again?”
Is it really about a drink? What is she even saying?
Of course, it’s about a drink. THE drink, to be exact.
Taken by the host? What, 34?
Entertaining women is his job and not my business.
Sorry, but I’ve just about had it with men in general.
“Uh, I don’t know.”
“Excuse me? You spent hours with a guy and you didn’t even get his name?” Juri said in disbelief.
“Fine, do you remember yours?” I said indignantly.
“Naoto. He’s only the second most popular host there.”
Great. Foot in mouth. Again.
I traced my memory for clues. Did he have a nametag? Had he mentioned it in passing during our conversation?
“Sorry, Juri. I don’t even think he introduced himself,” I said, feeling defeated. “But does it matter? I’m talking about the drink.”
“Kokoro, please. Alcohol is a social lubricant. It’s merely an enabler.” Juri continued to grill me for my lack of social etiquette and ended her argument with a dagger.
“You can fall in love with a drink if you want to, but it won’t love you back.”
--
It was an unusually pleasant night for late July. Another long workday behind me, I felt accomplished. Hung heavily in the sky was a tired moon, burdened with the weight of the world. As I watched it emanate an orange glow, I was once again reminded of that heavenly place his drink had taken me. It had been about a month since I had last tasted its intoxicating flavors and yet, my lips still lusted for another affair. It's not so easy trying to forget a drink so divine and an experience so sacred.
Instead of taking my usual route home, I decided to be adventurous and take the long, scenic route. Busyness can sometimes deny your senses the pleasures abundant in the world. What a shame to rob someone of that. It was high time I pampered myself.
Alongside the bay, the ferris wheel screamed and shouted for attention with its booming colors and sounds. Beside it, business buildings twinkled as one by one, the lights inside each window flickered off. It was good night for the city, and as men and women in suits hurried home, I felt so distant from the hustle-bustle of the moment. It was freeing. I wondered why I had never thought to reward myself like this.
After about thirty minutes of walking, I decided to find a familiar bench by the water. A sense of calm fell over me as the passing breeze combed through my hair.
I could stay here all night.
Click.
Nearby, I hear the sound of a camera.
Click.
Wondering where it was coming from, I got up to look around.
By the waterside, a man looked intently through the lenses of his camera as if he were afraid of missing something important if he took a break to blink. Those golden bangs… The response was physical. On a moment's notice, my face flushed a vibrant red, the blood reaching my head again as I started feeling warm all over. It became harder to breathe with each inhale, and there was a haze in my brain. As if my legs had a mind of their own, they started carrying the rest of my body toward him, nearing him every step I took. What had taken control of me? I couldn't even understand my own actions.
“…Excuse me?”
“…?”
There they were, those inquisitive eyes from that fated night. There is no mistaking those.
“Do you remember me?”
“…?” A slight smirk I couldn’t comprehend crossed a full set of supple lips I failed to notice the other night.
“S-Sorry, god, I’m so embarrassed. What am I doing…” Realizing the situation-a customer speaking to a night club host completely out of context-I bite my tongue and fear the inevitable awkward silence, followed by the awkward goodbye.
“Of course I remember you, Miss Kokoro,” he said, bowing politely. “Or should I say, Miss 33?”
“I just continue embarrassing myself, don’t I…” I should have quit while I was still ahead. And yet, a part of me was relieved to know I wasn’t a complete stranger to him.
"I do this in my free time," he said casually. He looked at his camera, then at me, and raised the hand which held it.
"Oh." For being someone with a verbose mind, my mouth is embarrassingly unskilled at saying anything.
"Want to see?" he asks. Curious, I manage an awkward nod.
Rolling up his sleeves as he smiled back at my accepting his invitation, he walked up beside me and started to search through some of his harvest from tonight. Our bodies now only inches apart, he gave off a dangerously erotic scent, citrus overtones dancing over robust, spicy amber. His resemblance to the unforgettable drink was uncanny. Exposed forearms were glimmering a bit in the moonlight from sweat, and it accentuated the striations of the muscles he obviously did not neglect. The top button of his shirt was undone and his bare skin flirted with my glances, tempting me to lean in closer.
The second dose hit even stronger than the first.
"This is one of my favorite places to shoot," he grinned. The curiosity in his eyes brimmed with excitement like a child on Christmas day. He leaned in even closer to show me a photo of a boy wading by the water. The skyline reflected in the rippling water, undulating to the rhythm of the dance the boy was performing.
"I never knew the skyline could look so playful," I said softly, the end of the sentence trailing off as I looked up to lock a gaze with big, round eyes twinkling with delight. They seemed to agree and inquire, "Want to see more?"
Not realizing I hadn't blinked for a good 15-20 seconds, I let in an audible inhale and cast my gaze downward. There was a sort of magnetic quality to his eyes, and it was hard to look away.
--
"I'm really sorry, Kokoro. But please don't hate me. I didn't mean for this to happen."
I must have read that text message a million times. There were so many questions. What are you sorry about? Am I not allowed to I hate you? Why did you let it happen, then? Ryota had a habit of making me feel like the culprit. After I left that bar without having touched the gin and tonic he had ordered for me, I took the long way home and tried to take my mind off the fact that the world I knew had crumbled before my eyes.
I remember walking the same path, stopping at the same bench by the bay. The same colors reflecting in the water looked a lot more cynical then, mocking my loneliness with a sequence of hues, refusing to give me the quiet I needed.
But the funny thing about life is, memories are not stagnant things independent of one another. They evolve and mature. Painful recollections can metamorphose into beautiful moments. Once again, I owed this unintended closure to one man and his drink.
--
“Did you not like it?” he asked. Lost in thought, I had forgotten that my gaze was no longer on his photo.
“I’m sorry.” With eagerness in my eyes, I assured him that that wasn’t the case.
But in return, he tantalized with a mysterious smile. Then, looking at his watch, he seemed to have come to a decision.
“It’s getting late.” He looked up at the stars.
“I’m sorry! I interrupted you…” I was full of apologies tonight.
“I’ll walk you home.”
“Wh…no, no. It’s okay. I can make it back myself.”
He inched in closer, camera around his neck and hands in his pockets, bowed down and peeked up at me. There was no use fighting it; I returned the gaze.
“I knew you were that kind of girl,” he said with a profound look in his eyes.
What does that mean?
He straightened upright and turned his back toward me. “What’s wrong with letting someone take care of you, Miss Kokoro?”
“…”
Once again, he had hit a nerve. And he was right. After Ryota, I refused help from anyone. I can take care of myself, thank you very much, I had reassured myself time and time again. How was this instance any different from the rest?
“Come on.” And just like that, he started to walk ahead. Left with no choice, I shuffled my feet to catch up to him.
My home was about 20 minutes away by foot, just long enough to share a few conversations, I thought. But for most of it, 34 didn’t say much. Which was fine, too, because I didn’t really know what we’d talk about, anyway. Each step he took was poised, controlled, and deliberate, making it seem as though he was leading and didn’t need any directions from me. He slowed his pace to match mine so that we could walk side by side.
“Kokoro…?”
A lump in my throat so uncomfortable I could barely breathe. I know this voice. The door closed shut behind him, sealing and containing our past memories inside the corner bar. Of all the different routes I could have suggested to get home, I had carelessly decided on this one tonight.
What the hell is he doing here?
Does he still frequent this place without me?
Why am I letting him affect me still?
I look away as my mind begins to work overtime trying to focus on something, anything. Anything but this current situation.
“Is this the cognac guy?”
Excuse me?
His inquisitive eyes glimmered with curiosity. Scanning me for clues, he seemed to find the information he was looking for. Before I could make sense of the chaos, strong fingers found their way between mine, weaving gently through. The warmth from his hand sent a sensation bolting up my spine. My heart started to thump against my ribcage, sending too much blood up to my head.
“Who are you?” Ryota’s eyes shifted away from me and to the man now holding my hand.
“Why? Are you curious?” he politely provoked. His lips were smiling but his eyes told a different story.
“Let’s go, Kokoro.”
And with that, he gently tugged my hand and my body followed, leaving Ryota behind. His grip was firm, unwavering, and resolute.
“You okay?” he asked, a few minutes later.
Still in disbelief at the series of events unfolding, incoherent sounds were all I could muster. So instead, I looked his way, wide-eyed and wanting answers. Noticing it was perhaps a good time to clarify things, he parked his feet, turned my way, and slowly let go of my hand.
“That was the cognac guy, wasn’t he?”
“How did you know that?”
He raised his eyebrows and curled his lips upward. “I told you I’m a good guesser.”
Head spinning and feeling dizzy, I had no chance of responding to his clever remark. Although the encounter with Ryota was unwelcomed and unpleasant, there was an exhilarating sensation in my racing heart as if I had come out victorious from a battle I didn’t even know I was fighting. Feeling completely exposed and vulnerable yet again, I realized that no drinks had facilitated this emotional release.
Was Juri right all along?
Was it ‘just’ a drink?
“You got an hour or two?” he invited.
“…Excuse me?”
“You look like you need a drink. I hope I’m decent company.”
Before I could reply, he began leading the way. Like a lost ship at sea, I followed where the light took me.