[01/01] Wallflower
Wallflower
Jun. Loss. Years.
Summary
Based on Arashi’s Ashita no Kioku
“Wanting to make the sunset I saw with you that day eternal, I stretch my hands out into my memories and try countless times to reach you. We can never regain the same scenery, or the same feelings, that is why we look back to the shining dreams of our past.”
A/N
I rushed through Banana Yoshimoto’s Kitchen, and it must have affected me more than I thought; I suddenly had the itch to create this. I am by no means a veteran Arashi fan, and I’m not the most talented writer either, but I’ve found there’s something I want to pen down no matter what. I originally tried to base this story on A.Ra.Shi, only it came out like this. Perhaps I’ll write that story someday. Please enjoy!
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
Sentimental. Extremely so. Angsty drama feat. OC.
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
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Wallflower
For Arashi
I would often see you under the shadow of a tree, speaking with a friend in what I imagined to be a hush. As you always stared, quite intently, at whomever you were talking to, I had assumed you would never notice me. The me who often watched you from an upstairs window, wrestling both guilt and excitement, eyes strained as I tried to make out which friend had come this time. Was it the one who often talked on and on with fervor, hands gesturing strange shapes in the air? Or maybe it would be those two, the easy ones who dropped by the most, bearing gifts and stories that stole most of the afternoon? On rare occasions it would be him, with the loosened tie and the charcoal suits, engaging my stranger in deep conversation. But sometimes it was just you, reading a book, resting.
I had come to hate the hours you spent alone.
Without me realizing, I began to anticipate the strange visits - an outsider looking into a world that I felt would vanish at my intervention. Your friends, their take-aways of ordinary life, I’m sure they meant even more to your happiness. For no matter how long or how short the visits were they always made you smile. These seemed the only moments that made you smile, the summer when I knew you.
__
July 2002
It had been too hot that day. Mother, in the midst of peeling my apples, had insisted that I take a stroll, to soak in a bit of sun. I had wanted to remind her that I was presently a cripple in crutches, and that dragging my damaged leg two floors down was my not my type of pastime, but I knew she wouldn’t listen. She had always pushed me to go out and put my best self forward, one reason I preferred doing the opposite and just hid, most of the time.
The sun was on full blast when I inched into the garden. That unsettling aftershock of having stepped into the light from deep darkness, it confused me. Even the buzz of animated chatter, the debates of old men huddled over game boards, and of children running around, stole my breath in a sweep of lightheadedness. Finding an empty bench under one of the trees, I dragged myself towards it and unceremoniously plopped down with a sigh. A few minutes of watching the canopy of sparkles overhead and I had pulled myself to calm.
It was then that I caught you staring at me.
I should have known you would be loitering here as well, paperback in hand. Even with the umbrella of our trees, I could make out the pale glow of your face, the heavy angles on your cheeks and around your eyes. For some time we only stared at each other, and who knows what went on in your head? But then you closed your book lightly and got to your feet, crossing the small courtyard that separated us.
You preferred not to share my bench and merely stood a few steps away, but I had been expecting that. I had seen, from the way you treated your friends, how you would deal with the people who didn’t matter. Without batting an eyelash, you had asked, “Why do you watch me so often?” and I found I couldn’t look away and lie. It had not even crossed my mind to worry about how you had noticed, or whether you were going to hate me for being obsessed. All that would register was that you were standing right in front of me - genuinely, irrevocably real.
I found you were irritated easily. Transferring your book from one hand to another, your expression suddenly darkened. “Listen here. You should find some other way to spend your time. Instead of watching me each afternoon. Don’t you have any friends?”
I thought back on my seventeen years. There had been girls I would talk to in school, and there had been peers I would go on various events with. But no one, spare my own family and Yumi, had even remembered me this summer. Or maybe they hadn’t known? I shook my head slowly.
You tugged at the beanie on your head, sighing dejectedly as you gazed into the distance. I tried to follow your eyes but only saw a nondescript flower bed, before a rustle on my left pulled me from my musings. You had sat beside me. As I turned to you in confusion, wondering how I had been accorded a privilege like this, you placed your book between us. “What’s your name?”
There were beads of sweat on your nose, and your face was full of holes, I noticed. “Sachi,” I replied, amazed at the shape of your eyebrows and convinced you enjoyed plucking them. “I’m from two floors up.”
“I’m Matsumoto Jun,” you seemed to say to the wind. I know, I had almost said.
___
October 2011
Recently, I discovered Hanamaru had joined the rumor-mongering bandwagon.
I was on it just the other day, trudging through the usual questions, when one of them brought up my supposed attachment to the actor Ninomiya Kazunari. As our last topic had been about my current work with Director Miike, I was shocked at the change of discussion, and became unable to react to the question instantly. I felt suddenly, distressingly, blank, and I could swear the cameras knew. The set lights, the staff, the oppressive collar of the dress I was wearing, all contributed to the constricting feeling that was tugging at my chest. “Ninomiya and I are just friends,” I heard myself explain, with the hint of a nervous chuckle. “Really old friends though, that bit is true. We have dinner once in a while, with our other friends, when our schedules fit.”
“Then that picture of the both of you at a restaurant is real?”
My mind clicked to stock footage of my back and that of Kazu’s, lounging side by side on a restaurant counter, appearing to be thoroughly enjoying our conversation. The last time I had spoken to him about this, some six or more months ago, he had told me to ignore it, that his agency would just blow it over for the both of us. “I’m amazed you still remember that! But yes, we had dinner that evening. We met with some of our mutual friends - one of them runs the restaurant, that’s why we gathered there.”
“I’m interested in the connection between you two though. Have you ever acted together with Ninomiya?”
“We met through a common acquaintance.” The words came out like a mantra, and I never thought I’d have to explain you this way. It got me thinking that perhaps I should talk to Kazu about collaborating, sometime soon. Maybe then people would stop asking us how we came to be such good friends, and leave you alone. “I first met him when I was in high school, so I’ve known him quite a while.”
“Can you tell us something interesting about Ninomiya Kazunari?”
A no-brainer, I wanted to say. “He’s really good at magic. When we meet up for dinner, he always has a new trick for me to try. And I remember, when I was introduced to him, the first words he said to me were, ‘Pick a card.’”
“I didn’t know that! It doesn’t fit his image, does it? I’ve always seen him portraying heavy roles on television, so I wasn’t expecting such a cute side of him at all!”
“No, please don’t say that!” I laughed, but inside I was tearing up. They had no right to say this about Kazu. They didn’t know anything about him. “There’s more to him than the side he shows in his dramas.” But I realized I was afraid to say more. I wasn’t even sure what Kazu thought of me divulging this much - it was quite possible that he wanted to maintain his privacy. Maybe he wanted to keep you a secret as well. “I’d like to collaborate with him soon though. Maybe when his schedule frees up I can talk to him about it.”
“What theme would you like to work on, if you could choose?”
A theme? If I had to consider Kazu’s recent exposure, it might need to involve guns and aliens, which I wasn’t too keen on. If it were up to me to decide, really, there was only one thing that jumped right out of my options. “Maybe something about friendship would be nice. Something set in the summer. I think he might agree to that-”
I paused.
The sting had slowly dulled over the years, but somehow I still felt guilty when I thought this way. Was it wrong of me to remember you like this? In each role, each story, that face would swim into my vision, and I couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to, and I was scared to, but I couldn’t help it. “And maybe a bit of romance.”
__
August 2002
It had been a starless summer evening, that barbecue with Sho. We gathered on the rooftop of your prison, you, bullied into a white tuxedo, and me, a skirt around my cast. The smoke we fanned towards the tranquil sky was slow, languid and tame. “You’re fanning it too lazily,” I had heard you scolding Sho, before you stole his spot by the grill and sent him on his way.
The others had been laughing when he came to stand beside me. Cup in hand, eyes on the ground below, I didn’t feel the need to talk, and as expected he had a way of knowing. Together, we watched the last of the day shift nurses leave for home, and waited for the sun to set. He had drained the last of his wine, had wrapped a soft smile for me, and in the glow of the lightening sky I thought he looked content. It was then I had the urge to ask him, “You guys are Johnny’s right? You debut was in Hawaii, on a boat.”
An odd flash flickered in his eyes. “We used to be, but Nino’s the only one in entertainment now. Why? Don’t tell me you haven’t spoken with Jun about this?”
I glanced at you, flicking something off your suit. To anyone else you might have seemed like you were having a good time, but I knew, behind that smile, you were scared this night would be over too soon. “I had a feeling he wouldn’t want to talk about it. You guys disbanded, right? About a year ago?”
“You know quite a lot about us. I didn’t think you were the stalking type.”
“I might have seen your debut on TV. It was interesting, the boat.”
Sho sighed, taking another shot at his cup before he realized it was empty. His eyebrows meeting, gaze downcast, he played with the thoughts in mind, deciding, choosing, which phrase would suffice in our situation. “About a year after our debut, MatsuJun resigned from Johnny’s. We couldn’t understand why - it was so sudden. Quitting had never been a possibility, not for him.”
“And then you found out he was sick?”
“Not yet.” He shook his head, and I thought I saw his fist clench, the cup cracking in his hand. “The President tried to fix things, so we took in new members and tried to keep things going. But without MatsuJun, things were different. Somehow, it was as if we were pushing ourselves too hard, knowing all the while our efforts were useless.”
With a bitter smile, the one I had come to associate with him and him only, he gestured towards you. “When the four of us tried to talk to him about it, convinced we could get him to come back, we found out he was in this hospital. We came together, you know, and we saw him together, after months. I remember being so scared that he’d changed so much. He may look outwardly healthy now, but those early months of treatment were a nightmare. None of us could stand seeing him like that.”
“And it seemed,” he sighed, a hand on his nose, eyes half-shut in deep thought, “that in time with his lifeline, we were losing the drive to keep going. Maybe Arashi wasn’t meant to go on, like we’d hoped. I’m sure I wasn’t alone in thinking this. We started quitting, one by one. And when it was just me and Nino left, he resigned from the agency and I quit entertainment.” Another smile. “And the rest, I’m sure you know.”
Sho, your older brother by heart, was speaking to me with his eyes, willing me to ask no more. At that moment, seeing him and the burden he was carrying without complaint, I deeply wished he would cry. Just cry. Maybe then I could do something for him. Maybe then we could share how we felt and make dealing with the pain much easier.
But the tears would come late. Much too late.
__
December 2002
“Why did you stop modeling?”
It was Christmas, and I thought you had been watching the snow fall outside. We were in your room, you in bed, and I had started peeling apples just as your mother had gone out. The lights I had brought the week before were up, but the eerie contrast of the reds and greens on your face chased off all Christmas cheer. The knife stopped in my hand. “I guess I just lost my inspiration. You know how these things are. Mothers tell their kids to audition for so-and-so, but when they pass they get pushed to hard - hard enough to quit.”
I could hear a Christmas tune from the room next door; through the wall and the snow, it sounded awfully dry. You hadn’t frowned, but I could see the disapproval on your face. “Your mother only wants what’s best for you. Inspiration is a state of mind.”
“I’m afraid in my case it isn’t.” You had taken the apple I offered, but we both knew it wouldn’t interest you. But I reached to peel another, just in case. “My best friend, Yumi, she really wants to be a model. She was the one who dragged me to my first audition, and even after I quit, she still kept trying out for magazines. I’m amazed at how she never gives up. It would be nice to be like that.”
You turned the apple over. “I’m sure you’d make it through any audition you choose.”
“You really like the entertainment industry then?” I hoped my voice hadn’t gone too soft, as I was sure that would incite you. Eyes back on the knife, it is. “Do you like modeling? Acting?”
“It’s being in Arashi that I like.” The first smile I had seen that day. “There were a lot of times when I didn’t understand what we were doing, or why, but I pushed on anyway. Because I felt that, in everything, I had four other people who were rooting for me, and four other people I would be rooting for. With just that thought, I could go on, move on.”
I set the knife down. Perhaps I’d take the other apple for myself. “You can still move on, Jun.”
“We both know that isn’t happening,” you had laughed, without malice. A soft sigh, your eyes gentle as that winter’s wind, and the next moment you were munching the apple. “I think I’ve started to hate all this waiting. My life had never really been exciting, before this, but it hadn’t been as slow. I’ve come to the point where all I feel is that I’m merely existing, and maybe-”
The door had opened; your mother was back. But she was sweet, and simply smiled, and left us to talk as she busied herself with dinner. I had thought, as I sometimes still think, that I would have wanted to have a mother like that. Or maybe share a mother like that with you. “You know some people make the world a better place just by existing?”
You looked up at me, and I remember how hard I had tried to smile. I saw your fingers clench around your apple, saw but didn’t understand the haze in your eyes. “Yes, sometimes I do think that.” You reached over and tugged the apple in my hand, pulling my fingers away.
I had always wanted to ask. Had I reached you then? When I tried to hold your hand in return?
__
September 2009
I had missed the sound of Masaki’s chimes.
He had called a week before that evening, cheery and innocent as always, practically demanding that I turn up at his door without fail on one special night, and informing me the others would be coming as well. I had tried to beg off, to postpone the dinner some other date, but for the first time since I had known him, Masaki had put his foot down. “It has to be that evening,” his intent was clear, even through the cracked line. “Don’t even try to send a gift to make up for it. You have to be there. We need you. Jun needs you.”
Parking in front of his restaurant on the appointed day, I had been inwardly grumbling at how petty it was to use you against me. Had he begged nicely enough, I would have gone either way, and your name wouldn’t have had to come up. I had been thinking in this vein as I stepped through the door, the chimes and wooden threshold doing nothing to soothe the nostalgia, when I walked in on Masaki and Satoshi by the kitchen counter.
I had thought I had seen most sides of them by then, but their tear-stained eyes gently proved me wrong.
“What happened?” Tears had often provoked panic in me, and this time, I found, was no different. I had forgotten my irritation, my instincts taking over, too quickly that I failed to note the sake bottles scattered across the counter. “What’s wrong? What happened? Where are the others? Did something happen?”
“Aah, Sachi.” Masaki uselessly tried to wipe his eyes with his apron. Satoshi didn’t even try to hide, and merely sent a watery smile my way. “You’re late. We should have started an hour ago.”
“Actually, an hour and fifteen minutes ago.” There was a giant clock on the wall in his kitchen, but then Masaki had never been the type to consider minor details of that kind. Slowly, almost groggily, I took the stool beside Satoshi, and tried to gather my wits. “Seriously, what’s wrong? Were you guys crying?”
“Oh, you know.” Masaki sniffed - or maybe hiccupped, I couldn’t tell. “We were talking about Arashi, and how it was when we first started, how we were all so young then, and how ten years later, we’re here. Ten years ago, on this day - or maybe it was yesterday, I might not have converted properly - Arashi was born. And well, Satoshi and I, we got talking about how great it is that ten years later we’re all still friends. That we have you! And well, Jun’s not here with us tonight, but-”
“Jun’s here with us tonight,” Satoshi stated with conviction. His expression was so serious I would have thought he was sober, had his eyes not been dancing. “He’s always been with us. I’m sure he’s always been watching over us-”
“Aww, Leader, please don’t say that! I know it’s Jun we’re talking about here, but still!”
“Hang on, I might be missing something.” I had never been told the reason behind the invitation, and for that I had assumed Masaki simply missed everybody too much. Had it really been ten years since? It was that moment, one of a painful few, that reinforced in me the belief that I would never be a part of Arashi, no matter how much I thought I understood them. “It’s your anniversary tonight then? Arashi’s?”
“Yes! And Sho and Kazu are late, but I’m sure they’ll arrive eventually, they’re just really busy people-”
“Thank you.” I couldn’t help it. “Thank you so much for inviting me to share tonight.”
“Sachi, you’re so weird!” Masaki was drunk, and I’m sure Satoshi was, too, and that made me tear up even more at how thoughtful they could be, even when intoxicated. “You’re part of Arashi! You’re the sixth member of Arashi! You’re Arashi’s only fan!” He hiccupped, and dazedly pulled his apron off. “To Sachi, Arashi’s most loyal fan!”
“Cheers!” I heard myself toast, picking up the nearest sake cup and raising it, blinded by mad amusement. “To Arashi’s self-proclaimed number one fan! Me! Ahhh, Masaki, I think something may be burning behind you-”
“Oh crap, that’ll be the tuna!”
“But, Sachi, you know,” Satoshi turned a gentle smile on me, and patted my hand once, “thank you, as well. For being a good friend, and a good fan. We’ll be in your care in the years to come.”
I hadn’t even been drunk then, but I was already blinking back tears. That familiar Chinese restaurant, an image from several years past, was crawling into my consciousness again. Damn that Satoshi. “There’s just one of me though. I can’t support all of you, even if I’d give it my all-”
“There may be just one of you but,” he swayed quite alarmingly, but the smile in his face remained, “every time I think we could have had fans as great as you are, I don’t regret anything. Just the thought that one person, out there, believes in you with all of her heart, makes life lots better, right?”
“I’m sure it does,” was all I could sniff out. Watching Satoshi, eyes half-closed, and Masaki, fanning dark smoke in his highly disorganized kitchen, I wanted to say being a fan wasn’t that difficult. Anyone, I was sure, would love my boys as ardently as I did, the moment they got past the walls and the pain and the memories. I wanted to say that.
But I could not translate it in words. So I picked up a bottle, and smiled.
___
April 2003
Mother had begged me not to see you. But then, she had already pleaded for too many things - for me to audition at this and that, to date my father’s bosses’ sons, to volunteer for the student council - and even as I’d fulfill each wish over time, her appreciation of me never changed. Maybe, I had often found myself thinking, I would always just be the pretty daughter she could boast about in the neighborhood, during conversations with other housewives, or over waiting lines at the dry cleaner’s. Moments like these, when I heard her talk, I wanted to curse my face, and wish I had been born plain. You had told me once that she just wanted what was best for me, but to this day, I find that hard to believe. About modeling though, I’m glad I had listened to your advice. It had brought me back, after you.
The day I passed for Non-No, I ran half the way to tell you. It was spring, and as I raced under rows of pink blossoms, the asphalt crisp and resonant at my feet, I felt like a film heroine. Maybe I’d try acting next, I had considered, and already I was thinking of roles I knew you’d like. Something from the Restoration, or maybe even older than that. With these thoughts in my head, my feet flew, and I was almost out of breath, sweating, when I ran into your father.
That had been our first meeting.
He had greeted me so nicely, and through gasps, I was thinking what a gentle family you had. You must be Sachi, he had kindly said, in a baritone that was not at all like your voice. Jun talked about you all the time. Thank you for taking care of him until now.
I had bowed the best I could. There had been something about what your father had said that bothered me immensely. I’m sorry for prying, Sir, but did you just come from visiting Jun? Why are you visiting him now? When all these months you never came by in the daylight? Is his mother with him right now?
He smiled once again. How his face resembled yours, I must have thought through my worries. His mother must be with his sister right now. The truth is, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but-
“It’s all right,” I pre-empted him. I’ll just dash upstairs and say hi. I followed his advice, you see, Sir, and I got accepted into this really popular magazine, and I just wanted him to know. If I could just- I’m sure it will cheer him up, just a bit-
I’m sure it would have cheered him up, your father told me patiently. But you need not worry about him now. I’m sure he would have been happy for you. Truly.
I was half-set on running up that flight of stairs, running to your bedside, holding your hand and talking on and on, without end, about how happy I was to be working again. I wanted to see you, and express my thanks, and listen to your advice about which things to do next, which agencies to consider working with, which celebrities to befriend, and such. Maybe your mother would smile her gentle smile again, and maybe your sister would come with her usual boisterous entrance, a gift or two in her arms. And maybe, just maybe, you’d smile at me, or frown or me, or tell me I wasn’t thinking things too thoroughly, and I was being stupid. I just desperately wanted to hear your voice. Telling me, Sachi, try to smile when I’m gone all right? You’ll never be a good model if you can’t even manage a smile.
I had wanted to tell you I’d risked the first step, the first rung on the ladder you had envisioned for me. “I just want to tell him I got my first magazine job,” I might have said through the tears, but your father had smiled so kindly then, I wasn’t sure I grasped what he said. He’s gone on, child. I might as well tell you not to seek him anymore.
And I knew you wouldn’t be up there. I should have known the weather was too good to be true.
“I won’t have to tell him the news then,” I laughed, so faintly, and your father only kept smiling at me. He was just standing there, keys in his hand, when I realized, your going must have been even harder for this man. I was not making things easier, persisting on about this. “I’m sure Jun would have known about the job offer anyway. He once said I could pass any magazine audition I choose.”
Because you are beautiful, he said, and your frank, open manner, the one I saw just as clearly in him made the tears rush back once more. Jun sure knows how to pick his friends. A laugh. Or he knew how to, I should say-
“I’m sorry, Sir, but I have to keep going.” My condolences for your loss. This loss. Brushing at some fresh errant drops with the sleeve of my uniform, I tried for one last smile. “Maybe I’ll just find the rest of Arashi.” Do you mind if I tell them what you just told me?
He shook his head no, smile never wavering. I was scared to be there, when this mask would break. I didn’t want to be there, I realized, to comfort this stranger whose son had meant too much to me. I’ll be off then, I had said with a brisk, formal bow. It was the last time I spoke with your father, that fine afternoon one spring. I have held your mother many times, since then, each embrace with a hint of desperation, as though each touch we exchanged was a touch meant to reach for you.
Perhaps it is why we always fall short of comforting each other.
__
November 1999
You walk into the corridor, vaguely aware of a huddle of boys standing in one corner, bent over something you cannot see. As you inch forward, palms sweating almost visibly, you realize Yumi’s nervousness is starting to get to you, and you wonder why you got her to talk you into auditioning anyway. Is it really all right to venture into something you are only half-interested in? You shake your head to clear your thoughts, but find it does no good anyway.
You best friend had asked for a can of Coke, before dashing into the ladies’ to most probably hurl, and sometime during your search for a vending machine you had also started thinking of getting one for yourself. But when you reach the magic miracle box, you see none of the goodies you want are there for the taking. Of all the days when they’d run out of calming supply, it had to be your decisive one. Or, at least, Yumi’s special one. You exhale sharply and lean your head on the cold metal box that’s troubling you. Then you try to convince yourself Coke would be bad for your digestion anyway, before stopping when you realize it’s not working, again.
You suddenly sense someone popping up at your side, and when you look, it’s one of the boys. He has fair, distinct chiseled features, rather abominable teeth, and a head of fluffy dark hair. He holds out a can of Coke. Hesitantly, you accept the offering, but still mumble something about having wanted two. He blinks, confused, before another boy taps his shoulder and reminds him they should be on standby now.
The intruder bows at you, as do the others who pass by, but your stranger merely steals one final glance before walking away. You are gazing after them with curious eyes, positive you have seen them somewhere else before, when someone speaks from behind you. “He probably wanted to talk to you, in case you’re wondering.”
You turn and find another one, his hair in curly strings of black, eyes unnaturally piercing. “You’re wondering why he gave you that, right? It’s probably because he wanted to talk to you. I’d give you mine as well, but-” He shakes the can in his hand, shrugs at the empty note it rings, before he aims for the trash bin and misses. “Anyway, the five of us recently debuted in a group called Arashi. I’d introduce all of us, but you’re probably most intrigued by just one, right?” The smile on his face is one of smug amusement. “We’ll be in your care from now on. Please support us.”
He bows, and you bow, and you keep your head low, Coke to your chest, even as he starts walking away. Just as you lift your head, however, mind still trying to make sense of your conversation, the footsteps stop. “Just so you don’t research anymore, his name is Matsumoto Jun. Please remember that from here on.” He continues walking, whistling a striking tune. And you are left simply standing there, taken.
__
End.
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A/N
Just dropping a quick line, at the end of this story, to thank you for having made it this far. I hope it didn’t melt you with its excessive mushiness. If you’d like, kindly comment on this one-shot, Wallflower. I may or may not alter it, but I will do my best to take each comment with as much care as possible. Salamat!
Jun. Loss. Years.
Summary
Based on Arashi’s Ashita no Kioku
“Wanting to make the sunset I saw with you that day eternal, I stretch my hands out into my memories and try countless times to reach you. We can never regain the same scenery, or the same feelings, that is why we look back to the shining dreams of our past.”
A/N
I rushed through Banana Yoshimoto’s Kitchen, and it must have affected me more than I thought; I suddenly had the itch to create this. I am by no means a veteran Arashi fan, and I’m not the most talented writer either, but I’ve found there’s something I want to pen down no matter what. I originally tried to base this story on A.Ra.Shi, only it came out like this. Perhaps I’ll write that story someday. Please enjoy!
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
Sentimental. Extremely so. Angsty drama feat. OC.
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
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Wallflower
For Arashi
I would often see you under the shadow of a tree, speaking with a friend in what I imagined to be a hush. As you always stared, quite intently, at whomever you were talking to, I had assumed you would never notice me. The me who often watched you from an upstairs window, wrestling both guilt and excitement, eyes strained as I tried to make out which friend had come this time. Was it the one who often talked on and on with fervor, hands gesturing strange shapes in the air? Or maybe it would be those two, the easy ones who dropped by the most, bearing gifts and stories that stole most of the afternoon? On rare occasions it would be him, with the loosened tie and the charcoal suits, engaging my stranger in deep conversation. But sometimes it was just you, reading a book, resting.
I had come to hate the hours you spent alone.
Without me realizing, I began to anticipate the strange visits - an outsider looking into a world that I felt would vanish at my intervention. Your friends, their take-aways of ordinary life, I’m sure they meant even more to your happiness. For no matter how long or how short the visits were they always made you smile. These seemed the only moments that made you smile, the summer when I knew you.
__
July 2002
It had been too hot that day. Mother, in the midst of peeling my apples, had insisted that I take a stroll, to soak in a bit of sun. I had wanted to remind her that I was presently a cripple in crutches, and that dragging my damaged leg two floors down was my not my type of pastime, but I knew she wouldn’t listen. She had always pushed me to go out and put my best self forward, one reason I preferred doing the opposite and just hid, most of the time.
The sun was on full blast when I inched into the garden. That unsettling aftershock of having stepped into the light from deep darkness, it confused me. Even the buzz of animated chatter, the debates of old men huddled over game boards, and of children running around, stole my breath in a sweep of lightheadedness. Finding an empty bench under one of the trees, I dragged myself towards it and unceremoniously plopped down with a sigh. A few minutes of watching the canopy of sparkles overhead and I had pulled myself to calm.
It was then that I caught you staring at me.
I should have known you would be loitering here as well, paperback in hand. Even with the umbrella of our trees, I could make out the pale glow of your face, the heavy angles on your cheeks and around your eyes. For some time we only stared at each other, and who knows what went on in your head? But then you closed your book lightly and got to your feet, crossing the small courtyard that separated us.
You preferred not to share my bench and merely stood a few steps away, but I had been expecting that. I had seen, from the way you treated your friends, how you would deal with the people who didn’t matter. Without batting an eyelash, you had asked, “Why do you watch me so often?” and I found I couldn’t look away and lie. It had not even crossed my mind to worry about how you had noticed, or whether you were going to hate me for being obsessed. All that would register was that you were standing right in front of me - genuinely, irrevocably real.
I found you were irritated easily. Transferring your book from one hand to another, your expression suddenly darkened. “Listen here. You should find some other way to spend your time. Instead of watching me each afternoon. Don’t you have any friends?”
I thought back on my seventeen years. There had been girls I would talk to in school, and there had been peers I would go on various events with. But no one, spare my own family and Yumi, had even remembered me this summer. Or maybe they hadn’t known? I shook my head slowly.
You tugged at the beanie on your head, sighing dejectedly as you gazed into the distance. I tried to follow your eyes but only saw a nondescript flower bed, before a rustle on my left pulled me from my musings. You had sat beside me. As I turned to you in confusion, wondering how I had been accorded a privilege like this, you placed your book between us. “What’s your name?”
There were beads of sweat on your nose, and your face was full of holes, I noticed. “Sachi,” I replied, amazed at the shape of your eyebrows and convinced you enjoyed plucking them. “I’m from two floors up.”
“I’m Matsumoto Jun,” you seemed to say to the wind. I know, I had almost said.
___
October 2011
Recently, I discovered Hanamaru had joined the rumor-mongering bandwagon.
I was on it just the other day, trudging through the usual questions, when one of them brought up my supposed attachment to the actor Ninomiya Kazunari. As our last topic had been about my current work with Director Miike, I was shocked at the change of discussion, and became unable to react to the question instantly. I felt suddenly, distressingly, blank, and I could swear the cameras knew. The set lights, the staff, the oppressive collar of the dress I was wearing, all contributed to the constricting feeling that was tugging at my chest. “Ninomiya and I are just friends,” I heard myself explain, with the hint of a nervous chuckle. “Really old friends though, that bit is true. We have dinner once in a while, with our other friends, when our schedules fit.”
“Then that picture of the both of you at a restaurant is real?”
My mind clicked to stock footage of my back and that of Kazu’s, lounging side by side on a restaurant counter, appearing to be thoroughly enjoying our conversation. The last time I had spoken to him about this, some six or more months ago, he had told me to ignore it, that his agency would just blow it over for the both of us. “I’m amazed you still remember that! But yes, we had dinner that evening. We met with some of our mutual friends - one of them runs the restaurant, that’s why we gathered there.”
“I’m interested in the connection between you two though. Have you ever acted together with Ninomiya?”
“We met through a common acquaintance.” The words came out like a mantra, and I never thought I’d have to explain you this way. It got me thinking that perhaps I should talk to Kazu about collaborating, sometime soon. Maybe then people would stop asking us how we came to be such good friends, and leave you alone. “I first met him when I was in high school, so I’ve known him quite a while.”
“Can you tell us something interesting about Ninomiya Kazunari?”
A no-brainer, I wanted to say. “He’s really good at magic. When we meet up for dinner, he always has a new trick for me to try. And I remember, when I was introduced to him, the first words he said to me were, ‘Pick a card.’”
“I didn’t know that! It doesn’t fit his image, does it? I’ve always seen him portraying heavy roles on television, so I wasn’t expecting such a cute side of him at all!”
“No, please don’t say that!” I laughed, but inside I was tearing up. They had no right to say this about Kazu. They didn’t know anything about him. “There’s more to him than the side he shows in his dramas.” But I realized I was afraid to say more. I wasn’t even sure what Kazu thought of me divulging this much - it was quite possible that he wanted to maintain his privacy. Maybe he wanted to keep you a secret as well. “I’d like to collaborate with him soon though. Maybe when his schedule frees up I can talk to him about it.”
“What theme would you like to work on, if you could choose?”
A theme? If I had to consider Kazu’s recent exposure, it might need to involve guns and aliens, which I wasn’t too keen on. If it were up to me to decide, really, there was only one thing that jumped right out of my options. “Maybe something about friendship would be nice. Something set in the summer. I think he might agree to that-”
I paused.
The sting had slowly dulled over the years, but somehow I still felt guilty when I thought this way. Was it wrong of me to remember you like this? In each role, each story, that face would swim into my vision, and I couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to, and I was scared to, but I couldn’t help it. “And maybe a bit of romance.”
__
August 2002
It had been a starless summer evening, that barbecue with Sho. We gathered on the rooftop of your prison, you, bullied into a white tuxedo, and me, a skirt around my cast. The smoke we fanned towards the tranquil sky was slow, languid and tame. “You’re fanning it too lazily,” I had heard you scolding Sho, before you stole his spot by the grill and sent him on his way.
The others had been laughing when he came to stand beside me. Cup in hand, eyes on the ground below, I didn’t feel the need to talk, and as expected he had a way of knowing. Together, we watched the last of the day shift nurses leave for home, and waited for the sun to set. He had drained the last of his wine, had wrapped a soft smile for me, and in the glow of the lightening sky I thought he looked content. It was then I had the urge to ask him, “You guys are Johnny’s right? You debut was in Hawaii, on a boat.”
An odd flash flickered in his eyes. “We used to be, but Nino’s the only one in entertainment now. Why? Don’t tell me you haven’t spoken with Jun about this?”
I glanced at you, flicking something off your suit. To anyone else you might have seemed like you were having a good time, but I knew, behind that smile, you were scared this night would be over too soon. “I had a feeling he wouldn’t want to talk about it. You guys disbanded, right? About a year ago?”
“You know quite a lot about us. I didn’t think you were the stalking type.”
“I might have seen your debut on TV. It was interesting, the boat.”
Sho sighed, taking another shot at his cup before he realized it was empty. His eyebrows meeting, gaze downcast, he played with the thoughts in mind, deciding, choosing, which phrase would suffice in our situation. “About a year after our debut, MatsuJun resigned from Johnny’s. We couldn’t understand why - it was so sudden. Quitting had never been a possibility, not for him.”
“And then you found out he was sick?”
“Not yet.” He shook his head, and I thought I saw his fist clench, the cup cracking in his hand. “The President tried to fix things, so we took in new members and tried to keep things going. But without MatsuJun, things were different. Somehow, it was as if we were pushing ourselves too hard, knowing all the while our efforts were useless.”
With a bitter smile, the one I had come to associate with him and him only, he gestured towards you. “When the four of us tried to talk to him about it, convinced we could get him to come back, we found out he was in this hospital. We came together, you know, and we saw him together, after months. I remember being so scared that he’d changed so much. He may look outwardly healthy now, but those early months of treatment were a nightmare. None of us could stand seeing him like that.”
“And it seemed,” he sighed, a hand on his nose, eyes half-shut in deep thought, “that in time with his lifeline, we were losing the drive to keep going. Maybe Arashi wasn’t meant to go on, like we’d hoped. I’m sure I wasn’t alone in thinking this. We started quitting, one by one. And when it was just me and Nino left, he resigned from the agency and I quit entertainment.” Another smile. “And the rest, I’m sure you know.”
Sho, your older brother by heart, was speaking to me with his eyes, willing me to ask no more. At that moment, seeing him and the burden he was carrying without complaint, I deeply wished he would cry. Just cry. Maybe then I could do something for him. Maybe then we could share how we felt and make dealing with the pain much easier.
But the tears would come late. Much too late.
__
December 2002
“Why did you stop modeling?”
It was Christmas, and I thought you had been watching the snow fall outside. We were in your room, you in bed, and I had started peeling apples just as your mother had gone out. The lights I had brought the week before were up, but the eerie contrast of the reds and greens on your face chased off all Christmas cheer. The knife stopped in my hand. “I guess I just lost my inspiration. You know how these things are. Mothers tell their kids to audition for so-and-so, but when they pass they get pushed to hard - hard enough to quit.”
I could hear a Christmas tune from the room next door; through the wall and the snow, it sounded awfully dry. You hadn’t frowned, but I could see the disapproval on your face. “Your mother only wants what’s best for you. Inspiration is a state of mind.”
“I’m afraid in my case it isn’t.” You had taken the apple I offered, but we both knew it wouldn’t interest you. But I reached to peel another, just in case. “My best friend, Yumi, she really wants to be a model. She was the one who dragged me to my first audition, and even after I quit, she still kept trying out for magazines. I’m amazed at how she never gives up. It would be nice to be like that.”
You turned the apple over. “I’m sure you’d make it through any audition you choose.”
“You really like the entertainment industry then?” I hoped my voice hadn’t gone too soft, as I was sure that would incite you. Eyes back on the knife, it is. “Do you like modeling? Acting?”
“It’s being in Arashi that I like.” The first smile I had seen that day. “There were a lot of times when I didn’t understand what we were doing, or why, but I pushed on anyway. Because I felt that, in everything, I had four other people who were rooting for me, and four other people I would be rooting for. With just that thought, I could go on, move on.”
I set the knife down. Perhaps I’d take the other apple for myself. “You can still move on, Jun.”
“We both know that isn’t happening,” you had laughed, without malice. A soft sigh, your eyes gentle as that winter’s wind, and the next moment you were munching the apple. “I think I’ve started to hate all this waiting. My life had never really been exciting, before this, but it hadn’t been as slow. I’ve come to the point where all I feel is that I’m merely existing, and maybe-”
The door had opened; your mother was back. But she was sweet, and simply smiled, and left us to talk as she busied herself with dinner. I had thought, as I sometimes still think, that I would have wanted to have a mother like that. Or maybe share a mother like that with you. “You know some people make the world a better place just by existing?”
You looked up at me, and I remember how hard I had tried to smile. I saw your fingers clench around your apple, saw but didn’t understand the haze in your eyes. “Yes, sometimes I do think that.” You reached over and tugged the apple in my hand, pulling my fingers away.
I had always wanted to ask. Had I reached you then? When I tried to hold your hand in return?
__
September 2009
I had missed the sound of Masaki’s chimes.
He had called a week before that evening, cheery and innocent as always, practically demanding that I turn up at his door without fail on one special night, and informing me the others would be coming as well. I had tried to beg off, to postpone the dinner some other date, but for the first time since I had known him, Masaki had put his foot down. “It has to be that evening,” his intent was clear, even through the cracked line. “Don’t even try to send a gift to make up for it. You have to be there. We need you. Jun needs you.”
Parking in front of his restaurant on the appointed day, I had been inwardly grumbling at how petty it was to use you against me. Had he begged nicely enough, I would have gone either way, and your name wouldn’t have had to come up. I had been thinking in this vein as I stepped through the door, the chimes and wooden threshold doing nothing to soothe the nostalgia, when I walked in on Masaki and Satoshi by the kitchen counter.
I had thought I had seen most sides of them by then, but their tear-stained eyes gently proved me wrong.
“What happened?” Tears had often provoked panic in me, and this time, I found, was no different. I had forgotten my irritation, my instincts taking over, too quickly that I failed to note the sake bottles scattered across the counter. “What’s wrong? What happened? Where are the others? Did something happen?”
“Aah, Sachi.” Masaki uselessly tried to wipe his eyes with his apron. Satoshi didn’t even try to hide, and merely sent a watery smile my way. “You’re late. We should have started an hour ago.”
“Actually, an hour and fifteen minutes ago.” There was a giant clock on the wall in his kitchen, but then Masaki had never been the type to consider minor details of that kind. Slowly, almost groggily, I took the stool beside Satoshi, and tried to gather my wits. “Seriously, what’s wrong? Were you guys crying?”
“Oh, you know.” Masaki sniffed - or maybe hiccupped, I couldn’t tell. “We were talking about Arashi, and how it was when we first started, how we were all so young then, and how ten years later, we’re here. Ten years ago, on this day - or maybe it was yesterday, I might not have converted properly - Arashi was born. And well, Satoshi and I, we got talking about how great it is that ten years later we’re all still friends. That we have you! And well, Jun’s not here with us tonight, but-”
“Jun’s here with us tonight,” Satoshi stated with conviction. His expression was so serious I would have thought he was sober, had his eyes not been dancing. “He’s always been with us. I’m sure he’s always been watching over us-”
“Aww, Leader, please don’t say that! I know it’s Jun we’re talking about here, but still!”
“Hang on, I might be missing something.” I had never been told the reason behind the invitation, and for that I had assumed Masaki simply missed everybody too much. Had it really been ten years since? It was that moment, one of a painful few, that reinforced in me the belief that I would never be a part of Arashi, no matter how much I thought I understood them. “It’s your anniversary tonight then? Arashi’s?”
“Yes! And Sho and Kazu are late, but I’m sure they’ll arrive eventually, they’re just really busy people-”
“Thank you.” I couldn’t help it. “Thank you so much for inviting me to share tonight.”
“Sachi, you’re so weird!” Masaki was drunk, and I’m sure Satoshi was, too, and that made me tear up even more at how thoughtful they could be, even when intoxicated. “You’re part of Arashi! You’re the sixth member of Arashi! You’re Arashi’s only fan!” He hiccupped, and dazedly pulled his apron off. “To Sachi, Arashi’s most loyal fan!”
“Cheers!” I heard myself toast, picking up the nearest sake cup and raising it, blinded by mad amusement. “To Arashi’s self-proclaimed number one fan! Me! Ahhh, Masaki, I think something may be burning behind you-”
“Oh crap, that’ll be the tuna!”
“But, Sachi, you know,” Satoshi turned a gentle smile on me, and patted my hand once, “thank you, as well. For being a good friend, and a good fan. We’ll be in your care in the years to come.”
I hadn’t even been drunk then, but I was already blinking back tears. That familiar Chinese restaurant, an image from several years past, was crawling into my consciousness again. Damn that Satoshi. “There’s just one of me though. I can’t support all of you, even if I’d give it my all-”
“There may be just one of you but,” he swayed quite alarmingly, but the smile in his face remained, “every time I think we could have had fans as great as you are, I don’t regret anything. Just the thought that one person, out there, believes in you with all of her heart, makes life lots better, right?”
“I’m sure it does,” was all I could sniff out. Watching Satoshi, eyes half-closed, and Masaki, fanning dark smoke in his highly disorganized kitchen, I wanted to say being a fan wasn’t that difficult. Anyone, I was sure, would love my boys as ardently as I did, the moment they got past the walls and the pain and the memories. I wanted to say that.
But I could not translate it in words. So I picked up a bottle, and smiled.
___
April 2003
Mother had begged me not to see you. But then, she had already pleaded for too many things - for me to audition at this and that, to date my father’s bosses’ sons, to volunteer for the student council - and even as I’d fulfill each wish over time, her appreciation of me never changed. Maybe, I had often found myself thinking, I would always just be the pretty daughter she could boast about in the neighborhood, during conversations with other housewives, or over waiting lines at the dry cleaner’s. Moments like these, when I heard her talk, I wanted to curse my face, and wish I had been born plain. You had told me once that she just wanted what was best for me, but to this day, I find that hard to believe. About modeling though, I’m glad I had listened to your advice. It had brought me back, after you.
The day I passed for Non-No, I ran half the way to tell you. It was spring, and as I raced under rows of pink blossoms, the asphalt crisp and resonant at my feet, I felt like a film heroine. Maybe I’d try acting next, I had considered, and already I was thinking of roles I knew you’d like. Something from the Restoration, or maybe even older than that. With these thoughts in my head, my feet flew, and I was almost out of breath, sweating, when I ran into your father.
That had been our first meeting.
He had greeted me so nicely, and through gasps, I was thinking what a gentle family you had. You must be Sachi, he had kindly said, in a baritone that was not at all like your voice. Jun talked about you all the time. Thank you for taking care of him until now.
I had bowed the best I could. There had been something about what your father had said that bothered me immensely. I’m sorry for prying, Sir, but did you just come from visiting Jun? Why are you visiting him now? When all these months you never came by in the daylight? Is his mother with him right now?
He smiled once again. How his face resembled yours, I must have thought through my worries. His mother must be with his sister right now. The truth is, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but-
“It’s all right,” I pre-empted him. I’ll just dash upstairs and say hi. I followed his advice, you see, Sir, and I got accepted into this really popular magazine, and I just wanted him to know. If I could just- I’m sure it will cheer him up, just a bit-
I’m sure it would have cheered him up, your father told me patiently. But you need not worry about him now. I’m sure he would have been happy for you. Truly.
I was half-set on running up that flight of stairs, running to your bedside, holding your hand and talking on and on, without end, about how happy I was to be working again. I wanted to see you, and express my thanks, and listen to your advice about which things to do next, which agencies to consider working with, which celebrities to befriend, and such. Maybe your mother would smile her gentle smile again, and maybe your sister would come with her usual boisterous entrance, a gift or two in her arms. And maybe, just maybe, you’d smile at me, or frown or me, or tell me I wasn’t thinking things too thoroughly, and I was being stupid. I just desperately wanted to hear your voice. Telling me, Sachi, try to smile when I’m gone all right? You’ll never be a good model if you can’t even manage a smile.
I had wanted to tell you I’d risked the first step, the first rung on the ladder you had envisioned for me. “I just want to tell him I got my first magazine job,” I might have said through the tears, but your father had smiled so kindly then, I wasn’t sure I grasped what he said. He’s gone on, child. I might as well tell you not to seek him anymore.
And I knew you wouldn’t be up there. I should have known the weather was too good to be true.
“I won’t have to tell him the news then,” I laughed, so faintly, and your father only kept smiling at me. He was just standing there, keys in his hand, when I realized, your going must have been even harder for this man. I was not making things easier, persisting on about this. “I’m sure Jun would have known about the job offer anyway. He once said I could pass any magazine audition I choose.”
Because you are beautiful, he said, and your frank, open manner, the one I saw just as clearly in him made the tears rush back once more. Jun sure knows how to pick his friends. A laugh. Or he knew how to, I should say-
“I’m sorry, Sir, but I have to keep going.” My condolences for your loss. This loss. Brushing at some fresh errant drops with the sleeve of my uniform, I tried for one last smile. “Maybe I’ll just find the rest of Arashi.” Do you mind if I tell them what you just told me?
He shook his head no, smile never wavering. I was scared to be there, when this mask would break. I didn’t want to be there, I realized, to comfort this stranger whose son had meant too much to me. I’ll be off then, I had said with a brisk, formal bow. It was the last time I spoke with your father, that fine afternoon one spring. I have held your mother many times, since then, each embrace with a hint of desperation, as though each touch we exchanged was a touch meant to reach for you.
Perhaps it is why we always fall short of comforting each other.
__
November 1999
You walk into the corridor, vaguely aware of a huddle of boys standing in one corner, bent over something you cannot see. As you inch forward, palms sweating almost visibly, you realize Yumi’s nervousness is starting to get to you, and you wonder why you got her to talk you into auditioning anyway. Is it really all right to venture into something you are only half-interested in? You shake your head to clear your thoughts, but find it does no good anyway.
You best friend had asked for a can of Coke, before dashing into the ladies’ to most probably hurl, and sometime during your search for a vending machine you had also started thinking of getting one for yourself. But when you reach the magic miracle box, you see none of the goodies you want are there for the taking. Of all the days when they’d run out of calming supply, it had to be your decisive one. Or, at least, Yumi’s special one. You exhale sharply and lean your head on the cold metal box that’s troubling you. Then you try to convince yourself Coke would be bad for your digestion anyway, before stopping when you realize it’s not working, again.
You suddenly sense someone popping up at your side, and when you look, it’s one of the boys. He has fair, distinct chiseled features, rather abominable teeth, and a head of fluffy dark hair. He holds out a can of Coke. Hesitantly, you accept the offering, but still mumble something about having wanted two. He blinks, confused, before another boy taps his shoulder and reminds him they should be on standby now.
The intruder bows at you, as do the others who pass by, but your stranger merely steals one final glance before walking away. You are gazing after them with curious eyes, positive you have seen them somewhere else before, when someone speaks from behind you. “He probably wanted to talk to you, in case you’re wondering.”
You turn and find another one, his hair in curly strings of black, eyes unnaturally piercing. “You’re wondering why he gave you that, right? It’s probably because he wanted to talk to you. I’d give you mine as well, but-” He shakes the can in his hand, shrugs at the empty note it rings, before he aims for the trash bin and misses. “Anyway, the five of us recently debuted in a group called Arashi. I’d introduce all of us, but you’re probably most intrigued by just one, right?” The smile on his face is one of smug amusement. “We’ll be in your care from now on. Please support us.”
He bows, and you bow, and you keep your head low, Coke to your chest, even as he starts walking away. Just as you lift your head, however, mind still trying to make sense of your conversation, the footsteps stop. “Just so you don’t research anymore, his name is Matsumoto Jun. Please remember that from here on.” He continues walking, whistling a striking tune. And you are left simply standing there, taken.
__
End.
_______________________________________________________________________
A/N
Just dropping a quick line, at the end of this story, to thank you for having made it this far. I hope it didn’t melt you with its excessive mushiness. If you’d like, kindly comment on this one-shot, Wallflower. I may or may not alter it, but I will do my best to take each comment with as much care as possible. Salamat!