"The Lost: Butterfly Squashed", part 1 of 2
Title: The Lost: Butterfly Squashed
Part: 1/2
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): Sho/Jun, Nino/Ohno, Aiba/Becky, Toma/Kato Ai
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence
Summary: All of this could have been, all of this should have been, all of this would have been yours.
Notes: Yeah, we can't stay away. Happy (late) zombie apocalypse day. Your authors are fond of chaos theory but don't do the whole science thing.
One // a.
He and Koyama were folding sheets when Nurse Ogawa poked her head in the laundry room. “Got a blinking light in 216.”
Koyama grinned. “Iijima-san.”
“Yep,” the nurse said. That meant it wasn’t an emergency. Iijima-san tended to call for a nurse because he wanted company, not because he’d fallen or needed help in the bathroom.
Kame couldn’t blame the old man. It had to be lonely in a place like this. Some of the residents weren’t all that coherent. Iijima-san was still sharp as a tack, but his wife had passed several years back, and his children rarely visited. Why not show him a little respect?
Kame tossed the sheet at Koyama, who just rolled his eyes. “I got him.”
“He likes you better anyway!”
Nurse Ogawa stood aside. “Don’t you spoil him. No special treatment, Kamenashi. Every resident is equal.”
But not every resident cared enough to learn his name, ask about his family, ask about his dreams for the future. It made coming to work at a place like this every day a lot easier.
He knocked before sliding the door open. “Iijima-san, you pushed your button?”
The old man was sitting in his chair by the window. “Kazuya-kun, my radio.”
“You want me to turn it on?”
“Could you?” Iijima-san looked a little glum, probably because of the overcast day. It was a pretty rainy May.
He nodded, flipping the switch.
“...Alzheimer’s medication that would slow the onset of dementia was canceled today due to risk factors involved in...”
Kame switched on the baseball game. “Ham Fighters?”
“Ham Fighters,” Iijima-san repeated with a smile. He pulled the other chair across the linoleum to sit beside the old man. “How are you today, Kazuya-kun?”
He stretched. “Can’t complain. Have a date tonight.”
“Oh really?” the old man said, twinkle in his eye. “Catch yourself a pretty one?”
“You bet.” He didn’t really need to tell Iijima-san that she was just a girl from his high school. It was kind of hard to find a girlfriend when you told them you changed old people’s diapers and helped them feed themselves every day. Altruism didn’t pay for designer bags and fancy dinners.
Iijima watched the rain fall, and Kame listened to it churn in the building gutters or splatter on the roof. “Don’t spend your whole date talking about baseball, Kazuya. Nothing made Naoko more angry than when I’d talk about baseball at the dinner table.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a grin.
The man seemed to light up entirely when he spoke about his wife. They’d been married for fifty-six years before she’d passed away. Kame didn’t know if he’d ever get married at all at the rate he was getting dates. It was definitely a different way of life nowadays. Well. Maybe someday. He had his whole life ahead of him anyhow.
Iijima ruffled his hair a bit. Kame hoped he’d washed his hands after his last bathroom visit. “If you want to talk baseball, you talk to me.”
“I’ll remember that, sir,” he said.
“Now turn the radio up,” Iijima held up a coin. “500 yen says the Ham Fighters pull off a win today.”
He smiled. “You’re on.”
--
Two // a.
"You know what? We should start a band."
And Ueda just laughed, snorting into the foam of his beer, like Jin had said something hilarious (which Jin was pretty sure he hadn't, because it was a damn good idea, just like all of his ideas were).
"No, I'm serious," he said. "We should start a band. And have an awesome name! We could be like, the next Mr. Children or something."
"Akanishi, you barely know how to play the guitar."
Jin frowned into his drink, willing the ice cubes to melt under the intense heat of his gaze. "Minor details. I'm a very quick learner."
"What about school?" Ueda asked. His fingers were folding the cocktail napkin into delicate, tiny squares, like miniature origami creations that wouldn't stay in the position he put them in.
The letter was in Jin's back pocket, wrinkled and smushed between his wallet and a post-it with some girl's phone number that he vaguely remembered as being cute. He'd thrown away the envelope, but he couldn't bring himself to throw away the actual letter- even the stationary was official. An official rejection.
More like an official failure.
"I'll have a lot of time to learn to play," he said, side-stepping the question as best he could after three drinks and counting. "Really, I'm good. You should hear me. And you're good with music- we could write all our own songs."
Ueda was silent for a few minutes. The bartender- who was male, pity- was busy making an order of shots for some giggling girls that were probably only barely old enough to get in the doors, and the guy beside Jin was half-passed out on his arm and nearly falling off his stool. The atmosphere was just as it always was, and usually Jin liked that. Usually he craved it- the ability to get lost in the crowd, to drown himself if he wanted.
But he just thought back to the letter in his pocket, the seal and the signature and the words expulsion from the University of Central Tokyo due to continuously poor grades stamped into his mind like a brand. He'd always be branded with that.
"You know, college isn't for everyone," Ueda said, finally, and he didn't say anything else, nor did he need to. He'd figured it out on his own, just like he figured everything out. Jin didn't really mind; his friend wouldn't press it. Jin liked that about Ueda.
"So what do you think?" Jin asked. "We should do it. Come on, we should totally do it."
Ueda ducked his head, but Jin could see the beginning of a smile there, quirking one corner of his mouth upwards a bit, even hidden behind long bangs. "Well..."
"I know a dude who plays keyboard, really well," Jin continued. The more he thought about it, the more the excitement bubbled over in his chest. It was like hot air, rising up to his throat. He wondered if it would start spilling out from his tongue, too. "I could ask him to help. I know he would."
"You can't write music," Ueda said.
"I can!" Jin argued. He leaned so far over his shoulder hit the rim of his glass, which clinked against the bar top. "I can even write songs in English. I'll show you!"
He put one hand in the air like he was conducting an opera and cleared his throat. "Your red lips, they shine like... cherries," he warbled, and Ueda smacked him hard on the shoulder (that would bruise later) to shut him up when people started to look over in their direction.
"Oh, god!" Ueda laughed. He looked like he was trying to hide behind the folded napkin he'd been working on. "I'm going to have to check all lyrics that you write, aren't I?"
Jin didn't even care that there was an insult there; he was more concerned with the agreement he could hear nestled between the lines. "So you're in? You have to do this with me!"
"Yeah, okay, okay," his friend batted him away when Jin started to clutch at Ueda's sleeve.
Suddenly, the fact that he was no longer a university student didn't seem to matter as much. School couldn't help him be a singer- and Jin wanted to perform. He wanted to sit in front of an audience with his guitar and watch their faces light up. He wanted to have panties thrown at him on stage. He wanted to drive around in a limo with suit-clad details that had earpieces in.
"We are going to be so famous," he sighed, happily.
"Well, we are also going to be totally broke," Ueda said. "But listen. I know a guy who knows a guy who works at a club. Hole in the wall kind of place, but if we get something going, maybe he'll put in a good word for us there and we can play it."
Jin motioned the bartender over for another round. "A real gig?"
"A real small gig," Ueda clarified. Even when he was rolling his eyes, he looked pleased- Jin could see the flush of excitement on his cheeks.
"Awesome." And it was. Jin took a swig of his newly refreshed drink, enjoying the burn that traveled all the way down to his navel. "We need a kick-ass name."
"You're an idiot."
Jin frowned. "That's a terrible name. How about... The Panty Droppers."
"Grow up," Ueda snorted. "No."
"Skeet Fly Boys."
"Absolutely not."
"The Wonder Dicks! Come on, that's good!"
Ueda groaned loudly. "Keep this up, and I'm quitting the band before we've even begun."
"Fine, whatever," Jin sighed. "Lame-o. We'll figure out a name later, then."
Ueda held his glass in the air expectantly, and Jin raised his own, keeping it an inch away. "To the unnamed band, then," Ueda toasted.
The glasses rang loudly as they clinked them together.
"To the band," Jin echoed, and didn't even try to stop the grin he knew was splitting his face. "This is totally going to work."
--
Three // a.
"Happy New Year!"
Toma just laughed, giving Tanaka a high five. "Not yet! You're still early!"
A streamer hit him in the face, and he brushed it away. He was trying to figure out how to get through the crowd of laughing, dancing people without actually running into anyone and inadvertently spilling a drink or something. He also really wanted some of the mini-pretzels he could see people eating.
"Just getting warmed up!" Tanaka yelled, and Toma could barely hear it over the music playing. He hadn't really expected the office party to be such a big thing, but leave it to the president to pull out all the stops. It had been such a good year, after all- their stocks had soared.
Fingers closed around his wrist, and he turned to see Ai. The pink gloss on her lips was glittering in the lights.
"Hey," Toma said, and he felt suddenly stupid, like he was 12-years-old again, all gangly and awkward.
"Hi," she breathed.
After a long moment, she released his wrist, but didn't stop smiling. "You look beautiful," he told her, even though he felt kind of stupid saying it.
"Thank you." And then she was tugging at his elbow, leading him through the throng of celebrating people towards the front. Towards the long table of food and the punch bowl, and President Kato who was wearing his nicest suit. "My father is about to start his little thank you speech."
They stopped in the front of the crowd, and Ai gave her father a little wave.
"Thank you all for coming to celebrate the new year with us!" President Kato said, and the room quieted instantly as he held his hands out. The man was powerful, but he'd been very gracious to Toma- and he'd done so much for the company, created so many jobs and really held the place together. He was a remarkable leader, and Toma respected him.
"We are so happy that you are all a part of the Kato Restaurant Solutions family," the man continued. "This year looked shaky for awhile, but we pulled through. Because we are strong, and we band together!"
There was some applause from the crowd, and then Toma heard Tanaka shout from the back of the room, "It helps that Domoto dropped out of the running for the new chain supplier!"
Then there was laughter, even from President Kato, who pointed to Tanaka even as he was grinning. "That's right! Never underestimate how luck can help you stay on top! And don't look a gift horse in the mouth; when things go in your favor, take advantage of them!"
Ai's hand slipped in Toma's.
"So, as a special thank you to all our employees, please enjoy the refreshments that have been prepared for you, and," President Kato eyed Tanaka, "the open bar, which will take care of you all for the rest of the night."
Another round of applause, this one accompanied by whoops and cheers, and Toma turned to Ai.
"I really want to get some pretzels," he told her seriously.
She smacked him on the arm. "Always thinking with your stomach!"
"Well, it's a party!" he laughed. He hop-skipped out of her reach when she tried to do it again and managed to score a handful of crackers, half of which immediately broke and slipped between his fingers. It was nearly midnight, so he maneuvered the both of them through the back doors to the patio, with a view of the lake lying just beyond the railing and the fireworks barge ready to be launched.
"Everybody get ready for the new year!" Tanaka cried out, and noise makers sounded out throughout the hall. Ai slipped under Toma's arm and he pulled her in closer, crunching on his pretzels as the countdown started.
"10, 9, 8, 7-"
Ai's elbows knocked against Toma's ribs a bit, but he didn't mind it. From behind the punch bowl, President Kato gave Toma a slight nod, and Toma bowed his head a bit back.
"6, 5, 4-"
He could see the light of the flames on the barge, the smoldering fuses.
"3, 2, 1! Happy new year!"
Toma pulled Ai up and kissed her. When he pulled away, her face was lit up by the fireworks exploding in the sky overhead, bursts reflected in her eyes. "Happy new year," he told her.
"Happy new year," she whispered back.
--
Four // a.
The outfit was itchy on account of it being one of the spares. Since he wasn’t a regular employee here at the auditorium, they hadn’t exactly had one ready for him. Jun would have preferred to be home sleeping. Science, engineering and the business school had already graduated in the morning, and it was time for the afternoon session to get underway.
It had been 6:30 in the morning when Mao-chan had called, near hysterical. She’d been scheduled to usher for graduation, but her grandmother had fallen and broken a hip and the whole family was driving up to Sendai that day. Jun was too nice sometimes, but she was going to let him keep the pay for working both ceremonies so at least he’d have a bit more money coming in.
He just didn’t want to be there. Humanities and social sciences graduated in the afternoon session, grad students included. He just hadn’t realized until he’d gotten there and glanced through the program. It was stupid to have looked through it at all. Why was he still thinking about something that had happened a year ago? Why couldn’t he just move on?
Why couldn’t he stop his stomach from twisting when he saw ‘Sakurai Sho’ listed under the economics department? Sho would walk across the stage that afternoon, but so would a few hundred other students. Once the audience was seated, he didn’t have to stay. He just had to get the doors open at the end to ensure people left in an orderly fashion.
There’d been countless times he’d wanted to confront his senpai, to ask what he’d done wrong. Sure, they’d been drunk that night, but Sho had reciprocated, hadn’t he? There was no way he’d been completely unaware of what he’d been doing. He shook his head and took a stack of graduation booklets as a few more parents came filing in.
“We’re leaving the first eight rows empty for the graduating students, but please sit wherever else you’d like,” he said politely, handing a booklet to each person. “Please silence your mobile phones for the duration of the ceremony.”
He’d run away, hadn’t shown up to keep studying. He’d gone and changed his major right away because there was no way he could face Sakurai ever again. Now the guy was graduating, and his dad probably already had a fancy job lined up for him. He was privileged after all.
This was the last time he’d ever have to see Sho. But this was also the last opportunity he’d ever get to see Sho. Would Sho smile as he crossed the stage? Or would he be solemn and stoic, shaking hands with the faculty like the adult he always believed he was?
“Please silence your mobile phones for the duration of the ceremony,” he told the next parents coming in, almost robotic at this point after saying it so many times.
The ceremony started, and Jun could have stayed in the hall, wandering around, not having to sit through boring speeches. He stayed, back against the wall by the lefthand side doors.
The auditorium was full of proud parents, happy families, friends. And then there was Jun, watching it all and wishing somehow that he could do it all over again. Wishing he could pass that exam and go out for drinks with Sho. Stumble back to campus to kiss and fumble around before getting back to his room.
And this time, he vowed, this time he’d wake up before Sho snuck away. He’d get some kind of answer. Even if it was rejection, at least he’d have an answer instead of an empty bed, still warm where Sho had fallen asleep.
“Sakurai Sho,” he heard. He’d been able to drown out all the other names.
He watched as Sho walked across the stage (he’d gone for stoic), listened to the polite applause. He couldn’t tell where Sho’s family was sitting - they weren’t cheering louder than anyone else. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Jun that Sho’s family wasn’t boisterous or loud.
The ceremony came to a close shortly thereafter, and Jun obediently did Mao-chan proud by ensuring that all the guests left in an orderly, thoughtful queue. He turned in the uniform and received a great deal of thanks for filling in at such short notice. Now he could go home.
When he made it to the student union, that’s when Sho saw him. It was only briefly - Sho was posing for photographs outside with a young woman and a boy. They looked just like him, so it must have been siblings. Sho paused and stared, and the man with the camera (his father?) chided Sho for ruining the shot.
In the split second of recognition, Jun saw more than he’d wanted to see. It was like having the same conflicting thoughts mirrored back. Was it shock, remorse, embarrassment? Did Sho want to turn back the clock too?
But then Sho turned back to his family, mumbling a sheepish apology and plastering on a smile. A fake one. Even after a year, he could tell. Jun looked away and headed for the train station.
There was no going back. He’d never see Sho again. It was over.
--
Five // a.
Only an hour left, Ohno thought happily. These late night shifts were keeping him from going on early morning fishing trips, but at least the customers were far more interesting. When he worked the day shift, it was usually salarymen who expected him to ring them up faster than humanly possible so they could catch their train. Or it was little old ladies counting out the change they could use to pay for things.
But at night, the combini seemed to come alive. Well, when there were people in the store. Most of the time it was quiet, which gave him plenty of time to daydream or count the coins in the register a few times while he listened to the radio. When there were customers though, they would buy dirty magazines, baby food and batteries together. They’d get condoms and liquor and a single pack of gum. Idol magazines and melon bread. Ohno didn’t judge any of them. He was just interested in how shopping changed once the sun went down.
The mirror by his cashier station showed a young woman looking through fashion magazines and a couple giggling by the energy drinks. A young man entered a minute later, and he hadn’t been to the store before. Well, Ohno thought, maybe he had, but not when he’d been working before.
Alright, so he didn’t have the best memory. But he would have probably recognized someone like that, someone with sharp eyes making a beeline for the plastic-wrapped hamburgers. Not too many people headed straight for the plastic-wrapped hamburgers after midnight.
He rang up the girl’s fashion magazines, nearly dropping her change when he saw the hamburger guy had an armful already and was nearly clearing out the rack. The couple left without buying anything. He wanted to ask the guy if he needed a basket but before he could, he deposited the dozen or so hamburgers on the counter. And then he went back for more.
This was different.
The young man returned with a few more, and one bag of potato chips.
“Would you like me to microwave any of them for you?” he asked.
He looked up, seeming a bit scatterbrained. “I’m sorry?”
Ohno held up one of the packages. “Your hamburger. I can heat one up for you.”
“Oh.” He shook his head and looked embarrassed. “No, no, that’s fine, thanks.”
He scanned them all for a total of eighteen hamburgers. It was a lot of hamburgers. “That’ll be 3510, please.”
The guy dug out his wallet. “I’m moving soon.”
“Oh?” Ohno wasn’t sure how hamburger talk led to moving talk, but again, it was after midnight.
“To America.”
The guy handled his money very cautiously, digging around for the change and setting each coin down as if he was mentally subtracting it from his bank account. Ohno didn’t think about things like his bank account until it was time to pay rent, and then he thought about things like how he probably shouldn’t have bought that extra paintbrush.
“For work?”
“For film school.”
The guy was thoughtful enough to pay in exact change. “Really? Are you going to make movies?”
“Here’s hoping,” the guy said, eyes watching Ohno’s hands deposit each hamburger into a bag. Well, it took two bags when all was said and done. “So are you going to ask?”
Ohno blinked. “Ask what?”
“Why I bought so many hamburgers. Don’t you want to know?”
He did. He really did want to know. But he didn’t want to pry into customers’ lives. He didn’t want people to judge him based on his own purchases after all. “You like hamburgers from the convenience store?”
“I guess you could say that,” the guy answered, leaning an elbow against the counter. “I do like them.”
Nobody else had come into the store, so it wasn't like there was a big line forming. “So that’s it? You like them?”
He rustled the plastic bags a little. “Yeah.”
It was one of the most surreal conversations he’d ever had, but somehow, seeing the guy with his bags of hamburgers made him smile. Work rarely made him smile. It rarely made him feel anything. This guy was interesting. It was too bad he was moving.
“Well, I’m off, have a good night,” the guy said, heading for the door.
He couldn’t help asking. “Um, excuse me?”
The guy turned. “Yeah?”
“I hope you do well in America. If you make any movies, what name should I look for?”
The guy blushed a bit. “Oh. Well. Ninomiya.”
“Okay. Then I’ll be cheering you on.” Ohno wondered if Ninomiya would make movies about hamburgers. Or maybe about convenience stores.
“Thanks.”
By the time he got to his apartment, he was kicking himself. He’d forgotten the guy’s name.
--
Six // a.
“She’s going to be angry when I don’t take her out to eat, Mom,” he complained. “What the hell am I supposed to tell her? Paychecks don’t just disappear.”
“Masaki...”
He adjusted the phone as he looked over his shoulder to change lanes. “It’s my entire Christmas bonus, too. Maybe I should have waited until her birthday...”
“Masaki!”
He sighed, seeing the sign for the exit. There was no turning back now. Well, actually, all he had to do was turn the car around and forget the whole thing. “Yeah?”
“It’s going to be fine. She loves you and not your paycheck. She’s going to say yes.”
He took the exit anyhow, against his better judgment. “Well, even if she does, I’m not so sure about him. They’re different in Europe, right?”
“I don’t see what him being foreign has to do with it.” It sounded like his dad was shouting something in the background. “Your father says he’d be very impressed if he was in Mr. Vaughn’s place right now.”
“Yeah, well, Dad doesn’t have daughters.” Three red lights, and he’d be at the store. “Look, Mom, I’m going to hang up.”
“Good luck, honey. We’re cheering for you over here. And for goodness sake, your shirt better be tucked in.”
The phone line went dead, and he grumbled under his breath. A tucked in shirt was the least of his worries. He parked, seeing customers going in and out of the store. And he kept watching customers going in and out for half an hour before finally getting the courage to get out of the car. Of course, he got his jacket caught in the door.
Little chimes went off as the door slid open, and he entered the shop. Oh, it was even worse now. He could smell fresh fruit, citrus straight up his nose, and he wanted to run. This was probably the scariest thing he’d ever done. Riding rollercoasters and that bungee trip after high school were nothing compared to this.
Sure, he’d met Becky’s mom several times but never her dad. Some relative or other back in the UK had passed away, and for most of the time they’d been together, her father was back home dealing with estate transfers. But the timing had worked out this time - but would it be in his favor? He wasn’t too sure.
He realized he’d been standing in the middle of one of the aisles for a few minutes, staring at some kiwi fruit. This wasn’t working. He headed for the cashier. He just had to get this over with. Becky’s younger sister was working as a cashier and gave him a confused look.
“Aiba-chan, what are you doing here?”
“Um, is your dad here?”
She nodded, and her eyes were just as green as Becky’s. “Yeah, he’s in back. Why?”
“Could I talk to him?”
“Should I ring up the kiwi first?”
He stared down. Without realizing it, he’d grabbed a few. He set them down and shook his head. “I...no, I didn’t...uh...no.”
She smiled, waving another customer forward. “My mom’s back by the apples. Why don’t you go talk to her?”
It seemed like he was going to speak with every member of the family, but he had to get used to it, didn’t he? He shoved his hands in his pockets before he picked up any more fruit out of nervousness. He could feel the little velvet case there, but it wasn’t giving him a lot of courage. Sure enough, Becky’s mom was arranging some bright red apples in the rear of the store.
“Masaki-kun, Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, bowing his head slightly and feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.
“It’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am, thanks for remembering.”
She had a look in her eyes. Could she see right through him? Did she know why he was there? Then again, why else would he drive all the way down to Yokohama on a work day?
“Can I help you with something?”
“I was actually...I was wondering...” He looked down. His shirt was tucked in, thank god. “Could I please speak with your husband? It’s important.”
Her eyes were nearly sparkling now. Yeah, she was totally on to him. But the fact that she was smiling and not looking horrified was a good thing, right? “You looking to invest in the fruit business?”
“Um...no...”
She squeezed his arm. “I know, I know. Sweetheart, that was a joke. Let me go tell him you’re here.”
Becky’s mother entered the office, going through the door marked ‘Private,’ and he was alone. He went over the words again and again. Two months of practice, and there was no way he was going to get it right when it counted. He was going to screw up. He was going to say it all wrong, the man was going to tell his daughter not to date such an idiot (let alone marry him), and it was going to be all over.
“Masaki-kun?”
He followed Mrs. Vaughn into the office, seeing her husband sitting behind a desk looking...well, looking intimidating. He looked rather serious as he got to his feet, and Becky’s mother left them alone. Mr. Vaughn said nothing, merely shaking his hand and gesturing for him to have a seat.
“I’ll stand, sir,” he muttered as Mr. Vaughn sat down, leaning back in his chair. His face had...well, it had no expression whatsoever, and that was scarier than if he would have looked pissed off.
He tried to banish Japanese from his head, willing the words to come to him. English, Masaki. English!
“I...my name is Masaki. No. You wait. My...my name is Masaki Aiba, I am boyfriend of Becky’s, of Rebecca’s, okay?”
Mr. Vaughn nodded.
“Okay.” He hurriedly pulled the little jewelry box from his pocket, and it went scattering across the man’s desk. Becky’s father held it up, and he took it back with shaking fingers. “Sir, I...I would like to...marrying...” What the hell was it again? “Would like to have please your permission to marrying. Marrying Rebecca. I would please...”
“You’re asking my permission to marry Becky?” the man asked calmly in perfect English. Well, obviously it was perfect, wasn’t it?
“Yes!” he blurted out. “I...sorry, very nervous.” He took out a business card and set it down on the desk. “I working full time so I can take the care of Rebecca. I working in science laboratory, large company in food industry. Testing food, I do this.”
Mr. Vaughn took the business card and examined it.
“Also, I...I love...” This was embarrassing enough in Japanese. English just made it worse. Oh god, he was sweating now. “I love Rebecca. Very much. I love her so much, Mr. Vaughn, I...I loving her and taking the care of her the rest of my life, okay?”
Mr. Vaughn nodded for him to continue. Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he smiling? What had Becky’s mother said before showing him in?
He opened the ring box and set it down. “I would please marrying Rebecca. Wait. I will please be asking Rebecca, um, tomorrow. Tomorrow I asking but not unless I have permission of father. Um, uh, wait. I asking only with permission of you, okay?”
And that was when Mr. Vaughn got up. Aiba shrank as the man came around the desk to stand in front of him.
“Look at me,” he commanded in English. He looked up and where he expected fury or rage or disbelief or even laughter, Mr. Vaughn was smiling. Wait, he was smiling?!
Aiba nearly fainted when the man grabbed his hand and started to shake it.
His smile - it was the same as Becky’s, big and teasing.
Aiba didn’t expect to hear his native tongue seconds later.
“You could have asked in Japanese, Aiba-kun."
Part: 1/2
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): Sho/Jun, Nino/Ohno, Aiba/Becky, Toma/Kato Ai
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence
Summary: All of this could have been, all of this should have been, all of this would have been yours.
Notes: Yeah, we can't stay away. Happy (late) zombie apocalypse day. Your authors are fond of chaos theory but don't do the whole science thing.
One // a.
He and Koyama were folding sheets when Nurse Ogawa poked her head in the laundry room. “Got a blinking light in 216.”
Koyama grinned. “Iijima-san.”
“Yep,” the nurse said. That meant it wasn’t an emergency. Iijima-san tended to call for a nurse because he wanted company, not because he’d fallen or needed help in the bathroom.
Kame couldn’t blame the old man. It had to be lonely in a place like this. Some of the residents weren’t all that coherent. Iijima-san was still sharp as a tack, but his wife had passed several years back, and his children rarely visited. Why not show him a little respect?
Kame tossed the sheet at Koyama, who just rolled his eyes. “I got him.”
“He likes you better anyway!”
Nurse Ogawa stood aside. “Don’t you spoil him. No special treatment, Kamenashi. Every resident is equal.”
But not every resident cared enough to learn his name, ask about his family, ask about his dreams for the future. It made coming to work at a place like this every day a lot easier.
He knocked before sliding the door open. “Iijima-san, you pushed your button?”
The old man was sitting in his chair by the window. “Kazuya-kun, my radio.”
“You want me to turn it on?”
“Could you?” Iijima-san looked a little glum, probably because of the overcast day. It was a pretty rainy May.
He nodded, flipping the switch.
“...Alzheimer’s medication that would slow the onset of dementia was canceled today due to risk factors involved in...”
Kame switched on the baseball game. “Ham Fighters?”
“Ham Fighters,” Iijima-san repeated with a smile. He pulled the other chair across the linoleum to sit beside the old man. “How are you today, Kazuya-kun?”
He stretched. “Can’t complain. Have a date tonight.”
“Oh really?” the old man said, twinkle in his eye. “Catch yourself a pretty one?”
“You bet.” He didn’t really need to tell Iijima-san that she was just a girl from his high school. It was kind of hard to find a girlfriend when you told them you changed old people’s diapers and helped them feed themselves every day. Altruism didn’t pay for designer bags and fancy dinners.
Iijima watched the rain fall, and Kame listened to it churn in the building gutters or splatter on the roof. “Don’t spend your whole date talking about baseball, Kazuya. Nothing made Naoko more angry than when I’d talk about baseball at the dinner table.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a grin.
The man seemed to light up entirely when he spoke about his wife. They’d been married for fifty-six years before she’d passed away. Kame didn’t know if he’d ever get married at all at the rate he was getting dates. It was definitely a different way of life nowadays. Well. Maybe someday. He had his whole life ahead of him anyhow.
Iijima ruffled his hair a bit. Kame hoped he’d washed his hands after his last bathroom visit. “If you want to talk baseball, you talk to me.”
“I’ll remember that, sir,” he said.
“Now turn the radio up,” Iijima held up a coin. “500 yen says the Ham Fighters pull off a win today.”
He smiled. “You’re on.”
--
Two // a.
"You know what? We should start a band."
And Ueda just laughed, snorting into the foam of his beer, like Jin had said something hilarious (which Jin was pretty sure he hadn't, because it was a damn good idea, just like all of his ideas were).
"No, I'm serious," he said. "We should start a band. And have an awesome name! We could be like, the next Mr. Children or something."
"Akanishi, you barely know how to play the guitar."
Jin frowned into his drink, willing the ice cubes to melt under the intense heat of his gaze. "Minor details. I'm a very quick learner."
"What about school?" Ueda asked. His fingers were folding the cocktail napkin into delicate, tiny squares, like miniature origami creations that wouldn't stay in the position he put them in.
The letter was in Jin's back pocket, wrinkled and smushed between his wallet and a post-it with some girl's phone number that he vaguely remembered as being cute. He'd thrown away the envelope, but he couldn't bring himself to throw away the actual letter- even the stationary was official. An official rejection.
More like an official failure.
"I'll have a lot of time to learn to play," he said, side-stepping the question as best he could after three drinks and counting. "Really, I'm good. You should hear me. And you're good with music- we could write all our own songs."
Ueda was silent for a few minutes. The bartender- who was male, pity- was busy making an order of shots for some giggling girls that were probably only barely old enough to get in the doors, and the guy beside Jin was half-passed out on his arm and nearly falling off his stool. The atmosphere was just as it always was, and usually Jin liked that. Usually he craved it- the ability to get lost in the crowd, to drown himself if he wanted.
But he just thought back to the letter in his pocket, the seal and the signature and the words expulsion from the University of Central Tokyo due to continuously poor grades stamped into his mind like a brand. He'd always be branded with that.
"You know, college isn't for everyone," Ueda said, finally, and he didn't say anything else, nor did he need to. He'd figured it out on his own, just like he figured everything out. Jin didn't really mind; his friend wouldn't press it. Jin liked that about Ueda.
"So what do you think?" Jin asked. "We should do it. Come on, we should totally do it."
Ueda ducked his head, but Jin could see the beginning of a smile there, quirking one corner of his mouth upwards a bit, even hidden behind long bangs. "Well..."
"I know a dude who plays keyboard, really well," Jin continued. The more he thought about it, the more the excitement bubbled over in his chest. It was like hot air, rising up to his throat. He wondered if it would start spilling out from his tongue, too. "I could ask him to help. I know he would."
"You can't write music," Ueda said.
"I can!" Jin argued. He leaned so far over his shoulder hit the rim of his glass, which clinked against the bar top. "I can even write songs in English. I'll show you!"
He put one hand in the air like he was conducting an opera and cleared his throat. "Your red lips, they shine like... cherries," he warbled, and Ueda smacked him hard on the shoulder (that would bruise later) to shut him up when people started to look over in their direction.
"Oh, god!" Ueda laughed. He looked like he was trying to hide behind the folded napkin he'd been working on. "I'm going to have to check all lyrics that you write, aren't I?"
Jin didn't even care that there was an insult there; he was more concerned with the agreement he could hear nestled between the lines. "So you're in? You have to do this with me!"
"Yeah, okay, okay," his friend batted him away when Jin started to clutch at Ueda's sleeve.
Suddenly, the fact that he was no longer a university student didn't seem to matter as much. School couldn't help him be a singer- and Jin wanted to perform. He wanted to sit in front of an audience with his guitar and watch their faces light up. He wanted to have panties thrown at him on stage. He wanted to drive around in a limo with suit-clad details that had earpieces in.
"We are going to be so famous," he sighed, happily.
"Well, we are also going to be totally broke," Ueda said. "But listen. I know a guy who knows a guy who works at a club. Hole in the wall kind of place, but if we get something going, maybe he'll put in a good word for us there and we can play it."
Jin motioned the bartender over for another round. "A real gig?"
"A real small gig," Ueda clarified. Even when he was rolling his eyes, he looked pleased- Jin could see the flush of excitement on his cheeks.
"Awesome." And it was. Jin took a swig of his newly refreshed drink, enjoying the burn that traveled all the way down to his navel. "We need a kick-ass name."
"You're an idiot."
Jin frowned. "That's a terrible name. How about... The Panty Droppers."
"Grow up," Ueda snorted. "No."
"Skeet Fly Boys."
"Absolutely not."
"The Wonder Dicks! Come on, that's good!"
Ueda groaned loudly. "Keep this up, and I'm quitting the band before we've even begun."
"Fine, whatever," Jin sighed. "Lame-o. We'll figure out a name later, then."
Ueda held his glass in the air expectantly, and Jin raised his own, keeping it an inch away. "To the unnamed band, then," Ueda toasted.
The glasses rang loudly as they clinked them together.
"To the band," Jin echoed, and didn't even try to stop the grin he knew was splitting his face. "This is totally going to work."
--
Three // a.
"Happy New Year!"
Toma just laughed, giving Tanaka a high five. "Not yet! You're still early!"
A streamer hit him in the face, and he brushed it away. He was trying to figure out how to get through the crowd of laughing, dancing people without actually running into anyone and inadvertently spilling a drink or something. He also really wanted some of the mini-pretzels he could see people eating.
"Just getting warmed up!" Tanaka yelled, and Toma could barely hear it over the music playing. He hadn't really expected the office party to be such a big thing, but leave it to the president to pull out all the stops. It had been such a good year, after all- their stocks had soared.
Fingers closed around his wrist, and he turned to see Ai. The pink gloss on her lips was glittering in the lights.
"Hey," Toma said, and he felt suddenly stupid, like he was 12-years-old again, all gangly and awkward.
"Hi," she breathed.
After a long moment, she released his wrist, but didn't stop smiling. "You look beautiful," he told her, even though he felt kind of stupid saying it.
"Thank you." And then she was tugging at his elbow, leading him through the throng of celebrating people towards the front. Towards the long table of food and the punch bowl, and President Kato who was wearing his nicest suit. "My father is about to start his little thank you speech."
They stopped in the front of the crowd, and Ai gave her father a little wave.
"Thank you all for coming to celebrate the new year with us!" President Kato said, and the room quieted instantly as he held his hands out. The man was powerful, but he'd been very gracious to Toma- and he'd done so much for the company, created so many jobs and really held the place together. He was a remarkable leader, and Toma respected him.
"We are so happy that you are all a part of the Kato Restaurant Solutions family," the man continued. "This year looked shaky for awhile, but we pulled through. Because we are strong, and we band together!"
There was some applause from the crowd, and then Toma heard Tanaka shout from the back of the room, "It helps that Domoto dropped out of the running for the new chain supplier!"
Then there was laughter, even from President Kato, who pointed to Tanaka even as he was grinning. "That's right! Never underestimate how luck can help you stay on top! And don't look a gift horse in the mouth; when things go in your favor, take advantage of them!"
Ai's hand slipped in Toma's.
"So, as a special thank you to all our employees, please enjoy the refreshments that have been prepared for you, and," President Kato eyed Tanaka, "the open bar, which will take care of you all for the rest of the night."
Another round of applause, this one accompanied by whoops and cheers, and Toma turned to Ai.
"I really want to get some pretzels," he told her seriously.
She smacked him on the arm. "Always thinking with your stomach!"
"Well, it's a party!" he laughed. He hop-skipped out of her reach when she tried to do it again and managed to score a handful of crackers, half of which immediately broke and slipped between his fingers. It was nearly midnight, so he maneuvered the both of them through the back doors to the patio, with a view of the lake lying just beyond the railing and the fireworks barge ready to be launched.
"Everybody get ready for the new year!" Tanaka cried out, and noise makers sounded out throughout the hall. Ai slipped under Toma's arm and he pulled her in closer, crunching on his pretzels as the countdown started.
"10, 9, 8, 7-"
Ai's elbows knocked against Toma's ribs a bit, but he didn't mind it. From behind the punch bowl, President Kato gave Toma a slight nod, and Toma bowed his head a bit back.
"6, 5, 4-"
He could see the light of the flames on the barge, the smoldering fuses.
"3, 2, 1! Happy new year!"
Toma pulled Ai up and kissed her. When he pulled away, her face was lit up by the fireworks exploding in the sky overhead, bursts reflected in her eyes. "Happy new year," he told her.
"Happy new year," she whispered back.
--
Four // a.
The outfit was itchy on account of it being one of the spares. Since he wasn’t a regular employee here at the auditorium, they hadn’t exactly had one ready for him. Jun would have preferred to be home sleeping. Science, engineering and the business school had already graduated in the morning, and it was time for the afternoon session to get underway.
It had been 6:30 in the morning when Mao-chan had called, near hysterical. She’d been scheduled to usher for graduation, but her grandmother had fallen and broken a hip and the whole family was driving up to Sendai that day. Jun was too nice sometimes, but she was going to let him keep the pay for working both ceremonies so at least he’d have a bit more money coming in.
He just didn’t want to be there. Humanities and social sciences graduated in the afternoon session, grad students included. He just hadn’t realized until he’d gotten there and glanced through the program. It was stupid to have looked through it at all. Why was he still thinking about something that had happened a year ago? Why couldn’t he just move on?
Why couldn’t he stop his stomach from twisting when he saw ‘Sakurai Sho’ listed under the economics department? Sho would walk across the stage that afternoon, but so would a few hundred other students. Once the audience was seated, he didn’t have to stay. He just had to get the doors open at the end to ensure people left in an orderly fashion.
There’d been countless times he’d wanted to confront his senpai, to ask what he’d done wrong. Sure, they’d been drunk that night, but Sho had reciprocated, hadn’t he? There was no way he’d been completely unaware of what he’d been doing. He shook his head and took a stack of graduation booklets as a few more parents came filing in.
“We’re leaving the first eight rows empty for the graduating students, but please sit wherever else you’d like,” he said politely, handing a booklet to each person. “Please silence your mobile phones for the duration of the ceremony.”
He’d run away, hadn’t shown up to keep studying. He’d gone and changed his major right away because there was no way he could face Sakurai ever again. Now the guy was graduating, and his dad probably already had a fancy job lined up for him. He was privileged after all.
This was the last time he’d ever have to see Sho. But this was also the last opportunity he’d ever get to see Sho. Would Sho smile as he crossed the stage? Or would he be solemn and stoic, shaking hands with the faculty like the adult he always believed he was?
“Please silence your mobile phones for the duration of the ceremony,” he told the next parents coming in, almost robotic at this point after saying it so many times.
The ceremony started, and Jun could have stayed in the hall, wandering around, not having to sit through boring speeches. He stayed, back against the wall by the lefthand side doors.
The auditorium was full of proud parents, happy families, friends. And then there was Jun, watching it all and wishing somehow that he could do it all over again. Wishing he could pass that exam and go out for drinks with Sho. Stumble back to campus to kiss and fumble around before getting back to his room.
And this time, he vowed, this time he’d wake up before Sho snuck away. He’d get some kind of answer. Even if it was rejection, at least he’d have an answer instead of an empty bed, still warm where Sho had fallen asleep.
“Sakurai Sho,” he heard. He’d been able to drown out all the other names.
He watched as Sho walked across the stage (he’d gone for stoic), listened to the polite applause. He couldn’t tell where Sho’s family was sitting - they weren’t cheering louder than anyone else. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Jun that Sho’s family wasn’t boisterous or loud.
The ceremony came to a close shortly thereafter, and Jun obediently did Mao-chan proud by ensuring that all the guests left in an orderly, thoughtful queue. He turned in the uniform and received a great deal of thanks for filling in at such short notice. Now he could go home.
When he made it to the student union, that’s when Sho saw him. It was only briefly - Sho was posing for photographs outside with a young woman and a boy. They looked just like him, so it must have been siblings. Sho paused and stared, and the man with the camera (his father?) chided Sho for ruining the shot.
In the split second of recognition, Jun saw more than he’d wanted to see. It was like having the same conflicting thoughts mirrored back. Was it shock, remorse, embarrassment? Did Sho want to turn back the clock too?
But then Sho turned back to his family, mumbling a sheepish apology and plastering on a smile. A fake one. Even after a year, he could tell. Jun looked away and headed for the train station.
There was no going back. He’d never see Sho again. It was over.
--
Five // a.
Only an hour left, Ohno thought happily. These late night shifts were keeping him from going on early morning fishing trips, but at least the customers were far more interesting. When he worked the day shift, it was usually salarymen who expected him to ring them up faster than humanly possible so they could catch their train. Or it was little old ladies counting out the change they could use to pay for things.
But at night, the combini seemed to come alive. Well, when there were people in the store. Most of the time it was quiet, which gave him plenty of time to daydream or count the coins in the register a few times while he listened to the radio. When there were customers though, they would buy dirty magazines, baby food and batteries together. They’d get condoms and liquor and a single pack of gum. Idol magazines and melon bread. Ohno didn’t judge any of them. He was just interested in how shopping changed once the sun went down.
The mirror by his cashier station showed a young woman looking through fashion magazines and a couple giggling by the energy drinks. A young man entered a minute later, and he hadn’t been to the store before. Well, Ohno thought, maybe he had, but not when he’d been working before.
Alright, so he didn’t have the best memory. But he would have probably recognized someone like that, someone with sharp eyes making a beeline for the plastic-wrapped hamburgers. Not too many people headed straight for the plastic-wrapped hamburgers after midnight.
He rang up the girl’s fashion magazines, nearly dropping her change when he saw the hamburger guy had an armful already and was nearly clearing out the rack. The couple left without buying anything. He wanted to ask the guy if he needed a basket but before he could, he deposited the dozen or so hamburgers on the counter. And then he went back for more.
This was different.
The young man returned with a few more, and one bag of potato chips.
“Would you like me to microwave any of them for you?” he asked.
He looked up, seeming a bit scatterbrained. “I’m sorry?”
Ohno held up one of the packages. “Your hamburger. I can heat one up for you.”
“Oh.” He shook his head and looked embarrassed. “No, no, that’s fine, thanks.”
He scanned them all for a total of eighteen hamburgers. It was a lot of hamburgers. “That’ll be 3510, please.”
The guy dug out his wallet. “I’m moving soon.”
“Oh?” Ohno wasn’t sure how hamburger talk led to moving talk, but again, it was after midnight.
“To America.”
The guy handled his money very cautiously, digging around for the change and setting each coin down as if he was mentally subtracting it from his bank account. Ohno didn’t think about things like his bank account until it was time to pay rent, and then he thought about things like how he probably shouldn’t have bought that extra paintbrush.
“For work?”
“For film school.”
The guy was thoughtful enough to pay in exact change. “Really? Are you going to make movies?”
“Here’s hoping,” the guy said, eyes watching Ohno’s hands deposit each hamburger into a bag. Well, it took two bags when all was said and done. “So are you going to ask?”
Ohno blinked. “Ask what?”
“Why I bought so many hamburgers. Don’t you want to know?”
He did. He really did want to know. But he didn’t want to pry into customers’ lives. He didn’t want people to judge him based on his own purchases after all. “You like hamburgers from the convenience store?”
“I guess you could say that,” the guy answered, leaning an elbow against the counter. “I do like them.”
Nobody else had come into the store, so it wasn't like there was a big line forming. “So that’s it? You like them?”
He rustled the plastic bags a little. “Yeah.”
It was one of the most surreal conversations he’d ever had, but somehow, seeing the guy with his bags of hamburgers made him smile. Work rarely made him smile. It rarely made him feel anything. This guy was interesting. It was too bad he was moving.
“Well, I’m off, have a good night,” the guy said, heading for the door.
He couldn’t help asking. “Um, excuse me?”
The guy turned. “Yeah?”
“I hope you do well in America. If you make any movies, what name should I look for?”
The guy blushed a bit. “Oh. Well. Ninomiya.”
“Okay. Then I’ll be cheering you on.” Ohno wondered if Ninomiya would make movies about hamburgers. Or maybe about convenience stores.
“Thanks.”
By the time he got to his apartment, he was kicking himself. He’d forgotten the guy’s name.
--
Six // a.
“She’s going to be angry when I don’t take her out to eat, Mom,” he complained. “What the hell am I supposed to tell her? Paychecks don’t just disappear.”
“Masaki...”
He adjusted the phone as he looked over his shoulder to change lanes. “It’s my entire Christmas bonus, too. Maybe I should have waited until her birthday...”
“Masaki!”
He sighed, seeing the sign for the exit. There was no turning back now. Well, actually, all he had to do was turn the car around and forget the whole thing. “Yeah?”
“It’s going to be fine. She loves you and not your paycheck. She’s going to say yes.”
He took the exit anyhow, against his better judgment. “Well, even if she does, I’m not so sure about him. They’re different in Europe, right?”
“I don’t see what him being foreign has to do with it.” It sounded like his dad was shouting something in the background. “Your father says he’d be very impressed if he was in Mr. Vaughn’s place right now.”
“Yeah, well, Dad doesn’t have daughters.” Three red lights, and he’d be at the store. “Look, Mom, I’m going to hang up.”
“Good luck, honey. We’re cheering for you over here. And for goodness sake, your shirt better be tucked in.”
The phone line went dead, and he grumbled under his breath. A tucked in shirt was the least of his worries. He parked, seeing customers going in and out of the store. And he kept watching customers going in and out for half an hour before finally getting the courage to get out of the car. Of course, he got his jacket caught in the door.
Little chimes went off as the door slid open, and he entered the shop. Oh, it was even worse now. He could smell fresh fruit, citrus straight up his nose, and he wanted to run. This was probably the scariest thing he’d ever done. Riding rollercoasters and that bungee trip after high school were nothing compared to this.
Sure, he’d met Becky’s mom several times but never her dad. Some relative or other back in the UK had passed away, and for most of the time they’d been together, her father was back home dealing with estate transfers. But the timing had worked out this time - but would it be in his favor? He wasn’t too sure.
He realized he’d been standing in the middle of one of the aisles for a few minutes, staring at some kiwi fruit. This wasn’t working. He headed for the cashier. He just had to get this over with. Becky’s younger sister was working as a cashier and gave him a confused look.
“Aiba-chan, what are you doing here?”
“Um, is your dad here?”
She nodded, and her eyes were just as green as Becky’s. “Yeah, he’s in back. Why?”
“Could I talk to him?”
“Should I ring up the kiwi first?”
He stared down. Without realizing it, he’d grabbed a few. He set them down and shook his head. “I...no, I didn’t...uh...no.”
She smiled, waving another customer forward. “My mom’s back by the apples. Why don’t you go talk to her?”
It seemed like he was going to speak with every member of the family, but he had to get used to it, didn’t he? He shoved his hands in his pockets before he picked up any more fruit out of nervousness. He could feel the little velvet case there, but it wasn’t giving him a lot of courage. Sure enough, Becky’s mom was arranging some bright red apples in the rear of the store.
“Masaki-kun, Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, bowing his head slightly and feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.
“It’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am, thanks for remembering.”
She had a look in her eyes. Could she see right through him? Did she know why he was there? Then again, why else would he drive all the way down to Yokohama on a work day?
“Can I help you with something?”
“I was actually...I was wondering...” He looked down. His shirt was tucked in, thank god. “Could I please speak with your husband? It’s important.”
Her eyes were nearly sparkling now. Yeah, she was totally on to him. But the fact that she was smiling and not looking horrified was a good thing, right? “You looking to invest in the fruit business?”
“Um...no...”
She squeezed his arm. “I know, I know. Sweetheart, that was a joke. Let me go tell him you’re here.”
Becky’s mother entered the office, going through the door marked ‘Private,’ and he was alone. He went over the words again and again. Two months of practice, and there was no way he was going to get it right when it counted. He was going to screw up. He was going to say it all wrong, the man was going to tell his daughter not to date such an idiot (let alone marry him), and it was going to be all over.
“Masaki-kun?”
He followed Mrs. Vaughn into the office, seeing her husband sitting behind a desk looking...well, looking intimidating. He looked rather serious as he got to his feet, and Becky’s mother left them alone. Mr. Vaughn said nothing, merely shaking his hand and gesturing for him to have a seat.
“I’ll stand, sir,” he muttered as Mr. Vaughn sat down, leaning back in his chair. His face had...well, it had no expression whatsoever, and that was scarier than if he would have looked pissed off.
He tried to banish Japanese from his head, willing the words to come to him. English, Masaki. English!
“I...my name is Masaki. No. You wait. My...my name is Masaki Aiba, I am boyfriend of Becky’s, of Rebecca’s, okay?”
Mr. Vaughn nodded.
“Okay.” He hurriedly pulled the little jewelry box from his pocket, and it went scattering across the man’s desk. Becky’s father held it up, and he took it back with shaking fingers. “Sir, I...I would like to...marrying...” What the hell was it again? “Would like to have please your permission to marrying. Marrying Rebecca. I would please...”
“You’re asking my permission to marry Becky?” the man asked calmly in perfect English. Well, obviously it was perfect, wasn’t it?
“Yes!” he blurted out. “I...sorry, very nervous.” He took out a business card and set it down on the desk. “I working full time so I can take the care of Rebecca. I working in science laboratory, large company in food industry. Testing food, I do this.”
Mr. Vaughn took the business card and examined it.
“Also, I...I love...” This was embarrassing enough in Japanese. English just made it worse. Oh god, he was sweating now. “I love Rebecca. Very much. I love her so much, Mr. Vaughn, I...I loving her and taking the care of her the rest of my life, okay?”
Mr. Vaughn nodded for him to continue. Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he smiling? What had Becky’s mother said before showing him in?
He opened the ring box and set it down. “I would please marrying Rebecca. Wait. I will please be asking Rebecca, um, tomorrow. Tomorrow I asking but not unless I have permission of father. Um, uh, wait. I asking only with permission of you, okay?”
And that was when Mr. Vaughn got up. Aiba shrank as the man came around the desk to stand in front of him.
“Look at me,” he commanded in English. He looked up and where he expected fury or rage or disbelief or even laughter, Mr. Vaughn was smiling. Wait, he was smiling?!
Aiba nearly fainted when the man grabbed his hand and started to shake it.
His smile - it was the same as Becky’s, big and teasing.
Aiba didn’t expect to hear his native tongue seconds later.
“You could have asked in Japanese, Aiba-kun."