Three Weeks on Waikiki
Description: A hard worker's long-deserved business vacation and a con man's freewheeling business adventure bring Kiku Honda and Alfred F. Jones together in the "Paradise of the Pacific." One-shot. Slight romance.
I do not own Hetalia, nor did I own Hetalia when I wrote my first story (because I forgot to put in a disclaimer for that one, and I'm saying it now so wild Internet savages won't chase me down).
Without further ado, here is a favorite duo of mine in a favorite place of mine!
Kiku Honda stared at his boss. His entire mind was as blank as the printer paper used in the offices. A vacation? He blinked, faintly trying to remember the last time he had taken a break from his job. A few bleary seconds later it came to him—the second year he had joined this company, he had spent a paid week in South Korea. Wait, no, that was wrong. He had been communicating with a marketing agent over there, hadn't he? Did it count? He had left Tokyo. Still, it was a long time ago.
Kiku's boss was saying something else, showering him with praise and telling him that his time off was well-deserved and his work would be completely covered. Kiku found it difficult to listen over his thinking. He respected his boss, a laid-back Californian, but wasn't exactly sure why she had come to him with this. If he wanted a break from work, he was in a high enough position to take one.
It struck him. The last true vacation he had taken was a two-week stay in Kyoto. A month before he had started working for Sony.
"So," his boss finished. "Will you take it?"
Kiku looked at her. Confusion wrapped around his mind again. "I—I don't know. I'm not sure if I should."
She huffed and softened her voice. He had to strain to understand her accented Japanese. "Listen, Honda. You're a great worker, okay? And you've done some good stuff lately, real good stuff. You need this. Just think of all the places you could go! Have you ever seen Brazil in the spring, or toured the Great Pyramids? The Parthenon? Ayers Rock? It's good to see the world before we get too old, you know?"
Kiku contemplated for a few seconds. He realized with a sinking feeling what was happening. His boss was concerned about his unrivaled work ethic. Sure, he put in long hours and always made sure his signature looked neat on the papers he signed, but wasn't that what one was supposed to do to survive in a free market economy?
After some hesitation, he said, "Thank you for your concern. But—"
The woman's eyes lit up. "Honda, please! For God's sake, take the vacation!" She laughed, and it sounded a bit nervous, though Kiku knew it was only to lighten the mood and assure him she wasn't angry with him. It was a strange tactic to get him to agree with her.
Brazil, Egypt, Greece…
Kiku nodded, without pausing this time. "Okay, then, I accept. When should I leave?"
He felt better as his boss's face lit up, obviously relieved. Had he really been working that hard? She seemed almost scared for him. Maybe he did need a trip elsewhere. But where, elsewhere? As she passed him a paper with the details, Kiku began to brainstorm.
He had been given three weeks off. It was humorous that he had complete discretion over what he spent the days doing; he could just stay right in his Tokyo apartment, sleeping in. But he did not want to do that, he wanted to make the most of his holiday. Egypt was too far. Brazil sounded nice, but something still turned him off about it. Maybe South Korea again? He thought he remembered liking it there.
It was uncomforting that he had no idea what he was going to do.
"Have a nice time!" called his boss as Kiku left her office. "Thank goodness," she mumbled to herself.
"I'm tellin' ya, ma'am. Totally safe, real good for your digestive system. And delicious!" Alfred took a bite to demonstrate. He swallowed the cardboard lump, trying his best to keep the smile on his face and the tears from his eyes. Either his miracle recipe was pure crap or he wasn't as good of a cook as he thought. Maybe even both. At least he knew what flavor was, and could accurately judge that this thing had none.
The elderly woman strapped next to him wasn't convinced by his flawless act. "Is selling food even allowed on a plane?" she whined, loudly.
Alfred quickly glanced to see if any of the attendants had heard. He laughed lightly when he saw no one was paying them any attention. "Of course it is! What do you think this is, some kind of…some kinda…" He didn't know what he was saying anymore.
She put a gnarly hand on his thigh. "Sorry, dear, I'll have to make a pass on this one."
Ya don't say! Alfred thought-screamed, jerking his leg away. The old woman had already leaned back in her seat and was falling asleep.
He turned to look out the window, feeling miserable. It was so cramped inside this box. Normally he found flying exciting, but flights to Hawaii were hella long. He couldn't even see the beautiful blue ocean beneath the thick layer of clouds, which was totally lame. The sun was getting too bright, so Alfred pulled down the shade and sat in silence. After a few minutes, he attempted to play around on the touchscreen device planted into the back of the seat in front of him, creaming "Passenger142" and "Your Name" at In-Flight Trivia. He considered watching a movie, but the free selection wasn't too spectacular and he felt he couldn't focus for long enough.
Finally, and after confirming the lady next to him was out cold, he decided to go through his plan. He hoisted his carry-on rucksack onto his lap and dug through a few sewn-in secret pockets to find the folder he needed. In it was his ultimate master list. Now that the Miracle Health Bar had failed, he had to make a replacement.
T. Jeff's Original NIce-Cream had always been something he wanted to try. He had gotten (stolen) the idea from visiting Mount Rushmore a couple years ago.
Cloudy Eye, his homemade knockoff eyeshadow mixture that contained SPF 15 would probably not do too bad considering where he was headed.
Knorfoon-sticks!, the knife-fork-spoon-chopsticks contraption that he only had a plastic, taped-together prototype of so far, Alfred wasn't sure about.
After Insta-Sleeves, Umbrella Gutterz and Magic in an Egg, the list ended. That was all he had.
Alfred sat back in his seat, suddenly less confident about himself. None of these inventions would get him anywhere. He needed something new—a breakthrough. It had to be great. Also, it had to be legal, because he liked Hawaii and wanted to be able to keep coming back.
He quietly slipped the list back into its folder, concealing it in his bag once more. Pulling the passenger-issued red blanket over him, Alfred went back to tapping on the screen on the back of the seat in front of him. A flight attendant came around with a cart, and he ordered a Pepsi with cookies. To his dismay, the Miracle Health Bar tasted better than the cookies. Alfred decided to watch a better of the bad movies, and it wasn't long before he had dozed off into a peaceful sleep.
Kiku was surprised at how out-of-place he didn't feel in this "Aloha State" of America. He had chosen the island chain because of its proximity to his home; in case his workplace needed him back, or if he got tired of touring, he could be home with a few hours gained. He also heard Hawaii was a popular destination, and, okay, was influenced by his boss's nationality.
Kiku could find his way out of the Honolulu International Airport by reading signs in his own language, and after waiting thirty minutes to rent a car, Kiku was flattered to have his translations done by a kind woman (who could also speak Korean, Chinese, and native Hawaiian—the other languages advertised on the island) instead of awkwardly stumbling through the bit of English he knew. He was feeling so good that he drove the vowel-happy streets with windows down, the radio buzzing with calming ukelele music. The ocean wind combed easily through his thick black hair, and when he watched the palm tree-studded sidewalks, he wasn't astounded to see that most of the pedestrians had black hair like him, too. Everything was colorful and aromatic, from the concrete flower bowls to the breezy flower shirts to the rainbows on the license plates. And not to mention the majesty of the green-covered mountains…
Perhaps Kiku had needed this vacation after all. He looked around at the perfect example of American multiculturalism and realized how dull his life had been before. Sure, his work was fast-paced and his company innovative, but here, the only thing that seemed to matter was enjoying oneself.
It was afternoon when Kiku reached his hotel, peaked on the edge of the famous Waikiki beach. He was assaulted by a kind bellhop and a kind chauffeur who quickly zapped his car and his luggage out of sight while he waited in a long line to pick up the key for the room he had reserved. It had been expensive, but Kiku had been delighted to find out he could afford it due to his job, and was even more delighted when he opened his room's curtains and was presented with maybe one of the most impressive views he had ever seen.
The sky rumbled with wind, and a blue void was all he could see if he looked straight out. A gaze downwards granted him with a bed of palm trees, and then the strip of white beach, crowded with people. Kiku even saw a few tiny surfers who dared venture out into the territory of those foamy waves. The sun dripped low in the sky, pink and yellow bands flashing off of it into the long gray clouds.
He needed to be out there. He needed to be on that beach. The feeling was indescribably giddy.
Kiku made quick work of unpacking his small hotel room, leaving the deck doors open so the curtains could blow in and he could hear the plethora of voices that drifted up from the sands below. He changed into swimming shorts, throwing a loose t-shirt over his head and shoving his feet into sandals. He was astonished to find that the shoes were actually a little too small. Did he really never go to the beach? Kiku shook his head in the mirror and almost laughed out loud at himself before remembering his dignity.
He brought along a plain white beach towel, swinging it casually over his shoulder, sunglasses, and his wallet. He didn't need much more, he thought, but to be out there.
It was a short walk from the hotel to the beach, following a sidewalked path across an intersection and between two buildings, deliciously green vegetation and a trail of sand leading the way. He emerged right upon the beach. It was narrower than he had realized but he was here and all he needed to do now was relax. He felt so silly.
Kiku walked a distance along the waterline with his shoes off first, toes digging into the sand, which was just the right temperature. Waves splashed rhythmically against his ankles. Kiku settled down beneath the shade of a palm tree somewhat near a vendor area; ocean salt and delicious fried food smells tinged the air. He stretched his towel out and then tentatively took off his shirt, exposing violently white skin. Too late to be self-conscious now. With shaded eyes and the calmest disposition in the world, Kiku lay down.
When he woke up many hours later, he realized it had all been a trap. An elaborate trap designed by nature to put an end to Kiku's conflicting (as of late) life. The palm tree's shadow had betrayed him, moving just ever so slightly throughout the afternoon to expose Kiku to the violent rays of the sun. That was the first thing he noticed—that his innocent, unprotected chest was now painted a shade of pink some would call fashionable. How had he forgotten to apply sunscreen? Had he been in such a delirious vacation haze that he had lost all common sense?
Kiku sat up and soon noticed the second thing—it had been a bad, bad idea to fall asleep with only this thin towel protecting him from the sand beneath. Crumbly sediment was spread everywhere about him, and because of the way it had mounded up beneath his bed, Kiku now had a demonic backache.
The third thing came to him when he was standing, shaking himself and his towel off. The breeze caused numerous things to blow his way, including a ton of sand, but also the smells of a dozen beachside vendors. Kiku's rosy stomach began to complain to him that it hadn't eaten since the cookies on the plane that early morning. He patted around his pants and found his wallet in his pocket. Good. He would buy something.
Trying to put on his shirt made him realize that he should probably tend to his skin problem first and foremost.
So Kiku walked along the darkened beach, now uncomfortable, self-conscious, and starving. It seemed as if the sun had fallen beneath the horizon sometime within the hour, because overhead lights had switched on, and many people were trekking away. To his dismay, most of the vendor booths were closing.
Kiku frantically tried to catch the last of the workers, but with no luck. One woman, he was fairly certain, closed up her shop as soon as she saw him, sand-covered and breathless, approaching. He eyed the beachside patrol officers warily.
"Hey, you!"
Kiku wasn't sure it was he who was being addressed, but turned anyway. And it was a miracle! One of the last vendors was waving him over. He could just somewhat read the sign outside the small vendor building—BEACHSIDE ESSENTIALS AND HALF-OFF HAMBURGERS! TRY T. JEFF's ORIGINAL N-I-CE CREAM NOW! But Kiku, too grateful, didn't hesitate to hurry over.
When he reached the booth, the back of his mind whispered that he had made yet another grave mistake.
A man, tall and shirtless and tan as the remnants of the sunset was the booth's only occupant. He balanced open-legged on an uneven wooden stool, wearing vivacious American flag swimming trunks and a rainbow bandana on his head. His blond hair fell around his glasses in a windblown mess, and he was definitely chewing something (Kiku couldn't tell what it was) behind that wide grin. The man lifted a finger and pointed it right at Kiku. "You look like you need help!"
Kiku swallowed, finding his water-starved throat dry. "Help. Yes." He knew those words in English, but his voice sounded horrible. "Er—can I—"
"And you're in luck, because I sell almost anything anyone would need to survive out here!" the man continued, righting himself when he had begun to fall off the stool. He spread his toned arms wide, a fiery look in his deep blue eyes. "I also have a surplus of other good stuff, too." He winked. "Want a burger before I turn the grill off? You can pay in dollars...but I'll also accept yen. Anything goes!" He sang this last bit.
"Yen," Kiku repeated to himself. Another recognizable word. The rest he had barely caught, as it was said at such a rapid pace. He understood, though, that the man was advertising to him. "Help?" he said once more.
The American paused. His gaze was so bold as he stared at Kiku. "Hmm. Let me think. I'll try this again." He dug a pile of meat out of a freezer bag with one arm and raised the other in a grandiose style like before. "Yōkoso! Dō nasaimashita?"
It was his boss's voice. That, Kiku could understand just a bit better. He nodded, thanking the man in Japanese. Then in English for good measure.
"So…burger?" the man asked, already throwing a patty onto the grill, smoke shuttling out the chimney. He blew an expert bubble out of his chewing gum.
Kiku could only say yes, lest he break this creature's strange heart. He dug around in his wallet for his exchanged dollars, considering handing the American yen just because he could, but deciding against it. While the meat cooked, Kiku checked out the other things being sold in the booth.
There were candies, inflatable beach-balls, other inflatables, and towels that looked hand-sewn. There was an umbrella stand next to the counter, filled with multiples of umbrellas that looked suspiciously fatter than they had to be. Kiku paused as he even recognized cosmetics—eyeshadow with SPF 15. That wouldn't sell, he thought to himself. People walked with their eyes open, and if they needed protection they just wore sunglasses. Rows of rainbow bandanas hung off a rack that also advertised lifeguard whistles and key tags made out of vintage bottle caps. Kiku leaned in closer, trying to see if he had indeed spotted a few books of manga in the back. He loved manga. He had forgotten he loved manga. There was so much junk here.
He pointed to a black tube with white text stamped onto it (reading ALOE NERA!) and said tentatively, "What is this?"
"Ah!" the American raised his finger enthusiastically and did the pointing at Kiku thing again. "Well, my friend, that's kinda what you need, actually." He was talking slower now for Kiku's sake. "It's aloe, like aloe vera, like the stuff you use for sunburns." He gestured with the hand that wasn't flipping patties to Kiku's front. "Sunburns. But I call mine Aloe Nera because it's black! I dyed it black. To fit. Nera means black in, like, Spanish or something. It's a play-on-words. I like those a lot; they're good for business. Can't tell if you're getting any of this, man. Gimme a sign."
Kiku stared. He could understand better, but when the guy had started rambling about colors and medicines, it had all just turned to gibberish. "Wakarimasen," he said.
The American gave an unexpected sigh, sounding actually sad. "You know what, never mind, dude. I'm just—Watashi wa...bijinesumandesu. Businessman. That might be it." He began decorating the burger with condiments, then handed the finished product to Kiku. "Look, I have to close up. But I'll help you find some real aloe, okay? This crap doesn't actually work at all, and it looks disgusting. But no worries. There's a drugstore nearby; I'll take you there! You have no idea what I'm saying."
He was correct, for Kiku had not even bothered to try and translate once he had taken the first bite of the hamburger. Somehow, it was the most delicious thing he had ever put into his mouth, and for a hamburger! Today he had endured more strange emotions that he had endured in months.
The man was turning off the grill and doing a little to clean up his booth. Kiku knew he should thank and leave the vendor to be, but couldn't move when he was eating this thing. Soon enough, the American had completely closed the booth and was coming around the side. He stood tall in front of Kiku's pathetic form, smiling brightly.
"Watashi no namae wa Alfred desu," he said. "Alfred Jones. Alfred F. Jones. Now, let's go shopping!"
And it was chaos all over again when the man promptly grabbed Kiku's arm and started off on his mission.
Alfred knew Honolulu like he knew the exact amount of money he had earned that day—1 US dollar, 288 yen, 3 yuan renminbi, and even a few random euros. Which, in all, equated to roughly six or seven US dollars, if his math was correct. Enough to buy this sun-roasted Japanese man a big tube of aloe! Wait, but first he had to exchange it…
Alfred cursed, causing the man, Kiku, he had said, to look up at him. Kiku hadn't been too keen to come with Alfred at first, but eventually gave in to Alfred's smooth, customer-wooing persona. Every once in awhile, though, he would wince as Alfred tugged him along, muttering questions in a mix of Japanese and English. Alfred couldn't understand these questions, so he passed them off as unimportant and continued to lead Kiku through the busy streets, enjoying the hot evening wind in his hair and on his bare chest. He felt pitiful that Kiku couldn't do the same; that embarrassing burn shone easily through his white shirt, and it made his overwhelmed expression look even more panic-stricken.
"How'd you get that, anyway?" he asked the man, gesticulating with his elbow. "No sunscreen?"
Kiku brushed his thick, nera hair from his eyes. A car zoomed past them, its horn blaring. They could hear a crowd of people talking and laughing loudly across the street. "I woke up...sun was falling. I have been sleeping long time."
Alfred understood. He squeezed Kiku's wrist with empathy, and Kiku winced. "Dang, man. Global warming, it gets ya. But did you miss the sunset? What's sunset…taiyō? That's probably wrong. Not sunrise like…like good mornin', good mornin'! Get it?"
Kiku looked down their palm tree-dotted path, where the lights of the next intersections danced on the dusky horizon and the distant mountains stood like giants between the many skyscrapers. "No sun."
"You mean you missed a sunset on Waikiki?" Alfred was astounded. Who was this guy? "Dude, you gotta go back. A sunset on Waikiki is, like, the ultimate tourist attraction. I mean, if you're on vacation. Are you on vacation? A trip? A holiday?"
The Japanese man processed this as he finished off his hamburger, folding his napkin into a neat square and storing it away in his pocket. His eyes were wide and brown—they reminded Alfred of gourmet chocolates. "Vacation. Yes." He looked nervously at a couple of younger girls ahead of them who whispered to each other as the two walked past.
Alfred offered the teenagers a friendly wave, and they blushed and smiled back. He turned to Kiku. "Listen. Come back to the beach sometime while you're here on O'ahu, and see the sunset. I'll even give you another complimentary burger, since you liked this one so much. You liked it, right? The hamburger?"
"Yes," Kiku said, his face a little redder than before, but that could have just been the crazy city lighting. Alfred grinned. They always did.
"And you're from Japan, right? Nihon? What's your work? Have you been here before?"
"Tokyo. Sony job, long time."
"Ah, Sony! Didn't they get hacked? But do you make stuff? Do you like it? Seems pretty cool. I love to make stuff."
Kiku apparently did not understand, as he told Alfred "Wakarimasen," again and Alfred apologized for his limited knowledge of Japanese. He offered to carry Kiku's towel for him, since all that sand chafing against his shoulder couldn't be good, but Kiku politely refused and continued to let Alfred lead him onwards, his eyes shining with determination. He suddenly looked like he could take on the Stairway to Heaven with ease, which Alfred found somewhat amusing, since he definitely had the body of a businessman, and a minute ago had looked intimidated as heck. Not that the Haiku Stairs weren't intimidating; Alfred should know, for he had illegally climbed them five times.
After a few more minutes of walking, they reached a drugstore nestled at the foot of a taller building. Kiku paused before going in, pointing at Alfred. Alfred didn't know what he was trying to say.
"You like my shorts? Well, goll-y, I do too."
"Anata wa hadakadesu."
"Didn't get that, man. Sorry. Come on, you need this aloe before you burn to a crisp." Humming to himself, Alfred dragged Kiku into the store.
He left the Japanese man to find his medicine, then explored the store a bit on his own. Aloe Nera! had failed quite miserably. Alfred hadn't expected that buying regular aloe (from this exact drugstore, in fact) and mixing it with onyx food coloring would create such a horrifying solution. Mixing the substance and finding containers to put it in had cost him his first whole day in Honolulu, but at least he was able to get back to selling the next day, which was today. It was easy to find an abandoned vendor booth on the beach and set up his things—not once was he questioned about what he was doing or why he was allowing different currencies. He found that if you looked and talked official, nine times out of ten everyone would just accept that you were an official.
A great philosophy to live by.
Alfred hadn't figured out how to work the giant, ancient indoor grill until dinner, so he would probably make more money tomorrow once the masses experienced his awesome cooking, and he had better advertisement made. Once, outside a tractor-selling auction in Texas a few years ago, he had made over three-thousand dollars in a single day just giving out hot dogs, lemonade, and "signed" Blake Shelton CDs, mass-copied. A drug-trafficking teenager in Montana had once given him two hundred bucks for the certificate of complete ownership and naming rights of a star Alfred had completely made up. When he used to work as a stagehand on Broadway, he would steal from the costume departments, taking outfits home to tailor and tweak and accessorize, then advertise as part of his own clothing line. But those were his glory days. He was entering a sort of slump, now.
Slapping a few bottles of bubble-bath, five tins of breath mints and a toothbrush onto the counter, Alfred looked around for Kiku. The Japanese man emerged from an aisle, displaying his bottle of appropriately-colored aloe. He looked proud of his find. It was cute. "Awesome, man," Alfred said as he snatched it up and plonked it in front of the cashier woman before Kiku could protest and try to pay for it himself.
The woman began scanning the items, her brown arms shaking nervously. Alfred didn't notice it until he asked for a bag and she answered in a heavy accent, "Please, your money is there?" and pointed to the amount shown on the register.
"Ah," he said. Another poor soul having language difficulties. "ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi 'oe?" he asked.
She responded gratefully in her native Hawaiian tongue. Luckily, Alfred spoke Hawaiian way more fluently than Japanese, and was able to properly haggle over the prices of the items with her while Kiku stood awkwardly behind him. When it was becoming apparent that she wouldn't budge on the amount, Alfred took out enough items for the price to be a reasonable goal for the cash in his wallet to reach. He did not carry a credit or debit card. But then there was Kiku's aloe…
With a sigh, Alfred reached into the other pocket of his swimming shorts, the one covered with stars. He extracted his emergency roll of cash and, awkwardly sliding the rubber band off, flipped through until he found the amount he needed to pay for the rest of the stuff. Kiku and the native Hawaiian cashier watched him curiously.
"Here," Alfred said, practically shoving it at her so he could put away his money faster. "Mahalo."
The woman took the money and rang him up. "A`ole pilikia," she said softly.
Alfred accepted the bags, gave her one last smile, and led Kiku out of the store. He was a bit embarrassed, since keeping a thick roll of cash in your back pocket was pretty inconspicuous when you already had a wallet, but tried not to show it. He couldn't tell if the Japanese man had caught on.
"Hey, man, here's your stuff." They paused on the concrete landing outside of the store, where there was a little reflecting pool that sparkled with streetlights. Alfred sat on the edge and dug out the giant bottle.
Their hands touched in the exchange, and Kiku's eyes darted to Alfred's immediately. "Sumimasen," he said, stuttering a bit, though Alfred had understood. There were a lot of different ways to express gratitude in Japanese.
"Sumimasen yourself!" Alfred laughed. "Use it freely. If you use enough you might be cured by the time we meet again?"
"Meet again?" Kiku questioned.
"Oh, sure," said Alfred, suddenly not sure of where he was going with this. "O'ahu is small… You ever climbed Diamond Head? Diamond Head, the crater?" He gestured with a hand over a multitude of buildings and across the valley at the mountainous ridge for Kiku. "Look for my name on the walls of the little bunker thing up there. Or if you go down to Pearl Harbor, yeah, I'll be around that area for a couple of days later on, then I'm coming back here. You getting this? Another cool thing is the Polynesian Cultural Center on the other side… But you gonna see any of the volcanoes? On Hawaii, the Big Island? Kīlauea, Mauna Loa…volcanoes. Like, lava and fire. Hang on, how long are you staying, anyway?"
The man just stood there and blinked once, shaking his head. Alfred had been talking too fast again. "Repeat?" he asked.
"How long," said Alfred, combing his hands through his hair. He now wished he had something to cover himself, for it grew cold when the sun was down. "Like, jikan."
"Three weeks," answered Kiku with confidence. "And you?"
Alfred grinned. He hadn't planned to stay longer than that, but meeting this interesting guy made him rethink his travel plans. Wait, why was he rethinking his travel plans? In the back of his mind, he knew they would probably never see each other again, but he never wasted an opportunity to dream. "About the same. Three weeks."
Kiku gave a little nod, and then surprisingly, a little bow. Shadows danced off of his white shirt as a car sped by. "Very well. I...go...goodbye. Sayōnara, Alfred."
Alfred stood to shake his hand. Kiku's skin burned, and both of them winced at the touch. "Okay. Um, sayōnara, Kiku. And hey, remember, next time you're on Waikiki, don't miss that sunset!"
For the next few days of his vacation, Kiku didn't leave his hotel room.
He had gotten sunburns before, but it was never this bad. He wasn't a stranger to the beach, yet how had he forgotten to even apply sunscreen? And worst of all, how had he let Alfred pay for his aloe? Back home, that would never have happened. Back home, Kiku was never embarrassed by his own irresponsibility.
So he sat alone in his hotel room, applying the sticky, cold gel every thirty minutes to the front of his body, eating ice cream, and streaming anime through the TV. Kiku left the windows open, the curtains flapping in the breeze, shouts and laughter occasionally drifting his way like the afternoon before.
The afternoon before…
Part of the reason he was hiding himself away was because almost every ounce of social energy had been zapped from him by that noisy American. Even the interactions happening on the TV screen made Kiku want to groan. He was still trying to process all Alfred had said to him yesterday, but had long-since given up contemplating Alfred's quizzical behavior, and why he had walked down all those streets and into a public store, of all places, wearing nothing but his sandals and the flag shorts. Wasn't there some kind of rule in America that forbade one from doing just so? Well, he had just come from the beach, and it wasn't as if Alfred's appearance was all that unpleasing to the eye…
Kiku shoved a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into his mouth, forcing the coldness to interrupt his thoughts. It was probably time to apply the aloe vera again. He paused his show with much reluctance, the two characters on the screen frozen, blushing at each other. The blinding rays of the sun refracted through the translucent medicine bottle. Hot wind from outside mingled with the cool, still hotel AC.
After Kiku had finished, he stepped outside onto the room's deck, hoping the sun would warm him up; having burning skin, covered by freezing jelly and then exposed to mild, humid air certainly did wonders for his mental state of being. He finished off his ice cream bowl, setting it on the small, plastic table, and leaned on the railing.
The ocean was so wide and beautiful beyond him. It was not different from Japan, yet the knowledge that he was miles away from due dates and late nights and overly-polite conversations changed everything about it.
There it was again, that feeling. Kiku stepped away from the balcony before another crazy American could appear, latch onto his hand and drag him off.
With constraint, he wondered if he could see Alfred's booth along the beachside if he leaned out far enough. He did not attempt to do so.
When the aloe had seeped fully into his skin, Kiku sank back onto his couch. Suddenly, he didn't feel like watching his anime anymore. The nostalgia was hitting him like...like...like an All Nippon Airways plane at top speed. It had been a while since he had sat down and ever-so-leisurely binged a show—even longer since he had read a manga. Usually he just...worked.
Tucked away in his backpack, Kiku could feel his laptop computer giggling at him.
He did not hate to work; he enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment and liked to help newbies figure things out. He was earning an impressive salary, too.
He wondered how much Alfred had made that day. Alfred had said he was a businessman, as well, but he obviously wasn't the same type of businessman Kiku was. At his shop he had accepted different forms of money; maybe he had a weird contract with the Waikiki authorities. Still, that wouldn't explain the massive amount of folded bills Kiku had watched Alfred pull from his pocket that night in the drugstore.
Suddenly, Kiku felt sick to his stomach, the ice cream turning over inside of him as he began to piece the clues together. The calmness of the room pressed anxiously against him. Alfred's lack of professionality towards his job, the fake aloe vera (what had he called it, again?) and the mysterious money. All the weird things the American sold in his shop…
But how could someone so laid-back and outwardly friendly be a criminal? Decent people didn't buy horrible sunburn victims medicine and give rambling suggestions of neat places in Hawaii to visit. Alfred had treated Kiku like an old friend, which kind of threw him off, but the American had made him an unwarranted but delicious hamburger. He had tried to speak a bit of Kiku's language.
A translation error, that's what it was. Had to be. Kiku shoved the conspiracies into the back of his mind, washing everything over with the simple notion of "it was a misunderstanding." He finished his anime later that night, ordered pizza via room service, applied more aloe, and went to sleep early.
It only struck him when he was lying in bed that he had missed the Waikiki sunset, right outside his window, for a second time.
When Kiku woke up the next morning, his first realization of the day was that his burned skin was nearly all the way healed. The aloe vera had worked! His second realization was that he had left the window open, and it had rained during the night. The sky outside now was concealed by a thicket of clouds, and the temperature was lower. So it would be another day indoors.
All throughout breakfast at the café attached to his hotel, Kiku felt an itch. The wind howled away. He couldn't determine what the sensation was, exactly, until he returned to his room and got a glance at his backpack, where he knew his laptop computer was stored.
That's right, how long had it been since Kiku had checked his email?
He couldn't help himself, and opened the backpack. His inbox was chock full of business messages, forwarded dates for meetings he wouldn't be attending since he was in Hawaii, and some bon voyage! well-wishes from his coworker friends. Kiku spent the next hour and a half sorting through all of them, and before he knew it he was checking stocks through the hotel WiFi and responding to messages and liking photos of his boss's new puppy on Facebook. Kiku was just about to log into his managing program when there was a knock on his door. Kiku jumped, knocking over the tube of aloe sitting on his coffee table.
"Room service!" called someone from behind the door. Kiku hadn't heard this because of the muffled-ness of the announcement.
An old man, weathered as leather, stood with a cart in hand. "Here to clean—oh, okay. I'll come back another time if you're still here."
"Thank you," Kiku offered.
"It's no problem," the man commented. "You were in here all day yesterday, though, right?"
He was able to understand this. Blushing, he nodded. "I apologize."
The worker laughed. "No, no, it's not my place! Please, continue to enjoy your stay and call down to the desk if you need anything more!"
The door was closed after the man left, and Kiku suddenly found that he was a bit disgruntled. He should be exploring this beautiful island, he should be out of this stuffy room. Kiku determinedly put on some better clothing (after applying more aloe, of course) and turned his computer off. He needed to go back down to the beach, find Alfred, and get that "Hawaii must-sees" list from him.
Kiku was all prepared until he realized he had forgotten about the weather.
A pregnant raindrop smacked down upon the top of his head, right in the center of his hair whorl. He quickened his pace, hunched his shoulders, bit his lip, and continued down the sidewalk. There were hardly any other pedestrians on the streets with him. The wind was getting rowdier and rowdier, tossing the blooms in the flower bowls around and creating a cacophony as palm leaves rubbed together above him. Everyone else had gotten the memo to stay inside and accepted it.
Kiku reached the alleyway he had entered the beach from before, and there it began to rain. He was covered by the thick foliage above for about three seconds, and then he emerged onto flat, exposed beach. His pace turned into a jog when wet sand began to crawl into his socks—why, oh why had he worn socks and shoes?—and morphed into a slow run a bit later. A handful of beachgoers around him were taking shelter with their things under nearby trees, while some didn't even seem to care. Those few threw themselves at the ocean with glee, not a chord of fear striking their hearts. Kiku was assured that he didn't look strange when he could be compared to them.
Disappointment deluged him more than water from the heavens, though, when he arrived at the little stretch of beach where the widely-spaced vendor buildings sat. They were all closed or closing, stray people taking shelter under the thin awnings or crowding around the screen doors. Kiku found his way to Alfred's booth with some difficulty.
His seemed to be temporarily closed as well, since the man was nowhere to be seen. But Kiku was able to lean over the awning, sticking his head partially into the window of the shack to keep the rain off, and ascertain that the light was still on, groovy music faintly heard over the wind and the noisy people. A fan, plugged into the wall, was blowing softly. The rainbow bandanas, the cooler full of T. Jeff's whatever the sign read, the bulging umbrellas, the Aloe Nera! and everything was in its place. It was as if Alfred had just gotten up and left.
Well, Kiku wasn't going to wait around for him like this. His shoes were a soggy mess, his light dress shirt glued to his body. A clap of thunder echoed through the valley. He needed to take actual cover before his luck got worse and it began to hail. Except, where would he go?
The bulging umbrellas…
Thinking quickly, Kiku dug around in his pants pockets, pulling out his wallet and the ballpoint pen he always kept on him. What did the tag on the merchandise say? Kiku could barely read it. But could he reach it? The building's window was just large enough for Kiku to lean across the counter and grab the handle of the umbrella nearest to him. He pulled madly at it. The thing was giant; it got stuck in the window and Kiku had to take an extra minute untangling it, but he finally managed to free it.
Just like that, he had stolen an umbrella.
The price tag had fallen off in the process of getting the thing out, so Kiku just slapped two thousand-yen notes on the counter, hoping simultaneously that it would be enough and that he hadn't overpaid. In the heat of the moment, he allowed himself to not care what currency he was giving this man, whether it be legal or not. He lifted his hand through the window once more and scribbled his name on a stray piece of paper next to the money in romaji form. He prayed Alfred would get the point.
Kiku stuffed his things back into his soaked pants and nervously opened the umbrella over his head. Everything was proceeding according to plan until Kiku realized what the extra fabric on the edges of the canopy was for. Creating a circle around the umbrella's covering was an overhang of clear plastic material, bent into a curved shape every few inches with half-circle strips of metal. Kiku was stunned, standing there all out in the open on the beach with this hybrid umbrella creature hanging over him, in complete understanding of why and how.
He actually laughed out loud. Alfred had fashioned gutters onto his umbrellas! Gutters to collect the excess rainwater, the plastic poked through with strategically-placed holes to let it drain. Alfred was the stupidest genius to ever live.
Halfway back to his hotel, the whole contraption easily fell apart. Kiku dragged it into the building's lobby, thunder clapping behind him when he entered. He approached the front desk and confidently asked for a handful of extra towels, as well as a detailed information booklet about Hawaii and its top-ranked sights and sounds for Japanese tourists to experience. "In English, please."
Damn, Pearl Harbor was so crowded. Yet Alfred was so lonely.
It had been almost a week and a half, now, since he had last heard of Kiku. Alfred had gleefully received the Japanese man's note about the umbrella; the yen was stuffed into the (non-emergency) pocket of his tattered white shorts. At the time when Kiku would have visited his booth, Alfred had been out buying marshmallow cream and popsicle sticks with all the money he had earned that morning. And, just like he had predicted, he had earned a lot of money.
Long days with no other sign of the guy passed. Now, Alfred stood on the deck of the "Mighty" USS Missouri, peering across the harbor at the Arizona Memorial. He had heard that, below it, oil still leaked from the 1941 attack. Something about visiting such a historic place gave Alfred a lifting feeling in his chest he had only experienced a few times before. He hadn't come here to sell anything; he had come to see. He had never been to the harbor before, and after just a few hours touring around, knew that to miss this revered site during his latest Hawaii trip would have been a grave mistake.
The light breeze tossed his hair around, the bandana tails occasionally slapping against his glasses. Below his flip-flops, the blue waters shimmered, undulating white patches dotted throughout reflecting the merciless sun's gaze. The memorial's white body seemed to float, backdropped by rising green mountains and a cloudless, endless sky. Alfred wondered if Kiku nearby. Could he even be one of the people inside the oblong rectangular building right now? Had Kiku said he was visiting Pearl Harbor? Alfred didn't remember.
He turned, trotting the length of the battleship, passing tour guide groups and excited families. Alfred's stomach rolled in awe as he walked under the barrels of the three enormous guns, their shadows swallowing him. He wished he had a camera. This big baby had survived the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa, as well as a kamikaze attack. Now, it was a living museum.
Alfred found the historic deck where a copy of the Japanese Instrument of Surrender was kept in a large glass case, positioned in the exact spot the signing had taken place. He took his turn to view the simple pieces of paper that had drawn the curtains on the War in the Pacific, officially ending the terror and bloodshed of World War II for his country. Douglas MacArthur had stood here and stalled for two extra minutes after the prideful men-who-would-not-bend-their-knees arrived late because he refused to wait for Japs. Now, Alfred dug an enveloped note out of his pocket, marked 本田菊, and quickly taped it to the top corner of the glass box before anyone noticed. He would wait.
Alfred cursed himself for being a terrible, cheesy, romantic bastard.
Kiku's Hawaii trip was unraveling quickly, the days he stole for himself and his work passing like the calming music on the radio. He had been all over the island chain by now, from hiking through the rainforests of Kauai to hiking through ancient lava tubes on The Big Island. He had done a lot of hiking, and was finding the sport more and more engaging with each trail he took.
He had wanted to plan out all his experiences, but something about the freedom and the island air got to him. Kiku hopped between islands on whatever plane he could catch, staying the night (or camping!) at whatever hotel he could find. Responsibility crashed down and washed away as easily as if it were caught in Makahiku Falls.
And he was loving it.
This afternoon, he had made his way back to O'ahu, finally trying out that trail up Diamond Head crater. Going up wasn't too hard, but the afternoon sun was lethal. At least there weren't too many people around; the park closed at six o'clock. At least he had remembered to put on sunscreen. (He hadn't forgotten once since that first day.) One thing he did forget to do, though, was to look for Alfred's name at the top. The view was too serene, too breathtaking, that it stole Kiku's mind away from everything.
The climb down was hot and sticky, perpetuated by aches in his feet and few moments of shade. But he was used to it. Kiku was thirsty and panting, his water bottle empty and his hair a mess. He had eaten dinner before the hike, but was still zapped of energy and needed something to give him a boost. Seeing that there was a sno-cone truck at the foot of the trail, he decided that paying it a visit would be a good idea.
Kiku approached, checking out the selection. He swung his knapsack off his shoulders and dug out his wallet. When he looked up, a familiar wide-eyed, fast-talking American was looking back at him.
Before Kiku could react, Alfred shouted his name at top volume, lurching through the window and across the counter in an attempt to hug him. The attempt went without much result, on account of the truck being much higher off the ground, and Kiku stepping back in surprise. "Please!" he said on instinct.
"Oh, God, sorry, dude! I haven't seen you in ages! I thought we were gonna meet back up or something! I don't know! Ha, but you're really here! It's you!"
"I am here," said Kiku.
"I know!" Alfred looked raving mad behind those glasses, the sun flashing off them. Fortunately, he was wearing a shirt along with his gigantic smile. "Want a sno-cone?"
"A...sno-cone? Yes." Kiku pointed to the crimson-colored flavor option.
"Radical rocket red? Comin' right up!" Alfred went to work, firing up the ice machine and readying the syrups. "So, you've gotta tell me where you've been all these weeks! Were you at Pearl Harbor? Did you try the Stairway to Heaven? I came back to Waikiki and haven't seen you since! I think someone reported me, though, 'cause I started getting all these suspicious looks. So I packed up my stuff and found this baby," he patted the truck, "and I've been working here for the past couple of days. Still bring it to the beach sometimes, though."
Kiku offered a little laugh. "You know I can not know."
"Huh?" Alfred stopped. "Are you trying to tell me you don't understand what I'm saying?"
"Understand, yes."
"But your English is getting better, though. I can tell."
Kiku shrugged. His linguistic skills hadn't improved all that much. It had taken him a while to translate the letter he had found addressed to him from Alfred at Pearl Harbor. What a stupid plan, taping the envelope to the display where anyone could grab it and read it. But it had reached Kiku. Strange symbolism.
He watched Alfred finish making his frozen treat, hobbling around his anarchically-decorated truck. Yep, he had dragged all his wacky inventions with him, the prices having been somewhat lowered. Kiku spotted the replicas of the umbrella he had borrowed, to his excitement. And there was some new stuff being sold, too, like the Self-Dusting Feather Duster and Frozen Marshmallow-Pop Delites.
"Hey, I still accept yen, too," Alfred offered hesitantly. "I mean, I got your note about the umbrella and everything. It's cool, man. Whatever you've got." He stuck a straw into Kiku's sno-cone. "Actually, you know what, put away your wallet. You get this one for free. I mean, it's not like I'm giving the money to the state anyway. Sorry, Hawaii."
He mumbled this last part quietly. Kiku hadn't caught it, but the tone still reminded him of why he was supposed to be acting uneasy around Alfred.
"Here you go, dude!" Alfred said, cheerily, handing the sno-cone to Kiku.
"Free?" Kiku inquired, accepting it.
A twinkle sparked in Alfred's eye. "Free," he asserted.
Kiku took a sip. It was sugary, unhealthy, absolutely delicious, and just what he had needed.
Alfred opened his mouth, probably just about to ask for Kiku's opinion of it, when someone interrupted him. A security guard was strolling towards them, casually. "You boys know the park is closing now, right? You better get a move on. Sorry."
Kiku bowed his head. He said "Yes," at the same time Alfred said, "Oh, yeah, sir."
The officer eyed Alfred's truck. "Before you close, can I get a small lemon-lime-licious?"
Alfred itched around at that notorious rainbow bandana. "Oh, sure, sir." He paused, saying "I'm at your service, sir," to himself, and then went right back to preparing the sno-cone.
Kiku politely and confusedly stepped back as the man approached the counter, folding his arms over the surface. After a few seconds of silence, the man asked, "What's all this?"
Alfred wiped his brow, waiting for the ice machine. "Oh, just, you know. Little dumb stuff. It sells good, though."
"The Better Towel…" the officer mumbled, itching his leg with his shoe. "Where does all this come from?"
Alfred didn't hesitate. "The company. I mean, some of it's pretty lame. Actually, Kiku's with me." He pointed, and Kiku flinched. What? "We're putting it all away and heading back. Come back over here, Kiku."
The officer frowned as Kiku, unsure of what else to do, heeded Alfred's call. "Huh. I would have guessed he was a hiker. What company did you say again? I'm sorry, usually we get Gus over here. You know. Magoo's."
"Ah, yeah, Gus. I know 'em."
Kiku reached the truck, Alfred having opened the door for him. Alfred couldn't invite him in, though, as he was in the process of making the security guard's lemon-lime-licious treat, so Kiku just stood there, took slow bites of his own treat, and waited for something to happen.
"Really. You know Gus. Huh." The guard took his sno-cone, eyes still on all of Alfred's crazy inventions. A silent, tense second passed. After swallowing the first cold spoonful of sno-cone, the guard wondered boredly, "Say, what company did you say you were from again? Some of this crap is kinda neat."
Alfred was making his way back to Kiku, impatiently beckoning him in. "Oh, ha. Yeah, the company's just…" He trailed off and waved his hand again at the door, lowering his voice. "Get in here, Kiku!"
"What are you doing?" Kiku questioned, but he obeyed. Alfred shut and locked the door behind them.
"I don't know, I'm sorry, just follow my lead. We gotta get this guy off our tails, quick!" The American's eyes shone in what looked like panic, but his lips were arranged in a confident smile.
A further interrogation of "And hey, man, where's your license plate?" was issued from outside, and that smile dropped away. Alfred uttered a strange, vulgar word, and even Kiku could understand it. He ran back to the counter window.
The inside of the big truck-vehicle-thing reminded Kiku of a few hotel rooms he had stayed at on this trip. There wasn't much room to move around, so the space was cluttered. The driver's seat was semi-blocked off from the vendor part of the truck, where the ice machine perched on a counter and Alfred was leaning out the exchange window to address the concerned Hawaiian security officer. Kiku caught a few words of their conversation, enough to know that the two men weren't communicating about sno-cone flavors anymore. He stepped back from the opening, bumping into a rack of rainbow lei necklaces threaded in with seashells and equally colorful shirts tagged 2015 Insta-Sleeves collection.
Alfred turned around, speaking urgently and at an unnaturally fast pace, even for him. "Okay, man, sit down. We're leaving now. Hope you didn't get here in a car because it looks like I'm giving you a lift home."
Kiku almost spit out his mouthful of artificial cherry flavoring. There were many of things he could have protested about the man's sudden declaration, but he felt that the simple English expression of "Where?" encompassed it all quite nicely.
Alfred dropped like a stone into the driver's seat and started up the engine. "First, could you close the ticket window? And I don't know, man, sit on my lap!"
Kiku barely caught Alfred's crazy smile in the second before the car blasted off like a rocket and he, as well as the contents of his hands, was practically thrown to the floor.
He caught onto the serving counter just in time, but his half-full cup of flavored ice was not quick enough, and splashed all over the floor. "Sumimasen!" Kiku hissed.
Alfred didn't seem to care. "Is he following us?" he hollered back.
Kiku took a second to right himself, then glanced out the window. Diamond Head crater loomed above them, but they were traveling fast away from it, up the black asphalt road. The sky seemed darker than before; it must have been close to sundown. A little after six. Kiku had to almost press his forehead up against the serving window, bombarded on both sides by displays of junk, to see if the park ranger had indeed begun to follow them. He was correct. The man was watching them escape as he slid into his own vehicle and started to slowly give chase.
"Is he?"
Kiku had to think for a second, then yelled back "Maybe!"
Alfred burned rubber, and Kiku grabbed onto the lei rack to keep his balance. Necklaces slid over him, and he tried to fend off as many as he could while crawling his way to the front of the truck. The hysteria rising inside of him was beginning to take hold; he didn't know how to tell Alfred to slow the hell down. He was making them look more conspicuous to the officer!
Kiku wanted to wonder just what moment had been the moment he had accepted his fate in this mortifying car chase, but it was making his head hurt, so he stopped.
Even so, he felt more annoyed with the man for sweeping him along into his grand endeavor than scared. Alfred's fear of the authority and refusal to answer questions cemented Kiku's suspicion that he was a criminal. He wasn't sure how to feel about this, either; he had already kind of accepted the fact. As they turned onto Diamond Head Road, headed west around the base of the crater, Kiku made his way to the driver's seat and crouched beside his American chauffeur. He pointed to Alfred's flip-flop-ed foot on the pedal and shook his head no.
"He's following us? Should I go faster? Oh, kanapapiki!" The engine roared.
Kiku yelped, clinging to Alfred's knee to keep his balance. They were going to get arrested and Kiku was going to lose his job...if he didn't perish in a disastrous car accident, first. He was getting flashbacks of a time when he had met an Italian taxi-driver. They sped onto Monsarrat Avenue, rows of closely-packed businesses blurring past them, cool air pushing through the cracks in the door. The sun lay on the horizon somewhere ahead, but was obscured by tall rows of trees. Alfred wove through traffic in this giant truck with skill—however, that skill of his didn't reassure Kiku. Neither did the deafening honk of a vehicle behind them.
Alfred looked out his rearview mirror and let out the squeak of an infant child. "He's right on top of us!"
Kiku groaned. A shelf of something crashed to the floor somewhere behind them.
The American was forced to slow down; they were reaching an area of high congestion. He checked the mirror, then laughed, satisfied. "He's all the way back there! Great! You alright, man? Oh, hey, look out your window, it's the Honolulu Zoo! Can ya see the Art Fence? Or any animals? I went once and almost got mauled by a—"
"Alfred!" Heart pounding, Kiku caught sight of the security guard's vehicle approaching theirs again. He was not able to see a zoo or a decorated fence in the haze of trees and shrubs and chaos. Not even a demo presentation at work gave him this thrill.
Tour guide Alfred huffed, tightening his hands on the wheel. He didn't seem too concerned about his Japanese passenger tangled in merchandise at his feet. "We'll park this thing somewhere and lose him on the beach. It's just ahead. Sound like a plan?"
Kiku shrieked in response as Alfred almost flattened a group of young teenagers clad in swimming suits. He dragged the truck onto the clear area where two roads merged to avoid them. The beach was mere feet ahead.
With Kiku's hand resting on his shoulder, Alfred pulled the vehicle down the neighboring road so he could park on a section of concrete under a palm tree. The bright white exterior of the truck didn't do much if they wanted to keep their business quiet, though it was way past that point, anyway. Alfred shut off the engine and yanked a dizzy Kiku to his feet. "Come on!"
Wearily, Kiku attempted to disentangle himself from the mess of sticky sno-cone and flower necklaces and SPF eyeshadow glitter and—he reached into his hair—was this a gold doubloon? Sadly, most of the junk stayed where it was, as Alfred didn't want to waste time. He repeated himself, ensnaring Kiku's hand in his, which was warm and also very sticky. Then he dragged him out the door.
So they were running now.
The air outside felt amazing despite the stressful situation, Kiku had to admit. And the lit-up beach was beautiful, the sun shedding light across millions of kilometers just to reach them. He was distracted by it, captured in it. And then Alfred shouted, "Oh my God, they've got backup—go!" The American put on an extra boost of speed and Kiku tripped.
Alfred didn't hesitate to stop and pick him up, strong arms violating Kiku's personal space to lug him back to his feet. "Why here?" Kiku asked, snagging his chance, however inopportune, to ask a question.
"I didn't think he'd do that…" Alfred assessed their surroundings. Indeed, up ahead of them, a police car was parked on the beach, the officer exiting, preparing to stride towards them. "Doggone it. I thought we could hide in the trees but…" He looked back to Kiku, his glasses glowing, having caught the reflection of a nearby streetlight that had just flicked on. His voice was quieter. "Hey, Kiku, did you ever see that Waikiki sunset?"
Kiku's heart was pounding. He began to move his lips, preparing to give Alfred the negation. After all, they were on Waikiki beach, and the sun was setting. This would be the first time he saw it if he wasn't shoved into that police car first.
Right on cue, the park ranger's voice echoed across the beach, sounding awfully near. "Hey, you! Please, just stop running!"
Alfred ran, tugging Kiku once more with him.
"T-Trouble!" Kiku shouted up, a desperate attempt to fix something about the situation. There was nowhere to run, after all. Escaping back into the city would be futile, as they didn't know who else was after them, and the two officers already had Kiku's and Alfred's descriptions. Going north or south up the beach wasn't an option (and there were tons of regular people around! How embarrassing), and they couldn't exactly swim out to sea.
"That's right—trouble," Alfred grumbled to himself, "with a capital T that rhymes with P and stands for—" And there it was. The holy grail. Their savior. "And stands for pier! Kiku, look, pier!"
Kiku would have sighed. "Chikushō."
They ran towards it, kicking up sand and poking their feet on seashells. Alfred squeezed Kiku's hand as he hauled him onto the long wooden strip, and Kiku glanced back at the two officials, who weren't even bothering to run after them anymore. They had met up and were walking closer, all casual-like. By dashing out to the end of the pier Alfred and Kiku would only postpone their doom, and both of them knew it.
The two reached the end of the worn concrete wall anyway, where a small open pavilion-type thing framed the eternal waters below. Waves slammed against the concrete, adding a thin, salty mist to the air around them.
They stood under the roof, chests heaving. "Think I should jump?" Alfred joked, turning to Kiku.
Kiku, understanding that the vast ocean was mere meters from them and that Alfred was insane, kept a firm grip on his hand. "No."
The American adjusted his bandana, exhaling. He stared out to sea, expression remarkably serene. "Well, they're coming. Sorry I dragged you into this, man."
"It is okay."
"Hey," he said, quietly, "look at the people. They're watching the sun."
Kiku heard "people" and "sun." He gazed down the beach, where miles of persons were on their feet, peering at that glowing hole in the sky, watching it drop. Almost everyone seemed to be holding their breath, holding their phones, holding their children and staring. Was this what was special about the famous Waikiki sunsets?
"When do you go back to Japan?" Alfred asked as the bottom of the pink-white circle touched the ocean. Brilliant hues wrapped around the horizon. Both of them watched it.
"Three days," Kiku murmured. The horn of a boat, far from shore, reverberated through the still air.
"Have you visited Pearl Harbor yet?" The sun was simply melting into the indigo waters, and faster than anticipated.
Kiku did not answer in words, but silently pressed the note Alfred had left for him into Alfred's hand. Gusts of wind crinkled the paper.
"We're behind you. Cooperate, please; don't make this difficult," a nearby voice said.
"Great," Alfred said, ambiguously to himself. "It was cool, wasn't it?"
"Kore wa kirei desu," Kiku said, completely rapt. The sun was slipping away, falling, just falling…
Soft cheers and vigorous clapping echoed from the civilians on the beach around them. It seemed they had enjoyed it, too, and found it completely normal to celebrate something as simple as the rotation of the earth. Part of Kiku wanted to celebrate with them, but he felt silly.
When the sun finally tipped over the edge of the earth, Alfred was in handcuffs. "So, didja like it?" he asked his Japanese associate, unfazed.
Kiku turned to face him, staring the man directly in the eyes and stating simply, "You are stupid."
"Aw. I was hoping you wouldn't say that. They always say that."
The dreary Hawaiian policewoman began to approach Kiku with another set of handcuffs, and he took an instinctive step back at the same time Alfred yelped, "Wait, no, not him, he's innocent!"
"Yeah, I don't know about the other one…" commented the Diamond Head park ranger.
Kiku huffed, his hands making a barrier between him and the officials. A loud wave crashed against the pier just behind him. "Er…" Well, this was going to be difficult to explain. Curiously, Kiku asked, "Nihongo ga hanashimasu ka?" to the general population of the pier.
A second passed, in which the police officer cocked her head, blinked, and then said "Hai!"
Oh, thank the lord; she spoke his language. Kiku did his best to explain the situation to her. He wasn't sure if he should completely alienate himself from Alfred and his strange cause, but the American seemed intent on taking all the blame, which was responsible of him, he guessed. Kiku internally found this amusing and then felt bad for it. Once he told the officer who he was and especially that he was leaving the country in a few days, she relaxed and even offered to give him a ride home in her car, believing his story without much interrogation (he had to politely refuse the ride). After a while, the park ranger decided the situation was in good hands and left to find Alfred's forgotten truck of mysteries.
The conversation wrapped up, and the cop switched back to English for Alfred. "Well, we should probably take you back to the station now." They began walking down the pier, Kiku awkwardly following. "Come on, my car's over here."
"One second, I…" Alfred turned to Kiku. "I...dude, I think this is, like, it."
Something inside him was moved at the sight of the American criminal's sad eyes. "Sorry," Kiku said, not sure of what else he could say. The officer was letting them give their farewells.
Alfred understood Kiku's dilemma and nodded solemnly, his glasses bouncing. "Yeah. No, I'm sorry. It was fun, though. But I should have…I don't know. Um."
"Hawaii is good," stated Kiku. "Thank you." He lowered his head. Neither of them wanted to say it, apparently, but he broke down first. "Sayōnara, Alfred-san."
That made Alfred smile again. It was a nice smile. "Sayōnara, Kiku...san."
The cop began to lead him off, but Alfred hesitated again. "Wait, one last thing!" He rushed back to Kiku, taking hold of one of Kiku's hands with both his handcuffed ones and leaning in close so his mouth was a few centimeters from Kiku's ear. "But don't think we're not gonna see each other again, Kiku-san."
Alfred grinned at him one last time, mischievously, and then he was gone.
The flight back to Tokyo did not seem as long as the flight to Honolulu. And Kiku wasn't anxious to get back.
He felt worried about all the work he hadn't done in his time off, even though he wasn't supposed to have done any. He was nervous about sitting inside a close-quarters staff building all day, his laptop in front of him. At one point, midway through the flight, Kiku wondered if he even regretted taking the vacation.
He did not. It had been amazing.
Kiku wondered where and when he could ask for another three weeks off of work. Kiku wondered if Alfred would be able to translate and read the message Kiku had left for him, scrawled on the back of the envelope he had found on the USS Missouri. Kiku wondered about the crazy umbrella in his carry-on bag. Kiku wondered if he would remember to bring sunscreen the next time he would visit a beach. Kiku obsessed over white sands, crowds of people, long green hiking trails, blankets of city light, and that last beautiful sunset on the edge of a pier with the wind in his hair and the sea spray sticking to his body.
Hawaii had shown him a sliver of a world he knew he wanted to see more of, and all it had taken for him to fall in love were a few days out of three weeks on Waikiki.
A few years ago, I got the chance to visit the gorgeous "Paradise of the Pacific" and was just as amazed. I compiled this with more research and memories from my own experience. Do correct me if my Japanese needs some work, as well as my Hawaiian.
Hope you enjoyed!