As the two lovebirds began to spend more and more time together, Hideaki found himself drifting away from them. Sure, they still invited him to eat together and go places occasionally, but they seemed so wrapped up in each other the entire time that he soon felt like an observer, a voyeur looking through a window at something he could never have. It hurt a little, but he couldn't see why. He still spent time with Arima, but Arima was simply happier with Miyazawa.
Gradually the weather grew warmer and Hideaki went to the beach three times a week to wade through the cold waves, his body board under one arm. The sand shifted beneath his feet and the salt dried sticky on his legs. Girls in fuchsia bikinis waved at him, their small breasts bobbing beneath the bright fabric.
"You're wasting your time out there," Arima said when he saw Hideaki at school. "Why aren't you studying for exams?" His finger pressed firmly against the brown skin of Hideaki's nose. His eyes glared, close to Hideaki's own.
"Well, you're spending all your time with your girlfriend," Hideaki complained. "Why can't I have some fun too?"
"I'm also studying," Arima insisted. "I know how to balance my time and you obviously don't. You can have your fun after your scores start going up."
"Lucky girl," Hideaki teased. "She has the most responsible man in the world." He lifted both hands to his face and sighed theatrically. "I want to go on a date with Arima too! Why can't I come?"
"Stop it," Arima grumbled. "I'm definitely not the most interesting person to be with. I'm surprised she isn't bored with me yet."
Hideaki stopped to look at him in disbelief, realizing Arima meant what he said. "Well, if she ever gets tired of you, my door is always open," he said, grinning. "I'll make you feel better, Soichiro!"
-
He woke in the early morning to the swishing sound of water against tile. Yawning, Hideaki sat up and surveyed his surroundings from his position on the extra futon laid out beside Arima's bed. By now he knew the room well, from the short table and its tatami mats to the wall lined with bookshelves holding a lot of boring-looking Chinese titles. Arima liked things simple, but he said the books kept him company when he had nothing else to do.
Standing, Hideaki moved to pull a shirt over his head, walking casually into the bathroom. Arima's voice drifted from behind the shower curtain. "I can heat up the bath, if you want."
Hideaki looked at the tube of toothpaste lying neatly on the spotless sink. The paste in it was evenly distributed. "Nah," he replied, "I'm fine with a shower." He opened up the tube and squeezed it from the top, squirting out a smiley face in the basin of the sink. Arima will kill me for this, he thought perversely, but it's just too damn perfect.
"I can always join you in there, to conserve water, of course," he said loudly, trying to keep his voice from cracking with laughter.
The shower curtain pulled back unexpectedly and he got a glimpse of Arima's smooth shoulders shining with water, dark hair clinging to his face.
"Get out of the damn bathroom if you've got nothing to do, baka." The curtain slid back into place. Hideaki drew in breaths of steam-filled air, the moisture seeping into his skin.
"And don't you dare touch my toothpaste."
Smirking, Hideaki raised a hand and traced words with the toothpaste on his finger onto the steam-covered surface of the mirror: Arima, you have a nice ass!
He left the bathroom quickly, shutting the door behind him, and waited gleefully for Arima to exit the shower and start cursing at him.
Hideaki busied himself with making ramen in the big, clean kitchen, waiting for Miyazawa's arrival. Arima emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and glowering darkly. He had chased Hideaki around in a towel until the taller boy managed to escape to the kitchen.
His dark mood vanished momentarily when he went to answer the door and let Miyazawa in, but he sent a warning look toward Hideaki, currently occupied with chopping up vegetables for the ramen.
"All alone, huh?" said Miyazawa, sounding nervous. She spotted Hideaki then, and stared in disbelief.
"Would you like some barley tea?" he asked graciously, reaching up to wipe some sweat from his brow.
Arima rubbed furiously at his hair with a white towel. "You don't have to entertain my guests for me!" He tossed the towel aside and continued to glare, hair standing up in crazy spikes.
"Eat this ramen," Hideaki requested cheerfully. "It's good for your body to have hot things in the summer." He set the tray before Arima, proud of his attractive cooking.
"Wow, he makes a great wife, doesn't he?" Miyazawa said, giggling.
"No, he doesn't!" Arima protested. "But he always talks like that, the moron." He rapidly shoveled the noodles into his mouth with chopsticks, continuing to glare. "What kind of wife leaves obscene messages on your mirror?"
"Eh?" Miyazawa raised both eyebrows.
"Asaba thinks it's funny to mock me and…write stuff." Arima blushed involuntarily, remembering the words.
"Hey," Hideaki protested. "I wasn't mocking; I really do think you have a nice ass."
Miyazawa choked on a sip of tea and nearly dropped her cup. "Asapin!" she sputtered.
"Is the tea too hot?" Hideaki asked innocently. Arima shook his chopsticks threateningly in Hideaki's direction. He patted his girlfriend on the back, pushing aside his bowl of ramen.
"Don't you like my cooking?" Hideaki whined.
Arima gave him another harsh look. "Nothing a man cooks tastes good."
"Waaah!"
Miyazawa echoed Hideaki's protests more articulately. "There are a lot of male chefs out there!"
"But he isn't one of them," Arima stated firmly.
"Well, it's pretty surprising that you can relax like this on a make-up day, Asapin," she said, turning to Hideaki. "You must have been studying more than I thought to pass all your exams."
"Huh?" Hideaki looked at her blankly. "That's today? But I failed nearly every subject."
They stared at him with twin expressions of horror that made him slightly afraid. Within seconds he found himself pushed violently out the door, cries of 'You idiot!' and 'What the hell are you doing here?' ringing in his ears.
Well, I guess that means they care, he thought bewilderedly.
-
Tension crackled like static electricity. Hideaki felt his hair stand on end. Somewhere along the way, Arima and Miyazawa had gotten into their first serious lover's quarrel and the result was obvious. Sitting between them on the grass, he observed the glint of Arima's tight eyes and the set of Miyazawa's stubborn chin.
"Not going to tell me, eh?"
He had thought the whole mess with possessive little Shibahime Tsubasa had been settled, but apparently something else had come up and it looked high time for Hideaki to loosen the air once again.
"Take a look at this," he said softly to Miyazawa, withdrawing a photo from its plastic protector in his pocket. "You're very lucky to get a glimpse of my treasure."
Miyazawa took the photo of the delightfully sweet young Arima and stared, blushing with happiness. Hideaki heard Arima's enraged shriek as he jumped to his feet.
"You promised never to show anyone that!" he protested. "It's embarrassing!"
"It's adorable," Miyazawa countered, pulling away from the pair of them. "And I'm going to keep it for myself."
"No!" they both cried. Hideaki resented the loss of the photo keenly, even though she probably deserved it more than he did. "My treasure…" he moaned.
"It's mine now," Miyazawa declared, tucking the photo into her bra to keep it safe.
Arima blushed and Hideaki stared, his sense of loss temporarily overwhelmed by his admiration of her sneaky tactics. The bra equaled the ultimate sanctuary. Any boy who violated it in order to obtain his goal risked almost certain suspension.
Miyazawa's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and she reached into her folder. "I'll give you this one in return, Arima."
Hideaki stared over Arima's shoulder at the photo of a determined-looking young Miyazawa, brandishing a straw basket while dressed as a bandit. Arima blinked.
"Oh, I have one of those," Hideaki boasted, withdrawing his own picture of himself at the tender age of three, sitting on the lap of a female cousin, completely surrounded by smiling girls and looking very happy about it. Arima and Miyazawa seemed less pleased, examining it with skeptical disgust.
"You really started early," Arima muttered.
Hideaki smirked and shrugged casually. He may have pushed himself into disgrace, but by now, the young couple had completely forgotten their anger with each other.
-
Too soon, summer arrived, and Hideaki discovered that Arima would be gone for weeks, practicing for and attending the inter-high kendo tournament. He watched Arima hold Miyazawa inside an empty classroom, head bent against hers, eyes closed. A curtain blew like a veil around them, shutting the rest of the world away.
Hideaki stayed up late folding little bits of paper, changing pure, smooth squares of paper into awkward, angular creations. He spent almost every night at Arima's house and wrote more messages on the mirror during Arima's showers. Arima, kendo champions are always compensating for something. Arima, don't forget to eat your vegetables and protein. Arima, that captain of yours will jump you the first chance he gets.
When it came time to say goodbye Hideaki offered up his 1,000 paper cranes for good luck and promised to guard Miyazawa in her boyfriend's absence.
"Like I'd trust you," Arima grumbled. "You'd better not make a move on her, Asapin."
"We're only going swimming," Hideaki told him slyly. "Can I help it if she's seduced by my bare chest and gleaming skin shining like gold in the hot summer sun?"
Arima smacked him with his gym bag, for a comment like that, but Hideaki was almost expecting it. When Arima treasured someone like Miyazawa, he would have killed himself before he gave her up to anyone. It was this desperate love that made Hideaki a little frightened. Miyazawa had given Arima the life and freedom he needed so badly, but she also made him incredibly fragile, a slave at the mercy of his violent raw emotions.
-
"Do you think…maybe…she'll find someone else when I'm gone?" Arima asked softly.
Hideaki chewed his pocky, offering the box to Arima. "Someone besides you? Impossible," he scoffed. "No one could leave Arima Soichiro after seeing him smile."
"Hn." Arima lifted a chocolate covered stick to his lips, watching the light sift through the leaves outside the window. The pocky stick crunched between his teeth.
"Do you know what it's like to be in love, Asaba?"
Hideaki stopped chewing. He looked at the confident dash of labeling on the cardboard box. His thumb had creased the enticing photo of the luscious chocolate and a rip in the paper cut the words in half.
"Nah," he said. Because, he wasn't, of course…Arima sighed and reached down to take the box of pocky from Hideaki, cool fingers bushing the back of his hand.
…in love.
"You'll find the right one someday," Arima assured him, uncharacteristically sympathetic, "and you won't be able to give her up."
Through the window, the trees continued to sway subtly in the summer breeze. Arima stood dark in the falling light, his black hair brushing the back of his neck as his head tipped up to the ceiling.
"They say you're supposed to let go of someone if you really love them," Hideaki said, barely above a whisper. He tried to make it sound teasing, but his voice carried a hint of resignation. His hands opened and closed, unable to touch the friend who sat so near.
Arima lowered his head slowly, eyes half closed. "I'll never let her go."
-
Time seemed to crawl by that summer. Hideaki went to the beach three times a week and watched the bronzed girls stretched out in the sun like exotic drying fruits. The scorching heat burned his skin, and the cold salt of the water rushed against his face as he rode the waves beating against his long legs. For a short time, he could lose himself in the sand and sea, but reality always came back to ache.
Sometimes he saw Miyzawa shopping with a group of cheerful girls, little Tsubasa clinging to her arm. They invited him to a karaoke outing where he dazzled them all with his talented renditions of Bon Jovi and Gackt. The only girl he felt wary about was Tsubaki Sakura, the tomboy who possessed an eye for pretty girls that rivaled his own.
On evenings, he tried to read the books Arima lent him, dry historical novels with their tales of samurai and shoguns. He tried to imagine what Arima thought when he turned the pages, picturing slender fingers on the yellowed paper with words describing the friendship of the two warriors.
Mizu no morasanu naka da, he read. So close that water would not leak between them.
His dad called in the morning, voice tight with controlled emotion. He wondered why, if Hideaki had tried so hard to get into such a good school, couldn't he score better on his midterm exams? Hideaki laughed a little, which only made his father angrier, voice scraping unevenly against strained vocal cords.
"You're just like Arima," Hideaki said, without thinking. His father didn't know who that was. "A friend. He's at the top of the class, always telling me to study…"
Suddenly, Hideaki felt very unhappy and tired. His throat felt dry and his skin itched with healing sunburn. Holding the phone to his ear, he leaned on his bed and watched a spider crawl up the dusty wall. His father continued to speak.
"Yeah," Hideaki said once, and then, "Bye."
He picked up a shoe and held it over the spider threateningly, but eventually dropped it to the floor with a sigh, unable to summon the killing blow.
Standing decisively, he went to his closet instead, pulling out a light dress shirt and a tight pair of slacks. After he had dressed, brushed his hair, and put on some jewelry, he applied a little light eye makeup and smirked back at his reflection. No more moping tonight.
-
Darkness covered the neighborhood, muffling all noises but the sound of cars revving on the road beyond, and the barking of a dog somewhere up the street. Hideaki stood on the sidewalk outside his apartment building for a few moments, wondering what he wanted. Finally, he headed up the street, toward a livelier section of town.
When he had first obtained his own apartment, he had visited clubs whenever he wanted, grateful to no longer endure his father's lectures and accusing stares. The music and energy and presence of so many young, willing bodies always invigorated him. But since his involvement in Hokuei and his entanglement in the Arima-Miyazawa fiasco, his visits had tapered off.
Nonetheless, the bouncers still remembered Hideaki and greeted him by name when he entered a popular establishment frequented by teens. Descending the metal stairway, he immersed himself in the gauzy, glittering atmosphere, scanning the crowd for potential conquests. His gaze caught on a familiar tall, slim figure.
"Agh! Not you!" he complained, when Tsubaki Sakura saw him. She wore a bright Chinese tunic over black slacks with simple, comfortable-looking sandals. Through her short wings of raven-back hair, he caught the glint of red earrings. Hideaki grudgingly admitted to himself that she actually looked slender and pretty, in a mysterious, androgynous way.
"Well, if it isn't the local gigolo," she teased. "Should we ignore him, Aya?" Hideaki's eyes went to the girl at her side. Aya was the writer of the group and one rarely saw her in any other position other than hunched over a notebook, scribbling furiously. But she looked surprisingly comfortable, if not a little bored, in her sleeveless sweater and pleated skirt, standing at her friend's side in the crowded club.
"Hey, Asaba," she said in greeting, disregarding Tsubaki's question completely.
"You're both looking very attractive tonight," he complimented smoothly. "Would you ladies like to go get some drinks?"
Tsubaki threw back her head in a sudden burst of laughter that startled Hideaki a little. "Man, you move fast," she said.
"I want a strawberry smoothie," Aya announced calmly. She caught Tsubaki's hand and led her toward the front of the club with Hideaki trailing after. The music pounded in his ears, a good, heavy beat that had the girls on the floor dancing fast. He caught a few gazes and returned them with a welcoming smile, reveling in his own magnetism.
The young woman who prepared the drinks for them wore lavender lipstick and sparkly butterfly clips that winked slyly at Hideaki under the changing lights.
"So, did you come to get girl-watching tips from me?" Tsubaki asked him, grinning.
Hideaki swallowed a mouthful of soda and looked at her with disdain. "You should be the one asking for advice," he informed her. "In the fine art of female appreciation, you are barely a fumbling novice, my dear."
Reaching out, she caught one of his earrings and tugged harshly. "You think you look so hot. Aya, which one of us is more attractive? Me, or this punky loser?"
Aya sipped her smoothie in peace. "You're both idiots," she told them. "But somehow, you look good together."
"What?" Hideaki exclaimed, rubbing at his sore ear. "I wouldn't be caught dead with this she-man!"
"Speak for yourself, asshole," Tsubaki muttered. She turned to the waitress with the butterfly clips. "What do you think, Nori-chan? Is this jerk actually sexually attractive to women?"
Hideaki turned his face to its best angle and lowered his eyes seductively under the gaze of the young woman. She smiled slowly.
"I'd pay for a night with him…in a few years, of course. Have you considered a host job after graduation, little brother?"
"Noriko works in a hostess bar at her other job," Tsubaki told him. "She's probably just so used to drunken old men that she can actually bear to look at you."
"I visit host clubs on my days off," Noriko said. "It's nice, after a long day of fawning over businessmen, to get special treatment from lovely young men vying for each woman's attention. And you're as handsome as any of those boys."
Tsubaki rolled her eyes. "Don't encourage him."
"Is the pay good?" Hideaki asked Noriko.
"If a rich woman chooses you as her shimeisha, you could be set for life. Clients have been known to buys cars, apartments, and expensive gifts for their favorite hosts. Lots of them never even sleep with the men; they just enjoy the attention."
Hideaki considered the idea pleasantly. Noriko went to help another customer and Tsubaki sucked down the remainder of her drink in a final noisy slurp, leaning to scan the dance floor appraisingly.
"Well, if you want to sign up as a man-whore after high school, I wish you luck. It's barely ten o'clock and I'm not going to waste the night. Catch you later, Hidebaka." Rising, she moved across the floor into the mass of swaying bodies.
Hideaki frowned and looked sideways at Aya, who continued to savor her strawberry concoction. "Do you dance?"
Aya didn't even bother to answer, but gave him a long, disdainful look. His gaze went back to Tsubaki on the floor, dancing by herself under the colored lights. He couldn't call her movements graceful, but she danced without shame or any sense of self-consciousness. She moved as if she didn't really care who watched or what they thought…and Hideaki noticed more than a few heads turning.
With a sigh, he stood and threaded his way through the crowd to her side. She pretended not to see him at first, but eventually looked him straight in the eye, her mouth curved in a challenging smirk. Falling into the rhythm of her movements, he tried to imitate her loose style without abandoning his own natural grace and charm.
The beat of the music increased and he felt perspiration begin to form underneath his thin shirt. His necklace flipped against his collarbones and brushed his chin. Tsubaki grinned back at him her, face flushed. Under the flashing lights her hair changed colors: red and blue, yellow and purple. Her mouth formed words, but he couldn't hear them over the music.
"What?" he yelled.
She grabbed his shoulder and shouted into his ear. "Don't you dare think I like you, okay?"
"No problem!" he hollered back. "I can't stand you either."
He would have said more—he wanted to remind her who had paid for her drink—but she had already moved away and returned to tossing her long, sun-browned arms into the smoky air, eyes closed, hips swaying to the thunderous beat. She bumped into a boy dancing behind her and didn't even apologize.
Somehow, Hideaki couldn't stop grinning.