Chapter 2 – Pajamas / Business Suit

Yuri Petrov did not need an alarm clock to wake up the next morning. He could not think of another time that it had been so easy to rise to the day. Back in his Sternbild apartment, he had to drag himself out of bed to shut off the screeching alarm each morning. His clock had two alarm settings: this beep and the option of a radio alarm. When he first got the clock, he tried out the radio alarm and would always sleep through it. He always kept his radio on the classical music station, and such music soothed the flames of his soul. It did little to wake up him, but he could not bother himself to change the station every night to something else.

When Yuri realized he was awake without the alarm, he felt strange. The feeling was sort of like how he felt the morning he woke up and his mother was not responsive. He almost missed the little, horrible beeping. His routine had been violated.

He had taken the alarm clock with him, but like most of his other possessions, the electronic clock remained in the suitcase against the wall. Yuri's thoughts drifted from the clock and its absence to his current state. His was not a simple dreary, half-awake stupor—he had energy. He felt like he could leap out of bed. A couple of explanations sprang to mind: perhaps his internal clock was wired just properly or perhaps his body sensed some sort of danger and instinct had woken him. That seemed unlikely, when all that his senses picked up was some music in the background.

"Music?" He rose halfway, sitting upright on his bed, sheets still keeping his legs cozy. There was some sort of music playing—something fast, something energized. It was coming from just outside the room. He could barely hear it at first, which was why he was quick to wonder how such a quiet sound could really have woken him.

"they've got a power…"

Yuri's eyebrows rose sharply. There was definitely music playing nearby. He looked around the room. The sun was just waking up the town, and through the red curtain, it cast enough light for Yuri to see the details of the plain room. Nothing of interest was there to see, because nothing had changed from the night before. However, the newfound clarity of vision was another reminder of how suddenly and to what extent he had woken up.

"…force that you've never seen before"

He gently grabbed the sheets and flung them away. He pivoted himself and shifted his body so his legs could hang over the bed. Through the noise, he could hear the music continue on, although the words were no longer so clear.

Yuri's feet touched the ground, and then his body stopped to listen further.

"to even out the score"

He scurried to the door and, half-hunched over in a cautious creep, seized the doorknob. He turned it gently…

"no one can ever take them down the power lies on their side"

He flung the door open and ran toward the source. The guitar was shredding louder and louder as he neared the open living room, which connected to the small dining room and kitchen.

"GO GO POWER RANGERS! GO GO POWER RANGERS!"

A large, flat screen television and various gaming consoles within a wooden entertainment center were up against the wall to Yuri's left. About eight feet away were two red couches, divided by a faux suede blue foot rest. These pieces of furniture formed a "V" shape, and on the couch most within Yuri's view, Yomotsu was sitting at the edge of the seat.

"MIGHTY MORPHIN' POWER RANGERS!"

Yuri now realized the frightening truth: the noise had been coming not just from the television set, but from Yomotsu himself. The man was singing along and had this enthralled grin plastered on his face. Yuri scowled and looked again toward the dining room, where they had spent a portion of the day before talking over Grape Fanta.

The dining room and entertainment room were connected by the same stretch of carpet. The dining room led into the kitchen, which had tile flooring; the three rooms were easily viewable from the front door. Everything he had seen about the house made sense, except for the carpet in the bathroom.

"They know the fate of the world is lying in their hands," Yomotsu sang in a rich, deep voice. "They know to only use their weapons for defense~"

Yuri looked back at Yomotsu. Suddenly the singing seemed quite normal and bearable. Yomotsu's clean and typical clothes from the day before had given way to a complete, toe-to-neck black spandex suit. A belt was looped around his waist, and not just any belt; it looked like it had been pulled straight out of a Batman comic.

"Are those… your pajamas?"

Yomotsu's head turned at Yuri's remark. The rest of his body was far too engaged in watching Power Rangers to stir. Having recognized his housemate's voice, the wide-eyed Yomotsu's mouth formed an "o" shape. He answered after a couple of seconds, "I don this suit every night."

Yuri blinked. "Why?"

Yomotsu frowned. He hardened his glance at Yuri and answered, "Precisely for the same reasons you are wearing those white shorts with devil duckies."

This response had an interesting effect on Yuri. He flipped his hair and, looking past the man clad in spandex, said as though more to himself than Yomotsu, "To separate the manifestations of our inner evils, portraying them against the stark holiness of the eternal guide—so that they, in knowing their solitude, may suffer before they quack their last quack." Yuri coughed into his hand and then, looking down, summarized, "It was a gift from a former girlfriend."

Yomotsu nodded and then reached his left hand for the remote, which was on the footrest. Yomotsu paused the program and then, with the remote still in hand, turned his whole body around. He now sat cross-legged on the middle of the couch. He looked up at Yuri, who was still at the opening to the hallway.

"A few friends of mine on a little 'secret Santa' program years back," Yuri explained, his eyes averting the other's unflinching attention. "I went a little overboard and gave the woman, who at the time was not in a serious relationship with me, one of the few bottles of vintage wine I possessed… And in return, I received this pair of shorts. It's not that I like them so much, but rather, in meconium of the wine that was lost that day…"

"You need not explain any further!" Yomotsu waved his hand back and forth. Yuri took in a relieved breath of air. "I, too, have a special relationship with my pajamas." Yomotsu was smiling, but his eyes were watering now.

Yuri did not know whether to hug him or slap him or cry with him or bring him a Kleenex or just walk out of the house. He also wondered if this was the first time he had seen a blind man cry. Then again, he also wondered how often he kept track of blind people's behavior in general. As the first tears slid down Yomotsu's face, in between his audible sniffling, he cried out, "And at the thought of losing them, I—!"

Yuri leaned his head back and, with his eyes closed, interrupted, "Say no more of it…" He raised his hand. "For if you do…" His head turned away from Yomotsu. "For if you do, you might make me think of such thoughts, and that is most… unnecessary…"

Thus it was that, at 6 am on June 15th, two men in their thirties shared a quiet moment in tender fear that something should ever happen to their pajamas and, moreover, what they represented. They furthermore kept their questions concerning each other's late night and early morning rituals to silently to themselves.

By eight, Yuri had put on a business suit. This did not go unnoticed by Yomotsu.

The latter, after finishing the recording of Power Rangers over a bowl of Trix cereal, took a shower, changed, and retired to the dining room table. There he "read" the funnies in the day's Grace Gazette (laughing when he sensed it was appropriate) and tried to come up with alternate solutions to what he imagined the daily crossword puzzle's inquiries to be (a process that entailed writing in answers in the random places he assumed were the spaces provided).

His attention on the paper ceased when Yuri appeared in a business suit. Of course, Yomotsu could not see the suit. He was blind, after all. However, it is a well-known fact that business suits have a very distinct sound to them—a sound that, for reasons of survival alone, Yomotsu had come to be able to detect straight-away.

"Mr. Hirasaka—"

"I forgave you on our first encounter, but twice you bring this upon yourself—"

"…Pardon?"

Yomotsu, with his shoulders hunched up, could not even look at him. He was so disgusted. It looked almost as though his head, reminiscent of a shy turtle's, might shrink totally into his red t-shirt. "It can't be mere coincidence!"

Yuri was about to take a seat across from Yomotsu, but he stopped halfway. He did not want to get too close to a testy man who was holding up a rolled-up newspaper in one hand and a clicky pen in the other.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Yuri asked so flatly—as though Yomotsu was speaking strangely.

Now Yomotsu, appearing as though he might slam his hands down on the table at any moment, tensed up and turned his head toward Yuri. "You are wearing a business suit! Again!" That was all he thought necessary to say regarding the matter. Clearly, when Yuri heard this, he should have come to an instant awareness of the grave wrong he had committed, yet somehow, this simple matter eluded his grasp.

"…So?"

"SO—" Yomotsu cleared his throat and placed the paper and pen down on the table. "SOOOOO, I think I clearly stated in the online advertisement that I would not tolerate cheats and liars."

"…I thought I was wearing my suit rather honestly…"

Yomotsu sighed. He realized now that Yuri was not opposing him out of bad intent; he was just stupid. He could forgive this. There was a huge gaping distance in his mind between willful disobedience and simple, even if unbelievable, ignorance. He explained, plainly yet spitefully, "Only fiends wear such suits—politicians, lawyers, door-to-door salesmen. No righteous man wears a business suit unless he has to. Suits for leisure are another matter, but if my ears do not deceive me, your clothes are geared toward the personal profit from other men's naivety."

Yuri cried out, "In Sternbild, I was in the highest judicial—"

"You steal men's souls!"

"I fought for the protection of all and—wait, huh?"

"And make them your slaves!"

"Now, please, Mr. Hirasaka, how is that—"

"Mankind ill needs a business suit such as yours."

"Enough of your talk!" Yuri could be heard stomping his foot as brought his outstretched hand toward his chest and tightened his fingers into a fist. "Have at you!" With his fist against chest, the other hand automatically opened so he could point an accusatory finger toward Yomotsu. However, along with this motion, the object previously in his hand was released.

Yomotsu was acutely aware of the can of grape Fanta that had been launched into the air. He could see it within the confines of his mind—the crisp and refreshing drink, spiraling madly through the air, destined to spill its lifeblood all over the clean carpet that stretched between the living room and dining room.

Yomotsu swiftly dove from his chair and, too quickly for Yuri's full comprehension, took the hit in place of the floor. The can was seized by Yomotsu's hands, but given the way he fell, there was no avoiding that some of it would spill out before he was able to steady his grip—as a result, between the time Yomotsu was able to land and when he had first grabbed the can, the purple soda pop had spilled over his red t-shirt.

The results spread from right below his collar down toward the bottom. A bit of it even got on his jeans. Yomotsu quickly sat upright, can in hand. He ignored the wetness against his chest for now, and instead, he felt along the carpet with his free hand. There was no moisture in the carpet. He chuckled.

"You may ask yourself, Mr. Petrov," Yomotsu started up, as he rose to his feet, "How can he be so carefree, when some fizzy drink just spilled all over the front of his clothes?" Yomotsu placed the can on one of the table's placemats. "I tell you, the answer is simple: this shirt was on the discount rack, but if I had been wearing an expensive business suit, right now I would feel defeated. There is a lesson here for those who are willing to see it."