Evidence of Consequence

Shigeru lost track of the time it took him to find his voice, but once he had, it came out in a roar. "Why did you do that?!"

He bolted to his feet and snatched his phone from the stranger's slackened grasp, quickly tapping the screen to life. An-chan's contact photo stared up at him mockingly, and the call-log beneath it showed no sign of him trying to return the phone call. A swipe to their message thread revealed nothing as well and Shigeru's heart notched in his throat when his fingers hovered over the digital keyboard. Suffocating, it felt as if he was suffocating but he typed out a message anyway.

I'm sorry about that, can we please talk?

He could feel his audience of one watching him but thought little of it when the message leapt into the window, awaiting its notice. His hand trembled as he closed his fingers tighter around the phone's sides until the metal was digging grooves into his palms. Seconds could have passed him by, minutes and hours marching aimlessly ahead, and Shigeru would never have noticed. Delivered didn't pop up beneath the message bubble, and when he flicked back to An-chan's contact photo, there was a blank-faced characters staring back at him.

Frustration burned hot in Shigeru's veins though he didn't know where to direct it first. There were so many things — the headliners he would be grilled about, the hosts who cared more for ratings than feelings, An-chan for his flippancy in abandoning him to this, and then there was this stranger who got in his way before he could learn what he'd done to deserve this.

At the very least, there was someone close at hand whom deserved his ire. Fire surged in Shigeru's heart as he rounded on the stranger, lips parted to tell him exactly what he thought of his assistance when something small was shoved right under his nose.

Taken aback, Shigeru blinked slowly then leaned back to examine the sudden offering. It was a handkerchief folded neatly into a square and tucked into the heart of the stranger's palm. Looking past it, Shigeru noticed the stranger was at least a head or two shorter than him and lacked the easygoing smile he'd once possessed. He stood with his shoulders curved inward and face turned toward the opposite wall, like he was attempting to make himself smaller.

His blond hair, the color of a sunflower's petals, was tied back into a messy bun while thick wavy bangs partially curtained a pair of golden eyes far more interested in everything but Shigeru. He was like the sun and sky personified, tan skin aglow under the hallway's fluorescent lights while the puffy light blue sleeves of his cloud-printed sweater pooled around his hand as he scratched his cheek.

The stranger glanced in his direction, eyes widened slightly when their gaze met. His eyes flicked down to the handkerchief in his hand then up to Shigeru before he pushed it closer. "It's for you to uh…" He pursed his lips and tapped right below his eye, puzzling Shigeru further until he reached up to touch his own face.

Oh.

Shigeru pulled his hand back, staring in wonder at the moisture glistening on his fingertips. His lips parted then pressed together tightly as he dragged the heel of his hand against his eyes. Stars burst in the darkness behind his lids and swelled into tiny fireworks when he pressed his hand harder. Circles danced at the edge of his blurred vision when his hands lowered; the moisture trailed from palm to wrists and even the hem of his sleeve felt wet.

For how long had he been crying? Why hadn't he noticed it before?

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled him out of his navel gazing. Shigeru remained still, then slowly lifted is gaze. The handkerchief was still held right before him and the stranger kept their eyes averted. Was it to give him privacy?

Shigeru wanted to laugh but he didn't trust the sound that would come out of his mouth. And he refused to embarrass himself any more than he already had. He was torn between taking the handkerchief to clean up the evidence of his shame, or rejecting the stranger's peace offering and letting him stew in what he'd done wrong. But before he could make a decision, one was made for him as it seemed was usual for today.

The stranger turned toward him, frowning as he all but shoved the handkerchief in Shigeru's face. Shigeru sputtered, trying to draw back from the cloth swiping around his face messily.

"I know that I did something stupid, and you've got every right to be upset, but that doesn't mean you should let your face stay like that," the stranger scolded. "What if your eyes get puffy? How'll you explain that to your manager?"

Shigeru balked, ears burning. He hadn't thought of that at all but why would that be any concern of his?

"Stop," Shigeru hissed. He wrapped his hand around the offending wrist and jerked it aside so he could glare down into the stranger's face. A look of equal agitation reflected back at him and Shigeru's eyes narrowed. "Who are you, and how did you get back here?"

The stranger's glare dissipated almost immediately replaced with a curious, wondering look. He tilted his head to one side and his mop of blond hair shifted with him, "You don't recognize me?"

Self-importance had never been one of Shigeru's strong points, no matter what the press believed. And it wasn't a point he found flattering in others either. He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Should I?"

The stranger watched him for a second longer, eyes wandering over him. Then the corner of his lips curved into a grin, mischievous. "Nah, better that you don't.." Shigeru thought to question this but the stranger wrenched his hand free, flicking the handkerchief in Shigeru's face. He sputtered, grasping the cloth while the stranger's rhythmic voice cheerily crooned, "It'll make for a better entrance next time we meet."

Shigeru crushed the handkerchief in his fist, looking up to find the stranger was already halfway down the hallway. They turned back with a grin like sunlight and called, "You can return that to me later, by the way!", reminding Shigeru of a mischievous fairy that'd come for a brief second only to find their interest elsewhere.

He darted around the corner, giggling sprightly while Shigeru helplessly watched after him feeling at a loss. While the stranger had come to him in a whirlwind, there was an undeniable warmth he'd brought with him. His smile was like being stricken with the full force of sunshine and for a split second, Shigeru had almost forgotten why he'd cried to begin with.

Now that the sun had drifted away from him, the cold returned and so did the memory of it all. He stood in silence, utterly still until his phone chimed with a familiar ringtone. Without looking at it, he brought it to his ear and answered silently.

A breathless voice on the other end gasped, "Shigeru—?!," breathlessly before whispering an achingly relieved, "Oh, thank goodness…"

"Tejima…" Shigeru whispered, looking down at the handkerchief balled in his fist.

"Where are you right now?" Tejima asked, cloth rustling on the other end of the line and the hasty snaps of clasps telling him of her packing.

Shigeru pressed his lips together, wondering if he wanted to tell her. He'd already been happened upon once, already been seen at his lowest. Enduring that again — "Backstage. Outside of my dressing room, I— Tejima…"

"I'm sorry," Tejima interjected, and Shigeru's mouth fell open with a breathy sigh. She continued in a flurry, "If I'd known they were going to bring that up, I would never have brought you on this set. I won't ask you to forgive me but—"

Shigeru swallowed around the bitter mouthful of tears, his vision blurred as he brought the handkerchief to his eyes. "Tejima…"

Soft as a whisper, she answered, "Yes?"

"I want to go home," Shigeru pleaded, feeling like a child begging his mother.

"Of course."

He wasn't sure which broke him more. The hastiness in which Tejima appeared, all of her sharp angles and pressed lines askew when her eyes landed upon him. Or the way she pulled him into his dressing room and wrapped her arms around him, letting his head fall into the crook of her neck and shoulder. The promises she'd whispered into his trembling shoulders, hand rubbing circles into the small of his back like she could push all of the shame and doubt from his stomach. Maybe it was even when his driver appeared, and Tejima helped him to the car while keeping his face hidden from camera and reporter.

It could have been all of those things; evidence that An-chan might not have been the person Shigeru had believed him to be.