Decisions

Steam condensed on the lid of the carafe in fat, glistening water droplets while thin vapors lifted from the head. Coffee percolated with a low chugging sound, bubbling and trickling as the liquid eked out of the granules and filled the glass. Tejima flitted around the kitchen with her cellphone pressed to her ear, her sharp even tone matched by the television's low hum.

Shigeru lingered amidst it all, cheek pressed to his kitchen table while he weaved his fingers around one another idly. He dragged his fingertips against one another, revealing in the sensation of the puckered skin still dampened from soaking in dish water.

It felt nice to feel something outside of the pain that attempted to hollow him from the inside out. He closed his eyes and turned to lie face down with his nose uncomfortably squashed against the granite. Why did the day have to feel so terribly normal? It would have been better if the sun didn't stream through his windows, warming the white walls of his apartment.

Or if the newscaster didn't smile as she delivered word about how great the weather would be in the coming days. He knew it was selfish, but if the world could feel just as miserable as he did for just one day; he'd be grateful.

"We aren't seeking an apology, Urata-san."

Tejima's terse, waspish tone stirred Shigeru into lifting his head. He noticed her quick glance in his direction and the hardness in her eyes when she spoke again, "That won't fix what has been done."

Ah, she must be talking to the producer of that talk show, Shigeru thought. He sat up a little straighter like the invisible audience that day was hiding out somewhere behind the high windows. Though, he doubted anyone would get past Tejima when she was on her war path.

He watched her shake her head, like a mother refusing the excuses of an errant child. "I understand the demands of viewership and what would generate traffic for your program, but infringing upon my client's privacy is not worth continuing our partnership."

Shigeru nearly forgot to breathe. She couldn't possibly be.

"I will forward the necessary documents to the director. Thank you for your time," Tejima finished curtly, pulling the phone from her ear with a final press to the screen. She tossed it onto the counter then leaned against it, elbows planted and hands buried in her hair.

Worry dripped into Shigeru's chest, hot as the coffee that'd finish its brew with a burbling sigh. He gently pushed his chair back then started to rise with a cautious, muted, "Mi—"

"That absolute imbecile!" Tejima shouted, the sudden explosion of her voice sending Shigeru back into his seat with how angry she sounded. "He got a last minute change and didn't think to discuss it with me beforehand. We shouldn't hold it against him?! That's just how the business is?"

She slammed her fists against the counter, head jerked in Shigeru's direction. Though her eyes were on him, he couldn't see any of the ire directed at him. Her eyes were unseeing, wild in their indignation. "What does he think this is? You're not just.. just some character we can switch plot lines on to get a better story!"

Shigeru opened his mouth then closed it. He wanted to tell her that she was right, but that wouldn't have been entirely correct. To the public, he was little more than a doll. One they could impress their feelings upon, offer up their hearts to, and in return he simply had to be a muse — just enough for them to make something out of.

Tejima didn't need his response for her to continue her tirade. She snatched up her phone, furiously tapping at the screen. "He's lucky if we ever work with him again. No, I won't let someone like that near you again. You don't have to worry about—"

"Thank you."

The room went quiet for a moment. Only the hum of the television, the coffee maker's dying hiss, and their collective breathing dared to sound. Tejima lifted her head, and Shigeru's eyes never left her. He rose from his chair and went to her side, crooking his finger to brush away the beaded tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I can't thank you enough for protecting me like this," Shigeru said in a low voice, afraid if he spoke too loudly she'd stater into pieces.

He forgot Tejima was made of stronger stuff than that. Her eyes sharpened despite the tears glazed over them, "It's my job."

"You know what I mean," Shigeru chuckled, resting his hand on the table then looking out over his apartment. It'd been days since he actually took in the place where he lived. How long, he didn't know, but it still appeared lived in like he hadn't been hiding in his room for ages. "Cleaning up my messes, keeping the vultures away, that's… it's more than you should be expected to do."

Sometimes, he didn't know what he did to deserve the loyalty of someone like Tejima. Few in the entertainment business could say that they had a manager who actually cared for them. Who treated them with the civility of a human being but also the love and care of a family member.

When he turned back to her, Tejima turned her face away. Her cheeks flushed pink and a little smile tugged at her lips though she harrumphed for show. "Hmph, it's the bare minimum."

Shigeru chuckled. That was the best he would get out of her it seemed. "Want a cup?" He asked, going to his cabinets to search for a clean mug.

Tejima muttered behind him, "You don't have any sugar."

"Ah," Shigeru flinched, adding it to the growing list in his head. He smiled over his shoulder sheepishly, "But the milk is still good right?"

"Make the list," Tejima stated dryly, shooting him a glare.

Scolded, he hung his head and nodded. "Yes ma'am."

Soon, they were both sat at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee and a few snacks Shigeru scrounged from his cupboards. Tejima's cellphone laid face down against the tabletop though in reach of her hand which twitched ever so often towards it. Shigeru slid her over another helping of rice cakes when she resisted the urge to snatch it up a third time.

He leaned back in his chair, preparing to take a sip of his coffee when Tejima addressed him softly. "Shigeru," he hummed, glancing over the rim of his mug to her almost guilty expression. "I believe you should hear this from me before anyone.."

Cold trickled down his spine and he was grateful that she waited until he lowered his mug to the coaster before speaking. Her eyes lifted from the table, resolute in their determination as she said, "I won't be working with Anzai anymore."

Shigeru blinked. "What?" He asked breathlessly, then leaned closer, "Why? Did An-c— did Anzai request that?"

Tejima exhaled through her nose, weary and long. "No, I did," she said, her eyes cutting to the right in a way that almost seemed like shame. "I can't working with him in good conscience. And before you ask, no, it has nothing to do with you."

Shigeru bit down on the inside of his cheek, teeth fitting in the indentations left from his conversation with Anzai. The skin still throbbed like the wound that'd yet to stop weeping on his heart. "I have a hard time believing that," he said bitterly, raising his mug to take another sip, thankful there was no sugar for once.

Tejima shot him a withering look, then sighed as she leaned against the table. Her hands folded across it, business-like, but the look in her eyes was different. Softer, almost pleading for him to understand. "The relationship between manager and client can only work if there is trust. You trust me to keep your best interests at heart, to look into roles which fit what you want to be in. In return, I trust you'll give your all in what I bring to you."

She tipped her head to one side, shoulders lifting. "Yes, there's money and fame in it," her shoulders fell as a familiar glimmer sparked in her eyes. "But at its core - I have to care about everything involved with you because my job is to protect you. That also means you should be able to trust me to do that."

She hesitated, and Shigeru lowered his mug slightly. He saw the flicker in her eyes. The way that her shoulders drooped further, the spark losing its glimmer as her eyes drifted down to her hands. He wished that he hadn't saw it. Wished that it didn't stir something inside of him, but he had and it did.

He thought Anzai's silence, his lack of commitment to the potential backlash they would face, had hurt him alone. But now he could see it plain in Tejima as well. Failure marked itself in the corners of her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she would get lost considering things elsewhere like she was seeing something far beyond where they were. Perhaps she saw a timeline where they'd figured out what happened beforehand, plugged the leak before it could spring.

He wished he knew what he could have done differently too.

"If that's your decision, I… I have no place to interfere with it," Shigeru said, unwilling to point out the vulnerability that he'd seen.

Life sprung back into Tejima as if she'd realized he was there once again, watching her, and she scoffed. "Of course you do," she said, glancing over him. "The one who is hurt most from all this from what I can tell is you."

Shigeru's chest tightened, and he shook his head. "You're biased."

"Shigeru," Tejima said, slow like he was a startled animal she was attempting to calm. But there was a sharpness to her voice, a firmness as if she was stating a fact. "You've been holed up in your house for a week. You look like a wreck."

Shigeru fit his teeth into the groove in his cheek, brushed his tongue against the broken skin and lied through his teeth as he sweetly said, "Thank you."

Tejima grunted, ignoring his cheek as she sank back in her seat with her mug. They sat in silence for awhile with only the hum of the television. Then, lightly as if inconsequential, she asked, "Are you certain it couldn't have been anyone else?"

Shigeru was taken aback by the question. With how adamant she was on breaking ties with An-chan, he'd almost expected her to have written him off as the perpetrator and left it at that. Whether it was out of respect or concern for him, he was grateful that she refrained.

"No," he answered, though the tension coiled hot in his chest made him wonder. Implicating An-chan meant something worse, but hadn't he done so when he'd called him first? He felt like an idiot. "I'd only told you and…. Well, An-chan… would have told me if he had. Wouldn't he?"

Tejima sighed as though that was the last question she wanted to hear. Maybe it was. "If you don't know, I doubt I would either."

They dissolve into another bout of silence. Mugs clinked and eyes wandered, unseeing but wondering. The air thickened with thoughts unspoken and Shigeru glanced at the empty chair on his left. One which usually would have been filled with someone that carried himself like gravity couldn't even hold him down. A smile like the sun. Shigeru blinked, the thought returned to him — faint, hazy with golden hair and eyes. "Oh. There was someone else before, when I spoke to him…"

Tejima grunted acknowledgingly.

"A blond with gold eyes wearing a cloud print sweater. He… took my phone and hung up," Shigeru's nose wrinkled at the memory. Aggravation fed the little flame in his chest, the one that wanted him to tell off that strange interloper. "I don't even know where he'd come from."

Tejima's mug clattered against the table, and Shigeru nearly jumped out of his skin when she leaned across the table. "What? Why didn't you tell me that sooner!" She scampered to her feet, snatching up her cellphone with one hand buried in her hair. "And he was backstage with you!?"

Shigeru winced. "Yeah, I wondered if he was one of the producer's children or something…" Though in hindsight, he should have thought about it being one of his fans. He limited his public appearances as much as possible and kept his schedule on a need-to-know basis. But if there was news about his personal life leaking out then surely someone would have put his schedule out to the masses. A shiver tightened his back like a spring coil.

Tejima glanced at him,. "Did he say anything else to you?"

"No," Shigeru said. Then he thought it over and added, "he did give me a handkerchief though when I was uhm…"

He cut himself off, embarrassment cupped around the back of his neck hotly as his cheeks flushed. He cupped his hands around his mug, lifting it to hide his lower face from view. "Crying.."

There was a pause. He could feel Tejima staring at him even without looking at her.

Slowly, she spoke with a menacing clipped tone that made his hair raise. "He made you cry?"

Her eyes were livid as she pounded her phone's screen with quick movements of her thumbs, then put it to her ear.

"M-Mika, who're you calling?"

"That damn producer," she hissed. "Professionalism, horrible security, he's lucky that we don't sue him for negligence."

"Is that even possible?" Shigeru asked, half to himself as he pushed back from the table and hurried over to try and stop her. "MIka—!"