Yohei: The Space Between Us

“They always hide, don’t they?” Aoi laughs as she’s digging through her bag searching for her keys.

“I guess,” Yohei nods as if he knows. He hasn’t handled a key in years, just the key card to his apartment that's always tucked into a little pocket in his phone case. And if it ever went missing, he could always get a temporary code, like the cleaning company and the assistants use.

“Aha, found it!” She triumphantly holds up a keychain packed with more charms and decorations than actual keys. “This way. It’s on the third floor.”

They start climbing the narrow stairs in silence. The light is surprisingly dim, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because most of the bulbs need replacing. It’s the same in the small hallway outside her door; one bulb is flickering ominously, threatening to leave them in darkness.

“Here we are,” she says, unlocking the door. “It’s very small, mind – but it’s mine. All fourteen square meters of it.”

Aoi steps inside first, slipping out of her shoes and hanging her coat on a hook by the door. She kicks her sneakers closer to the wall, then crosses the room and drops her bag onto a desk already crowded with books, sketchpads, and random jars filled with brushes.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” she says lightly, clearly not sorry at all.

Yohei doesn’t answer right away. He’s still standing just inside the doorway, hands about to unbutton his coat, unable to take his eyes off her. She fits so effortlessly in here, the place a mirror of her personality. The space is small, smaller than any place he’s seen since coming to Tokyo, but it doesn’t feel messy, it feels… warm. Homey. The controlled chaos and the faint smell of coffee and paint are welcoming.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asks, heading to the far wall where he can see a small fridge. “I have green tea, the one that you like. And instant coffee. It’s decent, but nothing like what we have at MofuMofu.”

“Tea would be great, thanks.”

“Don’t just stand there,” she teases. “Come on in, and would you mind locking the door behind you?”

“Sure thing.” He carefully stuffs his beanie and scarf into his pocket and hangs his coat next to hers, places his sneakers neatly by the door, and turns the lock. There’s a security latch as well, so he closes it too, before moving into the room.

It’s tiny but colorful and very… he struggles to find a word that fits… cozy and well-lived-in. Tall shelves filled with books and art materials line the walls, and a rolled-up futon stands in one corner, with the bedding in a pile on top. An easel taller than him occupies the opposite corner, and he’s immediately drawn to it.

“It’s beautiful,” he says honestly, looking at the half-finished painting. “Is this the one…?”

“It is.” She comes to stand beside him, so close that he feels the warmth from her arm as it almost, just almost touches his. “I’m glad you like it, as you can see it’s still a work in progress.” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes as she gives it a critical look. “Still much work left.”

“Is it for a school project?”

“Yes,” she says. “It’s for my winter assessment. We were given a seasonal theme and told to interpret it however we wanted. Not the season itself, but what it feels like in a personal way.”

“It looks cold and warm at the same time. The colors are very wintery, but the feeling is comforting, warm.”

“Thank you. It just… felt right,” she adds after a moment. “I was thinking a lot about your photos when I started it. The lights, and the feeling.”

The kettle whistles, breaking the moment, and she heads back to the kitchenette.

“Have a seat, and I’ll bring the tea.” She waves a hand to the center of the room, where a low table is surrounded by colorful pouffes. 

He sits on a bright green one and, though there’s so much to look at, his eyes keep drifting back to her as she loads a small tray with cups and a chubby ceramic kettle. Her kitchenette is even smaller than his; just a small sink with some well-stocked shelves above it. A micro, the obligatory rice cooker, what looks like a single hot plate, and of course, the still steaming electric kettle.

“You have a nice place here,” he says as she places the tray on the table and takes a seat opposite him, legs comfortably crossed. “I’m impressed that you have your own apartment already. When I first moved to Tokyo, I was sharing a small one-bedroom with three other guys. It was very cramped.”

“Well, my parents helped a lot,” she explains, looking around with a proud look on her face. “We found this one through one of my father’s business associates, and they paid the deposit and all the fees. But I pay the rent myself.”

“That’s still impressive. So, you moved in here last spring then?”

“Yes, in April, almost exactly when the semester started. “ She laughs softly as she pours their tea. “It was pretty chaotic for a while, settling into a new town, a new school, and a new apartment at the same time. Sharing might have been easier at first, but I’m happy I chose this.”

“It feels very much like you already,” he says as he accepts a cup. “You’ve done a great job with it.”

 It’s true. He’s been in his apartment for over two years, and it still feels like a temporary setup, more hotel than home. Not like this place, bursting with her personality.

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it,” she says, giving him a long look over the rim of her cup. “Then perhaps you’d like to come by again?”

“I would. I mean, I will if you want me to.” As often as he can get away from his schedule and Sato-san, that is. For the hundredth time, he wonders if he should tell her… He must at some point… but not now…

The silence is heavy while they sip their slightly too hot tea, but it doesn’t take long before they’re back to chatting about small, unimportant things. The cats at the cafe, a joke her teacher told, how fun they had earlier at the skating rink…

As they finish the last tea in the kettle, he spots a familiar shape, tucked away between a couple of shelves. A guitar.

“I didn’t know you played.”

“Play? What?”

“The guitar.” He points to it, and she gives it an almost guilty glance.

“Oh, I don’t. Not really.” She smiles a little sadly. “I really wanted to learn, so I bought it, and I was going to sign up for classes, I really was, but then… well…” She waves a hand around, indicating all her other projects. “Something else kept getting in the way, and suddenly a lot of time had passed.”

“Do you mind if I have a look?”

“Not at all. Go ahead.”

Moments later, he’s back at the pouffe, the guitar resting against his knee, and strums a few quiet chords. It’s slightly out of tune, and he spends a minute turning the keys until it sounds just right. It’s a nice guitar, not new but good quality, perfect for a beginner. It reminds him of his first guitar. It had been second-hand too. Too big for his eight-year-old frame. 

He smiles at the memory, fingers itching to try it.

“May I?” he asks.

“Please. I had no idea you could play,” she smiles, nodding for him to go on. “You’re full of surprises.”

Yes, too many surprises, too many untold things, the now familiar knot in his stomach reminds him, but he pushes it down with a strained smile.

“I might be a bit rusty. It’s been years since I played anything but the piano. Or a keyboard.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Can’t do worse than me.”

What to play? Not one of his songs, RYO’s songs…

His fingers take over, improvising a simple, soft melody. The sound fills the tiny room as he grows more confident. Aoi sits across from him, hugging her clearly forgotten cup with both hands. Eyes wide and bright, watching him with an expression that makes him forget how to breathe.

“You make it look easy,” she murmurs.

“It isn’t,” he says with a small smile. “But it gets easier with practice.”

She tilts her head. “Maybe you can teach me sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

The words come out before he’s had time to think them through. But he does want to.

“One more song? Please. That was beautiful.”

“Happy too.” Anything to see that look on her face, and the way her teeth catch her lower lip, her soft lower lip, as she watches his fingers move.

When the last note fades, neither of them speaks. The room feels smaller now, the air warmer, almost sizzling.

“I should probably head home,” he says, as he stands up. Carefully, he puts the guitar back where he found it.

“Oh. Right, it's getting late.” She gets up too, walking him back to the door.

They stand there, close enough that he can smell the flowery scent of her shampoo, the faint traces of paint and thinner. Her hand lingers near his sleeve. His gaze drops to her lips before he can stop himself. Her eyes close, lips opening slightly... welcoming.

For a moment, it feels inevitable. Every fiber of his being wants to do it. To brush his lips against hers, bury his hands in her hair, pull her close…

Pulling her into his world...

He steps back, and the surprised, hurt look in her eyes as they snap open is as painful as a knife stabbing his heart.

“I... I’ll call you tomorrow,” he mumbles cowardly. “I just…”

“It’s okay,” she answers a little too quickly. She smiles, but her voice is hesitant, lacking her usual confidence. “We had a wonderful evening, didn’t we? Right, Yohei-kun?”

“We did!” he says with a big, hopefully reassuring smile. The unspoken question in her voice is killing him, but he can’t… not now… Pulling himself together, he bows lightly. “Thank you for inviting me. Aoi-chan. It means a lot to me and I'd lo... really like to come back.”

Once the door closes behind him, he stands still, the flickering light of the dying lightbulb burning through his closed eyelids as he takes a couple of deep breaths to settle his racing heart.

When he pulls out his phone to call for a taxi, there are three messages from Tanaka-san. Schedule changes for tomorrow. Something about a new dance studio. He makes the call as he slowly walks down the stairs. Texts to confirm the changes. Pulls his beanie on and wraps the scarf around his lower face.

The air is biting cold as he steps outside, but it stings less than the memory of his hesitation. 

Why did he step back?