always someone to please, always somewhere to climb, always something else to do

Fumito rests his head on the windowpane without looking at the passing view. He’s been like this for hours now, which Koharu understands to some degree. After all, he did everything possible to avoid the perilous task of escorting her… within his self-imposed limits.

Soujiro drives in silence. He’s also angry, and Koharu also gets it. She called him hours ago to take an express flight to Tokyo in order to drive Fumito and her to Karatsu. Why not a private jet? Because it’s environmentally unfriendly. Why not flying in first class? Because someone might overhear her plan… which doesn’t exist yet, but it will soon.

Sick and tired of getting ignored, Koharu punts Fumito’s shin. While he glares at her, she says, “Don’t worry, we’re not getting engaged. Just ignore papa.”

“Oh yeah? The literal president of my agency?”

“He’s not the president of your heart.”

“Fuck off, Fujinomiya.” She can’t tell if Fumito means her or her father, but probably both.

“Now you see why I’m not in his agency?”

“Wasn’t it because you wanted to prove yourself or some shit? Well, congrats. You did. Most of us don’t get that chance.”

“You have that chance now,” she says. “He doesn’t get mad for long. Besides, you’re his golden boy. I know papa. He’s just doing this because he was told that it’s a good idea, because it’ll sell or something. That’s all everyone in this place does! Do as they’re told!”

“Well, welcome to real life, Fujinomiya. That’s what being an adult is, even if you’re at the top, apparently.”

Should she tell him… should she not… she does. “Children have it worse.”

Fumito is slowly sinking into the seat. He looks like he’s melting. “Everything sucks, then, I guess. Can’t make decisions as a kid. Can’t make decisions as a grown-up. There’s always someone to please, always somewhere to climb, always something else to do. I hate the countryside. It smells like shit. I hate charity events. They’re boring as fuck and nobody likes them.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true. Not a single person there will give a single flying fuck about your charity speech. Did you even write it or is it AI?”

“Rude,” Koharu says. “Soujiro wrote it.”

Fumito scoffs.

“Fine. Be that way. I’ll have to do everything myself, as usual.”

“Everything being… what? Embarrassing me on national television after I propose to you?”

“Yes.”

He’s glaring at her again. “And then what? Will Mr. Nurse propose?”

“W-who?”

Stuttering is the worst thing she could’ve done. Fumito’s expression changes immediately. He straightens—no pun intended—now looming above her. “Aw, you think I don’t know? Do you think I can’t tell what you’re trying to do?”

Koharu’s back presses against her end of the limousine. Soujiro keeps glancing at them, but he has to stare at the road ahead. If he must, he’ll stop the car and then Fumito. Koharu knows. She’s not afraid. “I’m not trying to do anything.”

“So you’re holding an event that Mr. Nurse is, no doubt, a guest at—”

“You don’t know—”

“I do.”

He’s right above her now. Koharu has no trouble meeting his eyes. He might be taller and stronger than Munetoshi, but if anyone is afraid here, it’s Fumito. He’s lashing out. “...fine. You know what? Fine. Mr. Nurse will be there. The medical center he works at is one of the beneficiaries. Of course he’ll be there. Of course I want to see him, and I will. But I won’t… can’t talk to him.”

Fumito’s eyes narrow.

“If I do, people will connect two and two. They’ll find him, then the clinic, and then the whole village will get swarmed. They’ll get hounded, just like we are. That’s why all we have are those pictures. That’s all we can have. See? I’m not trying to do anything because I can’t. I’ll just see him from afar and that’s it. I can’t…”

He smiles. It does what a glare couldn’t—it freezes Koharu. It’s that cold.

As Fumito recedes to his side of the car, he begins to laugh. “You… you hypocrite…!” then he loses it.

***

Toshi soon realizes that he is, again, diabolically overdressed. So is Mr. Oda. Other locals—most of them acquaintances—are dressed in suits that are elegant but faded, or a bit too tight, or disheveled at the edges. Since Toshi’s job doesn’t exactly involve wearing these on a daily basis, he hadn’t been able to tell earlier, but… there is a difference. There is a stark, mortifying difference between the Otohama representatives and everyone else.

He pretends like it doesn’t bother him. He fails. Mr. Oda smacks Toshi’s leg with a cane he didn’t need a month ago. “Straighten up. You’re not an old geezer yet.”

This is a nightmare. “Mr. Oda. If anyone asks… ugh, I can’t even come up with an excuse.”

“If anyone asks, I have a rich granddaughter.”

“...I mean. Sure.” He does, in a way.

It’s nauseatingly hot even inside the conference room. Toshi and Mr. Oda’s seats are near the back. Toshi has to tell Mr. Oda not to blast his phone like a radio. Several colleagues walk by, greeting them. While several of them give the suits pointed looks, none of them inquire on the subject.

Is Koharu putting a target on their backs, or…?

What if she is?

What if this is another one of her traps and the speech is just her screaming, “NAGUMO, I LO—”

No.

No, that’s not how real life works.

Koharu isn’t selfish enough to do something like that. Not anymore, anyway.

Toshi’s heart races. Objectively, he knows that nothing will happen, but that doesn’t stop his mind from wandering.

Maybe…

No.

But what if…?

As she finally enters the room, chatter recedes to a hum. By then, Toshi has lent earphones to Mr. Oda so he (and those around them) can be at ease. He takes them off to… see?

Fujinomiya Koharu, award-winning actress and singer, looks every bit as beautiful as someone of her ilk would: pristine, elegant, and very, very distant. She has been training hard and it shows. Her hair is longer now, almost down to her waist, styled into soft, loose waves.

A tall, handsome man walks behind her, like a shield. Due to how high her heels are, he takes a few steps ahead of her to help her up—to steady her. She takes his hand, staring into his eyes as he stares into hers. Both of them smile at each other.

The woman walking onto that podium is not Koharu. Not his—not Otohama’s. She has become a stranger.

Mr. Oda patting his arm startles him. “Don’t worry,” Mr. Oda says.

“About?”

“About what you’re thinking.”

Toshi looks back at the scenario, where a few workers assist her with adjusting the microphone. “I won’t, then. I hope she knows what she’s doing when she was repeatedly advised not to wear heels that high. At least she has someone else to help her.”

Mr. Oda sighs.

Fujinomiya begins to speak. What she says is meaningless and everyone knows it. Most people pretend like they’re paying attention—for now. Toshi sure isn’t. He just watches someone he can no longer reach.

In a way, it’s cathartic. The woman standing there is not the one he used to know.

There’s nothing he can do about it.

This is it.

He can finally move on.

Good!

It was ridiculous to think… to even consider… just no.

“Toshi.”

It was always stupid and wrong. He should’ve stopped that madness months ago. He’ll just block her and move on. No more pictures. He was always going to end up alone anyway. It was just… wishful thinking. A way to pass the time. To assuage arbitrary loneliness. What was he thinking, enabling her whims for so long? What was she thinking? Did she find it funny? Is this money laundering scheme not enough to keep her grips on—

“Toshi. You’re crying.”

“...huh?”

And because Fujinomiya brings nothing but misery, it is then that Koharu meets his eyes, her voice trailing off into a gasp.

It lasts for an instant, as it did back then.

They’re back on that hill, under that short, short snowfall.

Then the man beside her takes her hand. Fujinomiya averts her gaze, then continues to recite her speech.

Toshi mirrors her. He bends on the chair, pretending to be fixing his shoes. He closes his eyes. He takes deep breaths. Hope is a terrible, painful thing.

“Mr. Oda,” Toshi mumbles, “I need to. I…”

“Go. I was taking a nap.”

Toshi laughs, though it comes out breathy. It’s the second time he cries while surrounded by a crowd of strangers. It’s a peculiar feeling. The first time was during a school trip to a nursing home, back when his emotional range hadn’t been permanently stunted. They were supposed to help the elderly, to cheer them up, something like that. Fourteen-year old Toshi had spontaneously broken down crying while playing guitar for a bedridden old lady.

Whenever somebody asks how he ended up the way he has, that old lady comes to mind, even still.

Maybe that’s life to him: a series of in-betweens, glimpses of time that refuse to turn into memories.

Maybe it’s time to stop lying to himself for once.

It’s fine to… feel like shit.

It’s fine.

It’ll pass.

“Wretched beast,” Toshi mumbles before he stands up. Most of the guests know him in passing, so once they inevitably ask what happened, he’ll just say that he lost his marbles due to personal issues at the time. He wouldn’t be the first or the last.

There’s a small balcony near the entrance, which is thankfully empty. As soon as he reaches it, with the city as his witness, as he leans above the handrail, Toshi lets out a long, shaky sigh.

If only he’d brought cigarettes…

It’s highly likely that Fujinomiya and he might have to “meet” later, but Toshi would rather go skydiving without a parachute than do that. He’ll just tell Mr. Oda to do it in his stead. They get to DM anyway.

Regardless, he doesn’t regret showing up.

It’s good… closure.

Amidst his self-pity spiral, an intruder walks into the balcony. Toshi sucks his teeth without thinking, then attempts to cover this with the back of his hand.

“Good afternoon. Everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Nurse?”

Despite his best interest, Toshi glances at the intruder from the corners of his eyes.

It’s the actor who stood next to Fujinomiya earlier. Did he just… leave the stage mid-speech? He gives Toshi a polite bow before leaning beside him on the rail, so close to the edge that Toshi prepares to pull him back into place.

The man laughs. “I’m not jumping. Calm down.”

Are all celebrities this deranged? “Yes, of course. Forgive me.”

He’s too on edge to feel sad anymore, with this guy just… looming like that. It doesn’t help that he’s staring at Toshi, not the view. “Are you just going to pretend like I’m not here?”

“If you wish to have the balcony to yourself, you’re more than free to come back later.”

“So you can cry in peace?”

“Yes.”

“Because I took your girl?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must be confusing me with someone else. Regardless, I appreciate your concern.”

The man leans over the rail even further to take a look at Toshi’s face. Any moment now. He’ll slide. Toshi will end up saving him anyway, but he’d like to pretend that he’ll push him and make it look like an accident. The man says, “I’m supposed to propose to her soon.”

“Ah, is that so. Congratulations. I wish you the best.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then do us both a favor, Mr. Nurse, and tell that stupid bitch to get a grip.”

“...pardon me?”

“I’m telling you to ask her out. Right now.”

Toshi stares at him. Yeah, no, apparently celebrities in general are deranged.