500 Days of Takahiro | Matsuhana

0:00:51 - 0:09:49

(DAY 488)

Silence. There's no sound beside it. Their hands are interlocked, sitting besides each other on a bench over the city. It's peaceful. Matsukawas finger brushes over the ring upon Hanamakis finger, looking at him, eyes full of longing. His gaze would make anyone in their right mind melt, yet Hanamaki wasn't anyone.

"This is a story of boy meets boy."

(DAY 1)

Matsukawa taps his finger on the conference table. He's bored, uninterested. The walls are covered with blown up sized greeting cards, and he sits there staring over them for the hundredth time. His tennis shoes squeak against the laminated floor, resting his head upon his hand. He doesn't look that put together, he threw on some random superhero shirt under his blazer, easily the least dressed up individual in the room.

"The boy, Matsukawa Issei of Miyagi Prefecture, Japan, grew up believing that he'd never truly be happy until the day he met... "the one."

(MATSUKAWA HOUSEHOLD, 2010)

Matsukawa sits beside his sister on the couch, both focused on the film on screen. Before his mother had left for work, she told them it was her turn in control of the tv, which had caused an argument. At first, Matsukawa was petty about it, not wanting to watch some romance film his sister put on, but as it went on, he found himself engrossed in it.

"This belief stemmed from early exposure to sad Japanese pop music and a total misreading of an American romance movie, both influenced by a teenage sister."

He had held hands with many girls, yet he never felt a connection. He had also held hands with some boys, yet the spark hadn't come yet. He was desperate. He laid on his bed, daydreaming about the person out there that he was destined to be with. His door slams open.

"Issei, get your ass up! It's your first day of high school and you're over here fantasizing in your pajamas??" His older sister barged in, throwing his school backpack on him, causing him to rush to get up and get ready.

(CUBICLES, PRESENT DAY - 2016)

Hanamaki Takahiro stands off in the corner, filing files and answering phone calls. He had a trancing look, the subtle femineity of his facial features making him pretty enough for everyone.

"The other boy, Hanamaki Takahiro of Tokyo, Japan, (although he did grow up in Miyagi) did not share this belief."

(HANAMAKI HOUSEHOLD, 2010)

Hanamaki stares at himself in the mirror. His hair was somewhat long and styled in a way that made girls like him, dorky freckles and all. He pushed a hand through his hair. It was his mothers dark copper color and a style and length he had inherited from his father.

"Since the disintegration of his relationship between him and his parents, as Hanamaki had been going through some sort of 'rebellion', there had only been two things Hanamaki really liked. The first was his hair."

He picked up his fathers hair clipper, inserting blades that would make it short, but not enough for a full on buzz cut, powered it on, and dragged it across the side of his head. He cut his hair into microbangs, picking up the hair bleach he had stolen from his older sister.

"The second was how easily he could get rid of it without a care in the world."

The day before his first at highschool, and his hair was looking drastically different from before. It was short, with very short bangs, and had gone from a dark copper to more of a light pink-brown tone. There was a knock at the door, to which he opened greeted by his younger sister who let out a shriek. His older sister turned the corner, looking at Hanamaki, then her bleach on the counter, and back to Hanamaki.