Saturdays

The train station was quieter than usual. Raindrops poured continuously from the grey sky, painting the asphalt a glossy black and soaking into the fabrics of people's coats. The long platform was sparsely dotted with a few waiting passengers, some fortunate enough to have brought umbrellas, some huddling impatiently under the small awning of one of the maintenance buildings. The sound of relentless downpour was interrupted by a voice on the intercom announcing the arrival of a train, but I could barely make out the echoing words. My eyes scanned frantically the faces of those on the platform, until they were finally met with a head of blindingly white hair. There he was.

As I hurriedly made my way down the stairs, the approaching train had already come to a full stop. Almost methodically, people poured out of the carriages and onto the platform, opening their umbrellas or holding their coats over their heads to avoid the merciless rain. My lips parted to give way to laboured breaths, but the hint of a victorious smile spread across them anyway. I made it just in time. As my feet hit the puddle at the bottom of the staircase, the tall white haired man turned to face me, as if he'd already sensed my presence. I could have sworn I saw him smirk as the both of us boarded the train bound for Tokyo.

"You were late again, Suguru," his words rang through my ears despite them barely being louder than a whisper. We both took our seats next to each other and the automatic doors closed with a low mechanical click. I let my body sink into the seat, too focused on trying to catch my breath to talk back to him. It's improper to speak on a train, anyway, was what I told myself to feel less guilty about not defending my poor time management skills. The train started to move and I could feel its invisible force push his shoulder into mine. In that moment I realised — this guy was completely dry. Not a single drop of water stained any of his clothes and his hair looked perfectly fluffy. Right, infinity. Annoyed, or perhaps a little envious, I readjusted the once loose trousers that now clung tightly to my thighs and peeled a strand of soaked hair from my forehead.

On Saturdays, Satoru and I usually took the train to Tokyo to visit some shops and treat ourselves to running sushi. Like clockwork, we'd get on the morning train and come back late in the evening with full stomachs and empty wallets. Even though I don't like the busy streets and bright lights, something about seeing him smile and make small talk with the street vendors makes it worth going. There are days when I feel so depressed I can hardly manage to get out of bed, but never Saturdays. And, like usual, I feel him nudge my side and hold a wired earbud out to me. Suppressing an eye-roll, I slip it in and let my eyes close instead.

The humble length of the earbuds makes it awkward for two tall men to share without pulling one out constantly. At any turn of the tracks or change of speed, I can feel the wire pull taught as our bodies drift apart. In reality, I don't really mind losing the earbud because he's always in charge of the music. The playlist is a monstrous amalgamation of all sorts of music genres, and somehow all of them are bad. His taste in music is almost as bad as his sense of humour, I think to myself.  The ride always seems to go by rather slowly, and I take the time to think about what the day will have in store for us. Because it's raining, we will probably take shelter in one of the malls. He will make me watch as he meticulously picks his favourites from the assorted roasted nuts kiosks, asking me for my input on the differences in texture and flavour of cashews and pistachios. He may beg me to get matching tapioca milk teas with him so he can take pictures and send them to our classmates. Or perhaps today is the day he finally decides to buy the overpriced plushie he's been eyeing for some time. I sigh and shift my focus to the vibration of the train gliding across the tracks. While one of my ears is being assaulted by what Satoru calls good music, the other listens for the soft galloping of metal and the quiet moaning of the train's construction. I feel a drop of water slide down the back of my neck and find its destination in the crease of my uniform's collar, a silent reminder that I had been running through the pouring rain not long ago. Even though my eyes are closed, the soft nudges to the side of my body indicate that Satoru is moving his feet to the rhythm, and occasionally his hips, too.

The train shakes as we pass some particularly irregular rails. This part of the track is so worn out, I wonder why they can't just replace it. As the carriage thrusts from side to side, our bodies move in opposing directions and cause the wire of the earbuds to pull completely taught before ripping mine right out. I open my eyes and look to my left. Satoru is looking back at me with a soft smile and the earbuds are dangling from his ear. His piece somehow managed to stay in. I'm convinced it's another one of his cursed techniques. His long white lashes move as he looks down at the earbud dangling between us. He picks it up and gently pushes it back in its original place in my ear, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin of my earlobe. I feel my heart skip a beat at the gesture and I look straight ahead, away from his piercing gaze. Warm blood quickly fills my cheeks and paints them a dark shade of pink. Focusing on the quickly passing landscape outside the window, I lift my hand. I readjust the earbud so that it fits snugly in my ear once again and now, more than before, feel grateful I'd made it to the train station in time.

I always feel like shit, but never on Saturdays.