Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

FIRST ACT: Individual and Recipient

The Fatum Theory

At 22 years old, I had survived many misfortunes. But among so many bad memories, the one that stood out the most was Makoto. The image of the only man I had loved coming back into my life hand in hand with someone else always seemed like a cruel and not at all funny joke of fate.

There was also the lingering memory of hundreds of rejections from men and women in suits who promised me great opportunities without any result. No, I was never good at rock, even though it was what I loved the most, what had always been with me along with Makoto.

My life was a repetitive song that I didn't know how to end. Although perhaps I always knew what my real goal was, the mundane dream of the average person: to live a boring life. No drum solos, no bass pulse, no wailing guitar riffs.

Falling in love wasn't everything. Neither was work. He was never everything.

☻☻☻

In front of me stood a tall man with short, dark hair shaved on the sides, his ears pierced and adorned with several earrings, wearing nothing but a towel tied around his waist, who stared at me intently, raising one of his eyebrows.

I could still hear the sound of running water in the background. Paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, I glanced around the room once more. I analyzed it. The smell of men's cologne, mingled with the aroma of testosterone, filled my nostrils. I felt the heat caressing and pinching my skin.

There were clothes all over the room, both women's and men's. This man was not alone.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Lost in hundreds of questions, his voice brought me back to reality. I finally realized I was still holding a suitcase in one hand and my bag in the other. I cleared my throat, "The owner of this apartment"

"Impossible," he muttered. "I know the owner, Sumire."

Sighing, bewildered and annoyed that he remained half-naked in front of me, I chuckled and set my luggage down. Crossing my arms, I said, "Kougami Sumire is my aunt, one owner, and I am her niece, the other co-owner."

Irritated, he clicked his tongue and turned around. He stopped, looked at the clothes on the floor, and ran a hand through his neck. It was clear that my mere presence made him uncomfortable. "Yuka, get dressed quickly, you have to leave!" he shouted down the hallway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water stopped, and a door at the end of the hallway, the bathroom door, opened. I saw a woman emerge from the steam. "What?" she asked, approaching.

I gently smacked my forehead. "You, naked, get dressed." Inside, the only desire I had was for the ground to swallow my consciousness.

☻☻☻

Once the woman left my home, and the man got dressed, we both sat on the sofa of the living room with a cup of tea he insisted on serving, to review his rental contract. Seeing his name on one of the pages made me remember my time in the big city.

"Miyazaki Kazuhiro, aren't you the one on the posters at Shinjuku Station?" I asked.

"That's right."

So, he's a musician I thought. Surprised, I took one of the folders that he had brought along with many documents and flipped through the pages, comparing each section.