Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

TENTH ACT: Darling, I don't like fish

Stellar-mass Black Hole

Unlike us, the delinquents who got lost in Shinjuku every weekend and often played with adults in Shibuya, Makoto had a good reputation during our first year of high school. He was part of the student council and served as an advisor for the basketball and soccer clubs.

But Makoto always prioritized me over his plans; by the end of our first year of high school, rumors had spread, and no matter how much we tried to deny them, it was impossible to erase his name and mine, under the same umbrella, from all the boards.

I won't lie: being seen as his other half made me happy. But, over time, it started to hurt. As we began our second year, many mistook his girlfriends as affairs and quickly came to console me for supposedly being cheated on. The more people shouted about it, the more real it felt. Makoto betrayed me, blindly.

His hugs were a double-edged sword.

With Kazuhiro, everything was easier, simpler. His flirting was always a joke.

Makoto confused me by making everything clear; Kazuhiro clarified everything by confusing me.

Maybe that's why the idea of Kazuhiro and me together felt so distant.

Their lines converged on the same plane, but they were far, very far. I would be swallowed by the shockwave of a supernova, I was sure.

☻☻☻

That night, after the concert, we decided to stop by my aunt Sumire's bar and stay drinking until very late. Sitting at our usual table, with the bar closed, Mai and my aunt joined us, and we told them all about Mystical Key's first concert at the Cave.

The evening was pleasant; we had fun, drank, and by around five in the morning, we closed the bar and headed home. However, having drunk beer after beer affected me a bit more than usual, and Kazuhiro had no choice but to put me in a taxi with him to get home.

But when we arrived at our destination, I had fallen asleep, and unable to wake up, he had to carry me in his arms. From the street to the entrance of the apartment, up the stairs to the second floor, with tricks and difficulties, he managed to open the door, and once inside, he walked straight to the living room, where he carefully laid me down on the couch.

When I felt his arms slowly pulling away, I woke up, still drunk. I tried to focus and looked for his figure around the living room.

I found him crouched in front of one of the drawers in the cabinet next to the TV stand.

"He carried me in his arms," I thought.

He pulled a blanket from the shelf, stood up, and, serious, walked towards me until, upon making eye contact, he stopped. "You're awake," he murmured, surprised. A second later, he smiled and unfolded the blanket in the air, covering me, and sat on the edge of the couch, right next to my legs. "Do you feel better?"

I nodded, "Thank you."

"And I thought you were good at drinking," he chuckled, "Seems like you can't handle much."

I sighed, sat up on the couch, resting my back on a pillow, "I'm better than you think."

"Yeah, yeah," his mischievous smile softened. Gently, he looked me in the eyes, "Thank you for helping us today."

His gesture surprised me. Shy, I turned my gaze to the TV, "It wasn't such a big deal..."

"It wasn't your obligation, and yet, you offered to help."