Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

TWENTY SECOND ACT: Pleased

All That the Wolf Hasn't Seen

It didn't take me long to discover what Kazuhiro enjoyed doing most in his home. Our most frequent arguments were about Article 22: the trail of clothes strewn across the floor leading to his bedroom was the first sign of trouble.

Unlike most people I had spoken with, Kazuhiro was straightforward about what he wanted and liked; he had no fear or shame in showing his appetites. He would approach his target, propose a fun plan, and warn her that once the sun came up, she wouldn't be able to talk to him again. Most accepted the deal, spent the night, and the next morning left the apartment a bit dazed.

With them, his touch was usually aggressive. With me, it was not. His hand would grip Yuka's hips; with me, he would ruffle my hair.

At some point, the warmth I had foolishly dismissed stopped touching me. Deaf, blind, mute, Nanako sought his attention, dismantling the puzzle and reassembling it with new pieces.

Devoted to my fingers, Kazuhiro kissed them, and kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

☻☻☻

Ichimura, the same girl for whom Kazuhiro composed and sang, came to me, her interviewer, asking for help. Specifically, she asked me to lend her a hand so she could sing with him. Yes, she wanted to sing.

"It's awful," she sighed, before taking a sip of her lemonade.

"So bad?" I asked, astonished.

Taking advantage of the next day, when Kazuhiro would be having a closed meeting with the band and their manager (banned for me, the journalist), I invited Nanako for coffee after my day at the office to clarify her unexpected request. So, sitting in a café, we talked.

"Wait," I leaned on the table with my palms, "You have tried it without being a couple?"

"I don't even know what we are!" she exclaimed, exhausted.

At first, I thought we'd talk about vocal techniques, musical tastes, warm-ups, or infusions to care for the voice, not her sexual problems.

Nanako told me that every time they had met since they reunited, they had been going on dates, but Kazuhiro made sure to keep his distance constantly. The only thing she had managed was a quick, awkward kiss in front of her apartment.

"I thought he wanted to sing..." I lamented.

"It's clear we're more than friends, but we can't categorize ourselves as a couple... nor as friends with benefits, because there are no benefits!" Ichimura continued complaining, "So I thought maybe you could help me"—and, smiling, she took my hands in hers.

"Um... Ichimura, I don't think I'm the right person, I... " nervously, I pulled her hands away, thinking of an excuse that wouldn't reveal my condition.

"No, no!"—but her shout stopped me—"Miyoko has been giving me advice on that for days. What I need from you," she sighed, "is for you to teach me how to sing."

"Teach you to sing? But Kazuhiro told me you could sing."

"Yeah, but... " she hugged her glass with her hands "I want Kazuhiro to look at me the way he looks at you when you sing."

"Look at me?" I murmured.

I tried to remember Kazuhiro's face every time I sang in front of him. But I couldn't recall his expression clearly. I would get so caught up in the moment, traveling to an alternate reality, an almost spiritual experience where the audience's smiles became one.