Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

TWENTY FIFTH ACT: Overwhelming

Disconnected Geometry

When I stepped on stage, I lost control. I became detached from my body, from reason. The only thing I could do, and knew how to do, was sway with the rhythm of my steps. And Kazuhiro did the same, chasing after me.

No matter how many barriers we put up, they fell the moment we got distracted. Only when the distance crushed us, between caresses, did we realize that we could no longer take refuge in one another. And that's when I understood that he would never touch me again. That he would never kiss my fingers again. That I would never again be able to sleep on his chest.

Greedy. I wouldn't be able to sing with him.

Selfish. Neither Makoto nor Nanako could know.

No, no one could know that between the wolf's fangs there was wool, nor that on the lamb's back there were scars.

☻☻☻

Kento, bassist of Mystical Key and one of Kazuhiro's best friends, was waiting for me, sitting in the chair in my office, his legs propped up on my desk. Next to my computer screen was a cardboard box with the logo of the station bakery that I knew so well. An intruder with a cake. It sounded funny.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

Smiling, Kento took his feet off my desk. "The tone is rude, but the question makes sense."

"Answer," I said, crossing my arms.

"The magazine wanted to get to know the other members of Mystical Key a little better, so they offered me a photo shoot," he chuckled. "I think they want to raise the expectations for your investigation."

Great, more pressure I thought.

"I figured we could meet up and chat."

"Chat?"

"My session starts in an hour. You can kill some time with me, right?"

Kento, smiling and yet impatient, watched me like a puppy wishing to be petted, eagerly awaiting my response. I could even imagine his tail wagging.

"But... I should be working."

Suddenly, he got up from the chair and grabbed the bakery box by its handles. "I've got a delicious strawberry shortcake here."

The image of a strawberry trapped in a creamy swirl of whipped cream flashed through my mind. I swallowed hard.

"Shall we share it?" he asked, shaking the box from side to side.

"Well... " I sighed. "I guess I have no choice but to join you," I said, placing my hands on my hips. "You know, as a journalist, I have to make the effort to care and give attention to the stars of the magazine, don't you think?"

Amazed by my explanation, not at all an excuse, he nodded with laughter.

☻☻☻

Since my coworkers quickly arrived in droves and I didn't feel like enjoying the cake under their sharp, nosy, and annoying gazes, I asked Kento if we could head to the break area. It was still empty, just vacant tables and freshly stocked vending machines.

We sat face to face. He opened the cake box, and after taking a portion, resting on a little cardboard tray, I grabbed one of the plastic forks, cut a piece, and tasted it. The spongy cake melted with the whipped cream and strawberry juice in my mouth. Amazed by its softness, freshness, and citrusy sweetness, I stroked my cheek. "It's delicious!"