The Piano Man (Iwaoi)

Chapter 3

        In his strange, almost drunken stupor, Tooru let Hajime lead him. His thoughts were jumbled and incoherent, and his mind kept replaying memories. Every moment that he had thought to himself over the past six years that Hajime Iwaizumi was dead came back to haunt him—because they had never been true. What did he miss? When he glanced over at the person next to him, he was hit with another wave of astonishment, confusion, relief, and happiness that was so unexpected and so bright he couldn't even feel happy. He didn't really know who this person, this six-years-older Hajime Iwaizumi, really was. The Hajime that Tooru knew was still eighteen years old. Waiting for him to come back from New York.

        They walked back toward the apartment building where Tooru had seen him part from the woman in the red dress. His legs were trembling as he walked. Hajime led him up the stairs, opened the door, let Tooru walk in before him. There was something strange between them. They walked close, but not close enough that they touched, and they avoided each other's eyes. For Tooru, Hajime was a ghost—and to Hajime, Tooru had no idea who he was. Someone very horrible, probably. He wanted to touch Hajime again. Just hold his arm, or his hand, anything that would help him be sure that this wasn't a cruel dream. They walked up a few flights of stairs and then stopped in front of an apartment door. Hajime pulled out his keys and turned them in the lock. He opened it slowly. The lights were already on. Tooru, standing silently behind him, could smell him. His scent was still the same. How could that be? That after all these years the way he smelled was still exactly the same. Except for the slight, almost unnoticeable smell of cigarette smoke. Maybe he had taken up smoking. It had been six years, after all.

        And now in front of him was a ghost who wasn't really a ghost.

        "Wait out here for a moment, all right?" Hajime said.

        "All right."

        Hajime slipped into the apartment, leaving the door slightly open. Tooru, alone for a moment, wiped his running nose on the back of his sleeve (the suit was ruined anyway). The music in his mind, the tune he'd started hearing when he'd first seen Hajime, was becoming clearer. His thoughts were slowly, so slowly, coming into focus, and he recognized the tune now. Hajime's voice floated out to him and he realized that he was speaking to the woman, already inside. He recognized the tune and was amazed at how well it still fit with Hajime's voice, Hajime's scent, Hajime's name. It had always been Hajime's song, at least in Tooru's head.

        "Oikawa!"

        "Hmm?"

        "Over here."

        "Oh, oh, sorry. What is it?"

        "Could you stop practicing for like five minutes and come play tag or something? I'm bored. And all you do is practice."

        "Uh, well..."

        "Come on. You can take five minutes, can't you?"

        "S-sure. I guess."

        Hajime grabbed Tooru's hand (his fingertips were red) and pulled him from the piano bench. He dragged him outside, despite both of them being barefoot, and they ran around under the sun. Tooru allowed himself this moment and prayed, pleaded with whomever was shedding the sun down upon them, that his parents wouldn't find out. When they were breathless and their knees were scraped and they were dizzy from laughter, they collapsed onto their backs and lay in the grass, shoulder-to-shoulder.

        "What does that cloud look like to you?" Hajime asked.

        "A half rest."

        "A what?"