/The paper was soaked. Third time. But I couldn't care less. It was the way things are done. As I put the paper into the last bin, I held my breath in anticipation. In seconds, the image started to take shape and i let my gaze eyes linger on the soft blue hair, the perfectly chiseled nose, the thoughtful depth in those unseeing brown orbs--directed sideways. The beginning of a smile was slashed across those thin luscious lips, giving the dramatic features just a tough of softness. The image had come out the way it always had: picture perfect.
Satisfied, I hung the newly processed snapshot on the line to dry. After
another smile at the beauty before me, I exited from the dark room and
closed the door./
Prologue
Jiro didn't hear the phone ring as he was in the shower. Neither did he notice the blinking lights on the answering machine when he passed by it on his way into the kitchen. Food was the only thing in his mind, as well as when he had last taken anything that resembled it. He opened the fridge to check its contents, the cold coming out not bothering him despite being clad in only a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. A smaller one was draped over his left shoulder.Lips protruded into a pout. Three containers of leftovers--from when he wasn't sure he wanted to know--plus a couple of cans of beer, two bags of half-eaten chips, three slices of cold and stale pizza and a few bottles of water. The freezer held nothing but ice cubes.
Jiro closed the door, smirking. /Bachelor's fridge./ He went back into
his room and slipped into a pair of blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a
gray parka. He really didn't want to go out without bothering for a better
disguise but time wasn't a luxury. His stomach was grumbling and he wasn't
about to touch the food in his fridge, not before a rehearsal scheduled
early the next day. The most logical thing to do was grab some decent
food of sorts at the nearest
fastfood joint. It was already nearing eleven at night anyway. He probably
wouldn't get recognized. /Hell, even Teru steps out of his house in something
as casual as what I have on./ However, Jiro tried not to recall how many
successful attempts the charming vocalist has had.
As he grabbed his keys from the nightstand, he finally realized he had
a message. For a moment he wondered why he had missed it, until he remembered
he had been singing in the shower. Shrugging, he pressed the swollen button.
"Rehearsals tomorrow has been reset to five PM. Teru had to go home
to Hakodate tonight and will be back tomorrow around lunch." At the
beep, Hisashi's monotonous message ended.
Jiro's jaw dropped open. Was that really Hisashi, that very same man who--without
qualms--puts two particular things at the top of his Hate List, namely
the phone and Jiro? As though to assure himself nothing was wrong with
his hearing, he rewound the tape and listened to it for five times.
"Gee, that really was him," Jiro muttered with certainty. Not
only had Hisashi himself called up, the guitarist had actually picked
up the phone and rang up Jiro's number. "That person simply never
ceases to amaze me." Smiling, he checked the time. Hunger momentarily
forgotten, Jiro lifted the receiver. "I wonder if he's still awake…"
* * *
Hisashi glared at the phone on the bedside table the moment it rang. He would've flashed it the finger had he not known from experience it would serve no help. Before the sound could irritate him further--he was almost sure it wouldn't stop at five shrills--he picked up. "Moshi moshi," he greeted, his tone anything but cheerful.
"Konban wa."
"Who is this?" Hisashi asked needlessly; he knew who it was.
"Jiro desu."
"Oh." The guitarist failed to sense the tone of hurt in Jiro's
voice.
Jiro suddenly sounded hesitant. "Were you already asleep? Sorry if
I woke you up. See, I'd been in the shower when you called and I didn't
see the machine's lights at once so--"
"Why'd you call?" Hisashi dismissed impatiently. There was something
else he wanted to be doing and Jiro was taking the time away from him.
"Gomen ne." The bassist cleared his throat. "What was your
message about?"
/What the…,/ Hisashi thought, seeing the situation outright unbelievable.
Jiro could be telling him anything under the sun yet here he was, asking
about the stupid message he'd sent just minutes ago. "You called
me up just to ask /that?/"
"Uhm, my answering machine's having a bad case of wobbliness."
A throat clearing followed.
"Fine. Rehearsal tomorrow is at five. Teru had some business to attend
to back home."
"What kind of business?"
"How should I know?"
"I just thought…" Jiro sighed heavily. "Never mind.
So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?"
"Of course. I'll be there. It's a band practice. I believe I'm part
of the band." Sarcasm was definitely Hisashi's middle name.
"Uh, yeah. I'm really sorry if I bothered you."
"Yeah, and so am I for stupidly forgetting to set my machine to active
condition." There was a moment of silence. "Would that be all?"
"Why did Takuro ask you to make the calls?"
"He said I could use some phone skills."
"But I thought you hated the phone."
"I still do but that was our leader who asked, Most of all, I wasn't
expecting any clarification from anyone."
"I see."
"Good. Do you have any more stupid questions?"
"None, I guess. Uh, oyasumi, Hisashi."
It took three seconds before the guitarist replied, "Oyasumi."
Biting his bottom lip, Hisashi gently replaced the receiver back in its
cradle. He sincerely hoped the other man didn't notice the sudden change
in his tone when he bid him goodnight. He hadn't been able to help it
anyway. Hisashi had always loved the way his name leaves Jiro's lips.../as
if he were whispering./
"Too late to worry over that now, I guess." Eagerly, he picked
the four-stringed instrument up from where it lay beside him. He propped
the Fender on his thigh then backed up against the headboard.His eyes
casually strayed to the picture frame sitting on the other nightstand.
It was a shot of him and the other boy, backs against each other's, beautiful
faces etched with seriousness and unspoken indifference. Hisashi wished
it were something better, or at least more friendly. But for now, it would
have to do. He blew the frame a kiss before he got down to work and lovingly
strummed Jiro's part in "Beloved."