Chapter Text
November 2021
__________
The radio continues to play as the spring rain hits the windshield. The road is empty, the wee hours of the morning not welcoming any more travelers.
I wish you knew that
I'd never forget you as long as I'd live
The rhythm marked by the bass seems to accompany Tooru's pulsations. One of the street lamps on the side of the road starts to flicker. It's been a long time since anyone checked it.
You gave me everything and nothing
The melody starts to get louder, and almost in sync, Tooru moves again. First the right hand – one finger, then another. The pinky takes on a sudden frenetic rhythm against the steering wheel. It flickers like the lamp on the roadside.
2 A.M., here we are
See your face
Hear my voice in the dark
Tooru frowns, eyes still closed. Why are his hands shaking? He brings one to his head, a greater effort than usual. It's warm. He drops it back on the steering wheel.
I wish you would come back
The rain begins to fall harder. Tooru opens his eyes slowly, tries to focus behind heavy eyelids. The heat from his temple has already reached his cheek, and a metallic taste soon creeps into his mouth.
I wish, I wish, I wish you would
The melody slowly fades away, and Tooru wonders how all that blood got on his dashboard.
__________
Madoka is yelling at him again despite the nurse's efforts to get her to lower her voice. It's been a long time since he's seen her this angry, and that's saying a lot.
“I can't believe you're so reckless. You could have killed yourself, Tooru.”
Her voice cracks on the last sentence, making him finally look up.
“But I didn’t.”
Madoka Yachi, almost a second mother to Tooru, is looking at him with wet eyes. Her furious mask finally cracks and lets him get a glimpse of a tired and vulnerable woman.
“How could you even think of taking the car drunk? Your driver was waiting for your call.”
“I needed to get out of there. Get behind the wheel, think…”
“And you had to do it after drinking two whole bottles of Fernet?”
Normally, Tooru would calm his manager with some kind of joke or innocent wink, but the bandages covering his head are a reminder of the gravity of the situation.
“What happened?” Madoka's voice sounds gentler than ever, and Tooru realizes he's crying.
“Hajime... He’s getting married.”
Arms wrap around him as he cries hunched over the hospital's rough sheets. He has the picture of Hajime hugging a stunning girl, both smiling under the headline Action blockbuster actor Hajime Iwaizumi is set to marry supermodel Alisa Haiba etched in his retina.
The news of his engagement came to him at the after-party of the Mar del Plata International Film Festival. Did you know about this?, read Makki's message accompanying the link to the article. No, Tooru didn't know anything about it. All he knew was that it was too late to tell the truth to the love of his life, his best friend, his partner. Too late to tell him that he still loved him after all that time.
The cutting pain he had felt the night before is still working its way through his insides. He doesn't think the nurse has the cure for all his wounds.
__________
Soon he is discharged from the hospital. Fortunately, it was not too serious an accident, although the hood of his car has been left crumpled like a raisin. The sturdy wall against which he crashed does not seem to have suffered any damage, however.
He is mentally cursing concrete walls for breaking cars and Russian models for stealing almost-boyfriends when his cell phone beeps inside his jacket pocket.
Madokaasan ( ͡❛ 益 ͡❛): Can we meet in 10?
Tooru sends her a confirmation and sits down on the couch. He thinks he needs a vacation. Since he came to Argentina, he hasn't stopped working.
He looks at one of the photos resting on the shelf. It's from his first day on the set of Sonrisa de Ángel. He smiles at the sight of his past self, barely 18 years old, surrounded by his co-workers. That telenovela, on which he starred for three seasons before his character was killed by the protagonist's secret twin, was the one that brought him into contact with legendary film director José Blanco.
And now, almost ten years later, he has just finished shooting Blanco's last film as the leading actor. At least one of his teenage dreams had been fulfilled.
The doorbell brings him back to the present and Tooru drags his feet to the door. He has barely slept a wink since the party.
Madoka walks in with her usual energy and pours herself a glass of water from the fridge.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine, although I'm worried about the scar I'm going to get,” he says with a fake pout.
“Better that than a coffin.”
Tooru rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should be the actress and not me, you clearly have a flair for drama.”
Madoka glares at him. “You know, Tooru, I think half my gray hairs are named after you.”
“What gray hairs? Your mane is as beautiful as ever.”
“I’m serious. You're already of an age, but you're still making a scene wherever you go.”
“Are you still angry about that parrot?”
“Don't ever mention the parrot again. Until now I've let you be... Your professionalism has never been compromised, but this week… That was more than just a scare.”
Tooru feels cold sweat trickling down his back. He's good at reading people, he's an expert on human emotions. But this time he has no idea what Madoka is getting at.
“I’m worried about you, Tooru. I don't want anything to happen to you, but your proclivity for chaos seems to get stronger by the day… That's why I've decided to hire a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard!?” Tooru looks at her wide-eyed. Of all the outcomes he was expecting, this was none of them.
“A nanny, more like. I need someone to keep an eye on you, the film you've just shot could be your big break into international cinema, and I don't want you to keep messing around unsupervised.”
Tooru lets out a snort of disbelief. He’s 27, he needs a chiropractor, not a babysitter.
“This is ridiculous.”
“That's what I tell myself every time I see you in the tabloids. Anyway, let me introduce you to him.”
Madoka looks toward the half-open door as she says that. Then, as if following a script unknown to Tooru, a huge man enters his home.
“Meet Ushijima Wakatoshi. Starting today he will be your bodyguard. I have already told him that you have a spare room at home, so tell him where to settle.”
“You told him what??” Tooru shrieks, noticing too late the impertinent suitcase in the stranger's hand.
“Thank you for having me,” says the man with a bow, not aware that he is not welcome at all.
“Well, that's one thing done. I leave you now to get to know each other better. We'll talk tomorrow, Tooru. And Ushijima, thank you for coming here on such short notice.” With that, Madoka walks out the door, her heels echoing across the landing as if she hadn't just turned Tooru's life upside down.
The two men stand in the middle of the room, staring into each other's eyes in silence. Tooru can't read anything in his new roommate's expression, and it irks him.
“So, which room may I use?” asks the bodyguard. His voice is very low, he feels it reverberate inside his head and echoing up and down his body.
“You can sleep on the couch, for all I care.” Tooru turns around to lock himself in his room (and slam the door dramatically) when the voice of his conscience, quite similar to Hajime's, reminds him that that hunk is not to blame for Madoka treating him like a child. He takes a deep breath and counts to ten, and with his best smile, turns around.
The man is looking intently at the photos on the shelf. When he hears him approaching again, he points to one of them. “This one is from Blue Leaves, isn't it?” There's something hidden in his serene tone, a hint of – excitement?
“Well, well, Ushiwaka, don't tell me you're a fan of mine,” Tooru says in the honeyed voice that used to annoy his friends so much.
“Yes,” he replies without changing his tone. “And it's Ushijima.”
“Ushiwaka sounds much cuter,” Tooru retorts, trying to hide his surprise at the sincere answer.
Ushijima frowns slightly but doesn't make any comment. “Are you still in contact with them?” he asks looking at the photograph again.
Tooru sighs. Great. “The one I talk to the most is Makki, I don't know how he does it but he's always glued to the phone. I guess modeling life is not incompatible with being chronically online. Matsun sometimes gives me tickets to his concerts, we usually talk when he's on tour in South America. And Hajime... He's the one I haven't seen for the longest time.”
If Ushijima notices how his voice quivers at the end of the sentence, he doesn't mention it.
“I really liked Blue Leaves,” he says after a while of silence. “It helped me come to terms with my sexuality.”
Tooru chokes on his own saliva. “My, my, Ushiwaka, I didn't expect we'd be having deep meaningful conversations right after we met.”
“Sorry, was that too much?”
“No, not at all. In fact, I'm glad our work was of some use.” Tooru fixes his eyes on the window. His loft overlooks the sea, and right now the setting sun tints the surrounding houses amber. The sea reflects the warm hues of the sky, and his mind flies back years when he was only 15 and thought the world was his.
Blue Leaves had been his first role. Before that, he hadn't even considered the possibility of being an actor. But one day, in the middle of their vacation to celebrate the end of middle school, an agent had approached him and his friends while they were playing volleyball on one of Okinawa's stunning beaches. Tooru is not sure what the woman saw in the four of them, but suddenly they all had a Seijoh TV contact card.
He takes the photograph Ushijima has pointed out in his hand and looks at their faces. What a bunch of brats. When the woman waved goodbye to them on the beach, they threw themselves to the sand with laughter. It sounded so ridiculous to them. And yet they got on a train to Tokyo together the following week. Twenty days later they received the call that would change their lives: the four of them had passed the casting and would be the main characters in a new coming-of-age series.
What had started as an indie project by a young director soon became a cult series among the Japanese youth. Blue Leaves dealt more bluntly than other contemporary works with themes that were complicated in their crudeness. Drug addiction, mental illness, and many other issues that teen series tended to avoid. And of course, the romantic plot between two of the male main characters, played by Tooru and Hajime. That didn't require too much acting. It was probably that part of the story Ushijima was talking about earlier.
Tooru sighs and puts the photograph back in its place. “Follow me, I'm going to show you your room.”
“What about the couch?”
“It's small even for me.”
Ushijima nods and picks up his suitcase again, following Tooru to the guest room. It's slightly smaller than the master suite, but still quite spacious. The window also gives a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean, its waters darker than when their conversation began. The last flashes of sunset reflect on the white walls devoid of decoration. Tooru called it minimalist style when Madoka asked, but he was actually too lazy to devote energy to a room that no one used. The only furnishings are a double bed, a fairly capacious closet, a full-length mirror, and a nightstand that Tooru stole from the set of Esta gata araña out of spite after being cast to play a man twenty years older than him.
Tooru would apologize for the modesty of the room, but he knows the views are incredible and make up for everything else. “Well, I'll let you unpack. If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen. Do you have any dietary restrictions?”
“No, thank you, anything will do just fine.”
__________
“I know I said anything would do, but this chicken breast is almost raw, Oikawa”.
Tooru blushes and removes the plate from the table gruffly. “It has more protein this way, doesn't it?”
“No, just more salmonella.”
“Oh, so you're a funny guy, huh?” grumbles Tooru, tossing the raw chicken into the trash.
“You could have put it back in the pot, Oikawa, there was no need to throw it away.”
“Okay, you cook it, Mr. Perfect!”
Ushijima gets up from the stool and walks over to the kitchen. Truth be told, Tooru is no cook and he knows it, but that doesn't take the edge off the fact that he hates it when his flaws are thrown in his face.
When he bought the apartment, he barely paid attention to the kitchen, he knew he was not going to really use it. It's not until that moment, with Ushijima glued to the back of his neck, that he realizes how small it is compared to the rest of the house.
“What do you have in the fridge?”
“Some green stuff, and such,” he replies between clenched teeth.
Ushijima opens the fridge, and for the first time, Tooru can tell exactly what he's thinking.
“How do you normally feed yourself?” the bodyguard asks, pulling a half-rotten cauliflower out of the vegetable drawer.
“I usually eat on set, I hardly eat dinner and for breakfast, I only drink coffee.”
Ushijima stares at him, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline. “Now I see what Yachi was referring to.”
“What did Madoka tell you about me?” asks Tooru indignantly.
“That you needed a babysitter.” Is that a tinge of amusement in Ushijima's voice? “I’m going to the market tomorrow. I can't believe you have this in the fridge.”
“What's wrong with my cauliflower? It's got vitamins in it or something.”
“Oikawa, this is no cauliflower. It's broccoli.”
“No, silly, the white ones are cauliflower.”
“That' s mold.”
“Oh, my god.” Tooru feels nausea rising in his throat.
“I think I can do something with this,” Ushijima mutters, picking up a couple of peppers and squash, the non-cauliflower discarded in the trash.
“All right, Ratatouille, let's see what you're made of.”
“To make ratatouille I would need an eggplant.”
“I was talking about the movie, like, I was comparing you to a cooking rat.”
Ushijima looks at him indignantly. “His name is Remy.”
“Ugh, whatever. Just cook it already.” Tooru goes to the cupboard and opens a bottle of red wine. His life really is a joke right now.
“Yachi told me not to let you drink,” Ushijima comments as he dices the bell pepper.
“It was only once,” Tooru whispers, but puts the bottle back where it was.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“Why would I talk about it with you? Ushiwaka, I don't even know your favorite color.”
“Okay,” he replies serenely. He continues to cook in silence, unperturbed under Tooru's critical gaze.
It isn't long before two plates of pasta with vegetables and grilled cheese appear on the table. Tooru doesn't want to admit it, but they smell wonderful.
After taking the first bite, he realizes how hungry he was feeling.
“Purple.”
“What?” Tooru asks, mouth full of spaghetti.
“My favorite color is purple.”
Tooru bites back a smile and keeps eating his food. Maybe sharing his insanely expensive, incredibly empty apartment with someone else is not so bad.
When he is about to finish his plate, he decides to offer an olive branch. “It was quite decent, thank you.”
Ushijima smiles upon hearing that. The gesture makes him look younger. “I’m glad.”
“When I was recording Blue Lives, I didn't have to do a big acting exercise to make it look like I was in love with Hajime, you know.”
Ushijima says nothing, but sets the fork down on the table and looks at him intently. Tooru begins to tell him what he has never told anyone. How his small attraction to his childhood friend turned into a giant infatuation towards the end of the series. How he couldn't take it anymore and confessed his feelings to Hajime. How Hajime told him at that moment that he was going to the United States. And how he arrived in Buenos Aires, with barely any knowledge of Spanish and a broken heart.
The years had passed, and despite having had flings with other people, he had never let go of the hope he had placed in his first love.
“The day we said goodbye in Japan he didn't exactly reject me. He told me it wasn't the right time. We hugged, we cried, and from then on the idea that at some point that right time would come took root in my head. But the other day, at the party after the awards, I found out that he's getting married and well... You already know what happened after that.”
Tooru realizes in that instant that he has just spilled the contents of his heart to a total stranger. He looks up from his nearly empty plate, expecting to find a pitying face on the other side of the table. But Ushijima's face betrays no sentiment.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
Silence returns to the table and Tooru plays with the remains of his dinner. He wants to regret telling him all that, to have shown himself so vulnerable to a person that Madoka has imposed on his life. But all he feels is peace of mind. The doubts and jealousy that had been running rampant in his mind for so long seem to have lightened with every word that came out of his mouth.
“Thank you for listening, or whatever,” he mutters before picking up the plates and putting them inside the dishwasher.
“You’re welcome.”
“I guess you are welcome too.”
At that, Ushijima really smiles. Let's see where this leads.
Tooru finishes cleaning up the kitchen and goes into his room. “Good night, Ushiwaka,” he croons before closing the door.
“Oikawa.”
“What now?”
“You didn't give me any blankets.”
“You’re so demanding.”
“It's a little chilly,” Ushijima protests.
“Yeah, yeah.” Tooru pulls out a set of green sheets and a butterfly-print comforter from one of the closets in his room. He throws them at his face, but Ushijima catches them on the fly. “Do you need help making the bed?” he asks teasingly.
“That would be nice, thank you,” Ushijima replies, not realizing that Tooru had meant it as a rhetorical question.
Crap. There's nothing Tooru hates more than making the bed. Except for Hajime's fiancée, maybe. Between the two of them, it doesn't take too long, anyway, but he's still annoyed. Tooru throws the last cushion down with more force than necessary and turns around to go to sleep.
“Good night, Oikawa,” he hears before closing his door.
Tooru gets under the covers and reflects on the law of causation. In just one week, the love of his life had gotten engaged to someone else, he had drunkenly crashed into a concrete wall, and then he had been assigned a new roommate/nanny/bodyguard. Fuck November.