Chapter 2 God Bless You - part 6

Previous TOC Next

Today’s shoot was scheduled at a small shop in the shopping district, but since it seemed there wouldn’t be much time to talk on set, Tokame went to the hotel where the director was staying. There was still about an hour left before everyone was supposed to gather on location.

The director had originally said he’d be fine staying in a inn, but he wasn’t comfortable with a large group, so the producer arranged for him to stay in a hotel. Besides the director, the cast, Ichinose, a female sound technician, and Habu were also staying at the hotel. Habu had initially stayed at the inn as well, but, like the director, couldn’t sleep with so many people around, so he’d moved to the hotel on his own dime.

It might have been better to discuss personnel matters with the line producer, but since the producer was frequently traveling between Onomichi and Tokyo during this long shoot, Tokame decided to speak with the director first. Though he felt bad, as this job had been a referral from Director Okume, after considering things all night, Tokame was convinced that leaving was the best choice.

At the hotel front desk, he asked to be connected to the director’s room. Despite working together, he didn’t know the director’s phone number or email. He could have asked Ichinose for the number to arrange a convenient time, but with everything that happened yesterday, he thought she might question him about his motives, so he gave up on that idea.

The hotel employee told him, “The guest would like you to come up to his room,” and gave him the room number. Since the director hadn’t come down to the lobby, he might still be waking up. Apologizing silently if he’d disturbed him, Tokame took the elevator up to the fifth floor. The elevator, facing the sea, was semi-transparent, providing a view of nothing but ocean. Tokame closed his eyes until it stopped.

He knocked on the door of the room he’d been directed to, and a voice called out, “It’s open.”

“Excuse me,” he said, opening the door.

The room was long and narrow, shaped like an L, so he couldn’t see the back. Walking slowly and rounding the corner, Tokame was surprised. The director wasn’t alone in the room.

As soon as Habu spotted him, he glared as if he’d encountered a long-time enemy. Striding over, Habu grabbed Tokame by the collar.

“What did you do to Kon yesterday?!”

Something about Habu’s demanding tone gave Tokame a bad feeling.

“Did something happen with Sato?”

“Answer my question first!”

While it was true that things had happened yesterday, he hadn’t done anything himself, so he replied, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Liar!” Habu spat, yelling with contempt.

“You’re the one who hit him! His left cheek is swollen so badly he can’t film. He said he couldn’t work with such a violent staff member around and went back to Tokyo this morning!”

Tokame was too stunned to speak. He’d said he’d quit yesterday, thinking that would settle things. …He hadn’t imagined Sato would be so irresponsible as to lie, shift the blame, and abandon his job.

“I didn’t hit him, but my friend did. Sato had it coming, but it’s true that my friend hit him, so I said I’d take responsibility and leave.”

“Don’t make up some story about a ‘friend’—it was you who did it!”

Habu clearly wasn’t interested in hearing Tokame’s side.

“Hitting an actor in the face is grounds for a lawsuit! Are you trying to ruin this film? Go back to Tokyo right now and get on your knees in front of Kon and bring him back!”

“Sato’s the one at fault here,” Tokame said.

Still gripping his collar, Habu shook Tokame so hard his vision blurred.

“If you’re the one taking responsibility by quitting, doesn’t that mean you’re the one in the wrong?!”

“Neither the guy who hit him nor I am in the wrong. But since Sato wasn’t satisfied, I figured he’d settle down if I quit…”

Seeing the impending blow, Tokame took a step back and tilted his head to the right. Habu’s punch was weak, just grazing the tip of his left ear before missing entirely. It was obvious from a glance that Habu wasn’t used to this sort of thing.

“Habu-kun. If you keep it up, Tokame-kun could file assault charges against you,” the director said calmly from where he’d been observing the exchange.

“He’s the one who should be facing charges!” Habu shouted, his voice raised, while the director gave him a cold, steady look.

"Why are you so calm about this, Director? Without Kon, we can’t shoot!” 

The director, seated on a sofa by the window, exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke. 

“Sato-kun is quite sly, isn’t he?” 

“What are you talking about? Kon’s the victim here!” Habu protested.

“If Sato-kun truly believed he was in the right, he could have openly confronted Tokame-kun in front of everyone. Or he could have reported it to the police. But instead, he left for Tokyo. Doesn’t that suggest he has something to hide?” 

“If he reported it to the police, it would become a big deal, and production might get shut down!” 

“Well, it’s already shut down with him gone to Tokyo, isn’t it? Same outcome.”

Habu was at a loss for words.

“Anything this guy says is obviously a lie!” Habu pointed at Tokame.

The director tilted his head.

“And why do you believe Tokame-kun is lying?” 

“I’ve known Kon since high school. He’s not the type to be so careless.” Habu spoke with pride, but to Tokame, his display felt strangely hollow.

“…From my perspective, Tokame-kun doesn’t seem careless either. I’ve already contacted Sato-kun’s agency, and his manager should bring him back by tomorrow. As for today’s shoot… is it possible to swap it with another day?” 

Though the question was directed at Habu, he couldn’t answer. After resting for a while and dropping out halfway yesterday, he wasn’t up to speed on the shooting schedule. Rescheduling was out of the question—other sets weren’t ready, and not all actors were available.

“I think we’ll have to cancel today,” Tokame replied, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Habu spun around, glaring at him.

“He wasn’t talking to you!” Habu barked. 

The director’s voice was gentle but firm. “What are you so angry about? Tokame-kun simply responded on your behalf. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

Habu’s lower lip began to tremble, his eyes glistening as though he might cry, but he held back.

“So… you really do prefer Tokame over me, don’t you? Tokame doesn’t have any particular opinions or pushback, so he’s easier for you to work with…” 

The director stubbed out his cigarette.

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

“If you like him so much, why don’t you just make Tokame the chief assistant director?”

The director let out a long sigh. “Stop sulking like a child and go inform the crew that today’s shoot is canceled.”

With his mouth twisted in a sneer, Habu stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. When the loud sound finally faded, the room fell into an uncomfortable quiet. The director lit a fresh cigarette.

“Habu-kun should be mature enough to know better by now,” he muttered, exhaling smoke. “I’m not his teacher, and this isn’t school. Getting dragged down by personal emotions is exhausting.” He gave a weary sigh. “By the way, didn’t you have something you wanted to discuss with me as well?”

The purpose of Tokame’s visit had slipped his mind amid Habu’s outburst. He straightened himself and took a breath.

“I apologize for the suddenness, but I’d like to step down from filming the making-of.”

He’d expected the director to be surprised, but his expression didn’t change.

“Why do you want to leave?”

“I told Sato yesterday that I would. And it’s true that my friend hit him.”

“…Sato-kun tried to assault Ichinose-san, didn’t he? Thankfully, it didn’t go that far.”

Tokame was startled that the director already knew.

“If Sato-kun ended up with a swollen face, he only has himself to blame,” the director said, his eyes seeming to look straight through Tokame.

“Early this morning, Ichinose-san called me. She wanted to discuss possibly canceling today’s shoot, in case Sato’s face was too swollen to cover with makeup. I asked why he’d been hit, and she explained everything. She also insisted I not take you seriously if you decided to quit.”

The director gestured to a chair. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

“Oh, but…” 

“There’s no need for anything else right now. Today’s shoot is on hold, and Habu-kun will handle notifying the crew.”

Realizing it was awkward to just stand there, Tokame said, “Excuse me,” and sat down. The director gazed out through the large window. It was a room with a fantastic view.

“The reason I said I’d step down from filming the making-of wasn’t so much about taking responsibility. I just thought Sato and Habu would probably work more comfortably without me around.” 

The director remained silent for so long that Tokame wondered if he was being ignored. Then, finally, he turned around slowly.

“If they dislike you, that’s their problem. If Sato-kun can’t capture the essence of the character Sakiya the way I envision, that’s his problem. And if Habu-kun can’t get along with the staff, that’s on him as well.”

That was probably true. But still…

"The making-of shoot is your ‘job.’ I’m sorry that we’ve dragged you into covering for Habu-kun, but please don’t abandon it halfway through."

The stern tone left Tokame bowing his head, managing only a faint “I’m sorry.”

“…Character matters,” the director murmured.

“The sponsor wanted Sato-kun as Sakiya, and I accepted that condition. I know he’s not a naturally skilled actor, and I’m doing my best to bring him as close to my ideal as possible. I think he’s been working hard in his own way, too… but learning about his actions toward Ichinose-san, and seeing him lie so casually—it’s exhausting.”

The director stretched his arms out wide, almost like a cat.

“Habu-kun and Sato-kun are alike, aren’t they? In this industry, they’re incredibly fortunate. Yet they don’t seem to appreciate their own luck… Ah, perhaps when you have something from the start, you don’t understand its true value. It’s an unfortunate thing.”

…Tokame couldn’t even bring himself to nod in response.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Tokame slowly made his way back along the twenty-minute walk from the hotel to the inn. On the way there, it had still been cool, but on the way back, the sun was up, and it was hot. Just walking made sweat pour down his forehead.

In the parking lot behind the inn, trailers for the art department, lighting crew, and actors were waiting. It was a time when everyone would usually be out working, so the notice of a shoot break must have come from Habu.

As soon as he stepped into the room, all the staff inside turned to look at him, clearly taken aback. At a glance, there seemed to be twice as many people in the room as the maximum allowed occupancy.

"Where were you?" Isono asked in an accusing tone. Tokame couldn’t admit he’d been talking to the director about wanting to leave the job, so he brushed it off with, “Went for a walk.”

“Did you see the news this morning?”

“The news?” Tokame echoed, and Isono clicked his tongue. “Sato’s in serious trouble.” A dreadful feeling started to spread through Tokame’s mind. Could it be that the incident where Yorozu hit Sato had turned into a police matter? But there was a reason behind that…

"That idiot might be getting arrested."

"Arrested?"

According to Isono, last year, Sato had caused an accident while driving, injuring someone, but he’d claimed his manager was the one behind the wheel, and the manager took the blame. The manager was subsequently fired by the agency in exchange for a significant sum of money from Sato. But even after leaving, the former manager repeatedly demanded more money from him, leading to conflict. Finally, the former manager, enraged, went to the police and revealed the truth.

The incident was at the top of the news on the morning shows. The police had suspected Sato from the start, but the former manager had insisted he was driving, and Sato had an alibi for the day of the accident. Now, however, the person who had provided Sato's alibi admitted to lying in their statement.

The agency claimed that Sato and the manager had acted independently and that they hadn’t been aware of any of it, but who knew the truth?

The TV remained on, and every time Sato’s name came up, everyone stared intently at the screen. By afternoon, breaking news came in that Sato was now undergoing police questioning.

“What’s going to happen now?” Momoe, still a massive man despite losing five kilos during the shoot, muttered uneasily.

“The accident was almost certainly Sato’s fault. The victim didn’t die, so if he’d just apologized properly and followed procedures, he might’ve gotten away with a few months’ suspension in the industry. But since he was at the peak of his career… I hate to say it, but this movie’s finished.” Wakibuchi said bluntly.

“Don’t just toss out ‘finished’ like that!” Isono shot back angrily, but Wakibuchi was unfazed.

“I’m just being realistic. It’s not unheard of for an actor to be replaced during filming because of a scandal. But in this case, the lead actor is involved, and more than half the filming is already done. It’s not just an accident anymore; it’s escalated to cover-ups and lying. Who knows how long he’ll be out of action, or if he’ll even come back to the industry. The filming is bound to be halted, and any advertisers backing him will surely withdraw. Even if we found a sponsor willing to take a chance on this tainted project and managed to recast a big enough name to draw audiences, the shoot would only resume… well, years down the line. The final call is up to the producer, but we should all be prepared.”

Tokame wove his way through the crowd and stepped outside the room. Just as Wakibuchi said, this movie was likely finished. If the scandal had been exposed before shooting, they might have managed with a replacement lead. If the film had been completed, they could have delayed its release for a few years until the scandal cooled off, even if it meant limited box office returns. At the very least, they could have prevented the work from fading into obscurity.

…Or maybe, financially, it would be better if things ended now. If the film gets buried after completion, they won’t recover any of the expenses. Just one extra day of filming can cost millions. At this stage, with only a third of the movie shot, they’d still only face a third of the potential debt.

Tokame climbed the hill and headed toward Hisae’s house, entering through the back door. The interior bore faint traces of life, like people had only occupied the areas where filming took place.

He went into the kitchen and picked up a faded tray. If the cancellation became official, the cleanup and withdrawal would start all at once, and he was afraid he might forget to return it in the midst of the rush.

He then went to the shop near the railroad crossing at the foot of the hill. The store was dark and completely silent. Even when he called out, there was no sign of anyone coming.

Tokame sat down on a long bench outside, thinking the shop’s old lady might show up soon, but an hour passed without any sign of the place opening. Finally growing weary, he considered leaving the tray in a bag with a note by the door. Just then, his phone rang. Thinking it might be Yorozu, he hastily pulled it from his back pocket, only to see it was his friend Yoshida.

"It's me. Can you talk right now?" Yoshida was speaking at about twice his usual speed.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"I saw the news about Sato Kon on TV, and I was shocked…”

Tokame gave a wry smile.

"…The idiot. Thanks to him, this movie's done for."

A bird chirped sharply as it flew past at a low angle.

"You’ve already shot a third of it, right? Isn’t there any way to salvage it?”

“Remember the third movie in the Classic Hotel series? They’d finished filming, editing, everything, right up until the release date, but then the lead actor got busted for drugs, and the film was shelved indefinitely while he served time. It’ll probably be the same deal here.”

In a deeply disappointed voice, Yoshida muttered, “What a shame.”

“Well, nothing we can do. …Oh, and thanks for the snacks last time.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Yoshida replied, sounding a bit embarrassed.

"I didn’t know much about it myself, but I heard it was from a great place. Everyone loved it."

Yoshida had the day off and said he’d noticed the news about Sato while watching TV in the morning. His wife and baby had come home, too, and Tokame could hear a baby crying faintly in the background.

“Oh, by the way, has Yorozu dropped by to see you?”

After a brief pause, Tokame replied, “Yeah.”

“Getting him in as an extra took quite a bit of effort on my end, you know! Be nice and make up soon for all my trouble, alright?”

Tokame ruffled his hair roughly.

“…I have no idea what that guy is thinking.”

He could hear Yoshida chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Funny, because Yorozu said the exact same thing: that he has no idea what you’re thinking.”

“…But”, Yoshida continued, “In my opinion, though, Yorozu thinks the world of you, so there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe try saying ‘I love you’ or something nice out loud every now and then?”

Tokame felt sweat break out on his forehead, and his cheeks flushed with warmth.

“Even if Yorozu knows what kind of person you are, it still matters, you know? Loving words are food for the soul, after all.”

“Where do you get off saying stuff like that?”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Yoshida joked.

“I’m just an outsider looking in, that’s all. But Yorozu is a good, genuine guy, don’t you think?”

After he hung up, Tokame couldn’t help but mutter, “Damn it.” The shop was still closed. In the lukewarm breeze, the faded ice-blue noren curtain swayed gently back and forth.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

By evening, the crew drifted out of the inn one by one to grab dinner. Tokame tagged along with Isono and the props crew, heading into the bustling downtown area filled with restaurants. It was the weekend, so every place was crowded. Finding no tables for large groups, they split up into smaller groups of three or four.

In the end, Tokame found himself seated with Isono and Wakibuchi in a shabby little diner on the outskirts of town. The glass in the display case outside was cracked, and the noren curtain was torn. True to the dilapidated appearance, the tables and chairs inside were well-worn and rusty.

The food didn’t match the looks, though—the set meals were tasty, and the beer was dirt cheap. They’d come out for drinks like this a few times during the shoot. Normally, conversations about work would flow endlessly over meals, but today, nobody brought up the set.

“So, where’d you disappear to earlier today?” Isono asked, taking a gulp of his third beer.

“I went to return that tray we’d used for filming… things are bound to get hectic tomorrow,” Tokame replied.

Poking a skewer that had held meat into his tamagoyaki, Isono muttered darkly, “I hope Sato goes to jail.”

“That’s not likely,” Wakibuchi replied calmly. “At best, he’ll get a suspended sentence.”

The alcohol seemed to fuel Isono’s indignation, and he fired back, “Tokame, Wakibuchi, aren’t you angry? Don’t you hate how this idiot wrecked the movie?”

Wakibuchi laughed, “You’re young, aren’t you? Sure, it’s disappointing, but considering the timing, this is actually a lucky break. If it had happened after we’d finished filming, the financial loss would have been even worse.”

Wakibuchi borrowed Isono’s lighter and lit a cigarette. “I once worked on a film that ran out of money halfway through and had to be scrapped. I’m older than you guys, so I’ve seen my fair share of disasters. When something’s a lost cause, it’s best to cut your losses and move on. That’s a tip from someone with experience.”

Isono shook his head stubbornly, clearly unconvinced. Then he looked at Tokame. “What about you, Tokame? Why aren’t you mad? Doesn’t this piss you off?”

Tokame hesitated, then gave his usual response: “…It can’t be helped.”

“What’s with that? How can you not be mad?” Isono demanded. “To be honest, you’ve had it the hardest. Habu dumped his duties on you, and you’ve been running around nonstop. All your hard work, wasted—just because of that idiot.”

Isono threw his hands up dramatically, while Wakibuchi, seated beside him, offered a mild warning, “Don’t make a scene—you’ll just bother the staff here.”

Tokame shrugged. “Even if the movie’s canceled, all I’ll miss out on is the pay for shooting the behind-the-scenes footage.”

Isono scowled and muttered, “Man, that’s disappointing. I thought you had more attachment to the Ishikawa team than that.”

Attachment was one thing, but letting go was another. He couldn’t quite put those feelings into words. Wakibuchi reached over and flicked Isono on the temple.

“Ow!”

“Just because you don’t get it doesn’t mean he’s not attached. Tokame’s got a deeper well than you do. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stuck with that stubborn director or tolerated that hopeless actor. Being able to forgive and move on—that’s a talent, too. Remember that.”

Grumbling, Isono muttered something unintelligible, and Wakibuchi, quick to reassure, added, “You’re simple-minded, which has its perks.”

“Yeah, but why is Wakibuchi-san even here hanging out with us props guys? Shouldn’t you be lecturing the junior crew?”

Wakibuchi leaned forward with a playful glint in his eye. “See, every now and then, I want to speak my mind freely. But if I bare my soul around the younger crew, it just causes tension later. So, I save my venting for people who can keep their mouths shut and aren’t directly involved.”

“What kind of reasoning is that? That’s awful!” Isono yelled, and Wakibuchi waved him off. It was clear Wakibuchi liked Isono, not just as a venting partner, but for his straightforward personality—someone easy to be around regardless of gender.

Isono, still muttering curses at Sato, eventually slumped over the table as his drink caught up to him. Tokame sighed, preparing himself for the familiar task of carrying him back.

Complaining about Sato’s cover-up was one thing, but Isono hadn’t mentioned anything about the assault on Ichinose. If he knew, he wouldn’t let Sato off so easily, so Ichinose probably hadn’t told him yet. With the film’s cancellation and the recent shocks, Tokame figured it was best to wait until Isono had calmed down before bringing it up.

The diner seemed to turn into more of a bar as the night wore on. He didn’t know its hours, but as orders shifted to beer and appetizers, it became clear that its evening crowd was mainly drinkers.

“The filming will probably get canceled, but I’d still love to finish it with someone else in Sato’s role. Wishful thinking, though,” Wakibuchi muttered, then added with a grin, “I just really like Kamonagi. She’s talented and… alluring. If I came home and she greeted me in nothing but an apron, I could die happy.”

Wakibuchi’s expression remained composed, and he hadn’t had much to drink, but he was clearly tipsy. He then started listing potential young actors who could replace Sato.

“Personally, I think they should cast someone who’s not conventionally handsome, you know? Someone more unique, maybe even a little unattractive. It gives people hope, right? Like, if that guy can do it, then maybe so can I!” he chuckled. “But yeah, probably wouldn’t draw a crowd.”

“And if they do resume filming, I’d want the same crew back. Though maybe not Habu-kun. When he worked with the director, the tension was so thick it was painful to watch.”

“He tried his best, though,” Tokame said, as Wakibuchi dug into some grilled skewers he’d ordered.

“Sure, he tried, but oil and water don’t mix. If Habu knew they didn’t get along, he should’ve set aside his personal preferences and focused on the work. Instead, he kept butting in, like he had some kind of authority. That kind of attitude is fine if you’re the director—you can get away with it if you’re calling the shots. But if you’re not talented enough to direct, that attitude makes you useless, and it’s a dead end.”

He paused, then added, “Still, he’s lucky to get a shot at directing without worrying about the money. If it succeeds, he’ll keep getting chances.”

“True,” Tokame replied, taking a sip of his now-lukewarm beer. The restaurant had no air conditioning, and the sliding doors were left open. A huge fan, the kind you’d see in an old bathhouse, hung from the ceiling, creaking as it spun. Wakibuchi grabbed his T-shirt at the collar, fanning himself.

“Tokame-kun, you’re dependable but easygoing. The creative field is an ego battlefield; I think you could afford to be a little more self-centered.”

“I already do things pretty much my own way.”

“Nah, you’re a considerate guy,” Wakibuchi said, finishing his beer. With Isono knocked out, Tokame thought it was time to call it a night, but then Wakibuchi ordered another round.

“Tomorrow’s cleanup anyway—indulge me in a little pity drinking,” he said, rubbing the rim of his empty glass. Even when they knew the outcome and stayed rational, everyone was disappointed to some degree.

“Tokame-kun, you’re aiming to be a director someday, right?”

“Yes, if I get the chance.”

“I’m not just flattering you; I think you’re cut out for it. You get people, you’ve got a good sense for framing… I hope you get a shot. Got any particular type of film you’d like to make? A drama, maybe? Or comedy? Oh, wait—you mainly shoot documentaries, right?”

“I’m not picky about genre…”

Wakibuchi burst out laughing. “No shame, huh?”

Tokame chuckled, too. A scene from River’s End flashed in his mind—the white sands scattering on the sea breeze…

“One day, I’d love to make something that could change someone’s life,” he said.

Wakibuchi fell silent, then chuckled, shaking his shoulders. “That’s a dangerous ambition.”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It was only after he’d escorted a drunken Isono back to the inn that Tokame noticed the missed call from Yorozu. The call had come over an hour ago, but he hadn’t realized it while chatting with Wakibuchi. It was past midnight now—too late to call back. After a moment of hesitation, he sent a message instead.

About thirty minutes later, Yorozu appeared in front of the vending machine by a ramen shop they had used as a filming location. Slightly out of breath, Yorozu seemed to have jogged there, his breath faintly visible in the dim light.

The filming location, once bustling with people, was silent at this late hour. Yorozu stood at an awkward two-meter distance from Tokame.

“I… saw the news about Sato just now…,” he began hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Tokame responded with a nod.

“Will the movie be all right?”

“It’s canceled. Not confirmed yet, but probably.”

Yorozu fell silent, his gaze lowering. After a pause, he murmured, “I see…”

“It can’t be helped at this point. And just so you know, this isn’t your fault,” Tokame added.

“I know that,” Yorozu replied quietly.

The night air carried the faint scent of the sea, and Yorozu’s soft hair moved gently in the thick, warm breeze.

“When are you going back?” Tokame asked.

Yorozu stiffened slightly, his head lowered.

“I haven’t decided.”

“Want to go back with me?”

Yorozu slowly raised his gaze to Tokame.

“If the shoot’s canceled, I’ll take the crew bus back. There was extra room on the way here, so there should be space for one more on the way back. I’ll ask for you. In exchange, though, you might have to help with a bit of cleanup.”

Yorozu stayed silent, simply looking at Tokame. Tokame couldn’t tell if he’d already arranged his return ticket or if he just didn’t want to go back with him.

“…Hey, say something,” Tokame urged.

Yorozu parted his lips slightly. “What… what do you think of me, Tokame?”

Instead of answering, he replied with a question, seemingly out of nowhere. Still, Tokame humored him.

“I’d say you’re serious.”

“Don’t joke around.”

Tokame had intended to answer sincerely, but Yorozu seemed irritated, his shoulders tensing. The surrounding silence was thick in the quiet night, broken only by the echo of his voice as most nearby shops were shuttered.

“What am I to you, Tokame?” Yorozu asked, his tone grave.

Lover… Tokame almost said, but stopped himself, unwilling to risk rejection.

“You’re important to me,” he replied instead.

“Then… on your list of ‘important’ things, where do I rank?”

Tokame resisted the urge to tease him for sounding like a child. “You’re number one,” he replied.

Yorozu’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

“…I thought number one would be your work.”

“People and work aren’t the same.”

Yorozu looked down again, silence settling over them, mingling with the scent of the tide. The two-meter gap between them seemed to shrink as Yorozu moved closer, reaching out to lightly tug on Tokame’s shirt.

Tokame pulled him in, wrapping his arms around him tightly, preventing him from resisting or pushing away. But Yorozu’s body remained still in his embrace. He felt Yorozu’s fingers touch his back, sending a shiver through his entire body. He tilted Yorozu’s lowered face and brought their lips together. When Yorozu’s mouth parted slightly in acceptance, Tokame felt a surge of excitement and slid his tongue inside.

“Ngh…”

Their tongues intertwined, and Tokame realized just how long it had been since he’d felt this way, not since their last argument. As they broke the kiss, Yorozu’s eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed, clearly moved.

“…Where are you staying?” Tokame whispered, his voice wavering.

Yorozu shook his head, a faint red tint spreading to his ears. “No way. My hotel’s walls are thin. I could even hear my neighbor last night…”

Tokame couldn’t take him back to the bustling inn, either. And it was too late, unfamiliar as he was with the area, to try to find a love hotel.

So, he took Yorozu’s hand and led him along the winding, dimly lit path, up a steep hill that left them slightly breathless. Despite the sweat building between their palms, neither let go.

Hisae’s house loomed in the darkness, faintly lit. Entering through the back door, Tokame turned on the light. Yorozu followed, his eyes darting around curiously as he trailed closely behind Tokame.

The first floor was cluttered with art club supplies, barely leaving room to walk. Tokame led him up to the second floor.

Hisae’s room was nearly bare, with only two cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. Tokame lowered the light to a dim glow, cautious of any prying eyes. Yorozu watched him in silence, taking in his every move.

"Is it really okay for us to be here?"

"It’s just an abandoned house we used for filming."

"That doesn’t answer my question."

"…Just keep quiet about it, and we’ll be fine."

Yorozu covered his mouth, stifling a laugh. As Tokame stepped closer, Yorozu’s laughter faded. Continuing the kiss that had been interrupted, Tokame slipped his hand under the hem of Yorozu’s T-shirt. His fingers met the warm, smooth skin, slightly damp with sweat, clinging softly to his touch.

Tokame laid his lover down on the tatami mat, stripping away the T-shirt, jeans, and underwear in one go. He was eager to see him bare. Yet now, as he sat there undressed, Yorozu suddenly hesitated, shifting backward and murmuring, “Actually… I’m not so sure.” Tokame felt an intense surge of desire at his resistance, catching him by the ankle to hold him in place. He planted a fierce kiss on his inner thigh, drawing a faint, trembling moan from Yorozu.

As Tokame licked and gently nipped along Yorozu’s thigh, he felt Yorozu's body stiffen and arch in response. Tracing his fingers along the coarse hair, he deliberately focused his touch only at the base, teasingly. Unable to hold back, a bead of warm fluid escaped from Yorozu’s tip, moistening the bridge of Tokame's nose.

With his dampened fingers, Tokame traced the entrance, carefully easing it open. Yorozu drew in a small, sharp breath. It had been a while, and the tightness resisted, so Tokame held back his urge to press forward too quickly, taking his time to prepare him with patient care.

As he undressed between kisses, Yorozu muttered, "You're being mean."

"What do you mean?"

"It's… slower than usual. It’s unfair."

Tokame had intended to be gentle, mindful of him, but it seemed the prolonged caresses came across as teasing. Feeling desired, he couldn’t help but feel a hint of happiness at the thought. And then, he silently berated himself for being so simple and foolish.

He pressed himself deeply into the place that was now fully prepared for him, without hesitation. The tight, warm embrace of his lover’s body, a sensation he hadn’t felt in so long, was so overwhelmingly pleasurable it seemed to melt his mind from within. It wasn’t only there—he could feel Yorozu’s heat radiating from every point of contact between them, a sensation that fueled his desire even further. Wanting to reach even deeper, Tokame pulled Yorozu’s slender hips closer and thrust up forcefully, each movement deliberate and intense.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Noticing that Yorozu’s back seemed uncomfortable, Tokame brought over a futon as thin as a rice cracker and a light blanket from the staff room to Hisae’s room.

After they both reached their climax a second time, Yorozu started to drift off, his younger lover’s face softening into sleep. Tokame watched him, gently tracing a finger along his smooth cheek. Even though they’d been wrapped up in each other just moments ago, he already felt the desire to lose himself with him all over again. Over three weeks of waiting wasn’t something that could be satisfied in just two or three rounds.

He let his hand trail from Yorozu’s cheek down his neck, over his shoulder, along his side, and finally traced his thigh, touching the softened area between his legs. As Tokame rubbed the tip with his thumb, his own excitement grew even more than his lover’s, and he moved down to take Yorozu into his mouth. The scent of the sea was stronger here after his release. Tokame pressed his nose against the faint hair, savoring the taste with his whole mouth, and gently kneaded the soft pouch with his lips until its shape shifted.

Yorozu’s white thighs closed softly around Tokame’s head, perhaps waking up. As he continued his attentions, he slipped his fingers back into that deeper place he'd explored earlier. It was still relaxed, inviting his fingertips inside, where the warmth pulsed with a soft, gentle movement.

“...Not yet… I don’t want to…”

He knew Yorozu didn’t really mind, judging by his body’s responsive shivers. If he truly resisted, Tokame wouldn’t be able to hold down a man with a similar build. Savoring every last drop of Yorozu’s sensuality, he withdrew his fingers, lifting both legs. Pressing himself gently to that welcoming place, he began to ease in slowly.

“…Nn… ah…”

He pushed in deeply, then withdrew, savoring the entirety of the experience with slow, deliberate thrusts. Yorozu’s knees, bent deeply, trembled with each movement. Tokame’s mouth claimed his lover’s again and again, his lips soft and parted as he caught his shallow breaths, indulgent and sensual. Yorozu’s body pulled him close, clinging sweetly to him. Stroking his lover’s soft hair, Tokame’s body tensed and, finally, released onto Yorozu’s abdomen.

He carefully wiped his lover’s dampened abdomen with tissues brought from the staff room. Yorozu’s body, illuminated in the faint light, had a cool, porcelain-like glow, looking almost otherworldly—but still warm to the touch. As Tokame leaned over him, Yorozu murmured a sweet complaint against his ear: “You’re heavy…”

Tokame playfully tickled Yorozu’s side, prompting him to squirm and say, “Hey, stop that!” When he didn’t, Yorozu flipped him onto his back, climbing on top of him. In playful retaliation, Yorozu tickled his sides.

“Hey, stop! My back—” Tokame protested.

Yorozu laughed, still perched on Tokame’s stomach. As Tokame massaged his firm rear, he teased, “Wanna try riding next?” Yorozu shot back with a “Pervert,” yet leaned down and kissed him anyway. He kept giving quick, soft kisses, one after another. In between kisses, Yorozu let out a small “Ah.”

“Oh… is it past midnight?”

“By far.”

Yorozu slid down, grabbing Tokame’s arms and pulling him upright. Then he sat on his lap, cradling Tokame’s cheeks in his hands.

“Happy birthday.”

Perched on Tokame’s lap, Yorozu nuzzled against him like a cat. “Last year, I found out after your birthday, so I couldn’t say it.”

“...I’d forgotten it was today,” Tokame admitted. Growing up, his family couldn’t afford to celebrate birthdays. The only exception was his youngest brother, Shunsuke. Every year, Tokame and his sister Koharu would save up for a small cake, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and sing him a birthday song. They didn’t have presents, but even now, Tokame remembered Shunsuke’s birthday more clearly than his own.

“If we had gone to Hokkaido, I was planning to celebrate there. I had all sorts of things in mind, but when we suddenly couldn’t go, it was a real disappointment. Then, I suggested Onomichi, but even that didn’t seem to work out, and thinking ‘I wouldn’t be in the way’ just made me more frustrated…”

“I’m sorry,” Yorozu apologized. He looked so endearing that Tokame pulled him into a tight embrace, causing Yorozu to nuzzle against his neck.

“Hey…”

“What is it?”

“If the hotel my family runs starts to do better, could I be your sponsor?” Yorozu asked, looking serious as he proposed it. Tokame brushed a gentle finger across his cheek.

“It’s like you’re offering to support me.”

Yorozu’s gaze wavered slightly.

“Would that bother you?”

“It’s not a matter of like or dislike… I can manage on my own, you know?”

At that, Yorozu lowered his eyes. Tokame gently stroked his chin, lifting it.

“You don’t have to push yourself on my behalf.”

“That’s not it.” Yorozu’s fingers tightened around Tokame’s hand.

“When… when there’s someone you love, wanting to keep them close is only natural, don’t you think?”

The word “keep” struck Tokame as funny, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He kept laughing.

“What would you even do with an old guy like me?”

“I’m serious,” Yorozu said with a bit of exasperation. Tokame, still amused, gave him a light pat on the head.

“Thanks.”

“What about you, Tokame?”

“What about me?”

“How do you feel about me?” Tokame assumed his feelings were clear, but Yoshida’s words of advice came to mind.

“...Well, I love you.”

“If you love me, then why, when I said I wanted to break up, did you just go along with it so easily?”

“Because… you said you wanted to break up.”

Yorozu frowned.

“So, did you not actually want to break up?”

It seemed exhausting to explain that past conversation point by point. Sensing this, Yorozu pressed, “Answer me properly.”

“Even if I don’t want to break up, if you’ve made up your mind, it’s not like I could change that.”

“Do you even love me?”

“I already said I do.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me why or push back and say you didn’t want to break up? You just brushed it off with ‘it can’t be helped,’ and it made me feel like I didn’t really matter to you. If you love me, then…”

Yorozu’s lips trembled, clearly frustrated, as he struggled to find the right words.

“I’m supposed to be the person you love most in the world, right? Even more than work?”

Tokame found himself smiling at Yorozu’s grand speech. His world wasn’t that big, but for him, it was true.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“If you just brush off everything important with ‘it can’t be helped,’ eventually there won’t be anything left.”

“That’s not true.”

“If you love me, then be a little more possessive.”

“Even if you say that… there’s still a chance you could fall for someone else someday.” Tokame teased, and Yorozu responded without hesitation, “There’s only you, Tokame.”

"Sure, but if I start believing that and you leave me, it’d be the height of misery."

He thought he’d made a lighthearted comment, but the underlying truth returned to him like a boomerang, hitting him right in the chest. Ah, yes. He was afraid—always had been. Afraid of truly caring, of growing attached… and then losing it all.

He knew how easily even the most precious things could disappear, things he thought he couldn’t live without.

That lesson had seared itself into his mind when he was a teenager. The memories surged like an avalanche—the freezing street, his mother’s cold body, the smell of charred bones filling their darkened home The cake he ate alone, the ashes sinking into the river. The night bus he boarded alone, with no friends to see him off…

It’s just sentimentality over the past, he told himself. But the tears came anyway. It wasn’t painful now, nor sad. He wasn’t even unhappy. Tokame pushed Yorozu, who sat on his thighs, aside and lay face-down on the futon.

“...What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You’re shaking.” Yorozu’s voice was soft. Tokame pressed his face into the thin futon.

“Tokame-san?”

Yorozu’s lips brushed near his ear, repeating his name, and hearing it only made the tears come faster. Before he realized it, Yorozu had climbed to his side, resting his weight against him.

“...What, you want to go again?” Tokame teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” Yorozu replied, his tone quiet. “You… just seemed lonely.”

With those words, he wrapped his arms around him.

“…Sometimes, Tokame-san, you look incredibly lonely.”

Tokame threw him off his and pinned him down.

“Were you crying?”

Looking up at him, Yorozu asked, and Tokame dodged, calling it a yawn, pulling him into an embrace. He squeezed tightly, hoping to hide his trembling arms, though Yorozu might have noticed. Even though it must have been uncomfortable, Yorozu didn’t complain about the strength of his grip, not once.

After dozing off a bit, they left Hisae’s house while it was still dark. The crew would likely arrive early for the day’s cleanup, and Yorozu wanted to catch a little sleep back at his hotel. Slowly, side by side, they descended the hill.

As they walked, the dark sky began to shift to a deep indigo. By the time they reached the business hotel where Yorozu was staying, the horizon between the sea and sky had begun to pale slightly.

"My father passed away from illness when I was in elementary school," Yorozu said quietly, breaking the silence.

“He was a kind and gentle person; both my younger brother and I adored him.”

Tokame knew that Yorozu had been raised by a single mother, though he’d never heard the full story.

"People are human, after all. There can be unexpected accidents or illness, and sometimes we die. Even if something were to happen to me, I’d have no regrets about my life if I’m able to be with you, Tokame. Just like my memories of my father are precious, my time with you is something I’ll always cherish.”

Tokame gazed at Yorozu, lost in thought. Reserved, sometimes a bit stubborn, not especially eloquent—yet Yorozu was sincere and true. Maybe it was because he’d been loved by his parents.

Were Yorozu and he really so different? …No, not really. His own mother had passed away when he was young, but she’d been a kind person. His father, though unreliable and often drunk, was cheerful when he was sober. His sister was strong-willed, and his younger brother, though introverted, had been deeply attached to him.

They’d had their misfortunes, but he hadn’t been unhappy. He’d always felt that way because he’d been loved by his family. He hadn’t come into this world alone, nor had he grown up in isolation. He’d been surrounded by love, and that love, along with those memories, would stay with him forever. It was this love that shaped the person he was today.

And now, he had someone he loved. A passionate man, so much so that he wanted to keep Tokame close to him. Whether Yorozu was fully aware of that passion, Tokame couldn’t say.

“Dawn is breaking soon,” Yorozu remarked, his gaze fixed on the sea. Reflecting the colors of the sky, the once-dark waves began to brighten. The sea, he thought, was merely a vessel—beautiful but empty, holding nothing of true significance, only the remnants of the past.

Looking at his lover’s profile, Tokame realized, perhaps for the first time, that he might actually be happy. No, he thought, he was happy.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

As expected, filming was officially canceled the next day. Early that morning, all the staff gathered in one room of the inn, where the producer addressed them.

With a full day having passed since Sato's accident cover-up was revealed, everyone had had some time to process the situation, and no one voiced any complaints about the decision. Once the announcement ended, everyone immediately began packing up and preparing for departure. Yorozu was also granted permission to ride back on the crew’s bus as long as he helped with cleanup and carrying equipment.

The art department’s crafted signs were carefully removed and taken to Hisae’s house. Since it had been vacant from the start, they secured permission from the owner to store everything there for about a year. Though setbacks marred the project, the director still seemed determined to resume filming at some point.

Habu hadn’t been seen since meeting in the director’s room; he’d apparently returned to Tokyo the day before. One of the crew members who informed Tokame of this shared a wry smile, commenting, “He was a disappointment right to the end.”

By late afternoon, with most of the packing complete and the rental items and other supplies loaded into the trucks, the director suddenly showed up at Hisae’s house. Tokame thought he had left early, having not seen him since the producer’s announcement.

"Director, let’s definitely do this again!” Isono said enthusiastically.

“Right,” the director replied nonchalantly, then walked straight over to Tokame.

“When are you leaving?”

“After six, on the bus with the props.”

The director nodded shallowly, arms crossed.

“Are you with an agency?”

“No, I’m freelance.”

“Got it,” he acknowledged. “Could I get your phone number?”

Without objection, Tokame exchanged his phone number and email address. The director closed his phone with a slightly cryptic smile and bid the crew, “Thanks for everything,” before departing.

"So, what did you and the director talk about at the end?" Isono asked, walking ahead with Hisae’s small dining table in his arms. Tokame, carrying a staff futon with mixed feelings, replied, “He just asked for my phone number.” Isono looked back, squinting.

“You’re definitely going to get called by the director soon. Poor guy.”

“...Maybe he’ll let me do the making-of footage again if filming restarts.”

Isono sighed, muttering “Idiot.”

“This film’s already tainted. Even if they restart, there’s no way they’d budget for a behind-the-scenes crew. He’s probably sizing up useful people for his next project.”

As the road widened, Isono slowed his pace to walk beside Tokame, giving him a playful shoulder nudge.

“If I’m free, I’d want to work on Ishikawa’s film, too. Let’s do it together again!”

Tokame hoped they’d really get that chance. He and Isono were part of the last group hauling equipment, and the bus was set to leave in half an hour. He packed his things into the bag Shimabara had given him in place of his ruined sports bag. Though he hesitated a bit, he decided to ask the inn staff to throw out the old bag.

Before leaving the room, Tokame sent a text to Yorozu, who replied that he was waiting downstairs. Tokame quickly headed to the inn’s back parking lot, where he found Yorozu sitting in the shade of a tree. Even at Hisae’s house, Yorozu had moved around deftly, leading the charge to help with cleanup.

“If you’re here, you should’ve let me know,” Tokame scolded.

Yorozu replied, showing Tokame the cover of a book, “I wasn’t bored.”

The sight of his sun-kissed, slightly reddened neck made Tokame feel an overwhelming urge to kiss him, but he managed to hold back.

“You changed your bag?” Yorozu’s gaze was on the black shoulder bag Tokame was wearing.

“Yeah. It was a gift.”

“The old one was pretty worn out. This one looks nice.”

Come to think of it, Isono had made some remark about its brand, but Tokame wasn’t well-versed in that area. It was lightweight, seemed durable, and would probably last a long time.

“You were talking a lot with that blond guy... Did he give it to you?”

“No, Isono wasn’t the one who gave me this.”

“Oh, his name’s Isono?” Yorozu went quiet for a moment.

“What’s up?”

“...It’s nothing.”

Sensing that Yorozu was overthinking, Tokame added, “He has a girlfriend, you know,” to put his mind at ease. Yorozu looked up quickly at that.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah… She’s a script supervisor. Maybe you don’t know what that is, but on this team, she’s the one responsible for continuity. She’s the girl you helped out.”

Once Yorozu realized who it was, he looked visibly relieved. “So, that’s what you were worried about, huh?” Tokame asked, and Yorozu shook his head. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Oh, so I was under suspicion of cheating, huh?”

“No, it’s not like that! I mean, I didn’t think you would, but… you get along well with him, and you’re cool, so… I’d hate it if he fell for you.”

“Don’t worry.”

Tokame brushed his fingertip across Yorozu’s cheek. “The only one who’s so crazy about me they’d even want to keep me all to themselves… is you.”

Blushing to the tips of his ears, Yorozu dashed off across the parking lot. When he didn’t come back for a while, Tokame was about to wonder where he’d gone when, five minutes before departure, Yorozu boarded the bus and greeted everyone politely, “I’ll be riding with you all the way to Tokyo. Thanks for having me.” Somehow, his presence brought a touch of refinement to the rough atmosphere inside the bus.

Looking slightly shy, he tried to sit behind Tokame. But Tokame pointed to the seat beside him. “There are other people getting on, so sit here,” he instructed. Yorozu, looking a little sheepish, took the seat next to him. Once they were on their way, the seats remained mostly empty, with plenty of room to stretch out. Yorozu muttered, “…you tricked me.”

The bus followed the coastline. As they passed a fishing town jutting out toward the sea, Yorozu murmured, “The ocean.”

“Weren’t you supposed to hate the sea?”

“…I’m okay with it now.”

The anxious feeling in Tokame’s chest was gone. He doubted it would ever return. He rested his head on Yorozu’s shoulder. The bus was quiet. The setting sun sank swiftly, giving way to the night.

“Hey, Tokame, got any snacks?” came Isono’s voice.

“He seems to be asleep,” Yorozu answered for him.

“Hey, don’t feel like you have to stay put. You can switch seats if you want. It’s cramped with two people, right?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Tokame, though thinking it would be better if Isono didn’t say things like that, kept up the pretense of sleep. Moments like these always made it hard to decide when to “wake up.”

“This guy sleeps like some spoiled, stray alley cat,” Isono muttered as he walked away.

The bus swayed gently, like a cradle. Leaning against the younger man, feeling his warmth, Tokame allowed himself to sink into a calm, peaceful sleep.

Previous TOC Next