Second Serenade: Chapter 04

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When Aketo came to, the night was already giving way to the pale light of dawn. A weak glow filtered through the gap in the curtains. He felt unusually comfortable, only to realize he was still fully clothed, tucked into a narrow bed. Rubbing his sleep-clouded head, he slowly pieced together his hazy memories from the night before. Right… they’d been watching a movie. He’d only meant to close his eyes for a second, just to rest them, but then...

Gripping the edge of the sheet, Aketo cursed under his breath. Damn it, he got me again. Once more, he’d shown Sunahara a side of himself he wished he hadn’t. Grinding his teeth, he slipped out of the small, six-mat room, moving cautiously to avoid any further embarrassment.

Next to the makeshift bedroom was the roughly eight-mat room where they’d watched the movies. Hayashida and Kakegawa were sprawled across the tatami like beached sea lions, snoring softly. Sunahara, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Tiptoeing around his unconscious friends, Aketo headed toward the small kitchen beyond. He spotted a pair of slippers by the doorway and, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped them on. His throat felt parched, an intense craving for water hitting him out of nowhere.

“You’re up?”

Aketo froze. Sunahara emerged from the adjoining washroom, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes as he shuffled over to the fridge. He pulled out a carton of milk, poured himself a glass, and turned to Aketo.

“Want some?”

Aketo had meant to decline, to refuse anything this man offered, but his head betrayed him, nodding on reflex. Sunahara handed over the glass in his hand, then retrieved a second one from a small cupboard for himself.

“Thanks,” Aketo mumbled, trying to sound polite. Sunahara shot him a sideways glance before letting out a deep, jaw-cracking yawn.

“You guys are hopeless. Not a single one of you managed to stay awake till the end. Hayashida crashed at the start of the third film, Kakegawa was out halfway through the second, and you? You were a lost cause from the very beginning. When I was a student, I once pulled a full 24-hour marathon, you know. I don’t have that kind of stamina anymore, though.”

Normally, Aketo would have rolled his eyes and scoffed, Twenty-four hours straight? What kind of idiot does that? What’s the point? But this was a battle — a silent, unspoken war between him and Sunahara.

“Haha… I’ll try not to fall asleep next time,” he forced a laugh, vowing internally to drown himself in a hundred cups of coffee if that’s what it took to stay awake and wipe that smug look off Sunahara’s face.

“Glad to hear it. Gotta appreciate the positive attitude,” Sunahara replied, leaning against the counter. “By the way, you hungry?”

Now that he mentioned it, Aketo realized he was.

“Want some ramen?”

No, thank you. That’s what he meant to say, but his stomach clearly had other plans, betraying him with a nod.

“There’s some instant ramen in the cupboard over there. Boil some water, and I’ll give you one. Make mine while you’re at it.”

“Got it.”

Aketo managed to keep the smile on his face until Sunahara disappeared from the kitchen. The moment he was gone, Aketo’s expression twisted into a scowl. He spotted a small, azuki bean-sized bug scuttling across the floor and crushed it beneath his slipper, grinding it to a fine, unrecognizable paste. Somehow, that small act of destruction made him feel just a bit better.

That bastard, he fumed. Of all the people in the world, he asks me to make his ramen? What the hell is he thinking?

As he set a battered, grimy pot on the stove and filled it with water, Aketo briefly considered dumping an ungodly amount of salt into Sunahara’s ramen, just to teach him a lesson.

A few minutes later, ramen cups in hand, he wandered through the apartment in search of his tormentor. He called out to Sunahara in a hushed voice, mindful not to wake Hayashida and Kakegawa, but got no response. He ducked back into the small bedroom where he’d slept, and sure enough, there was Sunahara, curled up in the same bed Aketo had just vacated, snoring softly.

The nerve of this guy! Aketo felt his irritation flare up again, the slow simmer of his earlier anger bubbling back to the surface.

"Wake up, dumbass."

There was no way he was going to keep playing nice and have a proper conversation. Sunahara rolled over with a groggy "Mmm". It had only been a few minutes while the ramen cooked, but the guy was already out cold—unbelievably fast sleeper.

"Hey, shorty."

Aketo kicked the edge of the bed with his foot. Sunahara rolled to the other side again and murmured a name softly in his sleep.

"Honami."

Aketo froze mid-kick. A girl’s name. He strained to hear more, but Sunahara didn’t say anything else. A girl’s name, from Sunahara. Maybe he was dating someone? Who the hell would date a runt like him? Must be one hell of a weirdo.

"Honami."

The name came again, and Aketo paused. It caught his attention for a moment—but he left the room.

The tatami room was, as always, a damn zoo. How long are these idiots planning to sleep!? Aketo aimed a few kicks at Kakegawa and Hayashida’s guts and legs as he pretended to step over them. Kakegawa winced and sat up, but Hayashida—apparently born without a pain response—kept sleeping through it like a rock.

"Ah, sorry. Did I kick you?"

Aketo gave a grin to the half-dead-looking Kakegawa. Then, right in front of that grumpy face, he held out the ramen cup—Sunahara’s portion.

"Here. Peace offering."

Whether it was because he was starving or still half-asleep, Kakegawa wordlessly took the cup noodles and the chopsticks handed to him and popped the lid. His mouth turned down into a frown.

Just as Aketo had predicted, the noodles inside had fully absorbed the soup and swelled into a soggy, wavy mess.

:-::-:

The last Sunday in August was oppressively hot from the start. It felt like the sun had doubled in size, radiating a heat so intense that it seemed to defy the passing of summer. Though the peak heat had passed and there was a faint hint of autumn in the evening breeze, the midday sun still burned with a fierce, unrelenting energy, as if insisting that summer wasn't over yet.

Aketo felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead and the back of his neck, and the discomfort was becoming unbearable. He had a hat on, but it did little to help in this stifling heat. For the first time, he regretted agreeing to be the cameraman. Sure, it was nice being able to watch Otomo-san through the camera lens, but beyond that, the role offered no perks. He barely had any time to rest, just like the cast members, and he had to stand out in the blazing sun without any shade. He hadn't expected it to be this brutal.

Sweat trickled down his back, making his T-shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin. He longed for the shade of a tree, just a brief respite, but if the cameraman took a break, the entire shoot would have to pause. Yet the makeshift director seemed utterly oblivious to the concept of compromise, refusing to call a single take "good enough" despite the relentless heat.

The park was crowded with afternoon strollers, and curious passersby kept glancing their way, making Aketo even more self-conscious. It only made him sweat more.

"Alright, let's try that one more time," Hayashida called out, his voice cutting through the sweltering air.

Aketo bit back a retort, swallowing down the words that threatened to escape his dry throat: "Don't start acting like you're some kind of Hitchcock or Fellini, you hack!" The only thing keeping his frustration in check was his determination to maintain his reputation as a diligent class representative — a model student who kept his cool even under pressure. Plus, he didn't want to lose his temper in front of Minako Otomo.

Just as the strain of repeated takes was pushing him to the edge, a sudden, cool sensation brushed against his cheek. Aketo looked up, startled. It was Sunahara, grinning as he handed him a chilled juice can. Without waiting for a reply, Sunahara called over to Hayashida.

"Everyone looks pretty wiped. How about a fifteen-minute break?"

Hayashida, perched in his makeshift director's chair, gave a reluctant nod. The actors and crew all scattered for shade, and Aketo, too, made a beeline for the base of a large tree, sinking down with a grateful sigh. Sunahara dropped down beside him. Aketo grimaced but lacked the energy to move away. He cracked open the can of "enemy-sent provisions," letting the cold carbonation spread through his system. Glancing around, he noticed that everyone else also had drinks in hand, meaning Sunahara hadn't singled him out.

"Mind if I sit here?"

Aketo, who had been slumped like a beached fish, immediately straightened. A white dress cast a slender shadow over him, and long hair swayed gently in the thick, humid air. Otomo-san was standing over him, her expression a mixture of nervousness and a forced smile.

"Take my spot," Sunahara said abruptly, standing up and strolling over to the opposite tree shade where Hayashida had settled.

Otomo-san's eyes followed him in a brief, uncertain glance before she let out a small, resigned sigh and, hesitantly, sat down beside Aketo.

Aketo's heart raced. He was happy to be this close to her, but the circumstances stung his pride. It felt like a handout, and he hated it. He glanced at the juice can clutched tightly in her hands — unopened, her fingers curled protectively around it as if afraid to let go.

"Otomo-san, do you like Sunahara-sensei?"

Otomo whipped around, her eyes wide with shock as she looked at Aketo.

"N-no, that's not..."

She averted her gaze, her face turning a deep shade of red. But she didn't deny it. That was all the confirmation Aketo needed. A dull, throbbing pain pounded through his head, like the blare of a giant speaker, the heat and the shock merging into a physical ache.

"So, you really do like him, huh? But you have your work cut out for you. Sensei's pretty dense, you know. Are you planning to confess?"

Once he started speaking, the words came out effortlessly, surprising even himself.

Otomo raised both hands to her flushed cheeks, a gesture so innocently shy that it only made her seem even more endearing.

"Is it... that obvious?"

Aketo forced a smile, hating the hollow way it felt. Even in a moment like this, he could still put on a good front.

"I think you should be a little more direct, you know? Make your feelings clearer."

"It's... embarrassing," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. There was a modesty to her, a quiet grace that felt almost out of place in this era, making Aketo even more reluctant to let Sunahara have her without a fight.

"Want me to help you out?"

She looked up, her clear, earnest eyes locking onto his. Aketo let his expression soften into a friendly, encouraging smile, carefully crafting the impression of a supportive confidant.

"I talk with Sensei a lot. I could drop a hint for you, you know, subtly work it into the conversation."

For a brief moment, Otomo's eyes sparkled, but then she quickly lowered her gaze again.

"But... what if he already likes someone else? If I confess, I might just end up bothering him..."

Who on earth would consider a confession from Otomo-san a bother?! Aketo wanted to shout, but he held his tongue.

"I could try to feel him out for you. But honestly, I doubt he has anyone like that. He's never mentioned anything like it to me."

Seizing the moment, Aketo gently placed his hand on her shoulder. It was small and delicate, and he could feel the slight warmth through her thin summer dress. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. Just holding her like this made him feel that he could die without regrets — a dangerous, intoxicating thought.

Oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing within him, Otomo lightly grasped his hand with her slender, soft fingers. She looked up, her eyes fixed on his.

"Thank you."

Those simple, heartfelt words of gratitude filled him with a sudden pang of guilt. But no matter what anyone said, no matter how harshly he might be criticized later, Aketo had no intention of losing to Sunahara when it came to Minako Otomo.

He had his foot in the door now. All that remained was to find a way to make her give up on Sunahara entirely. A slight crease formed between his brows as he began to plot his next move.

:-::-:

Sunahara sat on the tatami mat, knees drawn up to his chest, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. It looked completely out of place, as if a kid had decided to start smoking. He seemed like he’d be more at home sipping milk from a carton.

"Sensei, if you keep hanging around your students every single day, isn’t your girlfriend going to get mad at you?"

Kakegawa teased, his tone light. Sunahara just gave a wry smile.

"I don’t have a girlfriend."

It didn’t seem like a lie. Sunahara wasn’t the type to hide something like that, and there wasn’t much reason for him to lie about it anyway. It was probably true. With a face and height like his, finding a girlfriend would be a challenge. Aketo found himself reluctantly agreeing with this assessment, but that just wouldn’t do. Even someone like Sunahara must have a girl who likes him.

Even after the day’s shoot ended and the others had gone home, Aketo kept hanging around Sunahara’s cramped apartment, calling it "studying film" as a convenient excuse to gather intel. It wasn’t just him, either. Kakegawa and Hayashida had somehow also become regulars at the apartment. They’d watch movies together, trading idle chatter that Aketo sifted through for anything he could use. Kakegawa, in particular, was a useful source, unafraid to ask the direct, sometimes awkward questions that Aketo himself hesitated to voice.

"So, Sensei, have you never dated a woman before?"

Kakegawa leaned in, his curiosity plain. Sunahara choked on a lungful of cigarette smoke, breaking into a fit of rough coughing.

"It’s not like... I never have..."

"What kind of person was she? I’m curious too," Aketo chimed in, pushing the question a step further. He needed to know what kind of woman Sunahara had liked before, partly to prepare Otomo for the reality of her chances, but also to secure her trust.

They were watching Casablanca tonight, the black-and-white classic flickering on the old TV. On the screen, a melancholy heroine cast her gaze downward, her expression steeped in quiet sorrow. Sunahara forced a small, uncomfortable grin in response to Aketo’s question.

"I’ve only ever had one real relationship. She dumped me. It messed me up so bad I swore I’d never go through that again."

The room fell silent, the only sound the low hum of the TV.

"Sorry if I hit a nerve there," Aketo said quickly, trying to smooth things over.

Sunahara let out a short laugh and gave Aketo a firm slap on the back.

"It’s a story from five years ago. Ancient history. She was the one who asked me out, but in the end, she’s the one who got tired of me."

As Time Goes By drifted softly from the TV’s speakers, the notes of an old piano filling the small room.

"While I was busy dragging my feet, my best friend swooped in and stole her away. She was a really amazing woman, though. Strong-willed, but honest..."

"Honami..."

The name slipped from Aketo’s lips without him even realizing it.

Both Kakegawa and Hayashida let the word wash past them, but Sunahara froze, his body tensing like a struck chord. His head whipped around, eyes locking onto Aketo with a sharp, probing stare. Aketo quickly averted his gaze, his mind racing.

Honami. That must be the name of the girl his best friend stole from him. The name he still muttered without realizing it. Sunahara hadn’t forgotten her.

On the screen, Casablanca drew closer to its iconic ending. Bogart was sending off the woman he loved.

"Casablanca really is a great film," Aketo murmured, trying to sound like a connoisseur, even though he hadn’t really been watching it. And despite never having seen the movie before, he could tell — Sunahara fit the role of the heartbroken lead all too well.

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