Second Serenade: Chapter 06

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When Aketo woke up, Sunahara was nowhere to be seen. Hayashida, on the other hand, was sprawled beneath the window, lying on his back like some bizarre crime scene corpse. Rubbing his slightly throbbing head, Aketo stumbled to the kitchen for a glass of water. Through the small window above the sink, he caught a faint hint of morning light creeping in. The wall clock showed six a.m. It felt too early to head home, but his back was sore from sleeping on the tatami, so trying to lie down again didn't seem appealing either.

Peeking into the bedroom, he found it dim, with the blankets on the bed mounded up, clearly hiding a sleeping figure. The bed was narrow, but with a bit of effort, it could probably fit two people. Figuring he could squeeze in if the occupant shifted over a bit, Aketo gently pushed Sunahara's body toward the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

The supposedly sleeping form jerked awake and swatted his arm away with startling speed. Stunned by the ferocity of the response, Aketo froze, his mouth hanging open. Sunahara fixed him with a sharp, furious glare.

"You should be grateful I didn't toss you out the front door," he growled, his voice carrying a menacing edge.

Aketo blinked, genuinely bewildered. Why was Sunahara so angry? Was he really that territorial about his bed? Confused, Aketo tilted his head.

"You let me sleep here last time," he said, pouting slightly. "My back hurts if I lie directly on the tatami."

Sunahara let out an exasperated sigh, as if dealing with a particularly dense child. "After what you pulled last night, you’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here."

"What I pulled...?" Aketo furrowed his brow, his mind drawing a complete blank. He had no memory of doing anything to warrant this level of hostility. Seeing his confusion, Sunahara's expression twisted into something caught between disbelief and annoyance.

"You really don't remember?" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Remember what? I had some beer and then..."

Flashes of last night flickered through Aketo's mind like snippets from a poorly edited film—disjointed, hazy, almost surreal. But they felt too absurd to be real, more like fragments of a vivid dream than actual events. He quickly decided it must have been just that—a strange, alcohol-induced dream.

"I went straight to sleep, didn't I? Did I do something crazy or what?"

Sunahara pressed his hand to his forehead, muttering "You really don't remember..." over and over, as if trying to process the absurdity of the situation. Then, with a sharp tug, he yanked the sheets back up and disappeared beneath them, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation.

"Did I do something?" Aketo pressed, trying to make sense of his fragmentary memories.

From beneath the covers, Sunahara's muffled voice grumbled, "Nothing happened. Just leave me alone."

Sunahara gave no response. There was no sign he intended to make room for Aketo in the bed, so Aketo gave up and stepped back out into the main room. Now that he was moving around, his head felt clearer, and his stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. Maybe I should grab something from the convenience store, he thought, patting his jeans pocket for his wallet as he crossed the living room.

Then, his foot brushed against something small and hard on the floor. He paused, glancing down. It was a brown button, about two centimeters in diameter.

Huh. This looks familiar, he thought, tossing it onto the table as he continued toward the door. At first, he assumed it must have come from his own clothes, but he was only wearing a T-shirt, and T-shirts don’t have buttons. Whose could it be? He took another step, and his foot connected with something else—another button, exactly the same.

As he rolled the second button between his fingers, the fragmented images from last night began to solidify, the hazy film in his mind sharpening into painful clarity. These buttons… they look just like the ones on Sunahara's pajamas.

Buttons… buttons… A sinking feeling spread through Aketo's chest like a summer thundercloud billowing across the sky. His hunger was the least of his worries now. Oh no… what the hell did I do?

He crept into the kitchen, heart pounding, and lifted the lid of the small trash bin. His worst fear was confirmed. Inside the bin, a pair of shredded pajamas lay crumpled and abandoned. Aketo’s pulse spiked. He hurried back to the living room, snatched up the two buttons from the table, and tossed them into the trash as well, as if erasing the evidence might somehow undo his mistake.

Piece by piece, the shattered fragments of his memory snapped into place, and he felt his stomach twist with dread. So that's why Sunahara had said, "Be grateful I didn't kick you out." How the hell am I supposed to face him now?

Without bothering to grab his jacket or even his shoes, Aketo bolted for the door, his only thought to put as much distance as possible between himself and that tiny apartment. As he hurried home, his mind scrambled for excuses, but no matter how hard he tried, they all sounded pathetic.

And then Sunahara's words echoed in his head: "You really don't remember…?"

Pretending to have forgotten was the best move. If he played dumb, maybe they could both avoid the awkwardness. Yes, that was the safest path. He latched onto the idea, feeling a strange sense of relief.

Still… how could I have touched Sunahara's bare skin, even while drunk? The thought made his skin crawl. He rubbed his hands against his jeans as he walked, the phantom sensation of Sunahara's body clinging to his fingers. He'd touched him with these hands… squeezed his chest, even licked his nipples like some deranged lunatic. The more he thought about it, the sicker he felt.

The first thing Aketo did upon reaching his apartment was rush to the bathroom, scrubbing his hands and rinsing his mouth over and over, trying to wash away the lingering shame.

"Unbelievable…"

Once he felt clean again, he started to calm down. He straightened up, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. No matter how drunk he got, he swore he would never, ever do something that disgusting again. Touching a guy like that? Revolting.

Conveniently ignoring his own role in the mess, Aketo mentally tore Sunahara to shreds, unloading all his lingering discomfort onto the man he'd just violated.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Even after that incident, Aketo continued to visit Sunahara's apartment. He wanted to stop—really, he had no desire to see Sunahara’s face—but suddenly cutting off contact would be like admitting he remembered what had happened, and he couldn't bear the thought of giving Sunahara that satisfaction.

Sunahara's attitude toward him hadn't changed much. If anything, it seemed like Sunahara, too, was trying to forget what had happened, though he was noticeably avoiding being alone with Aketo whenever possible.

Cut. Hayashida's voice echoed across the set, and the tension drained from the faces of actors and crew alike, like a loosened screw unwinding. Aketo wiped the sweat from his forehead. Under the lingering summer sun, the scorching asphalt and relentless heat felt like being roasted alive, as if he were a chicken spinning on a rotisserie.

"What's next?" he asked, looking over to the director, who was slouched in his folding chair, sweat beading on his nose as he flashed a toothy grin.

"That's a wrap. We got everything we needed."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but by the time they did, a cheer had already erupted around him. Aketo sank down onto the pavement. Finally… it was over. That was his honest feeling. Some of the crew clutched each other, even weeping from the emotional high, but Aketo slowly dragged himself away from the circle of celebration, shuffling toward the shade of a nearby tree.

The last shot had been a reunion scene in front of a school's main gate. Now, he slumped against the thick trunk of the tree, using his cap like a makeshift fan, moving it back and forth in lazy, half-hearted strokes. Before he knew it, he’d slipped down, his back sliding along the bark until he was lying against the knobby roots. The cicadas buzzed above him, the sound seeming to intensify the heat. Shut up, be quiet, he thought, closing his eyes.

"Aketo-kun."

His eyes snapped open. Otomo was standing over him, smiling as she held out a cold can of juice.

"It’s on Sunahara-sensei," she said.

Sunahara… of course. Sucking up to the students again. He felt a flash of irritation but quickly pushed it down. It wasn’t Otomo’s fault, and the juice wasn’t to blame either. He accepted the can without complaint, and she dropped down beside him, holding a matching can of her own.

"It’s over, huh? It was exhausting in this heat, but I’m really glad we did it," she said, smiling. But something about her expression seemed tinged with melancholy.

"Yeah… I guess it is a bit sad," he replied, echoing her tone. Their eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like their emotions had synced, drawing a brief, shared laugh.

"Otomo—"

The moment was nice… but only for a few seconds.

“Otomo!” someone called. She quickly turned around at the voice.

"Kakegawa's calling for you. He wants to talk about the script adjustments, and… oh, by the way, Aketo, he also asked about where we’re doing the edits. My place is fine if you don’t mind," Sunahara said, appearing from behind Otomo, his gaze sliding over to where Aketo was sprawled beneath the tree.

Perfect timing to butt in, huh? Aketo glared at him with a mix of irritation and resentment.

Sunahara caught his gaze for a brief second before quickly looking away, a transparent attempt at avoiding confrontation as he turned to address Otomo with an exaggeratedly friendly tone.

"You really worked hard, Otomo. You did great."

“Oh, no, not really…”

Of course she did. Aketo knew Otomo had put in a stellar performance. But a voice from across the field broke the moment—an impatient Kakegawa searching for her. Otomo shot an apologetic glance at Sunahara before hurrying off, leaving the two of them alone in the thick, awkward silence.

"Sensei," Aketo said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension, "do you remember what I told you?"

Sunahara had already turned to leave, but he paused, not bothering to glance back as he replied gruffly, "Forgot."

Aketo’s voice followed him like a thrown dagger.

“If you accept Otomo-san… or anyone else… I’ll die. Just so you know.”

Sunahara turned his head slightly, his tone sharp.

"That’s not my problem."

For a split second, Aketo froze, his mind struggling to process the casual brutality of the response. Not his problem? The shock quickly gave way to a rush of anger. What kind of teacher talks like that? Without thinking, Aketo lunged forward, grabbing Sunahara’s shoulder and forcing him to turn around.

Sunahara furrowed his brows, and before Aketo could say anything, snapped:

"Who I like, who I date—that’s none of your business. Just because you’ve decided you’re in love with me doesn’t mean I owe you anything."

The cold, definitive rejection stung. Fury flared up in Aketo’s chest, his fingers tightening around Sunahara’s arm. He felt an irrational urge to lash out, to make Sunahara regret those words, to force some kind of reaction out of him. With a rough yank, he dragged Sunahara closer, his pulse hammering with a chaotic mix of rage and longing.

"Let go."

Dragging him back to the shade where he’d been lying earlier, Aketo finally released Sunahara's arm.

“So… whatever I do… that’s my problem too, right?”

He pinned Sunahara against the tree trunk, pressing in with his body. Sunahara struggled to push him away, but Aketo leaned in close, whispering slowly into his ear.

"You're wasting your energy. I'm bigger than you, remember? You're too small to fight me."

He grabbed Sunahara's jaw, forcing his head up. Sunahara glared at him, fury flashing in his eyes.

"If someone comes by…"

"I don't care."

Their lips crashed together, the kiss rough and biting, more of a challenge than an embrace. Aketo could feel Sunahara's heart pounding against his chest, his frantic pulse betraying the fear and anger he couldn't voice. He ignored the tongue trying to retreat from his, forcing his way past it again and again.

The heat, the pressure, the dizzying lack of air all blurred together until Aketo's head felt light, his mind buzzing. And then, without warning, Sunahara stopped resisting.

When Aketo finally broke the kiss, Sunahara's body went slack, all the tension draining from his muscles as he slumped forward, collapsing heavily into Aketo's arms.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

"Heatstroke, they said. Scared the hell out of me," Hayashida muttered, half-buried in a mountain of film strips sprawled across the center of Sunahara's apartment.

Kakegawa, similarly tangled in the mess of celluloid, nodded with a somber expression.

"He was helping us shoot every day, even though it wasn’t even his class project. On top of that, he let us use his apartment for editing. We really owe him a lot."

"Yeah…" Hayashida let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"He brought this on himself, though. I mean, collapsing right at the end—what a hassle. We can't finish the edits without him around."

Aketo froze, startled by the sharp look Kakegawa shot him. Kakegawa set his scissors down slowly, the metal blades clinking against the table.

"You still don't like him, huh? Even though you've been hanging around his place all the time?"

"Don't look at me like that. I never said I hated him," Aketo replied, trying to defuse the tension with a forced grin. "Why are you so hung up on this, anyway? If anything, it seems like you're the one who's obsessed with him."

It was meant as a joke. Aketo had fully expected Kakegawa to laugh it off, but instead, the other boy remained silent, not even bothering to deny it.

"Hey… that’s not funny, man," Aketo muttered, his voice dropping to a nervous whisper.

But Kakegawa met his gaze steadily, his expression unflinching.

"I won't bother hiding it anymore. Yeah, I like him. Like a guy likes a girl. But don't go telling him that. He's not the kind of person who'd take it well."

"That's… a pretty bleak outlook," Aketo muttered, but Kakegawa only smiled, a hint of defiance in his eyes.

"Maybe. But I feel lucky just to have met him. Being around him is enough for me, for now. If one day he becomes mine, that'd be a dream come true, but… I don’t plan to force anything."

Hayashida, who had been following the conversation with a puzzled expression, furrowed his brows.

"Still, it’s weird, man. I mean, the guy's a man. It’s just… off."

Kakegawa's expression shifted, his eyes clouding with a quiet sadness.

"Maybe it seems strange to you. But you don’t need a reason to love someone. I'd rather chase after someone I really care about, even if they never like me back, than settle for someone I don't feel anything for. I found someone I care about enough to devote my life to, so I don't really care if other people find it weird. It doesn’t matter if it’s a guy or a girl. I’m serious, and I don’t care who knows it. Even if it means I never get to be happy."

The intensity in Kakegawa’s eyes was almost frightening. Aketo felt his stomach twist. If Kakegawa ever found out about what he'd done to Sunahara—forcing himself on him, treating his feelings like a joke—what would happen?

"I get it, sort of… but honestly, it still makes my skin crawl," Hayashida muttered, looking down at his hands with a grimace.

The room fell into a tense silence. Aketo found himself unable to say a word, terrified that if he opened his mouth, the truth might slip out. Otomo was in love with Sunahara. Kakegawa, too, was in love with Sunahara. The thoughts spun through his mind like a carousel, each realization compounding his anxiety.

"I actually kind of like you, you know," Kakegawa said suddenly, cutting through the thick air.

"Huh?" Aketo glanced up, startled.

"Yeah. You've got this weird salaryman vibe. Sly and calculating, but still earnest enough to screw up when it really matters. I kind of admire that about you."

It was meant to be a compliment, but coming from Kakegawa, it felt like being slapped in the face. Aketo scowled, realizing that somehow, even when praised, he felt like he was being made the fool. Sensing his discomfort, Kakegawa offered a small, almost apologetic smile.

"It wasn't meant as an insult."

At the sound of approaching footsteps, all three of them instinctively turned toward the hallway.

"Ah, I thought you guys might still be here."

Sunahara appeared in the doorway, dressed in just a T-shirt and shorts. His face still looked pale, the color not yet fully returned.

"You're still looking pretty rough. You should be resting," Kakegawa said, standing up and slipping an arm around Sunahara's shoulders, guiding him gently like an escort. Aketo suddenly remembered that it had been Kakegawa who had carried Sunahara on his back all the way from the tree shade to the hospital, and then to his apartment, without a single complaint.

"I'm fine," Sunahara replied, gently shrugging off Kakegawa's supportive arm.

"Sorry I can't help you guys with the editing. Here, at least use this to get yourselves something to eat."

He pressed three thousand yen into Kakegawa's hand.

"This isn't necessary," Kakegawa protested, trying to return the money. "We're the ones barging in here and taking over your place…"

But Sunahara wouldn't take it back, practically shoving the bills into Kakegawa's hand before retreating back to his room.

Watching him go, Kakegawa glanced down at the crumpled money in his palm and murmured, "He doesn't have to worry about us, you know. Especially on a teacher's salary."

Every day, Sunahara had been there with them, gaining nothing from it, helping with the shoots, and occasionally treating them to juice or ice cream. Not just for one or two of them, but for the whole group, again and again—an expense that must have added up quickly. He'd worked himself to exhaustion, collapsing in the end. It was his own choice. It had nothing to do with that forced kiss.

Yes, it wasn't his fault.

Aketo repeated this to himself over and over, but the uneasy feeling wouldn't go away.

Even if Sunahara demanded an apology, Aketo wouldn't give it. Why should he? It was Sunahara's fault for provoking him like that in the first place…

He felt his frustration slowly boiling over.

"Aketo, what's with you? You're acting all fidgety," Hayashida asked, eyeing him curiously.

"It's nothing! Ah—"

"Hey! Aketo! You cut the wrong piece!"

Hayashida's shout snapped him back to reality. Aketo glanced down at the sliced film in his hands and let out a heavy sigh. He was completely off his game.

"I'm… I'm going out for a bit," he muttered, dropping the ruined strip.

Without waiting for a response, he rushed out the front door, ignoring the concerned looks Kakegawa and Hayashida exchanged behind him.

Outside, the air was thick and murky, the light caught between day and night, painting everything in a hazy, indistinct gray. It was that fleeting, unsettling time when the world felt neither fully awake nor truly at rest.

Perfect for Aketo's stormy mood.

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