Second Serenade: Chapter 24

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At first, he had hesitated to sleep with Hashimoto on the very same day he met Sunahara. It felt as though indulging in Hashimoto’s body would somehow taint the feelings he held for Sunahara, whom he believed to be pure. More than once, he hesitated to let his fingers trail over that bare chest. But eventually, even that guilt became familiar.

“I can go to the O'Donnell concert.”

Hashimoto said this as he rubbed the tip of his nose against Kakegawa’s chest, after they had sex in an air-conditioned room that was just a bit too cold. For a second, Kakegawa didn’t understand what he meant and couldn’t respond. Hashimoto pinched his cheek and said, “Are you asleep?”

“It’s Leonardo O'Donnell—the one you said you wanted to hear. I told you I wasn’t sure if I could make it, but looks like it’s all good now.”

“Happy?” Hashimoto smiled as he propped himself up on the bed with an elbow, running his fingers along Kakegawa’s jawline.

“Oh, just so you know, the seats aren’t great,” he added.

The surprise left him unable to form the words of gratitude he should’ve said. It’s a lie, it’s a lie, he kept repeating in his head. He had thrown the tickets away—torn them into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet. There was no way they could come back. Those had been a gift to his phantom boss’s wife.

“I want to see the ticket.”

Hashimoto didn’t complain. Still completely naked, he got out of bed, threw on a robe, and stepped out of the room. He returned shortly, holding an envelope in one hand. He pulled out the ticket and held it up for Kakegawa to see, letting it flutter. He took one out, gazed at it for a moment. Sure enough, it was exactly like the last one—an O’Donnell concert ticket. It felt like he’d been tricked by a fox.

“These things are expensive.”

He feigned surprise, like he was seeing it for the first time.

“That’s normal for classical music. It’s not like that cheap, flashy stuff.” Hashimoto tucked the ticket back into the envelope as if to say that’s enough, hesitated for a moment, then put it into the drawer of the bedside table.

When he thought about it, there was nothing strange at all. Hashimoto had assumed he lost the tickets and simply bought new ones. He had spent tens of thousands, just because Kakegawa had said he wanted to go.

“You’re not going to sleep?”

The question came.

“I’m not really sleepy.”

“That’s unusual. You usually conk out five minutes after we’re done.”

He remembered what Sunahara had said today. Even if you hate ninety-nine things about someone, if there’s just one thing you like, then it can’t be helped. This thing with Hashimoto had been going on for nearly two months. The only reason it hadn’t ended was because he kept coming back for more, like a fool. The excuse of “because I’m lonely” had long since stopped holding up. Maybe Sunahara was right. Sex felt good. That was probably Hashimoto’s one redeeming quality.

“Hashimoto-san.”

“What?”

Hashimoto’s shoulders twitched slightly, eyes still closed.

“Have you ever had a one-sided crush?”

“Isn’t it rarer not to have?”

So he had had one.

“Did you tell them you liked them?”

“I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

Hashimoto let out a soft sigh.

“You can guess, can’t you? Because it was a guy.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve had one too.”

He didn’t know why he felt like telling Hashimoto, but suddenly he wanted to talk. Hashimoto opened his eyes wide and looked at Kakegawa with uncharacteristic interest.

“And?”

He was prompted to continue. Kakegawa ran his fingers lightly through Hashimoto’s straight, unremarkable hair.

“He was a high school teacher. A kind man. I liked him for two years, and finally worked up the courage to confess. But he turned me down—said he already liked someone. Later I found out that ‘someone’ was my friend. And a guy. That was a shock.”

“So this time you figured you’d strike first, huh?”

“What?”

“You made a move on me pretty fast, didn’t you?”

For a moment, he couldn’t answer.

“…Yeah, I guess.”

Kakegawa mumbled, and Hashimoto turned his head and gave a little laugh.

You’re just a blow-up doll—he’d told himself that over and over in his head. But this time, he couldn’t bring himself to spit out the line.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Film shoots don’t progress in the same order as the story itself. So, in extreme cases, the very last scene might be shot first. Although they’d at least divided the story into childhood and adolescence sections, the train station scene—which had already taken forever to film during the childhood part—ended up dragging on again during the adolescence shoot, and in the end, it was the very last one left to film.

The scene was set on a crowded station staircase during the morning rush. For the average office worker, it was the height of inconvenience. Pierced by needle-sharp glares from the commuting crowd, Hayashida still stubbornly kept the camera rolling. If they got spotted by station staff, they could be warned and forced to stop filming. That’s why they wanted to get it over with quickly—yet even in this situation, Hayashida couldn’t suppress his director’s pride and kept calling for retakes.

Since the character was supposed to be a young man on his way to work, and since Kakegawa didn’t own proper clothes, Hayashida had borrowed a short-sleeved shirt, a tie, and gray slacks from someone who he said was his sister’s husband, and a briefcase from Sunahara.

“I’ve thought this before, but when Kakegawa-kun dresses properly, he doesn’t look like a teenager at all. He’s so mature-looking. Handsome guys look good in anything, don’t they?”

Takagi-san murmured this while watching Kakegawa repeatedly loosen the tight tie, poking his fingers around the collar.

They started filming at seven in the morning. Even after an hour, the repeated calls of “One more time!” were wearing them down. Kakegawa ran up the stairs again and again, exhausted. It was only a single scene left, but they just couldn’t get the OK. All he had to do was run up the stairs, miss a step halfway up, and quickly turn around in surprise. That was it.

The staircase was dim, with glaringly insufficient light. Even Sunahara, who was standing midway up holding a light, looked worn out and sighed quietly.

During the second retake, as they passed each other, Sunahara gave a wry smile and said, “I won’t say retakes are bad, but this guy might be going a bit overboard.”

Sweat was pouring from Kakegawa’s forehead and back from all the running. The rush hour peak was starting to ease up, and the number of passersby began to dwindle.

“Okay, cut!”

The words they’d been desperate to hear at last. Relief washed over him. His shoulders slackened.

“Kakegawa-kun.”

He turned in surprise at the sound of his name and saw Hashimoto smiling at him. Hashimoto, too, was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and tie, holding his familiar briefcase under one arm. Compared to the sweat-soaked Kakegawa, Hashimoto looked so cool and composed it almost made one forget it was summer.

“You looked so different in that outfit I didn’t recognize you at first. Where are you headed? Seems a little early for job hunting.”

“How come you're here, Hashimoto-san...?”

“This is my transfer station,” Hashimoto replied.

“Kakegawaaa—hurry up and come down!”

Hayashida’s voice echoed from below. In an instant, Hashimoto’s face stiffened. His eyes darted around nervously, searching for the source of the voice.

“You’ve got someone with you, huh? Sorry to stop you. Well then—see you.”

He said it quickly, then rushed down the stairs. He darted onto a train that still had a few minutes before departure, fleeing into one of the rear cars. In no time, he had vanished from sight.

Sunahara had already gone down to the base of the stairs, and when Kakegawa reached him, he asked, “Was that someone you know?”

“...He’s my cousin—on my mother’s side.”

He couldn’t tell the truth. He didn’t want Sunahara to see someone like Hashimoto. Maybe he’d realized something—but no, he told himself not to overthink it. In the end, Sunahara didn’t ask anything more.

“That guy was seriously good-looking. Your whole family must be beautiful, huh, Kakegawa-kun? I’m jealous,” Takagi-san said in admiration.

Hayashida tilted his head.

“Was he really that handsome? I thought he looked kind of fox-like.”

A fox... he called that Hashimoto a fox...

“Well, yeah, he is good-looking.”

Kakegawa felt compelled to at least defend Hashimoto a little.

“How rude! That’s exactly why I hate people with no sense of aesthetics.”

Takagi-san gave Hayashida a little punch, half-joking but half-serious. Still, somehow, that silly comment of Hayashida’s had brought a sense of comfort to Kakegawa’s heart.

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