Chapter Text
Yuto had seen a lot of beautiful things, but this scene before his eyes must be among the most magnificent of them all. An iridescent rainbow cut through the misty air above the Pacific Ocean. From his window seat, Yuto could see the perfect circle it made, all seven colors shimmering from the thousands of droplets of water in the atmosphere or from the heat waves crashing into one another in the air. For a second, Yuto thought about getting his camera bag from the luggage holder, but he decided against it. On one hand, it was stowed some five rows behind him; on the other hand, he did not feel like squeezing through the kissing couple next to him on his way out a second time. He watched the rainbow as the airplane sped west, until it became blurrier and blurrier and disappeared behind the airplane.
Yuto landed in Tokyo in the afternoon. It was hot and humid, and the airport was crowded with people. He scowled. He had seen a lot of beautiful things, but somehow had never managed to appreciate the beauty of a crowd. Kato Shigeaki, his senior at the magazine, took beautiful photos of crowds, even getting numerous awards for his photobook shot at Shibuya Crossing. Yuto sometimes wished he could see the world as Shige did – the beauty in the shadows, the calm in the hustle. For now, he was glad his assignments continued to be shots of calm villages and ancient towns.
His colleagues who did not know him better usually would guess that Yuto was so fond of such places because his hometown was the epitome of tranquility. Kagoshima was an island some forty minutes away from mainland Japan by boat, and then about three hours from the nearest train station to Tokyo. Yuto loved the place, loved the quaint shops, the fishing boats, the sole high school built partly into a stony hill to the north of the island. Yet he had not been back since he left for university in Tokyo – not that he had anyone to go back to: his family had moved to Tokyo, most of his friends had left for college at around the same time he did. Not even for work, although it was, in a way, the ideal place for him to photograph – quiet, out-of-the-way, with more scenery than people. A travel writer, although knowledgeable, presents his materials from the point of view of the audience – with fresh-eyed amazement and appreciation of every little thing. He had lived in Kagoshima for far too long, had so many memories there that he felt he was too close to the place to be able to look at it from that point of view again.
That is, until he found his new assignment waiting in his inbox. The time marker said it was sent to him fifteen minutes before, but it felt like it had always been there, his entire past just lurking around the corner, waiting for the right moment to catch up to him.
When he saw the assignment, he had sighed, composed himself for a few minutes. He contemplated making coffee, but that would just be procrastination and he felt like any resolve he had would disappear with a sip of the beverage. At least when it still felt unreal, he could act detached and did what he had to do.
He picked up the phone, did a search to make sure the number was still correct. He knew Yamada worked there now, Keito told him that some months ago. Still, when the other side picked up the phone, he asked:
“Hello, is that Takizawa-san?”
The faint outlines of the island slowly came into view at the horizon. Yuto picked up his camera.
Click. “Kagoshima appeared before my eyes tall and proud.”
He felt a bit seasick despite the very calm sea. There was a legend that said the island used to be the top of the horn of a sea monster. It got its sharp tip cut off during a fight, giving Kagoshima its distinctive hill. When he was younger, he would imagine that the clouds sitting on top of the hill were hiding the monster’s horn, grown back after all the biding time. Now as he rode the waves to the island, his memories flooded back, turning the shape beyond the fog ominous.
“It’s a good day to go to Kagoshima!” the fisherman giving him a ride turned around and said.
“Ah, yes,” said Yuto. He raised his camera again, took a few more perfunctory shots of the sea and the sky.
Click.
Kagoshima and Yuto began with a good start, at least: the weather was beautiful. Not so hot, not so cold, a bit dry but a welcomed change from the heat of Tokyo. Yuto stepped out of the boat onto the wooden platform of the dock. A few more steps and his shoes were sinking into the sand, and he was cursing himself for forgetting to wear flip-flops. By the time he made it to the road, his clothes and bags was covered with a fine layer of sand that he knew he would find in every nook and cranny for a few days. A group of students cycled pass him. They must have come from the park down the road, probably done playing soccer and now heading towards the only convenient store in town for some cool drinks. A few minutes from the convenient store was his high school. He would visit when he had time, but for now, he had an appointment to make.
Fifteen minutes later found him in front of Kabuki, slightly out of breath. Kabuki was, despite its namesake, a restaurant, the only restaurant on the island. Calling it a restaurant was an overstatement, though – it was more of a glorified diner. But the food was top-notch, as far as Yuto remembered. How the owner managed to maintain a somewhat high-range restaurant on the island was beyond him, but all Yuto remembered was how excited he was the first time his parents took him there, after his high school commencement. Since then, he had only been there two or three times more, only when his family or his friends had something to celebrate.
The door pushed open with the clinking of bells. He was greeted with a unanimous “Iraishimase,” to which he awkwardly nodded his head in greetings. His eyes immediately moved towards one of the tables at the back, the one where he had often sit, the last time with his friends after their high school graduation. It was a big table that can fit ten people. His high-school self had often marveled at the deep mahogany surface, smoothed over with varnish; they would set dishes down carefully, lining each bowl and plate with a piece of tissue paper to avoid damaging the table. Once Keito accidentally left his iced tea on the table without a coaster, and the water dripped onto the varnish. Now that Yuto thought about it, there was no way the table was damaged from that – the varnish was supposed to form a water-proof surface. Yet at the time, all ten of them panicked and, even after wiping the spot multiple times, some of them still swore they could see the cup mark, a darker circle on the wood.
The restaurant was almost empty at the time, save for a family of four and two couples. Yuto chose a bar seat as per his usual practice as a travel writer.
The chef was busy at the end of the counter. Yuto took a moment to compose himself, then called:
“Hey Yamada, sorry I’m late.”
They first met in ninth grade, on the first day Yamada came to school. His family had moved to Kagoshima to take care of his grandfather. Yuto still remembered the fuss Yamada created around the school. Daiki, who saw the new guy walking in with the principal, said that he was handsome to the point he thought a celebrity had visited. By recess, rumors were abound, including that he was a star soccer player, played the trumpet, used to be a Johnny’s Jr, and was even taller than Taguchi-senpai.
The last one was quickly dispelled when Yamada stood before the class, looking no higher than average. He really did have a beautiful face, though – Yuto liked the way his eyes sparkled, how his nose crinkled when he smiled, his chubby cheeks. When the teacher told Yamada to sit next to him, Yuto felt a weird sense of victory, especially as Yamada smiled at him while sliding into the seat while the girls in class stared in jealousy.
Yamada quickly became a staple in the school’s soccer team, and he really was a Johnny’s Jr for a year (he quit since he wanted to play soccer). The girls would always ask him questions about other Johnny’s and he would always happily oblige. (Chinen would join sometimes, until he was disappointed that Yamada had never backdanced for Arashi.) He did not play the trumpet, but rather the saxophone. More importantly, everyone who had ever spoken to him talked about how friendly he was, and he grew out of the new-kid label fast.
Yamada and Yuto quickly became friends, too, after Yuto offered to walk home with Yamada on his first day. Yuto was the first friend to invite Yamada over, hoping, as he showed the guy around his three-floor house, that Yamada would not think that he was bragging about his family’s wealth. They would have lunch together, to the disappointment of the girls in his class. Chinen joined them when he was still looking for Arashi information from Yamada, but continued to stick around even after Yamada ran out of stories about Ohno-san. When Yuto collaborated with Keito for a performance during the school’s music showcase, his lunch table gained a new member. But it would not be until the annual school trip that his group of friends, and especially Yuto and Yamada, became close.