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How’d it come to this?
Masato took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. It was his first day filming, he had to get it together. He’d done dramas dozens of times now. Why was today any different?
He knew exactly why. Jinguji. This would be their first time co-starring in a film. It came as no surprise; they’d both demonstrated their prowess on screen. To pass on the chance to pair their chemistry, however different their standards and priorities were, would be a fool’s choice. If that was so, then why was Masato having such reservations?
Sipping from his water bottle, he sunk into the chair in his dressing room, glancing at himself in the mirror. He looked like such a different person. The hairstylists had swept his hair out of his eyes. Without his hair to hide his face, he could look himself in the eye. Oh what fear there was there. And what loneliness.
Masato buried his face in his hands. He could not do this, not now. It’d been a year. A year since he’d decided to leave the Master Course dorms. A year since he’d ended his contract, officially cutting STARISH back down to six members. A year since he’d had his explosive argument with Jinguji that had decided his abrupt departure.
The debate that had seemed so important then appeared so shallow now. The center of it all had of course been Nanami-san. Masato had yet again approached Jinguji, admonishing his flirtatious appearance towards their composer. Except for this time, Jinguji had become irritated by his words. He’d turned the conversation onto him, claiming that Masato’s accusations were just to deflect his cowardice in expressing his feelings of love. Masato had reminded him that they were forbidden to love those in the same agency, but Jinguji had become angrier as his apparent lack of self-thought and motivation in the matters of personal passion. Words had gone back and forth, much of them which Masato regretted. But not as much as the final words he’d said.
Masato glared at Ren. “Jinguji, if you don’t quit your pursuit of Nanami-san, I will be forced to report your behavior to the President.”
Ren scoffed. “I would like to see you try. You want to get me kicked out of Shining Agency, out of STARISH? Do you really want to break apart our group’s bond that easily? Try, I dare you.”
Masato couldn’t stop himself from shaking. How could Jinguji be so proud and stubborn, and also so confident that Masato wouldn’t snitch? They knew each other too well, stuck by each other’s side since childhood. Masato wanted to surprise Ren with something he would never think Masato would do. Just once, he might try it.
“You’re right, I don’t have it in me to report you. But,” he straightened up, looking Ren dead in the eye, “if you don’t stop your advancements with Nanami-san, I will leave STARISH.”
Ren looked taken aback. Masato felt the beast of rage roar in satisfaction. He wished he had a camera to capture the shock on his friend’s face.
Ren shook his head, looking more himself. “That’s a rather bold statement, coming from you. And I think it’s one that you also won’t follow through.”
“I’m serious, Jinguji. I can’t work alongside someone who so blatantly violates our agency’s rules. If you continue down this path, I will have to continue down mine.”
“You wouldn’t da—”
“I would.” He strode past the stunned strawberry-blond. “Watch me.”
And he had. He’d gone straight to Shining’s office in the heat of the moment and had resigned his position. Masato had been surprised by how easy it had been. The president had barely said a word, simply stating that he’d explain the situation to the rest of STARISH. Masato had agreed, knowing that the others wouldn’t understand his reasoning. But if he had taken just a minute to think things over, would he have understood it himself?
And now how was he supposed to do this movie alongside Jinguji? Not only was it a film depicting war, which was far outside his realm of comfort and expertise, but he and Ren were also supposed to be rival soldiers turned friends. It hit too close to their actual history. He’d nearly rejected the offer when it came. He was still considering walking out on the job.
A knock sounded on his door. “Hijirikawa-san? You’re on.”
Masato stood up, his face still pale and his breath still shuddering. “Thank you, I will be out presently.”
He shouldered the pack and marched out of the room. Now was the time to rid himself of such thoughts. This performance was for his fans, who he had already disappointed with his departure from STARISH. He couldn’t disappoint them again. He could do this, for them...
“Hijirikawa.”
No, he couldn’t do this. Abort. Abort.
He barely kept himself from stepping back into his dressing room. From the adjacent room, a familiar figure leaned against the doorpost. Strawberry-blonde hair swept into his face, nearly hiding his piercing blue eyes. Masato wished it had; he felt uncomfortable under that gaze. If he looked any longer, he might see Masato’s hurt, perceive how much he wanted to return to Shining Agency.
He closed his eyes, bowing his head politely. “Jinguji. I look forward to working with you.”
Ren scoffed, turning away and walking down the hall. “As aloof as ever. I guess some things never change.”
“So it would seem,” he replied curtly. The words sounded so cold. It made him sick.
“Just to warn you, I’ve grown in the art of improv,” Ren threw back at him. “Try to keep up.”
“I’m a professional,” Masato countered. “It’s my job to answer back in kind.”
“Ah, of course. After all, only a true actor can feign indifference during a reunion with a former friend.”
Masato was glad Jinguji was in front to miss his grimace. Oh that hurt, how that simple statement had hurt. Masato wanted to shout out, to say what was on his mind, and voice all the hurt he’d been building over the past year. But he’d never had the courage before to speak his mind and present his feelings. Why would any of that have changed?
“Cover! Take cov—”
A soft ‘poof’ of dirt flew into the air. Masato dove behind a large rock, covering his head as if something much worse was pelting him. This movie was relying heavily on sound effects and graphics that would be added later. As such, he had to rely on his imagination to see the fireball blossom in the air, the shrapnel shooting towards him to shred him to pieces. It was quite the challenge, but one he gladly accepted. It distracted him from current matters.
Gravel crunched beside him. “Takiji! Why’d you run out here like that? You almost got yourself killed!”
Nope, the distraction wasn’t working. He looked over to see Jinguji, soot and dirt smeared on his face. It made him appear even more aggressive and angry than he was trying to portray. It brought back images of their fight.
“I might as well die, Keita,” he laughed bleakly. “What have I got to lose anyway?”
“Don’t say things like that,” Jinguji rebuked. “We’re both going to make it out of here.”
“But what’s left for me?” He demanded. “I’ve got nothing left for me back home. Nothing.”
His voice broke. Masato sucked in his breath, trying to fight back his real tears. This dialogue all hit too close to home. He’d considered changing it, tweaking it a bit to make it more palatable. But he couldn’t. He had a duty to fulfill as a professional.
A fat lot that mentality was doing for him right now.
“Nothing? That’s what you call the life you’ve left behind?”
Masato snapped his head in Jinguji’s direction. Those weren’t the lines of the script. He expected to see some sort of hidden smirk, a show of Ren’s mockery at him obviously losing it on screen. But all that was there was a raging concern.
“From how I see it, it looks to me that you’re running away.”
Masato shook his head, the words coming easily. “How can I run away from something that isn’t possible for me anymore? If those I’ve abandoned are still there, they’ve surely given up on me by now.”
“They haven’t.”
Masato looked down at the ground, tears streaming down his face. He wished again he had his hair to hide behind.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Takiji,” Jinguji continued. “I’ve seen you in action, I know you’re capable of facing the impossible with great courage. Whatever you’ve left for ruin, I believe you have the potential to fix it. You alone have the key to make things right. Nobody else can do this for you.”
“But how?” Masato moaned, punching the ground. “How can I face the people I’ve hurt? I was so blinded by prejudice, there’s no hope for me.”
A hand rested on his shoulder. He looked up into Jinguji’s face again. But this expression was softer, kinder.
“You judge others almost as harshly as yourself,’ he chuckled. “Everyone is still back there, waiting for you. They’ve been waiting since the day you left. After all, you’re the last one to make them complete. And if that seems too hard to imagine, remember the bonds you formed with them, the friendship you forged through fire and flames. That friendship, that love, where’d it go? Think of that, think of them, and remember.”
Still freely crying, Masato grasped the top of Jinguji’s hand, squeezing it tight. “How can I not have hope after hearing that?” He chuckled between sobs. “If we both survive this, Keita, I promise, I’ll try to fix what I did in the past.”
“How could I die after a promise like that?” Jinguji grinned. “If you do that, I promise to also work towards being a better man. Losing some selfish habits is nothing compared to losing a friendship.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Masato grinned, readying his gun. “So let’s not lose this one.”
With a nod, the two of them charged into the fray. But to Masato, he felt like the war was already over. Even if the director decided to cut their improv dialogue from the final cut, he wouldn’t care. That conversation would never leave him. He shouted as he “shot” bullets at the enemy, Ren shouting beside him. They both yelled into the smokey sky, roaring out a victory cry for a new STARISH and a revived friendship.