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R.
I want to apologise for the other day but I don’t know how.
I try my best to act like nothing is wrong around the others. Show up to meet on time, joke about being surprised how Takao is on time as well. Tell Hiromi that her goldfish pattern kimono suits her. Take the comfortable position of lingering just slightly behind everyone else with Kai, match my steps with his so I don’t need to match with yours.
You’re wearing that same hairpin again. Shaped like a tortoise with a black shell, just like Genbu.
I avert my gaze as soon as I notice it. I wasn’t looking at your face, no, the pin just caught my eye. I wasn’t looking…
I’m not ready yet. Your astonished stare, eyes deep and wide like the ocean floor, is still burning fresh on my cheeks. I wish I had drowned in them, disappeared so I wouldn’t need to face you anymore.
M.
You’ve been learning kendo from Takao. Watching you two spar in the warmth of the late afternoon sun is so much fun.
I could watch you for hours. And maybe, if I keep watching for long enough, you’ll eventually stop pretending I don’t exist.
Or trying to pretend. I can see you steal a glance when you think I’m not watching.
I don’t think you’ve ever realised how I’m always watching you; if you did, you wouldn’t have run away from me in panic like that.
It’s hard to believe you’ve never held a sword before. You look like you were born to do martial arts, so graceful in your movements. The simultaneous catlike stealth and explosive, ferocious strength. You’ll easily outsmart Takao in his own game with a bit of practice.
If only talking about your feelings came even half as naturally to you as this, I wouldn’t now be sitting here in the sand wondering how to approach you without poking your glass ego so hard that it fractures even further.
R.
You are an explosion of colour.
It’s just like you to have a bright green and orange nagagi and shine the brightest next to everyone else’s darker, earthier, masculine tones. That hairpin is the same – there couldn’t possibly be another guy who could wear such accessories and not look ridiculous while at it.
So warm and vivid and bright, you are the colour of a rainbow and exhilarating like a kind summer rain; you are the colour of a rice field basking in the sun, and the colour of the sun as it climbs high on the sky to share its warmth with the land.
There are so many hues of you, all of them unique. Am I worth even half of your colours? They are so blindingly brilliant.
I dig my hands in the yellow sand and await the setting sun’s judgment.
M.
The black-and-white symbol on your back is mesmerising. You’ve said before that you paint the taijitu in all your clothes yourself. Finding it anywhere on you is a game, a puzzle.
That day was the only time I recall you not wearing one anywhere on you, now that I think of it. Instead you were in full monochrome with the suit on, black jacket and black tie on white shirt. So handsome, too. Just seeing you all dressed up made Mr. Daitenji’s dress code for the party worth it.
But who wouldn’t be surprised to be kissed all of a sudden like that? One moment you’re fixing my tie, the next you’re on my lips. Then gone without giving me time to respond. You still won’t.
That’s not how it works.
I find comfort in the droplet of white against the pool of black and vice versa. When I fixate on the back of your haori, then close my eyes, the image remains burned against my eyelids. Where there’s darkness, there’s always a speck of light to be found; and where light seems to dominate, there’s always a speck of darkness mixed in. The two extremes will always levitate towards each other.
So let me add a speck of light in the dark.
R.
I wasn’t aware of the Japanese custom of suikawari, slashing a watermelon open for sharing on the beach. I suspect this is the actual reason Takao bought the wooden swords along; he’s the one who’s mastered slicing things, however, so we let him take care of the smashing part.
I don’t feel like eating. My throat feels sewn shut, my tongue dry like the desert. My eyes wandering, looking for an oasis.
No, I’m not looking at your mouth biting into the fruit.
Not thinking about the sensation of your lips against mine.
Soft, a colour of gentle red. Dew and a hint of something sweet lingering on the tongue.
Fine, I admit it; my head and legs alike feel faint and I can’t keep my eyes and thoughts off you. There’s something about you that makes me lose control, and I don’t know whether I love it or hate it.
I don’t want to cast a shadow over everyone else having a good time; I begin idly walking along the shoreline. I look down at the mellow wave hitting the tip of my toes and notice something wash ashore along with it.
M.
The beach at sundown is different. It’s calm, a little mysterious. A little romantic.
The others are packing up, ready to move over to the cliff. They want to reserve a nice spot for the rest of the evening, make sure that the culmination of the festival day is the best it can be.
You remain by the waterline. Crouched, as if looking for something in the sand. You stand up again and I watch you. Your back to the rest of us, still looking, the ocean wind caught in your hair that whisks behind you like a pennant, the breeze only accentuating the length of your dark locks. A mantle of purplish black. You take a right turn, and for a fleeting second, the setting sun sets your golden eyes ablaze before you hide your profile from sight again.
Do you have even the slightest idea of how beautiful you are? The question passes my mind often.
What is it that you see?
I set my course opposite from the others. The mellow ocean washes over my bare feet, then retreats again as I walk along the warm sand to you.
You don’t notice. So immersed in whatever little task of yours, you startle at the sound of my voice and turn around with horror in your gorgeous, unsuspecting eyes.
*
“What are you doing?” Max asks and looms over Rei who is crouching in the wet sand.
Rei, visibly startled, jolts up and takes a step back. Face gone pale, he looks at Max once and immediately turns away again.
“I,” he stutters, “I was… looking for seashells.”
Indeed, Max now notices, he’s holding one in his right hand already. A large spiral conch.
“Oh! Let me see.” Delighted, Max reaches out for the conch; Rei doesn’t resist, almost throws it at Max in silent resignation.
Max rotates the shell in his hands, marvelling at the spirals of various golden and toasted browns running across the rugged calcium surface. It’s a beautiful thing, one of nature’s many masterpieces.
“Did you know,” Max then says and brings the shell to his ear, “that you can supposedly hear the ocean inside one of these? Though, I think it’s just air moving around in all those coils – but does it actually matter? If it sounds like the ocean in your ear, that’s enough for me.”
The steady heave of the real ocean at their feet fills the silent space between the two. Max hands the shell back; Rei reaches for it with a short delay.
Max doesn’t let go of the shell. Instead, he holds on tight and brings his other palm over Rei’s hand on the opposite side of the conch, effectively clamping Rei’s hand between them.
A shudder runs up Rei’s arm. He turns to look at Max, confused and alarmed, and meets the intent stare of two ocean blue eyes.
They pull him down into their depths immediately. He can’t resist.
Max opens his mouth to speak – but his words dissolve into the sudden, deafening whizz and boom of the first firework somewhere on the opposing shore. The highlight of the festival day they came to the beach to celebrate.
I don’t like you avoiding me.
Rei stares back, eyes instinctively drawn into Max’s lips once again and reading the words off them.
I’m sorry, Rei mouths a response. The response he was supposed to give already two days ago. He’s sorry for forcing himself on Max; sorry for being so childish about it and avoiding taking responsibility; sorry for avoiding bringing it up, isolating himself instead, the same way he always does when ashamed. A lengthy series of bursts of colour and light, red and gold in the distance allows Rei to slip into a daze of self-hatred and pity and feel the full magnitude of Max’s stare on him, he wishes the waves were tall enough to grab him and wash him away.
It’s only broken by Max giving his forehead a finger flick. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to snap him back into the moment.
Why?
Rei blinks.
“Why” – as in, why is Rei avoiding him?
Or why – did he kiss him?
Or, maybe, why – is he sorry for it?
Do you regret it?
Max has taken a step closer. The waves hit their feet in tandem with a dream-like rhythm. Rei’s breath catches in his throat, suddenly it’s awfully difficult to let any air flow into his lungs.
Yes, he’s spent the last two days regretting. He’s been doing nothing but.
“No,” the answer slips out as both of Max’s hands cup his face. Close enough for Rei to count the constellations of freckles on Max’s cheekbones, and close enough for Max to hear Rei’s voice despite the booming fireworks fanning out in full bloom overhead. “But I was scared.”
Rei is surprised to hear himself admit it out loud. He’s been too scared to face Max’s reaction for the impromptu kiss that came completely unplanned; Rei was just so enamoured by the little hairpin that bore the likeness of Genbu and the softness of his flaxen hair, then by his face, his eyes like the ocean and the specks of sunlight sprinkled across his fair skin. Their subtle height difference, just enough for their lips to brush against each other’s at the casual dip of Rei’s head.
The cuteness overwhelmed him. Indeed, Max is almost unbearably cute, and the way it sends Rei’s heart galloping at breakneck speed is terrifying and unlike anything he’s felt before, it makes his head spin.
But it’s hard to remain terrified when Max grants him a smile that leaves even the flourishing displays of colour on the sky in the shade. A hand pushes long strands of hair framing Rei’s face behind one of his subtly pointed ears, and Rei feels as if his legs were about to give in to the waves crashing against them any second now.
Then Max takes a half-step back. He reaches for his green kimono sleeve.
“You said you liked my pin, so this is for you.”
In his hand, a similar accessory in the shape of a white tiger. Soon it’s adorning the side of Rei’s head, holding the tuft of dark hair tucked behind his ear in place.
Laughing heartily at Rei’s dumbfounded expression, Max leans in on tiptoes to kiss him under the fireworks.