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“Odasaku.”
The auburn-haired man’s name rolled off his tongue. He felt the familiar sweetness that lingered in his mouth every time he would say his name. It was almost addictive, if only he could repeat it to himself like a mantra. Ango looked up from his glass, to his right. Oda was already looking at him, their eyes meeting, the slightest twinkle appearing. Oda hummed as an acknowledgement, leading Ango to continue his thought.
Ango couldn’t help but take an extra second to stare. He’s a simple man, with simple pleasures. One of these pleasures was the man to his right. He felt the same tightness in his chest, his breath getting caught in his throat. This happened every time he looked at Oda. He knew exactly what was going on, but it’s not like he would confess this, or even act on it. Some things are better left unsaid, sometimes it’s better to not tell your best friend you’re in love with them.
Shit. He stared too long. He cleared his throat, hoping it would help him to catch his breath, and took a quick sip of his drink. Ango’s voice was barely above a whisper, with how close the two sat at the bar there was no need to speak any louder. “Do you have a dream?”
Oda paused, his hands stopped mid lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips. “Where did this come from, Ango?” He finished his motion, taking a swig from his cup. He placed the glass back down on the bar, creating a clinking sound from the ice ball swishing around.
“Nowhere, really. We all have dreams, I’m curious what yours is.” Ango replied. He doubted himself for a moment, maybe he overstepped by asking him something so personal, so intimate. His train of thought was quickly stopped with Oda’s response, matching Ango’s prior hushed tone.
“Alright then.” He shuffled around on the stool, turning himself to the left, which made him face Ango more. Their knees touched, but neither of them moved away. Ango looked down at their connected legs, hoped his face wasn’t reflecting how hot it felt at the moment, then looked back to Oda. Another thing that will remain unsaid.
“I want to be a writer.”
Ango didn’t reply. He let the sentence soak for a moment longer. Oda Sakunosuke, as a writer? He would’ve never guessed that. He briefly pictured Oda sitting at a desk, pen in hand, his focus solely on blank pages in front of him. Ango held back a smile at the thought, instead raising an eyebrow as he responded. “A writer?”
Oda continued on. “A writer. I used to read this series of novels, mainly the first two, since I couldn’t find the final volume for a while. I did eventually get a copy of it.” He stopped himself for a moment, searching Ango’s eyes. Dark brown meeting a lighter brown. Oda knew that he was listening, he also noticed how Ango had sat. His right elbow was on the bar, and he was ever-so-slightly leaning towards Oda, a subconscious move to make sure he heard every last bit of Oda’s dream. “But that copy was missing the last several pages. A trilogy with no ending.”
“Did that story inspire you to write? I may have to pick up a copy myself.” Ango asked.
The corners of Oda’s mouth raised into a small smile. Ango’s curiosity peaked, his mind dancing back to how Oda would look as he wrote. Maybe he was the type of person who chews on their pen as they write. Ango could only dream of seeing Oda like that.
Oda’s hand rested above his knee, his fingers close to where both men’s knees were still touching. Ango leaned in, just a tad more, getting closer to Oda.
“I’d like to write my own ending to that story. I picture a room, with a view overlooking the ocean. I want to spend my days writing, and being with the water.” Oda had finished his sentence off with taking another drink of his whiskey, removing his hand from its previous home on his knee. His glass was now almost empty, signifying the night will soon be coming to an end.
Ango was back in his thoughts, his mental image of Oda writing now with the sound of ocean waves crashing in the distance. Written by Oda Sakunosuke would look great on the cover of a book. He absentmindedly lifted his drink, taking another sip, the forefront of his mind too occupied with the fantasy of leaning on a doorway, Oda’s back to him as he leaned over the desk, the scratching sound of a pen on paper, waves crashing against rocks as background noise. The faintest smile made its way onto Ango’s face.
“That sounds lovely.” Ango replied. He knew his reply was short, in actuality he had so much more he could have said. He would have loved to tell Oda right then, that he would be right by his side. That he was willing to go wherever Oda had picked, be it ocean, forest, or right here in Yokohama. “I think that’s a beautiful dream, Odasaku.”
“Someday, I’ll leave the mafia. That’s when I plan on starting to write. I’ll be free, and I can focus solely on my novels.” Oda let his hand drop back to his knee, this time his fingers meeting Ango’s knee. He didn’t pull his hand back. Oda looked to his right, his peripheral catching a calico-colored blur jumping off the stool next to him and onto the floor, a small chirp coming from the feline as he landed. “It’s getting late, let’s close our tabs.”
Ango nodded, “Sure. It’s still fine if I stay at your place, right? I can still find a hotel if I’m intruding. I’d hate to be a bother.”
Oda stood up, reaching into his coat pocket, fishing a few bills out. He placed them onto the counter, in between both drinks. “Let's go. Of course, you can stay with me.”
Ango stood up, following Oda up the stairs, placing his hands into his pockets. He smiled to himself. Perhaps another time, he’ll tell Oda all the unsaids he kept to himself.