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The school Toya attends is much bigger up close than what Akito had ever envisaged. It’s a gargantuan structure, modern in its design yet ostentatious, eager to announce its presence among the low-rise residences of the neighborhood. Its ivory walls and black tempered glass catch and reflect the afternoon sunlight onto the pavement, but Akito finds himself pulling his jacket just a bit closer to his body as he walks up to the towering complex.
He peers around the area with his phone in hand, his most recent text messages with Toya open. Kaisei Junior High – established 1871, reads the aged obsidian plaque on a column beside the school gate. The faded gold colouring is at odds with the tall iron beams of the entrance gate, which are polished to a metallic perfection.
Akito frowns, lowering his head to check his phone again.
From: Aoyagi Toya (9:22 p.m.)
Akito, how about we meet up at my school tomorrow? I checked the maps and it seems we’ll pass it by en route to the live house. We can save some time travelling that way.
From: Aoyagi Toya (9:24 p.m.)
Attachment: Location
From: Aoyagi Toya (9:24 p.m.)
Let’s wait at the main gate? I’ll be there as soon as my meeting is over.
To: Aoyagi Toya (9:24 p.m.)
oh sure sounds good, gotcha
To: Aoyagi Toya (9:25 p.m.)
see you tmr dude
From: Aoyagi Toya (9:27 p.m.)
See you tomorrow.
This is the address Toya sent him. Kaisei, huh. He’s never asked Toya where he goes to school, and he’s never thought to – that being irrelevant to him anyways, all that mattered to him being his partner’s extraordinary, even inhuman musical prowess and sense – but he did not, in all his contemplation, expect that Toya attended the Kaisei Junior High. Renowned as one of the best boys’ schools in Tokyo, its very name sparks reverence and awe among parents and students alike. It’s a place where top talents throughout the city congregate, each a genius within his own right.
It does make sense Toya is able to attend such a prestigious institution. He stuck out like a sore thumb the day Akito first saw him singing on Vivid Street, from his aristocratic features and the air of nobility about him, to his expensive-looking private school uniform, impeccably fitted, almost to the point of constriction. At the same time, there was a rawness about him, a poorly suppressed pain and anger, suggesting to Akito that he was thrumming the same heartbeat as Vivid Street – as Akito himself. It had stoked the flames inside his own heart like gasoline.
He can picture Toya fitting right in with Tokyo’s elite with his stellar musical aptitude alone, but he realises he doesn’t know much about his partner outside of singing at all. Toya doesn’t talk much about anything outside of their music, much less himself. That’s fair, he supposes. They’re partners in song first and foremost, though Akito has tried desperately to be his friend as well, even as he’s never certain if it’s a welcome effort. There’s a strange feeling in his chest all of a sudden, annoying and bothersome like a fragment of stone in his shoe.
He comes to a stop near the open school gate and looks up at the school building with his hands in his pockets. The main building towers above him, at least eight floors high, with winding staircases and sleek bridges connecting it to surrounding buildings. Beyond the main complex, he catches a glimpse of a sports field, and he wonders just how far the campus stretches. He’s never given much thought to the size of his own school, but picturing it now, with its modest three-storey teaching block and humble basketball court, he’s suddenly struck by how dwarfish and bare it is compared to the sprawling grounds of Kaisei.
He settles at a spot near the entrance, just within the school’s walls. Classes have ended for the day at Kaisei, too. Students flow through the school gate, chattering animatedly among themselves; some chase after each other excitedly, eager to blow off some steam at the nearest mall or arcade, others lament in high voices the sheer amount of homework their teachers have assigned for the day. As they pass Akito, their chitchat and laughter fade into hushed conversations; their gazes, some curious, others judgmental, linger on him, like ants crawling all over his skin.
Fine, let them stare. It’s probably not just the fact that Akito’s from a school they have likely never heard of; more so, he surmises, it’s that he must look entirely lawless, from the golden streak he’s dyed himself into his messy orange hair, all the way down to the scuffed sneakers he wears with his uniform, notwithstanding the warnings he’s gotten from his class teacher. With his untucked dress shirt and silver earrings on his left ear, gleaming as they catch the afternoon sunlight, he’s probably as close to a real delinquent as they’ve ever seen. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, trying not to make eye contact with any of them, and wills Toya’s meeting to end soon.
Five minutes pass, then ten. He shoots Toya a text, saying he’s arrived already and is waiting for him at the front gate, but the message remains on “Delivered”. Toya only turns on his phone when he leaves school, so it’s fine. He waits. He walks around in circles, makes a list of new songs they can add to their repertoire. Twenty minutes in, he decides to rest a bit and leans against the perimeter walls, whipping his phone out to scroll on social media.
Not a minute could have passed before the urgent click of high heels sounds in his periphery. He looks up to spot a woman in her forties, donning a midnight blue blazer and close-fitted pencil skirt – likely a teacher, from the assertive way she carries herself – heading in his direction. Her eyes, framed by black rimmed glasses, scan Akito evaluatively. As she approaches, Akito pushes himself off the concrete wall and stands up straight, sliding his headphones down to his neck. He holds eye contact with her as she comes to a halt in front of him and waits expectantly for her to speak.
“Excuse me,” she says, drawing her lips into a thin smile. The way she speaks is not unkind, but it is obvious that she’s not giving him a warm welcome, either. “Is there anything I can help you with? I see you’ve been here for a while.”
He freezes at the comment. It’s somewhat unsettling, to have been monitored like that. There’s a part of him that feels like a little kid in trouble, even though he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong.
Gathering himself, he offers her the most polite smile he can muster. “Pardon the intrusion,” he says, with calculated sheepishness. Her expression, impersonal and guarded, does not change. He tries again. “I’m just waiting for a friend, if that’s alright. I won’t be here long. Sorry if I’ve caused any concern.”
There is just the slightest furrow in her brow, so fleeting that Akito almost misses it. “You see, it’s actually a busy time for us,” she takes care to enunciate each word, gesturing to the gate, “and people are coming and going, so you’d better wait outside, or else you’d be in the way. I hope you understand.”
Akito’s eye twitches. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to maintain his amiable countenance. “Of course. I’m sorry for the trouble.” As he bends to pick up his backpack that’s slumped beside his feet, he feels the teacher’s eyes tracing his every move. He’s poised to walk away when she speaks again.
“Actually, may I have the name of this friend you speak of?” she asks. “For security purposes.”
Akito’s eyes widen as he swivels to look at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Their name for security purposes, as I said.” When Akito glares at her, tight-lipped, she narrows her eyes disapprovingly. “I hope you understand that we take our students’ safety very seriously,” she says slowly. “Now, the name of your… ‘friend’?”
The way she looks at Akito when she pronounces the last word makes all thoughts of self-restraint, of the need to leave a good impression on this woman who, if not for Toya, would have absolutely no bearing in his world, fly out the window.
“Surely that’s none of your damned business,” he snarls, seething. “Get off my back, alright?”
A scandalized gasp escapes the teacher’s lips, her manicured hand flying up to cover her open mouth. “Excuse me?”
“I said, get off my back. You heard me the first time.”
An array of emotions — disbelief, outrage, contempt — flash across her visage. She scrutinises Akito again before her face falls sharply, her gaze withering.
“Fine,” she says, her voice sharp as a blade. “Please leave, in that case.”
When Akito remains rooted in place, she steps forward into his personal space, shielding the school from his view. “You need to leave,” she reiterates, enunciating each word with intention. “I don’t know what you’re here for, but if you–”
“Akito!”
As the teacher withdraws from him, Akito catches sight of Toya hurrying towards them, book bag slung over his shoulder, his polished leather shoes clipping against the floor as he walks. A pang of relief shoots through him, bringing some cool to his head amidst the ugly rage curling its tendrils around his chest.
Toya is dressed in the same uniform Akito has seen him in before, but he looks different now, contextualised against the backdrop of his school. As he runs his eyes over Toya, Akito picks up on details he has not fully appreciated before – the sharp angles of his navy blue blazer and the coat of arms embroidered onto its chest pocket, inscribed with cursive letters in a language he can’t even name; his dress shirt, buttoned all the way to the top, miraculously unwrinkled after a day’s toil; and the way there isn’t a single speck of dust on his pants, which fit him the same way a pair of designer pants might on a model in one of his workplace’s haute couture magazines.
He looks like he belongs right here, at this fancy, elite school that would never even entertain the thought of Akito in a million years. The realization makes him sick.
Toya, unaware of the sense of vertigo that has overpowered Akito, covers the distance between them in long, brisk strides. He comes to a stop in front of his teacher, dipping his head courteously at her. “Nishimura-sensei. Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Aoyagi-kun,” she responds, her tone cordial, at odds with the condescension dripping from her voice just a moment before. The crushing weight in Akito’s chest is replaced momentarily by a distaste that pricks at his skin and twists his mouth downward against his will. Toya turns to Akito then, his grey eyes apologetic, and Akito scrambles to put a smile back onto his face.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. My meeting overran quite a bit. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Oh, uh- Nah, it’s fine,” Akito manages weakly. His head is still reeling. Nishimura’s gaze flits rapidly between him and Toya.
“Aoyagi-kun.” Despite the smile on her face, her eyes are piercing in a way that makes Akito’s skin crawl. “I’d just like to check. Do you know this young man? He says he’s been waiting for an acquaintance.”
Beside him, Toya seizes up. The frantic glance he darts at Akito is anything but the inconspicuous it purports to be.
“I – Yes. He’s my friend.” His voice is soft, tentative, like he’s not even sure of the fact himself.
Nishimura hums, tapping a finger against her chin. “Very well.” Then, she chuckles wryly to herself, as if entertaining an amusing afterthought. “Pardon me, but I was always under the impression you preferred to be alone.”
Toya lets out an amalgamation of a cough and a splutter. When he makes eye contact with Akito, he turns away, abashed, all but avoiding his gaze.
Akito frowns quizzingly at Toya before it strikes him – Toya is not ashamed of being seen with him, is he?
His breath hitches in his throat as he takes in Toya’s downcast eyes and the way he picks sheepishly at the cuff of his sleeve. A heavy, constricting sensation grips his chest, the festering of a malaise he thought he’s learned to ignore by now.
“Anyhow, if you’re in any trouble,” Nishimura shoots Akito a pointed look, and Akito bristles at the insinuation, “you should always tell a trusted adult. We’re all here to help you, alright? And you should really be mindful of what individuals you associate yourself with.”
The last sentence cuts straight into Akito’s chest like a knife. He glowers at her, not bothering to hide his displeasure from Toya anymore. He knows Toya is out of his league, has known it the moment he saw him sing for the first time. It has never deterred him – not when teaming up with Toya made his dreams finally seem plausible. He’s heard more than his fair share of the jeers and whispers trailing behind him like an indelible shadow, of the hotheaded and talentless rookie riding on the coattails of his partner’s talent, to the point where they’re part of Vivid Street itself. In response and protest, he’d always run an extra mile, spend an extra hour, minute, second practising – each desperate gasp for air, crack in his voice, and ache in his muscles a profession of his resolve to stand by Toya’s side as an equal.
Thus, words he’s no stranger to, from an inconsequential person no less, should not bother him this much — but they do, damn it, and it hurts. Despite everything, every once in a while, he’s reminded anew of how much it almost feels wrong for someone like him – without the talent and apparently intellect, too – to call himself Toya’s partner. No matter how much he pushes himself, forces himself to go just a bit further, Toya is still out of reach, belonging to a world completely different from his own.
Despite, despite, despite.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Nishimura place her hand protectively on Toya’s shoulder. Starting, Toya nods at her dumbly.
“I understand. Thank you, sensei,” he says, in a tone Akito has learned over the past few months to mean that he absolutely does not understand. Regardless, it seems to appease Nishimura, who gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t let me keep you then,” she smiles, civil. “See you tomorrow.”
Toya bows stiffly at her, arms glued to his sides. Seeing he’s ready to leave, Akito stalks off without a word before Toya even turns to him. A twisted sense of satisfaction, barely enough to overshadow the accompanying guilt, courses through him when he hears the sound of Toya’s hurried footsteps catching up to him. As he passes through the school entrance, he turns to see Nishimura still watching them, her face shrouded in disapproval. He scowls at her one last time before the two of them round the corner, disappearing from her field of vision.
Toya leads the way to the nearest JR station. Akito trails behind him, hands bunched into fists in his jacket pockets. The pedestrian walkway is spacious and well-maintained, the verdant trees lining it dappling the floor and Toya’s hair in dancing shades of gold. Nonetheless, the tranquility does little to better Akito’s shitty mood. In his head, he replays the interaction that has just transpired, pausing on every frame and zooming in on each and every single detail. In his mind, Nishimura is sneering at him. He’s with you only because he doesn’t know better, she taunts. Akito curses at her, then curses at himself for blowing his fuse. What if Toya gets into trouble because of him? None of this should bother him this much; it’s not like he’s new to being looked down upon.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You’re quiet today.”
Toya has fallen back beside him, his bag knocking against Akito as he walks. His face is inscrutable, but when the silence between them stretches a bit longer than is comfortable, Akito realises that there’s a silent ‘why’ tagged to the end of that statement. Indeed, on any other day, Akito would have already been talking his head off, going on and on about their practice plans or a new album he’s picked up from the CD store, while Toya would nod every so often, mechanical in a way that’s impossible for Akito to tell if he’s genuinely listening or simply being polite. He smiles weakly, suddenly self-conscious — he'd be entirely shameless if he’s fine with Toya knowing he literally argued with his teacher, for goodness’s sake.
“So, you go to Kaisei, huh? You never told me you’re smart as hell, too. Isn’t that just unfair?” He’s not entirely aware of the words coming out of his mouth, instead imagining himself running until he collapses, heaving for air on the ground. “My school’s a shithole in comparison. Hey, you should visit sometime.”
Toya doesn’t say anything. His grey eyes scan Akito’s face, searching. Akito holds his gaze and resists the urge to squirm.
“You’re upset,” Toya concludes matter-of-factly.
“Why would I be?” The response is given a bit too quickly for his liking, the accompanying chuckle strained and harsh. When Toya stares, Akito turns his gaze up towards the trees and makes a mental note that his partner is perhaps more perceptive than he lets on.
“I really am not, though.”
Toya is still boring a hole into his head. Then, all of a sudden, just like a snuffed fire, his intensity is gone. Out of the corner of his eye, Akito sees him deflate and curl into himself.
“... Is it because I called you my friend?”
“What?”
Now it’s Toya who refuses to meet his gaze, his eyes trained onto the floor as his grip tightens around the strap of his bag. “Sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I identified myself as your friend on my own accord,” he mutters, head downturned like a kicked puppy.
In any other situation, Akito might have teased him for his choice of words, but all he can do in the moment is gawk at him, his woes forgotten.
When Akito remains silent, Toya panics. “I just thought – Maybe – Um, well.” He trips over his words, flustered. Akito doesn’t even know where to begin.
“... Are you for real?”
Toya tilts his head at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Yes?”
The two of them eyeball each other, unblinking, before it dawns on Akito that, what the hell, this guy is actually, genuinely, completely serious. A bark of laughter erupts in his chest, unrestrained and hearty, and it develops into a giggling fit that he’s unable to stop. Toya looks on, frozen in place, his expression oscillating between panic and confusion. When Akito realises that this is the most emotion he’s probably ever seen on his partner’s face in the span of ten minutes, he breaks into laughter again, throwing his head back and wiping a tear from his eye.
“I seriously don’t get you sometimes, y’know?” At Toya’s blank stare, a soft chuckle escapes Akito’s chest. “Of course we’re friends, dumbass. You’re my partner, remember? How’s that even a question?”
Toya blinks at him, once, twice, then reaches up to rub his nose. “I see.” The corners of his lips twitch, and –
“You’re smiling,” Akito observes. It’s a novel sight, the expression itself almost imperceptible, so much so that he’s not sure if he should call it a smile at all, but it is there. It looks unfamiliar, almost out of place, but – it’s nice. He thinks he might even like it, if he dares to go that far.
Akito’s comment proves to be a mistake, however, because said smile is immediately overtaken by a deep-set frown.
“I am?”
“Jeez, dude.” Akito shakes his head, unable to control his widening grin. “You really are something else, aren’t ya?”
Before he’s even aware of what he’s doing, he’s reached over and slung an arm over Toya’s shoulder. Toya allows himself to be pulled close, leaning down awkwardly to match Akito’s height. Then, feeling particularly daring, Akito reaches up and ruffles Toya’s hair. Toya flinches on contact but makes no move to pull away.
The ridiculousness of it all is just so… Toya. At his inability to find a better word, Akito laughs again. In another reality, the paths of someone like him and someone like Toya may indeed not have crossed in a million years. But the fact is that they are here together, whether by some mistake or miracle, partners chasing the same dream, catching each other as they stumble forward. He feels stupid for doubting the two of them at all.
“Hey,” he says. There’s something new – something they’ve never done before, that he’d like to try. “You free on Sunday? There’s this new café I’ve been meaning to check out. Wanna go together?”
Toya pauses, considers. Akito holds his breath. Then, like the silver moon lighting up a pitch-black night, a smile graces his face – certain this time.
“Yeah, of course. I can’t wait.”