Archive of Our Own

Sunset, ocean, and sky all dissolving together in a profound wound, corrupting the world with a pungent blood orange. Emptiness, screaming a dull white sound of pain, reaching the ears of those who never listened. Boiling hot, as the salt condenses itself inside his lungs, making it hard to swim. 

One last gulp of air, that’s all he ever needed. One last breath of hope and everything would be set and done. 

🌊

Bright lights and heavy makeup. Hands moving him all over the place, back and forth. Voices telling him his next line, his next move, what he should or shouldn’t do. A renaissance painting of his daily cacophonies, strokes of a sober, icy blue guiding his eyes all over the place. At the center, where indigo meets gold, a shy sparkle of a homely figure, smiling at him.

“Mom,” Shima spoke louder than those who tried to silence him, crossing the line that divides a human being from a work of art, extending his hands. “Did you see that? I didn’t miss a single line at all!”  

He felt electrified, as if he just ran a marathon, a shot of serotonin bursting his skin open. Barely reaching the prime of his fifth year of being born, the boy had his needs removed — day by day discovering a new way to interpret a character, new ways to melt eyes into tears, a way to fake his laugh to sound sincere. Constantly living as a painter, splashing colors on anything that could make her remember her sorrows, changing the sky from beige to magenta, finding new ways to draw her a smile. All for the exchange of some glee.   

“You did great, Sousuke!” Home in the form of a soft, warm voice, embracing him on a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you!” She makes herself smaller, the ideal height for her to look behind his eyes. “You just need to be more careful with the words. Don’t forget to speak every syllable.” 

When you play the adult game at such a young age, you better be careful not to be used as a dice, moving nonstop to make others thrive and achieve places further than nirvana. Naiveness could be used as a weapon against the player; tenderness can be transformed into the most violent poison. Sousuke Shima, who just yesterday scratched his knees for the first time, had already long delicate lines tied to each of his fingers, to the edges of his mouth. A marionette, waiting to be used as pleased.   

Nothing great comes from first tries, especially for a boy who never once acted before. But, with certain charisma and saying certain names, Sousuke got a chance to appear on a kid’s toy commercial, with nothing more than six lines and the need to pretend that a random woman was his mother.  

The scene was rather simple: there was a fake field, sparkled with plastic flowers, bathing on fake white lights. At the center, a picnic cloth lies, displaying a rather fair variety of foods. The actress, a tall blonde foreign woman, pretends to read a book and enjoy the wind, not a single worry troubling her features.

Suddenly, the peace is shaken by a small boyish smile and fair messy hair. As a way to make summer even more enjoyable, Sousuke, acting as the woman’s child, enters the scene with the advertised big green and purple water gun, filled with many different pointers, and splashes youth all over the place. Different from reality, the woman doesn’t flinch or get angry at him, but rather laughs and responds to his provocations, showing her own secret weapon hiding behind the bush. A warm lovely family scene, the perfect way to sell lies to anyone who is weak enough to fall for it. 

Reality, however, was a little different.The studio, in fact, was extremely icy and white, blinding Sousuke whenever he tried to adjust his eyes. The green screen, soon to display a lovely blue sky, was distracting and annoying, making it hard to pretend it wasn't there. He shivers from head to toe, trying to remember every single line of his, shoving away the cold.  

“Sousuke-kun”, a brunette lady with a kind aura and deep eye bags, approached them. On her hand, a plushy towel grabs his attention. “We might need to retake some of the scenes, is that alright for you?” 

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem, right Sousuke?” He couldn’t even think of an answer, since that was not a choice he should make on his own. Instead, he just observed as the towel moved from hand to hand until it stopped on his hair. “He actually loved to be in front of the camera,” his mother gingerly dried his locks. 

“We can definitely see that! I promise you that we just need to film three news angles and you’ll be ready to go home, is that ok for you, Sousuke-kun?” The boy smiled, shyly, nodding his head affirmatively. “Great! Please take him to the make-up station when you’re ready, Chifuyu-san.”  

His mother thanked her, with a beautiful grin covering her face, bowing slightly. When they were finally alone, the boy felt a hand on his shoulder, nails digging deeper. “Sousuke.” A firm grip, making his feet spin. “Can you please pay more attention to your lines now? This is your first opportunity for something bigger, don’t embarrass me, please.” 

He could answer many different things. He could say how his tongue felt heavy and how the foundation covering his pores felt itchy. Or that the shoes they gave him were too small for his feet, that he was feeling cold wearing those clothes or that maybe working wasn’t as fun as we thought it would be. However, everything was coated with a dense and glossy feeling of drunkenness. All the lights shined bright and heavy, making him the star of the show, the center of the universe. He was so young and already part of the adult world, already hearing grown-up conversations, already talking as if he’s on top of the world.  

An ocean of the most precious honey, covering up all his pores. A never ending list of promises that he received the moment his mother invited him for his first audition. The tingling feeling of being accepted, praised, cherished.

When you’re five years old, your mother smells like the soil after rain, feels like clean bed sheets and talks like she knows all the answers of the world. When the concept of life is fresh out of the oven, all you could do is smile and nod, answering a “I will make you proud, mom!” as you run to the makeup station. And that’s exactly what he did.

🌊

“Are you sure you’re ok with going back to acting?” 

The noise slightly submerged Mukai’s question, making Shima move his body a little closer to his friend, raising his brows in a questioning manner. They were sharing a big portion of fries at a family owned restaurant fresh out of cram school, school supplies all over the table. His friend avoided his eyes, finding other amusing things around them, not quite staring at a single point for long. “I mean, you told me how hard it was for you back in middle school so…” 

“Wow, Mukai!” The blond boy spiked a very amused grin, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, elbow almost falling off the table. “Are you worried about me?”

In normal scenarios, the answer would sound short and simple, but instead of avoiding Shima’s eyes, Mukai displayed a bare and vulnerable look, staring deep into his soul. “Well, I’m your friend, aren’t I? Of course I would be worried.” Boiling red emerged from behind his cheeks soon after his answer came to life. 

Stunned, both of them. The one who asked started to regret doing so, protecting his body with his arms, twisting one another. The one who was supposed to answer, struck by lightning, widened his eyes, and waited. “Jesus, forget it.”

“No, no, please,” Shima started to shake his hands, retracting his body until it was flushed against the sofa. “You are right, we are friends.” A gentle smile who received a shy scoff. “I’m glad that you’re worried about me.”  

“It’s just…” Brunet hair falling over the face as he shifted on his place, grabbing a fry to play with. “You were very miserable, you know? I know you tried to hide a lot but…” He shrugged, looking down. “It was kind of obvious,” words mixed with potato pieces. 

Shima laughed, light enough to just shake his shoulders a little. “Guess I wasn’t a good actor in the end, right?”  

“Stop changing the subject,” Mukai’s voice started to sound annoyed, regretful for starting this conversation in the first place. “You know that’s not what I mean.” 

A suave hum. “I know, don’t worry.” He looked up, resting the back of his head on the wall behind him. “I just think it might be good for me, to have some form of closure.”  

“Don’t you think that, maybe…” Mukai chewed a few fries, calculating the best way to approach the subject. “You know, wouldn’t it be better if you had a talk with your mom about this?” Shima took his time to answer, too lost with all the time spots covering the ceiling to reply right away. 

He thought about this multiple times, often linking all his past traumas with a mixture of wood and white lights. He calculates the risks of being involved again with pages and pages of words he needed to remember as of his own, pretending he was somebody else, a whole new entity. 

But wasn’t he already being the main character of his own act? Wasn’t he waking up every day, putting on a mask and following a detailed script, focusing on giving his best performance? What made his whole life different from a play?

“My mom is too busy with Keiri to think about the past right now,” Shima sighed, choosing the easiest and most convenient answer he could find to disguise his own guilt. “I don’t want to bother her with useless things.”

“When will you finally admit that all of this fucked up your brain, Sousuke-kun?” Unlike him, his friend never once bought a ticket for any spectacle. “You always say you’re fine, that everything is great but…” Mukai took a deep breath, stopping himself. “You know what? You do you, I guess.” 

“I’m really doing this for myself now…” Voice small, fragile like a feather. “I really need to take control back, to understand what acting means in my life.” 

Paper crinkle, the nice waiter coming back to take their plates, the laugh of an elementary school girl. Every single noise he could find to grasp, to make him feel safe in this world. To remember he’s alive. “Ok.”

The blond laughed, focusing his eyes on his friend again. “ Ok ? That's it?” 

“What do you want me to say?” Mukai pleaded, folding a piece of napkin into a paper plane. “I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do.” 

Shima answered with a smile and a small nod. “But thank you, anyway. I think I’ll finally have my answers now, I guess.” The brunet boy hummed, pretending he wasn’t interested to begin with. “Or maybe I’m doing this to be a little more like her.”

“Like your mom?" 

“Like Mitsumi.”

🌊

Sousuke woke up in a pool of sweat and sickness, blinking his eyes ferally to release the fog. He sat up, gulping big lumps of air, one after the other, hand clutching his chest for his dear life. The world looked bloody, dawn casting a sheer veil of horror all over his bedroom. Was he still drowning or had he woken up? 

The cool glow of the clock warned it was a quarter past four in the morning. A little later than he usually wakes when he has these types of nightmares. He shivers, using his duvet to dry his face and hair, not caring to get up anymore.

He could get up and grab a cup of cold water in the kitchen, cleaning up his insides, swallowing this gooey feeling. Instead, he let the feeling of weakness and vulnerability sink in, conscious enough that, if he decided to leave his room, there was a risk of waking Kieri up. He was barely one year old now and, as he’s seen on his mother’s face, has given quite trouble to fall asleep.

Lying on the bed again, looking up, he counts the fishes swimming around his room. If he falls asleep in five, he’ll be able to rest for thirty minutes until the alarm strikes seven and he’s ready to leave the bed. Or he could let himself go into this ocean of reality and imagination, maybe climb the back of a whale and drift away for eternity, forcing his body to learn how to breathe underwater. 

Forty-eight. That was the number he stopped when his mother suddenly opened up his door, announcing it was time to get up. 

🌊

“Sousuke-kun, I need you to read it slower, ok? Feel the phrases before saying them and, please, be careful with your breathing.”

His acting teacher was a short older woman with straight posture and hair always neatly tied in a sleek bun, eyes black as treacle. The volume of her voice was never low enough that you would need to ask her to repeat herself, neither louder than a bird. With her lips always coated by the darkest crimson to match her name, Akane-chan was severe and scary, and Sousuke would kill to see her smile, at least once.

They met her right after his first commercial aired, with a promise she could mold him, as she did with other thousands of child stars that reached stardom. On the first meeting, Chifuyu sat in silence and savored all the criticism the older woman had for them, not letting a single word fly by. The boy, too distracted by the amount of degrees sparking on her walls, barely registered anything that would steal him nights of sleep. 

Today marks three consecutive years since her small studio became their beloved church, attending religiously every wednesday after Sousuke is done with school. From sunset until the midnight mass, Akane kept her feline eyes on a puff of blond hair, not letting him escape any second. 

He tried again, taking a deep breath and repeating the first phrase. “Your corporal conscience is still atrocious,” a sharp knife,cutting Sousuke's lines in half, rendering him speechless. They were training for an important part on this new pretentious drama, starring big names of the industry. The young boy had purpurine behind his eyes, giving his all to a role that it wasn’t even his yet.  “Are you sure you’re paying attention to anything I say at all?” 

“Akane-sensei, I’m sure Sousuke—”

One step further, silencing his mother with a click of heels. “I’m not talking to you, Chifuyu-san. I’m talking to Sousuke-kun only.” Feverish hot, making it hard to breathe. “You are eight years old now and all you ever managed to accomplish was insignificant commercials that no one can even see your face.” Akane came closer to him, casting a shadow. “Do you understand how humiliating that is?” 

Sousuke didn’t answer, words glued at the back of his stomach. Nothing about this made sense anymore. Acting was supposed to be fun. Acting was supposed to feel like living in a fantasy world where he could be anyone he ever wanted it to be. Acting was supposed to make his mom smile, but all she ever does now is look down and away. 

It all felt wrong, incomplete. He painted and painted, creating new works of arts every day, mixing new pigments, creating new colors, letting gold drip from his veins. Only to let it all faint, only to let it all be tossed away. 

“Am I talking alone, Sousuke?”  How could a boy ever think about creating his own particular museum when not even a single piece was ever sold? 

“No, sensei. I’m sorry.” He bowed, politely, looking anywhere but her face. “I’m really trying,” voice trembling, slipping between the cracks.

“We’re training at home, as well,” Chifuyu tried again. “We stayed up all night trying to figure out this scene, Sousuke even missed school this morning for this.” She came near him, resting her hands on his shoulders. “This is a very important role for us.” A squeeze, ordering him to agree. “He loves acting, can’t stop talking about it and—”

“Well, he clearly is incapable of showing this passion then,” a thunder, shaking the walls. “He keeps forgetting his lines, can barely hold the audience's attention.” Every word punctuated with the never ending click of her shoes, cornering them. “He isn’t ready for such a role.” 

“Akane-sensei—”

“I won’t repeat myself.” The teacher stopped on her tracks, finally facing them. “Sousuke-kun is only going to embarrass himself if he attends this audition.” A beat, no one daring to breathe. “It’s time now, please. I’m sure he’ll be fine next week, after intense home training.” 

They stayed in place, in the middle of the room, trying to grasp at any line of hope they could find. He did everything he could. He lost sleep, lost breath, lost the ability to think. He lost friends, lost enthusiasm, lost hope. Sousuke was eight years old when he first asked himself if he really liked acting in the first place. “Are we done?”

Chifuyu finally moved, letting her arm slide until she could grab her son’s hand. “Yes, sensei,” they moved in slow motion, grabbing their things on the way out. “I’ll promise you we’ll practice nonstop at home.” 

 Acting was supposed to be gold and blue, but it’s red. Deep, aching and murderous red.

🌊

He grabbed the microphone, acting shy. All around him, his friends cheered and chanted his name, clapping in and out of the rhythm of the song they made up on a whim. The air felt sticky, all the gravity condensed, making their limbs feel heavy with joy. They were young, full of life and sparkles, celebrating the ending of the school festival, draining all the leftover stress out of their pores. 

For the first time in his life, he felt silly, like a proper teenage boy seeking forgiveness from the past and belovedness for the future, letting his bones crack freely beneath his flesh. Wobbly lips and stomach pain, all due to happiness. 

“Sousuke!” Yamada spoke louder than everyone, trying to grab his friend’s attention. “You have to sing with all your heart now, or you’ll have to pay a round of drinks to everyone!”

Makoto and Yuzuki shared a glance. “Since when is this a rule?” The glasses girl asked in a whisper, a secret between the two. Yuzu giggled, rocking her shoulder with hers, playfully. 

The small karaoke room smelled like cheap soda and sweat, tables covered with different drinks, food plates and their own notebooks. Shima took a deep breath, to never forget it. “I don’t want to be the only one singing, someone please come sing with me!”

“Everyone sang a song alone,” Mukai challenged him, receiving a choir of praises. “Don’t try to run away from it.”

“I’m not trying to run away!” Shima pretended to be offended, resting his hand on his chest. “I just think it’s going to be funnier if we make a duet!” 

All around the cramped room, a round of grumpy sounds echoed. They all started to debate between them, getting heated with a simple request. Glances, laughs and annoyance being shared between his six best friends, in a watery purpleish painting, dissolving around the corners. Shima felt ecstasy running between his veins, one side of his body boiling hot of excitement and cheerfulness, while the other ran cold, making him shiver nervously. He was being washed with blessings, having new reasons to not miss class anymore, to not feel like his past is running after him. To look forward to being a new person, to live his life as an adolescent as long as he wanted. To not try to be an adult before the right time, to search for two deep black orbits staring back at him. 

Without being able to control himself, Shima smiles at those curious eyes, extending a hand. “Mitsumi-san? Will you join me?” 

The girl’s cheeks receive waves of pink and red, coloring her expressions. “Me?” 

“Who else?” Eyes almost closing, cheeks painfully happy. “Sing with me!” 

Mitsumi reluctantly gets up from her seat, hiding her hands behind her back, receiving a round of applause, with a tint of Yamada’s pleas to sing something from the play, rejected with Mako’s “Everyone is tired of the play already ” and Mika’s giggles. 

“Wait,” Yuzuki got the stand, surprisingly getting everyone quiet. “This might be a good idea!” 

Mitsumi, carefully getting her own microphone and standing close to Shima, at the center of the room. “Sing together?”

“No,” she pointed at Yamada, who exploded in a billion glittery pieces. “Sing a song from the play! It will be a form of saying goodbye to it.” 

Shima glanced at his singing partner with a questioning look and a shy smile on his face. Mitsumi had a bright warm aura around her, eyes full of glisten. Anyone who looked at her could feel how pleased she was with the idea, sustaining her needs of ending things with a great taste inside the mouth. Whatever he was feeling at that moment was tossed away and forgotten, because watching her dissolve in excitement made the ice part of his body melt. “Sure, why not?”

“Can I pick the song, if you guys are really going for it?” Mika, who normally wouldn’t make any bold requests, held her arm up and looked around, seeing if anyone would disagree with her. Mitsumi shook her head vigorously, messing her hair. 

And so, a somber violin with dots of piano started playing on the speakers, the lyrics already rolling on the small television. “You guys already missed the beginning of the song,” Makoto rushed, signaling them to look at the screen. Mitsumi, stumbling on words, picked up first. 

“(...) Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things” 

She looked at Shima, with desperation behind her eyes, afraid of messing up the English lyrics more than she already did. A giggle escaped his never ending grin, dissolving into his next words, as the music started to pick up. 

“Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles”

He guided her, making the most of her feel comfortable. The crowd around them clapped with the rhythm and cheered. 

“Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings

These are a few of my favorite things”

“Shima-Kun,” her voice hidden because of the music. “You need to sing your favorite things, leave this next part to me!”

“Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes

She twirled her uniform skirt, pretending her skirt was a summery white dress.

“Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes”

As a brush covered in paint being soaked in water, all of Shima's new discovered happiness leaked inside the painting. It bloomed around the room, covering the walls in splashes of violet, yellow and fuchsia, a sunset of emotions dripping between each crevice of the room. 

“Silver-white winters that melt into springs

These are a few of my favorite things”

He was finally, finally able to understand all those lyrics that sang about happiness and forgiveness, about finding your place on earth and how it feels to dance in the rain.  When his voice got mixed with Mitsumi’s, (...)

“When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad”

(...) when he finally laces his fingers with hers and spins their bodies around the room, receiving a new stroke of laughs from their friends. When the off-key sound of the tambourine hit a new splash of orange around the room; when Mitsumi’s broken English covered them in turquoise: when his own laugh melted in purple, he finally understands what it feels to be alive. 

“I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don't feel so bad.”

🌊

Completely silent. Even the simple sound of a butterfly's wing could be distracting. No one breath, no one let the blood flow through their veins. In the count of three, a snap. A warning. A single word:

“ Action! ”

Sousuke breathed all the air of the studio and finally let his voice cut through their flesh. He was reciting word by word from a twenty-page script he knew in the back of his mind. A ghost, whispering close to people’s ears; a shadow of a great actor being born. Sousuke Shima was ten years old when he finally got his most remarkable work, living his life as Kanade-kun.

His mother was the one who picked up the call and first received the news. She was sitting on their kitchen table, watching her son eating his dinner while arguing about trivial things when their bubble popped by the home phone. 

He watched as the silent film unfolded. After listening to whatever the person on the other line needed to say, Chifuyu’s eyes grew wider, even bluer. She gasped, slowly moving her free hand over her mouth, tears starting to flow. Sousuke knew right away because she was never this quiet.

At that moment, he became a human garden. His whole body tingled, stung by thousands of bees. He could feel the butterflies climbing his throat, ready to fly away at any point. Hands and feet numb thanks to all the busy ants running around. Peace. That was everything he could feel in that moment, even when himself was not quite sure how to name it. 

The first wave to arrive at his beach brought the hope he carried since younger than he is now: acting could be fun again. He could taste the salted water and break every little piece of salt crystals between his teeth, coating his entire mouth with this new film of hope. Sousuke wanted to bite it, to savor it for eternity, to never eat anything else again. 

When she finally told him the news, his mother let her tears coat the words, making it hard to hear underwater. They hugged each other with fervor and hope, letting their vines intertwine with each other. A crackle sound when he smiled at her, shattering fragments of salt; sunflowers blooming behind her eyes when she smiled back. 

And so, with the studio lights burning his face and hair spray starting to tingle, he performed with all his might, carefully studying his own movements and tone of voice, never speaking too loud or too low. Eyes slightly glossy, as if he just finished crying for hours, exposing his character’s emotions bare to the public, letting them free their necks for him to bite it. Sousuke finally achieved his first big role in his acting career: in a low budget drama with noticeable low ratings, but loyal fanbase. 

“You did great, Sousuke-kun,” after a loud clapperboard whine, the young boy finally took a deep breath, displaying an earth shattering smile to the whole crew who watched him with delight. The director, a short stubby man with huge brown glasses, gave him a comfortable smile, standing next to one of the huge cameras around them. “Now we need you outside to shoot the scenes with Ririka-chan, ok?” Sousuke nods, seeing the make-up artist coming his way.  “Fine, then,” he ends his phrase with a bow, turning his attention to his assistant. "Fifteen minutes and we’re ready to shoot.”

While standing still to have his concealer be reapplied, Sousuke let his eyes wander through the set searching for a familiar aura to grab him. At the corner, a slim shy girl stood silently studying him. Ririka-chan, he supposed. 

“Hey man,” a short chubby guy approaches him, letting his voice grab everyone’s attention. “Nice acting you did over there, I was impressed!” Full grin breaking his face in half, head to toe dressed like his character. The main one, Sousuke noted. “Oh! I’m Chris, by the way!” He underlined his name with a long enthusiastic bow, making a giggle escape from Sousuke’s mouth.

“Hi, Chris,” Sousuke’s voice was strained and weird, too focused to not interrupt the makeup artist's job, changing the educated bow to a shy movement of head. “I’ll be in your care,” Chris replied to him with the same phrase, slightly jumping on his feet. “Thank you for the compliment.” 

“No worries, I was really impressed!” The boy looked around, searching for something specific as it seemed. “We’ll be playing best friends, right?” He didn’t look at Sousuke to see him nodding, but assumed he agreed in some way. “That’s why I think we need to get together more, to understand ourselves better.” To be friends . His head stopped and he smiled, eyes scintillating. Sousuke followed until it landed on that same scared girl. “There’s Ririka-chan!” Chris pointed and snapped his head back to his new friend, pleased to see his retouch session was finished. “We’re playing friends so we need to be friends!” 

Sousuke kindly thanked the makeup artist as she drifted away. “I-I agree,” he answered, receiving a bright smile. “I really want to befriend you guys!” Friends .

Chris grabbed his hand, rushing word after word, explaining all his short career to Sousuke, as they chased after Ririka. He had a nice melodic voice but funny manners, making him interesting and charming, conquering anyone with his cunning. Friends . “Oh boy! It’s so awesome to have so many people my age on this cast!” He babbled and babbled, never stopping once, dragging Sousuke around like a rag doll. “Ririka!” 

The girl had big bold striking eyes and long wavy hair, almost covering her face. She was dressed as her character, a copy of the script crumbled on her hands, looking out of place. Around her, a heavy silver aura made her shine, blinding whoever dared to look at her for more than five minutes. Ririka looked like a wounded fox and a powerful hawk at the same time. “Ririka,” Chris repeated himself, stopping on his tracks. “This is Sousuke-kun. Sousuke-kun,” he looked at Sousuke, as if asking permission to call him by his given name. The boy just smiled, assigning him to go on. “This is Ririka.”

They greeted themselves at the same time, bowing in unison. She had a suave, low voice, singing a lullaby whenever she tried to speak. “I guess we have a scene together now, don’t we, Ririka-chan?” 

Ririka smiled and avoided his eyes, nodding, having no chance to say a single word before Chris interrupted them again to talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Friends . Around them, routine chaos erupted, now and then interrupting their conversation. Chris talked to them looking deeply inside their eyes and waited for them to finish talking, as if making sure he captured every information. The girl, whoever, fidget with her hair, script or dress, casually adding a few pieces of information along the lines. Sousuke couldn’t help looking at her from time to time, trying to steal a breath or two, trying to understand if she would attack or run from him. 

“ Sousuke. ” A clean shot, making their walls shake. His two new friends shut themselves up, freezing in place, not daring to move. Sousuke wanted to look at her, to turn around, to move, but Ririka was finally looking deep inside his eyes, bewitching him, transforming his blood in silver. “What are you still doing here?” His mother’s voice became closer and closer, almost feeling her breath on his cheeks. “They are all waiting for you two.” 

Sousuke turned, finally facing her. Chifuyu looked holy, with a border of light tanging her body, darkening her face. His knees buckle, ready to fall down to pray, to ask for forgiveness. Instead, he nodded, shushing a “yes mom” out of his mouth before searching the other two pairs of eyes looking at him. “Well,” he started, voice full of playfulness. “I guess it is time for us to go, right, Ririka-chan?” 

🌊

In a quiet somber night, she guided him like a firefly, illuminating all the houses around them with her blinding smile. Her voice, soothing his wounds, was telling him an eventful story that happened just that day, hours ago, inside the student council, but he stopped paying attention minutes ago. It’s not that what she’s saying isn’t interesting or that she’s being annoying somehow, it's just that he let himself get lost in her little details that made it hard to follow. 

For example, he never really paid attention before, but Mitsumi has a little scar on her right knee. He noticed when they stopped to cross the street and she pointed at a small snail between the intersection of the busy road and the sidewalk, but he could only see the faint white slash of flesh, one tone below her actual skin color. If she noticed him looking at anywhere but the small animal, she preferred not saying a thing, just sticking to the story she already started about how her small corner of Ishikawa prefecture was once infested by the same type of snail they just saw. 

Her nails, gripping her backpack tightly, were glossed over by a fine layer of pastel pink nail polish, shining every time they passed a street pole. Her voice got a little too nasal, thanks to the sudden drop of temperature, but she never ran out of breath. The panda pin, resting comfortably inside the pocket of her jacket, started to lose color around the ears, maybe from all the time she played with it whenever she got nervous, maybe because of the passage of time. Her skirt, slightly crooked around the edges, danced whenever she moved too fast, trying to get in front of him, to steal his attention. 

It was scary to be near someone who lived so many different lives than him, that saw so many new shades of light his eyes weren’t able to perceive. Resembling busy Tokyo, that whispers thousands of stories no one will ever hear, Shima silently prays for the electricity to turn off and shut his billboards down, swallowing the neon colors to allow the blue of the asphalt to break free. He’s a spotlight that attracts busy moths that will bathe themselves in his joy to let him hollow. He’s a thousand roads that cross one into another but sequence nowhere. Just like any other big city, he has so much to say but people have their own problems to take care of. He is the silent cry that the flesh lets out when childhood empties around the knees, painfully warning the arrival of adolescence.  

Mitsumi, on the other hand, makes it understandable why people enjoy burying their feet in sand. A bright Sunday morning of a summer you could only live once you were a kid, destined to smile at the heat and drink splashes of sweat. She’s the foundation of the ground that separates the human from the ocean but also the breath that makes the waves crash. She’s built like a sandcastle with thousands of windows and flags, that will fall down once or twice but never stop growing and building itself again. She’s that little house in the countryside that embraces you and puts you to sleep while being busy enough to make people get out to dance in the rain. 

She was boiling yellow, fresh blood and the feeling when sugar hits the tongue. She’s the calm he was always looking for but could never embrace. She’s the sand that he knew all too well but could never detain. Mitsumi was a library composed of books he never once read and would never finish reading his entire life, always discovering a new volume by the time he completed the last one. 

Shima let a drained sigh escape his mouth, turning down the music around him. He stopped, eyes down the whole time, finally realizing that he was the reason why Mitsumi stopped talking. “Is there something wrong, Shima-kun?”

His eyes snapped up to face her, like a deer finally realizing the shooter behind the bushes. Mitsumi had confusion all over her face, with her brows slightly up, eyes wide open. “What?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Me? No, nothing’s wrong. Why?” 

She hummed, balancing her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, I don’t know. You just looked…” She shrugged. “Annoyed with something.” And then, her eyes wandered, cheeks puffing with red. “Maybe I was talking too much.”

“ No! ” Shima nearly shouted, finally detaching his body from the pavement, moving in her direction. “No, please, your stories are always so fun to listen to.” She nodded, avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry, there’s just a lot going on in my head and I keep getting distracted.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Did he? Did he not? So many questions, so little time. “I don’t know if there’s anything to say, really.” Mitsumi had a suspicious look all over her face, but let him finish. “I promise you, you did nothing wrong.” A strained smile, shoulders finally slumping down, an inviting look to calm her down. It didn’t work. 

“Is it family problems, maybe?” She tried again, rolling the sole of her shoes on a small colony of rocks, matching the rhythm of the crickets. “With Kieri-kun, maybe?” 

It was his time to hum now. “Not really,” he answered, trying to sound unfazed. “Kei-kun is fine, I promise you,” when in reality, he barely saw his younger brother this past few weeks. 

Mitsumi stayed in silence, nodding to show she understood him, avoiding his eyes. She looked hurt, out of place, trying to find somewhere to crawl and hide. All because he couldn’t stop his mind for a sparkle of second, all because he could not think about anyone else but himself. 

It’s not that he wanted to swallow all his doubts himself, it's just that he never learned to live anyway but this. There wasn’t a single time in his short life where he learned how to voice what corrupted him from beneath his bones, where his voice didn’t melt under the sun. Shima painted thousands of artworks all his life, but none who contained himself as the center of the piece. He was the Joker, the one who stood with a broken smile to hide the turmoil running on his veins, the one who fed himself by stolen grins and chapped laughs. Sousuke Shima was born to be an observer, to be the one who told the stories, and not the one who stood in the center, beneath the spotlight. 

And there she was, a girl who was born to be a muse, who was born to be the solid reason one created art. A girl who came to this world to feed the hunger, to light the way. A leader, a companion, a masterpiece. The statue displayed at the center of the room, attracting the eyes of the wander.

The painter and the paint; the observer and the main act. The past and the future; the hurt and the healer. Two big eyes that stole all his coherent thought, that begged to be seen. 

"Mitsumi-chan," Shima shushed his mind, starting to walk again, carefully so he didn’t startle her. “When was the moment you finally decided your future?” 

The girl catches up to him, walking side by side, hands barely an inch from touching. She looked up to the sky, head over the clouds, letting the wind play with her hair. For a brief moment, he wishes he could delicately hook a string of hair behind her ear, giving her more space to think, to wonder. “I think I always knew what the future wanted from me, somehow.” They stayed in silence, for a beat, letting the sound of their steps speak for them. “It’s just…I’ve seen so many things happening in my hometown and wasn’t able to help. I guess I was born there to be the one who would finally step up, you know?” 

A surprised laugh silencing the crickets, shaking Shima’s body. He was delighted, invaded by joy for being able to listen to such beauty of an answer. “It was a weird answer, wasn’t it?”

He looked at her, finding the comfort he needed behind her puffed cheeks and wobbly mouth. She looked small, out of place and, at the same time, marvelously huge, bigger than Tokyo. Mitsumi avoided his eyes, pretending she was too focused on the road to look at him. “No, not at all,” he smiled. “I guess that was the answer I was expecting from you.” She hummed in response, playing with a loose thread of her cardigan. “And I suppose you are right.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, I do,” Shima answered, wholeheartedly. “I do believe you were born for a greater good.” 

Mitsumi mumbled a gratitude that was almost stolen by the wind. Catching a glimpse of her ears turning red from the corner of his eyes, the boy wished he was bold enough to catch her face on his hands, to close the distance between them. He wishes he had  courage, that he wasn’t a spectator, but was too afraid to coat his hands on wet paint. “What about you, Shima-kun? What are your thoughts for the future?”

None . “I haven’t quite figured it out yet”. 

“Do you plan on pursuing acting?” She tried again, ready to steal any information she could.

He hummed, cracking his neck. “I never thought about it, to be honest.” She nodded, understanding. “Well, I didn’t even think I was going to act again, after running away from it.”

“Do you regret it?” 

He did. He didn't. He loved it. He hated it. “Not really, no.” Shima shrugged, pretending to be indifferent. “I guess only time can tell.” 

Mitsumi cleaned her throat, trying to let something out of her mouth. “Was I…” He waited, giving all the space she needed. “Was I too invasive when I told you to maybe try again?”

Her words echoed around the empty streets near her apartment, letting the air run cold. Shima looked at her, but couldn't find her eyes or even a small grin which indicated she was just playing a gag. Under the moonlight, Mitsumi looked almost mystical, like some sort of spiritual guide. More than anything, he wished he could hold her as long as he wished for. “Mitsumi-chan.” 

She lifted her eyes, but not her head. Her uneven bangs formed a barrier between them, hiding her shame. Shima smiled. “All you ever did was help me, always.” 

And, in an act of blind bravery, Shima dared to reach out and catch a stray hair between his fingertips. Mitsumi was startled, but didn’t run away. As her face sucked all the blood on her body, he finally twisted his wrist, letting her jet black hair hide behind her ear. 

It burns . That was the first thing he thought when he finally let his arm down. Everything burns , from the hand that touched a piece of her to the face who displayed an unbothered grin. From knowing she was shy because of him, from knowing that, maybe, he touched what he wasn't supposed to. The line that divided human beings from work of art, the hair that stayed in place. The muse and the joker. “I don’t think I even thank you enough.” 

Mitsumi stopped abruptly, causing Shima to stumble. He looked up to see the apartment building she shared with her aunt and felt his whole body grow in a weird sadness. He opened his mouth, ready to say goodbye to her, when she finally turned her head to him, her serious soul jumping behind her eyes. “Shima-kun,” words tripping one into the other, brain working faster than the mouth. “I know we said we would try this, you know, dating thing. That’s not the point. The point is…I don’t know where I’m going with this but…I just want to say that…If things don't work out, in the end, not that I don’t want them to work out, mind you,” he giggled, and she started to turn from red to purple. “I-I mean, but we can cancel this out if you want to, there’s no problem with that, I’m totally chill about it. My point is: even if this…thing…between us doesn't work out in the end…I want us to stay friends. I want to show you that you can trust me, you know? I want you to know that, it doesn’t matter what happens, I’m here to hear you. Even if you want to talk about something weird and nasty, I’ll hear it too, you know. No problem at all! It’s a promise, okay?” She huffed and puffed, as if she’s freshly out of a marathon. 

Shima stood there, speechless, eyes dancing all over her face. She waited and waited, going purple to green. And then, waking all the stray cats hidden around them, Shima let out a loud, full chest laugh, enveloping them in their own little bubble. He laughed, easing the worries he had. He laughed because she was laughing now. He laughed because the one who was supposed to watch was finally being watched instead. 

“I’ll never forget that, Mitsumi-chan,” he said, wiping the accumulating tears on his eyes. Mitsumi waited, regained her breath and the healthy color of her skin. “I’ll never forget anything you ever promised me.” 

🌊

Sousuke woke up in a mixed reality and imagination. Below him, a pile of sand consumed every inch of his body; above, his bedroom ceiling, blinking at him. His arms and legs felt heavy, immovable. He could only move his head up and down, left and right, face contorting at each movement. Shima could either still be asleep, dreaming, or totally corrupted by an awful hallucination. 

He was six, fifteen, ten and a newborn baby. He was content, depressed, scared and peaceful. He was ocean, sky, stars and seashells. A whale, a starfish, a dolphin, a goldfish. Winter, summer, hot and cold. He was drowning in solid land, breathing submerged in water. He was Sousuke again, but Shima at the same time. He was what his friends thought of him but what his mother saw when she looked in the mirror. 

“Shima-kun,” voice was clear as a diamond, Mitsumi’s face was almost irreconcilable, completely distorted by waves. She had the same playful undertone, still smelling like vanilla and lime. He wanted to reach her, tell everything was fine, they just had to swim away, but all he could ever do was smile, offer her a pained grin that lifted his eyes up. 

A gulp of air, a splash of water. An incoherent noise. A girl. Eyes open. Below him, his bed; above, the ocean. 

🌊

A white room, with little left for the imagination. At the corner, an earth green sofa, occupied by two slumped bodies. Across from it, an unorganized desk, full of paperwork and a hot cup of tea. Sitting at the chair, a small boy, face down, hair messy and eyes bloodshot red. Two nervous women centering the place, grabbing all the attention for them.

“I’m sure we can all work this out if we try…” Even Chifuyu didn’t believe her own words, constantly waking in circles, trying to make her brain work. At her side, Akane-sensei hells clincked, like Chinese torture. The brunette woman, one of two sitting at the couch, scoffed, offended.

“This is all happening because of you”, she spitted, making everyone who dared breath shiver. “They are ruining my daughter’s life because of your son’s selfishness.” 

“Please, Aia-san, Sousuke would never—”

“You keep repeating that, over and over again!” Aia slapped her left hand on the back of the sofa, punctuating her scream. “But that’s exactly what happened. That’s exactly what he did !” 

“Aia-san,” Akane's voice didn’t rise above a whisper, letting the echo do the job for her. “I can guarantee Sousuke-kun could never, in a billion ears, imagine this would happen.” 

The woman laughed, a high pinched, devoted from amusement, laugh. Her head, lolling back, either shook in disapproval or shivered from dried tears. Her nails, painted a deep pulgent blue, scratched her forehead over and over again. Aia was delightful, ashamed and out of this world furious. 

It all happened really fast, really uncontrolling. Sousuke thought it would be a good idea to invite Ririka to hang out with him and the adults from the cast, only for chats and distraction. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place, neither cruel: spending time with them was something he saw as routine, since he barely had any friends his age and Chris was always too occupied to give him the proper attention he needed. 

It wasn’t his fault that Ririka said yes. It wasn’t his fault that adults can’t have a laugh or a relaxing moment without any sort of drug and distraction. It wasn’t his fault, since he didn’t even have money to buy beer or cigarettes. It wasn’t his fault that television and media made alcohol sound so fun. It wasn’t his fault that pictures were taken. It wasn’t his fault that he tasted the drink.

Far away from him, sharing the sofa with her mother, Ririka wore her good girl dress and her never messy hair. Her hands were hidden under her legs and her eyes couldn’t see him, even if he was made of gold. She was out of there, drifting above all of them. She was protecting herself. Of him. Of Aia. Of Chifuyu and Akane. 

It was supposed to be just an hour or so in a karaoke room, with the cast and crew. Both of them knew everyone involved, both of them knew all the faces around them. Both of them had a voice to speak up, but only one of them was a woman. 

They offered him a little taste and he drank it. They offered him a little attention and he drank it. They offered him a little affection and he drank it. They offered him a little something and he drank it. He got drunk with amusement, blissfulness and care. He got drunk with the most revengeful poison, having to face a dangerous hangover for all his life. 

Sousuke arrived with Ririka, but had no idea where she was for the most part of the evening. He promised her to never leave her side, but not a single person who sat beside him was close to his age. He talked and talked, always hearing his voice, but never hers, or anyone else’s. He didn’t even hear the camera click. 

The next morning, all he could ever see was Ririka. At the papers. In the morning news. At the radio station. Ririka, with her good girl dress and her never messy hair, surrounded by beer cans, laying on the sofa. She never drank anything, he wanted to confirm. She doesn’t even know what it tasted like, he wanted to scream. She was sleeping, she would never do something like that. If they wanted to find someone to put the guilt on, it should be him, he wanted to whisper. Sousuke Shima, the boy who screamed wolf but everyone was too focused on the sheep to care for him. 

His mother dragged him to Akane’s studio without even saying a word to him. She didn’t even acknowledge her own son, only carrying around a carcass of a familiar face. Chifuyu had swollen eyes and dark violet bruises from a sleepless night below them. 

“I’m sure Akane-sensei knows how to handle situations like that, I’m sure she’ll be able to solve all of this,” Chifuyu pleaded, not even confident in her own words. “This is all a misunderstanding, I’m sure Sousuke-kun only wanted the best for both of—”

“ Shut your mouth .” An order, an casting spell. Aia only needed to click her tongue to grab them by the neck. “Your son ruined my daughter's life and you know it. Stop denying it!” 

“Aia-san,” Akane, again, with her never ending amalgamation of sounds. “Screaming won’t solve a thing, I’m sure. Sousuke-kun is as scared as Ririka-chan, just take a look at him.” All eyes on him, like a spectacle. He run cold. “I’m sure someone inside the crew pursued him and set a trap for both of them, to ruin their reputation and—”

“But she’s the one who’s being radicalized!” A roar, shaking the walls. “He still has his own pathetic little career while they are calling Ririka names !” Aia got up on her feet, never letting her voice down, advancing in Akane’s direction. “He’s the golden boy , the promising young actor while my daughter is being called a whore , an alcoholic!” A beat of a sticky silent, no one daring to move. “He can walk outside of this pathetic studio and be free, and continue to show the world how mediocre he is while Ririka,” she pointed a finger at the girl, not daring to look back. “Ririka was a star . She was the gem this industry deserved and now everything is ruined because Sousuke-kun could not see someone shine brighter than him!” 

Tears painted his face, dissolving the red on his cheeks to a watery rose. His knuckles turning white, fingernails digging scars on the palm of his hand. This is all his fault, all his fault, all his fault, all his fault, allhisfault, allhisfault, allhisfault, allhis —

“Ririka's career isn’t ruined, not yet.” Akane's voice sounded distant, below water. “We just need a good PR with a good crisis management history and she’ll be back on the screen in no time, maybe in a year—” 

“A year ? A year, are you kidding me?” Aia scoffed, running her hands through her hair. “Do you think anyone will ever remember who she is in a year, Akane-san? Please don’t treat us like we’re stupid…”

“I’m not.”

“...but this is a joke. A complete joke.” It’s all his fault, it’s all his fault, it’s all his fault. “This is all because of you, Chifuyu. I hope you’re happy with this.”

“ Me? ” 

“Yes, you! ” All his fault, all his fault, all his fault. “All because you impose your stupid dream on your own son and made him act!” All his fault, all his fault, all his fault. “You never made it and now you think you can live your dream through him, but look, look at your own son!” Sousuke felt all eyes on him, besides from one single person. Ririka. It's all his fault. "He is miserable! He hated every single moment of this and you could only look at yourself…”

“Stop saying things you don’t know!”  

“...and your stupid failure! It’s your fault that he’s like this,” all his fault. “It’s your fault that he’s an eleven year old drunk! ” It was just a taste, a single cup. He didn’t know how to refuse it, afraid of being kicked out if he did so. It's all his fault. 

“Don’t talk about my son like that!” Chifuyu screeched, pain all over her voice. “Stop imposing your misery on us!” 

“Oh, now I’m miserable, Chifuyu, really?” Aia laughed, ironically. “Have you ever asked your son what he thinks about acting?” 

“Of course I did, he loves it! Right, Sousuke?” Silence. All my fault. “Sousuke, I’m talking to you, answer me.”

Sousuke looked up, finding two pairs of eyes devouring him whole. He felt bloodless, ready to drop dead in a second, anything to leave this place. His mother pleaded with a sincerity he never saw before, looking smaller and fragile, as a little bird. Aia, however, looked dangerous. A hungry lioness, waiting for him to move. A modern painting covered in guts and bones, muscles and veins pulsing at every passing second. 

Yes, he could answer. Yes, I do . That was all he needed to say to save everyone in this room. I love doing what I do and everyone could go home and forget this day. But Ririka wasn’t looking at him. Ririka wasn’t even present in the room, too far gone to understand what was happening in front of her. Ririka and her good girl dress and hair starting to become messy, out of place. 

Yes. “I’m sorry, mom.” All my fault . “I swear I’ll learn to like it, just let me try a little more…”  

Dark trickles dripped all over the walks, swallowing them whole. Screams and accusations being fired from all directions. At the center, a girl, staring directly inside his soul. 

🌊

Sunset, ocean, and sky all dissolving together in a profound wound, corrupting the world with a pungent blood orange. Emptiness, screaming a dull white sound of pain, reaching the ears of those who never listened. Boiling hot, as the salt condenses itself inside his lungs, making it hard to swim. 

That was the first night Sousuke drowned. 

🌊

From: Mitsumi [5:30 PM]

Shima-kun (╥﹏╥)

i’m so sorry, i’m running late! 

i had to stay back and help takamine-sempai with something

can you wait for me outside my house, please? 

i’ll run, i promise (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ 

Shima took a deep breath, letting all the humidity of the air cover his insides. From here, he could go two places: walk to Mitsumi’s building and wait for her by the vending machines near her place or change plans and wait for her inside a random family restaurant. A simple choice for a hot Thursday afternoon, but not suitable enough to calm his nerves down. 

It’s all his fault, if he’s being honest. They were going back from school together at the start of the week when Shima started to whine about how hard math was treating him lately. Even with grades swimming on the average side, he incorporated the best dramatic role he was ever assigned for and cried crocodile tears until Mitsumi stepped up and told him she would help him study for the upcoming test. All because he wanted to spend more time with her, but couldn’t voice it. All because being near her made things feel lighter, but they were still “trying things out” and he didn’t want to cross any lines. 

What he did not expect, however, was Mitsumi’s own plans for their evening. When they finally reached the point where their destination diverged, the girl looked at him with kind eyes and an unique shyness only she could embrace and said “Would you mind if we study at my house, this time?”

Shima felt his body ricochet. Not only would he be with Mitsumi, but he would be overdosed on her. Her smell, her bedroom, her intimacy. Her bare feet, her natural habitat, her own gallery. “Huh…”

“We don’t need to, if you feel uncomfortable!” Mitsumi rushed, trying to change her narrative. “It’s just because I talked about you to Nao-chan before and she really wants to meet you…” He froze. She froze. The world froze. “N-not that I told her about us!” Mitsumi shook her hands in a high frequency. “As a friend! As a friend! I promise you!” 

He felt, at the same time, relieved and extremely disappointed. Relieved because his study session didn’t suddenly become a “meet-the-parents” situation. Disappointed because he didn’t quite want to be introduced as just her friend, just someone she met at school. He wanted to be more, to do more. He wanted to stand by her side and be with her. He wanted…

“It’s ok, Mitsumi-chan,” better act up than think too much about any situation at all. “I would love to meet your aunt.” She beamed, a sparkle ocean of gold and silver, stealing his breath and a smile. Nothing could go wrong with her looking at him like that.

The strong confidence he felt right at the moment emptied itself when he finally reached two blocks from the apartment. He should've chosen the second option, he knew it! But just imagining her face meeting him at the entrance of her palace made something inside him bubble. Meeting Nao-chan meant knowing one more thing about the girl he looks up to, the girl he wants to understand the most. 

Shima took a deep breath and busied himself with choosing what type of coffee he could buy from one of the machines, ignoring the fact that both of them had the same two options. He tried to look confused, in a life or death situation, trying to choose between a strong and suspiciously looking black coffee or a watery sugary latte, something that Yamada would definitely choose. 

He counted the coins, playing with the buttons, and balanced his body from the ball of his feet to the tip of his toes. Insert a few coins inside the machine. He practiced how to say a casual but serious greeting to Nao-chan and remembered all the etiquette lessons he had when he was still a child actor. Now click a random button. Be polite, don’t ask for more than you need, always smile. Eat whatever they offer, don’t ask uninvited questions, never lean your elbows on the table. Maybe the machine is broken? Control your laugh, show how interesting they are, compliment their house. Forget that it’s Mitsumi’s place, Mitsumi’s bedroom, Mitsumi’s vanilla and lime smell, Mitsumi’s aunt, Mitsumi— 

“Oh, Darling! Both of these options are terrible!” A distinguish voice woke him up from slumber. “I guarantee we have better tea to offer you inside!” 

Behind him, a tall slim woman with burned brown sugar hair smiled and waited. She was wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, a knee high tweed skirt and a white button down. Without a shadow of a doubt, the only person on this planet that she could be was “Iwakura-san.” 

“Oh no, no, please!” She had a funny broken laugh. “Call me Nao-chan! You must be Shima Sousuke, right?” He nodded, looking out of place and, unfortunately, one hundred yens poorer. “Hope you didn’t try to buy anything from there,” she pointed at one of the vending machines. “They are broken since I’ve moved to this neighborhood.” 

He let out a whine disguised as a giggle, face instantly becoming redder than Nao-chan’s lipstick. The woman smiled, not wanting to comment if she saw behind his facade or not. “Why don’t you follow me and we wait for Omitsu upstairs?” 

Before Shima could ever think about denying, he saw himself standing right at the door, watching Nao fumble with the keys. She was telling a story about how she’s always home early on Thursdays and she was so happy to finally meet the famous “Shima-kun”, but he was too nervous to even think about answering her or engaging in small talk. Also, Omitsu?

“Thank you for having me,” the boy mumbled while removing his shoes, receiving an excited “welcome home” as a reply. She went around, walking comfortably, opening cabinets after cabinets inside the kitchen, talking nonstop. But he, however, could only think about one specific thing. 

Vanilla and lime. Vanilla and lime. Mitsumi’s home. 

“Sousuke?” He flinched, meeting her curious eyes. “Do you mind joining me for tea?” 

Shima finally snapped himself back to earth, stepping outside of the genkan. Nao smiled at him, turning her body in the direction of their living room, indicating that he should wait for her at the small table, at the corner. “Black or green tea, honey?” 

“Green, please,” he smiled, trying to sound carefree. Vanilla and lime, as they crossed paths. 

“So, Sousuke-kun” Nao-chan called from the kitchen while he made himself comfortable. “Omitsu talks a lot about you!” 

“I hope only good things,” he added, shy. 

“Oh, the best, completely!” One fuming tea-cup placed in front of him while she chose the best place to look him eye to eye. “She told me you were her first friend at school, I’m very glad.” One elbow resting at the table, holding her head. 

He smiled, nodding. “She was also my first friend at school.” Shima intertwined his fingers with the cup handle, but didn’t pick it up. “I thought she was very funny from the start.”

Nao hummed. “She’s very unique, isn’t she?” He agreed. “Everyday she teaches me something new.” 

Her earrings tingled, a cascate of rhinestones, dancing constantly. Thousands of different rings bloomed on her hands, attracting his attention. One of them, at her middle finger, had a little imperceptive figure of a panda. He smiled. “She’s very loved by the girls as well.”

Nao giggled, looking at her cup. “Yes, they are all very great friends. I met them quite a while ago but couldn’t stay to chat with them.” He hummed, curious. “You are the first one who I can have a quiet chat with. Besides Mika-chan, of course.” Egashira? Why her? “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“No, I should be the one saying that,” he insisted, shadowing Nao’s smile. “She really admires you, you know? Always talking about you and stuff.” 

Nao faked shyness, hiding half of her face with her hand. “Oh, please! I’m only doing my job!” He laughed, covering his discomfort with a sip of tea. “But come on, tell me more about yourself! Mitsumi told me you used to be an actor, right?”

“Ah, yes.” Shima cringed, scratching his neck. “When I was a child, yes. She was the one who helped me get back to it, actually.” Nao nodded, showing him she already knew about all of this. “But I never had any big roles, only a small part in a drama. 

“Well, don’t tell Omitsu this but I remember you,” she rested her back on the chair, making Shima’s blood run cold. “My mother used to be a huge Kanade-kun fan back in the day. I still lived with her when it was airing.” He didn’t answer, staring at his reflection in the green liquid. “She was quite shocked when you and that other young lady stopped appearing in the show.” 

Shima didn’t answer and Nao didn’t seem to mind. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed that the woman wasn’t expecting anything at all, already seeing all his shameful past through him. “Do you regret it?” 

He looked at her, a question resting on his lips. “Do you regret leaving the show? Or anything related to acting?”

Nao watched carefully as Shima played with his cuticles. “Not really,” he shrugged. “I guess I was too young to understand that.”

“Then why are you trying again?” Blue paint being splashed in a white canvas, disturbing the scene. He didn’t move, waiting for the next blow. “Do you think you can make things different now?” 

He didn’t answer, watching himself melt as the paint dried. Nao, sitting across from him, waited for any answer, anything at all. But nothing could leave the mouth of a sixteen year old boy who only knows regret. “Sousuke-kun.” 

He waited.  “What scares you the most? Your past or your future?” 

A coughed laugh. “What about my present?” 

Nao hummed, delighted. “I supposed there is no present without both of them, right?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I do wonder about that myself, actually.” Nao came closer to him, crossing both hands at the top of the table. “Have you ever wished you could go back and change anything?” He didn’t answer. Nao took it as a yes. “Do you think you would be sitting in front of me if this change ever occurred?” 

Another blow, more paint being drained from him. “Why are you acting again, Sousuke-kun?”

Shima cleaned his throat, trying to find comfort inside Nao’s eyes. “I don’t really know.”

“I guess I can imagine one reason or two.” No answer. “Who do you want to forgive?” No answer, only a change between the brows, showing confusion. “Well, let me ask this one differently: do you think that, acting again, you’ll finally be able to resolve any past traumas related to acting?” 

“Why do you think I have some sort of trauma with acting?” 

“I’m not assuming anything, darling,” she smiled, brightly. “I’m just asking you if there is one.” 

They stayed in silence for what it felt like an eternity. Shima ran his fingernails alongside the cup’s handle, never picking it up, only letting the sound of the outside life speak for them. 

Once again, he was sitting in an almost empty white room, three people screaming at each other, one pair of eyes that never met him. Blink and he was back at feeling the sticky bittersweet taste of the first beer he ever had in his life, adults cheering all around him. His back was drenched with sweat on both occasions, head filled with new discovered emotions, hands aching to reach for something. One more blink and he could see forty-eight fishes swimming around them, stealing their breaths. 

He wanted to run, wanted to stay, wanted to scream. Wanted to be Sousuke again, to be the watcher, to be the paint. He wanted to be a blank canvas, a new beginning. He wanted to look at her again and see the same mother who looked at him with golden eyes and a honeycomb smile. He wanted to be a son, again. 

“Sousuke-kun,” a voice, calling him back to the shore. “I’m sorry if I overstep some boundary, it’s just—.” 

“Myself.”

Silence. A solid drop of orange paint inside the blue. “I want to forgive myself.” 

Nao extended her hand across the table, palm up. He watched, not daring to move. “And how’s that working for you?” 

He tasted blood, not even realizing his swollen bitten lips. “I’m trying to figure that out.”

“Sousuke-kun,” her fingers danced on air, inviting him to join her. “I think you are already forgiven.” He looked from her hands to her face, not quite understanding. “You’re back at the stage, I think that’s forgiving enough. You’re finally giving yourself a chance to find who you are and what your limits are.” Another drop of orange. “You’re not wrong for having personal wishes and needs, my dear.” 

Without emitting a single sound, Shima extended his hand and laced his fingers with her, receiving a gentle but strong squeeze. “I don’t think I’m deserving of having needs.” 

Nao took a deep breath and held for a second or two. “You know, Sousuke-kun, when I was your age, I thought I would never be able to freely live my life as I always wanted to live.” He waited, in silence. 

“I remember every day coming back from school and wishing terrible, terrible, different things. At first, I thought that something was wrong with me and someone like me could never, ever, crave anything in the world. I bet Mitsumi says a lot of beautiful things about our hometown, but at your age, I could only describe it as a “living hell”. To tell you the truth, I still have no idea how I will react once I step foot there again.

But one day, I decided to do one of the most daring things in my life and finally listened to my own needs.” Shima watched as she looked up, remembering something. “If I close my eyes, I can still see my mother’s face when I told her that I was moving to Tokyo. She was devastated and disappointed in me. We never told her but my brother, Mitsumi’s dad, was the one that helped me find a place to stay when I first moved. I don’t think we’ll ever tell her this, actually,” she let out a wet laugh, covered in trapped tears.

“Sousuke-kun, I think you have no idea how terrifying it was to finally listen to my heart. I never, ever in my life, felt more wrong and confused as I felt that day but I promise you,” a squeeze, tying their hands even further, another drop of paint. “Listening to my own needs was also the step I needed to finally forgive my past and look forward to my future.” 

The boy didn’t dare to say a single word or even breathe. He searched deep inside Nao-chan’s eyes for something that he could never understand, something he could never even relate to. His whole body burned in a blind compassion, bubbling all this new fondness. 

Nao, alone, stood still at the top of the bold yellow line that divided artwork from human kind. She stood as if she never saw the division in the first place. A living work of art, a full own walking gallery. The painter, the paint, the artwork and the observer: Iwakura Nao was everything Shima once dreamed to be but never once believed it was possible. 

He chuckled, feeling silly and small, a lost child. There were a billion things to be said but nothing felt right at that moment. An orange canvas, impotent like a goddess, looking back at him and waiting for what came next. “I wish I was a little bit bold like Mitsumi, to be honest.” 

Nao laugh, a delicious one, full bodied and sweet laugh. “I can guarantee we all want to be a little like Omitsu.” He smiled, infected. “But I want to see you become the one and only Shima Sousuke.” She stroked her thumb over his knuckles, gently. “I think only you can achieve that one.” The boy nodded, accepting the care that engulfed him. 

“So…” She releases his hand, reaching for her cup. “I want to ask you a similar question as I did before: What excites you the most? Your past or your future?” 

Shima fought back the urge to smile, but let himself lose when he met her eyes. “My future, I guess.” 

“You guess? ” 

“Sorry, sorry,” she waited. “I’m sure of it.” 

Nao nodded, offering him a proud toothless smile. “And that’s what you want, am I right?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed, receiving a wink. “I’m excited for it.” 

Cracking their moment in a billion pieces, Mitsumi barged into the apartment, causing a scene. “I’m home!” 

Nao, without even flinching, smiled and took the last sip of her tea. “Welcome home. I was having a nice chat with Osuke-kun before you arrived, you know” Osuke-kun?

“Shima-kun!” Mitsumi appeared in front of him, bangs all over her face, dripping sweat. “I’m so sorry, so, so, sorry! I came as fast as I could.”

“Don’t worry, Mitsumi-chan!” Shima smiled, watching her drop her backpack and notebooks on the table, rushing to organize everything. “Nao-chan made sure I was comfortable the whole time.” They exchanged a secret glance, smiling at the moment they both shared. 

Mitsumi, on the other hand, barely noticed a thing. "Takamine-senpai had this huge problem with the soccer team, and they started to have a very heated discussion and I had to help somehow because I am the vice president, you know? And I can be the next president, right?”

Nao got up while her niece babbled about her school duties, grabbing her shoes at the genkan. “Well, that was very responsible of you, Omitsu. Now, if you excuse me, I need to grab a few ingredients for dinner or we’ll be eating pure miso paste.” In a fast, beautiful movement, she was out the door before they even realized what she was saying in the first place. “You two behave, ok?” 

With the now unfamiliar privacy, Mitsumi slumped her whole body on the chair her aunt was using minutes ago, red escalating her neck, reaching her ears. Not knowing what to say, the girl started to mumble about past notes and old tests, a coat of uninterest overshadowing her voice, a fake nonchalant aura surrounding her. He let the smile creep from his gut to his face, pretending not to notice his heart skipping a beat or to. 

“Mitsumi-chan,” Sousuke called for her and she looked at him, waiting. Vanilla and lime with a hint of sweat . “I’m glad I came here today.”

🌊

The sound of a body hitting the ocean, a huge thunder followed by complete silence. Blue coating every crevice of his body and mind. 

For the first time in his life, Sousuke started swimming.