Pass Da Mic, Pass Da Pen, 1/2
Title: Pass Da Mic, Pass Da Pen
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho
Summary: Jun’s friend Aiba drags him to an “open mic” night for his creative writing club. The talent on display may not be the greatest, but does it matter when the guy running the club is just Jun’s type?
Notes/Warnings: The last two stories I’ve completed have been 72,000+ words and 45,000+ words respectively, both heavily plot-driven, so I thought - why not write something completely ridiculous?! Sakumoto deserve it from time to time. Please forgive this silliness - anything I write with ~myself~ as the intended recipient can turn into a self-indulgent hot mess. A former colleague of mine writes original fiction in his spare time, and I recently attended an open mic event to hear him and others read. Needless to say it was inspirational and the stories there were much better than the ones here bahaha. I don’t say it enough, but thanks for sticking around this writing journal. I love all of you!!! ;)
Hands pressed down firmly on his shoulders and he jolted, letting out a yelp of surprise and spinning in his chair, batting his hands angrily at whoever had surprised him.
“Whoa, whoa, Matsujun, whoa!”
He shuddered at the phantom feeling on his shoulders, turning to find Aiba-kun had come down to meet him a few minutes early. He scowled at his friend, gripping the arms of his chair tightly to keep from smacking him. “Don’t…don’t do that!” he snapped, “don’t sneak up on me!”
Aiba stood back, leaning against Jun’s cubicle wall with his messenger bag slung across his body. “Sorry!” He didn’t sound sorry. “Ready to go?”
Jun turned back, seeing the clock on his computer said 6:52 PM. He’d spent the entire day trying to think of an appropriate excuse, some reason not to go, and he’d failed. It hadn’t helped that there’d been a last minute conference call with the Osaka office at 4:30, which he’d had to give his full, undivided attention…instead of coming up with a reason to tell Aiba he couldn’t make it.
For the last several months, Aiba had been desperate for someone to go with him, someone from the office anyway. “I need unbiased ears,” Aiba always claimed.
By day Aiba Masaki was no different from Matsumoto Jun, both of them corporate drones in cubicles from 8:30 AM to 6:00 PM (on a good day). Aiba was in sales, Jun was in finance.
But by night (and by weekend, presumably), Aiba liked to write. He didn’t have ambitions of getting anything published seriously, but writing fiction, writing short stories was a hobby he’d been into the last few years. An ex-girlfriend of his had gotten him hooked and even after the break-up, Aiba had kept up with it. He complained to Jun about his stories all the time, that he was stuck on an idea or if he ought to include a ghost or not. Jun…Jun didn’t really get it, writing for fun instead of as a way to make a living. He’d read one or two of Aiba’s stories before, and they’d been okay, but if they were on sale in a bookstore, he’d probably pass them by. But Jun didn’t read a lot, period, aside from manga here and there. Aiba didn’t hold it against him.
But Aiba did want Jun to come to his writing club and had been asking him to non-stop for months. They met in a cafe not far from Sugamo Station, a few stops away from their office. While the writing club met every other Saturday morning, the members sharing their works in progress and helping each other with plots and ideas, on the last Thursday of every month they met up for a reading. An open mic session where members could read excerpts from their works out loud.
“Some of them are really good, Matsujun,” Aiba was always saying. “My stuff’s alright, but some of them are just so good!”
And so after months and months of poking and prodding, Jun had finally agreed to attend the open mic night. Aiba had assured him repeatedly that Jun didn’t have to come with anything of his own to read, that it was a voluntary thing, and that plenty of people came who weren’t writers. Family, friends, partners. “It’s all about support,” Aiba had told him, “it’s hard, standing up there. But you won’t be bored, all the stories are great!”
Then again, the people in the writing club were his friends. And Aiba was the sweetest, least judgmental person Jun knew. Of course he’d say complimentary things about them. Jun hoped nobody would ask him for his opinion on their stories, especially if they sucked. Jun sometimes spoke without thinking, and he didn’t want to cause any trouble for Aiba.
Tonight’s open mic session started at 8:00, and Aiba had mostly sold him on going because the cafe stayed open while the readings went on. Jun could at least content himself with some coffee and a treat while he sat through all the amateur poems and stories. He promised Aiba that he’d at least stay through his own reading, and Aiba had only smiled.
Jun shut off his computer, trying to put on a neutral expression as he stood up and met Aiba’s hopeful gaze. “Alright, let’s get going.”
-
Cafe Gosuke really didn’t stand out on the street. There were restaurants and izakayas all around, the laughter and chatter of happy people getting off of work and enjoying their evening richocheting up and down the block. Jun followed a bit nervously as Aiba tugged open the door to the small cafe, the glass door embossed with a large ‘G’.
There was quiet jazz music playing over the speakers, and the cafe enveloped him in warmth as soon as he and Aiba crossed the threshold. As the strong, comforting aroma of coffee lured him in, Jun took a look around.
There was a counter and bar to place coffee orders, a few half-empty bakery cases showcasing a variety of cupcakes, cake slices, fruit tarts, and savory stuffed breads. There were dark hardwood floors throughout, and the lighting was dim but soft, welcoming. A good change from the harsh fluorescent lights in their office. The furniture had a lived-in feeling, all of it mismatched. Not in that intentionally trendy sort of way, thankfully, but just comfortable. There were round wooden tables surrounded by blue and green-painted wooden chairs. There were a few sofas along the shopfront wall, cozy looking and just as eclectic.
Half of the tables and sofas were occupied already, people of all ages having come to Cafe Gosuke for open mic night. Some people sat alone with a laptop or a notebook, fiercely scribbling down their thoughts or rehearsing quietly. Others sat in groups, talking animatedly and munching on treats from the bakery case.
All the tables and chairs were arranged in a horseshoe, turned in the direction of a small raised platform at the opposite end of the cafe with a solitary microphone. The wall behind it was dark brick, covered in sketches. Even from a distance they were as Aiba had described them, portraits of various people with large, exaggerated heads and faces on smaller bodies. Cafe Gosuke’s owner had drawn all of them himself. Some were celebrities, some were regular patrons that he’d sketched from memory.
The whole place was very relaxed, and Jun could see why Aiba felt comfortable here. Aiba tugged him by the sleeve of his suit jacket, pulling him over to the cash register where a young man with a bright smile greeted them. “Hey Aiba-kun!” the man said, holding a hand out. Aiba shook it happily. “Got something good tonight?”
“I always bring my best stuff here,” Aiba teased before turning to introduce Jun. “Matsujun, this is Kotaki-kun.”
Jun was surprised. “Aren’t you a little young to own a cafe?” This tall kid had drawn all those things on the wall?
Kotaki laughed merrily. “No, no, I’m not the boss, but thank you very much for thinking so. Maybe I should ask for a raise.”
The door to the kitchen swung open, bringing with it the alluring scent of something sugary sweet. A smaller man with a round, relaxed face emerged, a soft smile on his lips as he saw Aiba. “No raises, there will be no talk of raises when we have customers,” the man chided, walking up to the cash register and lightly shoving Kotaki aside. “Aiba-kun, welcome.”
“Here’s the artist,” Aiba teased. “This is Ohno Satoshi, he owns this cafe. Ohno-san, this is Matsumoto Jun from my office.”
Jun was a little embarrassed. Of course the kid wasn’t the owner, what a dumb thing to say. He nodded politely. “Aiba-san raves about your curry pan.”
Ohno beamed at the compliment. “If there’s one thing I get right, it’s my curry pan.”
“Aiba-shi!” came a hollered voice, breaking the calm jazzy ambiance of the cafe. Jun turned just as Aiba did, seeing a slim man curled up on one of the sofas, the glow of his laptop screen giving him an almost wicked appearance. “Aiba-shi, finally! Get over here and read this!”
“Hey Nino!” Aiba pulled out his wallet, slapping down his credit card on the counter. He patted Jun on the shoulder. “Ohno-san knows what I want, so feel free to order whatever you like. It’s on me tonight!”
“Aiba-kun…” Jun protested weakly, his friend leaving him alone at the coffee counter as he headed over to greet his other friend. He turned back to Ohno-san and Kotaki-san, nodding. “I guess I’ll have a large black coffee and…curry pan.”
“Coming right up,” Kotaki said, hurrying off to prepare Jun’s order.
He awkwardly pushed Aiba’s credit card across the counter. “Thank you very much.”
Ohno took the card without saying anything. Aiba was a regular customer, so him running off and leaving his card behind probably wasn’t out of the ordinary. He turned, seeing that Aiba had sat down with his writing club friend, this Nino, on the sofa. Aiba was digging through his bag, pulling out the bright pink notebook he always wrote his stories in before typing them up. “It’s pink so I don’t lose it,” he always said, the pink eyesore usually sitting in his cubicle at work in case he had an idea he had to write down immediately.
Ohno processed the payment, sliding the card back. He gestured with his hand to one of the tables, on the left side of the horseshoe with two green chairs. “Aiba-kun usually sits there, if that helps. Kotaki-kun will bring your stuff over when it’s ready. Thanks for coming, I hope you have a good time.”
Jun thanked the cafe owner, taking Aiba’s card and heading for his usual table. He felt a little awkward, the table nestled between two other tables that were occupied with some enthusiastic writers. In front of him was a group of three middle-aged women, laughing over something in another’s notebook. Behind him was a married couple about Jun’s age, the husband with his arm resting on the back of his wife’s chair while she tapped away on an iPad.
He was alone in this strange world of creative writers, waiting nervously for his coffee. Aiba seemed to be deep in conversation with his friend, but hopefully he’d come back before the actual open mic session got going. Kotaki brought over the freshly brewed coffee and the warmed up curry pan, giving Jun something else to do aside from feeling out of place. To Jun’s dismay, Kotaki brought Aiba’s coffee and a slice of chocolate cake directly to him on the sofa.
The curry pan, at least, was one of the best he’d ever tried. Even if he had no intention of joining the writing club that met at Cafe Gosuke, he’d have to find a way to come back and have another one of these. He turned around, seeing Ohno-san smiling knowingly in his direction. Jun offered him a thumbs up, which Ohno returned with a chuckle before moving to greet another customer who’d just come in the door.
“Excuse me, sorry to bother you.”
Jun turned around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, finding a man standing in front of his table. He nearly choked on the massive bite of curry pan he still had in his mouth, looking up to meet a pair of large, friendly brown eyes. The guy had a real nerdy vibe to him, dressed in a thin brown button-down cardigan over a blue X Japan t-shirt. Jun suddenly felt overdressed in his suit from work, though Aiba was wearing one too.
He had dark hair that fell across his brow, a slightly chubby face, and a kind smile that made Jun glad he was sitting down because otherwise he’d be weak in the knees. The type of guy he swore he wouldn’t go for, not anymore. “Are you new?” The guy had a clipboard in one hand, a ballpoint pen in the other. “Are you here for open mic night?”
Jun desperately chewed, swallowing. Did he have crumbs on his face? “I…no, no. I don’t write. I can’t write.”
The guy looked at him curiously before Jun’s brain caught up with his mouth.
“I mean,” he said, shifting a little awkwardly in his seat. He pointed to the sofa. “I’m Aiba-kun’s friend.”
“Oh!” the guy said, smiling again and turning Jun’s brain back to mush. “Welcome! I’m Sakurai Sho, I’m the leader of the Gosuke Writers’ Club. Nice to meet you.”
“Matsumoto Jun. I work at Pelican Sports with Aiba-kun.”
Sakurai looked over at Aiba, shaking his head and laughing. “He left you all alone, huh?”
Jun nodded.
Sakurai leaned forward a little, and Jun pressed his back more firmly against the chair. Sakurai’s breath smelled a little like cinnamon, probably from one of the cinnamon rolls in the bakery case. “He can be a little difficult sometimes, right?”
Jun couldn’t help nodding. “He loves being part of the club here. He asked me to come listen.”
“Well, we’re very happy you’re here, Matsumoto-san. The more the merrier. We’ve got a lot of great readers tonight, so I hope you’ll have a good time.”
“Thanks.”
And with that, Sakurai offered another devastating smile before making his way over to the table behind Jun, greeting the husband and wife. “Keiko-san! Are we going to hear more about the bleeding house tonight?”
Jun tried to calm down, sipping his coffee, tapping his toe nervously. Aiba had always said nice things about his writing club, about the other members and his friends. But since Aiba was straight, he’d never had any reason to describe the leader of his little group as attractive. As handsome. As a direct pitch right into Jun’s strike zone.
Then again, Aiba, of course, knew that Jun was single and had been for a while now. Aiba, of course, knew that Jun had been trying to get back into the dating scene for months and had not had any luck. Aiba, of course, knew exactly what Jun’s last boyfriend had looked like.
He looked over to the sofa, scowling at his friend. This was a scam. Well, Aiba wasn’t much of a scam type. Perhaps it was a two birds, one stone sort of situation.
Jun nervously sipped his coffee, unable to keep from listening in as Sakurai Sho made his way around the room, chatting with the other writers and jotting down people on his clipboard if they planned to read that night. Though there had to be at least twenty tables in the cafe, each of them slowly filling up with people, Sakurai knew everyone by name, and he knew most of them by what they were writing. He asked one elderly man about his poems, a mother and her daughter about their sci-fi novel’s progress. His voice was soothing, his laughter boisterous and enthusiastic. It was easy to see why Aiba got along so well with his writing group.
It was five minutes to 8:00 when Sakurai hopped up on the platform, still holding his clipboard. He approached the microphone and waved. “Looks like we’ve got a great crowd here at Cafe Gosuke tonight!” He waited while several of the tables clapped. “We’ll get started in a few more minutes, so now is the time to go order something from Satoshi-kun. It’s going to be a great night! Let’s all have fun!”
Jun watched as Sakurai left the platform, heading for the sofa where Aiba and his friend were still comparing notes. Sakurai patted Aiba on the shoulder, pointing across the cafe to where Jun was sitting alone. He looked away quickly, hearing Aiba’s noisy laugh in reply to whatever Sakurai said. Whatever was said worked though, Aiba packing up his bag, his coffee mug, and his cake plate, hurrying over to the table.
Ohno-san was already waiting with a clean fork when Aiba arrived, his fork having dropped to the cafe floor in his haste to hurry over.
“Sorry, sorry!” Aiba said, collapsing into the chair next to Jun and accepting the fork with a quick thank you. “Nino wanted to know what I thought of the last chapter he sent me. I didn’t even realize I’d left you for so long! Sorry!”
“It’s alright,” Jun lied, desperately trying to focus on drinking his coffee like a normal human while being in the same room as someone who attracted his attention like Sakurai Sho.
Aiba pulled out his pink notebook, hurriedly flipping through pages to find his spot. “Sho-chan said you seemed lonely, I’m sorry!”
He looked over, suddenly realizing that Sakurai had been watching him in return. Sakurai hurriedly looked away, looking back at something on Nino’s laptop screen. Maybe it was the low lighting in the cafe, but had Sakurai just blushed?
It was going to be a long night.
-
“Hello again!” Sakurai Sho said a short time later, standing at the microphone once more. The jazz music had been turned off, and the room was quieter. “I’m happy to see all these familiar faces. But for those who might be new, let me go ahead and introduce myself.”
Sakurai looked briefly in the direction of Aiba and Jun’s table before looking straight ahead again. Jun felt Aiba step on his foot, and he now had confirmation that Aiba was plotting something more than just the storyline of his own fiction.
“My name is Sakurai Sho, and I’m a librarian at the Komagome Library. For five years now, the Gosuke Writers’ Club has met here on a monthly basis as a way to share our work with each other. It doesn’t matter what you write. Poetry, mysteries, plays…our club is all about supporting each other, helping one another to become better writers. And for many, reading their work out loud can be helpful. Hearing your dialogue, hearing your characters’ voices, hearing an audience react. It’s incredibly valuable.”
Sakurai kept speaking, but Jun was stuck on the guy being a librarian. Aiba was still rudely stepping on his foot, almost as though he feared Jun would run away. His last boyfriend had been a professor at Waseda, and Jun had spent far too many dates meeting him at the university library before heading for a meal. Aiba was practically vibrating beside him, almost as if to say “You like nerdy guys? I’ve got you another nerdy guy.”
His mood darkened, and Jun tried to keep from frowning. This was a bit too much. Did poor Sakurai-san even know what was going on here?
“Without further adieu,” Sakurai said, “our first reader for the night will be Haru-san, who will be sharing a comedic scene from her new novel. I’ve been told it’s now available on Amazon…”
“Next week!” a female voice cut through the crowd. “Not until next week.”
Sakurai leaned forward, his voice deepening humorously as he spoke into the microphone. “Soon to be available on Amazon then, please welcome Haru-san.”
The crowd applauded as a young woman got to her feet, opening a leather-bound notebook and moving onto the platform. Sakurai stepped back, having a seat on the arm of one of the sofas, clapping more enthusiastically than anyone else.
Jun tried not to think about Aiba’s trying-too-hard matchmaking, instead listening to Haru-san’s story. Every participant was given about ten minutes to read, and Haru’s story was about a young couple working in a hotel, trying to solve the problems of their guests. It wasn’t the type of novel Jun would read but it wasn’t so bad.
Sakurai continued to introduce each reader with warmth and genuine affection, standing in front of the microphone with encouraging smiles. Nobody seemed all that nervous coming up to speak, and Jun supposed that Sakurai-san’s enthusiasm went a long way to making people feel comfortable on stage.
His support never wavered, even though Jun thought many of the writers were sub-par. Jun spent more time staring at the rim of his coffee mug than listening to an elderly man read a strange poem about cockroaches. He had to remember to clap when the mother and daughter team read through an incomprehensible chapter of their science fiction novel, some odd story about lizard people traveling back in time to fight for Oda Nobunaga.
Keiko-san, the young wife sitting at the table behind them, was very pretty, had an almost elegant beauty. But then she held up her iPad to read from a chapter of her novel about a haunted house, describing one of the ghouls that roamed the house with grim and gory details. Jun’s curry pan was on the verge of coming back up as the pretty woman read about bloody, goopy pus shooting out of the ghoul’s eyeballs and into someone’s mouth with matter-of-fact indifference. But the room erupted into cheers when she was finished, her husband the loudest of all. Jun wondered what was wrong with these people.
Sakurai got back to the microphone. “Thank you, Keiko-san! Some brutal stuff! We can’t wait to hear what happens next.” Sakurai looked a little green, but he was still pretty cheerful. “On that note, we’re at tonight’s halfway mark. If Keiko-san’s story hasn’t messed with your appetite, Satoshi-kun’s still got plenty of treats and coffee left for you to buy. We’ll take a fifteen minute break. Thanks!”
People started shuffling around, several of the writers getting out of their seats to go over and praise the works of those who had already read. Even the old man with the boring cockroach poem had at least three fans gathered around. Aiba’s hand brushed against Jun’s arm. “So what do you think? Good stuff, huh?”
Jun swallowed, wondering if it was better to lie or tell the truth. He decided to do neither. “I’ve still got your credit card,” he said plainly.
“Oh!” Aiba said, Jun handing it back to him. “I completely forgot.”
Before Jun could chide his friend for his absent-mindedness, he could see Sakurai-san approaching the table with that clipboard again. Jun got to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over. “I need a refill on coffee.”
“Wait, I’ll pay,” Aiba said, but Jun waved him off, hurrying away before he made a fool of himself in front of Sakurai Sho.
While Jun had found some of the stories average and most of them far below that, Sakurai Sho had worn a smile while each person had read. If the story hadn’t interested him, Jun had found himself glancing across the cafe to the librarian, watching the way he watched the readers. Did he honestly think the stories were good? Or was he just a nice guy, unlike Jun with his inability to stifle his cynicism?
He pulled out his wallet, about to ask Ohno-san for another coffee when he heard Sakurai’s voice. “Hey, it’s on me.”
A shudder shot down his spine, nearly freezing him in place. Apparently Sakurai hadn’t been coming by to speak with Aiba. “Black…just black coffee,” Jun mumbled, embarrassed. “Thank you.”
“Two black coffees, Satoshi-kun.” Sakurai stood beside him at the counter, paying in cash. “You know, Aiba-kun says he’s been trying to get you to come for a long time.”
“He has?” Jun was going to kill him.
“What made you change your mind?” Sakurai leaned a bit closer so nobody could hear him. “You can be honest, I know Aiba-kun is…persistent.”
Jun allowed himself a small grin. “Persistence pays off. I’ve read a few of his stories before, I figured it was rude to keep turning him down.”
“He’s a good storyteller,” Sakurai said. When Kotaki-san handed over two mugs, they both turned around, taking in the room. Jun wasn’t surprised to see that Aiba had left their table again, was speaking with Keiko-san and her husband enthusiastically about her nasty, freaky story.
“Guess I’ll find out.”
“Having a good time?”
He’d spent half the time being unimpressed with the stories and the rest of the time staring Sakurai down, wondering if Aiba had said something to the guy about Jun’s single and looking status.
Sakurai sipped his coffee, offering a sly smile. “You can be honest about that, too. I can keep a secret.”
Jun felt his face growing hot. He didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. It wasn’t like he could write anything himself. And he definitely didn’t have the courage to get up in front of strangers and read something as personal as a poem or a story. “It’s…everyone’s got very different stories.”
“They do.”
Before he could say anything awkward, in case some of the writers were Sakurai’s close friends, he changed tactics. “What about you, Sakurai-san? Do you write?”
“Me?” His laughter was warm, gentle. “No, no, I don’t. I’ve tried before, but I think I’m much better at reading than writing.”
“Spoken like a true librarian.”
Sakurai laughed again. “I guess that’s true. I studied literature in university, and I didn’t think I had the guts to come up with anything better.” He looked over, grinning. “But I do like helping people out who do have those kind of guts. It’s a lot of fun, running the group here. Offering help, suggestions, editing, I’m better at that stuff.”
Before Jun could ask him anything else, one of the writers approached him, notebook in hand. “Sho-san, can you come look at this?” the young man said, “I’m trying to decide what the best stopping point is.”
“Of course.” Before Sakurai could apologize, Jun waved him off. He nodded. “Hope you’ll enjoy the second half, talk to you later.”
-
It was nearly 10:00 PM when Sakurai announced that it was Aiba’s turn to read. Jun had a sneaking suspicion that Aiba had deliberately asked to read later in the evening, if only so Jun had to stay the whole time and couldn’t escape.
The second half had been rougher than the first.
There’d been the college student’s chapter that was a thinly veiled ripoff of some Higashino Keigo thriller. The woman who’d written an angry poem about her ex-husband. A man’s depressing story about his grandfather with Alzheimer’s. Two different stories about vampire and human romances. The older housewife who’d needed Sakurai to move the microphone down and had kept losing her place, patting her head and musing “ah, where was I?” for nearly fifteen minutes. From the gentle look on Sakurai’s face, he didn’t have the heart to tell her time was up.
And then there’d been the middle-aged woman reading a scene from her romance novel, the entire cafe a bit stunned and amazed that the woman stood up in front of everyone to describe how “Kentaro-san thrust his erection into Mika’s quivering love slit, gouging and penetrating, his boulder-hard penis plunging into her slippery wet cavern with devastating abandon.”
Jun was going to have more nightmares about Mika’s “quivering love slit” than any of the images Keiko-san had described in her frightening story.
Aiba got to his feet with a triumphant pump of his fist, walking up to the microphone with his pink notebook in tow. His voice was clear and confident when he started to read, and after suffering through so many odd writing choices, Jun at least felt comfortable hearing one of Aiba’s stories, a funny if exaggerated short story about a baseball player joining a cult dedicated to a mysterious “God of Home Runs.”
Looking around the room as Aiba read, he could see people perking up a bit in their chairs, smiling at Aiba, laughing where appropriate, encouraging him. In that moment, Jun felt guilty, having judged the other participants so harshly. No matter the story, no matter how well or how poorly it had been written, everyone had clapped and celebrated, supporting their club members. Maybe they all knew they didn’t have the real talent to get published. But it was rather nice to see everyone come together and cheer without cynicism, without malice.
Aiba was beaming from ear to ear when he stepped down from the platform to the sound of applause. Jun, a little ashamed of himself, clapped just as much as everyone else. Aiba had a lot of courage, going up there, reading and sharing so much of himself. He was proud of his friend, happy for him.
Aiba set the pink notebook down on their table, still smiling. “Ah, so what did you think, Matsujun?”
“You did very well,” he said truthfully. He’d made no mentions of quivering love slits either, which earned him Jun’s gratitude.
“I’m glad you think so,” Aiba said. “Thanks for staying so long, it means a lot to me.”
“We’ve only got one left,” Sakurai announced, drawing everyone’s attention back to the platform. “Presenting another sure-to-be exciting and action-packed excerpt from his forthcoming fantasy series, tentatively titled The Hope in the Darkness, here’s Ninomiya Kazunari with more to share about Yamashiro and Kiyo-chan!”
Aiba’s friend Nino, sloppily dressed in an old white t-shirt and sweatpants, headed to the stage with a computer printout. Where Jun expected to spend most of the reading sneaking glances across the cafe to Sakurai Sho and his smiling face, he couldn’t help paying attention once Ninomiya started to read.
As the minutes passed, Jun realized he had no clue what was going on. Yamashiro, a young man with a mystical sword, was heading for a place called the “Eternal Capital.” It seemed that Yamashiro was traveling with a companion named Kiyo, whom he had rescued from a slave existence in a salt mine. Even if the world Ninomiya had created seemed rather complex, his story littered with jargon and place names Jun didn’t know, the guy had a real knack for delivery.
He had voices for each character, a serious tone for the warrior Yamashiro, a gentle and feminine lilt for Kiyo, who Jun discovered over the course of the reading was something called an ‘Usagi-kin.’ Jun was a bit thrown by that, but when Ninomiya went on at length about Kiyo’s furry ears, he realized that Kiyo was some sort of oversexualized bunny girl. Not the kind of story Jun liked at all, but Ninomiya was so entertaining that he could only hide a smile behind his hand at an unnecessary description of Kiyo’s lithe body and her obvious lust for the warrior who’d saved her from slavery.
Jun applauded genuinely when Ninomiya finished his reading, the man instantly reverting back to his quiet, shuffling walk, merely offering a dismissive wave and a nod as he slunk off the platform, heading back to his laptop.
Sakurai headed to the microphone one last time. “Let’s give another round of applause for all our participants.” When that was complete, he spoke again. “I look forward to seeing any writers here on Saturday. The next open mic night will be a month from today. As always, we meet the last Thursday of the month with an 8:00 start time. Thanks again everyone, and please get home safely!”
With one final round of applause, the cafe’s occupants started to gather their things, a few still chatting with each other about stories, the women at the table in front of them making plans to meet for lunch after Saturday’s writing session. Aiba seemed to be moving slow deliberately, Jun itching to go home. He was definitely not surprised when Sakurai Sho made his way over.
Jun stood by politely as Sakurai shook Aiba’s hand, praising his story. Finally Sakurai turned to him, grinning. “And what about you, Matsumoto-san? Has Aiba-kun shown you this one before?”
“Nope, this was a new story.” He jostled Aiba’s shoulder. “It was good.”
“I keep telling him to submit to this short story contest, but he never believes me when I tell him his stuff is good.” When Aiba looked down, laughing in embarrassment, Sakurai looked Jun in the eye. “Will you please try and encourage him, Matsumoto-san?”
At that moment, he’d do anything the guy said. “Sure, I’ll try.”
“That’s the spirit. Those contests have monetary rewards too, why not go for it, I say. You’re good, you’re honestly good!”
“Ah, Sho-chan, shut up,” Aiba grumbled, even though Jun could just feel the happiness radiating from him. “…I’ll see you Saturday morning.”
Sakurai laughed. “I look forward to it.” There was a bit of an awkward pause before Sakurai spoke again. “Will you come for next month’s reading, Matsumoto-san? You’ll get to hear the next chapter of some of these stories. Exclusively! We’d love to see you again.”
Jun paled, wishing he could say no. Even though he’d liked Aiba’s story and even though some of the others hadn’t been that bad, he worried about the negative vibes he was probably giving off. Couldn’t some of the authors tell that his applause wasn’t terribly sincere? But if he came right out and said “I decline,” he’d look like a jerk, wouldn’t he?
And with the way Aiba was now looking between the two of them, stifling a smile as he adjusted the strap of his bag, Jun knew that he was trying to help him out at the same time. Even if the stories were crap, it meant that he’d get to see the nerdy librarian and his goofy smiles again. Jun hadn’t disliked that part of the evening, at least.
“If I’m free…I…I guess I can come again,” he admitted, not willing to commit fully.
He nearly melted at the smile on Sakurai’s face. “We…we’re always happy for a big audience here. Hope you can make it.”
When they were out of the cafe, halfway to the train, Jun punched Aiba in the arm, staggering him a little.
“Hey!” his friend protested, rubbing the now sore spot. “What the hell?”
“You think you’re clever, don’t you, Masaki?”
Aiba sighed. “Huh?”
“I saw what that was,” Jun stumbled out. “With the reading and the guy and the…the guy.”
Realization arrived, Aiba’s annoyed expression turning into an unapologetic smile. “I thought you were dissing my story. So you figured it out, huh? I mean, I honestly wanted you to come hear me read, don’t get me wrong but…well, you’ve been looking and looking and looking for a while so I thought I could help out.”
Jun loosened his tie, anxious to get home. “You should have said something. I don’t like surprises.”
“Sho-chan is really really nice,” Aiba claimed. “If I had to pick a guy, he’d be first on my list.”
“Is he even…” Jun lowered his voice. “I mean, is he even…”
“Looking for someone?”
“Looking for a male someone,” he snapped in reply. It would be a real waste of time to sit through another open mic night only to discover that Sakurai Sho preferred women. Or was already seeing someone.
Aiba threw his arm around him, squeezing. “You have so little faith in me, Matsujun. He’s a lonely old library book waiting to be checked out.” Aiba deepened his voice. “Checked out by someone like you.”
Jun shoved Aiba off of him. “Disgusting.”
Aiba just laughed at him. “You liked him, don’t deny it. Plus, he asked me if it would be weird if he bought you a coffee.”
Jun nearly tripped, feeling his heart race a little. “Really?”
“I may have…mentioned you a few times before tonight. In the ‘talking you up’ sense, I mean.” Aiba wrapped an arm around him again. “I’m on Team Matsujun all the way, and I think I’ve managed to convert him. Don’t let my hard work go to waste now!”
They headed for the train station, Jun unable to stop thinking about the nerdy librarian and the way he looked when he smiled.
-
But Jun restrained himself this time. He managed to go the whole month without looking up Sakurai Sho. No Facebook stalking, no Twitter stalking. Aiba had even offered to give Jun Sakurai’s LINE ID so they could become friends, but he’d stayed strong.
Jun was usually the type of person who needed all the details. After second or third dates, even after first dates, he tended to go full on policeman, looking for something online that might indicate if he ought to stop pursuing a person. He’d found out one date was an ultra right wing sort who posted hateful things online with his own name. He’d found out another guy had a wife and kids.
But sometimes this strategy backfired on him. He’d hurt people’s feelings by mentioning something he’d read about them on an online profile, trying to find common ground and instead coming across as a creep.
He was just at an age where he didn’t want surprises anymore. Where he didn’t want another heartbreak as bad as his last one.
With Sakurai Sho, however, Jun had managed to keep his prying tendencies at bay. Instead Aiba had been doing all the detective work. Being friends with the guy, Aiba could vouch for Sakurai’s personality. Friendly, outgoing, hardworking. Tempered with a few things that could be intimidating.
He’d gone to Keio for university and as far as Aiba had sniffed out, the guy came from money. He was intelligent and well-read, one of the perks of his profession, and Jun had been heavily attracted to intellectual types before. But his relationship with the Waseda professor had largely fizzled out because he’d made Jun feel stupid. “Oh, you didn’t know that?” had been a repeated question in their relationship, and it had filled him with anxiety, lowered his self-esteem. He was still recovering from months and months of being told repeatedly that he was inferior. Hopeless. Ignorant. Shallow. Not worth the effort.
It made dating and trust difficult for Jun.
“Sho-chan’s not a rocket scientist, Matsujun,” Aiba had teased him.
But you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to be condescending.
With Sakurai’s positives and potential negatives swirling around in his head, Jun followed Aiba back to Cafe Gosuke. This time when Aiba’s friend Nino called him over, Jun just let it happen. Ohno-san remembered him, pointing across the cafe. “Your table’s ready.”
When Jun sat down, he saw Sakurai doing his usual rounds with the clipboard, chatting and laughing with the other participants. Jun was a known quantity in the cafe now, and he received friendly nods from some of the other writers. But he didn’t quite know how Sakurai would act. Since Aiba had spent the last month singing Sakurai’s praises to him, Jun knew that his friend was probably doing the same to Sakurai. It wouldn’t be an Aiba Masaki strategy if he wasn’t working both sides to achieve victory.
Jun had just taken a bite of his curry pan when Sakurai came by. The guy had a waiter’s timing. This time, he had a seat at the table beside him, setting his clipboard down.
“You actually came.”
Jun made the guy wait for a reply, chewing and enjoying his curry pan before offering an answer. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
Sakurai drummed his fingers a bit nervously on the tabletop. “Thought we’d scared you off last time.”
Jun wasn’t sure if Sakurai was using “we” to mean the writing club…or himself. Jun gathered his courage. “You ever have the curry pan here? I’ll get you one, since you were nice enough to treat me last time.”
Sakurai looked at him, a soft smile on his full lips. “I’ve had one of everything around here. Satoshi-kun’s the reason I’ve gained a bit of weight the last few months.”
“That’s not an answer to my question,” he pressed. Aiba’s month-long encouragement sessions had helped him loosen up a bit.
Sakurai had to look away this time, his smile getting wider. “I would love a curry pan, thank you. I have to do my rounds but…well, Kotaki-kun knows the right timing. He’ll get it to me once the reading starts.”
“You got it.”
“Well. It’s good to see you again, Matsumoto-san.”
Likewise, he wanted to say, but the curry pan offer had already made him nervous enough. Sakurai got to his feet, moving on to the next table, and Jun headed for the register, placing an order and explaining about the special delivery. Ohno-san’s face offered no judgment, but when Jun was heading back to the table, he could see Aiba’s too obvious smile and thumbs up from the other side of the cafe.
The readings got underway as they had the previous month, Aiba eventually joining Jun at his table. The stories being read were even worse than they’d been the last time. Instead of cockroaches, the old man now offered a poetic tribute to mantises. A writer Jun didn’t recognize from the last session read for ten long minutes about his dislike for grapes. And of course, the morbid Keiko-san was back. This time one of the ghouls in the haunted house turned all of the food in the house rotten, and Keiko described the mounds of fat, squishy maggots covering it all with a lot of superfluous detail.
The halfway point in the evening arrived, and after all the maggot talk, there were noticeably fewer people heading for the bakery case. Aiba made up the world’s lamest excuse about having to go check his email on Nino’s computer even though he had a perfectly functioning iPhone. That left Jun alone once more and a chair empty for Sakurai Sho.
Jun had seen Kotaki-kun bring over a curry pan for Sakurai during one of the first readings, had watched the guy eat the thing with a reverence Jun thought ought to be saved for a shrine visit. Then again, the treats at Cafe Gosuke were pretty damn good. Sakurai inclined his head in thanks after sitting down.
“I’m glad I ate that curry pan earlier,” Sakurai admitted, chuckling.
Jun’s own stomach was twisted up from three minutes of maggot talk. “Agreed.”
“I’ve scheduled Aiba-kun to read first in the second half, in case you wanted to duck out early.”
He stilled, seeing the rather serious look in Sakurai’s face. “Duck out?”
“Matsumoto-san,” Sakurai said, his voice quiet so he wasn’t overheard in the noisy cafe. “You don’t have to force yourself.”
“I’m not…” He shut his mouth, stinging a little. Perhaps he’d done a poor job hiding his true feelings this time around. People had always told him that it was easy to see how he was feeling, that his facial expressions were a dead giveaway. Had he made any of the writers uncomfortable? His heart sank…not just because he’d probably been rude, but because Sakurai had apparently noticed.
Jun had become so interested in watching Sakurai that he hadn’t watched himself.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry if I’ve…if I’ve offended…”
Sakurai leaned closer, his hand resting only a few inches from Jun’s own. “You haven’t offended anyone. Nobody’s said anything, nobody’s noticed. I just…I just had a feeling you weren’t enjoying yourself. That’s all I’m saying.”
He looked around quickly. None of the cafe’s patrons were paying them any attention, save for one. He could see Aiba watching them with laser focus from where he was sitting with his friend.
Jun looked back, apologetic. “Sakurai-san, some of these stories are really, really horrible. In my opinion, I mean. I can’t…I’ve never been good at hiding what I think.”
“That’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he continued. “These people are doing their best. They’re all trying really hard.”
To Jun’s surprise, Sakurai chuckled. “You don’t have to like everything. Your poor opinion of their story doesn’t really matter. A stranger’s opinion isn’t going to stop them from writing. Every story has an audience. Every story will be liked by some and disliked by others. There are national bestsellers praised by everyone that I think are complete and utter shit. Published works, Matsumoto-san, prize winners, boring stuff they make kids read in school, and I’d rather see every copy loaded up in a rocket and shot off to the moon to cleanse the Earth of their shittiness.”
He looked over, saw Sakurai’s gentle smile.
“Don’t be ashamed of what you’re feeling. But don’t sit through something you hate. It’s bad for your health.” Sakurai shrugged. “Your mental health, anyway.”
“This is the only way I can see you,” he blurted out.
Sakurai froze, and Jun knew he’d screwed up. Too fast, he yelled at himself. Way too fast. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’d spent maybe a cumulative total of 20 minutes talking to Sakurai Sho, but it just felt like more. It felt like more because every day he had Aiba telling him how great he was. How compatible, how personable, how perfect he was for Jun.
Finally Sakurai got to his feet, picking up his clipboard. Jun was mortified, staring at the table, filled with dread as Sakurai stood there beside him, stunned into silence. Aiba was going to be so disappointed. Aiba was never going to let him live this down.
He was surprised when he found a business card on the table before him a few moments later, Sakurai pushing it in front of his gaze with his fingers.
He felt Sakurai’s hand rest on his shoulder for barely an instant. “It’s not the only way.”
Sakurai walked away, leaving Jun with his work email address, his work phone number…and on the flip side of the card, his personal phone number and a message.
Life’s too short to sit through bad mantis poems. Call me anytime. Sho
Jun hurriedly shoved the card in his wallet, looking around Cafe Gosuke and feeling like he wanted to sink through the floor. When Aiba came by, he spoke in a nervous shudder.
“I have to go.”
“Go?” Aiba asked, resting a hand on the back of his chair. “Matsujun, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll miss your reading. I’m really sorry.”
“What happened?” Aiba leaned closer. “Did Sho-chan…did Sho-chan say something? I thought things were…I thought…”
“He gave me his phone number, Masaki.”
Aiba gasped a little, on the brink of a happiness meltdown. “Then why the hell are you leaving?”
He blinked. “I…I don’t know.”
Looking around the cafe, Sakurai had seemingly disappeared. Perhaps he’d run off to the bathroom, just as worked up as Jun was currently feeling.
“You’re not making any sense,” Aiba complained.
He didn’t want to get hurt again. He didn’t want to set expectations too high and see them crash. He didn’t want Sakurai Sho, who was handsome and funny and decent, to be some secret asshole, Aiba’s vouching for him notwithstanding. He didn’t want Sakurai Sho to think he was an idiot.
But more than that, he didn’t want to sit through two more hours of bad writing just to gawk at someone. It really was bad for his health.
“Email me your story,” Jun said, getting to his feet, the sound of the chair scraping the hardwood just a bit too loud. “Email it to me, I swear I’ll read it.”
“Jun, wait,” Aiba said, grabbing him by the elbow. He lowered his voice. “What will Sho-chan think? What should I tell him?”
“Tell him…tell him I’m like a lot of the stories here.” When Aiba looked at him, utterly confused, Jun allowed himself a nervous smile. “I’m a work in progress.”
Part Two
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho
Summary: Jun’s friend Aiba drags him to an “open mic” night for his creative writing club. The talent on display may not be the greatest, but does it matter when the guy running the club is just Jun’s type?
Notes/Warnings: The last two stories I’ve completed have been 72,000+ words and 45,000+ words respectively, both heavily plot-driven, so I thought - why not write something completely ridiculous?! Sakumoto deserve it from time to time. Please forgive this silliness - anything I write with ~myself~ as the intended recipient can turn into a self-indulgent hot mess. A former colleague of mine writes original fiction in his spare time, and I recently attended an open mic event to hear him and others read. Needless to say it was inspirational and the stories there were much better than the ones here bahaha. I don’t say it enough, but thanks for sticking around this writing journal. I love all of you!!! ;)
Hands pressed down firmly on his shoulders and he jolted, letting out a yelp of surprise and spinning in his chair, batting his hands angrily at whoever had surprised him.
“Whoa, whoa, Matsujun, whoa!”
He shuddered at the phantom feeling on his shoulders, turning to find Aiba-kun had come down to meet him a few minutes early. He scowled at his friend, gripping the arms of his chair tightly to keep from smacking him. “Don’t…don’t do that!” he snapped, “don’t sneak up on me!”
Aiba stood back, leaning against Jun’s cubicle wall with his messenger bag slung across his body. “Sorry!” He didn’t sound sorry. “Ready to go?”
Jun turned back, seeing the clock on his computer said 6:52 PM. He’d spent the entire day trying to think of an appropriate excuse, some reason not to go, and he’d failed. It hadn’t helped that there’d been a last minute conference call with the Osaka office at 4:30, which he’d had to give his full, undivided attention…instead of coming up with a reason to tell Aiba he couldn’t make it.
For the last several months, Aiba had been desperate for someone to go with him, someone from the office anyway. “I need unbiased ears,” Aiba always claimed.
By day Aiba Masaki was no different from Matsumoto Jun, both of them corporate drones in cubicles from 8:30 AM to 6:00 PM (on a good day). Aiba was in sales, Jun was in finance.
But by night (and by weekend, presumably), Aiba liked to write. He didn’t have ambitions of getting anything published seriously, but writing fiction, writing short stories was a hobby he’d been into the last few years. An ex-girlfriend of his had gotten him hooked and even after the break-up, Aiba had kept up with it. He complained to Jun about his stories all the time, that he was stuck on an idea or if he ought to include a ghost or not. Jun…Jun didn’t really get it, writing for fun instead of as a way to make a living. He’d read one or two of Aiba’s stories before, and they’d been okay, but if they were on sale in a bookstore, he’d probably pass them by. But Jun didn’t read a lot, period, aside from manga here and there. Aiba didn’t hold it against him.
But Aiba did want Jun to come to his writing club and had been asking him to non-stop for months. They met in a cafe not far from Sugamo Station, a few stops away from their office. While the writing club met every other Saturday morning, the members sharing their works in progress and helping each other with plots and ideas, on the last Thursday of every month they met up for a reading. An open mic session where members could read excerpts from their works out loud.
“Some of them are really good, Matsujun,” Aiba was always saying. “My stuff’s alright, but some of them are just so good!”
And so after months and months of poking and prodding, Jun had finally agreed to attend the open mic night. Aiba had assured him repeatedly that Jun didn’t have to come with anything of his own to read, that it was a voluntary thing, and that plenty of people came who weren’t writers. Family, friends, partners. “It’s all about support,” Aiba had told him, “it’s hard, standing up there. But you won’t be bored, all the stories are great!”
Then again, the people in the writing club were his friends. And Aiba was the sweetest, least judgmental person Jun knew. Of course he’d say complimentary things about them. Jun hoped nobody would ask him for his opinion on their stories, especially if they sucked. Jun sometimes spoke without thinking, and he didn’t want to cause any trouble for Aiba.
Tonight’s open mic session started at 8:00, and Aiba had mostly sold him on going because the cafe stayed open while the readings went on. Jun could at least content himself with some coffee and a treat while he sat through all the amateur poems and stories. He promised Aiba that he’d at least stay through his own reading, and Aiba had only smiled.
Jun shut off his computer, trying to put on a neutral expression as he stood up and met Aiba’s hopeful gaze. “Alright, let’s get going.”
-
Cafe Gosuke really didn’t stand out on the street. There were restaurants and izakayas all around, the laughter and chatter of happy people getting off of work and enjoying their evening richocheting up and down the block. Jun followed a bit nervously as Aiba tugged open the door to the small cafe, the glass door embossed with a large ‘G’.
There was quiet jazz music playing over the speakers, and the cafe enveloped him in warmth as soon as he and Aiba crossed the threshold. As the strong, comforting aroma of coffee lured him in, Jun took a look around.
There was a counter and bar to place coffee orders, a few half-empty bakery cases showcasing a variety of cupcakes, cake slices, fruit tarts, and savory stuffed breads. There were dark hardwood floors throughout, and the lighting was dim but soft, welcoming. A good change from the harsh fluorescent lights in their office. The furniture had a lived-in feeling, all of it mismatched. Not in that intentionally trendy sort of way, thankfully, but just comfortable. There were round wooden tables surrounded by blue and green-painted wooden chairs. There were a few sofas along the shopfront wall, cozy looking and just as eclectic.
Half of the tables and sofas were occupied already, people of all ages having come to Cafe Gosuke for open mic night. Some people sat alone with a laptop or a notebook, fiercely scribbling down their thoughts or rehearsing quietly. Others sat in groups, talking animatedly and munching on treats from the bakery case.
All the tables and chairs were arranged in a horseshoe, turned in the direction of a small raised platform at the opposite end of the cafe with a solitary microphone. The wall behind it was dark brick, covered in sketches. Even from a distance they were as Aiba had described them, portraits of various people with large, exaggerated heads and faces on smaller bodies. Cafe Gosuke’s owner had drawn all of them himself. Some were celebrities, some were regular patrons that he’d sketched from memory.
The whole place was very relaxed, and Jun could see why Aiba felt comfortable here. Aiba tugged him by the sleeve of his suit jacket, pulling him over to the cash register where a young man with a bright smile greeted them. “Hey Aiba-kun!” the man said, holding a hand out. Aiba shook it happily. “Got something good tonight?”
“I always bring my best stuff here,” Aiba teased before turning to introduce Jun. “Matsujun, this is Kotaki-kun.”
Jun was surprised. “Aren’t you a little young to own a cafe?” This tall kid had drawn all those things on the wall?
Kotaki laughed merrily. “No, no, I’m not the boss, but thank you very much for thinking so. Maybe I should ask for a raise.”
The door to the kitchen swung open, bringing with it the alluring scent of something sugary sweet. A smaller man with a round, relaxed face emerged, a soft smile on his lips as he saw Aiba. “No raises, there will be no talk of raises when we have customers,” the man chided, walking up to the cash register and lightly shoving Kotaki aside. “Aiba-kun, welcome.”
“Here’s the artist,” Aiba teased. “This is Ohno Satoshi, he owns this cafe. Ohno-san, this is Matsumoto Jun from my office.”
Jun was a little embarrassed. Of course the kid wasn’t the owner, what a dumb thing to say. He nodded politely. “Aiba-san raves about your curry pan.”
Ohno beamed at the compliment. “If there’s one thing I get right, it’s my curry pan.”
“Aiba-shi!” came a hollered voice, breaking the calm jazzy ambiance of the cafe. Jun turned just as Aiba did, seeing a slim man curled up on one of the sofas, the glow of his laptop screen giving him an almost wicked appearance. “Aiba-shi, finally! Get over here and read this!”
“Hey Nino!” Aiba pulled out his wallet, slapping down his credit card on the counter. He patted Jun on the shoulder. “Ohno-san knows what I want, so feel free to order whatever you like. It’s on me tonight!”
“Aiba-kun…” Jun protested weakly, his friend leaving him alone at the coffee counter as he headed over to greet his other friend. He turned back to Ohno-san and Kotaki-san, nodding. “I guess I’ll have a large black coffee and…curry pan.”
“Coming right up,” Kotaki said, hurrying off to prepare Jun’s order.
He awkwardly pushed Aiba’s credit card across the counter. “Thank you very much.”
Ohno took the card without saying anything. Aiba was a regular customer, so him running off and leaving his card behind probably wasn’t out of the ordinary. He turned, seeing that Aiba had sat down with his writing club friend, this Nino, on the sofa. Aiba was digging through his bag, pulling out the bright pink notebook he always wrote his stories in before typing them up. “It’s pink so I don’t lose it,” he always said, the pink eyesore usually sitting in his cubicle at work in case he had an idea he had to write down immediately.
Ohno processed the payment, sliding the card back. He gestured with his hand to one of the tables, on the left side of the horseshoe with two green chairs. “Aiba-kun usually sits there, if that helps. Kotaki-kun will bring your stuff over when it’s ready. Thanks for coming, I hope you have a good time.”
Jun thanked the cafe owner, taking Aiba’s card and heading for his usual table. He felt a little awkward, the table nestled between two other tables that were occupied with some enthusiastic writers. In front of him was a group of three middle-aged women, laughing over something in another’s notebook. Behind him was a married couple about Jun’s age, the husband with his arm resting on the back of his wife’s chair while she tapped away on an iPad.
He was alone in this strange world of creative writers, waiting nervously for his coffee. Aiba seemed to be deep in conversation with his friend, but hopefully he’d come back before the actual open mic session got going. Kotaki brought over the freshly brewed coffee and the warmed up curry pan, giving Jun something else to do aside from feeling out of place. To Jun’s dismay, Kotaki brought Aiba’s coffee and a slice of chocolate cake directly to him on the sofa.
The curry pan, at least, was one of the best he’d ever tried. Even if he had no intention of joining the writing club that met at Cafe Gosuke, he’d have to find a way to come back and have another one of these. He turned around, seeing Ohno-san smiling knowingly in his direction. Jun offered him a thumbs up, which Ohno returned with a chuckle before moving to greet another customer who’d just come in the door.
“Excuse me, sorry to bother you.”
Jun turned around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, finding a man standing in front of his table. He nearly choked on the massive bite of curry pan he still had in his mouth, looking up to meet a pair of large, friendly brown eyes. The guy had a real nerdy vibe to him, dressed in a thin brown button-down cardigan over a blue X Japan t-shirt. Jun suddenly felt overdressed in his suit from work, though Aiba was wearing one too.
He had dark hair that fell across his brow, a slightly chubby face, and a kind smile that made Jun glad he was sitting down because otherwise he’d be weak in the knees. The type of guy he swore he wouldn’t go for, not anymore. “Are you new?” The guy had a clipboard in one hand, a ballpoint pen in the other. “Are you here for open mic night?”
Jun desperately chewed, swallowing. Did he have crumbs on his face? “I…no, no. I don’t write. I can’t write.”
The guy looked at him curiously before Jun’s brain caught up with his mouth.
“I mean,” he said, shifting a little awkwardly in his seat. He pointed to the sofa. “I’m Aiba-kun’s friend.”
“Oh!” the guy said, smiling again and turning Jun’s brain back to mush. “Welcome! I’m Sakurai Sho, I’m the leader of the Gosuke Writers’ Club. Nice to meet you.”
“Matsumoto Jun. I work at Pelican Sports with Aiba-kun.”
Sakurai looked over at Aiba, shaking his head and laughing. “He left you all alone, huh?”
Jun nodded.
Sakurai leaned forward a little, and Jun pressed his back more firmly against the chair. Sakurai’s breath smelled a little like cinnamon, probably from one of the cinnamon rolls in the bakery case. “He can be a little difficult sometimes, right?”
Jun couldn’t help nodding. “He loves being part of the club here. He asked me to come listen.”
“Well, we’re very happy you’re here, Matsumoto-san. The more the merrier. We’ve got a lot of great readers tonight, so I hope you’ll have a good time.”
“Thanks.”
And with that, Sakurai offered another devastating smile before making his way over to the table behind Jun, greeting the husband and wife. “Keiko-san! Are we going to hear more about the bleeding house tonight?”
Jun tried to calm down, sipping his coffee, tapping his toe nervously. Aiba had always said nice things about his writing club, about the other members and his friends. But since Aiba was straight, he’d never had any reason to describe the leader of his little group as attractive. As handsome. As a direct pitch right into Jun’s strike zone.
Then again, Aiba, of course, knew that Jun was single and had been for a while now. Aiba, of course, knew that Jun had been trying to get back into the dating scene for months and had not had any luck. Aiba, of course, knew exactly what Jun’s last boyfriend had looked like.
He looked over to the sofa, scowling at his friend. This was a scam. Well, Aiba wasn’t much of a scam type. Perhaps it was a two birds, one stone sort of situation.
Jun nervously sipped his coffee, unable to keep from listening in as Sakurai Sho made his way around the room, chatting with the other writers and jotting down people on his clipboard if they planned to read that night. Though there had to be at least twenty tables in the cafe, each of them slowly filling up with people, Sakurai knew everyone by name, and he knew most of them by what they were writing. He asked one elderly man about his poems, a mother and her daughter about their sci-fi novel’s progress. His voice was soothing, his laughter boisterous and enthusiastic. It was easy to see why Aiba got along so well with his writing group.
It was five minutes to 8:00 when Sakurai hopped up on the platform, still holding his clipboard. He approached the microphone and waved. “Looks like we’ve got a great crowd here at Cafe Gosuke tonight!” He waited while several of the tables clapped. “We’ll get started in a few more minutes, so now is the time to go order something from Satoshi-kun. It’s going to be a great night! Let’s all have fun!”
Jun watched as Sakurai left the platform, heading for the sofa where Aiba and his friend were still comparing notes. Sakurai patted Aiba on the shoulder, pointing across the cafe to where Jun was sitting alone. He looked away quickly, hearing Aiba’s noisy laugh in reply to whatever Sakurai said. Whatever was said worked though, Aiba packing up his bag, his coffee mug, and his cake plate, hurrying over to the table.
Ohno-san was already waiting with a clean fork when Aiba arrived, his fork having dropped to the cafe floor in his haste to hurry over.
“Sorry, sorry!” Aiba said, collapsing into the chair next to Jun and accepting the fork with a quick thank you. “Nino wanted to know what I thought of the last chapter he sent me. I didn’t even realize I’d left you for so long! Sorry!”
“It’s alright,” Jun lied, desperately trying to focus on drinking his coffee like a normal human while being in the same room as someone who attracted his attention like Sakurai Sho.
Aiba pulled out his pink notebook, hurriedly flipping through pages to find his spot. “Sho-chan said you seemed lonely, I’m sorry!”
He looked over, suddenly realizing that Sakurai had been watching him in return. Sakurai hurriedly looked away, looking back at something on Nino’s laptop screen. Maybe it was the low lighting in the cafe, but had Sakurai just blushed?
It was going to be a long night.
-
“Hello again!” Sakurai Sho said a short time later, standing at the microphone once more. The jazz music had been turned off, and the room was quieter. “I’m happy to see all these familiar faces. But for those who might be new, let me go ahead and introduce myself.”
Sakurai looked briefly in the direction of Aiba and Jun’s table before looking straight ahead again. Jun felt Aiba step on his foot, and he now had confirmation that Aiba was plotting something more than just the storyline of his own fiction.
“My name is Sakurai Sho, and I’m a librarian at the Komagome Library. For five years now, the Gosuke Writers’ Club has met here on a monthly basis as a way to share our work with each other. It doesn’t matter what you write. Poetry, mysteries, plays…our club is all about supporting each other, helping one another to become better writers. And for many, reading their work out loud can be helpful. Hearing your dialogue, hearing your characters’ voices, hearing an audience react. It’s incredibly valuable.”
Sakurai kept speaking, but Jun was stuck on the guy being a librarian. Aiba was still rudely stepping on his foot, almost as though he feared Jun would run away. His last boyfriend had been a professor at Waseda, and Jun had spent far too many dates meeting him at the university library before heading for a meal. Aiba was practically vibrating beside him, almost as if to say “You like nerdy guys? I’ve got you another nerdy guy.”
His mood darkened, and Jun tried to keep from frowning. This was a bit too much. Did poor Sakurai-san even know what was going on here?
“Without further adieu,” Sakurai said, “our first reader for the night will be Haru-san, who will be sharing a comedic scene from her new novel. I’ve been told it’s now available on Amazon…”
“Next week!” a female voice cut through the crowd. “Not until next week.”
Sakurai leaned forward, his voice deepening humorously as he spoke into the microphone. “Soon to be available on Amazon then, please welcome Haru-san.”
The crowd applauded as a young woman got to her feet, opening a leather-bound notebook and moving onto the platform. Sakurai stepped back, having a seat on the arm of one of the sofas, clapping more enthusiastically than anyone else.
Jun tried not to think about Aiba’s trying-too-hard matchmaking, instead listening to Haru-san’s story. Every participant was given about ten minutes to read, and Haru’s story was about a young couple working in a hotel, trying to solve the problems of their guests. It wasn’t the type of novel Jun would read but it wasn’t so bad.
Sakurai continued to introduce each reader with warmth and genuine affection, standing in front of the microphone with encouraging smiles. Nobody seemed all that nervous coming up to speak, and Jun supposed that Sakurai-san’s enthusiasm went a long way to making people feel comfortable on stage.
His support never wavered, even though Jun thought many of the writers were sub-par. Jun spent more time staring at the rim of his coffee mug than listening to an elderly man read a strange poem about cockroaches. He had to remember to clap when the mother and daughter team read through an incomprehensible chapter of their science fiction novel, some odd story about lizard people traveling back in time to fight for Oda Nobunaga.
Keiko-san, the young wife sitting at the table behind them, was very pretty, had an almost elegant beauty. But then she held up her iPad to read from a chapter of her novel about a haunted house, describing one of the ghouls that roamed the house with grim and gory details. Jun’s curry pan was on the verge of coming back up as the pretty woman read about bloody, goopy pus shooting out of the ghoul’s eyeballs and into someone’s mouth with matter-of-fact indifference. But the room erupted into cheers when she was finished, her husband the loudest of all. Jun wondered what was wrong with these people.
Sakurai got back to the microphone. “Thank you, Keiko-san! Some brutal stuff! We can’t wait to hear what happens next.” Sakurai looked a little green, but he was still pretty cheerful. “On that note, we’re at tonight’s halfway mark. If Keiko-san’s story hasn’t messed with your appetite, Satoshi-kun’s still got plenty of treats and coffee left for you to buy. We’ll take a fifteen minute break. Thanks!”
People started shuffling around, several of the writers getting out of their seats to go over and praise the works of those who had already read. Even the old man with the boring cockroach poem had at least three fans gathered around. Aiba’s hand brushed against Jun’s arm. “So what do you think? Good stuff, huh?”
Jun swallowed, wondering if it was better to lie or tell the truth. He decided to do neither. “I’ve still got your credit card,” he said plainly.
“Oh!” Aiba said, Jun handing it back to him. “I completely forgot.”
Before Jun could chide his friend for his absent-mindedness, he could see Sakurai-san approaching the table with that clipboard again. Jun got to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over. “I need a refill on coffee.”
“Wait, I’ll pay,” Aiba said, but Jun waved him off, hurrying away before he made a fool of himself in front of Sakurai Sho.
While Jun had found some of the stories average and most of them far below that, Sakurai Sho had worn a smile while each person had read. If the story hadn’t interested him, Jun had found himself glancing across the cafe to the librarian, watching the way he watched the readers. Did he honestly think the stories were good? Or was he just a nice guy, unlike Jun with his inability to stifle his cynicism?
He pulled out his wallet, about to ask Ohno-san for another coffee when he heard Sakurai’s voice. “Hey, it’s on me.”
A shudder shot down his spine, nearly freezing him in place. Apparently Sakurai hadn’t been coming by to speak with Aiba. “Black…just black coffee,” Jun mumbled, embarrassed. “Thank you.”
“Two black coffees, Satoshi-kun.” Sakurai stood beside him at the counter, paying in cash. “You know, Aiba-kun says he’s been trying to get you to come for a long time.”
“He has?” Jun was going to kill him.
“What made you change your mind?” Sakurai leaned a bit closer so nobody could hear him. “You can be honest, I know Aiba-kun is…persistent.”
Jun allowed himself a small grin. “Persistence pays off. I’ve read a few of his stories before, I figured it was rude to keep turning him down.”
“He’s a good storyteller,” Sakurai said. When Kotaki-san handed over two mugs, they both turned around, taking in the room. Jun wasn’t surprised to see that Aiba had left their table again, was speaking with Keiko-san and her husband enthusiastically about her nasty, freaky story.
“Guess I’ll find out.”
“Having a good time?”
He’d spent half the time being unimpressed with the stories and the rest of the time staring Sakurai down, wondering if Aiba had said something to the guy about Jun’s single and looking status.
Sakurai sipped his coffee, offering a sly smile. “You can be honest about that, too. I can keep a secret.”
Jun felt his face growing hot. He didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. It wasn’t like he could write anything himself. And he definitely didn’t have the courage to get up in front of strangers and read something as personal as a poem or a story. “It’s…everyone’s got very different stories.”
“They do.”
Before he could say anything awkward, in case some of the writers were Sakurai’s close friends, he changed tactics. “What about you, Sakurai-san? Do you write?”
“Me?” His laughter was warm, gentle. “No, no, I don’t. I’ve tried before, but I think I’m much better at reading than writing.”
“Spoken like a true librarian.”
Sakurai laughed again. “I guess that’s true. I studied literature in university, and I didn’t think I had the guts to come up with anything better.” He looked over, grinning. “But I do like helping people out who do have those kind of guts. It’s a lot of fun, running the group here. Offering help, suggestions, editing, I’m better at that stuff.”
Before Jun could ask him anything else, one of the writers approached him, notebook in hand. “Sho-san, can you come look at this?” the young man said, “I’m trying to decide what the best stopping point is.”
“Of course.” Before Sakurai could apologize, Jun waved him off. He nodded. “Hope you’ll enjoy the second half, talk to you later.”
-
It was nearly 10:00 PM when Sakurai announced that it was Aiba’s turn to read. Jun had a sneaking suspicion that Aiba had deliberately asked to read later in the evening, if only so Jun had to stay the whole time and couldn’t escape.
The second half had been rougher than the first.
There’d been the college student’s chapter that was a thinly veiled ripoff of some Higashino Keigo thriller. The woman who’d written an angry poem about her ex-husband. A man’s depressing story about his grandfather with Alzheimer’s. Two different stories about vampire and human romances. The older housewife who’d needed Sakurai to move the microphone down and had kept losing her place, patting her head and musing “ah, where was I?” for nearly fifteen minutes. From the gentle look on Sakurai’s face, he didn’t have the heart to tell her time was up.
And then there’d been the middle-aged woman reading a scene from her romance novel, the entire cafe a bit stunned and amazed that the woman stood up in front of everyone to describe how “Kentaro-san thrust his erection into Mika’s quivering love slit, gouging and penetrating, his boulder-hard penis plunging into her slippery wet cavern with devastating abandon.”
Jun was going to have more nightmares about Mika’s “quivering love slit” than any of the images Keiko-san had described in her frightening story.
Aiba got to his feet with a triumphant pump of his fist, walking up to the microphone with his pink notebook in tow. His voice was clear and confident when he started to read, and after suffering through so many odd writing choices, Jun at least felt comfortable hearing one of Aiba’s stories, a funny if exaggerated short story about a baseball player joining a cult dedicated to a mysterious “God of Home Runs.”
Looking around the room as Aiba read, he could see people perking up a bit in their chairs, smiling at Aiba, laughing where appropriate, encouraging him. In that moment, Jun felt guilty, having judged the other participants so harshly. No matter the story, no matter how well or how poorly it had been written, everyone had clapped and celebrated, supporting their club members. Maybe they all knew they didn’t have the real talent to get published. But it was rather nice to see everyone come together and cheer without cynicism, without malice.
Aiba was beaming from ear to ear when he stepped down from the platform to the sound of applause. Jun, a little ashamed of himself, clapped just as much as everyone else. Aiba had a lot of courage, going up there, reading and sharing so much of himself. He was proud of his friend, happy for him.
Aiba set the pink notebook down on their table, still smiling. “Ah, so what did you think, Matsujun?”
“You did very well,” he said truthfully. He’d made no mentions of quivering love slits either, which earned him Jun’s gratitude.
“I’m glad you think so,” Aiba said. “Thanks for staying so long, it means a lot to me.”
“We’ve only got one left,” Sakurai announced, drawing everyone’s attention back to the platform. “Presenting another sure-to-be exciting and action-packed excerpt from his forthcoming fantasy series, tentatively titled The Hope in the Darkness, here’s Ninomiya Kazunari with more to share about Yamashiro and Kiyo-chan!”
Aiba’s friend Nino, sloppily dressed in an old white t-shirt and sweatpants, headed to the stage with a computer printout. Where Jun expected to spend most of the reading sneaking glances across the cafe to Sakurai Sho and his smiling face, he couldn’t help paying attention once Ninomiya started to read.
As the minutes passed, Jun realized he had no clue what was going on. Yamashiro, a young man with a mystical sword, was heading for a place called the “Eternal Capital.” It seemed that Yamashiro was traveling with a companion named Kiyo, whom he had rescued from a slave existence in a salt mine. Even if the world Ninomiya had created seemed rather complex, his story littered with jargon and place names Jun didn’t know, the guy had a real knack for delivery.
He had voices for each character, a serious tone for the warrior Yamashiro, a gentle and feminine lilt for Kiyo, who Jun discovered over the course of the reading was something called an ‘Usagi-kin.’ Jun was a bit thrown by that, but when Ninomiya went on at length about Kiyo’s furry ears, he realized that Kiyo was some sort of oversexualized bunny girl. Not the kind of story Jun liked at all, but Ninomiya was so entertaining that he could only hide a smile behind his hand at an unnecessary description of Kiyo’s lithe body and her obvious lust for the warrior who’d saved her from slavery.
Jun applauded genuinely when Ninomiya finished his reading, the man instantly reverting back to his quiet, shuffling walk, merely offering a dismissive wave and a nod as he slunk off the platform, heading back to his laptop.
Sakurai headed to the microphone one last time. “Let’s give another round of applause for all our participants.” When that was complete, he spoke again. “I look forward to seeing any writers here on Saturday. The next open mic night will be a month from today. As always, we meet the last Thursday of the month with an 8:00 start time. Thanks again everyone, and please get home safely!”
With one final round of applause, the cafe’s occupants started to gather their things, a few still chatting with each other about stories, the women at the table in front of them making plans to meet for lunch after Saturday’s writing session. Aiba seemed to be moving slow deliberately, Jun itching to go home. He was definitely not surprised when Sakurai Sho made his way over.
Jun stood by politely as Sakurai shook Aiba’s hand, praising his story. Finally Sakurai turned to him, grinning. “And what about you, Matsumoto-san? Has Aiba-kun shown you this one before?”
“Nope, this was a new story.” He jostled Aiba’s shoulder. “It was good.”
“I keep telling him to submit to this short story contest, but he never believes me when I tell him his stuff is good.” When Aiba looked down, laughing in embarrassment, Sakurai looked Jun in the eye. “Will you please try and encourage him, Matsumoto-san?”
At that moment, he’d do anything the guy said. “Sure, I’ll try.”
“That’s the spirit. Those contests have monetary rewards too, why not go for it, I say. You’re good, you’re honestly good!”
“Ah, Sho-chan, shut up,” Aiba grumbled, even though Jun could just feel the happiness radiating from him. “…I’ll see you Saturday morning.”
Sakurai laughed. “I look forward to it.” There was a bit of an awkward pause before Sakurai spoke again. “Will you come for next month’s reading, Matsumoto-san? You’ll get to hear the next chapter of some of these stories. Exclusively! We’d love to see you again.”
Jun paled, wishing he could say no. Even though he’d liked Aiba’s story and even though some of the others hadn’t been that bad, he worried about the negative vibes he was probably giving off. Couldn’t some of the authors tell that his applause wasn’t terribly sincere? But if he came right out and said “I decline,” he’d look like a jerk, wouldn’t he?
And with the way Aiba was now looking between the two of them, stifling a smile as he adjusted the strap of his bag, Jun knew that he was trying to help him out at the same time. Even if the stories were crap, it meant that he’d get to see the nerdy librarian and his goofy smiles again. Jun hadn’t disliked that part of the evening, at least.
“If I’m free…I…I guess I can come again,” he admitted, not willing to commit fully.
He nearly melted at the smile on Sakurai’s face. “We…we’re always happy for a big audience here. Hope you can make it.”
When they were out of the cafe, halfway to the train, Jun punched Aiba in the arm, staggering him a little.
“Hey!” his friend protested, rubbing the now sore spot. “What the hell?”
“You think you’re clever, don’t you, Masaki?”
Aiba sighed. “Huh?”
“I saw what that was,” Jun stumbled out. “With the reading and the guy and the…the guy.”
Realization arrived, Aiba’s annoyed expression turning into an unapologetic smile. “I thought you were dissing my story. So you figured it out, huh? I mean, I honestly wanted you to come hear me read, don’t get me wrong but…well, you’ve been looking and looking and looking for a while so I thought I could help out.”
Jun loosened his tie, anxious to get home. “You should have said something. I don’t like surprises.”
“Sho-chan is really really nice,” Aiba claimed. “If I had to pick a guy, he’d be first on my list.”
“Is he even…” Jun lowered his voice. “I mean, is he even…”
“Looking for someone?”
“Looking for a male someone,” he snapped in reply. It would be a real waste of time to sit through another open mic night only to discover that Sakurai Sho preferred women. Or was already seeing someone.
Aiba threw his arm around him, squeezing. “You have so little faith in me, Matsujun. He’s a lonely old library book waiting to be checked out.” Aiba deepened his voice. “Checked out by someone like you.”
Jun shoved Aiba off of him. “Disgusting.”
Aiba just laughed at him. “You liked him, don’t deny it. Plus, he asked me if it would be weird if he bought you a coffee.”
Jun nearly tripped, feeling his heart race a little. “Really?”
“I may have…mentioned you a few times before tonight. In the ‘talking you up’ sense, I mean.” Aiba wrapped an arm around him again. “I’m on Team Matsujun all the way, and I think I’ve managed to convert him. Don’t let my hard work go to waste now!”
They headed for the train station, Jun unable to stop thinking about the nerdy librarian and the way he looked when he smiled.
-
But Jun restrained himself this time. He managed to go the whole month without looking up Sakurai Sho. No Facebook stalking, no Twitter stalking. Aiba had even offered to give Jun Sakurai’s LINE ID so they could become friends, but he’d stayed strong.
Jun was usually the type of person who needed all the details. After second or third dates, even after first dates, he tended to go full on policeman, looking for something online that might indicate if he ought to stop pursuing a person. He’d found out one date was an ultra right wing sort who posted hateful things online with his own name. He’d found out another guy had a wife and kids.
But sometimes this strategy backfired on him. He’d hurt people’s feelings by mentioning something he’d read about them on an online profile, trying to find common ground and instead coming across as a creep.
He was just at an age where he didn’t want surprises anymore. Where he didn’t want another heartbreak as bad as his last one.
With Sakurai Sho, however, Jun had managed to keep his prying tendencies at bay. Instead Aiba had been doing all the detective work. Being friends with the guy, Aiba could vouch for Sakurai’s personality. Friendly, outgoing, hardworking. Tempered with a few things that could be intimidating.
He’d gone to Keio for university and as far as Aiba had sniffed out, the guy came from money. He was intelligent and well-read, one of the perks of his profession, and Jun had been heavily attracted to intellectual types before. But his relationship with the Waseda professor had largely fizzled out because he’d made Jun feel stupid. “Oh, you didn’t know that?” had been a repeated question in their relationship, and it had filled him with anxiety, lowered his self-esteem. He was still recovering from months and months of being told repeatedly that he was inferior. Hopeless. Ignorant. Shallow. Not worth the effort.
It made dating and trust difficult for Jun.
“Sho-chan’s not a rocket scientist, Matsujun,” Aiba had teased him.
But you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to be condescending.
With Sakurai’s positives and potential negatives swirling around in his head, Jun followed Aiba back to Cafe Gosuke. This time when Aiba’s friend Nino called him over, Jun just let it happen. Ohno-san remembered him, pointing across the cafe. “Your table’s ready.”
When Jun sat down, he saw Sakurai doing his usual rounds with the clipboard, chatting and laughing with the other participants. Jun was a known quantity in the cafe now, and he received friendly nods from some of the other writers. But he didn’t quite know how Sakurai would act. Since Aiba had spent the last month singing Sakurai’s praises to him, Jun knew that his friend was probably doing the same to Sakurai. It wouldn’t be an Aiba Masaki strategy if he wasn’t working both sides to achieve victory.
Jun had just taken a bite of his curry pan when Sakurai came by. The guy had a waiter’s timing. This time, he had a seat at the table beside him, setting his clipboard down.
“You actually came.”
Jun made the guy wait for a reply, chewing and enjoying his curry pan before offering an answer. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
Sakurai drummed his fingers a bit nervously on the tabletop. “Thought we’d scared you off last time.”
Jun wasn’t sure if Sakurai was using “we” to mean the writing club…or himself. Jun gathered his courage. “You ever have the curry pan here? I’ll get you one, since you were nice enough to treat me last time.”
Sakurai looked at him, a soft smile on his full lips. “I’ve had one of everything around here. Satoshi-kun’s the reason I’ve gained a bit of weight the last few months.”
“That’s not an answer to my question,” he pressed. Aiba’s month-long encouragement sessions had helped him loosen up a bit.
Sakurai had to look away this time, his smile getting wider. “I would love a curry pan, thank you. I have to do my rounds but…well, Kotaki-kun knows the right timing. He’ll get it to me once the reading starts.”
“You got it.”
“Well. It’s good to see you again, Matsumoto-san.”
Likewise, he wanted to say, but the curry pan offer had already made him nervous enough. Sakurai got to his feet, moving on to the next table, and Jun headed for the register, placing an order and explaining about the special delivery. Ohno-san’s face offered no judgment, but when Jun was heading back to the table, he could see Aiba’s too obvious smile and thumbs up from the other side of the cafe.
The readings got underway as they had the previous month, Aiba eventually joining Jun at his table. The stories being read were even worse than they’d been the last time. Instead of cockroaches, the old man now offered a poetic tribute to mantises. A writer Jun didn’t recognize from the last session read for ten long minutes about his dislike for grapes. And of course, the morbid Keiko-san was back. This time one of the ghouls in the haunted house turned all of the food in the house rotten, and Keiko described the mounds of fat, squishy maggots covering it all with a lot of superfluous detail.
The halfway point in the evening arrived, and after all the maggot talk, there were noticeably fewer people heading for the bakery case. Aiba made up the world’s lamest excuse about having to go check his email on Nino’s computer even though he had a perfectly functioning iPhone. That left Jun alone once more and a chair empty for Sakurai Sho.
Jun had seen Kotaki-kun bring over a curry pan for Sakurai during one of the first readings, had watched the guy eat the thing with a reverence Jun thought ought to be saved for a shrine visit. Then again, the treats at Cafe Gosuke were pretty damn good. Sakurai inclined his head in thanks after sitting down.
“I’m glad I ate that curry pan earlier,” Sakurai admitted, chuckling.
Jun’s own stomach was twisted up from three minutes of maggot talk. “Agreed.”
“I’ve scheduled Aiba-kun to read first in the second half, in case you wanted to duck out early.”
He stilled, seeing the rather serious look in Sakurai’s face. “Duck out?”
“Matsumoto-san,” Sakurai said, his voice quiet so he wasn’t overheard in the noisy cafe. “You don’t have to force yourself.”
“I’m not…” He shut his mouth, stinging a little. Perhaps he’d done a poor job hiding his true feelings this time around. People had always told him that it was easy to see how he was feeling, that his facial expressions were a dead giveaway. Had he made any of the writers uncomfortable? His heart sank…not just because he’d probably been rude, but because Sakurai had apparently noticed.
Jun had become so interested in watching Sakurai that he hadn’t watched himself.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry if I’ve…if I’ve offended…”
Sakurai leaned closer, his hand resting only a few inches from Jun’s own. “You haven’t offended anyone. Nobody’s said anything, nobody’s noticed. I just…I just had a feeling you weren’t enjoying yourself. That’s all I’m saying.”
He looked around quickly. None of the cafe’s patrons were paying them any attention, save for one. He could see Aiba watching them with laser focus from where he was sitting with his friend.
Jun looked back, apologetic. “Sakurai-san, some of these stories are really, really horrible. In my opinion, I mean. I can’t…I’ve never been good at hiding what I think.”
“That’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he continued. “These people are doing their best. They’re all trying really hard.”
To Jun’s surprise, Sakurai chuckled. “You don’t have to like everything. Your poor opinion of their story doesn’t really matter. A stranger’s opinion isn’t going to stop them from writing. Every story has an audience. Every story will be liked by some and disliked by others. There are national bestsellers praised by everyone that I think are complete and utter shit. Published works, Matsumoto-san, prize winners, boring stuff they make kids read in school, and I’d rather see every copy loaded up in a rocket and shot off to the moon to cleanse the Earth of their shittiness.”
He looked over, saw Sakurai’s gentle smile.
“Don’t be ashamed of what you’re feeling. But don’t sit through something you hate. It’s bad for your health.” Sakurai shrugged. “Your mental health, anyway.”
“This is the only way I can see you,” he blurted out.
Sakurai froze, and Jun knew he’d screwed up. Too fast, he yelled at himself. Way too fast. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’d spent maybe a cumulative total of 20 minutes talking to Sakurai Sho, but it just felt like more. It felt like more because every day he had Aiba telling him how great he was. How compatible, how personable, how perfect he was for Jun.
Finally Sakurai got to his feet, picking up his clipboard. Jun was mortified, staring at the table, filled with dread as Sakurai stood there beside him, stunned into silence. Aiba was going to be so disappointed. Aiba was never going to let him live this down.
He was surprised when he found a business card on the table before him a few moments later, Sakurai pushing it in front of his gaze with his fingers.
He felt Sakurai’s hand rest on his shoulder for barely an instant. “It’s not the only way.”
Sakurai walked away, leaving Jun with his work email address, his work phone number…and on the flip side of the card, his personal phone number and a message.
Life’s too short to sit through bad mantis poems. Call me anytime. Sho
Jun hurriedly shoved the card in his wallet, looking around Cafe Gosuke and feeling like he wanted to sink through the floor. When Aiba came by, he spoke in a nervous shudder.
“I have to go.”
“Go?” Aiba asked, resting a hand on the back of his chair. “Matsujun, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll miss your reading. I’m really sorry.”
“What happened?” Aiba leaned closer. “Did Sho-chan…did Sho-chan say something? I thought things were…I thought…”
“He gave me his phone number, Masaki.”
Aiba gasped a little, on the brink of a happiness meltdown. “Then why the hell are you leaving?”
He blinked. “I…I don’t know.”
Looking around the cafe, Sakurai had seemingly disappeared. Perhaps he’d run off to the bathroom, just as worked up as Jun was currently feeling.
“You’re not making any sense,” Aiba complained.
He didn’t want to get hurt again. He didn’t want to set expectations too high and see them crash. He didn’t want Sakurai Sho, who was handsome and funny and decent, to be some secret asshole, Aiba’s vouching for him notwithstanding. He didn’t want Sakurai Sho to think he was an idiot.
But more than that, he didn’t want to sit through two more hours of bad writing just to gawk at someone. It really was bad for his health.
“Email me your story,” Jun said, getting to his feet, the sound of the chair scraping the hardwood just a bit too loud. “Email it to me, I swear I’ll read it.”
“Jun, wait,” Aiba said, grabbing him by the elbow. He lowered his voice. “What will Sho-chan think? What should I tell him?”
“Tell him…tell him I’m like a lot of the stories here.” When Aiba looked at him, utterly confused, Jun allowed himself a nervous smile. “I’m a work in progress.”
Part Two