[Fic] Love Letters and Music (I Remember You) 1/3
Title : Love Letters and Music (I Remember You)
Pairing : Ohno/Nino
Rating : R
Summary : AU. Ohno is one of Japan’s popular singers who only sing song compositions sent to him by an anonymous composer. But everything is about to change when Ohno’s management forces him to meet a new composer to work with him on his new album.
Word count : around 16,000 words l this part, around 6000
Author’s Note : written for this year's arashi_exchange for the lovely smile_arigatou Thank you to my angel renchan27 for reading this through for me at a very short notice (like always, OMG) and to my cheerleaders and handholders, daisukidesu3 jhing_tearjerky pupilurker, you guys are the absolute best <3 Posting in 3 parts becacuse LJ is being a pest :D
*+*
Ohno Satoshi looked up from the stacks of demo CDs he’d been checking out for the past half hour to find his manager, Sakurai Sho, staring expectantly down at him.
“Excuse me?”
Sho gave him a look - one that was of pure indulgence and a little bit of something he couldn’t place his finger on; at other times, Ohno would be grateful for it, for Sho’s seemingly never-ending patience when it came to him, but not today.
“You heard me,” Sho said, levelly.
“I did,” Ohno returned, frowning; “I just thought maybe I heard it wrong,” he said. “Did you say something about us meeting a new composer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked; Sho looked taken aback at the abruptness of his question, knowing that for one, he never really cared about how they want his singing career managed so long as he got to sing the songs he liked, the songs he chose himself.
For years now, Ohno had only been singing songs by this one, anonymous composer, whose song compositions were sent through Ohno’s agency, addressed personally to him.
It was just a coincidence that he’d been there when the first demo CD arrived because if he wasn’t, he was sure it wouldn’t have reached him. Nakai - his manager back then, was a certified asshole and Ohno knew the jerk would have trashed the package without even letting Ohno know about it.
At first, he honestly wasn’t sure what to do about the song. He was worried to even let his management know about its existence because they’d sure tell him to either ignore it or worse, throw it out. Ohno resolved on keeping it, almost forgetting about it completely, at least until another Demo song arrived in the office for him two weeks later.
This time, Ohno’s curiosity over it won. Later that night when he went home with the second demo CD in hand, he purposely sat himself down and checked both demos out, finding himself honestly mesmerized before he was even done listening to the first one. The first demo song - Gimmick Game, even made him choreograph the song in his head spot on. It was so damn catchy, the words downright sexy that right then and there, he decided to place a call to Nakai, requesting him to arrange a meeting with their management’s executives the next day.
And then the rest as they said was history.
Weeks later, four more demo CDs arrived. Ohno was in the middle of recording the song Gimmick Game, with an additional two coupling songs from different composers. The single was due for release the month after.
The next four demo CDs he received, as usual, only had Ohno’s name and company address on them, but no details, not even one, about who they came from, just from which location the package was sent. Ohno had spent a fortune hiring someone to investigate who the anonymous sender was, but even then they weren’t able to find anything.
The sender - and even now this amused Ohno to a fault, obviously preferred to remain anonymous. And this was despite the glaring fact that his songs all made it to the top of the Oricon charts on the same day they were released. Ohno was certain it meant that it was the composer’s own decision to retain his anonymity, because there was no way he could not have known that his songs were topping all known music charts in Japan and have somehow accidentally made a certain down-under singer famous.
“Management order,” Sho said. “Said it would be better to try something else, something that’s not your usual. It’s for your upcoming anniversary album so they want someone else, someone who is apparently the industry’s best composer to date to work with you this time around.”
He waved a hand at Sho and took his attention back to the stacks of CDs he was checking out earlier. He just received one a few days ago, and the ones he received few weeks back he hadn’t listened to yet so he decided he would today. He hadn’t gotten around checking them, after all, since he’d been too busy with his CM filming and magazine photoshoot commitments.
“I have enough material for the upcoming album, you of all people should know that,” he said, pointing to the CDs he was checking out and the ones that were arranged methodically at the shelves. He had more or less a hundred songs, half of those he still hadn’t gotten around to check properly and he knew that most of them were good enough to make it into recording.
“And I don’t need a new composer,” he added, dismissively, “Tell them that.”
“Believe me, I already did,” Sho said; he wouldn’t have believed him if it wasn’t for the fact that Sho knew him well enough to know that ever since he’d recorded and released the very first song the anonymous composer sent him, he’d long stopped accepting song compositions from anyone else. “And I’m telling you that on this one, their decision is final. They want you to work with this composer, at least for this album, or they won’t let you release anything.”
He kept quiet; Sho did too, but he had his gaze locked on Sho’s and he knew that the cacophony of emotion flitting across his face was answer enough. It was always difficult for him to verbalize what he wanted, and for so long, he just went with whatever his management (and Sho) asked him to, but never when it came to his song choices.
That part was all him; that was the only thing he demanded from them, after all, that he’d get to sing what he wanted, work on the material he chose himself regardless if the producers or the record label would end up releasing it or not.
“As if I ever cared what they want,” he muttered, more out of spite than anything. It wasn’t like he didn’t see this coming, because he did - Sho had told him more than once, at least ever since the release of his third album, that he shouldn’t expect their Management to be always this accommodating. One of these days, he would a release a song that might not get popular, and, as should be expected, Management would most likely step forward to take every possible precautionary measure to steer his career back on track.
Even if it meant taking the one thing - this privilege he’d been given ever since he debuted, away.
“I know you don’t, Satoshi-kun, but as long as you are under contract, you know you are expected to do as they say,” Sho pointed out. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head and gathered the demo CDs in a pile, placing them back to the box Sho had stashed them to before.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Sho-kun,” he said, forcing a smile. “None of this is your fault, okay? I know you’d have fought them in my behalf if you could but as you said, as long as I’m under their contract, there is nothing I could do but obey. And that’s what we will do for now,” he said. One day, soon, he’d have to sit down to think things through, to revise and revisit, but for now, it would have to wait. “When do they want me to meet this new composer again?”
To his credit, Sho looked not the least bit pleased. “As soon as possible.”
His eyebrows twitched at that. “When?”
Sho tilted his head a little. “In an hour,” Sho said. “I was told he is already on his way to the office.”
“But I thought I have rehearsals -“
“It has been cancelled.”
He resisted the urge to scoff at that and instead, shook his head and pulled himself up. “Fine.”
Sho looked surprised. “Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to try and bite my head off for this?” Sho said, obviously meaning it as a joke because Ohno never once did that. Even when he was angry. Not to Sho, at least.
He chuckled. “I don’t plan on making your life harder than it already is, Sho-kun,” he said, “So let’s go.”
“Thank you, Satoshi-kun.” Sho said, pointing at the door. He sighed and marched towards it, heart heavy in his chest.
*+*
“I heard he worked with Utada Hikaru-san on her last album,” Sho told him once they were out of the van and on their way to meet the composer. Ohno tried to recall what her carrier single was but he couldn’t, shrugging it off eventually. Well, it wasn’t like he had much free time to listen to other artists’ songs anyway, and even if he did, most of his free time were spent either at sea or doing art.
“Her album stayed in the Oricon chart for seven consecutive weeks, three weeks at number one.”
“Not bad,” he mumbled absently; he knew he should at least pay attention but it was difficult when his heart wasn’t in it and he was too busy reminding himself to at least be professional enough in front of the composer when they meet.
For one, it wasn’t the man’s fault he’d been hired to work with Ohno, and vice versa, or that the only reason Ohno agreed to meet him was because his management forced him to. And as Sho had said, it would be better to keep his mouth shut for now, let his management do what they think was right. Ohno’s plan to revise and revisit would have to be put on hold until then.
“Heard he’s good-looking, too,” Sho added just as they rounded the hall. He chuckled and shook his head. Sometimes, he didn’t know if it was a blessing that his manager, apart from the fact that they were almost of the same age, knew almost everything about Ohno - his odd hobbies, the things that ticked him off, and most especially his sexual preference.
But he guessed it was okay; he pretty much knew enough embarrassing stuff about Sho, after all, so it was just fair that Sho should, too.
“Maybe I could ask him for his number so you can, I don’t know, call him and convince him to back off? You could do it, yes?”
“I could,” Sho said, smirking. “But I won’t. Sorry, Satoshi-kun.” Sho apologized, though he sounded not the least bit apologetic. Ohno felt wholly justified for hitting him on the shoulder hard for it in retaliation.
“Keep your mouth shut, then.” He said, without heat.
Only a few paces away was the conference room, and adjacent to it was the small recording studio, mostly used for spot on demo recording. Sho took the lead and nodded at him as he reached for the door and opened it wider for him.
*+*
To say that he was surprised upon meeting the composer was an understatement.
For one, Matsumoto Jun didn’t quite look like one. In fact, if Ohno was going to be completely honest about it, he could have pegged the other man for a movie star, no kidding. Ohno had a hard time taking his gaze away from the man, from his perfectly styled hair to his obviously tailored two-piece elegant suit.
“I was told you needed new materials for your upcoming anniversary album,” Matsumoto Jun said with an air of an aristocrat. Or a person who just knew what he could do and was not afraid to flaunt it. Ohno was honestly a little terrified of him. “Is that correct, Ohno-san?”
I don’t, Ohno wanted to say, but Sho was nodding at him from the opposite corner, like a parent nudging his child. As if reminding him verbally beforehand that he should refrain from trying to fuck things up wasn’t enough, Sho had to be there to remind Ohno of it personally, too.
Ohno tried not to act like he was considering requesting Matsumoto to kick his manager out and instead turned his gaze away, hoping he could tune Sho out.
“Ohno-san?”
“Yeah,” he said, pausing, considering his answer for a minute before he settled on, “Yes, I believe so, Matsumoto-san.” he answered, meeting Matsumoto’s gaze.
“Though I suppose we have to agree on certain things before we proceed, yes?” Matsumoto asked. Ohno nodded. “And that’s -?”
Ohno held Matsumoto’s gaze steadily. “You’d have to let me sample the songs first, if that’s okay.” he said, dimly aware of the obvious shift in Matsumoto’s expression the second the words were out of his mouth. He was also vaguely aware of Sho waving frantically from the corner, obviously trying to get his attention and probably just waiting for him to glance his way so he could ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing but he figured Sho could wait his turn.
Of course Ohno knew, what he was saying, and saying it was indeed reason enough to get himself (and his poor manager) in trouble but to be honest, that was the least of his concerns. He agreed to meet this new composer on the grounds that his management wanted him to work on new materials for his next album, and that Matsumoto was good enough to make it happen, so he was going to make Matsumoto prove it. He wanted to make sure Matsumoto was as good as they said he was by checking his compositions first.
“No problem,” Matsumoto said. “I already have a few tracks prepared just in case. But they’re in my studio; I didn’t think you would ask me for a demo song on our first meeting so I didn’t bring any with me.”
“That’s okay,” he agreed before finally giving Sho the attention he’d been asking for. “We have nothing else scheduled today, right, Sakurai-san?” Sho barely able to nod his head in answer and he already had his gaze shifted back to Matsumoto. “We can go with you. If you’re free, that is.”
“I’m not the artist here, Ohno-san,” Matsumoto said with a grin, and the genuineness of it honestly eased Ohno’s tension slightly. “So it goes without saying that I’m not as busy as you are.” Matsumoto stood as he said this, and Ohno followed suit. Then he turned to Sho, his phone already in hand. “Give me your number and I’ll send you the address of my studio. You can follow me there.”
Sho simply tilted his head and Ohno couldn’t have been prouder of Sho when Sho said, “Thank you, Matsumoto-san, but I already have it.”
Matsumoto raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows and grinned. “Let’s go, then.”
*+*
They made it to Matsumoto’s studio under an hour later. They parked at the front and both him and Sho realized they stopped in front of a building, an apartment complex. When they hopped out of the car, Matsumoto was already waiting for them at the entrance.
“Here?” he whispered under his breath to Sho, who looked equally perplexed.
“Looks like it,” Sho said, at the same time Matsumoto stepped forward and gestured them in. “He probably lives here too, I think.”
Matsumoto probably didn’t, judging with how high-profile he looked but that was something Ohno figured he shouldn’t say. “Probably,” he agreed instead, as he and Sho followed Matsumoto inside.
*+*
They were led into a relatively big-sized apartment three elevators up. Unsurprisingly, it was a studio-converted one. From the outside, the building sure didn’t look like it was housing one like this, but it was nonetheless impressive. Inside, it was even more so.
“We bought three units here and converted two into this studio,” Matsumoto explained as he led them inside the automated glass door. They were first ushered into what seemed to be the live room - the recording room itself with the isolation booth, and the control room beyond it. There were music equipments everywhere - the usual stuff found inside a recording studio but the equipments here looked far better (and obviously newer) than the ones Ohno was used to.
But the grand piano sitting at the far corner was what grabbed his attention the second he stepped inside, the battered red acoustic guitar leaning against it as was the stick of a man sprawled on his ass on the floor, scrawling something on the notebook spread in front of him.
He also didn’t seem to notice he had company.
“Nino, I brought the artist and his manager with me,” Matsumoto said, loud enough to startle the man from his writing. He looked up, briefly nodding at Matsumoto before he was taking his gaze to Sho, then to Ohno. Their gazes meet for about a second or two before the man was ducking down to grab his belongings in haste. “They’re here to check out the demos.” Matsumoto added and Ohno watched the man nod his head slightly at them before he disappeared into a door leading to the control room.
He and Sho looked at Matsumoto questioningly. “That was Ninomiya-san,” Matsumoto said, “He’s the technical guy,” pointing at the control room where the technical guy, Nino, disappeared into. “He’ll prepare the sample songs for you, so, shall we go?”
Ohno figured this was what he came here for anyway. “Lead the way, Matsumoto-san, please.”
*+*
“Is there something wrong, Ohno-san?” Matsumoto asked, sounding vaguely worried. Ohno continued frowning at the lyric sheet, more particularly at the tiny letter initials stamped at the bottom of the page.
This was the second song Matsumoto made him listen to and to be honest, he liked it. He didn’t think he would but there was something about the melody that made him think it was composed specifically for him. And the words - Ohno couldn’t quite place it but there was something vaguely familiar about them too.
He put the earphones back on as he squinted at the sheet and Matsumoto gestured to the technical guy through the glass wall. The music started playing and Ohno hummed the words softly under his breath, following the melody, heart beating unusually fast in his chest. Something nagged at the back of Ohno’s mind, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to say it, now, especially when he wasn’t even sure he was right.
His eyes darted downwards to where the tiny letters were again; meaningful in a way Ohno hadn’t thought before, at least not after he saw them here, now.
He snatched the earphones off and motioned for Matsumoto to scoot closer; he couldn’t help it, he was itching to know - waiting until Matsumoto was close enough to see. He looked up, then, sure that Matsumoto was looking, he pointed his fingertip at the letter initials marked at the bottom of the page.
“Do this letters mean anything?” he asked, carefully. It was difficult not to raise suspicion, especially with what he was asking but he knew that if he didn’t, if he kept quiet, he’d go crazy. He was already cataloguing the number of times he’d seen the same thing, or at least something that looked similar to it, from which sample song and where and which box he made Sho put it.
Matsumoto considered it for a moment before he nodded. “Yes,” he said, and Ohno felt entirely like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. “They’re my initials,” Matsumoto said, pointing. “MJ. Matsumoto Jun.”
*+*
They left the studio an hour and a half later, with the copy of the sample songs (there were three of them) and their corresponding lyric sheets, and the promise to call Matsumoto the day after.
As soon as he and Sho were in the car, Sho was immediately talking.
“Okay, what the hell was that?” Sho grunted, ignoring his lame attempt at keeping his thoughts to himself. He was so lost, but also kind of not and damn it all if he wasn’t the most confused individual in the planet right now he’d rejoice, but it was hard to think of it when there was this unfamiliar urgency thrumming at the back of his head, so strong Ohno felt it vibrating across his skin. “You looked like you’ve seen a ghost back there. What the hell happened, Satoshi-kun?”
He didn’t know how to explain it without sounding like a complete lunatic but he was also certain that if there was anyone who would understand this, it’d be Sho.
But for now… “Let’s go home,” he said as he buckled himself up almost as if on autopilot. “And I’ll explain it there.”
Sho looked him over once and probably saw something that convinced the other man he was serious. “Fine,” Sho said. “Fine, let’s go.”
*+*
“Satoshi-kun, wait,” Sho struggled to keep up as Ohno half-jogged, half-ran towards his apartment, his keys already in one hand and the other clutching the envelope containing the sample songs he requested from Matsumoto. He was shaking, in anticipation and something else, not bothering waiting for Sho to keep up as he unlocked the door the second he reached the front of his apartment, throwing it wide open and sprinting the rest of the way inside.
Sho found him in his makeshift studio a little over ten minutes later, while he was carefully putting down the box containing the very first batch of Demo CDs he received from his anonymous composer. The boxes were arranged according to the dates he received them (thanks to Sho and his awesome organizational skills) so he was able to find the one he was looking for easily. The lyrics sheets where there too, and Ohno gently and very carefully pulled one out, then spread it open on top of the coffee table there along with one of the sheets he took from Matsumoto.
The second his gaze found it, he knew deep in his gut that he was right.
“Sho-kun, look,” he said, pointing at the sheet he received about five years ago, one from the very first batch, more particularly at the letter initials stamped on the bottom, and then at the one he got from Matsumoto earlier.
“Holy crap,” Sho muttered, and Ohno swore he pretty much had the same reaction earlier. Holy crap, indeed. “This… a-are they the same?” Sho asked. Well it was pretty obvious that was the case here. Sho turned to him then, his brows knitted together. “Jesus, are you thinking that Matsumoto-san is… is the same person sending you these songs?” Sho asked, sounding completely baffled.
Ohno slumped on his ass on the floor and stared at both papers, stunned. He’d be honest, that was his first thought too. But now that he’d seen both, he wasn’t too sure anymore.
He took the other sheet - the old one, and squinted at the letter initials printed there. Sure, the letters M and J are there, printed permanently on the sheet the same thing the chords on the sheet were, but there were smudges of two more letter initials scrawled over the letters M and J, or more particularly, scrawled connected to both letters though not as clearly as the first two, as if they were simply added there by a pen or a pencil afterwards.
“Sho-kun, tell me,” he hummed without taking his gaze away from the lyric sheet, finger absently tracing the now too faint letters connected to the M and the J. “Do we have any information about Matsumoto-san when he first started writing songs? Like, who was the first artist he worked with, how he became famous in the song writing business.”
“Are you asking me?” Sho said; Ohno didn’t even have to look up to know that Sho looked sorely affronted. He could very well hear the Geez, Satoshi-kun, and here I thought you knew me better than that even though Sho hadn’t really said it.
“I’m asking you.” he parroted.
He didn’t even need to wait long because then Sho was talking, detailing Matsumoto’s profile like he was simply reading the information directly from the man’s resume. Ohno listened intently; bypassing those details he didn’t need and was waiting for that particularly important one to come.
When it did, Ohno held out a finger, cutting Sho off quickly to ask, “Wait, you said 2011,” he said, frowning, heart beating crazy fast despite himself.
“Yes,” Sho agreed, looking thoughtful, “it was in 2011 when Matsumoto-san had his big break by writing the carrier single for KissMyFt, only a month after the establishment of his studio. It was around June that year, why?”
June 2011, Matsumoto Jun opened his recording studio, his very first client being Johnnys Entertainment’s newest, and fast rising boy group then, KissMyFt. A few months after, Ohno received his first demo CD from his anonymous composer, using the similar lyric sheet, but sent from an unknown location. The very first single he released from the anonymous composer, Gimmick Game, the one that topped every single countdown chart in Japan, was sent to him around August of that year too.
Few months difference, Ohno thought, his mind reeling. It couldn’t have been purely coincidental, could it?
“Change of plans,” he muttered, deciding on the spot that he was not going to wait here for answers. Folding the old lyric sheet and putting it back inside the envelope he took it out from, he slipped it inside the one he got from Matsumoto. He stood up from his sprawl on the floor and looked at Sho with purpose. “Call Matsumoto-san again, Sho-kun. Tell him we’re heading back to the studio. I need to talk to him again.”
“Huh? But I thought you said -“
“I said change of plans, “ he repeated, “Call Matsumoto-san and tell him I need to see him again,” he paused, holding the envelope up with shaking fingers. “There’s something I need to confirm with him, and there’s no way I can wait until tomorrow to do it.”
“It’s about your composer, isn’t it?” Sho asked, though with how he looked at Ohno with those big, hopeful eyes of his, Ohno was certain Sho already knew. “You think that after five long years of waiting and waiting, you’ve finally found him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he breathed, wondering if he sounded as hopeful as he felt. He took the first few steps towards the door, knowing Sho was just right behind him. Just like always.
“Let’s hope to God that this time, I’m right.”
*+*
“So, are you saying you don’t recognize this?” he said, pointing. The lyric sheets are spread wide in front of them, the same way he did earlier back in his apartment. The only difference was that right now, he was showing them to the person he suspected was the anonymous composer who’d been sending him songs since almost the same time he debuted or if he wasn’t, someone he knew obviously was. “That these papers don’t belong to you? See, they both have your initials, don’t they?” darting his fingers between the two papers.
Sure, the older one was a little torn around the edges, its color changed, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the two are the same. At least the papers were; the written words, though, and whoever did it was an entirely different matter altogether.
There was an awkward pause, and Ohno would be lying if he said he didn’t just held his breath right then, waiting for Matsumoto’s answer.
“Sure, they do,” Matsumoto agreed, low, under his breath, but Ohno could already hear the but coming. Matsumoto raised his head to meet his eyes. “But if you’re asking me if I was the one who wrote this, I’m sorry.” Matsumoto said, pushing the other lyric sheet forward to point out what was already obvious. “It wasn’t me.” Matsumoto added.
“I can see that,” he agreed, with a slight nod of his head. Sure, the papers were the same, even the letter initials printed on them which made Ohno believe that they came from the same source. The only problem here was, the hand-written lyrics on the one Ohno received from his anonymous composer years and years before sure didn’t look the slightest bit similar to the one that Matsumoto owned.
Of course they didn’t. Matsumoto’s own are printed directly on the paper, after all.
“But you agree with me that the papers are the same, yes? They’re yours, right?”
“Sure,” Matsumoto said, though this time, Ohno detected something different in the way he said the words, like he was trying to be too careful lest he would give something away. Ohno wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“They look pretty much the same to me, too, but the thing is…” Matsumoto paused here, eyes thoughtful. When he met Ohno’s gaze again, Ohno knew something in his expression shifted. “Well, I can’t say for sure that this is ours,” Matsumoto held the paper up for further inspection. “See, we have this paper sheet printed specifically for us but you know how it is with these things. Papers, clothes, designs - everything could be easily duplicated nowadays so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that someone could have gotten the design, reproduced it and used it.”
Well, okay, that was a possibility Ohno didn’t think of before but it certainly had him thinking now. But still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was so close to finding out who the anonymous composer was, but feeling and knowing it were two completely different things.
But staring at Matsumoto now and knowing that he wasn’t the one Ohno had been looking for brought him some kind of relief he didn’t know he needed, wanted, until he heard Matsumoto confirmed it.
It made him think about that one night - months before he was scouted by one of the agency’s talent coordinator - he spent tangled around a person he met earlier that evening in that particular bar he used to perform before. The memory ached as he stared at Matsumoto’s face, glad but equal-parts sad that Matsumoto wasn’t the one he was looking for, because then it meant he was back in square one.
Somehow, Ohno had this stupid notion that the same guy he was with that night was the same guy sending him these song compositions. And it wasn’t unfounded, no, because the reason for this he always carried with him no matter where he went, the evidence of it, folded very carefully and tucked safely inside his wallet, in between his family’s photo and his youngest niece’s latest one.
“So this…” he said, pointing at the old sheet he brought with him. “Is not yours.” He said; it was more of a statement rather than a question. Matsumoto nodded.
“That’s not mine,” Matsumoto parroted. “I’m the one who composed it.” Matsumoto added. It wasn’t at all a complete denial, not really, at least on Matsumoto’s part, especially if he truly wasn’t the person behind the compositions. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try and ask.
“You wouldn’t possibly know who it might be, then?” he asked, hopeful. It wasn’t like he wanted to point fingers, but there was no way he could leave this without making sure he’d covered every ground, that he’d asked what could be asked.
“No,” Matsumoto said, firm and sure, though Ohno swore his eyes was saying something else. “No, Ohno-san, I’m sorry.”
*+*
They drove back to his apartment in silence, Ohno’s gaze kept straying out the window every now and then without really seeing anything. Sho was equally quiet beside him, just throwing Ohno occasional stares through the mirror when he thought Ohno wasn’t looking.
When they reached the apartment, however, Sho’s patience waned drastically. Especially when the first thing Ohno did was to walk straight to his makeshift studio without another word, where Sho found him moments later staring at the lyric sheet of the song he took with him earlier when they went back to Matsumoto’s studio.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Satoshi-kun?” Sho asked. He sounded worried.
Ohno had to forcefully look up from the lyric sheet he had spread across the coffee table despite his reluctance, and shook his head. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to tell Sho, it’s just that he wasn’t really sure what to say, or where to begin.
Sho, thankfully, didn’t need him to. He was pretty good at catching on things like this, after all.
“It’s about the composer, isn’t it?” Sho asked. He looked up. “No, not Matsumoto-san,” Sho clarified before he did so himself. “The other one; the one who’d been sending you those compositions.” Sho said. It’s obvious that Sho knew it too, the reason why Ohno had to go back to the studio and talk to Matsumoto.
He sighed. “I thought I already found him,” he mumbled, feeling a little defeated. It shouldn’t feel like this, really; he’d almost accepted the fact that he was never going to find out who that person was, and why he was doing this, but his meeting with Matsumoto earlier changed that. Suddenly, there were these clues and hints he didn’t think existed until he saw them, and then the blinding urge to know who the person behind these songs came rushing back the way he thought it never would.
“Guess I was wrong,” he said, “I shouldn’t have expected finding him would be so easy. He managed to keep himself hidden for five years now, after all.”
Sho looked a little confused, and well, Ohno couldn’t exactly blame him. Everything about this was confusing, after all -the fact alone that someone with the anonymous’ composer’s caliber would want to keep his anonymity despite knowing (and Ohno was sure the composer was aware of this, that his songs were nothing but a continuous stream of hits ever since Ohno released the very first Demo CD he received) he was rocking the entirety of the Japanese Music Industry.
“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Sho said. “Like some big chunk of withheld information consisting of fated meetings and unforeseen separation.”
He snorted. He honestly didn’t expect that one, not from Sho, at least, but it was honestly like Sho just literally hit the nail on the head with that guess and it was somewhat hilariously accurate.
He pointed at the familiar letter initials printed on the paper with his fingertip, his eyes equally tracing the too-faint letters connected to them and feeling vaguely like they’re more than just letters. Ohno knew they meant something else, something more, and it was up to him to find out what it was.
“Help me find this guy and maybe I’ll tell you,” he said, looking up.
“Find this guy, how?”
He wasn’t a hundred percent sure but something told him that if there was somewhere he needed to start looking, it should be there.
They’re going back to Matsumoto’s studio, whether Ohno liked his song compositions or not.
“Call Matsumoto-san and tell him to schedule my first recording the day after tomorrow,” he told Sho, “I have a feeling he knows something.”
Pairing : Ohno/Nino
Rating : R
Summary : AU. Ohno is one of Japan’s popular singers who only sing song compositions sent to him by an anonymous composer. But everything is about to change when Ohno’s management forces him to meet a new composer to work with him on his new album.
Word count : around 16,000 words l this part, around 6000
Author’s Note : written for this year's arashi_exchange for the lovely smile_arigatou Thank you to my angel renchan27 for reading this through for me at a very short notice (like always, OMG) and to my cheerleaders and handholders, daisukidesu3 jhing_tearjerky pupilurker, you guys are the absolute best <3 Posting in 3 parts becacuse LJ is being a pest :D
*+*
Ohno Satoshi looked up from the stacks of demo CDs he’d been checking out for the past half hour to find his manager, Sakurai Sho, staring expectantly down at him.
“Excuse me?”
Sho gave him a look - one that was of pure indulgence and a little bit of something he couldn’t place his finger on; at other times, Ohno would be grateful for it, for Sho’s seemingly never-ending patience when it came to him, but not today.
“You heard me,” Sho said, levelly.
“I did,” Ohno returned, frowning; “I just thought maybe I heard it wrong,” he said. “Did you say something about us meeting a new composer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked; Sho looked taken aback at the abruptness of his question, knowing that for one, he never really cared about how they want his singing career managed so long as he got to sing the songs he liked, the songs he chose himself.
For years now, Ohno had only been singing songs by this one, anonymous composer, whose song compositions were sent through Ohno’s agency, addressed personally to him.
It was just a coincidence that he’d been there when the first demo CD arrived because if he wasn’t, he was sure it wouldn’t have reached him. Nakai - his manager back then, was a certified asshole and Ohno knew the jerk would have trashed the package without even letting Ohno know about it.
At first, he honestly wasn’t sure what to do about the song. He was worried to even let his management know about its existence because they’d sure tell him to either ignore it or worse, throw it out. Ohno resolved on keeping it, almost forgetting about it completely, at least until another Demo song arrived in the office for him two weeks later.
This time, Ohno’s curiosity over it won. Later that night when he went home with the second demo CD in hand, he purposely sat himself down and checked both demos out, finding himself honestly mesmerized before he was even done listening to the first one. The first demo song - Gimmick Game, even made him choreograph the song in his head spot on. It was so damn catchy, the words downright sexy that right then and there, he decided to place a call to Nakai, requesting him to arrange a meeting with their management’s executives the next day.
And then the rest as they said was history.
Weeks later, four more demo CDs arrived. Ohno was in the middle of recording the song Gimmick Game, with an additional two coupling songs from different composers. The single was due for release the month after.
The next four demo CDs he received, as usual, only had Ohno’s name and company address on them, but no details, not even one, about who they came from, just from which location the package was sent. Ohno had spent a fortune hiring someone to investigate who the anonymous sender was, but even then they weren’t able to find anything.
The sender - and even now this amused Ohno to a fault, obviously preferred to remain anonymous. And this was despite the glaring fact that his songs all made it to the top of the Oricon charts on the same day they were released. Ohno was certain it meant that it was the composer’s own decision to retain his anonymity, because there was no way he could not have known that his songs were topping all known music charts in Japan and have somehow accidentally made a certain down-under singer famous.
“Management order,” Sho said. “Said it would be better to try something else, something that’s not your usual. It’s for your upcoming anniversary album so they want someone else, someone who is apparently the industry’s best composer to date to work with you this time around.”
He waved a hand at Sho and took his attention back to the stacks of CDs he was checking out earlier. He just received one a few days ago, and the ones he received few weeks back he hadn’t listened to yet so he decided he would today. He hadn’t gotten around checking them, after all, since he’d been too busy with his CM filming and magazine photoshoot commitments.
“I have enough material for the upcoming album, you of all people should know that,” he said, pointing to the CDs he was checking out and the ones that were arranged methodically at the shelves. He had more or less a hundred songs, half of those he still hadn’t gotten around to check properly and he knew that most of them were good enough to make it into recording.
“And I don’t need a new composer,” he added, dismissively, “Tell them that.”
“Believe me, I already did,” Sho said; he wouldn’t have believed him if it wasn’t for the fact that Sho knew him well enough to know that ever since he’d recorded and released the very first song the anonymous composer sent him, he’d long stopped accepting song compositions from anyone else. “And I’m telling you that on this one, their decision is final. They want you to work with this composer, at least for this album, or they won’t let you release anything.”
He kept quiet; Sho did too, but he had his gaze locked on Sho’s and he knew that the cacophony of emotion flitting across his face was answer enough. It was always difficult for him to verbalize what he wanted, and for so long, he just went with whatever his management (and Sho) asked him to, but never when it came to his song choices.
That part was all him; that was the only thing he demanded from them, after all, that he’d get to sing what he wanted, work on the material he chose himself regardless if the producers or the record label would end up releasing it or not.
“As if I ever cared what they want,” he muttered, more out of spite than anything. It wasn’t like he didn’t see this coming, because he did - Sho had told him more than once, at least ever since the release of his third album, that he shouldn’t expect their Management to be always this accommodating. One of these days, he would a release a song that might not get popular, and, as should be expected, Management would most likely step forward to take every possible precautionary measure to steer his career back on track.
Even if it meant taking the one thing - this privilege he’d been given ever since he debuted, away.
“I know you don’t, Satoshi-kun, but as long as you are under contract, you know you are expected to do as they say,” Sho pointed out. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head and gathered the demo CDs in a pile, placing them back to the box Sho had stashed them to before.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Sho-kun,” he said, forcing a smile. “None of this is your fault, okay? I know you’d have fought them in my behalf if you could but as you said, as long as I’m under their contract, there is nothing I could do but obey. And that’s what we will do for now,” he said. One day, soon, he’d have to sit down to think things through, to revise and revisit, but for now, it would have to wait. “When do they want me to meet this new composer again?”
To his credit, Sho looked not the least bit pleased. “As soon as possible.”
His eyebrows twitched at that. “When?”
Sho tilted his head a little. “In an hour,” Sho said. “I was told he is already on his way to the office.”
“But I thought I have rehearsals -“
“It has been cancelled.”
He resisted the urge to scoff at that and instead, shook his head and pulled himself up. “Fine.”
Sho looked surprised. “Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to try and bite my head off for this?” Sho said, obviously meaning it as a joke because Ohno never once did that. Even when he was angry. Not to Sho, at least.
He chuckled. “I don’t plan on making your life harder than it already is, Sho-kun,” he said, “So let’s go.”
“Thank you, Satoshi-kun.” Sho said, pointing at the door. He sighed and marched towards it, heart heavy in his chest.
*+*
“I heard he worked with Utada Hikaru-san on her last album,” Sho told him once they were out of the van and on their way to meet the composer. Ohno tried to recall what her carrier single was but he couldn’t, shrugging it off eventually. Well, it wasn’t like he had much free time to listen to other artists’ songs anyway, and even if he did, most of his free time were spent either at sea or doing art.
“Her album stayed in the Oricon chart for seven consecutive weeks, three weeks at number one.”
“Not bad,” he mumbled absently; he knew he should at least pay attention but it was difficult when his heart wasn’t in it and he was too busy reminding himself to at least be professional enough in front of the composer when they meet.
For one, it wasn’t the man’s fault he’d been hired to work with Ohno, and vice versa, or that the only reason Ohno agreed to meet him was because his management forced him to. And as Sho had said, it would be better to keep his mouth shut for now, let his management do what they think was right. Ohno’s plan to revise and revisit would have to be put on hold until then.
“Heard he’s good-looking, too,” Sho added just as they rounded the hall. He chuckled and shook his head. Sometimes, he didn’t know if it was a blessing that his manager, apart from the fact that they were almost of the same age, knew almost everything about Ohno - his odd hobbies, the things that ticked him off, and most especially his sexual preference.
But he guessed it was okay; he pretty much knew enough embarrassing stuff about Sho, after all, so it was just fair that Sho should, too.
“Maybe I could ask him for his number so you can, I don’t know, call him and convince him to back off? You could do it, yes?”
“I could,” Sho said, smirking. “But I won’t. Sorry, Satoshi-kun.” Sho apologized, though he sounded not the least bit apologetic. Ohno felt wholly justified for hitting him on the shoulder hard for it in retaliation.
“Keep your mouth shut, then.” He said, without heat.
Only a few paces away was the conference room, and adjacent to it was the small recording studio, mostly used for spot on demo recording. Sho took the lead and nodded at him as he reached for the door and opened it wider for him.
*+*
To say that he was surprised upon meeting the composer was an understatement.
For one, Matsumoto Jun didn’t quite look like one. In fact, if Ohno was going to be completely honest about it, he could have pegged the other man for a movie star, no kidding. Ohno had a hard time taking his gaze away from the man, from his perfectly styled hair to his obviously tailored two-piece elegant suit.
“I was told you needed new materials for your upcoming anniversary album,” Matsumoto Jun said with an air of an aristocrat. Or a person who just knew what he could do and was not afraid to flaunt it. Ohno was honestly a little terrified of him. “Is that correct, Ohno-san?”
I don’t, Ohno wanted to say, but Sho was nodding at him from the opposite corner, like a parent nudging his child. As if reminding him verbally beforehand that he should refrain from trying to fuck things up wasn’t enough, Sho had to be there to remind Ohno of it personally, too.
Ohno tried not to act like he was considering requesting Matsumoto to kick his manager out and instead turned his gaze away, hoping he could tune Sho out.
“Ohno-san?”
“Yeah,” he said, pausing, considering his answer for a minute before he settled on, “Yes, I believe so, Matsumoto-san.” he answered, meeting Matsumoto’s gaze.
“Though I suppose we have to agree on certain things before we proceed, yes?” Matsumoto asked. Ohno nodded. “And that’s -?”
Ohno held Matsumoto’s gaze steadily. “You’d have to let me sample the songs first, if that’s okay.” he said, dimly aware of the obvious shift in Matsumoto’s expression the second the words were out of his mouth. He was also vaguely aware of Sho waving frantically from the corner, obviously trying to get his attention and probably just waiting for him to glance his way so he could ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing but he figured Sho could wait his turn.
Of course Ohno knew, what he was saying, and saying it was indeed reason enough to get himself (and his poor manager) in trouble but to be honest, that was the least of his concerns. He agreed to meet this new composer on the grounds that his management wanted him to work on new materials for his next album, and that Matsumoto was good enough to make it happen, so he was going to make Matsumoto prove it. He wanted to make sure Matsumoto was as good as they said he was by checking his compositions first.
“No problem,” Matsumoto said. “I already have a few tracks prepared just in case. But they’re in my studio; I didn’t think you would ask me for a demo song on our first meeting so I didn’t bring any with me.”
“That’s okay,” he agreed before finally giving Sho the attention he’d been asking for. “We have nothing else scheduled today, right, Sakurai-san?” Sho barely able to nod his head in answer and he already had his gaze shifted back to Matsumoto. “We can go with you. If you’re free, that is.”
“I’m not the artist here, Ohno-san,” Matsumoto said with a grin, and the genuineness of it honestly eased Ohno’s tension slightly. “So it goes without saying that I’m not as busy as you are.” Matsumoto stood as he said this, and Ohno followed suit. Then he turned to Sho, his phone already in hand. “Give me your number and I’ll send you the address of my studio. You can follow me there.”
Sho simply tilted his head and Ohno couldn’t have been prouder of Sho when Sho said, “Thank you, Matsumoto-san, but I already have it.”
Matsumoto raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows and grinned. “Let’s go, then.”
*+*
They made it to Matsumoto’s studio under an hour later. They parked at the front and both him and Sho realized they stopped in front of a building, an apartment complex. When they hopped out of the car, Matsumoto was already waiting for them at the entrance.
“Here?” he whispered under his breath to Sho, who looked equally perplexed.
“Looks like it,” Sho said, at the same time Matsumoto stepped forward and gestured them in. “He probably lives here too, I think.”
Matsumoto probably didn’t, judging with how high-profile he looked but that was something Ohno figured he shouldn’t say. “Probably,” he agreed instead, as he and Sho followed Matsumoto inside.
*+*
They were led into a relatively big-sized apartment three elevators up. Unsurprisingly, it was a studio-converted one. From the outside, the building sure didn’t look like it was housing one like this, but it was nonetheless impressive. Inside, it was even more so.
“We bought three units here and converted two into this studio,” Matsumoto explained as he led them inside the automated glass door. They were first ushered into what seemed to be the live room - the recording room itself with the isolation booth, and the control room beyond it. There were music equipments everywhere - the usual stuff found inside a recording studio but the equipments here looked far better (and obviously newer) than the ones Ohno was used to.
But the grand piano sitting at the far corner was what grabbed his attention the second he stepped inside, the battered red acoustic guitar leaning against it as was the stick of a man sprawled on his ass on the floor, scrawling something on the notebook spread in front of him.
He also didn’t seem to notice he had company.
“Nino, I brought the artist and his manager with me,” Matsumoto said, loud enough to startle the man from his writing. He looked up, briefly nodding at Matsumoto before he was taking his gaze to Sho, then to Ohno. Their gazes meet for about a second or two before the man was ducking down to grab his belongings in haste. “They’re here to check out the demos.” Matsumoto added and Ohno watched the man nod his head slightly at them before he disappeared into a door leading to the control room.
He and Sho looked at Matsumoto questioningly. “That was Ninomiya-san,” Matsumoto said, “He’s the technical guy,” pointing at the control room where the technical guy, Nino, disappeared into. “He’ll prepare the sample songs for you, so, shall we go?”
Ohno figured this was what he came here for anyway. “Lead the way, Matsumoto-san, please.”
*+*
“Is there something wrong, Ohno-san?” Matsumoto asked, sounding vaguely worried. Ohno continued frowning at the lyric sheet, more particularly at the tiny letter initials stamped at the bottom of the page.
This was the second song Matsumoto made him listen to and to be honest, he liked it. He didn’t think he would but there was something about the melody that made him think it was composed specifically for him. And the words - Ohno couldn’t quite place it but there was something vaguely familiar about them too.
He put the earphones back on as he squinted at the sheet and Matsumoto gestured to the technical guy through the glass wall. The music started playing and Ohno hummed the words softly under his breath, following the melody, heart beating unusually fast in his chest. Something nagged at the back of Ohno’s mind, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to say it, now, especially when he wasn’t even sure he was right.
His eyes darted downwards to where the tiny letters were again; meaningful in a way Ohno hadn’t thought before, at least not after he saw them here, now.
He snatched the earphones off and motioned for Matsumoto to scoot closer; he couldn’t help it, he was itching to know - waiting until Matsumoto was close enough to see. He looked up, then, sure that Matsumoto was looking, he pointed his fingertip at the letter initials marked at the bottom of the page.
“Do this letters mean anything?” he asked, carefully. It was difficult not to raise suspicion, especially with what he was asking but he knew that if he didn’t, if he kept quiet, he’d go crazy. He was already cataloguing the number of times he’d seen the same thing, or at least something that looked similar to it, from which sample song and where and which box he made Sho put it.
Matsumoto considered it for a moment before he nodded. “Yes,” he said, and Ohno felt entirely like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. “They’re my initials,” Matsumoto said, pointing. “MJ. Matsumoto Jun.”
*+*
They left the studio an hour and a half later, with the copy of the sample songs (there were three of them) and their corresponding lyric sheets, and the promise to call Matsumoto the day after.
As soon as he and Sho were in the car, Sho was immediately talking.
“Okay, what the hell was that?” Sho grunted, ignoring his lame attempt at keeping his thoughts to himself. He was so lost, but also kind of not and damn it all if he wasn’t the most confused individual in the planet right now he’d rejoice, but it was hard to think of it when there was this unfamiliar urgency thrumming at the back of his head, so strong Ohno felt it vibrating across his skin. “You looked like you’ve seen a ghost back there. What the hell happened, Satoshi-kun?”
He didn’t know how to explain it without sounding like a complete lunatic but he was also certain that if there was anyone who would understand this, it’d be Sho.
But for now… “Let’s go home,” he said as he buckled himself up almost as if on autopilot. “And I’ll explain it there.”
Sho looked him over once and probably saw something that convinced the other man he was serious. “Fine,” Sho said. “Fine, let’s go.”
*+*
“Satoshi-kun, wait,” Sho struggled to keep up as Ohno half-jogged, half-ran towards his apartment, his keys already in one hand and the other clutching the envelope containing the sample songs he requested from Matsumoto. He was shaking, in anticipation and something else, not bothering waiting for Sho to keep up as he unlocked the door the second he reached the front of his apartment, throwing it wide open and sprinting the rest of the way inside.
Sho found him in his makeshift studio a little over ten minutes later, while he was carefully putting down the box containing the very first batch of Demo CDs he received from his anonymous composer. The boxes were arranged according to the dates he received them (thanks to Sho and his awesome organizational skills) so he was able to find the one he was looking for easily. The lyrics sheets where there too, and Ohno gently and very carefully pulled one out, then spread it open on top of the coffee table there along with one of the sheets he took from Matsumoto.
The second his gaze found it, he knew deep in his gut that he was right.
“Sho-kun, look,” he said, pointing at the sheet he received about five years ago, one from the very first batch, more particularly at the letter initials stamped on the bottom, and then at the one he got from Matsumoto earlier.
“Holy crap,” Sho muttered, and Ohno swore he pretty much had the same reaction earlier. Holy crap, indeed. “This… a-are they the same?” Sho asked. Well it was pretty obvious that was the case here. Sho turned to him then, his brows knitted together. “Jesus, are you thinking that Matsumoto-san is… is the same person sending you these songs?” Sho asked, sounding completely baffled.
Ohno slumped on his ass on the floor and stared at both papers, stunned. He’d be honest, that was his first thought too. But now that he’d seen both, he wasn’t too sure anymore.
He took the other sheet - the old one, and squinted at the letter initials printed there. Sure, the letters M and J are there, printed permanently on the sheet the same thing the chords on the sheet were, but there were smudges of two more letter initials scrawled over the letters M and J, or more particularly, scrawled connected to both letters though not as clearly as the first two, as if they were simply added there by a pen or a pencil afterwards.
“Sho-kun, tell me,” he hummed without taking his gaze away from the lyric sheet, finger absently tracing the now too faint letters connected to the M and the J. “Do we have any information about Matsumoto-san when he first started writing songs? Like, who was the first artist he worked with, how he became famous in the song writing business.”
“Are you asking me?” Sho said; Ohno didn’t even have to look up to know that Sho looked sorely affronted. He could very well hear the Geez, Satoshi-kun, and here I thought you knew me better than that even though Sho hadn’t really said it.
“I’m asking you.” he parroted.
He didn’t even need to wait long because then Sho was talking, detailing Matsumoto’s profile like he was simply reading the information directly from the man’s resume. Ohno listened intently; bypassing those details he didn’t need and was waiting for that particularly important one to come.
When it did, Ohno held out a finger, cutting Sho off quickly to ask, “Wait, you said 2011,” he said, frowning, heart beating crazy fast despite himself.
“Yes,” Sho agreed, looking thoughtful, “it was in 2011 when Matsumoto-san had his big break by writing the carrier single for KissMyFt, only a month after the establishment of his studio. It was around June that year, why?”
June 2011, Matsumoto Jun opened his recording studio, his very first client being Johnnys Entertainment’s newest, and fast rising boy group then, KissMyFt. A few months after, Ohno received his first demo CD from his anonymous composer, using the similar lyric sheet, but sent from an unknown location. The very first single he released from the anonymous composer, Gimmick Game, the one that topped every single countdown chart in Japan, was sent to him around August of that year too.
Few months difference, Ohno thought, his mind reeling. It couldn’t have been purely coincidental, could it?
“Change of plans,” he muttered, deciding on the spot that he was not going to wait here for answers. Folding the old lyric sheet and putting it back inside the envelope he took it out from, he slipped it inside the one he got from Matsumoto. He stood up from his sprawl on the floor and looked at Sho with purpose. “Call Matsumoto-san again, Sho-kun. Tell him we’re heading back to the studio. I need to talk to him again.”
“Huh? But I thought you said -“
“I said change of plans, “ he repeated, “Call Matsumoto-san and tell him I need to see him again,” he paused, holding the envelope up with shaking fingers. “There’s something I need to confirm with him, and there’s no way I can wait until tomorrow to do it.”
“It’s about your composer, isn’t it?” Sho asked, though with how he looked at Ohno with those big, hopeful eyes of his, Ohno was certain Sho already knew. “You think that after five long years of waiting and waiting, you’ve finally found him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he breathed, wondering if he sounded as hopeful as he felt. He took the first few steps towards the door, knowing Sho was just right behind him. Just like always.
“Let’s hope to God that this time, I’m right.”
*+*
“So, are you saying you don’t recognize this?” he said, pointing. The lyric sheets are spread wide in front of them, the same way he did earlier back in his apartment. The only difference was that right now, he was showing them to the person he suspected was the anonymous composer who’d been sending him songs since almost the same time he debuted or if he wasn’t, someone he knew obviously was. “That these papers don’t belong to you? See, they both have your initials, don’t they?” darting his fingers between the two papers.
Sure, the older one was a little torn around the edges, its color changed, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the two are the same. At least the papers were; the written words, though, and whoever did it was an entirely different matter altogether.
There was an awkward pause, and Ohno would be lying if he said he didn’t just held his breath right then, waiting for Matsumoto’s answer.
“Sure, they do,” Matsumoto agreed, low, under his breath, but Ohno could already hear the but coming. Matsumoto raised his head to meet his eyes. “But if you’re asking me if I was the one who wrote this, I’m sorry.” Matsumoto said, pushing the other lyric sheet forward to point out what was already obvious. “It wasn’t me.” Matsumoto added.
“I can see that,” he agreed, with a slight nod of his head. Sure, the papers were the same, even the letter initials printed on them which made Ohno believe that they came from the same source. The only problem here was, the hand-written lyrics on the one Ohno received from his anonymous composer years and years before sure didn’t look the slightest bit similar to the one that Matsumoto owned.
Of course they didn’t. Matsumoto’s own are printed directly on the paper, after all.
“But you agree with me that the papers are the same, yes? They’re yours, right?”
“Sure,” Matsumoto said, though this time, Ohno detected something different in the way he said the words, like he was trying to be too careful lest he would give something away. Ohno wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“They look pretty much the same to me, too, but the thing is…” Matsumoto paused here, eyes thoughtful. When he met Ohno’s gaze again, Ohno knew something in his expression shifted. “Well, I can’t say for sure that this is ours,” Matsumoto held the paper up for further inspection. “See, we have this paper sheet printed specifically for us but you know how it is with these things. Papers, clothes, designs - everything could be easily duplicated nowadays so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that someone could have gotten the design, reproduced it and used it.”
Well, okay, that was a possibility Ohno didn’t think of before but it certainly had him thinking now. But still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was so close to finding out who the anonymous composer was, but feeling and knowing it were two completely different things.
But staring at Matsumoto now and knowing that he wasn’t the one Ohno had been looking for brought him some kind of relief he didn’t know he needed, wanted, until he heard Matsumoto confirmed it.
It made him think about that one night - months before he was scouted by one of the agency’s talent coordinator - he spent tangled around a person he met earlier that evening in that particular bar he used to perform before. The memory ached as he stared at Matsumoto’s face, glad but equal-parts sad that Matsumoto wasn’t the one he was looking for, because then it meant he was back in square one.
Somehow, Ohno had this stupid notion that the same guy he was with that night was the same guy sending him these song compositions. And it wasn’t unfounded, no, because the reason for this he always carried with him no matter where he went, the evidence of it, folded very carefully and tucked safely inside his wallet, in between his family’s photo and his youngest niece’s latest one.
“So this…” he said, pointing at the old sheet he brought with him. “Is not yours.” He said; it was more of a statement rather than a question. Matsumoto nodded.
“That’s not mine,” Matsumoto parroted. “I’m the one who composed it.” Matsumoto added. It wasn’t at all a complete denial, not really, at least on Matsumoto’s part, especially if he truly wasn’t the person behind the compositions. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try and ask.
“You wouldn’t possibly know who it might be, then?” he asked, hopeful. It wasn’t like he wanted to point fingers, but there was no way he could leave this without making sure he’d covered every ground, that he’d asked what could be asked.
“No,” Matsumoto said, firm and sure, though Ohno swore his eyes was saying something else. “No, Ohno-san, I’m sorry.”
*+*
They drove back to his apartment in silence, Ohno’s gaze kept straying out the window every now and then without really seeing anything. Sho was equally quiet beside him, just throwing Ohno occasional stares through the mirror when he thought Ohno wasn’t looking.
When they reached the apartment, however, Sho’s patience waned drastically. Especially when the first thing Ohno did was to walk straight to his makeshift studio without another word, where Sho found him moments later staring at the lyric sheet of the song he took with him earlier when they went back to Matsumoto’s studio.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Satoshi-kun?” Sho asked. He sounded worried.
Ohno had to forcefully look up from the lyric sheet he had spread across the coffee table despite his reluctance, and shook his head. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to tell Sho, it’s just that he wasn’t really sure what to say, or where to begin.
Sho, thankfully, didn’t need him to. He was pretty good at catching on things like this, after all.
“It’s about the composer, isn’t it?” Sho asked. He looked up. “No, not Matsumoto-san,” Sho clarified before he did so himself. “The other one; the one who’d been sending you those compositions.” Sho said. It’s obvious that Sho knew it too, the reason why Ohno had to go back to the studio and talk to Matsumoto.
He sighed. “I thought I already found him,” he mumbled, feeling a little defeated. It shouldn’t feel like this, really; he’d almost accepted the fact that he was never going to find out who that person was, and why he was doing this, but his meeting with Matsumoto earlier changed that. Suddenly, there were these clues and hints he didn’t think existed until he saw them, and then the blinding urge to know who the person behind these songs came rushing back the way he thought it never would.
“Guess I was wrong,” he said, “I shouldn’t have expected finding him would be so easy. He managed to keep himself hidden for five years now, after all.”
Sho looked a little confused, and well, Ohno couldn’t exactly blame him. Everything about this was confusing, after all -the fact alone that someone with the anonymous’ composer’s caliber would want to keep his anonymity despite knowing (and Ohno was sure the composer was aware of this, that his songs were nothing but a continuous stream of hits ever since Ohno released the very first Demo CD he received) he was rocking the entirety of the Japanese Music Industry.
“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Sho said. “Like some big chunk of withheld information consisting of fated meetings and unforeseen separation.”
He snorted. He honestly didn’t expect that one, not from Sho, at least, but it was honestly like Sho just literally hit the nail on the head with that guess and it was somewhat hilariously accurate.
He pointed at the familiar letter initials printed on the paper with his fingertip, his eyes equally tracing the too-faint letters connected to them and feeling vaguely like they’re more than just letters. Ohno knew they meant something else, something more, and it was up to him to find out what it was.
“Help me find this guy and maybe I’ll tell you,” he said, looking up.
“Find this guy, how?”
He wasn’t a hundred percent sure but something told him that if there was somewhere he needed to start looking, it should be there.
They’re going back to Matsumoto’s studio, whether Ohno liked his song compositions or not.
“Call Matsumoto-san and tell him to schedule my first recording the day after tomorrow,” he told Sho, “I have a feeling he knows something.”