眠れない Brand New World // 山下智久
Occasionally-'rarely', perhaps, though even that would be more often than he would like-Yamashita jerks awake in the middle of the night, cold sweat making the sheets cling to his skin and a nightmare burned into the back of his eyelids. He blinks rapidly and extracts an arm from the warmth of his blankets to turn on his bedside lamp, but even the light can't dispel the faces that are stuck in his memories. He dreams of HaseJun, of Kusano, of Shige, of all the others, fallen to the wayside, reaching out towards him with grasping fingers as he runs and runs, forwards and forwards, pushed on by some inexorable force behind him.
When they have the chance to meet up over beer and ramen, his friends, including many of the people he dreams about, are quick to tell him it's not his fault. Yamashita isn't the type of person who has time to wallow in misplaced guilt anyway, so he's happy to take their words at face value. At least his head does, though apparently his heart sometimes has doubts in the middle of the night like this.
He can't go back to sleep; the only thing to do is to get up and watch some TV or something.
Curled up on his sofa with a cup of tea and the blanket he'd dragged off his bed, Yamashita lets the infomercial on TV drone perkily on while he scrolls mindlessly through his phone. He's caught himself doing this a lot lately, wanting to call somebody up for dinner and bar hopping but unable to pick out anyone he really feels comfortable calling anymore. Mentally he's compartmentalized his address book into two groups: people he's afraid to call because they might still be angry at him, and, he doesn't know which is worse, people he's afraid to call because they might not have time for him anymore. On TV, the grinning, carefree saleswoman is encouraging him to dial the number on the screen right now so that he won't miss out on this amazing deal!
He doesn't even realize he's drifted off until there's a tiny voice coming out of the phone lying next to his cheek on the arm of the couch.
"What-Hello? Who is this?" he asks a little blearily.
"Stupid! You call me and you don't know who I am?" the other person admonishes him, laughing.
Yamashita has always been good at remembering people, and he immediately recognizes this voice though it's one he hasn't talked to on the phone in ages. "Kitayama?!"
"Pin-pon! Give the man a prize!" Kitayama laughs, and Yamashita thinks, with the creeping comfort of nostalgia, that he's always loved how easily Kitayama laughed when you talked to him.
"So why did you call me?" Kitayama asks, "It's far too late for this to be a dinner invite... or anything, really."
"Except booty call," blurts Yamashita before he realizes it, and then he clamps his lips shut in embarrassment as Kitayama cracks up on the other end of the line.
"Is that the lasting influence of Jin-kun?" he says when he's done laughing, a little breathless. "Or was that a Freudian slip?"
"Whatever," Yamashita mutters, laughing a little himself. "What are you doing awake? I know I didn't wake you up because waking you up is impossible."
"Is not," denies Kitayama, but there's no conviction in his own words. "I'm just on my way back from filming."
"Now?!" Yamashita twists around to look at the clock hung on the wall over his head, before remembering he can just look at his phone. "But it's so late."
"I need to work hard now so I can be in a position to negotiate a better schedule, like you."
"Careful what you wish for..."
"Oh don't worry, I'll make sure my riders come with all sorts of conditions and clauses and legal fine print. '1. Two-hour nap to be allowed to Kitayama Hiromitsu daily, not to be interrupted for any reason, except in cases of fire, earthquakes above 7.0 on the Richter scale, or a better-than-average lunch.' - like that."
That's not really what Yamashita had meant, but he likes this direction of the conversation better and so he lets Kitayama ramble on without bothering to correct him. The call lasts for ten minutes more, until Kitayama breaks off in the middle of a sentence to say goodnight to his manager. That, and the sound of a car door slamming, are enough to tell Yamashita, who has first-hand experience with all the little sounds he's hearing through the phone now, that Kitayama has been safely delivered to his apartment. With more reluctance than he expects to feel, Yamashita starts to put an end to their phone call too. No doubt Kitayama has more work lined up early the next morning, and he himself has drama filming to get to as well.
"Let's grab a beer sometime," Kitayama is the first to say, "If you make room on your schedule for me, I'll make room on my schedule for you... Can't have you thinking you're more important than me, you know."
"Be quiet, kouhai," retorts Yamashita, though he's sure Kitayama can hear him talking through the huge grin on his face. "But okay. Okay, it's a deal."
When they have the chance to meet up over beer and ramen, his friends, including many of the people he dreams about, are quick to tell him it's not his fault. Yamashita isn't the type of person who has time to wallow in misplaced guilt anyway, so he's happy to take their words at face value. At least his head does, though apparently his heart sometimes has doubts in the middle of the night like this.
He can't go back to sleep; the only thing to do is to get up and watch some TV or something.
Curled up on his sofa with a cup of tea and the blanket he'd dragged off his bed, Yamashita lets the infomercial on TV drone perkily on while he scrolls mindlessly through his phone. He's caught himself doing this a lot lately, wanting to call somebody up for dinner and bar hopping but unable to pick out anyone he really feels comfortable calling anymore. Mentally he's compartmentalized his address book into two groups: people he's afraid to call because they might still be angry at him, and, he doesn't know which is worse, people he's afraid to call because they might not have time for him anymore. On TV, the grinning, carefree saleswoman is encouraging him to dial the number on the screen right now so that he won't miss out on this amazing deal!
He doesn't even realize he's drifted off until there's a tiny voice coming out of the phone lying next to his cheek on the arm of the couch.
"What-Hello? Who is this?" he asks a little blearily.
"Stupid! You call me and you don't know who I am?" the other person admonishes him, laughing.
Yamashita has always been good at remembering people, and he immediately recognizes this voice though it's one he hasn't talked to on the phone in ages. "Kitayama?!"
"Pin-pon! Give the man a prize!" Kitayama laughs, and Yamashita thinks, with the creeping comfort of nostalgia, that he's always loved how easily Kitayama laughed when you talked to him.
"So why did you call me?" Kitayama asks, "It's far too late for this to be a dinner invite... or anything, really."
"Except booty call," blurts Yamashita before he realizes it, and then he clamps his lips shut in embarrassment as Kitayama cracks up on the other end of the line.
"Is that the lasting influence of Jin-kun?" he says when he's done laughing, a little breathless. "Or was that a Freudian slip?"
"Whatever," Yamashita mutters, laughing a little himself. "What are you doing awake? I know I didn't wake you up because waking you up is impossible."
"Is not," denies Kitayama, but there's no conviction in his own words. "I'm just on my way back from filming."
"Now?!" Yamashita twists around to look at the clock hung on the wall over his head, before remembering he can just look at his phone. "But it's so late."
"I need to work hard now so I can be in a position to negotiate a better schedule, like you."
"Careful what you wish for..."
"Oh don't worry, I'll make sure my riders come with all sorts of conditions and clauses and legal fine print. '1. Two-hour nap to be allowed to Kitayama Hiromitsu daily, not to be interrupted for any reason, except in cases of fire, earthquakes above 7.0 on the Richter scale, or a better-than-average lunch.' - like that."
That's not really what Yamashita had meant, but he likes this direction of the conversation better and so he lets Kitayama ramble on without bothering to correct him. The call lasts for ten minutes more, until Kitayama breaks off in the middle of a sentence to say goodnight to his manager. That, and the sound of a car door slamming, are enough to tell Yamashita, who has first-hand experience with all the little sounds he's hearing through the phone now, that Kitayama has been safely delivered to his apartment. With more reluctance than he expects to feel, Yamashita starts to put an end to their phone call too. No doubt Kitayama has more work lined up early the next morning, and he himself has drama filming to get to as well.
"Let's grab a beer sometime," Kitayama is the first to say, "If you make room on your schedule for me, I'll make room on my schedule for you... Can't have you thinking you're more important than me, you know."
"Be quiet, kouhai," retorts Yamashita, though he's sure Kitayama can hear him talking through the huge grin on his face. "But okay. Okay, it's a deal."