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"hello."

hello. such a boring word to say back to someone who used to mean so much. mika finds himself frozen in time as ryuna slips next to him, wearing what seems to be a contemplative smile on her face. he understands why - he figures there isn't a lot of people she knows in this wedding. he appreciates the gesture and he's sure william appreciates it too.

"crazy reception," is all he says as a greeting, masking his thoughts in a smile that he hopes reaches his eyes. it doesn't seem like she picks up because she goes off into a tangent of how pretty the reception layout is, the tension in her stance broken. months ago, she probably would have recognized it in a beat, refusing not to discuss it. but alas, things are different now aren't they? the conversation continues and he's half present, half transcending elsewhere.

months ago, he deleted himself entirely. no one to blame but himself. but there's a point where the wound he carries wont be enough to keep him from the tendre he craves. he knows he'll reach a point in healing where the guiding light at the end of the tunnel will reach him and he'll finally be able to move forward as he's been hoping to do. he knows, that a painful part of getting closer to the light is feeling like he's been stuck in one place for forever while everyone else moved past. she's certainly done so.

in a paradox, change exists for him. this was supposed to be the year of meeting new people, of opening up. instead, this is the year of being alone. he wants everything to change and yet want nothing to change at all. he feels so foreign and different from himself and yet feel exactly the same. it's the way it goes oftentimes though, isn't it? continuity and metamorphosis always travel together. some people you meet for a reason, some people for a season. in some unfortunate circumstances, both.

he says something he doesn't really understand himself but it makes her laugh. she probably thinks he's spewing something stupid. not that he isn't.

but he hears kazuma's voice from the back, pulling his focus back into perception. he tells him he'll join him soon. tilting his head, he meets ryuna's eyes and a palpable silence passes through them. for the first time since he's known her, he doesn't know what to say. and he's okay with it. in a different universe, he'd wrap his arms around her and say, "best man's speech, be right back, babe." he'd press a kiss to her temple, whisper how beautiful she looks this evening and that he can't wait to have her all to himself.

but in this universe, he extends an open hand, a quirky smile tugging at his lips. her eyebrows meet in the middle in confusion and she's bursting into laughter once more at his antics. she gives him a handshake though, playing along, and he walks away for one last time.

the page is bare except for the title on the top left corner, ‘there are monsters in my closet and it's 3am.’ slender digits fidget with the pen, cap dislodged as he carefully swirls it between the back of his thumb and index. the piece of paper is so blank and depressing that it’s screaming back at him in despair but he thinks to himself, this isn't too bad. the deadline is, what, in a day? totally doable.

so he proceeds to wait until the last possible minute before starting and the next thing he knows he’s couped in a hotel room somewhere in tokyo, a show to catch in eight hours, sleep to bank on for at least three and an album draft that he’s got absolutely nothing on.

he doesn’t sit himself down, even though he really should. instead he makes a run for the lawson’s a block away because he needs all the sustenance he can get as he sources his folders on his phone that somehow contains 243 unread articles.

53:41 length youtube documentary from 2008.

safari? maybe so, inspiration could be sitting somewhere in the 103 tabs open.

the elevator door dings, opens wide and he slips inside, eyes constricting at the brightness of his screen.

click, scroll, click, tap, tap, boom. brightness fixed. there are monsters in my closet and it's 3am. cool, cool, cool, he’s got this.

nine words, thirty five letters. he thinks to the speed writing song seminar he just attended, thinks on the 80/20 rule and lets his thoughts wander as he aimlessly makes his way out of the elevator. the doorman greets him and mika salutes because why not?

then he thinks of coffee. it's technically my first coffee of the day because it's past midnight, he thinks as he ponders over hot or iced, decaf or caffeinated. he thinks hard over something that should be an easy decision but alas there’s a preschool that he passes by and he stops in the middle, stealing references from their educational and promotional posters. his japanese is basic at its best but he can read pretty well.

leave the lights on. the stars don’t want to sleep until it’s time. good night.

click, scroll, click, tap, tap. an email chain is sent to his creative director and fellow producer, 4:13am: is being a dumb fuck a valid reason for an extension? he snorts and thinks of the title funny as he tries to configure how to set the font in times new roman, size 12, double spaced. how the fuck do you do this on the phone?

he breezes through the entrance of lawson and makes his way to the refreshments aisle where several tables are conveniently set adjacent to. he purses his lips and pulls a stool to sit on, picking up on the original task. writing the set list? the email? no yeah no, the archives you dumbfuck.

he sorts through a few drafts he actually likes. more than a few, there’s actually quite a lot of it and who knew being in a 24-7 convenient store would give all the motivation? an hour passes and the only thing he can think of is did i just plagiarize an original work of mine? fuck it, we ball, and then hits submit. it’s quarter to six now and he knows this because his alarm jolts him awake just as a figure crouches over the aisle right across. he stares at ground and tries to find his way back to his own business when he sees the anklet on the person's ankle. it kinda looks like the one his sisters like to make back at home. he takes another closer look and realizes the beads spell out d-a-n-i. he takes a second glance at her profile, a loud gasp bubbling from his lips.

“oh shit, what the hell?!” he hurriedly stands in excitement so quickly that he stumbles over his own footing, knocking over several stools on top of the other like a domino effect. the staff behind the counter begins to shuffle towards the rare commotion and he quickly grabs her by the arm, tossing one over her shoulder and ushering her towards the exit.

he thinks he hears laughter from her but he could be hallucinating. and wow is that the sun? it’s morning time?

not a cloud in the sky with the moon shining down from above it's a perfect night to be united as one. it's the kind of evening where the warm maui breeze is tickling you softly in the back of your neck, a hint of deja vu when the promises are exchanged of i do's and til death to us part. the bride and groom are all smiles as everyone spurs them on into the dance floor and all mika can think of is getting another tequila from the open bar, the blissful pair being the last thing he bears in mind. tugging at the bar stool, he thumps a closed fist against the surface once, holding up a finger to the bartender, motioning towards the bottle on the right. he's lost track of the number he's ordered but who's counting anyways? he might as well give his brother a run for his money and make out this open bar's worth.

sometimes, mika wonders if he was born backwards.

not physically backwards, obviously, but – backwards. in reverse.

he’s a grown-up before he’s old enough to walk to the store on his own. there’s this feeling, a curling deep in his gut, and at night when he lies in bed it comes to tells him that he’s a bit too big for his body. he goes to community service every sunday with his mom, helps his dad fix the car on the weekends, takes anchovy for his allergy appointments, teaches kona how to sit and fetch and roll over. he watches his band mates go to university and become an entrepreneur, a musician, meets cute girls, get married and all the while mika remains rooted where he stands.

he doesn’t really feel the sands of time shift because he feels as though he’s been here – just… here from the moment he had any spatial awareness whatsoever.

nothing feels right. nothing seems to fit. his manager keeps telling him to go to therapy, have someone who will write him a prescription that they both know mika is never going to fill, and tells him that he can’t go on living the rest of his life feeling as though he's stuck. we all move forward, kid, his old boy band manager keeps telling him. so why does it seem like the wheels are going in reverse? everyone seems to be moving forward except for him and he's stuck in a limbo, just watching from a distance. is this what it's like to grow up? is he past that? is this what they call a midlife crisis?

his thoughts are muddled when a slender figure slips next to him, blinking out of the possibilities of (perhaps) seeing an actual professional for whatever the fuck it is he's going through. it's an odd funk, everyone goes through it, right?

"oh shit," he suddenly pulls back, the corners of his lips tugging into a broad smile. olivia, as he speaks and breathe. sure they speak with each other here and there on sns, but when was the last time he saw her? "well look who we have here."