Mad Tea Party

The thoughts and silence of the night were torn apart by the sound of the inkstick against the stone, a rhythm that he had learned long ago. Looking over his shoulder, he could see how Gentaro was focused on making enough ink, mixing everything in the right amounts. Brushes of all sizes were arranged in front of him. A small smile appeared on his face as he found himself accompanied by him. Even in the silence, he felt attached to Gentaro.

Their meeting had not been by chance, or at least that was what he wanted to believe. Master Yumeno Gentaro was the trendy playwright. His kabuki plays were the delight of all Edo. Anyone who knew about culture would know his name. The bad tongues said he came from a noble family fallen from grace. Others said he was an illegitimate son of the Fujiwara clan. But the playwright, who had somehow been favored by the Imperial Court, made everyone forget the details of his private life. Unlike him, Gentaro could go wherever he wanted and do whatever he wanted. And what Gentaro wanted was to spend his time with him, saying soft words in Hifumi’s ear, who was his muse. When Izanami played his long ballads in shamisen for him, he noticed how his eyes glowed with pleasure as he looked at him. Art brought them together, but even more so, love was what kept them together. Hifumi wanted to believe that the red thread of destiny was entwined between his fingers, letting him know that they were meant to be.

As he walked through Yoshiwara with his entourage, the slow, sensuous figure-8s he formed with his feet as he walked made everyone sigh. Sometimes his feet hurt from the weight of the countless layers of silk. Oh, how he wished to get out of his high wooden sandals and run down the street without looking back! No one would care if Hifumi escaped because he did not exist. There was only the beautiful tayu, Izanami.

But not Gentaro. Only when they met in public did he call him Izanami, since image was everything. In the solitude offered by four walls, Gentaro sometimes made him believe that his heart had been transformed into a butterfly, for when he heard him say Hifumi he could feel it fluttering. His real name had become a sacred prayer for both.

His hand rested gracefully on an azalea waiting to be placed in the vessel, but his mind was somewhere else. He still remembered the author's first visit, when he asked his name. In that moment, Hifumi's redlined eyes narrowed in a classic kitsune expression as he covered his mouth with his sleeve. From his lips came only a “people call me Izanami”. However, that was not the answer the playwright wanted.

“How exquisite! Just like the goddess, with a poetic and delicate countenance like her. However, what I asked, my dear, is what your name is, not what the masses call you.”

For a few seconds, he didn't know what to say. No one had dared to treat the rest of his clients as "the common people", especially since Hifumi chose them all conscientiously. No one had ever wondered what was underneath the silk that covered him. But he would not be easily caught. The mystery could only be maintained by himself, playing his cards as he had been taught, without revealing anything, always making the other one want more.

“If my lord wants to know my name, he will have to visit me again. I shall be grateful for your company and patronage.”

The memory was interrupted by his name, when Gentaro called him. As he emerged from his reverie, he turned to see what he wanted, lowering his head and awaiting his command.

"Hifumi, didn't you hear me when I called you?" Gentaro's head tilted to the left, wondering how he hadn't heard if he had been at it for a while.

“My most sincere apologies, Gentaro-sama. Perhaps I was just distracted and that’s why I did not answer your call.”

Gentaro's chuckle could not be stopped by his hand. It was not often that Hifumi was so distracted, and in some ways, he thought it was lovely.

“It’s all right. Don't worry. It is just that I need help with a poem I’m finishing. Would you please look in your tansu chest for all those poems I have given you? I know you kept them, but I need to check something first.”

Swiftly, Hifumi rose to attend to his request, approaching the drawers and taking out several manuscripts he had made. A full drawer was waiting for him and he started to take them out one by one to the desk, where Gentaro kept looking at a blank paper, not paying attention to how the rolls were accumulating around him.

Once Hifumi had carried the last one, Gentaro took his wrist and brought Hifumi's hand to his mouth, to kiss the tips of his fingers gently. Hifumi trembled with pleasure, thinking of the intimacy of his touch. His fingertips, his fingernails, his long fingers, everything belonged to him with every kiss he deposited.

“You haven't looked at any of the poems I gave you, have you? They must still remain unread.”

Hifumi shook his head. He still remembered how Gentaro, one spring night, had started to write the poems when he came to see him. The summer was already over, and the scrolls were piling up on the chest of drawers. He had been tempted many times to open them and read them one by one, but he knew it would break his confidence.

His refusal was rewarded with a shower of kisses on his wrists and hands, a devotion that Hifumi was not accustomed to, because he was the one who used to deliver it. He closed his eyes enjoying the touch, feeling the warmth of Gentaro's lips on his own skin.

Once Gentaro gave him one last kiss, he smiled at him and ended the moment. Hifumi, for his part, kissed his cheek in gratitude and returned to his own place to continue working on his ikebana.

The azalea settled comfortably in the place Hifumi had arranged for it and now it was the turn of a few small bouquets of forget-me-not.

"Don't forget me," thought the tayu as images popped into his head. The times he had danced with his fan for Gentaro. The way his body would adjust to Gentaro’s body every time they lay on his bed. The way Gentaro enjoyed seeing him practicing his calligraphy. The way Gentaro’s eyes shone like the spring dew. The languid way his eyes opened at dawn. So many things, so important to Hifumi... And he just wished he wasn't forgotten by him.

In the pleasure district, rumors were spreading fast. And his heavy heart cried every time he thought that days ago, he heard that Gentaro was preparing to marry. He had been told that he had already asked for even a shimmering white kimono, with the most beautiful fabrics that could be found. He had even requested permission from the Imperial Court for the ceremony. Just when Hifumi thought he would have to share the playwright, his lower lip, covered with lipstick, looked even redder after he had bitten into it. At this point, jealousy was his worst enemy.

Certainly, Gentaro was already of marriageable age. He had never asked him, but he knew it was obvious that he was getting marriage offers. Being one of the Emperor's favorites, everyone must have considered him a good match. The only thing missing was a partner who could reciprocate, a sort of political move. Whoever he took for a lifetime partner would probably be very happy. And what about him? The only way out of Yoshiwara was to buy his freedom or die.

It was at those moments when his mind began to travel far away, suffering at the thought that his destiny would be to be Izanami forever. Izanami, the castle destroyer. Izanami, the one who could make the clans fight with one look if he wanted to. Izanami, the one who only by lifting his kimono slightly and showing an ankle could make men and women burst into lust.

And what did lust matter when, at the end of the day, he was faced with loneliness?

A kiss on the nape brought him back to reality. There was no need to turn around as he knew who it was. The warmth of Gentaro’s lips on him drove away all those negative feelings that clouded his mind and heart.

Gentaro's hands traveled deftly to his abdomen, touching the bulging obi tied to the front. With a whisper, he asked, “Can I take this off?”

Hifumi's yes was barely audible. Behind his closed eyes, there was only the ecstasy of knowing he was so loved. Even if there was another person to take his place in society, the way Gentaro's hands rested on him made him think that it was impossible for the playwright to love anyone but him. Only in a moment like this, they could be who they really were.

Meanwhile, his heavy obi was falling apart in the expert hands of Gentaro, who was placing feather-like kisses on his neck and shoulders. The silk of his heavy garment was lifted layer by layer, until it left him naked on his torso.

Hifumi never fully cared for his nakedness. It would be hypocritical to think so if the life he had was based on that: on provoking the desire of others and seducing them until they could no longer pay. But today everything was different. Gentaro's look on his skin made him feel shy, for his emerald eyes could penetrate his flesh and see what was inside his soul. He felt the blush creep up his cheeks and he couldn’t help himself. Ah! How strange it felt to be the seduced person for once.

Would Gentaro be able to look at another person the way he looked at him? He implored to all the gods he would not. He didn't want to share those emeralds with anyone else.

“The best poem of all is about to end, Hifumi. I would write it for you. Could you please lie down on the futon?”

He slid gently into the white sheets and stretched his delicate body over them. His passivity today surprised him, but it must have been the sadness that had taken hold of him. Bending his arms, he formed a rectangle where he placed his head. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Gentaro’s silhouette picking out one of his brushes and touch its bristles to feel its softness. He smiled half-heartedly, trying to cheer himself up when he knew this poem would be his.

“Hmm, and I thought that lyrics were your thing, Gentaro-sama. Do you wish to paint an ukiyo-e image?” Hifumi laughed openly, partially hiding his face in his arms. His eyes were dreamy, but his voice took on a seductive tone as the night progressed. “If you keep looking at me like that, your work will be transformed into a shunga image, darling.”

Gentaro laughed beside him as he approached, ink and brush in hand.

“Ah, how obscene you can be sometimes, Hifumi. I couldn't share your naked body with anyone else, even if it was only an image.”

Once at his side, Gentaro arranged Hifumi's clothing on his lower back until it bulged to form a pillow for himself and sat astride him. “If I knew how to portray, I assure you I would make only bijin-ga images of you, dressed in your beautiful kimonos and surrounded by flowers and birds.”

A kiss on his hair made Hifumi feel complete. He closed his eyes, giving his body and soul to the art of Gentaro. He felt tickled and shuddered the moment the icy ink touched his back. The playwright chuckled again but said nothing. Hifumi's back arched at his touch, and he sensed Gentaro looking at him with a sultry smile adorning his face. The brush moved slowly, as if the artist wanted to breathe life into the characters on his beloved's back.

With each character finished, a kiss landed on the nape and shoulders. If he could have done it, Gentaro would have slipped much lower, but he couldn’t. Not now, when the message was so important. The rewards could wait, for the night was still young.

“My dearest, have you by any chance heard of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai?”

"Well, of course," replied Hifumi. “Personally, I haven't played it, but I know it's very popular. It's that game where people get together and tell stories of suspense or strange events in a room, then they go to another room where they blow out a candle and look in the mirror, right?”

Gentaro listened carefully to Hifumi's voice as he continued to draw strokes on his back.

"Yes, that's correct. You're supposed to open a door to the Afterlife after telling the hundredth story and blowing out the last candle. Maybe someone or something terrible is waiting for you in the dark, but what happens next?"

Gentaro left the brush away from Hifumi's body to go to his ear and whisper “what happens next is a mystery.” Gently, he breathed out behind Hifumi's ear, who shuddered.

"Hey, Gentaro-sama! That's enough! You're scaring me."

Gentaro's laughter was loud given the position he was in and Hifumi hid his face in his arms. From above, Gentaro couldn’t see his expression, but he knew that the courtesan had been embarrassed because his ears were red. As a way of apologizing, he kissed his hair again, which received only a grunt in response.

Silence fell between the two of them and Gentaro picked up his brush again, not yet bringing it close to Hifumi's body. Before Hifumi could turn his head to look over his shoulder, the playwright interrupted him.

"What would you say...?" Gentaro stopped before he could talk any further and swallowed. He took a deep breath before continuing. "What would you say if I told you I had been playing my own version of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai? There is something I wish. You don’t know how much I wish it... and I have been working hard to make it happen."

Hifumi didn't know what to say. Somehow, his intuition told him it had to do with the rumors in town. He opted for the elegant silence, not judging or approving of what Gentaro had said. In his mind, he wondered what kind of desire it was and why the playwright decided to do it.

The brush was part of his skin again for the second time tonight but Hifumi's mind was not present. He would have done anything to help Gentaro fulfill his wish. It would have been wonderful if he could have trusted him and told him what it was. But he dared not ask, for he feared the answer. He didn't want tonight to end, because he didn't know what would happen to him tomorrow. The promises in Yoshiwara do not exist. And depending on what Gentaro would say, he didn’t want to think of the tears of ink that would adorn his back after the night ended.

The movement stopped and he felt the brush slowly being lifted out of his body. Gentaro looked at his work for a while and smiled, for he knew it was perfect. Hifumi couldn’t see anything, but he imagined the satisfaction he must feel. It was the same feeling he had felt the moment Gentaro's mouth touched his skin. He was blowing gently on top of the ink, as if to make it dry faster. It tickled him and he moved as he laughed. His laughter nearly drove Gentaro away from his body. To steady himself, he placed his hands on Hifumi's waist.

The laughter stopped immediately. Only the distant footsteps of those night creatures who still believed in the pleasure offered in Yoshiwara could be heard. Gentaro's fingers pressed against Hifumi's skin, who was left only to his touch. Once again, he could feel his lips on top of him, but this time they marked his shoulders with kisses and small bites.

Gentaro stood up, and as soon as Hifumi felt a change in weight, he missed him. When his visits began long time ago, he had no way of knowing he would be so intimate with him. No one else would be allowed to sit on top of him and write a poem on his back. Only someone he trusted could do that. And Gentaro was the chosen one, only he could see him like that: so open, so vulnerable... so real.

"Come, let's go see it."

Hifumi firmly took the hand offered by Gentaro and stood up. They walked hand in hand in front of the mirror. Facing him, Hifumi's paleness was reflected, and by his side, the emerald eyes sparkled with joy as he looked at his creation. Hifumi smiled at the image of both.

It was almost like a sign. Gentaro took Hifumi by the shoulders, turning him gently, and placing his back in front of the mirror. He reached over to the tansu chest to find another smaller mirror to let Hifumi look into what he had transformed.

Gentaro reached out with the small mirror, but before he could hand it over to Hifumi, he regretted it and put his hand back. His eyes fell to the ground, unable to find the words he wanted to say to him. But what also rested on him was Hifumi's hand, silently caressing his cheek, encouraging him to continue. He no longer had any doubt that the poem had to do with the rumors he had heard, and if Gentaro had paid more attention to the sounds, he would have been able to hear Hifumi's heart crying with anguish, for not knowing what would happen to him.

"If you could have one wish granted, what would it be?"

Gentaro's eyes rose as he asked him this. His face reflected confidence, for he knew there was only one answer. Instead, it was Hifumi who hesitated. He wanted to tell him about the red thread that bound them together and that he hoped he could always be with him, but he didn’t want to compromise him. What good would it do to tell him what he really thought? He thought again about the damn rumors. A political union would probably help Gentaro quite a bit in his career. The courtesan, more than anyone, understood this. Sadly, he shook his head back and forth.

"I do not understand your question, Gentaro-sama."

Gentaro's willing hand traveled swiftly to his cheek, caressing each other, encouraging the other. There was no need to trying to listen to his heart, for his eyes told him everything. He could see the sadness and loneliness of Hifumi, and his own face reflected in them. For a moment, Gentaro wanted to be unaware of his sadness, as he couldn’t understand the reason for it. Nevertheless, he only thought that he wanted to see himself reflected in his eyes a thousand times more, but he couldn’t until the answer came from his lips.

"Hifumi, there is something I must tell you.”

Hifumi's breathing stopped, holding himself to face the blow, unwilling to listen because of fear. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping it would be quick and painless. There was no time to close his heart and put on a shield, he needed to face everything with dignity.

"I have been playing my own version of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai. However, I have finished everything. It is said that if you tell a hundred horror stories, you can open a portal to the Afterlife. But this is not a horror story," Gentaro's temple settled on Hifumi's, lowering his voice to be heard by him alone. "It is not of terror, but of love. Of the love I feel for you. This is my hundredth poem to you. You are the poem; you are the art and passion that moves me. And what I want to open is a door to your heart."

Hifumi's body released all the tension that had built up during the night. His legs were shaking. The knot that had formed in his throat once Gentaro said they must speak was also released.

All night long, Hifumi had moved around in the darkness, thinking of the times he had lived with and for Gentaro. Thinking of how he wanted to live with him from now on, in the same light. And the path just had opened up before him. His eyes could no longer see anything in front of him, only the candlelight reflected through his tears, making everything blurry. It was Gentaro's voice that reached to his mind clearly, even if his sobs threatened to drown out his words.

Gentaro's soft hand caressed his hair, as he continued to speak to him amidst the soft kisses on his cheeks, trying to drink the pearls of joy that streamed from his eyes.

"If I could wish for anything, it is your freedom. The freedom for you to leave Yoshiwara and to love me freely as I love you. So that you can be mine. And the Imperial Court accepts this, they will welcome you with open arms at my side. My wish is for you to be Hifumi and not Izanami anymore.”

He finally found the mirror in front of him and Gentaro's hand guided his chin to look straight ahead. The mirror in front of him reflected the other one even bigger, and on his back, the hundredth love poem.

Unknown to all Within my heart Stained with passion’s hues A thousand times over I could hide no longer!

A hundred poems, Hifumi thought. They meant at least a hundred nights and a hundred days together. Gentaro had never written a poem outside this room. It meant that the red thread existed between them. The clear crystals in his eyes kept falling away, but his smile was even brighter.

Excellent, magnificent, exquisite. The most beautiful poem they could both create. There would be nothing to fear anymore. There was no longer any doubt.

Without thinking much of it, his arms were thrown around the playwright, who staggered backward at the surprise attack used by the courtesan. Still, he was warmly received, his arms holding him firmly.

"You don't know how much I love you, Gen-chan."

They were both smiling when their eyes met. Hifumi's eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly, moving closer to Gentaro and tickling his cheek. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, their lips met tenderly, first with reverence and then with passion. Hifumi's hand rose to caress the back of Gentaro's neck with soft fingers, drawing him in. It was a tender but slow kiss, for they knew it was no longer necessary to leave each other ever again. They would have all the time in the world to keep it up, loving one another.

Gentaro parted gently. His hands traveled to Hifumi's waist, where he took his clothing and began to pull it up to his body, dressing him placidly in front of the mirror. Hifumi smiled at his image, thinking that from now on he would be Gentaro’s princess.

And before his eyes, he appeared wearing the purest white kimono they could find. It would symbolize a new life, the true Hifumi. Best of all is that white could be dyed. He could no longer wait to dye himself with all the colors offered by Gentaro.

As he took a deep breath, only one question remained.

"Gen-chan, if I have the hundredth poem, what about the other ninety-nine?"

Meanwhile, Gentaro had approached his unfinished ikebana. His light hand touched the petals of the flowers until it landed on the forget-me-not that wasn’t on the vessel. Taking it firmly, he reached out to Hifumi, arranging the stem behind his ear, causing his hair to glow beautifully in the candlelight. When he had finished putting the flower in his hair, his kind voice told him all that he needed to know.

"I can read them to you as the nights go by. Would you like to hear one every day? Before they run out, you will see I will have written more of them."

Wearing his best smile, Hifumi immediately nodded. There would be only ninety-nine nights left to make another wish. That meant ninety-nine nights to think of a new wish because, for now, he couldn't wish for anything else but his fiancé at his side.

And the night was still young.

--

Notes:

He already knew about separations. He already knew about the screaming, the arguing, maybe the hatred. Life had taught him that. He already knew all that and more, but it felt different to live it himself and not through others.

The smoke swirled around him, enveloping him. His hand was cold, for Rosho's heat was no longer there to warm it. The night was dark, but he still felt that there was too much light. He inhaled hard, filling his lungs with smoke. His eyes were still wet, but he didn’t want to rub them. He preferred to let the tears flow. The tinkling was still going on... By the time he put out his cigarette, there were little stones on the balcony railing again.

It was a tragic comedy. This could be the leap to fame he had been waiting for, the path was clear. But he didn't want to spread his wings and fly. He didn't want to be free. Not if I couldn't be with him.

Maybe he should have told Rosho that he loved him. Maybe then he wouldn't have left. Or maybe it was time for their paths to part, he didn't know. He just knew he didn't want to be free.

His fingers touched the stones delicately. They were rough and a bit sharp. They sparkled like a bunch of constellations, grouped together in something so tiny! He took them in his hands, counting them quickly. He entered his apartment, closing the window, and leaving them in a small box. He would think about what to do with them later.

As he looked himself in the mirror, he could see his amber eyes with a reddish hue. His eyes hurt a lot, as if something had cut him. The light was still too bright. He put a few drops of medicine in his eyes to ease the pain and went to sleep. He didn't want to think about it anymore.

But the days and nights passed. The stages in front of his eyes passed, too. And everything was so bright... all that glitter bothered him. Thus, he would squint his eyes to not see anymore, to not catch the light so much. And he would think of Rosho, so that the tears would come back, and along with them, even more brightness. The show must go on.

Everything reminded him of Rosho. There were still two toothbrushes in the house. Arranging comedy routines for just one person had been a difficult job, he would give everything he had not to have to do it and still be a duet.

Rosho always said that Sasara was the sun, and he was the moon. But the sun is still a star. The stars keep circling the moon, dancing eternally around it. And the stars are fading day by day.

And the tears wouldn't stop. On weekends he would lie in his bed and cover his head. When he held his hands to his face, he could feel those shiny bits between his fingers. He had already lost count, his box was full of them. A couple of times he had looked at himself in the mirror while crying, and it was the iridescent tears that hurt his eyes. Stardust was falling from his eyes, filling his vision with light. He no longer gathered the little stones, for now, he found them everywhere. The tinkling in his ears didn’t stop, sounding every time the star tears fall. He didn't want the bright white to be the last thing he saw, he wanted it to be Rosho's smile.

He could hardly see anything anymore. he just remembered finally dialing to say, “please come back, I need to see you.” From white he went to black, plunging into a deep sleep, one that would soothe the pain in his eyes.

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was Rosho’s worried face looking at him. He was without his glasses and his face was framed by a bunch of flashing iridescent stars. The light blue-haired one closed his eyes again, but inside he had a lump in his throat. It was the happiness of being able to see him when he thought it was all over.

“You have to be the sun again, Sasara. Being the moon doesn't suit you at all, leave that to me.”

In Sasara's bed, he laid down next to him, holding him tight. Sasara put his head on Rosho's chest, listening to his heart. There were no words to describe it. It was pounding. Or maybe it was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He just knew he didn't want to be separated from Rosho again and had to say everything. If the star tears would blind him, let it be now, while he could still see his face.

His hands traveled quickly to the neck of the violet-haired man, drawing it quickly to him. That kiss was dizzying. It tasted like the salt of his tears, like infinite galaxies. He wanted to hurt Rosho's pride so deeply that he could leave a hole through which to put a seed, the seed of his love for him. He wanted to see the pink flower of the bamboo germinate on his chest.

"I love you. You don't know how much I love you, Rosho."

And Rosho knew it. He always knew, but he didn't want to be the one to stop Sasara and his talent. He wiped the stardust from his cheeks, smiling sadly. Could he reverse his decision? It had been hard for him to leave, but now he needed him. His chest ached just knowing those tears had been for him.

He pressed his forehead against Sasara's, closing his eyes. His breath mingled with Sasara's in a rhythmic way. “I'm so sorry, we'll never be apart again.”

And the tears came back, but they were of joy. And they didn't hurt anymore, it was just water cleaning his eyes, taking the light away from them.

Sasara held him tightly, crying like a child. Rosho stroked his hair, comforting him, kissing his forehead, letting him vent. He had missed him. And now they were not going to get away from each other.

"You are my sun, Sasara."

Like that time Jakurai smiled kindly, feeling his heart warm, when he saw that Hifumi had sent him omurice for lunch with a note full of hearts all over the paper.

Or that time when he had a giggle burst after watching Hifumi dance while cooking and singing "Oh yeah~! Motte koi champagne~".

Or that time when he checked his cell phone while in the office and saw that Hifumi had sent him a picture making a funny face. Jakurai managed to transform the laughter that was about to invade him into a small cough, holding his hand in the form of a fist near his mouth, although the nurses raised their eyebrows and chins between them to point at him, smiling at seeing his happiness.

It was those little details that made the difference between the two of them. The little things that made them think that life was worth living, just because they were both in it together. If they could reincarnate, they would look for each other all over the world until they met again.

The blond grinned at Jakurai every time he caught him staring as he does his chores. The violet-haired one smiled tenderly every time Hifumi caught him tidying up his fishing stuff. And so, they get along, in a tug-of-war of seeing each other's smiles.

But their favorite moment of all must have been that morning when Hifumi had gotten up early to make breakfast and Jakurai arrived shortly after, freshly bathed, with the water still dripping from his hair. The coffee cup was already on the table. He sat with his back to Hifumi, toweling off his still-wet hair. Then he took his coffee cup, putting his hands around it. The warmth felt nice after having a bath. He knew the day would be good, just for the sake of enjoying such a quality time together. He sipped his coffee, careful not to burn himself, savoring it cautiously.

His defenses were down when he was in Hifumi's company, so he didn’t hear when his boyfriend stood behind him. With his hands so light, Jakurai didn’t feel when he took a lock of his hair either. He only knew what Hifumi had plotted when he stood in front of his eyes, using his hair as a mustache and using on a strange voice to say good morning to him.

He couldn’t help himself. The sputtering burst got over him. The coffee spilled all around the table, in his hands, in his hair lock, and even a little bit in his clothes.

He left the cup on the table for a good laugh. Hifumi couldn't believe what he was looking at, his mouth ajar. Soon, infected by Jakurai's laughter, he joined him, laughing heartily. Nothing made sense, but wasn’t that the definition of love? Being nonsense together?

Hifumi kissed Jakurai's lips delicately, feeling self-conscious of what he had done, and to quiet his laughter even just a little bit. The violet-haired one only closed his eyes, letting himself go. A coffee-flavored kiss sweetened by the tenderness of their soft lips complementing one another. The smell of pancakes signaled that they were ready, causing them to part.

Jakurai stood up so that he could clean the table, thinking about how stupid this moment had all been. A chuckle filled the room.

Jakurai cannot help but smile gladly when he thinks that every day Hifumi gets a laugh out of him. And he smiles even more eagerly every time he remembers the coffee issue, which makes Hifumi do a fake pout that Jakurai makes vanish with pecks on his cheeks.

Both were holding on to their microphones, not yet turned on. They were alone in the room, ready to start their rap battle in Chuuouku. It wasn't worth hitting each other with their fists now if they were going to be hitting each other with words in a few minutes. Those could be even more damaging than just a broken jaw.

"So, the brat decided to come and play with us, heh."

Samatoki's smirk contained venom. Though he had known Kuukou for years, he still saw him as a brat. He thought Kuukou had always liked to get into trouble, even if his life was resolved by being the heir to a Buddhist temple. But this was the big leagues, and if it were up to Yokohama’s bad boy, the fool wouldn’t survive this round.

For his part, Kuukou smiled as well, showing his sharp fangs. The amber eyes were those of an eagle ready to attack. It was unworthy of a monk and he knew it, but he was pretty sure of his abilities. There was no one better in Nagoya for this fight than him. And no one, not even that albino, would make him back down today.

“Huh? Who the hell do you think you are, Samatoki? You’ll see what I can do when I visit you in the hospital afterward.”

His red eyes were even more ferocious now, as Samatoki was frowning. His hand traveled quickly to the monk's chest, grabbing him by the clothing and lifting him from the ground against the wall. His voice showed restrained fury; the same one he would use to knock the monk out.

“You better watch out your fucking words, kiddo. It’s Samatoki-sama to you.”

Even at a disadvantage, Kuukou's smile didn’t wane. There was a disrespectful chuckle at his throat echoing together with the movement of his pewter staff microphone.

“Samatoki-sama or not, I’ll beat the crap out of you anyway.”

He wasn't going to beg Samatoki to put him down. If he thought he would, he was so wrong. Kuukou would never let himself be broken by anyone before, let alone now. This is when his division needed him. The past had to stay there. There was no time to reminisce about Naughty Busters or any of that shit. The here and now, that's what mattered. Chuuouku was relentless and he knew it.

Meanwhile, Samatoki's fist was clenched against his clothes, making his knuckles turn white. Fire and gold met when their eyes collided. Intense, staring at each other, ready to fight.

They were silent now, but the clamor was getting louder in their ears. Cries of people demanding blood and rap, a wave of violence before their eyes. A call to their instincts to see who was the illest of them all. It was now or never.

“Five minutes everyone!”

Kuukou quickly grabbed Samatoki's hand and threw it back, causing him to release the redhaired one. There was nothing more to add to the discussion. If there were things left unsaid, they would finish this on stage in front of everyone. It was do or die.

Samatoki could feel his blood boil. He would let it go for now. If there were five minutes left to go before showtime, it meant that the brat had only seven minutes left before paramedics took him to the hospital, with Mad Trigger Crew claiming their victory.

Kuukou walked past him to look for the rest of his team. His shoulder hit Samatoki’s shoulder on purpose as he left, his staff echoing his footsteps. He didn’t turn back to speak, but his voice was louder so the albino could hear perfectly what he was saying.

“Much ado about nothing, old man. You'll see how Nagoya becomes the champion of this world.”

What he couldn’t stand was unjustified violence, especially to a woman. The moment he saw the man’s hand in the air, he shouted without thinking "Why don't you pick on someone your own size, you punk?!" The red eyes were intense as they glowed with anger.

He hadn't realized that the trash was accompanied, he only knew it when a fist was stamped on his face. That made his blood boil. Everything went black. And a few moments later, they were all lying on the floor. It would be better to leave quietly and let the dirty cop clean up.

Perhaps he had gone a little overboard with the asshole he fought. Perhaps his rhymes had been too harsh and so he had left a mess, to the point that Jyuto went to clean it up. Perhaps he had simply given that bastard what he deserved. That sounded much better, more convincing... and less painful.

Riou's curry serving made no sound when he put it on the table. With his other hand, he put on between them another plate that was covered by a small white cloth. Riou quietly sits next to him. But his gaze did not leave his, watching him carefully.

"What's the matter? Is there something on my face?" Samatoki frowned as the words came out of his mouth, but as he moved his mouth to speak, he could feel the wetness of the tear on his lips and the salt entering his wound. His hand traveled swiftly to his face. His fingers felt the warmth of what was left of the tear. As his hand rose a little higher, he could trace the path that that lonely drop had taken.

He didn’t understand. There was no explanation for what had happened. Samatoki was the tough guy. Samatoki was the one who never cried, much less in front of someone. A single tear threatened to destroy that bad boy image.

"What are you thinking about?" Riou asked. His eyes stared absently at his curry plate, as if Samatoki’s tear had never happened.

Samatoki didn’t answer. He filled his mouth with curry so that he wouldn’t have to respond. His eyes focused on the covered plate between the two of them, trying to imagine what it contained. He swore to himself that if there was anything resembling an animal from the forest, he would kick Riou out of his house. He didn’t care if Jyuto had to come and calm him down, at least Samatoki would give him something to do.

They continued to eat in silence, each one absorbed in his own thoughts. Once they finished, Riou took the dishes to wash them. He is good to me, Samatoki said to himself. After hearing from Jyuto's radio that he had been in trouble, Riou immediately came to see him at his apartment.

The albino put his elbow on the table. He made a fist with his hand and his cheek rested there softly. The broken lip bothered him again and he closed his eyes, grimacing. He wasn't going to complain, but the discomfort was there.

He thought of the time that had passed. Even now there were things that remained unforgivable to him, and it seemed that he hadn’t changed much over the years.

He was only a little boy, but the first time he saw his dad hit his mom was going to stay in his memory forever. At night, he could still hear the screams of both of them. And he would wrap Nemu carefully on her blankets, kissing her hair as he read her a bedtime story.

I don't miss her, he repeated to himself. It was more like he wanted to convince himself of that fact. He didn’t miss them because he has known nothing but loneliness for years, he cannot miss something he doesn’t know. But in the back of his mind, he wondered what if she were still alive? Would she have stayed with Nemu and me in Yokohama?

His lost gaze came back into focus once Riou sat down next to him with coffee for both of them. The redheaded man's hand moved to uncover the plate, where there were several manjuu buns. He had to admit they looked normal. Still, he didn't trust them by their look.

Riou took one and ate normally. There was no way of knowing if the manjuu had any strange ingredients in it. With a shaking hand, Samatoki took one of the cakes and bit down slightly, afraid of what could happen. He could feel the sweet bean filling spreading in his mouth. It was a taste that reminded him of something. He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember, but it was something deep in his memory.

With both hands around his coffee cup, Riou spoke.

"Whenever I had a problem, my mother would make me Japanese sweets. I'm not too fond of candy or sweet things, but she told me that sweetening life can help you think through problems better. I thought it could help you."

Riou's gaze was distant, recalling some moment from his childhood. Samatoki thought that sometimes Riou looked so sure of himself that he had forgotten that the ex-Navy had once been a child just like him, with problems and a mother who loved him.

And that was what broke him.

That tear he had shed before seemed to return, but this time in a silent stream. Samatoki lowered his head, feeling the warmth running down his cheeks and the knot that formed almost instantly in his throat.

What he felt in his mouth was the taste of his childhood, of his mother cooking manjuu for them. The manjuu buns he ate happily after school, when he returned home. The sweet taste that remained on his lips, with extra sweetness from his mother's hugging and kissing in his hair. The laughter was warm when he tried to push her away to continue eating the sweet buns, but she held him in her arms.

She was so strong, but he didn't know that at the time.

That flavor was the sweetness he remembered when he and Nemu played hide-and-seek and his mother said “what a pity! As there is no-one here to eat manjuu, now I have to throw them away!” That was everything she needed to say to make them run towards her while screaming, thinking she would really throw the manjuu into the garbage. And in the end, they all laughed.

His breath was shaking. What had begun in silence soon took control of his body, feeling the sharp pain in his chest. His sobbing increased.

What hurt now was not the blow, nor his broken lip. What it was hurting him was the violence and the memories. The memories of coming home and seeing that everything had changed.

It had been a long time since he had cried, he couldn't remember when the last time was. And the worst thing was that it sucked to do it in front of someone, even if it was Riou.

There was no more noise than his sobbing. He felt like he was tearing himself apart on the inside. Sometimes he needed her and Nemu so badly... If she saw him now, she probably would not be proud. Who would be? He was a yakuza. He wanted to believe that he was not bad, he just did things his own way.

The sound was muffled when Riou's arms pressed against him, placing his head on his chest. The redhead's hands traveled to his albino hair, gently caressing it, cradling him. Samatoki put his hands behind Riou's back, holding on to him and hiding his face between the soldier's clothing as the tears continued to fall.

Riou understood nothing, for Samatoki didn’t speak what was happening inside him. However, even if he didn’t say it, it was obvious that he was suffering. A sad smile graced his face as he watched his leader's back move in anguish. He must definitely trust him a great deal to be able to show himself so vulnerable. Once Samatoki could calm himself, the words finally came without a hitch.

“I was a child, and I didn’t understand many things. I didn't understand that my mother loved me so much until I lost her. All I had left was Nemu…” When he looked up, his eyes were completely red, as was his nose. Even the tears were fresh, revealing the pain.

“There are very few memories I want to keep. But this manjuu reminded me of the ones my mom used to make.”

Samatoki held a hand to his face to wipe away his tears. In a way, he felt more at ease. A weight had been lifted from him, as if that weeping had purified his soul.

“Thank you.”

Riou's gaze was soft as he answered, "you're welcome", and his arms were lifted from Samatoki. He stood up to throw away the two cups of coffee, for they were already cold by now. He mentioned that he would change it for herbal tea, which would calm Samatoki down. The albino nodded and reached into his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, then stood up to find an ashtray. Once he sat down again, he lit a cigarette that he inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs.

"If you say anything about this to Usa-chan, I'll fucking beat you up."

He couldn't see Riou's face, but he did hear his chuckle when he finished telling him that little warning. He didn't have to look at him to know that, although he laughed, he took the matter seriously.

“I swear I won't do it.”

A new puff to the cigarette. His monotonous voice saying Good. The electric kettle let them know that the water was already boiled.

Taking small jumps of joy, he took Jyushi's hand to make him stand up from the soft pink couch. Jyushi was trying to maintain an elegant, sophisticated stance. A half-smile settled on his face as he looked at the sketch: it was a tall figure like him, with his black and yellow hair in pigtails and a strawberry headdress, wearing an over-the-top Lolita dress. The long sleeves of a pink blouse contrasted with the black dress and the striped stockings. There were chains, ribbons, and strawberries everywhere, a mixture of sweet and edgy that suited his personality.

“Hmm, I won't look half bad in it, right?”

Jyushi's voice was deep and sure. His black eyeliner contrasted with the innocent blue of his eyes. Ramuda paid attention to all those details as he pulled out the tape measure that hung around his neck and leaned over the singer's waist so that he could begin taking his measurements. He would meticulously note down all the data once he was finished.

“Yep~! If everything goes right, you'll look amazing in this dress. It'll be the biggest hit in the magazine!”

“Haha, of course, it will be. When Aimono Jyushi appears, everyone turns to see him.” Jyushi's chuckle was only about self-reliance, a way of repeating to himself that he could make it work. If the magazine had called him to do this, it was for a reason.

“I hope your design is up to my standards, Amemura-san.”

Hearing his words, Ramuda puffed up his cheeks, looking annoyed but not offended. It was obvious that the boy didn’t know who he was messing with. But the pink-haired one couldn't blame him, he was still young and no one had broken his ego... yet. Maybe he should take care of that.

“Onii-saaa~n, you're so mean! I know you're great, but my designs are great too. You'll look so cute!”

Ramuda turned around to go find a stool. For his part, Jyushi looked down and frowned slightly. In some ways, he was having a little trouble keeping it together. He looked down at the couch, looking for Amanda. He could see her sitting on his purse and felt a little bit better. She was the only thing it was making bearable this afternoon. Just having her in the same place made him feel ready to confront anything.

Jyushi thought about how kind Ramuda was, but he couldn’t feel completely comfortable around him. It was not his fault; it was only the fact it’s the first time he had seen him in person. Before Nagoya division had settled, he had seen him at rap battles. He's amazing, Jyushi has said to himself. If someone had told him that months later, they would be making a collaboration, he would have laughed.

Ramuda put the stool next to Jyushi and got on it. He continued to take the measurements of his torso and shoulders and write them down. He hummed a song. That served as a distraction for Jyushi, who closed his eyes and hummed along with him. It was a nursery rhyme, but they both enjoyed it. Jyushi's smile turned innocent as he immersed himself into the melody. The pink-haired one looked at him intently, as if wanting to remember this moment in his memory forever; as he watched Jyushi letting the tune carry him away. He noticed how Jyushi's expression had changed. He was innocent, shining, pure as a white flower. Ramuda felt a strong desire to taint him so badly…

As he came down from the stool, he went to another part of the studio. He took a deep breath to calm his thoughts. The two of them had already stopped humming. Jyushi had relaxed, anyone could tell by the way his shoulders were falling. There was no longer any tension in him, and his smile lit up the studio. To Ramuda, that smile seemed warm and friendly, very different from the ones he gave to people. It was that kind of detail that differentiated a real person from a master of deception like him. In a way, he was jealous of that innocence.

He approached Jyushi again with a pile of hair garters and a comb. He climbed back onto the stool and combed his black hair carefully.

“Oniisan, when did you know you wanted to be a singer? Is it hard to switch between rap and Visual-kei songs? What kind of lyrics do you like best? Would you like to sing something else with me?”

The questions came quickly in Jyushi's direction. His innocent eyes widened, uncertain where to begin to answer. Ramuda continued to watch him, inspecting how the light in his eyes was changing. He enjoyed seeing how the young one struggled to remain in-character, but his real personality was ready to come out. Maybe he just had to force it a little more.

"Jyushi-sa~n, your hair is so long~!"

The garters in Jyushi's hair were arranged to form a pair of braids that fell delicately over his shoulders. As soon as Ramuda finished with one, he placed a black ribbon with a red ornament in the center. He felt that it matched his clothes perfectly and hoped that Jyushi would notice as well. His aesthetic sense was precise, and he would not let anyone tell him otherwise.

"How do you get your hair to be so long and shiny? It's beautiful! I wish I had hair like that too!"

Jyushi didn’t yet realize that Ramuda was doing this on purpose to see if he would fall for it. While Ramuda was faking a pout and playing with the artist's hair, Jyushi was trying to be the same Visual-kei singer who came through the door, not the eager little boy who was about to leave. With a little effort, his gaze became indifferent and his mouth took on the half-smile that had been on his face all afternoon.

“It's because of the moonlight. It accompanies my nightly baths and makes its light imprint itself on my skin and hair.” Jyushi's voice was low again, but it was playful. He tried to sound cool and mysterious, as if his hair had always been like that. “You should feel lucky to be able to touch it like that, Ramuda-san. There are only a few privileged people who can do such things.”

“Yeah, I think I'm lucky too.” Ramuda had come a little closer to her face. His breath was very close to him. He was fixing the singer's bangs and putting a pair of strawberry clips in his hair.

He was greatly amused to see Jyushi's eyes dancing nervously before him. He could feel his Adam's apple going up and down as he swallowed his saliva. His mouth was probably dry from anxiety. But the fun was about to get to the best part.

“Jyushi-san, I think it's fate that has made us work together. I couldn't ask for anything more than a pretty boy like you! It makes me want to... I don't know, kiss you!”

And with that, his lips landed on Jyushi's. The tall one's breathing stopped, and his confidence plummeted, along with a small cry of surprise. Ramuda placed his hands on his shoulders, and with his eyes closed, ran his tongue over Jyushi's lips. As if he had touched a switch on him, Jyushi’s delicate lips parted and Ramuda forced his tongue on him, slowly and softly.

Jyushi closed his eyes tightly, unable to describe what was happening. Once Ramuda prevailed upon him, he could taste the sugar in his mouth, invading it and making it his own. It was strange, perhaps pleasant? He still couldn’t recognize what was going on, only that he liked it. He felt intoxicated. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks and his breathing began to accelerate.

Both the beginning and the end were sudden. Ramuda parted from Jyushi quickly and embraced him by the shoulders. The designer could feel the heat pouring from the singer and was satisfied with it. He put his lips to Jyushi's ear. His voice was no longer high-pitched and youthful, but the voice of a serious man.

“Ah, Jyushi! You are so pure and innocent. You make me want to sully that purity... You're so easy to break."

Jyushi's blue eyes darkened. Ramuda thought it was pure pleasure, that Jyushi wanted more of him, but he was not ready to give it to him yet. The innocent smile returned to his face, playing on his expressions in a way he knew Jyushi would never be able to.

“Do you see, oniisan~? I can't control myself when I'm with you, you're so cute!”

As he got off the stool for the last time and started to tidy up, Ramuda turned his back on him. It was at that moment that Jyushi brought his fingers to his lips and his eyes were like saucers. He couldn’t believe what had happened. If someone had gotten into his head, he would have heard Jyushi screaming inside.      

He took his things and hurriedly said goodbye, bowing 90 degrees so that the pink-haired one didn’t see his red face. Ramuda waved his hand and with a smile said, "I hope you'll come back to visit me soon, Jyushi-kun!" In a way, it was the truth. He wanted to see him again. He felt responsible for him. If anyone was going to sully Jyushi's innocence, it would be him. He couldn't have given that honor to anyone else. He placed a candy in Jyushi’s hand, as a way of marking him. They would see each other again, there were still the dress rehearsals and the photoshoot. Ah, how nice to know that they would meet again!

Pressing the candy against him, Jyushi almost flew out of Ramuda's studio. His steps were long, as if to get away from there as quickly as possible. He was ashamed of himself and didn’t understand anything that was happening inside him.

Once he had walked a couple of blocks, he went into the first café he found. His trembling hands grabbed the cell phone and dialed the most important number in his record.

He sat down in a seat at the café. Amanda was in his lap and he was squeezing her, bringing her closer to his body. The menu was on the table, but he didn't pay attention to it. The sound of dialing made him go crazy. His foot was moving anxiously under the table. In his mind he begged "please answer.”

“Hello?”

He took a deep breath as soon as he heard his voice. He could no longer control himself.

"HITOYA-SAAAAAN! Someone robbed meeeee!" Jyushi's voice was one of despair, with tears about to fall from his eyes. The people around him began to look at him, some with pity and some with discomfort. And Jyushi? He couldn’t care less about them, as he was too concentrated in Hitoya’s voice.

“What?! Jyushi-kun, calm down, tell me what happened to you. What was stolen? Did you see their face?” On the other end of the phone, Hitoya's voice sounded alarmed. “Where are you? I'm coming to get you.”

"A kiss! It was my first kiss and I didn't imagine it would be like this!" The tears that came out wet Amanda. People weren't looking at him anymore. The menu was still on the table, unseen.

And whatever it is, what he feels is that all that is just a dream, something he may never be able to achieve. And he sighs again at the thought of wasting his time daydreaming.

The street lights turn on as he continues to walk, immersed in the bustle of the crowd. The bars are open, and the nightlife begins. Hifumi is probably no longer at home, he has gone to work.

His thoughts are interrupted the moment his shoulder hits someone else's. The documents he holds in his hands end up on the floor along with his dignity, although he suspects that he lost it long ago. Without looking at who he is addressing, he can only say "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as he rushes to pick up everything to leave as soon as possible and save himself from embarrassment.

“Huh? Why don't cha look where you're going, you corporate pet?”

He immediately recognized that voice. There would be no one else to call him that, much less on the street. As he looked up, he recognized Dice Arisugawa's face easily.

From his mouth ajar no words would come, not even to apologize. The only thing Doppo can do is bow at 90 degrees to show how sorry he is, but he only hears a sound of contempt coming from the blue-haired man. It doesn't surprise him at all because that's how he feels about himself, too.

Once he finds words, they come out of his mouth without much thought, surprising him on the spot. "I'm sorry, I didn’t see where I was walking. It's my birthday, and I was distracted."

Not only was his mouth ajar now, but his eyes were like saucers as he realized how straightforward it was to say something like that. In the position of reverence that he was showing to Dice, he closed his eyes tightly, regretting that he had said that.

You fucking moron, you ruined it again…

He can feel his ears turning red with shame... it feels like he is not himself today. Once he returns to a normal position, he apologizes once again with a quick bow so that he can leave quickly. But as he passes by Dice, Doppo notices how his hand moves forward with agility, resting it on his shoulder, making Doppo turn around to face him.

"Is it true that it's your birthday?"

"Y-yes."

And he notices Dice’s smile. That carefree smile, so different from his. For a moment, Doppo is jealous of him.

Everything fades away when he feels the same hand that was on his shoulder comes down to rest on his arm, when a pull wakes him up from the dream.

"Then let's go! It's time to celebrate it the right way."

Doppo notices how he chokes on words again, without being able to express any of them properly, and then he shouts "Huh? Why? Where are you taking me?" But he forgets that the street is an inappropriate place for such questions as people start to turn to look at them when they hear his altered voice. Once again, he only knows how to bow and apologize to passers-by for having interrupted their day in such a rude way.

"So, you're not just a corporate pet, you're a total people-pleaser, ain'tcha?"

As he follows Dice, he can notice how he bites his tongue and cheeks so as not to say anything. In a way he knows Dice is right, but there's nothing he can do to stop himself from doing that. And yet he can't stand the discomfort any longer and replies that it's not about being a people-pleaser, but that I don’t want to stand out. I just want to be accepted, and for that I cannot show myself as socially incompetent. Or actually, he thinks about that answer, but nothing comes out of his mouth because he is too busy biting his lower lip.

After walking for a while, they arrive at their destination: a casino. Dice' smile shines through the flashing lights, anticipating what was about to happen. If Doppo were in his place, he could feel how his blood was starting to run faster, how the adrenaline from the thought of approaching a slot machine started flowing inside him. But of course, he wouldn't, because office rats don't understand these common pleasures.

"Hey, man, happy birthday! Even if you're a corporate bitch, you deserve to chill out sometimes."

Dice interrupts his thoughts with a sincere laugh and a pat on his shoulder, but Doppo doesn't understand what's so funny. Despite his sharp manner of speaking, Doppo manages to smile shyly at him as to thank him. But on the inside, he’s scared that his smile is seen as hypocritical.

Not caring about Doppo's internal monologue, Dice reaches into his jacket pockets, looking for something quickly. He pulls out a white disposable lighter. Doppo thinks it looks pretty ordinary, but if it serves its purpose, he's not one to judge. The gambler lights it with a twist of his wrist and a long orange flame crosses between the two of them, illuminating their faces.

"C’mon, make a wish! Y’know what they say: your luck is at its best when it's your birthday."

The redhead notices that Dice's emotion is contrasted with his own melancholy, but this flame is bringing them together in some way. He would like to think that it is the flame of life and that Dice is trying to give him a little bit of his vitality, something that will change the grey that invades his day by day.

He inhales deeply, filling his lungs. He wants to think of a wish that he can say out loud, but another kind of thought crosses his mind.

“Uh… I’m sorry, but— uh, who says that your luck is at the best on your birthday?”

The question takes Dice by surprise, who blinks a couple of times without saying anything. The flame goes out and Dice starts laughing. First a muffled chuckle and then a loud laugh. He laughs so hard that people passing by start looking at him. A couple of tears goes down on his face as he laughs, his hands are thrown on his abdomen to steady himself but he keeps on laughing. Meanwhile, Doppo apologizes once again to the strangers passing by, for making them uncomfortable. Once the laughter dies down, Dice finally speaks again.

“What about your damn wish, man? You don’t have anythin’ else to say than that? No one says that, duh! I just made it up!”

Dice laughs again and this time Doppo accompanies him shyly. What he had said didn't make any sense. Who would think of asking such a stupid question? Only him. And yet, all this is hilarious: bumping into someone, being dragged into a casino. Maybe his luck was indeed strange today.

Once they calmed down, Dice relighted the flame. A half-smile lands on his face. Seeing his magenta eyes glowing, Doppo could read in them that he is telling him to make a wish that is worthwhile.

Doppo closes his eyes, thinking again about what he might wish for. He doesn't want to wish for something stupid so that Dice doesn't make fun of him. However, he utters the first thing his heart wishes for right now.

"I… I wish I could have a lot of money… so I could stop working."

Putting all his hope in that, Doppo blows out the lighter, and the flame goes out. Dice's smile doesn't go away, even when their faces are no longer lit.

"Heh, that's a good wish, man. I don't work like you but I wish the same thing.”

His hand rests again on Doppo's shoulder, but this time he gives him a sympathetic squeeze. It's as if he's implying that, deep down, they're not as different as they think. After all, they are both driven by the desire to have a good life, even if it is by different means.

Without saying anything else, they enter the casino. They approach the cash desk, where Dice takes out a couple of bills. "Next time, you pay. This time it's on me." Doppo thinks that, for once, it's nice that someone is making such a plan with him. Even if he never goes to the casino again, it would be fun to meet Dice outside of a rap battle.

Once they finish changing the money, they put the chips in their pockets. Dice seems to be in his own environment, while the office worker is dazed by the lights. People are screaming by his side; women are strutting around on the arms of guys in expensive suits. He can see both old people and office workers like him. The lights hurt his eyes, making him squint, but he forces himself to keep looking at the scene unfolding before him. It's something he doesn't want to forget easily.

"Have ya ever been in a casino before?" Doppo shakes his head as they keep walking. For a moment, Dice takes his hand to his chin, thinking carefully about his plan of action.

"Then let's go for something easy."

They are heading for the slots. A row of machines, one after the other, greets them with appealing sounds. People don't notice them as they pass by, immersed in their own games. The screens are there to make them forget about the outside world.

"I like to play Blackjack or roulette better, but since it's your first time, I guess it's better to play something easy. Pick any machine."

They both keep walking through the machines. The colors dazzle Doppo, who is already almost dizzy with everything he has seen so far. But suddenly he stops in front of one of the machines. It is as if it has called him: the screen shows a blonde girl came out from Las Vegas, wearing a blue feathered headdress and a sequined gown that leaves very little to the imagination. She winks seductively, inviting him to play and promising him big prizes if he does well.

"C-can I try this one?" Doppo asks somewhat embarrassingly, thinking that the gambler will judge him by the girl on the screen.

"Yeah, why not?"

Doppo swallows saliva while they both sit in front of the machines, side by side. The chips fall into the slot and anxious hands pull the lever, waiting for the promised prize. Doppo sees before his eyes the cherries and sevens that move without stopping, over and over again. One chip after another falls into the slot. Outside the night is still going, minute after minute, but in the casino the night is eternal. For the machines, time doesn’t exist. And for him, it was becoming easy to forget about the minutes as he watched the objects move.

"Oi, you are doin' it wrong!"

The words bring him back from his self-absorption and he finds himself facing Dice, who looks at his screen, scrutinizing everything. He can notice his frown and looks down, ready to apologize, but Dice interrupts him before he does.

"You'll never win shit like this. Lady Luck doesn't favor cowards."

Dice says as he pulls out a chip from his pocket and kisses it, fixing his eyes on Doppo, who is mesmerized by looking at him, as if he were his teacher. "If you're gonna do this, go big or fucking go home."

After raising the bet on Doppo’s machine to its maximum, Dice put the chip in its place. Once the lights flash announcing a new game, he takes the redhead's hand in his and both of them pull the lever, pulling it all the way down.

Doppo felt his mouth dry, as his eyes dug into the figures passing by in front of him. He began to feel that everything was happening in slow motion. His hand tightened so much that it formed a fist, but the force with which he was closing it made his knuckles turn white. On the screen, the figures stopped one by one. For a moment, Doppo forgets how to breath and he can't see anything but the flashing lights in front of him. Cherry, seven, cherry, seven. Non-stop, over and over again, making him dizzy. At the last empty spot in the row, the image of a pair of cherries stops.

An alarm screams in his ears along with Dice, which brings him back to reality.

"We did it! WE FUCKING DID IT!"

Dice' laugh fills all the spaces. Doppo feels Dice taking his face between both hands. The gambler’s lips land on his own lips with intensity, and then he moves forward to cover his cheeks with countless quick kisses. Dice laughs again as he lets him go to grab the chips by the handful. Swiftly, he tucks them into his pockets, overflowing with joy.

How much would we have won? Doppo wondered. What did it matter? This time, Lady Luck had been on their side.

Although Doppo's cheeks were the same color as the cherries on the screen, he began to laugh with Dice as he rushed to pick up the chips enthusiastically, feeling the adrenaline in his blood. Victory was oh so sweet. Meanwhile, the blonde girl from Las Vegas kept winking in a sensual way to invite him and others to try their luck.

Once they changed the chips for money, they split it in half. It wasn't a jackpot, but it wasn't a lousy prize either. “And that’s fine for a rookie”, Dice said.

But it was at that moment that Doppo remembered that he had to work the next day. Looking at his watch, he realized that the subway was still running, which made him let out a sigh of relief. Dice clicked his tongue.

"Hey, don't cha think it's time to go with the flow just once? You deserve a rest, dude."

Dice's words echoed in his ears. "A rest..." repeated Doppo in a low voice. Perhaps he was right. After he does some math, Doppo realizes that what he had earned today was enough to cover his expenses for a week.

The thoughts of both were interrupted by the sound of their stomachs. It was already past dinnertime. They both laughed loudly and people turned to look at them as they passed by. This time, Doppo didn’t care. He hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

"Let's have dinner, it's my treat."

But Dice's gaze landed on his again, kind of angry and ready to fight.

"I'm not letting the birthday boy buy me dinner, so it's on me."

Doppo smiled broadly. At that time, it didn’t matter who paid, what mattered was eating. He would probably take a taxi back home, today he could afford it. And maybe he would even call in sick tomorrow so he wouldn’t go to work.

For today, anything that meant not enjoying the present didn't matter to him at all.