"ah, i know that." dad's smile goes crooked as he rubs the back of his neck. "but it's difficult to give you a special baseball-related gift in november. so, this is—"

kazuya's brows arch up as his eyes widen. "tickets?" he can feel the edges through the thin paper of the envelope. "are we going to a playoff game?"

"oh, i said that wrong, didn't i." there's no one else in the conversation but kazuya doesn't think dad is talking to him, the way he's looking off. kazuya's brow settles, then knits when dad looks back at him and says, "do you know who jouji 'animal' m. is?"

"no." kazuya looks down past the envelope he's still holding, down to his foot, which kicks at nothing. he sighs. if nothing else, dad took time off of work to come pick him up. kazuya gathers a breath and manages to unfurrow his brow, even though he doesn't pull off a smile as looks up again. it's a weird name, not japanese—"is he a writer or something?" he hazards.

"no. well, not yet, although i read he's working on a book." dad tries for a smile and kazuya thinks it's not too bad, for dad; he also thinks the smile is not quite for him somehow, so he doesn't smile back. "he used to be a professional baseball player here, and now he's a stand-up comedian." when kazuya's face remains blank, dad says, "he's performing tonight and we're going for your birthday!"

the way dad made his voice go up at the end of the sentence, kazuya knows dad wants him to be excited. but, "i don't like comedy," he says, more to the tickets he's looking at in his hand. dad doesn't like comedy, either. this is worse than chocolate cake.

"well." dad sighs and kazuya looks away from the tickets but not at him. "we have the tickets already, so—"

in his peripheral vision, kazuya sees dad holding out an empty hand. the tickets are his, though, no matter how stupid a gift they are, so kazuya tightens his grip on them as he finishes the sentence for dad: "let's go."

dad's hand stays held out a moment longer as they start walking but this is the only gift kazuya is getting this year and he plans to hold onto it as long as he can. when he puts both hands on the envelope, dad's hand falls away and they continue to the station like that.

they don't talk on the train. it takes a long time to get to where they’re going and they have to transfer a couple of times; kazuya thinks they might not even be in tokyo anymore by the time dad says the next stop is theirs.

as they're walking through the station, dad asks if he wants a sandwich. even though kazuya's stomach wants to growl, he shakes his head; he'd rather have nothing for his birthday dinner than a sandwich from the train station.

the sun is starting to go down as they stand in line at the comedy club. when kazuya's stomach finally does growl, he feels a nudge on his shoulder. he doesn't know why he should have to look at his father just to hear that he should have taken the sandwich at the station, but he looks anyhow.

"oh." he takes the orange his dad is holding out. "thank you," he adds as he starts peeling it.

he doesn't see anywhere to throw out the peel pieces so he starts to put them in his pocket, but dad holds out his hand and says, "here." kazuya drops the pieces into the cupped hand and watches dad wrap them in a handkerchief before putting them in his own pocket.

"what if one of us has to blow our nose?"

"then our noses will get something of a surprise, won't they?"

"dad~" kazuya draws out the word. it's possible dad is trying to be funny... they’re outside a comedy club, after all. kazuya doesn't laugh but he does let himself smile just a little as he turns away.

finally the line starts moving. inside, kazuya takes the tickets out of the envelope and hands them over to the woman collecting them. he folds the empty envelope neatly in half, then folds it in half again, and one more time until it's small enough to fit in his pocket.

they go through to a windowless room where there's a small, raised stage at one end and tables of different shapes and sizes all about. dad lets kazuya pick their table and he chooses a small round one near the stage, not all the way in front but pretty close.

a waitress comes over to ask if she can get them something to drink. dad looks at him. "it's your birthday, so you can order anything you want."

"pocari sweat."

dad opens his mouth, sighs through his nose, opens his mouth again. "maybe, something a little nicer?"

kazuya doesn't argue that dad said he could have whatever he wants. clearly that's not the case, so he shrugs and says, "whatever you're having, then."

dad looks at him before turning to the waitress. "do you have pepsi black?" when she nods, he says, "he'll have one of those. and i'll have." he pauses and kazuya figures he's deciding what kind of beer to have tonight. kazuya slumps in his chair, unable to push against the back of it the way he wants to because his feet don't reach the floor.

"i'll have one, too," dad says. he looks at kazuya when the waitress goes to get their drinks. "because we're having the same tonight, right?"

kazuya's mouth slants, not a smile but not a frown. "right."

he's never had pepsi black before because soda, especially pepsi, is usually too sweet for him. it is a little sweet but there's also a pleasant, even refreshing bitterness to pepsi black and kazuya sips steadily until the lights go down and a spotlight comes up on the stage.

like his name, the man who comes out on stage is definitely not japanese. that much is obvious even before he opens his mouth. when he opens his mouth it turns out he does speak japanese, although his accent makes him hard to understand sometimes. kazuya doesn't get most of the jokes and he doesn't get what this has to do with baseball. dad said this is supposed to be a special baseball-related birthday gift but the jokes aren't about baseball, and anyhow kazuya loves baseball too much to want to laugh at it. dad isn't laughing either and kazuya thinks this must be his worst birthday yet. he wonders what dad will do to top it next year.

when the show finally ends, kazuya is tired and bored. at last the lights come up and jouji 'animal' m., former baseball player of indeterminate skill, comes out onto the floor to talk to the people going up to him.

kazuya slides out of the chair, relieved as his feet hit the floor. he just wants to go home. that's all he's wanted for the past hour. there are a lot of people moving around and dad puts his hands on kazuya's shoulders, but instead of going to the exit dad steers him towards the stage.

as he realizes what's happening, kazuya stiffens. he knows dad is trying to give him a nice birthday but really, if this is what happens when dad tries, it would be better if he didn't. kazuya won't say so, not here—he'll wait until they're home.

mr. jouji is making his way down the line of people waiting to talk to him and kazuya tries thinking of a way out, but he doesn't come up with anything before mr. jouji gets to them. dad introduces himself and then says, "and this is my son, kazuya. we came for his birthday."

equally horrified and irritated, kazuya tightens his jaw as he looks over his shoulder up at his father. their eyes meet and kazuya can see dad knows he's angry but can't tell if he knows why.

when he looks back, mr. jouji is crouching down, beaming into his face. watching him on the stage, kazuya had thought his smile would feel like an assault—but it doesn't. he feels himself relax even though he doesn't smile back.

"is that so?" mr. jouji grins some more. "then you share a birthday with my son, yuu!" he points and kazuya follows the line to a boy he hadn't noticed, alone at a table very near the stage and sitting back in his chair as he pours over a book. kazuya can't help smiling as he recognizes the cover; he has the art of catching at home too.

there's no chance to say anything about it (and kazuya doesn't know what he would have said even if he'd had the chance) because mr. jouji is still talking. "he's a few years older than you, i think." though his gaze is intense, it's not uncomfortable and kazuya is able to meet it evenly without having to try. "he's eight today."

kazuya doesn't say anything about fathers who have strange ideas about how to celebrate their kids' birthday. instead he says, "i'll be seven next month."

if mr. jouji thinks anything of the fact that it's not actually kazuya's birthday today, he doesn't let it show. all he says is, "ah, he’s only a year older, then!" he smiles again. "well, in any case, thank you for coming to my show. i hope you enjoyed it!"

dad's fingers find kazuya’s shoulders and dig in like he's afraid kazuya is going to say something he shouldn't. dad should know him better than that and kazuya’s disappointment flares. he keeps his mouth shut, though.

"we did, thank you." dad's grip tightens as he takes a breath even kazuya can hear. "you were his mother's favorite comedian, so this meant a lot."

kazuya's head whips up and around to look at his dad, who is still looking at his wife’s favorite comedian.

"ah, i see." mr. jouji's voice sounds softer, though it could just be that kazuya is lost in a haze as he takes in this new information. "yuu's mom also—"

"yes," dad says quickly, and kazuya wonders at his impatience, wonders why dad doesn't want to hear about mr. jouji's own wife being a fan of his; of course she would be, wouldn't she?

mr. jouji doesn't seem to recognize the impatience. his smile is even more sincere than before. "well then, i'm very happy you both came tonight." the hand he rests on kazuya's shoulder is surprisingly light and kazuya looks at him anew and helplessly wide-eyed, still not able to speak and even less to smile now. he looks as long as he dares and wishes he'd known earlier, so he could have remembered the jokes. at least he can try to remember the face and the voice his mother enjoyed so well; he will remember this smile mr. jouji gives him for as long as he can—for the rest of his life.

Track 1: Worst Album Ever

According to Rolling Stone, the worst album ever released is ‘The Philosophy of the World’ by The Shaggs.  An all-female American rock group from the 60s, The Shaggs consisted of three sisters whose sure-fire fame and fortune as a trio was foretold to their father by a fortune teller.

In a traditional sense, Kenjirou doesn’t think that the Rolling Stone’s editor got is wrong.  There is nothing deeper hidden in lines such as ‘the skinny people want what the fat peoples got’, and Dot and Betty know maybe two cords between them.  You can’t sing along, because there is no melody or in-key note to latch onto.   

It’s a cluttered mess of an album, on that both Kenjirou and Nori agree. 

It’s what you get when you strip away experience and skill, structure and talent.

He’s listening to ‘My Pal Foot Foot’ on his iPhone when he meets Miyuki Kazuya for the first time.  It’s the second best song from ‘The Philosophy of the World’, although I was never released as a single.  The discord notes and combating beats have no discernible rhythm that he can tap his feet to, and sometimes the voices slur together into a mash of syllables that test even Kenjirou’s usually strong grip on English.

It’s a hot spring afternoon, and the entrance ceremony has been going on for hours.  Kenjirou’s parents stand at the back of the hall.  His father is dressed in his finest work suit, while his mother is practically swallowed up by large video camera that she is hovering behind.  Kenjirou is a good boy, responsible.  As a result, he waits until the fourth speech before he mentally tunes out the drone of voices and quietly slips his earphones in.  No one – not even Rolling Stone – has ever argued that The Shaggs are boring.

‘My Pal Foot Foot’ has rotated around for the third time when there is a kick to the back of Kenjirou’s knees.  Kenjirou stiffens in response, not allowing for any obvious sign of movement that might get him in trouble with his mother later.  When he’s sure that no-one is paying attention, Kenjirou slowly dips his head down and sneaks a peak at the boy behind him.  He finds himself unexpectedly caught in large brown eyes that sparkle with humour.  

“It’s about to finish,” the boy mouths with exaggerated movements.  He taps his right ear with his middle and index fingers, his mouth splitting into a wide, knowing grin.

Kenjirou nods, slipping one of his earphones out and tucking it into his jacket.  He leaves the other one in, a constant, background soundtrack that grounds Kenjirou in something other than his mess of nerves and uncertainty. 

The speeches do end, then.  The boy with the wide smile isn’t in his class, and so they split into different lines.  Kenjirou’s parents follow behind proudly, and Kenjirou just knows that everyone his parents have ever known are going to watch this video at some point.

They meet again that afternoon at their first baseball practise, and it’s only then that Kenjirou learns that the boy from the entrance ceremony is Miyuki Kazuya.  It’s probably a good thing that they’re not in the same class, Kenjirou thinks when Miyuki steps forward confidently during line call and introduces himself as Seidou’s next catcher.  They’re both only 15, but Miyuki is already the Beatles, The Who, The Breaking Dawn.  Miyuki is a rock star amongst the first years that everyone already knows by his reputation alone, while Kenjirou is a three-piece indie rock band making albums in his father’s basement.

Beat 2: Beatles: Best to Worst.

Everyone in the music industry has tried to rate the Beatles albums’ from best to worst at some point.  This is an impossible task, because what is one man’s ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ is another man’s ‘The White Room’.

Kenjirou has to revise his initial impression of Miyuki once he gets to know him a little better.  The other boy is definitely Beatles-brilliant, but it’s a ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ kind of brilliance instead of the more conventional awesomeness of, say, ‘Abbey Road’.  Miyuki is clever and talented, silver tongued and confident.  He’s also weirdly distant, in a way Kenjirou can’t put his finger on.  His humour fluctuates between ridiculously funny and absolutely terrifying, and sometimes Kenjirou isn’t sure if he’s even sharing the same physical plane as the other boy. 

Miyuki Kazuya is more than a little odd.  He has also just lost a very important bet.  It means that the other first years get to decide his walk out song, and so far the suggestions have ranged from the terribly ridiculous to the awesomely ridiculous.  Kenjirou is so very tempted to recommend something from The Shaggs, but the song really does have to be something that the crowd can sing along to.  There’s no doubt that people will want to sing whatever song plays Miyuki in.

Nori’s made some brilliant suggestions, but a smile blossoms on Kenjirou’s lips as the most perfect song comes to mind for their very odd catcher.  Miyuki threatens him with a glare, but it does Miyuki no good.

“Neraiuchi,” Kenjirou says simply.  Kuramochi cackles loudly and Nori’s eyes widen in appreciation.

Miyuki just looks blank.

Beat 3: Best Selling Single of All Time

The Guinness Book of World Records states that ‘White Christmas’ by Bing Crosby is the biggest selling single of all time.  It’s hard for Kenjirou to argue with those statistics, although he would like to point out that these are only estimates.  Official records weren’t kept until the 1950s, a good 8 years after ‘White Christmas’ debuted.  Nori goes a step further, stating that the song shouldn’t be included on the biggest selling list at all.  It’s a Christmas single, Nori argues.  And that?  Is cheating.  Christmas music isn’t really music at all, and should never be defined as such. 

Nori has very strong feelings on this.  December is not a good time to be around his usually placid best friend.   

Kenjirou doesn’t have White Christmas on his iPhone, but it’s playing in the small music shop he’s currently browsing through.  Bing’s voice is deep and rich, a lullaby that promises snow.  

Why the song is currently playing in the middle of May, Kenjirou has no idea. 

“So, what do you think?” Miyuki shrugs nonchalantly down into the pockets of his jacket, his gaze never quite meeting Kenjirou’s.  Miyuki seems out of place here, surrounded by CDs and records and weirdly dressed teens.  Miyuki is definitely one of those people who only seems to work within in their own natural habitat, and seeing him outside of that is about as natural as seeing a polar bear vacationing in Australia. 

They’re here in this tiny little shop that is playing Christmas music to try and find a birthday present for Kuramochi.  Miyuki’s awkward request for help had come as a surprise, and Kenjirou can still envision Miyuki’s horrified expression as he tried to backtrack immediately.  It would have been easier for Miyuki to get Kuramochi something baseball related (if anything at all), but Kenjirou has a sneaking suspicion that’s the point.  Even though Miyuki will never admit it, he wants to get Kuramochi something a little bit special.

Once Kenjirou realises that, there is no way he can turn Miyuki down.

Still, this is turning out to be harder than Kenjirou thought.  Miyuki has no knowledge of what Kuramochi does and doesn’t like, and Kenjirou is pretty clueless himself.  He closes his eyes and tries to imagine Kuramochi in his head, calmly ignoring Miyuki’s barely suppressed snicker.

Hmm.

His eyes snap open, and Kenjirou moves back a couple of rows, his fingers running over the tops of the CDs as he looks for one in particular.  He lets out a triumphant snort when he finds the CD he’s looking for.  He pulls it out and hands it to Miyuki.

“Here.  It’s Plain White T’s latest album.”  Grunge rock without being obnoxious, clever in a subtle way that leaves a lasting impression that lingers throughout the day.  Kenjirou thinks it suits both Kuramochi and Miyuki well.

Miyuki takes the CD slowly

“Thanks,” Miyuki says, and then Kenjirou is suddenly finding it difficult to breathe because Miyuki is smiling the most ridiculously sweet smile Kenjirou thinks he has ever seen.  The smile is gone in an instant, swallowed up by a wholly more evil smirk. “Now, I think I should get him something a bit ‘special’ as well.”  His gaze invites Kenjirou into his evilness, and Kenjirou finds himself grinning back.

If Kuramochi finds out that he had anything to do with whatever Miyuki has planned, Kenjirou is a dead man.

It may just be worth it.

Beat 4: Elevator Song.

According to the blog www.elevatorworld.com, the second most played elevator song in the world is ‘When You Wish upon a Star’ (citation needed).  It’s a nice enough song, Kenjirou thinks.  There are some instrumental versions that are particularly lovely, although Kenjirou has always been partial to Takahiro Sakurai’s version in particular.  There is something a little haunting about the voice actor’s voice when he sings that song, a vulnerability that leaves Kenjirou raw.  

It’s not Sakurai’s version that is playing on loop in the elevator Kenjirou is in now, but a tinny new version released by the latest pop group to hit the streets of Tokyo.  The vocals are strong enough, but there is no story behind the lyrics, no well of pain and experience for the words to bleed forth from.  Miyuki is singing along under his breath, his foot tapping almost in time with the beat.

It’s the most musical Kenjirou has ever seen him.  He’s about to ask which version it is that Miyuki is familiar with (Classical, Instrumental, Voice Actor, or Pop Tart), when Kuramochi cackles something about Miyuki giving up baseball for a music career.  Miyuki glowers at him, and the singing ceases.

Kenjirou misses it instantly.

The rest of the team are already up at the food court, surely surrounded by shoe boxes and bags and bags of sport socks.  It’s rare for them to go shopping together as a group, especially as they all champion particular brands.  It’s all their ex-captain’s fault.  Yuuki-san had idly said it might be a good idea, and within hours Miyuki had the trip organised.

It’s-

Kenjirou loses his train of thought when the elevator shudders unexpectedly, then stops.  The doors remained closed and Kenjirou’s sure that the elevator isn’t actually lined up with a floor.

Kuramochi frowns, punching random buttons with his fingers.  Nothing happens.

Ha.

When Kenjirou was six, his older sister liked to play Jack-in-a-box within him.  She would empty out her toy chest and place Kenjirou inside.  Then, she would sing.  Whenever she stopped, Kenjirou would throw open the lid and jiggle up and down.

One day, Suki thought it would be fun to put him in the chest and sit on the lid.  She sat there for the full 2 hours and twenty minutes it took her to watch Kenjirou’s favourite movie, providing running commentary the whole time.

It wasn’t fun.  It so wasn’t fun.  Those two hours and twenty minutes traumatised Kenjirou far more than the make-up his sister painted onto his cheeks or the frilly collar she made for him out of her pillowcase.

Therefore, it’s not that Kenjirou doesn’t like small spaces, exactly, and more that he doesn’t like getting stuck in them.  The walls start to close in a bit and the air thins, and Kenjirou starts to doubt his sanity in a way he doesn’t normally do.  They may be here for hours.  Ha.  They may be here for days.  Zono told him once about a guy who spent three weeks stuck in an elevator, with nothing but a box of white day chocolate to eat.  Kenjirou doesn’t have anything like that, just some anti-blister gel that isn’t going to sound appetising for at least another three days. 

It’s ok though, he’s ok, just breathing maybe a little bit heavier than is socially acceptable.  It’s a terrible breech of elevator etiquette, Kenjirou knows, but it’s unlikely that either Kuramochi or Miyuki have noticed.  He’s Mr Dependable, after all.  He can be depended on to remain calm and professional at all times.

Yeah, they’ve both noticed.  Kuramochi is eying him up as he speaks into the voice box, demanding to know what is going on.  Miyuki is looking at him as though he’s grown two heads, which is totally plausible.  Kenjirou has never been stuck in an elevator before; he doesn’t know how these things work.

He blinks, just once – he’s sure it’s just once – and then Miyuki is standing right in front of him, magically transported from the other side of the small space in one blink (he is never getting into another elevator again).  Kenjirou smiles up at him, because really, what else is there for him to do?

Miyuki raises a hand and presses it high against Kenjirou’s chest.  Kenjirou blinks again, his gaze sliding downwards before back up to Miyuki.

“I want you to focus on my hand,” Miyuki says, his voice is low and serious but his eyes are like knives.  “Forget Kuramochi, forget the music.  Tune it all out.”  Kenjirou nods.  “Now, I want you to lift my hand slowly by exhaling your chest.  Slower!” Miyuki snaps when Kenjirou tries to exhale all his breaths at once.  Miyuki’s voice is softer but no less steady when he speaks again.  “Exhale,” he repeats, and Kenjirou does.  He breaths out to lift Miyuki’s hand, remains locked in Miyuki’s commanding gaze.  Kenjirou feels an odd calmness roll over him, and he realises that this must be how the pitchers fell.  It’s hard not to feel safe when wrapped so completely in Miyuki’s intensity.

“They’re going to be 10 minutes,” Kuramochi says roughly as he comes to stand beside Miyuki.  “Probably only 5.”  He pauses for a second before continuing.  “Keep listening to the idiot.  He knows what he’s doing.”

Kenjirou never considers doing anything else.

It takes the maintenance crew 8 minutes and 10 seconds to get the elevator moving again.  Not that Kenjirou is counting seconds. 

He’s counting breaths.

“You were actually pretty calm, you know.” Kuramochi sucks the last of his drink up his straw before dumping his cup back down on the table.  “For a moment there I thought you were going to go all ‘Ringu’ on us.”  Kuramochi groans dramatically for emphasis.  Kenjirou snorts, smiling around his straw as he takes a sip of his iced tea.  Now that he’s free of that death box, his heartbeat has settled into a more natural rhythm.  He starts to drift away as Kuramochi tells Nori the story of their dramatic rescue for the third time, his gaze falling on a table further down from where they are sitting.     

Miyuki is harassing the first year pitchers, having separated from Kenjirou and Kuramochi almost immediately after their release.

The feel of Miyuki’s hand on his chest, the steadying weight of his gaze, however, remain.

Beat 5:  Most Misinterpreted Song.

User FUNKADELICIOUS argues that ‘Born in the US’ by Bruce Springsteen is undoubtedly the most misunderstood song of all time.  User ALLOURB@SES disagrees, if only because it’s such an incredibly cliché response.   If they’re limiting their options to English language songs, then ALLOURB@SES would like to nominate “The One I Love” by REM.  Not since Sting’s “Every Breath You Take” has love and romance been found in such completely inappropriate lyrics.  ALLOURB@SES cousin walked down the aisle to that song.  It’s no surprise that her marriage only lasted a year.

(ALLOURB@SES may be Kenjirou, but that is neither here or there) 

He’s humming the song beneath his breath as he does arm curls, sweat trailing down his back.  The Fall final is so close and Kenjirou can practically taste Koshien on his tongue.  He has to close his eyes and force himself to relax, the sudden rush of anticipation throwing his rhythm off.

“Shirasu, can we talk?” Kuramochi’s voice cuts through Kenjirou’s concentration.  He puts down his weights and turns around, expecting –

Well.  Kenjirou doesn’t know exactly what he’s expecting.  He likes Kuramochi well enough, enjoys playing with him and talking occasionally about music.  But they’re not exactly close, and Kenjirou doesn’t know quite what to do with Kuramochi’s unexpectedly heavy gaze.

“Of course,” he says, reaching for a shirt.  It’s hot inside Kenjirou’s room, and so they step outside.

Kuramochi wants to talk about Miyuki, and how he may have injured himself in the last game.  Kuramochi’s concern – his anger – is palpable, and tension is coiled tightly in Kuramochi’s shoulders and ripples down his back.  Kuramochi is taking this threat to the team and Miyuki’s health seriously, and so Kenjirou does as well.

Still.  A smile comes to Kenjirou’s mouth as he remembers how Miyuki asked for help hunting for Kuramochi’s present, how deceptively kind he was in the elevator when Kenjirou started to lose it just a little.  Miyuki takes his responsibilities as captain seriously.  He must know that he can trust them with something like this, right?

-dedicated to the one I love.

Beat 5:  Nothing but Static.

October, 2014.  iTunes accidently releases 8 seconds of static instead of the third track from Taylor Swift’s new album.  It goes straight to number 1 in the Canadian charts.

8 seconds is as long as it takes for the light to fade from Miyuki’s eyes after the game ends.

Kenjirou has gotten it wrong.  He has gotten it so, so wrong.

Kuramochi is barking orders and Zono is the definition of grim anger, but all Kenjirou can hear is static.

Beat 6:  The best album of all time.

Rolling Stone states that the best album ever is ‘Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band’ by The Beatles.

They’re wrong.  The best album ever is The Philosophy of the World by The Shaggs.  An all-female American rock group from the 60s, The Shaggs consisted of three sisters and their rambling interpretation of this thing called music.

Kenjirou wipes clean one of his small workout mp3 players and loads their album onto it.  The dorms themselves don’t have internet connection, and so he has to stand outside the school library with his laptop balanced on his knee as he fiddles with the wireless connection on the player.

Once done, he walks back to the dorms, up to Miyuki’s room.

Kenjirou has avoided visiting Miyuki since the catcher returned from hospital.  He’s seen Miyuki occasionally in the dining hall, bookmarked by Zono and Kuramochi and surrounded by concern and well wishes.  Miyuki always smiles at those around him, smirking when it’s particularly inappropriate. 

Kenjirou trusted Miyuki’s smiles, once.  Now …

Now, he doesn’t know. 

It’s too late.

Kenjirou should have seen that there was so much more going on with Miyuki below the surface, and Kenjirou hates himself for missing all the signs.  The guilt twists in his gut, but it helps reaffirm that Kenjirou has to help now however he can, even if there is so little he can do.

Kenjirou knocks once, twice, on Miyuki’s door.  He hears a scuffling from the room, although it takes a couple of minutes before the door handle twists and Miyuki pulls the door inwards.  It’s been three days since the game and Miyuki is looking better than he did in those last few minutes, back when he was so grey that even his eyes seemed to be nothing more than ash. 

Still, it’s not easy seeing his teammate like this.  Bruised shadows linger beneath Miyuki’s eyes and his small smile is drawn painfully tight.  Miyuki leans against the doorframe with casual inelegance, but Kenjirou can pick up the weariness in Miyuki’s drooped shoulders.

“Shirasu.”  Miyuki seems almost please to see him.  “You just missed Kuramochi.”  Miyuki’s tired smile twists into a grin.  “I wish I had your luck.  That idiot thinks I need a live in babysitter.”  Miyuki shakes his head, but it’s hard to miss the fondness in his gaze.  “Shouldn’t you be at evening practise?” Miyuki adds, his voice deceptively even.  It doesn’t work as well as it usually does, because Kenjirou can pick up some of the brittle jealousy that underpins his words. 

“I just wanted to give you this.”  Kenjirou pulls out the mp3 player, noting the way Miyuki’s eyes widen just a little.  Miyuki takes it carefully, his body movements deliberately minimal.  “I downloaded an album I thought you might enjoy.”  Kenjirou doesn’t add that there isn’t much else Miyuki can do at the moment but listen to music, watch TV and read, but there is a wry twist to Miyuki’s mouth that suggests Miyuki is thinking something similar.      

Kenjirou thinks that Miyuki is going to disappear back into his room, but instead he slips a bud into his ear and presses play.  Kenjirou’s earphones are good, and so no sound leaks out.  It doesn’t need to.  Miyuki’s face contorts from curious to disbelieving to amusement and then right back to disbelief by the time the first few beats have played through.

Track one: Philosophy of the World.  It’s one of Kenjirou’s favourite songs ever.  

Miyuki is able to listen to all of 10 seconds of the song before he rips the earbud out incredulously.

“Seriously?” Miyuki asks in bewilderment.  Kenjirou grins.  Confusion suits Miyuki, even if he does seem to be unfairly questioning Kenjirou’s sanity right now.       

“Curt Cobain said it was his 5th favourite album ever.”  A part of Kenjirou’s soul dies when Miyuki’s gaze remains blank with incomprehension.  One day, he is going to have to give Miyuki a full music intervention.  “Just promise me you’ll listen to the whole thing once.” 

“Will I lose my mind in the process?” Miyuki asks dubiously, his thumb stroking over the play button.  “According to Sawamura, that last match might have knocked a few brain cells loose.”

“If you’re taking neurological advice from Sawamura, he might be right.”

Miyuki cracks up at that, but only briefly.  Kenjirou’s eyes widen in horror when Miyuki’s laughter cuts off abruptly, his free hand wrapping around his ribs.  Kenjirou feels useless as Miyuki drops his head down, his shoulder pressed against the doorframe and his gaze unseeing.  Kenjirou fumbles, unsure how to help, what to do.  There is always this distance – this space – between them.  It’s a polite space, one that Kenjirou respects because this is Miyuki and Miyuki has always needed-

Oh, screw it.

He moves forward and places a hand on Miyuki’s shoulder.  The muscles beneath his fingers clench into knots, and for a second Kenjirou thinks he’s got this so wrong once again.  But then Miyuki’s weight shifts away from the doorframe and in towards Kenjirou, and Miyuki soaks in Kenjirou’s offer of support as his torn, ragged breaths slowly return to normal.

When Miyuki gaze darts back up again through his bangs, it’s with that wild, childish grin that Kenjirou remembers from the match.  It makes as much sense now as it did then, but it’s just as hypnotic. 

“See what your terrible music is doing to me?  And that’s just after a few bars.”  Miyuki slowly straightens, his smile giving way to a pained grimace.  “You seriously want me to listen to the whole thing?  Are you trying to kill me?” 

“If it’s assisted suicide you’re after, my sister sent me an album that will do nicely,” Kenjirou replies with a concerned grin of his own.  He’s not concerned for his sister’s terrible taste in music, although that is definitely something he is going to have to address some time soon. 

He’s concerned about Miyuki, and Kenjirou finds he’s actually ok with that.

In fact, he’s even a little pleased.  Concern is something friends have for each other.        

“You really should get to practise, the team won’t know which way is up if the consummate professional is late.”  Miyuki knows just how to ruin the mood, although naturally he’s correct.  It’s one of those things that makes Miyuki so annoying.  “I’ll try and fit the album into my busy schedule,” Miyuki adds dryly.  “Just promise me one thing.  If I don’t make it, don’t let Kuramochi write my obituary.”

“Deal.”

Beat 7: Hidden tracks.

One of the criminally sad things about the decline in CD sales is how hidden tracks have disappeared along with them.  A well done hidden track is the perfect coda to a quality album.  Just when you think everything has been said and all emotions exhausted, along comes a hidden track to remind you that there is always more.

Kenjirou is listening to one such hidden track when he returns from practise to find Miyuki sitting cross legged on Jun-san’s old bed. Kenjirou’s mp3 player sits on the bed in front of him.

“Touju let me in before he went off to the dining hall,” Miyuki says, and it’s only then that Kenjirou notices that his roommate isn’t there.  “The first years are trying to rescue Sawamura and Furuya’s grades again.” 

Kenjirou smiles at that, being mindful as he sits down across from Miyuki.  His gaze drops deliberately to the mp3 player between them. 

“I’ve been listening to it on repeat for hours,” Miyuki admits shamelessly.  There is an accusation laced into his words, as if this is all somehow Kenjirou’s fault.

(It is, it really is) 

“Their father was an absolute fanatic, he never let them listen to music growing up.  It was after a fortune teller told him that he was destined to produce a famous girl band that he decided that his daughters had to become musicians.”  Kenjirou’s eyes lighten a little as he tries to shape in his mind the world from which The Shaggs emerged.

“Can you imagine what it must have been like to never have really heard music, to not know what it feels like for a beat to thrum up through your veins?”  Kenjirou relaxes back against the wall, folding his legs beneath him.  “To be given instruments you can’t play and music you are never going to be able to read?  It must have been weird and terrifying and just completely amazing.  They didn’t have anything to fall back on, no knowledge of what music should be like – or at least, what society thought music should sound like.”  Unlike the musicians who pre and post-dated them, The Shaggs had never been shackled by the conventional wisdom of what music was, how it should be shaped.  They never knew those shackles existed in the first place.  Kenjirou smiles across at Miyuki, his eyes bright.  “They created music from the ground up.  Listening to them play is like witnessing the big bang.”

Nori’s right.  The album lacks any hint of meaning or substance, but that’s part of the beauty.  Because there is no meaning there, you have to find it within yourself.

Kenjirou wonders what meaning Miyuki found, knowing only that it brought Miyuki here.  That pleases Kenjirou, perhaps more than it should. 

Miyuki’s watching him with an unreadable expression.  It’s not deliberately unreadable, like it sometimes is.  Miyuki is unreadable now in a different way.  There are emotions there – real ones – but Kenjirou isn’t talented enough yet to interpret what they means. 

“I never thought I’d say this,” Miyuki says with a deliberate drawl, breaking the comfortable silence that has fallen between them.  “But, Shirasu?  You are really, seriously weird.”

Kenjirou blinks, then grins.

“Thank you.”

Miyuki grins back, before biting down uncharacteristically on his bottom lip.  His gaze weighs Kenjirou up, and for a moment Kenjirou is terrified that he is going to be found wanting.

“Is … there anything else you would recommend?”

It’s almost midnight when Kuramochi bursts into the room.  Toujou is working tirelessly at his desk while Kenjirou is stretched on his bunk, L’arc streaming through his earphones.  Wild eyes scan the room in an almost-panic before settling on the bottom bunk across from Kenjirou’s.

Kuramochi flops down on the floor with a grunt, legs folding beneath him.

“You could have let me know,” Kuramochi says testily.  “I’ve been trying to find that bastard for almost an hour.”  Kuramochi scowl deepens when Miyuki chooses that moment to smile serenely in his sleep.  Miyuki has always had the worst timing, and Kuramochi presses his fisted hand into the floor in silent retaliation.  Kenjirou grins down at him, thinking it’s probably best to not point out how much Kuramochi looks like a grumpy guard dog right now.  It’s a pity that Yuuki-san isn’t here. Their ex-captain would be able to capture the entire scene perfectly in one shot:  Miyuki, angelic in sleep.  Kuramochi, demonic in his concern.

“He didn’t want to tackle the stairs,” Kenjirou explains, turning off his player and rolling onto his side so that it’s easier to talk to Kuramochi.  “I told him he could bunk here for the night.”

“He doesn’t snore, so he’s already a better roommate than Isashiki-sempai ever was,” Toujou says without looking out from his work.  “Although he looks kind of creepy without his glasses.”

Creepy is probably too harsh, but it does take time to adjust to how young Miyuki looks when he is asleep, the tension washed from his features and his glasses placed neatly on the floor. 

Kuramochi lets out a puff of air and pushes up from the floor.  He thumbs a finger in Miyuki’s direction, not even bothering to glance over at Miyuki now that he knows that he’s safe.

“Can you make sure he makes it to breakfast?  It’s a mission to get him to eat properly at the moment.”  Kuramochi’s scowl makes a brief comeback.  “I’m not sure if that’s because he has no appetite or because he just likes all the attention.”  Kuramochi pauses at the door, turning back to Kenjirou. “He probably won’t say it himself, but thanks.”

Kenjirou nods, waiting until Kuramochi is gone to turn his music back on.