7: A Little Less Keita, A Little More Kohei, part i

Kohei stared at his phone. He was taken aback horribly. Had Keita just hung up on him? Cut him off, as if he were nothing—nobody? Kohei blinked and licked his dry lips; he had the sudden urge to call him again. He wanted nothing more but to yell into the receiver with his eyes bulging and heart breaking. He took a deep breath in and rolled his shoulders. And just like that, Kohei let it go. Thank God for those Yoga classes in the park he attended every so often. His next temptation was to text Keita to see if he were in any trouble, but he thought better of it. No need to seem obsessive after all.

He tucked his cell phone into his butt pocket, and directed his attention to the window display that initially caught his eye. He felt his cheeks flush at the thought of buying Keita some beanies and maybe a nice sweater or two. Kohei made his way into the shop, while he carefully checked out his reflection in the window.

After his little shopping spree, Kohei wandered the streets. It was getting pretty late, and he grew apprehensive at the fact that Keita had not called him back. He was starting to worry. . .

He glanced down at the bag at his side. It was filled with beanies and sweatshirts of various designs, patterns, and colors. He thought about stopping by Keita’s apartment to drop off the gifts. It would be the perfect opportunity to see if Keita was home safely. At the moment, Kohei was minus transportation, and the thought of taking a bus bothered him. But if he jogged he’d be able to reach Keita’s apartments within a reasonable amount of time.

Tying the handles of his bag into a knot, Kohei started off into a jog down the street—oblivious to the stares he invoked. Or maybe not so oblivious, since he smiled oh-so-delightfully to himself.

Slightly out of breath, Kohei stopped in front of Keita’s apartments. They were a depressing bundle of buildings. Small and colored in various shades of brown. There was only one flight of stairs, which scaled upwards; disappearing inside the middle of the building at a steep angle. Kohei noted the spookiness of that staircase.

And parked right at the foot of those stairs, sat Old Man Hirohama, who Kohei knew as the manager of the apartments. He was an elderly fellow, tanned, with cold eyes and big teeth. He adjusted his baseball cap as Kohei approached him.

“Good evening Hirohama-san. Nice night huh?” Kohei said, bowing his head slightly.

Old Man Hirohama blinked up at him, while his hands busily peeled an orange. “Hello Kimishima-san,” he said, nodding away to some jazz jingle on his old red radio. “You’re here to see Osugi-san I assume?” His voice was slow and deep and boring, but a certain strain over the name Osugi could be heard, or at least Kohei noticed it.

Kohei smiled, he knew smiling was his best attribute, and he used it often to gain a fellow’s admiration and trust. “Aw, you got me Hirohama-san! So has he come home yet?”

Hirohama was silent as he picked away at his orange, “No,” he said finally, his fingers ripping away at the poor fruit now, “that little shithead.”

Kohei scowled. Hirohama just insulted his man, but the way his jaw tightened scared Kohei into keeping quiet. For whatever reason Hirohama was not a fan of Keita’s. “Oh,” Kohei chirped, “Mind if I wait here for him?”

“Yes,” he hissed, “why don’t you wait for him in his apartment? He has roommates you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Kohei’s palms grew sweaty, oh how he’d love to be Keita’s roommate too! “I don’t know his room number anyhow.” He arched an eyebrow hopefully.

“He’s on the third floor, down the hall to the right, the last door, has a Goddamn dinosaur sticker on it.” Old Man Hirohama started nibbling on a slice of orange.

“Hey thanks,” Kohei gushed, he tended to gush when excited, “here have a beanie, it’s on me.” He threw a burgundy beanie onto Hirohama’s lap, and bounded up the flight of stairs, thrilled to see Keita’s humble abode.

Kohei expected this kind of reaction. Shuya and Ryuhei guarded their door, their eyes scanning Kohei’s figure up and down, down and up.

“You’re Keita-kun’s new friend?” Shuya asked. He was either anemic or scared, for his face was drained of any color. He eyeballed the cuts and bruises sprinkled about Kohei’s face.

“Yep. I was wondering, would it be alright if I came in and waited for him? You see, I’m a little worried about him, I just want to make sure he’s alright. I also brought him some stuff.” He held up the bag to show them, amused by the two roomies’ expressions.

Shuya and Ryuhei exchanged glances, they then looked at Kohei with apprehensive eyes. Kohei’s bleached hair, his marble-like irises, his busted up lip, that gray-metallic jumpsuit, and swollen up knuckles screamed thug. His appearance alone was a yellow flag warning. But as soon as Kohei flashed his oh-so-charming smile, his eyes warmed, and his appearance didn’t seem all too bad. In fact, he gave off an almost saint-like quality.

With uneasiness aside, the two let Kohei in. Kohei slipped off his boots, and slid into some guest slippers. The entrance hallway was long, the wooden floor was faded but buffed to its best. The living room was a decent size, tidy and furnished with the essentials. Kohei cranked his head to see the tiny kitchen. It was simple, but the fact that the sink faced the living room unsettled Kohei. The two roommates parked themselves on their squishy duct taped sofa. They were watching some sort of cooking show.

Kohei couldn’t keep himself from smiling, “So where’s Keita’s room?” he asked, his voice cracking a little with anticipation.

Kohei’s eyes followed desperately after as Ryuhei pointed at a door behind the sofa. “You don’t think he’d mind if I waited in his room?”

Ryuhei grimaced, knowing Keita and how neurotically private he was, it would be a major shitfest if Kohei did wait in his room. But as Kohei’s face melted into that doe-eyed hopeful grin of his, Ryuhei couldn’t help but shrug and grunt out, “Go for it, knock yourself out.”

Kohei gathered himself and walked over to Keita’s door, unaware of the panicky gestures Shuya was making behind him to Ryuhei. Kohei halted, licked his dry lips and with a shaky hand opened the door into Keita’s room—Kohei’s personal dreamland. He entered quietly, as if any noise would disturb the dust bunnies themselves. He flicked on the light, and gently closed the door behind him, he held his breath as he did so. His eyes took in the tiny room—God it was beautiful.

He placed his bag of goodies down and padded all over the room. The floor was made from wood too, although it was a bit more dusty compared to the hallway’s. The room itself was mismatched, the furniture clashed with the bed, the sheets clashed with the curtains, and the lamp on his nightstand was way too modern looking. Kohei walked over to a narrow bookshelf. It was packed with all sorts of titles and volumes; from beat poetry to German expressionism pieces to philosophical essays. Keita’s library was as eclectic as his writing, and Kohei took mental note of certain books. He would have to read them too—so that he may better understand Keita’s style.

He pried himself from the bookcase to the closet by the door. It had one of those long mirrors on the door, which Kohei found amusing. Keita didn’t seem like the type to care about his appearance. After all he often wore torn, faded jeans, scuffed brown shoes, hooded sweatshirts, and beanies—or at least, every time Kohei saw him he wore such clothes. He cracked the closet door open, and was surprised by what he found inside. There were some pretty decent clothes in there. Cardigans, vests, button downs, crisp slacks, and some cool boots. He combed through the clothing—imagining Keita in them. Kohei grinned goofily, Keita would look so dashing in a nice button down and slacks! He wondered why Keita would ever trade in such stylish clothes for a dingy old sweatshirt and jeans.

His eyes landed on the bed as he closed the closet door. He stared at it longingly, if only. . . He bit his bottom lip. The last thing Kohei wanted was to get all horny before Keita showed up. So he headed toward the desk; his hands rested on the top of Keita’s chair, where he massaged the leather absentmindedly. It was your typical crowded desk; covered with hardback books, loose papers, red pens, and unopened mail. His laptop sat there, it looked lonely covered in all that dust. Kohei bent over and blew on it, he then wiped the more stubborn mess off with his sleeve. After pulling back from his job, something caught his eye. Underneath the desk, tucked away in a corner, sat a large plastic crate. It was practically bulging with notebook, upon notebook, upon notebook. . .

Kohei’s mouth watered, they were Keita’s notebooks! Without a second thought, Kohei got on all fours and reached for the crate. He felt like a damn lunatic as he pulled it to him. He then parked himself on the floor, and like a kid on Christmas morning, delved in. He pulled notebook after notebook out. They ranged in all sorts of styles, colors, and sizes, but scribbled on each cover was a different year. The deeper Kohei went, the earlier the year. His eyes were practically twinkling—he had hit the jackpot! Scattered about him were Keita’s words, his thoughts, his art, his life! Kohei ran his fingers lovingly over the various covers. Oh—how badly did he want to read them! But he didn’t dare, not without Keita’s permission. Instead he took comfort in flipping through the books; the smell of old pages wafting through the air.

Kohei felt like he discovered something great, something almost magical and unheard of. He felt wonderful inside, that is. . .until he heard the door to Keita’s room open behind him.

Up next. . .8: A Little Less Keita, A Little More Kohei, part ii

Note!

Major apologies for being ridiculously late with this update! College, relationships, and my lack of faith in my own writing ability has kept me in the shadows. Writer’s impotence if you will.

So what’s up with this chapter? Don’t worry, Keita’s POV will be coming back soon.

Anyway, thank you all for reading! I’m a bit rusty, but the next chapter should pick up the pace.