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She's been awake for over 24 hours when she sees the headlights, bright and coming out of the night like something inevitable. She thinks to glance to the walk sign, to see if in all of her fatigue, she was crossing against the light, but she realizes she has no time. There's a horn, a screech of tires, and she is hit.
It's not as bad as it could have been, she realizes, because although she is in pain, she's still conscious on the pavement. The car must have moved enough to just side-swipe her. The driver stops, pulling off quickly, and comes to her side. "Are you alright? What happened?"
She doesn't understand the question. What happened is that she hasn't slept in two nights and her girlfriend broke up with her and she probably won't find any work in a good long time, but she can't say any of that, because she looks down at her arm and it's wrong. Her left arm is hanging the wrong way, and when she even tries to move it, pain shoots up all the way to her shoulder.
"I'm calling for an ambulance!"
She wants to tell the driver that it's fine, she can do that, but she turns to look the other way and her bag is spilled. Her phone is shattered on the pavement. The driver helps her by shoving all the contents back into her bag, and Akira inspects the large patch of road rash that's formed all along her left leg. She still hasn't spoken. Maybe she just won't. That's what Claudine had wanted, wasn't it?
She looks at the car, and fortunately, it doesn't look as though it's damaged. It's probably 3 or 4 in the morning, so there are few other cars in the road, and the 1 or 2 that pass give them a wide berth. Eventually, she hears the ambulance. "Can I call someone for you?" the driver asks.
She shakes her head no. What good would calling Claudine do? And who else would there be to call? Rui? Futaba? She doesn't know their numbers by heart, so she declines the offer. The driver fades into the background as the ambulance staff take over, and for the first time in weeks, she feels tired, exhausted even. She answers their questions, or maybe she doesn't, and she lets them take her vitals and perform first aid, and then she lays down on the little stretcher in the back of the ambulance and falls asleep.
When she wakes up, Claudine is there. She's as perfect as ever, her hair styled in waves and she's wearing a crisp white button-down and navy blue pants, her jacket draped over the back of the chair. She's typing away on her phone, her nails clicking on the screen. But she tucks it away into her bag when she sees Akira is awake, her expression somewhere between concern and disappointment. "Well, that's one way to deal with it," she says.
"What?" Akira's voice cracks, and she realizes only then how thirsty she is. She sees a glass of water on the bedside table and reaches for it, but her arm is in a cast, heavy and immobile. She reaches across with her other arm, which is an ugly bruised color, and holds the cup with that hand.
"If the press finds out about this accident, you'll be able to cover up the bullying allegations with pity over this accident. Clever."
She wants to riposte that nothing about her actions was intentional, that she doesn’t want to do anything but go to the press with the truth, with her own version of events. It's a continuation of the argument they've had for weeks, and she's tired of it. She's finally slept, but now she's back to the same feeling: the drawn-out exhaustion matched with the constant anxiety that means she can never actually get to sleep. "Why are you here?"
"Akira, I thought… You were hit by a car. After we fought. After you left our apartment."
"Your apartment." Akira sips the water again, frustrated that for this conversation, she's hooked up to monitors showing her blood pressure and heart rate. It feels like an interrogation. The sun is coming in through the hospital windows, and she realizes it must be mid-morning. She sees an empty coffee cup beside Claudine, and wonders when the last time Claudine missed work was? Fashion Week?
Claudine pauses, and half-reaches for her phone again, before putting her hand back on her lap. She purses her lips, a painful capitulation. She looks as perfect as ever, her makeup covering any flaw, but Akira was her girlfriend for years. She can see the slight puffiness under her eyes, and the way the flyaway hairs by her ears aren't quite tamed. She was out of her element too. "Right, of course," Claudine says, correcting course. Then she leans forward. "You know, Akira, I think we can still fix this. Come back with me."
She wants to. God, she wants to so badly. But she's not going to beg for an apology, and she knows Claudine isn't going to give one. And then it will be more of the same: of Claudine telling her how she should do this and that, of Claudine digging her heels in every time Akira resists, and Akira being just as stubborn, the two of them probably incompatible at some base level, but never realizing it because nothing major had tested them until now.
She wants to go back with Claudine, but she doesn't think it's wise, especially after Claudine was called as her emergency contact. Claudine's life was curated, Akira understands this, with the designer brands and trendy restaurants and perfect social circle, and if she is inviting Akira back, it is because Akira served her. Claudine loved her, almost undoubtedly, but there was something else, too. She pictures herself in some Instagram picture, being nursed back to health in Claudine's apartment, garnering thousands of likes, and she turns her head away, even though she invented this hypothetical. "I think I need to be by myself," she says.
Claudine clicks her tongue, just quietly, but she stands to go. "You don't know how to be by yourself," she says. She grabs her jacket and drapes it over her arm, picks up her handbag, and leans over and kisses Akira on the forehead. And then she is gone.
Akira is sent home that afternoon, with instructions to return to the hospital three times a week for physical therapy to help with her recovery. She stops in a cell phone store on the way home, and buys a cheap replacement phone. The technician is able to transfer her phone number and move her SIM card over from the smashed-up old phone, though any messages and calls she missed overnight are gone.
When she leaves, she calls Rui, who picks up on the first ring. "Where have you been?" she asks, an edge to her voice. It's been like that for weeks now, ever since the article came out, so Akira is used to it now. She doesn't want to cause trouble for her agent, but she is paying Rui, not the other way around, and besides, Akira did nothing wrong! It's what she's been trying to explain.
"I…" She pauses halfway through her explanation. She doesn't want to lie to Rui, and there's no way she can get away without explaining herself: she can't work with her arm in a cast and a scab all up her leg, but 'I got hit by a car' feels too loaded in the daylight on a crowded Tokyo street. "There was an accident," she says. "I broke my arm."
There's a sigh, as if this new information piled on top of Rui's already stressed existence might just be what sends her over the edge. Akira had half-assumed Claudine would have texted Rui, but, she supposed, they weren't dating anymore. "Well, it isn't as if there are offers streaming in for work right now anyways."
Akira steps to the side, out of the flow of pedestrians, under the awning of a convenience store. She stretches her neck to the sides, and then front and back. It isn't sore from the car accident, but she can feel the tension building, the familiar stress that talking to Rui brought: no one wanted to work with her for the past month, ever since the Entertainment Weekly published an article from an anonymous source accusing her of being a bully back at the ballet academy where she had trained in her teens.
No one wanted to hear her side, and there was no one to confront. An anonymous source was like swiping at air with her hands. So there was no work now, but there had been no work before. "I need to do something."
"Your arm is in a cast, I assume, so there's no work for you. You have money, it's better to just let this blow over."
She debates asking the next question, but she doesn't really see an alternative. She knows it will irritate Rui, but everything irritates Rui. "Is… is the staff housing still available?"
Rui laughs, almost a bark. "You want to live in staff housing now? When you're not making us any money?"
She wants to argue about how her face is still on train cars, how there must be residuals coming in from the television commercials and the ads in Shibuya crossing that are still running for the watch ad and the perfume, but she doesn't. "Claudine and I… we aren't together anymore, and my lease lapsed. At least until I can find something else."
"Yeah, but it's a shared dormitory. You can have a private room, but the bathroom and kitchen are communal. And there's no guests. You remember, you used to live there ages ago, right?"
"Yeah, that's fine, that's all I need."
"Oh, it's Akira."
She doesn't expect to see anyone else she knows at the dorm, or really anyone at all there, in the middle of the day, but Liu Mei Fan is there when she arrives, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of green tea. Her tone is neutral, but there's a curl to her lips, an excitement, maybe just for the novelty of something new happening. "It's good to see you, Mei Fan."
She thought they were on good terms, though she is cautious, realizing after the article was published that perhaps her idea of her relationships was just that, only half of the truth. When she first was scouted, fresh off of rejections from the top 3 ballet companies in Tokyo, Mei Fan had lived here with her in a dormitory just like this, and they had worked together. She hadn't seen much of her in the years since.
Mei Fan pours tea into a second cup, and Akira puts her luggage aside and comes to sit with her at the table. "The other girls are out," she explains. "They're fine, but they're all young. It's nice to have someone my own age back here."
Akira doesn't ask Mei Fan why she's in the dorm, because she doesn't want to explain her own reasons. And in exchange, Mei Fan is tactful enough not to bring up the article about the bullying. "So you're just taking some time off?" Mei Fan asks, nodding in the direction of Akira's cast.
She nods. "Yeah, I guess. Do you have a lot of work right now?"
Mei Fan shrugs. "It's enough. Rui keeps suggesting I take a contract overseas, because that's where the money is right now, but I'm not sure I want to live abroad. I mean, I have friends here, my stuff is here, you know?"
"Overseas where?"
"Shanghai, London, Paris, New York, whichever."
Akira considers it. Her name has been dragged through the mud here, so it could be worth asking Rui about going somewhere else for a time, at least until the air is cleared. But when she considers everything she and Claudine fought over, it feels like leaving would be admitting defeat.
After the tea, she finds her room and unpacks, a little surprised at how little she had even after years and years. There were clothes, shoes, and handbags, of course, samples and gifts and things Claudine had given her, and jewelry, makeup, and skincare items, her pajamas and slippers and the nice hairbrush her mother gave her years ago. She had nice sheets for her bed, a bathrobe, her laptop, and maybe a dozen or so books. But a lot of the other stuff — things needed to make a life — that had all been Claudine's. The coffee maker and the potted plants and the television and the couch, that was all Claudine. When Akira had let the lease lapse on her apartment and fully moved in with Claudine, she had sold her versions of items, consolidating her life. And she didn't need it now: the dormitory had the essentials provided. But her life fitting in two suitcases and a duffel feels so insubstantial that by the time she finishes unpacking, she just lays back on the bed and stares at the ceiling, feeling the pain in her leg throb a bit, and wonders if maybe she should have just given in, and listened to Claudine, and she'd still be in a relationship and this separation wouldn't have happened, and her arm wouldn't be broken.
Claudine probably would have been able to make the scandal go away, even. She had the sort of savviness needed to navigate those sort of situations. But Akira didn't want it to just go away, she wanted it made right. She went to that academy for 6 years, and she never harassed anyone. She can't even imagine who would make the report, because there was no one she said a single harsh word to. She didn't want it swept under the rug, she wanted it retracted. It burns her up just to think about it.
She lays on the dormitory bed until the sun goes down, until she can hear her stomach growl. She doesn't remember the dinner, really, just whatever was served in the kitchen that night. Then she takes a bath, taking care to cover her cast with the plastic sleeve they gave her at the hospital, and feeling the sting of the hot water against the raw skin on her leg, and once she is out, she puts on her pajamas and falls into another dreamless sleep.
The physical therapy gym is at the back of the hospital, in a separate entrance, along with other services like mental health counselors and social caseworkers. Akira is assigned a therapist named Tendo Maya, and she spends much of the first session on an intake assessment, answering questions while Maya types the answers on her laptop.
Maya is pretty, with perfect posture and she has a somewhat serious look to her, and Akira thinks that if she was a scout, she might consider Maya as a model, had she been younger. As it is, Akira is older herself, but she's 'an established talent', as Rui put it. "The witness statement from the hospital record said you were crossing against the light in the middle of the night," Maya says. "I don't mean any offense, but are you alright? We have an excellent counselor if you would like to speak with someone."
She's been trained not to clench her jaw, to keep everything light and loose, to prevent wrinkles, or from a photograph of her making an unpleasant face from emerging. She calls on that training now to keep herself from reacting the way she wants to, from recoiling from the very suggestion. Instead, she lets it sink in for a minute, to actually consider what it would mean. And perhaps it would be good, to actually talk to a professional about herself and Claudine, about that article, about what it means for her to be by herself, to be without work. But how could she? How could she trust this person not to turn and tell the news all of this information, or not to know someone who knows someone who knows Claudine, because everyone knows Claudine, really. "I'll consider it, thank you," is all she says in the end.
"Let me introduce you, at least,” Maya suggests, at the end of the session, after she uses a hot compress on Akira's shoulder, and they review her 'goals' for therapy. She leads Akira back out of the gym, down the hallways towards the exit, and stops outside an office door.
There's a sign on it that reads 'In Session', but Maya glances at her watch and says "it should just be a minute now."
And sure enough, a moment later, the door does open, but Akira doesn't notice the therapist at first, since the client who is leaving is turned away and runs into Akira, her bag spilling. "I'm so sorry!" She kneels down to gather things back into her bag, swiping them back up before Akira can even help. She has white-blonde hair and looks almost ethereal in a long-sleeved wrap dress. She's short, and she looks up at Akira with wide eyes that are curious, but they're red underneath, as if she had been crying with the therapist.
Akira reaches down to grab something the woman missed, what looks like a piece of paper, but she realizes is a matchbook, a little white folded card with some text on the back. She goes to hand it back, but the other woman is already walking off, and Akira doesn't know what to call her. She pockets it, still watching. Yukishiro-san, this is Yanagi Koharu," Maya says, and Akira is forced to turn away.
Akira has plans with Futaba a week later, but Futaba calls her that morning and says she had a last-minute gig. "I can help," she offers, "if there's anything I can do with one arm."
"Yeah, of course," Futaba says, and picks her up an hour later in the van. "I appreciate it, actually," she says, once they're on the way to Chiba. "Sorry this isn't a regular hang, and I'm making you work with a bad arm, but I'm not used to doing this without Kaoruko."
Akira had noticed, of course, that it was just the two of them, but she wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. "Is she not feeling well?"
"Here, I made this coffee for you," Futaba says, handing her one of the travel mugs from the center console. "And no, Kaoruko is fine, she just… we're kinda in a rough patch."
Akira sips the coffee, mostly for something to do to delay replying, and finds it's delicious, like everything that Futaba makes. "I'm sorry," she says, probably a poor response, but as Claudine was always quick to remind her, she was never good at saying the right thing.
"Yeah." Futaba smiles grimly, her eyes on the road as she pauses to enter the toll bridge, and then they are in the dark, driving through the tunnel that feels like a different world. The tunnel feels impossibly long, and Akira sips the coffee as they drive through it, imagining the bay above them, and all of the tons of water putting pressure on them from all sides.
They emerge back into sunlight, and part of Akira wants to go back. She likes the dark, with the eerie green lights illuminating the way. The entirety of the day feels overwhelming. But the bay is sparkling and there are hundreds of cars, and they are on their way to some banquet, and life will not stop for them, regardless of their troubles.
The work is easy, she finds. Futaba is the chef, so once they're at the banquet hall, she works on heating the food up and making last-minute preparations. Akira uses her good hand to scoop out individual portions, to lay out hundreds of tiny plates, to place them all on tiny napkins, to load several on trays, to ladle soups into little bowls. It's repetitive, but it's easy enough.
And after the rush, when the Chiba Women’s Club is enjoying their July luncheon, she and Futaba eat the leftovers and drink a glass of champagne and wipe sweat from their brows. "Do you still smoke cigarettes?" Futaba asks.
"Not really," she admits. She was afraid for her teeth, mostly, and her voice. And Claudine didn't like it. Hated the smell. "But I could go for one now."
Futaba smiles, that mischievous closed-mouth smile that feels nostalgic, and they prop the kitchen door open and smoke in the golden-hour light, and Futaba drags her hand back through her hair and sighs so deeply Akira thinks some of her must have disappeared with that exhale. Akira studies the back of the matchbook that she used to light the cigarette, giving Futaba time to say whatever it is she wants to say. It's the one from the woman at the hospital, and it says 'Frontier' in silly letters, with an address beneath. It must be a bar or a club.
"We're in a lot trouble with money,” Futaba says, while looking out at the water.
Akira tucks the matchbook away, turning toward Futaba. "What? How? I thought the business was good!"
"It is. Or it's good enough. But we invested in that 'Kirin' portfolio and it just collapsed. I think it was a Ponzi scheme or something, but Kaoruko is too proud to admit we got tricked."
"How much?"
Futaba puts out the cigarette in a coffee can ashtray by the door and lights a second. She shrugs "Lost all of our savings. Now we’re behind on the house payment. And the car. The van is paid off, but we have credit card bills."
Now Akira sighs, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the bright sunny day. She doesn’t know if it would be rude to offer to loan Futaba money, so for now she just is quiet.
"I keep telling Kaoruko we need to take all the work we can get. Take the kids birthday parties, the temple festivals, whatever, but she is worried about 'diluting the brand image' or whatever, that we need to stick to high-class events so we can charge more at each one."
Akira doesn't know much about finance, except what she's learned through attending business dinners with Claudine, but she can see Kaoruko's point along with Futaba's. She doesn't try to give any advice.
On the ride back to Tokyo they get stuck in traffic, and Futaba turns towards her. "Listen, Akira. I just wanted to say that I agree with you. Wanting to set the record straight about the fact that there was no bullying, I would want the same thing."
She nods. Now she's the one who can't look at Futaba. She is unprepared for the emotion she's feeling, the fact that after weeks and weeks, there's finally one single person who says that they agree with her. "Thank you."
She sees the blonde woman again the next time she goes to therapy. She's early, and the woman is sitting outside of Koharu's office, the 'In Session' sign now up for a different client. This time, she is wearing a tank top with a zip-up hoodie over it, and Akira can see the outline of her sternum on the top part of her chest, the deep gaps around her clavicle, her sunken cheeks and temples. There was nothing to her. And yet, she had a way of watching Akira that was captivating, and Akira couldn't help but stare back.
"You're the supermodel, Yukishiro Akira, right?" she asks. Her voice is quiet, cognizant that they're in the hospital, and yet Akira has a feeling she'd be quiet somewhere else, too.
"I am," she confirms.
There's a hint of a smile at the edge of the woman's lips, and Akira likes it very much. "I knew it. You're even prettier in person." She says it so quietly Akira questions that she's heard her correctly, but she must have, because what else could she have said?
She leans against the wall in the hall, somehow too shy to ask her name. "Thank you," she says instead. She wants to ask her about the matchbook, or give it back, but that would require her to admit that she took it, and so she doesn't say anything more.
The door opens then, but it's not a client, but Tendo Maya exiting the office, a little more flustered than her usual straight-backed self. Koharu is sitting at her desk and looks comparatively composed, but there might be a little flush to her cheeks as well. "Shiori, come on in," she says.
Shiori. She sets it to memory, and moves to follow Maya, but not before Shiori turns back and looks at her with an intentional eyebrow raise that could only mean something like 'yes, they are definitely doing what you think they are'.
When she gets out of the therapy session, she is feeling hopeful. Maya thought that it would only be another two weeks with the cast, and then she could get it off and work on getting her strength and dexterity back in her left arm. She had looked for Shiori on the way out, but she was gone it seemed, since Koharu's door was open, and no one was in the hall.
But her mood quickly sours as she checks her phone and sees two missed calls and a voicemail from Claudine. She listens to it as she walks back towards the station. "Hey, Akira, I'm calling because we should probably talk about some things, finance-wise. Stop by the office sometime this week and we can go over a few things, or call Junna and she can get you an appointment."
She does as she is told and goes to the Kishi Group building in Marunouchi the next day. She rarely went there, since Claudine and she would meet for dinner somewhere between their jobs, or just meet at Claudine's apartment at the end of the night, but she'd been a few times. She knew she needed to get a visitor's badge at the front desk, and then take the elevator all the way up to the 16th floor. Or so she thought, but when she steps off the elevator, the office that used to be Claudine's has someone else working in it.
She asks the secretary where she could find Saijou Claudine, and she is directed to the 21st floor. "She moved offices just last week," she says, smiling politely. "She got a promotion."
A promotion. Akira gets back on the elevator, thinking this over. She had an article sullying her name, a broken bone, and no work, and Claudine had a promotion. She should feel angry, or tricked, she thinks, or maybe she should be wondering how Claudine has shifted this so well in her favor. Though that isn't really necessary. That was Claudine's specialty, really. Truthfully, she just feels empty, mostly, and there's something deep down that she doesn't really want to touch, something heavy and foreboding that seems a lot like grief.
When she gets out on the 21st floor, she's struck by the difference. There are no cubicles up here, it's all offices. And there's a wall of windows on the far side, with snacks and drinks and a spot to socialize. This was a major promotion, she can tell.
Junna is up here, Claudine's assistant seemingly making the move with Claudine. "Oh, Yukishiro-san, let me let Claudine know you are here. Can I get you a drink? Iced tea, perhaps?"
She accepts the offer, mainly because her mouth has gone dry in the elevator ride, and looks around. There are private offices and the lounge, and then there is an open section of the floor with employees at desks without cubicles between them, some standing, some sitting, most with headphones on. The desks are only about half-filled. One desk is covered in empty soda cans, and another has dozens of manga issues sitting on it.
Junna brings back the glass of tea, and Akira looks over again to the odd grouping of desks. "What do they do?" she asks.
"Oh, I'm still kind of learning what everyone does up here," she says, "But those are the 'quants'." Her voice is quiet, not like Shiori's, more like someone gossiping. "They are 'quantitative traders', math geniuses who make algorithms to determine what trades to make. They're where most of our revenue comes from, I guess, but they're kind of strange. Claudine was promoted to take over client meetings for them, since they're not a very social bunch."
Junna must get a message on her computer, because she nods to Akira, and leads her to Claudine's office. It's beautiful, with a view looking over downtown Tokyo, and a large desk in a modern style. There's a plant in the corner and a bookshelf with all sorts of specialty items — the clock and the vase and the ash tray that were all designer brands that Akira couldn't place.
"Thank you for coming," Claudine says. She's cold, all business, not that Akira expected anything less. But their fourth anniversary would be this weekend, and if she knows this, she knows Claudine is aware. "I just wanted to make sure everything was alright with your accounts, since you're not working right now."
"What do you mean?"
Claudine sits back in her chair, pursing her lips in the way Akira knew expressed impatience. "I mean if you need more money, we can liquidate some assets. But we need to be intentional. A lot of your funds won't mature for 5 to 10 years so I don't want you to pay a penalty."
"No. I mean, it's fine. Rui let me stay in the dormitory until I have work again, and I have enough in savings for food and my train pass. It's not a problem."
"Oh. Are you fine there? I mean, we can definitely withdraw money to put a deposit on an apartment."
It's irritating to listen to Claudine be her financial advisor when Claudine is no longer her girlfriend. She just wants the conversation to be over, and for this reason alone, she is content to stay in the dormitory. But she can't leave without asking the one thing she wanted to be sure of. "My money, it's not in the Kirin account, is it?"
Claudine nearly laughs while she scoffs, and Akira wonders if it's because the idea is so preposterous, or because Akira had the audacity to question her decision-making. Even if it was the former, it doesn't seem that far-off, since Kaoruko had been deceived. "No, of course not," she says. "Everyone understands that isn't viable now, and even before I would never put your money in something so risky. I assume you spoke with Futaba." She sits back, shaking her head. The sunlight hits her in profile, and God, she's too familiar, too close to the woman Akira woke up beside for three and a half years. "I tried to warn them off of that, but they were too eager to make 200% profits, and got tricked."
"Ok, you can just leave it alone then," she says. She has to go. She can't be with Claudine anymore.
"Alright, I will."
She can't help it. She can't help but turn around and look at Claudine, in her new office, at her shining brilliant self. "Does it hurt you too?"
"What?"
There's no way she could have misunderstood the question. Akira leaves.
After the meeting at Kishi, Akira finds she can't sleep. She wanders Tokyo without a destination in mind, walking the streets or riding the trains that she never takes, unsure of where she wants to go. It doesn't matter, really. She only has three appointments per week, with Tendo Maya at the hospital, the rest of her time was her own.
Occasionally, she will be startled with her own image on a pillar in a subway station, or in a department store window. A vestige from before she was tainted, from before people knew her as a bully. She's looking up in the lead image, a hint of a smile on her face, as if gazing at someone amusing out of frame. Mon Cherie Japan. A picture of the perfume bottle was added in the bottom corner.
Some days she gets up in time to help Futaba, who it seems desperately needs her help in the catering business. She doesn't mind the work: it's nice to have someone who needs her for something, really. A couple days after the meeting with Claudine, she and Futaba drive towards Odaiba and she rests her head on the window of the van, tired from hours of endless walking the night before.
"Oi, Akira, what is it?"
"It's noth-" She pauses, words halfway out of her mouth, when she sees it. The sign is unmistakable. Frontier. In the same childish font as the matchbox. She supposes she could have searched it on the internet, but finding it organically like this, it feels like providence. "What is that place?" she asks, pointing at it as they drive by.
"Hmm… Frontier? Looks like a club, maybe? No idea."
The van speeds past, and the moment is over. When they arrive, they are in a meeting room at an International Hotel in Odaiba, catering some diplomatic meeting. Akira understands a little English and a little French, but she has no idea what is being spoken about at these tables. It seems financial — Claudine would probably understand. Claudine would ingratiate herself to these men and women in minutes, and probably have them buying a Kishi product by the end of the afternoon.
Once everyone is eating, Futaba sets to washing dishes, and Akira leans back against one of the counters, taking a break.
"I haven't seen much about you online lately."
Akira knows Futaba means this in a good way, that whatever excitement the bullying story brought up was fading, that maybe the dust was clearing, but she also hadn't had any work in weeks, and she could feel herself fading into obscurity. How long until the current photos of her are taken down and replaced with someone else, until Yukishiro Akira as a concept just doesn't matter anymore?
She hadn't wanted to be a model, so she shouldn't really care, but being next to Claudine for four years, watching her ambition, it made her want to reach for something, too. "I hadn't realized. Rui told me to log out of my accounts for now."
Futaba nods, conceding this. "Probably a good idea. You're kind of impulsive when you want to be."
It was why Rui hadn't arranged for any interviews, why Claudine tried to coach her on media strategies. Why, ultimately, she is single now, probably. But just because she's impulsive doesn't mean her way of doing things is wrong. She has a good gut sense, at least she thinks she does. She knows right from wrong. "Well, I get the cast off next week," she says, changing the subject instead.
That night, she takes the train back to Odaiba. Usually, she walks aimlessly, but this time, she knows where she's going. She isn't wearing anything special, just a dress she's had for years, but she can see the stares of people as she passes, stares that have followed her ever since she learned how to style her hair and apply makeup and walk properly: she is an internationally-published model, and that sort of thing is recognizable. She doesn't think they know who she is, exactly, just that she is someone of import.
When she gets to the area with Frontier, she has trouble recognizing it right away. The sign looks different lit up, now a yellow-orange beacon. And the area is quiet, just a few smokers out front, but she had the matchbook, and it was Saturday, there should be something going on.
She goes inside and pays the minor cover fee, and is handed two drink tickets in exchange. And then she is directed to a doorway that leads her to the basement, and when it opens the bass becomes much louder, and she realizes the club must actually be underground.
It's overstimulating and disorienting, and she takes a minute to get her bearings. She's spent night after night in the empty streets and empty train cars, and suddenly there are hundreds of people crammed together, laser lights, and music that sounds more like sound effects than any real melody. At first, she thinks there's a leak in the roof, but she realizes it's actually condensation that is dripping down from the rafters. She moves to the bar, mostly to get her money worth at this club, not to make herself comfortable here.
But as she's turning away, drink in hand, she sees her — Shiori — dancing on a little raised platform. She didn't seem to be a performer as Akira could see other guests on similar platforms, but Shiori looks much more comfortable than she ever did at the hospital, eyes shut, arms raised, her hips moving along with the heavy bass the DJ was spinning. She is wearing a shirt with strappy sleeves and a sequined mini skirt, and a gauzy scarf she twirls around herself as she dances, her wrists heavy with beaded bracelets.
At the end of the song she opens her eyes and after a moment she sees Akira. She seems to do a double take and then jumps down from the platform, nearly crashing into Akira, colliding enough that they're hugging as she throws her arms around Akira. "I didn't know you were a raver!" she says. Her voice still has that soft, almost scratchy quality to it, but Akira can somehow hear her perfectly over the music. She's warm, God, she's so warm against Akira, just skin and bones and heat.
"It's my first time," Akira says. She sips her drink, but Shiori just smiles.
"Oh, if it's your first time, you need one of these. Forget the alcohol, that will just bring you down." She reaches into the smallest purse Akira has ever seen and hands her a tiny pill.
Akira has been in the industry long enough to know what party drugs look like. She knows, more or less, what they do, even. But she has never taken any, mostly because in the beginning of her career she was serious about learning her trade, and after she met Claudine, who preferred alcohol. But there's something about her particular circumstance that feels too much like being in that endless dark tunnel, like wandering empty Tokyo before dawn, that makes her swallow the pill with one last sip of her drink, without even a minute of consideration. Shiori was having a good time, and she wanted to have a good time too.
It takes a bit for anything to feel different, and she watches the DJ as Shiori sways beside her. The woman on stage looks serious, watching her laptop with an almost concerned expression, her hair a sheet of perfect black. Hikarikomori was written on the screen behind her, between swirling animations. And after some time, minutes or maybe longer, the music feels like it's in her chest, or maybe her pores, and she is too warm too, but it's nice actually, and she turns back to Shiori, smiling.
Shiori moves back to the raised platform to dance, pulling Akira by the hand. The club is a pleasant type of anonymity: no one gives them more than a passing glance. And she is pressed against Shiori, just the right amount of close, because everything in her mind is telling her this is right, this is correct, that after weeks of being alone, and weeks of fighting with Claudine before that, having an intimate moment with Shiori is what she needs, even if it is in a crowded basement rave, and after they both took pills.
The DJ announces her set is over, and the introduces the next DJ, and during the applause that follows her offstage, Shiori pulls Akira closer, and they kiss. She's too warm, her mouth is too dry, and yet it feels like the best kiss she's ever had. Everything about Shiori feels magical.
She spends her second drink ticket on a bottle of water and chugs half of it in one go, and then they dance to the second DJ until closing time, just before dawn. When they emerge up the stairs and out the exit, Tokyo is still dark and quiet, and it allows Akira a moment to pretend that nothing in the past hours just happened, that Frontier was a liminal space she could compartmentalize somewhere else. At least until Shiori catches up and grabs her hand.
She looks underdressed out on the street, but her mouth is still pulled back in that too-wide smile, her hair a fluffy cloud around her face. "The Yurikamome should start up in a few," she says, pulling Akira along.
Akira wonders if the dorm mother will care if she arrives home so late… or early. She isn't a teenager, she's thirty years old, it shouldn't matter. But at the same time, maybe it is a stipulation of living in the dormitory that she doesn't stay out all night. "Give me your phone," Shiori says, interrupting her. Akira does as she's told, and Shiori enters her number, calling her own phone right away. "Great, now you can message me if you want. We should do this again."
She agrees. She would really like to do this again, if only because it was the only thing in ages that didn't make her feel like a zombie in her own life. "Yeah, of course."
Shiori smiles as they get on the escalator, this smile genuine, and not the mask that the pills seemed to force her face into, and turns to kiss Akira on the cheek again. She slips one of the beaded bracelets off of her wrist and onto Akira's. "I'm going this way," she says, nodding towards the Toyosu platform.
"I'm heading the other way."
"Ok, I'll see you later."
And then she's off, and Akira is alone, except for the other late-night stragglers, waiting for the first train to get home. She looks at the bracelet on her wrist, a combination of brightly colored star beads and letters. It says 'STILL HERE'.
That day, Sunday, Akira sleeps nearly the entire day. Or well, she tries to sleep. She feels like she's in an in-between place, not quite dreaming, but not quite awake, her mind making up scenarios out of her control, varying from her arguing about all sorts of topics with Claudine to her confronting her accuser finally, whose face typically takes the form of Tendo Maya. It isn't until late afternoon that she is woken up by Mei Fan knocking at her door. "I'm coming in," she announces, and then she is at Akira's bedside. "Are you ill? You don't look well."
Akira can feel the crustiness of her eyes, the stiffness in her jaw and neck. She doesn't feel rested, but she's also tired of laying in bed. She feels the exact opposite of the euphoria she felt kissing Shiori in the club: like things probably will not ever work out. "I'm alright, I just stayed out too late last night."
Mei Fan laughs politely, obviously not exactly believing her. "Well, I suppose you can do that when you don't have much on the schedule. Why don't you take a shower and come to dinner with me? I'm meeting a couple friends at the Italian place just down the road, it'll be quiet."
She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to get in the shower, or get dressed, and she doesn't feel hungry at all, but Mei Fan had been kind to her when she was just starting out, and she probably feels like once again, Akira needs her help. Even then, she wants to decline, but there's something in Mei Fan's expression, a nervous, sad look and it's mostly a fear of disappointing her that makes Akira give in.
As she's showering, she wonders why she accepted. She's not usually the kind of person to worry about things like that. She did what she liked, what she thought was best. But she supposed what she thought was best was letting Mei Fan have her way this time. After she gets dressed, she checks her phone before she heads downstairs to meet Mei Fan. She isn't really expecting a text from Shiori, but she's still disappointed when she doesn't get one. She thinks about sending one herself, but she wouldn't be able to write a reply all evening once she's out, so she doesn't.
Mei Fan's friends, it turns out, are Tsuruhime Yachiyo and Otori Michiru. They all went to university together and studied mathematics and computer science, before Mei Fan was scouted by a modeling agency. The other two now work at Kishi on some computational algorithms that make a lot of money. "Wait… I heard about this when I was there last time," she says. "You're the… 'quants'?" she asks, unsure of the term Junna had used.
"Such a vulgar term," Michiru says, sipping her wine and rolling her eyes.
Akira bites her lips. She hadn't meant to offend. "Don't listen to her," Yachiyo assures her. "You're not wrong."
"Akira's ex-girlfriend works at Kishi," Mei Fan explains.
"Everyone knows someone who works there or does themselves," Michiru laughs. "They're hiring like crazy."
They order, and the conversation shifts here and there, from recent news to the wine to everyone's work. "Are they still trying to make you move abroad?" Yachiyo asks Mei Fan. Akira can't stop watching Yachiyo, and can't even explain what is so compelling about her. But there's something about her body control that is fascinating, as if without thought she can control every muscle in her face, every movement of her fingers, each tilt of her neck.
"Yes, unfortunately Rui feels set on it. Probably in the autumn. And not even taking advantage of my Mandarin, she wants me to go to London or New York."
"For what reason?"
Akira can tell that Michiru has caught on to her watching Yachiyo, and forces herself to look away, to refocus on Mei Fan. Damn these geniuses.
Mei Fan pauses, then catches Akira's eye. She sighs. "I did two interviews. Basically said that Akira is a sweetheart, and everyone was rushing to judgement on this whole bullying scandal. Now no one wants to work with me, either."
Akira didn't know this. She hadn't been following social media, and Mei Fan hadn't said a word. "No, I can talk to Rui, or the newspapers, have them retract it, that's-"
But Mei Fan is smiling, shaking her head. "It's alright. I'll give it a shot. In six months I'm sure it will all be forgotten anyways. People are always moving on to the next thing." She pours more wine in Akira's glass, and then tops off her own. Akira wonders if she's telling the truth, if in six months, her career will be back on track.
She goes to the bathroom, and checks her phone in the back of the restaurant. There's a message from Shiori. 'Good morning!' along with the sleepy emoji, despite the fact that it is well after sundown. She sends a greeting back before returning to the others. She feels lighter knowing that Shiori got home safely, and that she wanted to talk to Akira.
But when she returns to the table, she wonders if she should stay away, as the three friends seem to be in the middle of an argument. "It's not your business, Mei Fan," Michiru is saying, placing her hand on the table in front of Yachiyo.
"What do you mean? We're friends, aren't we?"
"Of course we are. But there are friends and then there's family."
During this conversation, Yachiyo seems to have tuned the other two out, turning her head away. But she catches sight of Akira and there's something questioning in her gaze, something Akira certainly doesn't have the answer to. And then Yachiyo grins, despite the other two continuing to bicker, and Akira takes this as permission to return to the table.
The next time she goes to the hospital, Maya recommends Akira see the surgeon again to evaluate if her cast can come off. She takes this as a good sign, going straight to the scheduling desk to book an appointment after her physical therapy session. But as she's leaving the hospital, she passes Yanagi Koharu's office and hears raised voices, one of which was definitely Shiori.
"You're not even listening to me!" Shiori is saying.
"That's because you're past the point where you can make good decisions." This is another woman, a voice Akira couldn't recognize.
"Shall we take a break, maybe?" The last voice is Koharu, certainly.
Akira walks down the hall to be close to the exit when the door opens, but there's no way to make it in time. She doesn't look back to check if Shiori sees her before she leaves.
She gets a text when she is at the station near the dormitory. 'Hey. Sorry if you heard any of that. I could use a break. Want to meet for coffee?'
She agrees and goes back to change, then heads out again to meet Shiori in a cafe near Akihabara. She looks stressed, more like when Akira had encountered her the first time, but she smiles when she comes to sit, hot coffee in hand. "Sorry," she says again.
"Are you alright?"
Shiori nods, sipping the coffee. It's evening now, and they can see dozens of people on the street below getting out of work and looking for dinner or heading into and out of the train station. "Yeah, I'm fine. My… my sister and I don't get along very well, but every so often she pokes her head into my life and thinks she knows best. And we usually end up fighting like today."
Akira talks a minute to sip her coffee as well, unsure of how to reply. She was an only child, and so was Claudine. She didn't have much experience with siblings. "Did you sort it out?"
Shiori shrugs. "Until next time." She watches the people below for a few seconds, then turns back to Akira. "Did you always want to be a model?"
"No. I wanted to be a professional ballerina."
Shiori smiles, perhaps imagining this. "Yes, you would be a beautiful dancer." She tears open a sugar packet and pours it onto the table, then drags her finger in a line through it, and then again the opposite way. "See… my sister just does things. She went to university, learned English, now she's a flight attendant. She has a good career, she travels the world. She can't understand why I am still working at a convenience store."
Akira watches as Shiori pushes the sugar back into a pile before dragging her finger back through it again. She thinks of Claudine instructing her on which contracts to take, coaching her on what to say in interviews, chastising her for doing the wrong thing at a dinner with some socialite. It grated on her, after a time, that even her career, her own life, was something Claudine took ownership of too. It was their undoing, ultimately. "It's nice to decide things on your own terms," she says, because it's true, and because who is she to make a judgement about Shiori's sister?
Shiori nods, meeting Akira's gaze. "Exactly. It's just sometimes I… I don't know. I guess I ruin things for myself."
Akira gets the cast off a few days later, and then she meets Futaba in Marunouchi in a building with a golf simulator and cheap beer and snacks. She's hesitant to swing a golf club with her arm freshly healed, so she sips a beer and watches Futaba play the back nine of some American course while she stares at the arm she hasn't seen in weeks, now pale and slightly atrophied.
"Isn't this place neat?" Futaba says. "I did a lunch for the lawyers in this building and they gave me a couple free two-hour certificates here."
She vaguely remembers that both Futaba and Kaoruko were decent at golf, Kaoruko because it is the sort of high-society thing you have to know, and Futaba because she's good at most everything. They would probably dominate at benefit galas. "Yeah, I've never actually been to one," she says, ignoring the fact that she can't actually golf. It seems that Futaba could use some time to hit an object as hard as she could, as a way to vent some of her frustration.
Futaba gets a birdie on the second hole, and Akira holds up her beer to celebrate, and Futaba comes back to the sitting area and takes a sip of hers. Futaba sighs, stretching out her neck. "Thanks for meeting me. Sorry I can't really pay you for all the work you've been helping me with."
Akira shakes her head. "It's fine. I have money saved up, and I have the time. I hope all these jobs have made a dent in your debt."
Futaba looks uncomfortable and takes another sip of her beer, longer this time. She picks up her golf club, almost as if she's going back to the game without responding, but then she pauses. "I think Kaoruko and I are taking a break," she says quietly. "I don't know what it will mean for the business."
Akira doesn't know how to respond. She flounders, struggling for words to fill the silence between them. "Is this about the money? I am sure I can loan you something I-"
But Futaba shakes her head, holding her hands up to silence Akira. "It's not that, or, not exactly. It’s more about how I’m not really listened to? Or maybe it's better to say Kaoruko listens to me but does what she wants at the end anyways. And it happened again, and I don't think I can let it go anymore."
"Are you going to be alright?"
Futaba nods. "Yeah, of course. It's Tokyo, someone always needs a chef." She smiles, picking up the golf club and walking back towards the simulated golf course. "Oh, and Akira? Don't hate Kaoruko. I think we'll work it out, eventually."
The next weekend, Akira meets Shiori at Frontier again. They take the pills, dance to Hikarikomori, and the next DJ, and the next. Even after spending both of her drink tickets on bottles of water, Akira is still thirsty, an endless thirst that she doesn't think all the water in the world will quench. She and Shiori walk out into pre-dawn Odaiba with their teeth clenched into zombie grins, and she feels light and loved and hollowed out, in a good way.
"Want to come back with me?" Shiori says.
"Is it alright?"
She nods. "I used to live with my sister, but she lives with her girlfriend now, so I have the place to myself."
They take the first train back to Shiori's apartment. Akira doesn't even watch where they're going, she's too focused on Shiori as she uses her breath to fog up the train window and then draw little swirling patterns with her finger.
The sun is just coming up as they climb the stairs to the third floor of a small apartment building in a quiet neighborhood and enter the unit at the end of the hall. The curtains are drawn, or what counted as curtains, colorful scarves casting jewel tones of shadow on the wall. And there are canvases everywhere, dozens of paintings hung on the walls and others propped up along the corridor. But Akira doesn't have time to look as Shiori pulls her along, through a beaded curtain and into her bedroom.
They sleep together that morning, the last dredges of euphoria from the pills combining with the very real attraction they feel for one another. And afterward Akira falls into the not-sleep of the comedown and wastes the day beside Shiori, sort of resting but not really doing anything to erase the exhaustion that the rave brought on. At one point Shiori brings her a glass of water, rolls over on top of her, and they have sex again. And afterwards, they get up. "You can use my shower, if you want," she offers.
And so Akira does, showering and then brushing out her hair, annoyed that she had to put the clothes that she sweat in back on, but she was far too tall to fit in anything of Shiori's. She looks around the apartment while Shiori showers, not snooping into anything, just looking at the paintings on the walls and the books on the shelves. She pours herself a glass of tea from the bottle in the fridge and sees that there's very little else in there besides beverages and condiments.
"Did you paint these?" she asks Shiori when she emerges from the shower. She's dressed in a tie-dye sundress with fuzzy slippers on her feet. Akira just wants to get back into bed with her.
Shiori nods, looking at the paintings as well. They're varied, some showing detailed landscapes, and some just abstract patterns. All were far beyond Akira's abilities and looked like they were made by someone with incredible skill. "Yes. I went to art school for a while, before I dropped out. I thought it was making me worse. Fumi is still mad at me about it."
"You're very talented."
Shiori smiles, and comes to stand before Akira, pulling her arms around her. "Thanks. Sometimes I think I'm the best, you know? And sometimes I think I've never made anything good in my entire life. I've thrown out more of these than I can count."
"That makes me sad."
"I won't do it anymore. If it makes you sad."
Akira backs up, just to get a look at Shiori's face. "Are you teasing me?"
"No. Only a little. But I was being serious, too." She steps back also, peering into the kitchen to check the time. "Shoot, I gotta get ready for work."
"Now?"
She nods. "Graveyard shift at the convenience store."
She walks Shiori to work, and then heads back to the dormitory, almost 24 hours later than when she left. Finally, she sleeps for real.
Akira gets on the train to Ginza to do a session for her first 'real' work in two months. Rui had found and booked this campaign for her, for a luxury leather goods company, and a second contract for a vodka brand. The caveat, of course, was that both campaigns would only be run overseas. She can't really complain, since she needs work, and she needs money, but it's frustrating that she's worked her entire career in Japan and now suddenly she's dirt because what? One person's unsubstantiated claims that she was mean to them in ballet school? She had thought that ignoring the problem would help her move on from it, but she finds she's still burned up about it now.
But it's the same thing with her career overall. Even now, 12 years into her career, she can't go to the ballet. The pain of 'that should have been me' and 'how come she gets to live the dream that I cannot?' is too painful, so she avoids looking at it. To most people, her career is the pinnacle, a dream, but it's the fact that this is her consolation prize that will always haunt her.
But this is the hand she is dealt, so she goes to the shoot, and wears the outfits, and holds the fancy purses and wallets and leather boots, and doesn't even wonder how they got a motorcycle into the studio. It's not worth her time to be curious about things like that.
"These look great, thank you," the director says at the end, squeezing her shoulder. She doesn't even notice, the too-familiar gestures just bouncing off of her at this point.
After, she calls Shiori, because even though it's all fine, there's something inside of her, some deep hole carved out by her career and the fact that even that is being taken from her and the hand on her shoulder and the smell of the leather, and normally she would call Claudine but after four years that's gone too.
"Yeah, I'm just leaving the hospital, I can meet up."
They make plans to meet at a nearby cafe, and Akira wonders when Shiori sleeps, really. "Here, try one of these," Shiori says, after they have ordered their drinks and are sitting. She slides over a candy with a drawing of a peach on the wrapper. "My sister got these for me on her flight to Korea recently, they're really good."
Akira tries the candy, and it is really delicious. She sucks on it while they wait for their drinks, staring out the glass wall of the cafe at the comings and goings in the lobby of the building they were in. "I had work today," she says, after a while.
"Oh, that's why you look extra fancy."
She nods. "And another in two days."
"Wow, you'll be back all over the city soon."
She doesn't tell Shiori that these campaigns are for overseas companies. That she likely won't be seen in any advertisements in Tokyo anytime soon. She doesn't want to talk about that right now; it's not why she called Shiori. Their drinks come and they sit and chat about mundane things for a while. Shiori tells her about the regulars at her convenience store, and the 'lore' behind the DJs at Frontier.
Akira startles as she sees the distinctive haircut of Futaba walking through the lobby on the other side of the glass. She waves her hand to get Futaba's attention, and Futaba waves back, almost jogging into the cafe. "Hey, Akira! I'm kinda in a rush, but I'm glad I saw you. I got a new job!" She pauses, noticing Shiori. "Oh, nice to meet you. My name is Isurugi Futaba, I'm a friend of Akira's."
"Yumeoji Shiori." Shiori shakes Futaba's hand, and Futaba slides into the empty seat at the table.
"Where is your new job?"
"It's at the training track for equestrian and dressage, and even some of the racehorses. I am doing the catering in the clubhouse for the riders and staff. It's a pretty cool gig."
Akira's eyes widen, but it's Shiori who replies first. "That's so cool! Do you think you'll get to meet Tomoe Tamao?"
Futaba nods. "Probably her and Daiba Nana too. Isn't that insane?"
"That's really great, Futaba." Akira means it, too. Having a steady job and steady paycheck and help from other staff when she needs it would be huge, plus she would have the same kitchen day by day, not the old van with all of her things packed in the back.
"Yeah. I'm actually on my way to pick up my new uniform before the shop closes, so I should head out, but I'll call you tonight!"
Once Futaba leaves, Shiori is still wide-eyed. "I used to love horses. I mean, I still do, but now if you try to go watch it's just a bunch of men betting on the result. Your friend is winning getting to see them training every day."
"Yeah, it sounds like a great fit. She's an amazing chef."
Shiori smiles a little ruefully. "Yeah, I don't think they need a convenience store worker or an art-school drop out on their staff."
That night, Futaba calls as promised, gushing about the facilities, the staff, and the athletes she's cooking for. "I only met a few so far, of course. But Daiba Nana was there! She's like 6 feet tall. Maybe taller! And so nice! And the kitchen, Akira, it's so nice, nothing like those outdated things we have been working in."
Akira laughs, listening as Futaba talks. "I'm happy for you. It's good to like the work you're doing."
She can hear Futaba sigh, and maybe sit, and wonders where Futaba is. Was she still living with Kaoruko? Were they living in separate rooms? Separate houses? "Yeah, I needed something to go right. Kaoruko, she… it turns out she put more of our money into the stock market to try to 'recoup our losses'. And that fund is doing fine right now. It's earning money even, but it just feels like doubling down, like gambling after we just lost big, you know?"
So that was it, the thing that Futaba felt she had been crossed about. "Yeah."
"I mean, it's just money, it'll be alright, but it was the betrayal, really. That she did it behind my back."
Akira can't say she understands, not really. Claudine was always up front with her. But Claudine did want things done a certain way, and when Akira didn't capitulate, she dug her heels in. So in a way, she understands what Futaba is saying, because when one person refuses to see the other's point of view, a relationship cannot function.
"But we've talked about this enough times already," Futaba says. "Who was that girl you were getting coffee with?"
"She's just a girl I like. We met at the hospital."
"Not the best place to pick up women, but I'll let you explain it a little more."
"I was doing my therapy there, for my arm, and she goes to see a counselor there."
"For what?"
For what? She's met with Shiori several times now, she's had sex with Shiori, and she has no idea why she sees the counselor. She wants to defend herself, to say that they just have fun together and it's fine, but that would require admitting to Futaba that she was going out on the weekends with a girl she knew from the hospital, taking party drugs that she didn't know the exact nature of, and then sleeping with her. "I don't know, exactly," she says, and the pause mixed with the quiet delivery of the words feels like an admission of guilt, and she's not even sure what the sin is.
"Just be careful, Akira. I know you want to get your career back, and you're upset about you and Claudine, but this might not be the best rebound. Especially if there's any chance it could lead to another scandal."
She lays awake at night with Futaba's call haunting her. What had she been doing with Shiori but walking into traffic in the middle of the night, aimless, looking for a thrill? She likes Shiori, certainly, but she doesn't understand Shiori at all. She and Claudine could date because there was an understanding: even after their relationship fell apart after 4 years, Claudine did nothing to sabotage Akira's career, and there is nothing anyone else could dig up on them that would implicate her either. Shiori isn't like that. She isn't a society girl from the best schools with a good career and a constant understanding of the optics of a situation. There was something wrong with her, and Akira doesn't even know what it is.
Akira 'graduates' from therapy on Friday, and thanks Maya for her help. Then she leaves the hospital right away without waiting around for Shiori. Futaba was right, it had been wrong of her to flirt with anyone at the hospital, and now she had to make things right.
She waits for the text from Shiori inviting her to Frontier the next night. Then she calls Shiori.
"Hey, what's up?"
It's heartbreaking to hear Shiori's voice. She wants to look at Shiori's art again, to lay on her bed and waste Sunday away. She doesn't want to do this. But she is an adult, and she has a career, and she can't go to raves and date someone who was going to daily therapy. Or maybe she could, but it didn't seem right. "Hey, I can't go to Frontier tomorrow, and I won't be at the hospital anymore. I think we should stop seeing each other."
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and Akira wonders if Shiori dropped the phone, or maybe hung up, but then she hears a quiet breath. "Oh. Ok."
There's no asking her why, or begging her to reconsider. It's Shiori's resigned acceptance that feels worst of all, and Akira bites her lip to keep herself from taking it back. "I really liked spending time with you, but I am getting back to my career, and-"
"You don't have to explain, it's fine."
Her voice is louder and more raspy than usual, and Akira wonders if she's fighting against tears. It's impossible to tell over the phone. "Alright. I'm sorry."
It's almost noon on Sunday when Akira makes it down to the dormitory kitchen for a late breakfast, pours herself a tea and makes toast, and sits on the couch where Mei Fan has the news on. "I haven't seen you in ages," Mei Fan comments. She's on the carpet in front of the television, doing an exercise routine that she was following on her phone screen.
"Yeah, I'll be around more now, though. Rui has me doing all these shoots for oversees campaigns."
Mei Fan shrugs. "Money is money. Now that I'm older I don't think I care if my face is everywhere anymore. I just want the check."
Akira can understand this. She doesn't think the article calling her a bully would have nearly as much impact if she wasn't in two national campaigns at the time. No one would care if no one knew her face. She glances at the television and sees the familiar sign of Frontier, and grabs the remote to turn the volume up. "Police are investigating nightclub 'Frontier' after a patron collapsed last night during a rave. The details are limited, but there is concern for drug use, so police are searching for drug dealers among partygoers last night."
Akira texts Shiori. She knows that if Shiori made it home safely, she's sleeping, or probably not looking at her phone, but she needs to know. After a minute, she is impatient. She calls Shiori.
"Hello?"
The voice that picks up is not Shiori. Akira can feel her heartbeat in her throat, and does not worry about if Shiori brought someone else home last night. She couldn't care less. "Is Shiori there?"
"Who is this… Akira…who is this?"
The woman must have checked the caller ID, but still not recognized the name. "I'm a friend. I saw the news and I was worried about Shiori. Can you just let me know if she's alright?"
"No. She's not alright. She had a cardiac arrest and nearly died. If you're one of her raver friends, fuck off and don't call back. If you're her drug dealer, I hope you have the life you deserve."
The line goes dead, and Akira feels stuck with her phone to her ear. It's Mei Fan who turns the television off and comes to sit beside her. "Hey, what's going on?"
"My friend, she's in the hospital. I need to…. I don't even know."
Mei Fan nods, pushing Akira's hand down, handing her the tea. "Relax, take a sip. She's alright, yeah? Someone is with her now? Take a minute."
Akira does as she's told, but her mind won't stop racing. Because one truth keeps revealing itself to her: she had broken up with Shiori, and then Shiori had almost died. Shiori accepted her breakup almost too easily, like it was bound to happen. Had she then gone on a bender at Frontier, hoping to die? Had Akira really held that much weight in Shiori's life? She wants to know the answers and also she doesn't. And more importantly, she isn't sure if she deserves to know.
She decides she can at least cover the cost of Shiori's hospital stay and her therapy. She has some more savings, and those were growing thanks to Claudine's clever investing, so she can take the earnings from the work she did in the past week and give that to Shiori, or her sister. She wonders if it was the sister she spoke to on the phone.
The news broke on a Sunday, so there's not much to do but wait, so the next day she goes to Kishi, gets her guest pass, and gets an appointment with Claudine. "What?" Claudine asks, taking a seat behind her desk. She looks stressed, with stacks of papers on her desk and bags under her eyes. "You want to open a trust?"
"Well, or whatever you recommend. It's not a large sum, but I want my friend to be able to use it for her hospital bills."
"Your friend, huh?"
"We're not dating." She says it clearly and seriously, and hopes Claudine will drop the subject.
And Claudine does, apparently too tired or too overworked to worry too much about what Akira was doing with so little yen. She helps set up the account and gives Akira the slip to turn over to Shiori.
When Akira leaves Claudine's office, she nearly collides with Yachiyo. She had been walking by the breakroom, coffee in hand, and a bit of it spills as she dodges out of the way. "Tsuruhime-san, I apologize, let me get a napkin!"
She walks into the breakroom and returns with a napkin, and holds the coffee while Yachiyo dabs at her sleeves. As they push back just a bit, Akira thinks she sees a bruise, but then wonders if it was just the shadow of her sleeve. "Yukishiro-san, I didn't expect to see you here."
"Please, call me Akira. And I was just stopping by for a favor, I'm not usually here."
"Ah, I see. Then you can call me Yachiyo as well." There's a smirk there, some knowing expression, and Akira feels the same intrigue about Yachiyo as she felt the first time they met.
"It was nice to see you, hopefully I can meet up with you and Mei Fan again soon."
Yachiyo smiles. "Yeah. Anything to get out of here."
Akira looks over to the desks, the one with the manga, the one with the soda cans. She wonders if it really is such terrible work. She figured it must pay well since it made the firm so much money, but never thought about if it really was horrible for the workers. "Which one is yours?"
Yachiyo leads her over to a workstation without much on it, just a few reference books, a framed photo of a racehorse, and a calculator. She had two monitors, one of which had a software Akira couldn't begin to interpret, and the other had a weather app up. "There's not much going on," she says. "But here, take my number, we can set something up before Mei Fan leaves the country. Throw her a surprise party."
She writes the number down on a little piece of paper and Akira takes it and says goodbye, and on her way back to the elevator, she sees Claudine watching.
When she gets to the hospital, Akira isn't sure what to expect. It isn't that she's afraid Shiori will be mad at her — she wouldn't mind if she is, really — it's more that she has no idea what to expect that sets her on edge. She goes in the usual entrance and it's quiet. Yanagi Koharu's door is closed and locked but the 'In Session' sign isn't on it, and the therapy gym is open but Akira doesn't see Maya.
She realizes why once she asks for Shiori's room and gets up to the ward and sees the two of them leaving from a visit, holding hands. She waits at the end of the hall for them to leave and then she walks over to the room, flowers in one hand and the account information in an envelope in the other.
Shiori is sitting up in the bed, sipping from a pitcher, and a woman who could only be her sister is sitting in the guest chair. And beside her, hand on her shoulder, is Akira's agent Yukikaze Rui.
"Akira, what are you going here?" Rui asks.
"I-" She's so taken aback by Rui being in Shiori's hospital room she's momentarily lost for words.
"Do you know her?" the sister asks, but she's asking Rui, and not Shiori.
Rui is nodding. "She's a client of mine."
"Nee-san," Shiori says, a whine in her tone that Akira hadn't heard before. But it works and she's allowed to enter.
"I am glad you're going to recover," she says. "I brought flowers, and I want to cover the cost of the hospital. Please accept it." She stares at Shiori as she says it, trying to read anything in her expression. She doesn't want to apologize, exactly, except for her indelicacy.
"Why are you paying her off? Did you give her the drugs?"
"Fumi-nee!"
"Akira would never give anyone drugs."
"Whose side are you on?" Fumi stands now, between all three of them. "Who has been there for Shiori since childhood, taking care of her, cleaning up her messes, trying to get her the help she desperately tries to avoid? Me. And everyone else comes in and enables Shiori and looks at me like I'm the bad guy! Well I'm sick of it! I will take your money, thank you very much," she says, snatching the envelope from Akira, "But I don't want anything else from you. You can't come in here and tell me how to do things when I've been handling Shiori for years!"
Shiori is avoiding all of their gazes now, picking at her nails. Akira wants to say something, about how Fumi speaking about her sister like she's a problem that needs handling is wrong, or about how maybe she should listen to Shiori a little more, but the truth is she did drop Shiori when things became a little too real and scary, and the truth is she doesn't know anything at all about Shiori or her problems, and so she stays quiet and does nothing.
Rui clicks her tongue, then exhales awkwardly. "Akira, let's talk in the hallway for a minute, yeah?"
Akira follows Rui to the hallway, but she already knows the conversation before it happens. "Akira, what have you been doing?" Rui's voice is a harsh whisper. "That girl is trouble!"
"We're not dating," she says, repeating what she said to Claudine earlier.
"Were you at Frontier that night?"
She shakes her head.
"Oh thank god." She sighs. "Regardless, I don't think we can salvage this. I think you need to go with Mei Fan. Just for two seasons. Come back for spring. They want more Japanese models anyways, so there will be plenty of work."
"This is stupid."
"Yeah, it's stupid. But you've been stupid too. You know the rules of the game by now."
She does, but she's tired. She's so tired after so long, and the rules we're so strict that they punished anyone who dared stick a toe out of line. "Ok." What else can she do but concede?
She meets with Mei Fan, Yachiyo, and Michiru for a going away party at a rooftop wine bar two weeks later. It's windy, and Michiru's bob is blowing stylishly in the breeze, and now Akira swears she does see the hint of some bruise on Yachiyo's arm. Was someone hurting her? Or was she just into kickboxing? Maybe she was just incredibly clumsy.
"That hospital you went to, it's shutting down," Michiru says.
"What?"
She nods, sipping her wine. "I saw something come through. They're doing a full renovation but in the meantime, the hospital will be entirely closed. Emergencies are going to alternate hospitals north or east."
Akira's first question is how Michiru knows what hospital she went to, but she chalks this up to Michiru being touted as a genius and her entire job revolving around 'knowing things'. "Wow, I hope everyone has jobs in the meantime." She didn't get to know everyone that well, but she liked the staff well enough.
"Worry about us," Mei Fan complains, finishing her wine and pouring another glass. "I can't believe we're being punished like this."
"You know you're going to have a great time. Just think of it like a 6-month vacation."
Akira wants to take Michiru's advice, but currently, she's still on Mei Fan's wavelength. She feels like she's being sent away in anticipation of her doing something wrong, twice, and it's driving her a little crazy.
"Well, I'll miss having you around." Yachiyo says this to both of them, and she probably meant Mei Fan, since they were actual close friends, but Akira chooses to believe it was meant for her.
That night, she goes home and packs up her things from the dormitory. It feels unreal that she's moving to New York, and so quickly. She packs up her clothes, her other meager possessions, and the few personal items she has. She pauses at the bracelet she got from Shiori. 'STILL HERE'
It feels right, somehow, for the point in her life. Not exactly hopeful, just a reminder that she is still moving forward. She slips it on and takes her luggage downstairs.