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You met him somewhere between a club and a bar, a sidewalk or a street, lost in the space of 11 and 5:30am. There’s not much memory before then—too many drinks and unwanted advances from strangers whose faces were too plain to remember, not that you wanted to. There was a mustard yellow that stuck to the bar, ever-present despite the flashing rainbow from the overhead lights and your fellow patrons. Yellow were the old chairs, yellow were the tiles, yellow were your glasses, yellow stained the pocket dimension of Hot Summer Bar until even the whites of eyes turned sickly.
But the moment Hoshiumi touched your wrist, all smiles and sobriety, you two had been inseparable. He was very much not yellow, not even his white hair. You could remember that much.
“Are you okay?” were his first words to you, whispered hot in your ear. By all means, you shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the chaotic music you didn’t recognize, somewhere between a club and a bar.
“Wanna get out of here?” were your first words to him, laughed into his collarbones when you’d leaned over too far in your seat. You took comfort in the folds of clothes that smelled like cologne, cologne that probably had a dolphin on its label. It smelled like blue, tasted like the ocean through your nostrils.
Mist coated the dark navy of the outside world, much cooler than the yellow saturation of the inside with its too many bodies. The rush of fresh air made you even dizzier. This is where you were supposed to be, and yet, goosebumps coated your skin like fishnet masquerading as armor. You wanted to lay on black pavement, or maybe you wanted to play with littered cans, or maybe you wanted to go back inside to a bathroom stall so the thumps of hypnotic music through the thick walls could lull you to sleep.
“Are you gonna throw up?” he chuckled, eyes roaming to find a trashcan.
“No. No, I’m okay. Hi.”
“Hi.”
He’d grinned at you and it was enough to settle your queasy stomach and want nothing else other than to embrace him.
Instant friends. You were trusting a complete stranger, but so was he. You hadn’t even exchanged names until long after you were holding hands, singing loudly somewhere between a sidewalk and a street. Every time a word in the song reminded you of another, you changed to it. Your new friend never cared if you interrupted him, but neither did you mind when he swung your arm too hard or when he complained about hearing the songs too often on the radio.
He still sung along anyway.
“What’s your name?”
He’d hesitated, then, your swinging arms going still. You told him yours first, showing him your ID for good measure because you were full of bad decisions.
“Hoshiumi,” he said, exasperated and hurrying you to put your wallet away.
“I know a park around here. Wanna go on the swings?”
“Yeah!”
And as you swung there, you let your mind clear, catching up to the present in its dull rhythm of back-and-forth even though it hurt your stomach. The tangles in it slowly unfurled just like time did.
“Man. What are we doing?” you giggle, peering over to Hoshiumi swinging happily beside you.
“I don’t know, you’re the one who dragged me out here,” he grins back.
“Yeah, but you’re crazy for following me.”
“Do you always pick up strange men and then insult them?”
You both laugh and he exhales. “This is nice. I like you. I’m glad I came.”
Warmth spreads across your chest as you take in the sight of him—someone who doesn’t even look dressed for a night out. He’s built like an athlete underneath the sports gear—a gray hoodie barely hiding black-and-white shorts and black compression leggings. Even stranger is the short white hair, patterned like feathers with wide eyes that remind you of ocean spray. He’s gorgeous.
“Wanna be best friends for the night?” you ask. Perhaps you’re still a little tipsy.
“Sure,” he nods automatically.
“Okay. Let’s go have fun.”
You stop swinging and hop up to wait for him. Hoshiumi slows down just a little before grabbing your arm and sitting you on his lap, picking up some speed again with a torso and kicks that are way too strong.
“Whoa,” is all you can say, impressed more than shocked.
He’s a warm weight behind you, his shallow breaths ghosting your goosebumps as you stare into the clear night sky that teases you with very few twinkling stars.
“Hold onto the swing, dummy.”
“Okay, okay!”
Your hands slip under his on the rope and you tense up, despite the vague sense of trust you have in him for whatever reason. Hoshiumi doesn’t go too high—not that you think he can with the double weight—but you enjoy the ride for a while, hands brushing, until he groans. “Alright. That’s enough.”
He slows to a halt and you hop off, revitalized and stretching before you turn and extend your palm toward him. Hoshiumi takes it and you pull him up before both running off, laughing into the night once more with no plan except to be together.
Life winds you through neon-lined streets full of beer cans and excess. It doesn’t matter which side the flow of traffic is on, your hands don’t part to make your own path, weaving through groups and bodies like it’s all a game. You both probably look ridiculous, laughing at nothing in particular and exchanging looks as if telepathic.
Hoshiumi tugs you inside a large convenience store, not that you know which it is before you’re playing hide-and-seek in the aisles. He pulls up the hood of his top to hide his face as he slips between people, way too fast for it to matter how elusive you attempt to be.
He waggles his fingers like he’s a ghost before he’s finally caught you, tickling you into incoherency against a cold door full of frozen water bottles. He pauses and you turn to see a uniformed employee approaching, folding his arms.
Hoshiumi says nothing but scoops you up and over his shoulder, quickly apologizing as he dashes out the store in the other direction. He doesn’t let you down when you exit but you point him across the street to yet another convenience store.
He waits for a break in people before he makes a run for it and you’re screaming, holding desperately onto the back of his hoodie. Hoshiumi laughs and sets you down, not apologizing for anything.
The two of you squat in a corner since all the stools are taken, sharing a single water bottle back-and-forth.
“How long have you been out here tonight?”
He hums, pushing the water bottle back as he considers it. “I’ve been wandering a long time. It’s only when it got dark that people started showing up and all the bars opened up.”
Sipping the water bottle, you peer over at him. Hoshiumi’s looking down at the messy floor, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in old tile.
You could ask him why he came alone, or why his friends didn’t join him, but instead you hum and ask, “What did you want out of tonight?”
Hoshiumi blinks up at you before taking the water bottle, swigging it. “Um,” he thinks, wiping at his mouth, “I just wanted to be alone.”
“Alone?”
He grins at your confusion. “I feel pretty alone with you right now.”
“Alone together?”
“Yeah.”
You both finish off the water bottle before tossing it in recycling and returning to the chaos of the people-ridden, glowing outdoors. His hand finds yours and you giggle, rushing back through crowds whose faces you never stop to look at because you’re too busy smiling at Hoshiumi.
Pink polka dots tint his face and you dig in your heels to stop him. You blink at him, amazed, before they become blue stripes and you follow the lights to an outdoor display of yet another bar.
“Ooh, let’s go in here!” you say, pointing at a karaoke bar.
Through the glass, your eyes graze over the three different small stages inside. Groups and couples sing together off-key, voices loud through the door that’s opened to let in fresh air. Hoshiumi looks apprehensive, but takes one look at your face before tugging you inside.
The bouncer points at the bright yellow sign that says “Buying a drink required for karaoke,” and you finally let go of his hand.
“Wait in line, I’ll buy us drinks! What do you want?”
Hoshiumi considers it for a moment before shrugging. “Surprise me.”
He saves your spots while you buy two drinks from the over-excited and flamboyant bartender, who slips you a special menu of colorful drinks ranging from expensive rainbow to toucan. For your new friend, you choose the brightest thing on the menu.
“This tastes like pineapple,” he gags.
“Mine tastes like blueberries.”
Hoshiumi’s eyes light up. You switch with him. The drinks aren’t finished by the time it’s your turn and you both look at each other, assessing, before rushing to chug them down.
You win and he doesn’t like it.
Hoshiumi hands you a mic and clicks buttons without looking on the machine.
“What the heck is this?” you laugh, suddenly a lot shyer than you were from the outside looking in. A song locks in and pitches way too low for the both of you, background vocals almost like demonic sirens that reverberate under your feet.
“Dunno,” he says smugly, raising the microphone to his lips.
Ridiculous.
It’s another thing you’ve quickly learned about him – Hoshiumi’s a sore loser.
But more than that he’s competitive, you realize once again, as he bullies you on stage with his increasingly difficult song choices. From slow songs to ballads to rap, you’re out of breath but still finding it in you to laugh. “These are duets. We’re supposed to be teammates!”
He blushes at that but you bring the mic to your lips. “This time I’m gonna win.”
You don’t, but that’s okay.
Hoshiumi cheers, screaming into the microphone even though the pitch is still too low (you never figured out how to fix it) and causing you both to be immediately booted from the stage that you were admittedly hogging.
He’s still cheering and bragging when you’re both stumbling out the bar (or club?), regretting chugging your alcohol. You’re not even sure it’s the same door you entered from. The street doesn’t look familiar, a new violet tint of the night coloring the pedestrians. The flow of traffic even goes in the opposite direction and you blink several times trying not to see double.
Hoshiumi holds you steady from behind, both your eyes searching the streets for where to go next. It doesn’t matter for you, really. Your friend thinks of something first, hand back in yours, pulling you through traffic before sneaking into an alleyway.
Boxes and recycling bags full of bottles and beer cans fill the small space with its alcohol-damp grass and cracked pavement. Hoshiumi’s warmth fades as he lets you go, sighing and leaning his back against the wall. He’s almost pitch-black in the shadows and you take a few steps in to join him in the hideaway from the hustle and bustle.
He lifts his hood up and you’re both quiet for a few minutes, eyes wandering the details of both the alleyway and passerby. It makes you feel like you’ve crawled into a box with peep holes, hidden away in plain sight. Relaxed. Comfortable.
“Hoshiumi?” you whisper, as if someone might be able to hear you.
His cheeks are still pink when he turns his head to face you and opens his arms. You blink at him for a few moments before taking the two steps forward and collapsing into him, staring and wondering as you relax into the warmth of the sudden hug.
His arms feel so much bigger than they look, muscled but cautious around you.
“Can I, um, kiss you?” he asks, voice uncertain.
“Yeah.”
He initiates, squeezing around your waist gently as his lips find yours. It’s not a deep kiss, just sweet enough to leave you wanting but long enough to smile. You feel hidden in his hood, kisses like small secrets, unhurried.
Hoshiumi laughs, exhaling after and throwing his head back into the wall. You bury your head into his chest and just listen to his heart beat fast, fast, fast for a few minutes until it slows down.
“Wanna go to a museum?” you murmur.
“A museum is open at this time?”
“Yeah. It’s an illusion museum, entertainment. Open at all times.”
“Okay.”
You’re the one to take his hand this time and lead him out of your hideaway back into not-quite-reality. A quarter of the walk takes place on Hoshiumi’s shoulders when he lifts you up in the crowd of late-night party goers. You’ve always been fond of the colorful lights and dark atmosphere, but you’ve never associated the word ‘beautiful’ with it until now.
So high up, you gape at the sea of black-tinted heads and how detailed the designs of those neon signs are. They blast colors everywhere they can touch like a kaleidoscope and part of you wants to be here forever. You take out your phone and snap pictures instead with wobbling fingers.
“It’s here,” you shout to Hoshiumi below you, swinging your legs and almost making the both of you stumble over.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” you laugh.
He bends down so you can get off and you pull him inside double doors painted like a circus top, paying for two tickets and rushing with him inside past the “no running” signs.
It’s carnival-like, every surface painted with all manner of objects that change shape based on where you’re standing. A swirling vortex, horizontal stripes, birds—or maybe people—on the ceiling, never-ending staircases, never-ending mirrors, gradients and grids, and confusing color illusions. Some things are interactive, and you laugh when Hoshiumi pulls a lever and the floor opens up as if it’s a cracked cliff. He screams and then flushes, covering his mouth.
You keep telling him to watch the floor as the two of you continue throughout the almost-maze, but he shuts up your teasing with sneaky kisses to your cheek and temple when you least expect it.
Part of you keeps teasing him because you look forward to it.
It’s over too soon and you can’t help the sappy grin on your face when you’re back in the night air and his shoulder playfully brushes you.
The streets are thinning, but you two make your way around with the same vigor as if it’s the beginning of the night and not the end. You remember dancing with a couple dressed in red, taking up too much space on the street. There’s another drink or two given to you by a bartending DJ from a club you don’t recall walking into, and a cat that leads you on a scavenger hunt.
And then your stomach growls.
There are actually seats available now in the back of the convenience store and Hoshiumi argues with you about the best instant ramen, making you sit down while he goes to pick and buy his favorites. You elbow each other at the hot water dispenser, giggling in hushed voices about the best cheap ramen methods. You argue that waiting the estimated three minutes is ideal, while he, foolishly, thinks waiting five is better for both softer noodles and to cool down.
The next competition comes from you, who sees how he struggles to open his chopsticks packet and bets you can separate the wooden utensils cleaner than he can.
You win.
Now one of your legs rests on his thigh underneath the table as you slurp your noodles, eyes hazy and thinking nothing in particular as you warm your chin over steam.
“Hey…”
Hoshiumi squishes your cheeks together with both his hands, the hood down to reveal heavy-lidded eyes.
“Mmh?” you say through puffed cheeks.
He stares at you for a few seconds until he says, carefully, “I gotta go home.”
Your heart drops.
It’s late.
He lets go of your cheeks and you nod before you both silently finish eating.
“How are you getting home?” you ask.
“Taxi. You?”
“Not too far. I biked here.”
“You’re biking back at 5:30am? Is that safe?”
“Yeah. It’s fine,” you smile.
Hoshiumi nods and throws out the trash. You both stand outside the convenience store. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and you wonder if you even locked up your bike properly. The silence of the impending morning and the inevitable departure is loud between you two, best friends for maybe 7 incredible hours.
“It was nice meeting you.”
Hoshiumi just looks over at you, a troubled smile on his face before he finally says, “Yes. Thanks for tonight.”
You don’t say ‘see you around’ and he doesn’t ask for your number.
When you find your bike, it’s perfectly fine, minus someone leaving an empty soda bottle on the seat. You stuff it in an overflowing bag nearby before you pedal home, breathing in the scent of incoming sunrise.
A week goes by and the pleasant memories fade with the haze of a drunken Saturday. Sometimes you think about swings and the warm comfort of a gray hoodie.
Another week goes by and it’s only then that you notice the friend request from one Hoshiumi Kourai. You think of cheese-flavored ramen and rainbow beverages.
All he says is, “Don’t show strangers your ID anymore. It’s dangerous, they can remember your name.”
You laugh.
You laugh and send him pictures of neon and black, the view from the top.