New York Love Story (Guess How Much I Love You!) - Episode 9

　Mornings on holidays are late. Even if you wake up from a dream, there is no need to rush to get up. You can just close your eyes and relax in bed. You can feel the body heat of someone right next to you. It’s warm and very gentle.

　I reach out and touch her smooth skin, and she whispers in my ear, “Are you awake?” I open my eyes to her voice. There is a familiar face before me. The face looks at me and murmurs, “Last night was so wonderful…”

　The man rubbing his thigh against mine in bed wasn’t my boyfriend. He was my “male friend.” We had a pure relationship with no sexual activity whatsoever.

　Even with my hazy head, I understood that this morning was a holiday. And who the person in front of me was. But I didn’t understand the situation. Why was I lying here, in this bed, with this man?!

　The name of the man before me begins with “Roman” and ends with “Destiny.” I am conscious and clear-headed. I can even spell his name. But I don’t understand a thing about the situation.

　Roman smiled gently at me as I lay there staring at his face like an idiot.

“What, darling? You’re not even going to give me a good morning kiss?”

　Who is this darling? Is it me? No way, no way. Could it be that we are…?

“What’s wrong, you’re so stiff? Ha-han… you must be tired? I suppose that’s understandable, yesterday was intense… by the way, is your butt okay?”

“recommend……!”

　It is impossible to describe in words the scream that burst from my throat immediately after that. If I had to say, it might be something like the scream that the tragic Danish prince made when he met his deceased king.

　I screamed and fell out of bed. The sheets were slippery, and it would have been easy to throw me up. I landed on the carpet. Silk sheets and a Persian rug. Neither of them belonged to me. The worst part wasn’t that, I was now naked.

　Roman slowly climbs out of bed. He is also naked. It is not a sin to be naked. If it were a sin, God would have created man clothed. Sin is not nakedness, it is something else.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

　Roman crouched down in front of him.

“I’m shaking so much…”

　Slowly, she crept up on me. This was a “sin.”

“You’re cute…”

　”Sin” speaks. I am more defenseless than a lamb, and “Sin” gently stretches out its arms to me. Its delicate hands are like those of Gabriel in “The Annunciation.” Oh, God, why have you forsaken me?

　”Sin” confronts the poor lamb. He slaps me on the cheek and says, “I was just kidding,” and stands up.

“joke……?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t take my friend’s boyfriend.”

　— Hallelujah! I still had God’s protection! I had not sold myself to the devil!

　Roman sat down on the bed, and I followed suit, pulling the sheets over my lower body to cover myself.

“Are you kidding me? That’s so bad. It’s the worst.”

“Why are you acting so cool now? You were crying just a moment ago.”

“It makes me teary-eyed. Seriously… I’m glad it was a joke. If it wasn’t a joke, it wouldn’t be a joke.”

“I’ve never met anyone who’s said something like that after sharing a bed with me.”

“Then no one dares to tell the truth…Hey, why were we in the same bed?”

　To what I thought was a natural question, he gave me an astonished look.

“What are you talking about? You didn’t show up here. I didn’t even call you. You were drunk and saying things like, ‘I don’t want to go home. ‘”

“Why are you naked?”

“You were the one who left your clothes lying around and got into my bed. And there was no way I was going to sleep on the floor, so I went along with it without any hesitation.”

“What about my clothes?”

“I put it all in the wash. It smelled awful of cigarettes and alcohol.”

“Can I borrow something to wear?”

“Well, what should we do? Maybe I should just keep you like that for the rest of the day as punishment.”

“…You even took off your underwear?”

“I took that off myself, since I had the chance.”

“What do you mean ‘because it’s a special occasion’?”

“Oh my goodness, you’re so noisy when you wake up. You were so adorable while you were sleeping. Speaking of adorable, you have such a wonderful thing. It was especially beautiful in the morning. I almost wanted to tempt you, but it would be a shame to rape you… Maybe I should have at least taken a picture? I’m sure everyone would be thrilled to see it… It’s not too late now.”

　Roman’s eyes lit up, and the force of it reminded me of the Greek mythical woman with snakes for hair.

“…I understand. I’m sorry, it was my fault. You’re right, I was grateful that you let me stay.”

“That’s good,” I say, brushing my hair back. Dark blonde shining in the morning light, he’s perfectly handsome even though he’s just woken up. Whether I want to share a bed with him, though, is another matter.

“Hey, you. You don’t even remember coming here? At all? That’s a bit weird.”

“No… not at all though…”

　I have a vague recollection of last night, the events leading up to me coming into this room, and a slightly clearer recollection of the last few hours before that, and even visual flashbacks of events from before that.

　It was about a month ago. The opening of a stylish restaurant on 61st Street was the beginning of this incident. It was a slightly upscale restaurant for everyday dinners, and Paul suggested, “Let’s go there on a special occasion.”

　”Something special.” It was vague, and I didn’t know when it would happen. Still, Paul seemed to be looking forward to that future event. He was at least more conscious of “something special” than I was, and I remember him occasionally talking about the restaurant.

　One day, a colleague of mine retired, and we decided to hold a good luck party. The venue was a restaurant on 61st Street. I ended up being the only one to go there first, but Paul said, “That’s understandable.”

　Even so, he couldn’t hide his slight shock. Seeing him slightly depressed, I also felt slightly depressed. At this point, I couldn’t wait for a “special occasion”. I invited him to go out to dinner together, making the next payday a “special occasion”. Of course, he was delighted. Even if we live together and see each other every day, a date is still a happy occasion. Although we don’t buy bouquets, this is still a special day. I don’t care about my boss’s bad mood. I hold back the urge to hum in the office and patiently wait for the night. However, on such days, my life is such that I get a surprise when my boss, who once helped me out, appears at the office with an important customer. And it happens at a time when I think, “The meeting time is approaching, but if I hurry, I’ll just make it.”

　My talkative boss let me go almost an hour after our appointed time. When I arrived at the meeting place and started apologizing profusely, Paul made sure to ask, “Do you know what day it is?”

“Oh, of course. I’ll eat at a restaurant…”

“No, it’s the meaning of ‘today’. Today is the day you set up to say ‘I’m sorry about last time’, right?”

“Ah……”

“This doesn’t mean I’m sorry.”

“Sorry”

“You’re such a talker,” Paul sighed, shaking his head.

　I start to say “I’m sorry” again, but stop myself at the last moment. I remember being told just a few seconds earlier that “you’re all talk” and that “there’s no point in saying sorry.”

　On the way to the restaurant, Paul was constantly grumbling. Seeing that, I suggested, “If you’re complaining so much, let’s postpone today’s meal,” but…Paul got mad.

“Postponement?! What the hell is that?”

　In response to his yelling, I remained calm and said the following:

“Well… It’s no fun to eat with someone you’re so unhappy with, right? So don’t you think it would be more constructive to have a meal when you’re both in a good mood?”

“What do you mean by ‘constructive’? I don’t want to build anything! You don’t know anything!”

　For better or worse, it was unusual for Paul to get excited. I couldn’t have a nice date with a partner who was so rebellious. I tried to stay calm and said, “That’s enough, let’s stop.” “I think we should both cool down and then go home.”

“‘After we’ve both cooled our heads’? What kind of decision are you just making?”

“So, do you want to go out to dinner now? If that’s what you want, we can.”

“You’re not to blame, so don’t act all high and mighty!”

“I apologized!”

“I’m not apologizing! You have no idea what an apology means!”

　So the date fell through. Paul went home, and I went to the restaurant to pay the cancellation fee. Afterwards, I stopped by a bar I frequent, where Roman was. We were talking about the incident, and I ended up drinking a lot (as always happens in situations like this), and this morning I found myself naked and wrapped in silk sheets.

“Are you guys sure it’s okay to travel like that?” Roman asked suspiciously.

　Yes, Paul and I are going on a trip next week. We are both going on business trips, but we were lucky enough to be going to the same place (well, after a bit of planning), so we decided to incorporate a holiday there into our overseas trip date.

“It’s okay,” I reply.

“Traveling is an event where each person’s ego becomes very obvious.”

“Paul and I live together. It’s not like we’re going on a trip at this point. Where’s my cigarette?”

“All my rooms are non-smoking. … We’re alone in a foreign country with no friends. If we get into a fight there, we’ll have nowhere to run.”

“I’m going to smoke on the balcony. Where did you put your cigarettes?”

“Japan may be a strange country to you, but it’s a nostalgic place for Paul. I wonder how long he lived there? I’m sure he had a boyfriend…”

“Hey, what are you trying to say all this time?”

“It says ‘be careful'”

“What?”

“You guys are starting to get into the zone.”

“zone”?”

“It’s a crisis that every couple faces at some point. It’s the danger zone that lovey-dovey couples fall into.”

“That’s ridiculous. We just quarreled yesterday, that’s all. Normally, we’re on good terms. We can’t even keep butter or chocolate near us. Don’t jump to conclusions based on a local situation. Say, take my cigarette…”

“I don’t know about your cigarettes. You smoked them all yesterday, didn’t you? Don’t you know we’re talking about something more important than cigarettes?”

“I’m out of nicotine. I can’t concentrate on important things without a smoke. Please lend me your clothes. I’ll go buy some cigarettes.”

“How about sticking a nicotine patch between your legs?”

“Unfortunately, they don’t have a size that can cover me yet.”

　Roman wrinkles his nose and gives an “eh” look.

“Okay, you’re addicted to nicotine. Go buy some cancer-causing sticks. I’ll make breakfast in the meantime, so don’t make any detours and come back.”

　He lent me a T-shirt and a hoodie (I was surprised that he had T-shirts and hoodies in his wardrobe), and we went out into the city as the sun was rising. We were south of Central Park. We passed people heading to the park. Families and couples. The people passing by on the weekend were dressed casually (though not as casually as I was) and gave off a somewhat laid-back impression.

　I’ve seen this scene before. Enjoying a day off with Paul. Going shopping at the morning market or stopping by a free outdoor concert. “We’re the best couple in the world. I feel sorry for the others… or something like that. The moment I started to act so relaxed, I was caught off guard.

　I think I get what Roman is trying to say: When you’re in a relationship for a long time, your ego becomes more important than the other person’s feelings. Whether you call it “the zone” or not, it’s something I’ve experienced in previous relationships.

　If this is what Roman is talking about, then Paul and I have to get through this situation. It’s the first test given to lovers. After we get through it, our relationship will be even stronger, and of course, Paul and I can pass that test.

　This relationship is unshakable. We may fight, but there is no reason for it to break. Yesterday was a little rough, but we can still forgive each other and create a new today.

　I flipped through a magazine and listened to music on my headphones. Then I watched an action movie and two episodes of The Simpsons. I slept and woke up in between, and ate the food that was served to me like a broiler chicken. Twelve hours from John F. Kennedy International Airport. Before I knew it, Paul and I had safely arrived in the Far East. Japan was nostalgic for him, and it was my first time here. Paul, who used to work in this country, could even say “Excuse me, I’m the one who has booked the hotel for today” in Japanese, but I was completely ignorant of this country, let alone Japanese. It was my first time to set foot on Asian soil, let alone Japan, so I was a foreigner.

　While drinking coffee in the hotel cafe, I asked Paul questions about Japanese.

“What do they call coffee in this country?”

“coffee”

“Okay, then what about the spoon?”

“spoon”

　The language seems easier than I thought. But I’m really glad I have a reliable partner. If someone shouts “Get down!” in this country, I won’t understand what they mean. I’m sure Paul will translate for me.

　After a short rest, I head out to the city. The traffic and people coming and going are typical of urban areas. I know there are no samurai or Godzilla, but it’s strange to see that everyone on the street is Asian. The percentage of Asians in my neighborhood is less than 10 percent, at a glance. Manhattan is a city of immigrants, and there is no clear definition of a “foreigner,” but this country is different. It is an island nation in East Asia that escaped British invasion and has maintained its independence for several centuries (I learned this from a guidebook I read on the plane). Therefore, the percentage of Asians is roughly 100 percent. This is a foreign country, and I’m a heathen. Just riding the subway, people’s stares at me are vaguely painful (or so I think).

　When she secretly tells Paul about this, he comforts her by saying, “I’m just staring at you because you’re handsome.”

“Don’t say random things.”

“It’s true. We’re very popular in this country.”

“Foreigners?”

“Mostly white people.”

“I guess that’s how it is. I don’t think that was the case in The Last Samurai.”

“Fashions have changed,” Paul said coolly.

“When you say ‘popular,’ is that based on experience? You must have been pretty popular, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“From a man? From a woman?”

“Both.”

“You have a Japanese boyfriend?”

“I’ve made a lot of friends. Yes, I’m going to visit one of them now. He works at a cosmetics shop.”

“This is the first time I’ve met your ex-boyfriend.”

“No, it’s not that. We’re just friends. I want to shop at the store. Roman asked me to make him an oil blotting paper.”

“An oil-blotting paper?”

“It’s a paper to remove oil from your face.”

“Facial oil… is there something fun about that?”

“I don’t know if it’ll be fun or not,” she says, laughing softly. “That’s what Roman wants, anyway.”

　The store was located past the Louis Vuitton and MoMA shops. Tokyo’s fashion street is not much different from New York’s Fifth Avenue. It’s no wonder that Japan has the second-largest GDP after the United States (I read this in a guidebook. I’m pretty studious, huh?).

　Paul bought some facial oil remover paper, and I bought a set of eyebrow scissors and eyebrow pencil. It was my first shopping trip in Japan. Paul’s “just a friend,” carefully filed them for me.

　As we left the restaurant, Paul asked, “What should we do for dinner?” “There’s a delicious sushi restaurant two stations away, but it’s a little pricey.”

“Sushi…”

“You love it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s true… Hey, can I go back to the hotel?”

“What’s the matter? How are you feeling?”

“I’m suffering from severe jet lag. I’ve been feeling sleepy for a while now, and I have a slight headache.”

“It’s a ten-hour flight. No problem, I’ll go get something to eat with my friend.”

“Sorry. I wish we could have stayed at the same hotel at least.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have work tomorrow.”

　Yes, unfortunately, I didn’t come to Tokyo for shopping or gourmet food. It was for work.

　I work for a venture company that sells paintings. I am in charge of contracts with artists and managing exhibitions. The artist we signed this time had never signed a contract for printmaking with anyone before. We spent a long time persuading the artist, who was reluctant to have his work reproduced (not many artists like print reproductions anyway), and our Universal Art company was the first to win the right, which became a hot topic in the industry. Among the conditions presented by the other party was that the first exhibition should be in Japan. We do not generally distribute overseas, but this is an exception. The “introduction party” inviting customers in the artist’s hometown is meaningful for both the artist and us, and it is like a “social debut”. With this outcome, I am working harder than usual on this job (end of explanation!).

　I go back to the hotel and lie down in bed. I ordered a decaffeinated coffee and a pastry from the room service menu. They’re both ridiculously expensive, but I don’t care. If it weren’t for the company’s expense rebate, I’d buy them at a convenience store outside.

　It’s my first trip abroad with Paul. I’m feeling excited, but this is a business trip. My boss Sheila also told me to “do it well, or I’ll kill you” (the exact words are different, but that’s the gist of it). Eighty percent of the five days I’ll be here will be work time, and today and the last day will be my local holidays. By the way, Paul’s situation is the opposite of mine. Thirty percent is work, and the rest is holidays. He’s also working at an event and has been invited to a Japanese fashion designer’s catwalk show as an executive hair and makeup artist. As the “executive” label indicates, he is in a position where he is “invited” because of his skills, while I am more like “called”. The compensation for this job is included in my regular salary, but Paul’s is like a special income due to an individual contract. If we were to calculate our actual work into hourly wages, the results would be very sad, so let’s not do that.

　Even if there is a difference in status, the love remains the same. It can even be considered something to be proud of. Having a respectable job is a wonderful thing for a man. But what if this was a “female lover”? Would you simply feel proud of your partner who earns more than you?

　When I found out that my ex-girlfriend’s annual income was more than double mine, I seriously wondered, “What should I give her as a birthday present in the future?” I know it’s silly, but I can’t help but worry about such things.

　I’ll make it clear here that I’m not a sexist or a man-superior. I don’t want to adopt the 50s slogan “Women should just stay at home and wait for their husbands to come home,” but I do have feelings for “50s women.” Being surrounded by “strong, reliable women” from my mother to my sister to my boss, somewhere in my heart, I long for a “feminine woman.” A girl who is “pretty” or “fragile (is that an outdated term?) and makes you want to reach out to her. There are certainly cells in me that cherish such things. …However, none of the women I’ve dated so far have been of that type, only women who have jobs and wear three-inch heels. This is valuable data that shows that “fragile” women have become extinct in Manhattan, America.

　The next day, I forced myself to overcome my jet lag and went to the artist’s office. Although I had spoken to him on the phone, this was the first time I had seen him in person. The artist looked much younger than I had imagined, and compared to the tense atmosphere of his work, he seemed quite casual.

　We check some final documents, shake hands, and say “Thank you.” This is the most important thing, and once that’s done, everything is done. The contract has been exchanged, and the preparations for the event are complete. Tomorrow I have work to do to check the venue and exhibits, but unless there are some serious defects, it’s just a way to show dignity to the staff.

　You may wonder why he came to Japan when he didn’t have much to do, but in this case, the important thing is courtesy. He came from overseas to shake hands. Unlike a fruitless summit, it is a warm and heartfelt gesture that will smooth the way for future relationships with the contracted artist.

　The artist’s office had arranged for an interpreter, but in reality, it was hardly necessary. He was able to converse with me in English. His level of English is not fluent, even to flatter, but I was impressed by his willingness to communicate directly. With a language ability of this level, it would have been easier to have someone interpret for me, but this was probably just part of the courtesy he was showing.

　At the end of our conversation, he mentioned his plans, saying, “I have to go back to my studio soon.”

“I was hoping to have lunch with you, but I’m sorry,” the artist said, bowing his head. It felt like it had been a long time since I’d seen an artist apologize so sincerely.

　After he left the room, the female assistant bowed to me. I was drawn in and bowed as well, without even understanding why.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make time,” she said, and it seemed like this “sorry” was genuine.

“No, please don’t worry about it. I know you’re busy.”

“The truth is that work has been delayed, and he has been in the studio since yesterday.”

“Since yesterday?”

“I haven’t slept. Not at all.”

　…I was surprised. If you had said so, we could have moved our plans around a bit. Now that you mention it, I think I did look tired, but I didn’t show any sign of it.

　In between his busy work, he fixes his hair, changes into paint-free clothes, and responds with a smile. In New York, it is not rare for artists to make you wait for a long time and then say, “Let’s just pretend it never happened today.” Unlike North American artists who think they can get away with anything if they say they are busy creating, Japanese people value courtesy. There are deadlines, they are busy, they haven’t slept. He has no excuses like that. How cool. The samurai spirit is alive and well here.

　And this female assistant. She must be a species that has become extinct in Manhattan. She is polite and kind. She has a gentle voice and beautiful hair. At first, I thought she was unwell because she was so quiet, but I realized by the last conversation that this is her way of not being pushy and talking too much. I think today I have solved the mystery of why heroes in old comics want to marry Japanese wives.

　To work with such people, one needs to be polite as well, so I decided that at least in front of them, I would also adopt an attitude based on “Bushido” (although I still don’t know what that means).

　Ladies and gentlemen, the extinct species is here. Let’s hope it doesn’t go the same way as the Triceratops.

　The day after tomorrow is the exhibition of my paintings. I will invite guests to the exhibition and greet them on behalf of the busy CEO of our company, and then my work will be done. All that remains is to enjoy my vacation with Paul. You think this excitement is not “Bushido”-like? Well, that can’t be helped. I’m a Yankee Doodle who cares about the shape of my eyebrows, and this is my first time standing on the land of the samurai.

　I left the office and went to Starbucks. I ordered a cinnamon roll and a cappuccino. I don’t think Westernization is the definition of civilization, but I’m grateful to be able to maintain my normal lifestyle. In Japanese, “cappuccino” is “kappuccino.” I didn’t have any trouble ordering (as you know, “cappuccino” is not an English word!).

　I had a late lunch, listening to the rhythm of Japanese scattered all around me. After leaving the restaurant, I called Paul. Even in the Far East, the signal was still strong. It was business as usual, even in a strange land. Roman had said that this was a “foreign country with no friends,” but even a foreigner could order coffee. As long as no one shouted “Stay down!”, there would be no problem for the time being.

　Paul, who answered the phone, was sightseeing with a friend. I explained the situation and my plans briefly. I was invited to dinner by a staff member from the office, and asked him to come along if he wanted.

“Me too? Why?” asked Paul.

“I told him I was with friends, and he said, ‘OK, come join us.’ And it helps me out a lot if you’re with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t work. It’s just socializing. So there will be no translator.”

“Does the other person speak English?”

“Not at all, from what I can see. But I was able to converse with them thanks to an interpreter.”

“My Japanese isn’t that good.”

“It’s fine. It’s just a social gathering.”

“Okay, you mean ‘entertainment’. That kind of thing is very important here.”

“Yeah, so even if it’s not official, it’s better to communicate with each other after all. Is that bad? Maybe you’ve already made other plans?”

“No plans, nothing,” Paul said curtly, followed by a brief silence, then after a moment he replied, “Yeah, I get it. Sure.”

“Great. See you later.”

“Yeah”

Paul says that the word “entertainment” does not exist in the English language. It means that “in a relationship between two people who are not friends (usually between companies), one party takes a guest out to a restaurant and entertains them.”

　This was my first time entertaining. I was treated to two young female staff members and taken to a yakiniku restaurant. I don’t know if this is the standard format for entertaining, but I liked the relaxing Japanese-style room, and Kobe beef is one of my favorite Japanese dishes, along with sushi.

　I introduce myself to Paul, and he tells me their name. The one with the Swarovski pendant is “Ota-san,” and the one with the Franck Muller watch is “Yashida-san.” Seeing as they call each other by their surnames, it seems calling each other by their first names is taboo. I try saying, “You can call me Dean,” but the other person seems a bit uncomfortable. In the end, we settle for calling each other “Dean-san,” with the honorific title. Weird.

　We grilled the meat, popped the beer bottles, and toasted. “We were all nervous when we heard that they were coming from overseas to inspect the area, but we were relieved to find that they were such nice people,” were the first things they said. Of course, the conversation was translated by Paul.

“Thank you. I’m happy to work with such a great staff.”

　A “nice comment” from a “nice person”. I can’t say I’m particularly friendly, but this is a work-related situation. I have to be careful not to drink too much and become too friendly.

　As I enthusiastically ate the incredibly delicious meat, the girls burst out laughing. When I asked Paul what was so funny, he replied with a wry smile:

“They were saying your name was ‘Dean’ from James Dean, and then they realised it was James Dean’s last name and they were laughing about it.”

　What is that? I have no idea what’s funny about it. Maybe my sense of humor is different from that of Americans.

“Do you know Gene Kelly? My name is just one letter different from his.”

“I don’t know either of them.”

“Hmm… I guess it’s not famous in Japan.”

“You know, they say you’re cool.”

“Cool?”

“It’s Japanese for cool.”

“Cool. Wow, that’s nice. Cool!”

　When I said that, the girls burst out laughing. What is this? Is this supposed to be funny?

“Paul, how do you say ‘cute’?”

“Cute.”

“You guys are so cute.”

　The girls cried out in surprise. It seemed they understood what I meant.

“They said I looked like Keanu Reeves.”

　Keanu Reeves? That would be an honour, but I don’t think we have anything in common other than our hair colour and race…

“He looks like Keira Knightley’s boyfriend.”

　How is that possible?! Keanu Reeves and Rupert Friend don’t look alike at all! It would be pretty much impossible to imagine what I look like from those two actors. Not even the best profiler could do that.

　These “cute” girls are so delusional. Are they the same age as me? Their excited appearance makes them look like teenagers. Roman’s friends are similar to them. They laugh for no reason and say that life is so much fun.

“Do you like it?” Paul asked me when we got back to the hotel. “It says ‘I like it’ on your face.”

“Yeah,” I replied, hanging my jacket on a hanger. “It’s a little childish, but I think that’s okay too. Whatever he says is funny. He’s always laughing, and looks like he’s having fun.”

　Paul then took a strange look and said, “I’ve been thinking this for a while…” and began to reveal what he’d been thinking for a while.

“You have a wide range of tastes in women.”

“Wide range?”

“Yeah… I mean… sometimes it seems like you don’t have very good taste.”

“Well, isn’t it natural that you and I have different hobbies?”

“There are women I find attractive, but I’m not sexually attracted to them.”

“You mean Bjork or something? No, stop that. I don’t want to get into an argument with you about women.”

“Yeah, I agree with that. We need to stop this before it escalates into a fight.”

“Hey Paul, I think you know…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s you that I love, you know?”

　Paul chuckled and said, “I know.”

　───We need to stop this before it escalates into a fight───

　My suggestion was in vain, and we ended up fighting that night. The topic was my “wide range of interests in women.”

“You’re just rude!”

　The one shouting this was Paul. He was the unrivaled expert on the topic of “what Dean should be like.”

“What on earth do you think I’m being rude about?!”

　I was the one asking that question. Poor guy, having to ask someone else for advice about his situation.

“You didn’t invite me to that meeting as your lover, you invited me as an interpreter. That’s very rude.”

“I’m not an interpreter. I introduced myself as a friend. And the other person said from the beginning, ‘Bring your friend along.’ No one thought I was an interpreter.”

“They’re not friends. They’re boyfriends.”

“How dare you suddenly say something like that!”

“I can say it.”

“It’s completely different from your industry. Do you think a strict Japanese company would accept a gay person suddenly coming out?”

“That’s not work, right? It’s just a social gathering.”

“Even so…”

“Your ‘industry’ is all about pretense. Even if you act friendly, in the end, you don’t open up to each other. The whole ‘just friendly’ thing is a lie. So is you.”

“I?”

“I’m shocked to hear that it was just a friendly exchange. In the end, it was just those two cute girls. That’s why I couldn’t introduce myself to them.”

“Wait a second. Why do you always assume that? If I had an ulterior motive, I wouldn’t have you there. I’d just sneak out, saying I have a meeting tonight or something.”

“You’re planning something like that?”

“For example! For example! There’s no way I’d do something like that!”

　Paul frowned, “Why would you want to bring someone else between us?” he said, crossing his arms. “It was the same when we went to Fire Island before. There were two girls there too… Could this be some kind of coincidence?”

“Don’t bring up old stories. That was my fault. This time it was work-related. It just so happened that the person in charge was a girl. Even if it had been two guys, I think I would have gone to eat barbecue with them.”

“This isn’t about girls. Are you uncomfortable traveling alone with me? Is that why you’re putting me in that kind of setting?”

“Were you dissatisfied with the hospitality? If so, you should have said so right then and there.”

“How could I tell you that! Didn’t you even notice that I wasn’t having fun?”

“it is……!”

　No one can come up with an objection. Yes, I hadn’t noticed. I hadn’t noticed at all that Paul wasn’t having fun.

“There’s no way I can have fun with girls with balloon heads like that. And you’ve been cold to me lately. Are you getting bored with being with me all the time? Do you enjoy being with other people more? Is that why you’ve been coming home late and going out with your friends more often lately?”

“It’s not that, Paul… I just… You know, I like to meet up with some friends and have a drink sometimes. That’s all. There’s nothing else to it. It’s completely wrong to be jealous of others. And… even now, you’re the one I spend the most time with. Is that still not enough?”

“Huh? Thank you very much! Thank you for giving your precious time to me!”

“Why do you say it like that?! Don’t take my word for it!”

“Sorry, that was too detailed.”

“This is not worth discussing!”

“You too!”

　Paul’s cheeks were red with anger. As I confronted him head-on, one word popped into my mind.

　─── Zone ───

　That’s right. It’s bad. If we continue like this, we’ll be heading straight for the zone. I have to be rational. Especially if the other person has lost it. It’s foolish to join in and be stupid. If we talk calmly, we can avoid the zone.

“I’m sorry…” I apologized.

“Sorry about what?” he asks, trying to ascertain the point of the apology.

“Um… sorry for yelling.”

“That way,” Paul replied without hesitation.

　This…! How unlovable!!! …No, that’s no good. No. I shouldn’t get angry here. Paul is just sulking. He just wants my kindness. So I should give in and give him some… Maybe this is what they call “Bushido” (or is it wrong?).

　When I remained silent, he also calmed down and said, “It’s okay, I was wrong about yelling.”

　Well, if you talk calmly, it’s normal. We’re not monkeys. We can control our emotions.

　Paul looked up and began, “But,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s terrible that we’re in Japan and can’t even have a meal together?”

　Was it just my imagination that her eyes looked slightly moist? There was no way I could act forceful with this face, so I had to be a samurai and come up with something new.

“Okay, then let’s meet tomorrow. Let’s go for sushi together. Just the two of us, of course.”

“I have a work meeting tomorrow night.”

“What time is that?”

“Eight o’clock”

“Then let’s do it before then. I finish work before evening. Let’s meet outside somewhere.”

“Meet outside? Isn’t that difficult when you don’t know the area?”

“I’ll get there no matter what. Don’t worry, my heart’s compass doesn’t point north.”

　Paul finally smiled when I mentioned it, suggesting a pirate’s compass that points in the direction of what one desires.

　That’s good. This is the end of the matter. Thinking this, I felt even more carefree than usual. Perhaps this was also a kind of jet lag.

　Before arriving at the venue, my cell phone rang once. I answered the phone, but the signal was poor and I couldn’t hear anything, and the call was cut off shortly after. I didn’t recognize the number that was displayed. I thought they would call again, so I put my cell phone in my pocket.

　While changing trains on the subway, I spotted a cute flower shop inside a station, with vibrant tropical flowers, pastel-colored cosmos, and porcelain-like colors on display.

　Tonight is my first date in a while. Buying flowers might not be a bad idea. As an apology for canceling so many times, I’ll buy flowers that don’t have a strong scent and won’t interfere with the meal.

　It’s been a while since I gave a bouquet to my lover. Flowers and dinner. Man does not live by bread alone. After all, life should be like this.

　As I entered the exhibition hall with my phone on silent mode, I saw the staff bustling about in the spacious hall. Preparations for an exhibition are not as simple as “hanging a painting on the wall and you’re done,” but a little more involved. This is not a museum, so there are no facilities for hanging paintings. Although the exhibits are “artworks,” they are also “products,” and so the exhibition requires a certain degree of showiness.

　Velvet curtains. Candle-like lights. White pebbles and driftwood on the floor transform the inorganic space into something organic. However beautiful the spatial art may be, these are merely props that enhance the paintings. These are wonderful paintings. How much effort must have gone into obtaining them?

　The works are displayed in sequence from the entrance. The main attraction, the “Crane Series,” is displayed at the end of the main floor. The paintings, which consist of five consecutive pieces, are not attached to the wall, but are suspended in mid-air, making the most of the large space. The linoleum floor is exposed underfoot, and small white origami cranes are planned to be densely spread here, like the cobblestones of a shrine.

　The film is due to be released tomorrow. Perhaps this will help noisy journalists and critics regain a little of their humanity?

　While I was feeling deeply moved by the painting, a young man came up to me. He was wearing a T-shirt and work gloves, and in his not-so-good English, he told me, “We’ve encountered a bit of trouble.”

“Trouble? What exactly?”

“I haven’t received my novelty gift yet.”

　A “novelty” is a promotional item that is given away for free. It’s a small gift like a souvenir, not a big deal, but many customers come just for it. This time, the chopsticks were being given away in an original case. They were produced in Southeast Asia and were supposed to arrive at the venue by this morning.

“Why haven’t you received it? Have you contacted the production company?”

“I just called and was told the person in charge is not at their desk.”

“When did you find that out?”

“So, earlier…”

“Why didn’t you check by yesterday? The delivery was supposed to have been yesterday, right?”

“Yes, it was delivered yesterday. The cardboard boxes had arrived a few days before, so the staff thought they were novelties. But when they opened them just now, all they found was bubble wrap and trash.”

“Bubble wrap and garbage? What’s that?”

　It is common sense to open and check the contents immediately after receiving the package. However, the staff here are not used to exhibitions. The delivery is done the day before. They cannot rent a venue just to store equipment and novelties, and that is the norm for any event.

“And cranes,” the young man adds.

“What about cranes?”

“The cranes haven’t arrived yet either. They’re origami cranes. I’ll scatter them on the floor.”

“Are those cranes for the venue decoration? What, even cranes…” I began to say, but then I remembered. We had outsourced both the novelty items and the cranes to the same company.

“Anyway… there’s no doubt that it was a mistake on their part. While I make the necessary arrangements, you go ahead and set up the venue.”

“Got it.”

　He nodded, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or cry.

　The exhibition was just around the corner, and a cardboard box full of non-burnable garbage arrived. I’ve been involved in many exhibitions, but I’ve never heard of such a mistake. I immediately contacted New York, but the company’s phone was on voicemail. It was 10 pm in the US. The anti-overtime campaign is bullshit.

　It’s clear that this was a delivery mistake by the supplier, but even if they acknowledged it and re-shipped it, it still wouldn’t be in time for the opening. This mistake brings to light the issue of offshore. For exhibitions in the US, we usually ask a specific supplier to arrange the novelties, but this time we didn’t. The reason is cost. Shipping items from the US would be an unnecessary expense, and producing them in Japan would be unreasonable in terms of labor costs. So we chose Southeast Asia, where both production and labor costs are low. The plan was to create the time-consuming decorations locally, and also outsource the production of the novelties. I was the one who suggested offshore. I thought it was a good idea. (Author’s note: Offshore means outsourcing work to an area where development can be done at low cost. In this case, strictly speaking, it is not the original meaning of offshore, but please understand that this is an interpretation of the widely used meaning.)

　There was a purpose to trying to cut costs despite the risks. I had suggested that we use the money saved to decorate the venue. I don’t recall neglecting to check on this matter. But still… this is a mistake. If someone asks who is responsible, my name will come up. It will turn out that I half-forced the plan through, and that I commissioned a contractor I didn’t know very well. It was an unfortunate accident, but in business, it can’t be dismissed with “it was an unfortunate accident.”

　Anyway, it was obvious that things were going to get busy from now on. I needed to get in touch before that happened. I went to the corner of the lobby and called Paul.

“I can’t spend dinner with you tonight.”

　The first thing I said was, “Huh?” Paul let out a short, surprised sound.

“There was an accident at work, and I was in a situation I couldn’t get out of.”

　Paul is silent, speechless. Not a single sigh comes from the phone.

“It was my mistake…” I started to say, but stopped. It would take too long to explain, and excuses and justifications are not what is needed here.

“I’m truly sorry.”

　When I apologized, Paul simply said, “Okay,” and hung up the phone.

　”I’m sorry.” This is the first “I’m sorry” I’ve said today. I’m sure I’ll be saying the same thing to many people from now on. No excuses or justifications are needed. A samurai just needs to stay silent and fulfill his responsibilities.

　When the company was contacted, it turned out to be just a simple shipping mistake, as expected. They explained that they had mistakenly sent the wrong box for the item and the box containing the garbage. The item was due to arrive the day after tomorrow. The matter was resolved by giving exchange tickets to visitors who had arrived by then, and mailing the novelty items at a later date.

　The problem was the decoration of the venue. The entire floor was covered with origami cranes. Unlike products or exhibits, venue decorations are not essential items. However, the main painting this time was the “Crane Series.” This image was featured prominently in advertisements and direct mail, and the CG image of the venue showed a small crane landing on the floor. Where the cranes had been planned, cloth and pebbles were placed, but it still didn’t look good enough. Of course, it was impossible to “cover the entire floor,” but they had to place something that looked like it.

　I spotted him wearing the same T-shirt and gloves and called out to him.

“Can you arrange for some personnel? Right now.”

“Immediately? Probably… I think it’ll be okay. But it might be difficult for someone who can speak English.”

“You don’t need to be able to speak English. More importantly, it would be better if you were as dexterous as possible… By the way, can you fold a crane?”

“Is it origami? Yes, I think so…”

　There are fewer than 20 hours until the opening. There is no time to hesitate. His art. Sincerity towards it. I will do everything I can here and now. There are fewer than 20 hours until the opening. I will start acting faster than a kamikaze wind.

　It’s been more than 10 hours since I had breakfast. The only things I’ve had since then are a cup of coffee and a stick of gum. Strangely, I’m not hungry. I don’t feel like eating. I’m not sleepy, I’m not hungry, and I just keep working.

　The exhibition hall is silent with the opening just around the corner, and the unlit paintings and interior decorations cast eerie shadows. At the museum at night, where anything could happen, I am performing an extremely complex yet very simple task. It is my first time folding a paper crane, but in the past few hours, I have improved my skills to a surprising degree.

　I thought about going to buy a sandwich, but when I looked at the clock, it was five minutes past eight. By the way, the staff here had said, “After eight o’clock, the entrance will be automatically locked.” If I go outside now, I won’t be able to get back in. What would a samurai do in a situation like this? I’m sure he would choose fasting over a sandwich and coffee.

　My origami skills have improved, but the amount I’ve managed to make is a drop in the bucket compared to the amount of work I’ve put in. I hired someone from a temporary staffing agency to fold cranes in half a day, but it’s still nowhere near the number I had originally imagined.

　The setup is finished and all the staff have left. I had planned to leave at a convenient time, but I still haven’t found a “convenient place” and somehow ended up missing my departure.

　The artist responded calmly to my mistake. “That must have been hard,” he said, and even asked if there was anything I could do to help. There was no way I could ask him to help me with the paper crane, so I simply thanked him for his kindness. I doubt that he, who offered to help me, would expect me to stay and keep folding paper cranes. I wonder what the artist would think if he found out about this. A man who came from America to fold paper cranes. No matter how you look at it, he belongs in the hall of fame of idiots.

　That being said, this incident was not a fatal failure. Accidents happen when they happen. Everyone knows that when working. But today’s timing was just too bad. It’s not good to have uncertainty right from the start, and this contract was finally agreed after persuading the other party to accept it. The writer considered the situation, but the company must have thought about more than just saying, “That must have been difficult.” I think it’s good that the incident occurred after the contract was signed in writing. If the trouble had occurred at an earlier stage, the agency might have offered to “reconsider the contract with your company.”

　Offshore is always a risk, and I knew that, but I still went ahead with it… and I’ll admit it now, it was out of a certain stubbornness.

　When the venue management department first complained that the budget for the project was not in line with the budget, I thought about what expenses could be cut. I looked at the novelty items. The head of the management department looked puzzled and said the following.

“I think it’s a bit odd to give cheap gifts to guests and use the budget to make the interior more flashy.”

　He has been with the company for 20 years. As a veteran in this field, his attitude clearly shows that he doesn’t need the opinions of the juniors in other departments.

“The reason we offer lower prices is for things like shipping costs. It doesn’t mean we offer cheap products to our guests.”

“What manufacturer is this anyway?” Ignoring my answer, he continued his question. “It seems like you’ve never done business with them before?”

“It seems that it is a company with a proven track record locally. From what I heard on the phone, there didn’t seem to be any particular issues.”

“Well, we’ll see. I hope there’s no accident… By the way, you’ve got a nice watch. Is it a Rolex? What is it?”

　This last part was a light, sarcastic remark about “allocating the budget to making the interior more glamorous” (incidentally, the watch he was wearing at the time was not a Rolex, but a Tudor. It would be silly to even bother to correct that).

　I know very well that he has his ideas, but I have the final say on this project. So I did it. I didn’t think there was any problem. But I may indeed have taken a bit of a beating in response to what he said. That didn’t directly lead to the accident, and it’s nonsense to think that my competitive nature is to blame for me folding paper cranes now. But what about the other side of things?　

　This trade show was different. Were my feet lifting off the ground in this contract that everyone in the company knew was a big deal? I was on a business trip with my girlfriend. I can’t say for sure that I wasn’t distracted from my work in this situation. And I was probably also distracted by Paul.

　I remember our conversation last night.

　─── Were you dissatisfied with the entertainment? If so, you should have said so right then and there───

　—How can you say that?! Didn’t you even notice that I wasn’t having fun in the first place?

“It’s work,” I told myself, and unconsciously forced the same on Paul. I took him to a business dinner that he didn’t want to go to, completely unconcerned about how the other person felt.

　Work and a lover. If you chase two rabbits, you catch neither. If you try to do both half-heartedly, it’s only natural that you’ll miss out on both.

　Maybe I should go back to the hotel right now and apologize to Paul. After all, no one told me to keep folding paper cranes here and there by myself. Am I just being stubborn again? To be honest, I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t even know if this is the “zone.”

　What is Paul doing now? Did he go out to dinner with his friends? Roman had said, “If we fight, there’s nowhere to run,” but I’m the only one who has nowhere to run. It’s a country I don’t know, but it’s a city he’s familiar with. How long had he lived there? I’m sure he had a boyfriend…

“People like us are popular in this country.”

“Beware of the danger zones that lovey-dovey couples fall into.”

“Damn it! Shut up! Shut up!”

　Yelling at your brain is not only pointless but also slightly abnormal. Folding paper in an empty room must hurt the psyche of a healthy young person.

　Small cranes lined up on the table. It was hard to believe they were made by someone who had just started folding origami that day. If the company told me I didn’t need to come back because of this scandal, I would make a living in this country as an origami master. As I was thinking about whether there was a job like that, my cell phone rang.

　It was an email. The sender was Paul. I was afraid to look at it. I was already feeling weak, and I wondered if my delicate heart would be able to handle the misfortune of opening an email like that. I opened the message with a prayerful heart.

Subject: Password

Main text: Merry Christmas

　…Huh? What is this?　

　If it wasn’t from Paul, I would have thought it was spam. Maybe he sent a message from an older time by mistake? Even so, it’s too short. Or does it have a deeper meaning? Maybe it’s an elaborate riddle, like “I’m going to kill you” when anagrammed.

　Merry Christmas… Merry Christmas… Merry Christmas two months early… It’s no good. My brain cells aren’t gray. I quickly gave up on solving the mystery and got back to work.

　As I continued to fold the paper cranes absentmindedly, an unfamiliar electronic melody started to play. I looked around and saw the intercom light next to the door flashing. I was the only one here. There was no way I wouldn’t answer.

　When I picked up the phone, the face of a stranger appeared on the small monitor. The man said something in Japanese, but I didn’t understand a word. When I told him in English, the only bright language, that “There is no one here who understands Japanese,” the other person suddenly smiled and said, “Dean?”

　Before I had a chance to wonder if there was a word in Japanese that sounded similar to my name, the stranger greeted me with a “Merry Christmas!”

“Hello Dean, Merry Christmas.”

　No one would be stupid enough to send Christmas greetings at a time like this. Ah, so this is the “password.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of Paul’s, my name is Hiro. We have the same crew.”

　His English is broken but good, with a hint of a New York accent.

“I came to help you. Sorry, I’m late. Can I come in?”

“Can I help you?”

“Folding a Crane”

　…What? I knew he was Paul’s friend because of the password in the email. But I never said “I’m working overtime to fold paper cranes” to Paul. What on earth is this all about?

　As I struggled to respond, he seemed to sense something and added, “I’m not a suspicious person.” “You probably don’t remember, but we met two days ago at my shop. Akio, do you remember?”

　Akio is a friend of Paul’s, the guy who shaved my eyebrow brush.

“I’m a staff member there, too. I was there at the time. Can I come in? The security guard here thinks we’re suspicious.”

　So far, it seems like it would be okay to let them in. I unlocked the door and opened it, and five men who looked to be in their late teens to early twenties came in. The moment I saw what they were wearing, I was shocked and even wondered if my judgment had been wrong.

　Hiro had his hair cut very short, which was still within the realm of normal. But his friends were pretty well behaved. Dreadlocks peeking out from their knitted caps. Big holes in their earlobes. Piercings on the sides of their noses. Tattoos on the backs of their hands… They were all flashy and had good taste, but they didn’t look like the kind of group you’d want to invite over in the middle of the night.

　Hiro points to his chest and introduces himself again.

“I’m Hiro. We’re Paul’s Japanese friends…gay friends, that is. We heard about you from him, and we thought we’d help out, so we came here.”

“Okay, thank you. What about Paul?”

“He said he had a business meeting. Can you understand my English?”

“Oh, no problem.”

“By the way, I’m the only one here who can speak English. If you want to give me instructions, tell me first. So? How can I help you?”

“But first, why did you tell me about the cranes? I don’t remember telling Paul about it.”

“Really? But he knew.”

　It’s strange. Did the power of love develop telepathy? Or did I unconsciously call him and unconsciously convey my complaints to him? Maybe folding cranes for a long time induces sleepwalking? It’s a ridiculous idea, but I can’t say it’s impossible.

“You’re going to fold a crane, right? Is this it?” Hiro looks at the origami paper on the desk. The other members are just standing there bored.

　The one who sent these angels was Paul, not God. I wonder how they knew about my predicament… but there’s the motto “Merry Christmas”, so I don’t think I need to worry too much. Besides, it’s true that I’m in trouble now, and to be honest, I want all the help I can get. My lover is trustworthy. I have no choice but to trust Paul’s judgment.

“Christmas elves have fun making presents.”

　I remembered this passage when I saw how Hiro and his friends worked. They competed to see how many cranes they could fold in 10 minutes, and introduced a factory-like assembly line. When they get to them, even simple work becomes a game. At first glance, they look like delinquents, but they all have very bright and innocent personalities, and at the same time, they also have a very polite side, and I was surprised by the contrast.

　Although I didn’t understand what they were saying, seeing how much fun they were having made me laugh too. It was only when I experienced this peaceful atmosphere that I realised how tense I had been all day.

　Suddenly, the auto-locking door slid open. Ota-san and Yashida-san appeared. It was the duo I had entertained the other day. They stood there with their eyes wide open, just as I had when I first saw them. With Hiro as an interpreter, I explained to them that the venue had not been taken over by a gang, and they quickly understood.

　When I apologized for getting into such a ridiculous situation, Ms. Yashida apologized, saying, “We were presumptuous, too.” She said that she had called Paul about this. I see. This solved the mystery. It was the girls who told Paul about the cranes. So Santa’s messenger was here, too. This is much better than the development of telepathic abilities through love.

　After leaving the office, the two dined at a nearby restaurant, and when they passed by the building afterwards, they noticed that the lights were still on. They decided to stop by to check on the remaining staff.

“They say they’ll help us,” said Hiro, the interpreter.

“Right now? Thank you, but I can’t do that. It’s getting late.”

“Tomorrow is a holiday.”

“Even so…”

“Let’s get some help. Girls are better at origami.”

　Hiro decides to recruit two helpers. The boys quickly get along with the girls and teach each other how to fold cranes. Ota and Yashida don’t seem to mind how friendly they are. They stay up late with the cute boys. They decide not to reveal that they are gay. It would affect the efficiency of the women’s work.

　In the end, we left at four in the morning. We asked the women to go home while the trains were running, but the rest of us ended up staying up all night. As we stepped out onto the dimly lit street, I offered to give them money for a taxi, but Hiro refused. “Friends help each other, don’t they?” he said with a laugh, making a peace sign. A young samurai with a wonderful smile. I began to like him.

　The show must go on. The curtain rises as if nothing had happened. Once it starts, it’s a world of fantasy and creation. Who has worked so hard, and what is missing? I’ll put it in a cardboard box. I don’t even let it be known that I only had two hours of sleep, and I suppress a yawn and stand at the venue. “I’m going to sleep until I die after this!” I think to myself, wandering around the hall, to stay awake.

　In such a situation, my feet naturally turned to the exhibition booth of the “Crane Series”. It was impossible to “fill the floor with origami cranes”, but when lit up, it was beautiful enough to catch the eye. At least I was satisfied. I couldn’t do it any better.

　In the evening, a reception was held at the same venue, inviting those involved. The artist gave a speech from the stage. After expressing his gratitude to all the guests, he asked the guests to take a look at what was underneath the painting. The guests paid attention as instructed. Of course, I did too.

“See those lots of little cranes over there? What you are seeing was made with an enormous amount of effort,” he said, before adding, “I heard about it later,” and he went on to tell the visitors what had happened the previous night.

“To be honest… I wasn’t very enthusiastic about this contract at first. I just couldn’t get comfortable with the proposal to mass-produce paintings. However, this accident has allowed me to understand “what kind of company we are signing a contract with”. The contract I made was not a mistake. I am grateful that we were able to start the exhibition with the thousand paper cranes, which contain the feelings of all our staff. And I am happy that we can continue working with Universal Art Co., Ltd., starting with this.”

　When the speech ended, the hall erupted in applause. With that momentum, I was also brought up onto the stage and shook hands firmly with him. The cameras of the media lit up the picturesque scene. Some might have thought this was a “well-crafted performance.” But I knew that it wasn’t. I could tell by looking into the painter’s eyes. He was sincerely grateful to me and was shaking my hand right then and there.

　It was a scene that could be considered a promise to fulfill a contract. It could be a formality, or it could be taken seriously. He was serious, and so was I. Otherwise, there was no way I could have folded paper cranes until the morning. It was a terrible accident, but his words made it all worthwhile. A blessing in disguise. Turning misfortune into a blessing. All’s well that ends. …But the reason we can say such carefree things is because, in the end, “the result was good.” This is not the same as “something that falls from the sky.” Misfortune is misfortune. Turning it into a blessing depends on our efforts.

　Illuminated by the light, the origami crane highlights its shadows. The contrast with the grand theme of the tableau is as wonderful as I expected. My first image was a small crane. I had only thought of expressing the scene of many cranes falling like snow under the painting. However, as the work progressed, budgets, stubbornness, and other factors became involved, and the purpose of realizing the image became blurred, and before I knew it, it had become “just a mission to be carried out.” Everyone’s initial intention is always wonderful. It remains pure as long as there is no fatigue, convenience, or excuses.

　I wonder when I started to feel like I had an obligation to Paul. I should make time for him because he was my lover. I should buy him flowers. I should have dinner with him. I should show him understanding. I should avoid the zone… I never thought about such things when we first started dating. It was fun being together. I wanted to buy him flowers and go to his favorite restaurants together.

　No matter what you like, if you make it a duty, it becomes difficult. And when something is categorized as “obligatory,” whether it’s a painting or a person, it loses its vitality.

　Paul had been so irritable these past few days, he must have sensed the change in my feelings. I wasn’t looking at him, I was only concerned with how I looked to my girlfriend. To borrow the artist’s words, I, too, have been blessed with the opportunity to learn many things because of this accident. If you ask what the truth is, it is neither bitter nor sweet. Right now, all I feel is that I want to see my beloved girlfriend soon.

　We sit side by side on the hotel bed, and I show Paul the data from my digital camera.

　”It’s so beautiful,” he exclaimed in admiration as he looked at the image. “But it must have been really hard to make all those cranes, right?”

“Thanks to you, I’ve learned a skill. I’m now an authority on origami. And you arranged for a ‘Merry Christmas,’ right?”

“I’m glad you understood the message. I had a meeting, so I didn’t have time to explain it to you properly.”

“It was a great help having them here, in so many ways.”

“Yashida and the others contacted me. Otherwise, I would never have known what was going on, and I probably would have just ended up being mad at you. That would be the worst,” Paul said, shrugging.

　I was able to avoid the worst without even realizing it. The women who saved me from a difficult situation. Hooray for the entertainment. There was a diplomatic effect in an unexpected place.

“I misunderstood them,” Paul said.

“After hearing from them, I reflected on what I had said. I said horrible things like ‘balloon head’. I had a preconceived notion of Japanese girls and was generalising them, so that’s why I said those words. I thought I understood this country just because I’d lived there for a while… but in reality, I didn’t know anything. Like what kind of people these girls were. They were the kind of girls who would call me out of concern, and who would fold paper cranes with me. And about you, too.”

“Me?”

“I said some nasty things about your job, too. I apologize.”

　I didn’t remember what he said. As I looked at him with a confused look on my face, Paul added something to my head.

“Don’t you remember? Your industry is all about appearances.”

“Ah,” I see.

“I should have known that sticking to one’s appearance is also a form of sincerity because I work in the service industry. But I’m no good at those kinds of situations. When I get angry, I can’t choose my words carefully. I always end up feeling embarrassed afterwards.”

　Now that you mention it, it’s true that he does have those qualities. I always thought of him as a calm man who made wise decisions…

“I thought I understood you, but I got angry about it. Without even asking why, I just said, ‘You broke your promise again!’ I didn’t know what was going on, and I didn’t ask how the other person felt. I just assumed everything was okay, making you the bad guy and me the victim. In reality, I hadn’t even seen you.”

　The same thing happened to me. I wonder if Paul had realized the same thing I had realized, but in a different place.

“I got angry or sad over the smallest things you did… I’ve had a lot of emotional swings these past few weeks. I completely lost sight of what it meant to be myself. I was just reacting to your actions, not doing anything myself. Even though I didn’t, I was angry at the way you did things. I didn’t realize that all I was doing was sitting there complaining.”

　His words were clear and easy to understand, and I wondered how much Paul had suffered to get to this point.

“I had become a complete fool. And the reason was… I was scared.”

“What were you scared of?” I closed the distance between us and gently placed my hand on his.

“You are distancing yourself from me. I pretended to be an understanding person. I didn’t want you to think I was annoying and in the way.”

“No way. I would never do something like that…”

“Whether you thought that or not is irrelevant in this case,” Paul said. “Whether you thought that or not, I had that fear. As a result, I became a character that people thought was ‘annoying and in the way.’ Like a child who always needed you,” he said, laughing as if he was ‘amazed.’

　If you can laugh at your stupidity, it means it’s already in the past. Paul saw his stupidity, forgave himself, and forgave me at the same time. The proof of that is the way he sent a group of eccentric angels to me. The proof of that is the way he chose “Merry Christmas” as his watchword.

　That was last Christmas. A message was sent to me along with the words “I forgive you.” Our relationship started from there and has continued to this day. Merry Christmas is not just a greeting. It is a keyword that holds a special meaning and is memorable to me.

“Hey Paul, how do you say ‘Merry Christmas’ in Japanese?”

“Merry Christmas”

“Really?”

“Because Christmas is a European holiday.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What are you going to do by asking that?”

“No, I was just trying to improve my Japanese vocabulary.”

“What other Japanese words do you know?”

“I learned the word ‘domo’. Everyone says it.”

“That’s a pretty almighty phrase. Anything else?”

“Cool.”

　When I said that, Paul laughed.

“I can make an example sentence. Paul, you’re cool.”

“Dean, you’re cute.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry, correction, you’re cool too.”

　Paul chuckles, his eyes bulging. We’re finally back together. We collapse onto the bed laughing and kissing.

　Calling Earth Control. Paul and I have safely escaped the Zone. We made it through the difficulties. We should all congratulate the brave crew who entered the unknown. With more understanding and a new language, Japan is no longer a strange planet, but a place with lovely people. The temperature inside is rising, and we can’t keep butter or chocolate around. I’m nowhere near a samurai, but I love this place.