boy of the shrubs

Thursdays might be Bar Akane's special day for jaded businessmen and almost-divorced dads, but Fridays were completely different. Once the weekend hit, the bars of Shibuya attracted the kooks and weirdos of Tokyo's finest. 6:00 PM and hungry students gathered for two-for-one sake bombs. The weekend regulars stayed for every niche indie band that came to perform. Tonight, the stage welcomed Shin Rizumu. Small kid. Big glasses. Soft and sweet lyrics. Enchanting voice.

Guests gathered around the stage as Rizumu's songs hypnotized his audience. In the corner, two guys had their arms wrapped around each other's bodies. The gentle fog, neon violet lights, and swarm of people ensconced their affection for one another. They were all too entranced by the music to notice, but even then, how could anyone judge those who craved nothing but joy?

Yamaguchi, the recently-hired bartender, studied our liquor racks with a certain frenzy in his eyes. I liked him. Innocent college first-year. Fresh to the bar scene.

"Whatcha trying to find, new kid?"

"Stressful delivery. Lots of food. Fancy drinks. Have to prepare them there. Uhh," he stuttered. "Apparently this is for an important event. I don't know why they chose the new guy, but here I am. Ohhh god..."

"Let me see the order." I took the invoice from his hand. "70,000 yen!? Who the fuck would-"

Customer Name: Tōru Oikawa

Vesper Martini (6)

Elderflower Daiquiri (7)

Pisco Sour (8)

Sake Bomb Sampler (6)

Tempura Board (3)

No, it couldn't be.

Nine million people live in Tokyo. Plenty of wealthy people shared his name. It could be anyone. I passed the order back to Yamaguchi and stuffed his basket with the correct liquors. For good measure, I wrote down the recipes for each drink and a good luck note to slide in there as well. Poor kid, that Yamaguchi, and if that customer was really 'my' Oikawa... I wished him extra luck.

I watched Yamaguchi hop in the car and wondered where the delivery would take him. Where could Oikawa be? I bet he lived in Minato City with the fancy foreigners and international CEOs. The thought made me despise him. Just a tiny bit.

Yamaguchi returned as I finished my late-night cleaning shift. The only people remaining were the sport enthusiasts who lingered in the back room. Glassy-eyed fans hovered around our vintage television set just to watch game recaps with a touch of 1970s nostalgia.

"Hey! It's past midnight!" I shouted. "We're closing up now. Time to leave, everyone!"

As per usual, they ignored my request. I dreamt of getting in bed.

I entered the room, ready to shoo away the remaining bar rats, but then I saw what these people were all bewitched by. The timing was obnoxiously perfect: a shot of Oikawa winking directly at the camera. It was a special interview episode on J Sports, featuring the one and only setter that all of Japan grew to adore. Of course, the women in the room gushed over every sentence that slipped out of his mouth.

Reporter: You have officially retired from Volleyball, Oikawa. Was it a hard decision?

Oikawa: Definitely. One-Hundred Percent. You see, life is filled with many hard choices, but this one was especially difficult. As much as I love the sport, the pain has been hard to manage, and it's something I have to let go before it takes over me.

Reporter: You are a strong man, and you'll be loved by many of us here in Japan.

Oikawa: I truly hope so. The fans have been my greatest support system, and I know I can always count on them! I'm grateful for all of you, and I promise that Japan will see new and exciting things in this next chapter in life... Keep your eye out for this season's Nike campaign!

[Oikawa winked at the camera. Again. Everyone went 'ohhhh'. Give me a break.]

*Commercial Sequence*

Reporter: Next, Oikawa will discuss his childhood upbringing and what led him to success!

As his fans bubbled with endearment and lust, I furrowed my eyebrows with scrutiny. People acted as if they knew the guy, but they didn't know what it was like to drive Oikawa to his physical therapy appointments, to comfort him whenever the pain got too bad for any athlete to handle. Patellar Tendonitis, also known as Jumper's Knee, had always been Oikawa's biggest obstruction. After being with him at every doctor's appointment, I could tell you everything about it. I knew too much about his pain and the sadness that streamed from his chronic injury.

Watching these interviews and TV specials felt silly.

I turned the TV off. They all booed at me.

"Sorry. Time to go home. We're closing up."

As we all exited the bar, I eavesdropped on the conversations around me.

"Oikawa is so dreamy. I would like him so much more as a model! He can even be in the next drama we watch!"

"Okay, yeah, the dude is hot and what not, but he's an iconic player, and-"

"I wonder what Oikawa will do next! Maybe, he'll leave and become a-"

"Oh! Look! The Nike billboard! He is so handsome!"

More squealing from heart-struck teenage girls.

It seemed like all of Japan was talking about Oikawa Tōru. For the past few days, it was Oikawa this, Oikawa that, Oikawa, Oikawa. Endless, endless Oikawa.

The Oikawa chatter continued on-and-on until I reached my apartment building. For the first time, I noticed how scrappy and rundown it appeared next to the 'new & improved', gentrified towers — made for the business expats and newcomers with daddy's money. Shibuya was constantly changing, but my lowly apartment building exuded old city modesty. I cherished every part of it.

I loved the shabbiness. It made my home real and alive, nothing like the cold establishments of these real estate tycoons. I hated the rich. Perhaps, that was why I despised every billboard and magazine that featured Oikawa's face. The way they painted his image as a profit-making tool. Everything about it disgusted me.

When I found myself staring at an 'Oikawa advertisement', the more I forgot who he really was to me. I'd already forgotten so much of him. Who were we at seventeen?

I dug into my backpack, rummaging around for my keys. The only downside to an old apartment was having to keep those rusty keys. My biggest downfall? Misplacing things... and insulting people by accident, but hey, everything in life is a work in progress, right?

The fancy apartments across the street installed fancy biometric door locks. I watched the well-dressed men press their thumbs against the keypads. It was like I could hear the Beep, Boop. Welcome, wealthy gentrifier. Welcome home.

Where the fuck are my keys!?

Then, I heard someone. A groan: "Haah... Uugh.. Aaah..."

Now, a crazy man hiding in the bush!? I searched harder for those keys. Still nothing.

"AaarGGUhhhh." The voice grew louder. Then, it stopped.

I felt bad for the poor man. Maybe, this was the time to exercise my good conscience and strip away some past guilts. I should check on him, make sure he wasn't dead.

Time to be a good person, Iwaizumi. Time to use your male privilege for something.

I slowly tugged the man out of the shrub. By his legs. It was a disaster from the start. The rest of his body was stuck in the twigs and branches. Yep, there was also vomit. Disgusting.

I almost got him out, but the man was face-down and clenching onto the crown of the plant. Stupid, Stupid. He is so stupid. I am so stupid for doing this.

As I yanked him out, he released the branches, and we both tumbled onto the lawn. The man was beyond drunk, unconscious and passed out. The man was... no... couldn't be.

Oikawa?

He smelled like ejected rum, so I covered my nose. He didn't have the picture-perfect, plastic smile that etched my mind with every commercial and ad, but I was 85% sure that this was Oikawa, alright. Just... a disaster version of Japan's poster boy.

Now what, Iwaizumi? The inner-demon on my right shoulder whispered into my ear.

What did you get yourself into, dumb child? The angel on the left replied.

What did I get myself into?