"It's so hard to spot him on campus."
"Yeah, does he even attend?"
"He does! I saw him once near the gates."
"Oh, and at the club! I couldn't believe it."
"He's so beautiful."
Akira overheard the conversation as he stuffed his notes into his bag.
"The girls are all over that Matsumoto guy." His friend, Inaba, rolled his eyes. "Thought the excitement would be gone."
Segihara commiserated, "Get used to it. Fukuda said that he's like the hottest thing right now."
Inaba snorted at the one of their female friend's assessment. "Just another model."
"Accept it, man. We'll never be able to compete."
"Whatever."
Akira's mind went back to that strange night. Matsumoto Takumi WAS beautiful. More so in person than on a screen.
He didn't noticed then. He was too busy trying to convince the man that he was not the devil incarnate.
Akira wouldn't have remembered the details of that striking face so much if not for Matsumoto's expression.
Pure fear. Eyes misting with desperation. Even after he had passed out, he wouldn't stop thrashing. Then there were the choked gasps which came and went throughout the night…
Terror. As if he was trapped in a nightmare loop.
He knew that expression. He went through it many years ago. The nightmares still visited occasionally but never as violent.
Was Matsumoto still plagued by them or was it simply a one-off after an awful night?
Akira reined in his thoughts. None of his business.
"So, the usual place tonight?" Inaba asked. They were planning to go to a cheap izakaya for supper after their respective part time jobs.
"Yeah."
"Yup."
They were near the entrance gates when his phone rang. Akira frowned when the caller's name flashed and picked it up warily.
"Hello?"
"Done with your class?" Matsumoto asked.
"Yes."
"Great. Let's get coffee." A statement. Not a request. He was likely used to being obeyed.
"No, thanks," Akira declined.
Matsumoto continued as if he didn't hear the response, "I'm driving. Silver Porsche. Left corner near the entrance."
The words were orders. Akira should have been annoyed. However, the tone was…not quite. He couldn't place it.
He found himself agreeing and hung up.
His friends waved goodbye with another reminder to turn up before they parted ways. Akira walked down the road and took a left turn into a relatively quiet street.
There it was. Silver Porsche. Tinted windows so that one couldn't see the inside. He went over to the passenger side and the door unlocked for him to climb in.
"Hello!" Matsumoto greeted him with a smile. Friendly but again tinged with something else.
"Hello," Akira returned and went straight for it. "Why the sudden invitation?"
The model didn't seem perturbed by his directness. "Just wanted to get to know you. Is that allowed?"
Akira was surprised. Allowed? An unusual way of putting things, considering the majority of their university cohort or the nation wouldn't mind getting to know Matsumoto.
"We'll go somewhere quiet. Avoid the press and all. I know a place," Matsumoto said hurriedly.
There it was. Akira saw it in the hands which gripped the steering wheels. Eyes which glanced at him but avoided contact.
Nervousness. Matsumoto was nervous.
Akira forced himself to relax and softened his tone.
"Let's go. Nice car." He buckled up.
Matsumoto's turn to look surprised. He withdrew it quickly into another mesmerizing smile and started the engine.
A few streets and turns later, Akira asked him to pull over somewhere discreet.
"Why?" Matsumoto demanded.
"I'll drive. You suck," Akira informed him.
A pause and then a laughter. "Suit yourself."
xxxxxxxx
They ended up at in a basement bar tucked in the back alley of a fashionable street.
A middle-aged man let Matsumoto in.
"A table, sir?"
"Yes, please."
It was a posh looking place. A counter made of fine wood. The shelves lined with bottles of what Akira assumed to be expensive liquor. A few tables surrounded by plush chairs. Dimly lit, which contrasted the daylight outside.
Deserted except for a couple of older women in one corner, who took a glance at them and went back to their quiet chatter.
A far cry from the student haunts.
Akira sank into a chair opposite Matsumoto.
"What would you like?" the man asked them.
"Espresso," Matsumoto answered and then turned to Akira. "They have great pastries. Want one?"
"No, thanks. An espresso too."
"Just coffee," Matsumoto said.
"Of course, sir."
Once the man left the table, Matsumoto explained, "It's a popular bar at night but during the day, the owner opens it for some customers. She's a retired hostess."
Discretion in her blood was left unsaid.
"Interesting." Akira was completely out of place in his old jeans and sweater. But there was no point feeling uncomfortable.
"Useful," Matsumoto remarked. "By the way, you really knew how to handle the Porsche."
"Had a part time job. Parking valet at a hotel," Akira said.
"Had?" Matsumoto queried. "What do you do now?"
"Tutor at cram school."
"I didn't think high school kids need to learn law?"
"English."
"I see. Never went to high school myself. My tutors made sure that I passed the entrance exams though. And here I am." A pause and a rueful smile. "It's good for my image."
"What are you enrolled in?" Akira was genuinely curious.
"Art history. At least it's something I enjoy. You?"
"Law," Akira replied.
"You want to serve justice and save the world?" Matsumoto arched an eyebrow.
"I wanted a scholarship which covers tuition fees and some expenses," Akira countered.
Surprise flickered across Matsumoto's face followed by a soft laughter. "You're very honest."
Before Akira could respond, the espressos arrived.
The rest of the conversation flowed in random directions. Akira found that Matsumoto gave away little about himself. He also knew that Matsumoto was trying to glean more information about him.
There was nothing to hide. He only had two skeletons in the closet so Akira answered the rest easily.
When did he move to the city? Only when he began at the university.
When would he graduate? The following year for his undergraduate degree.
Plans after? The postgraduate degree beckoned although he was considering taking the preliminary exam to the bar.
Did he miss his hometown? Only his grandmother who raised him. His parents were deceased. Matsumoto wisely did not push for more.
Was he an only child? Yes, he was.
"Must be nice. Siblings are such a chore," Matsumoto drolled.
Akira shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
Those eyes studied him and said suddenly, "You don't seem to find my questions intrusive."
"You've not asked anything offensive."
"Don't you have anything to ask me?"
He supposed that he did but the questions were superfluous. Akira finished the coffee and told Matsumoto the truth, "It's a bit difficult. I don't think we have anything in common."
A pause and Matsumoto broke into a smile which was, by all accounts, dazzling. "How would you know? Try."
Akira noted the challenge and didn't back down. "What's your favorite painting?"
Genuine astonishment stared at him. Matsumoto sank back in the chair and had a thoughtful look.
"You know what. No one has ever asked me that in all of my interviews."
"It's an obvious question. You are majoring in art history," Akira deduced.
Matsumoto tilted his head and said slowly, "I don't know."
The question, so logical to Akira, had somehow disturbed Matsumoto. He didn't enjoy making anyone uncomfortable.
"Perhaps you've not come across it," he suggested.
Matsumoto shook his head. "I've just never thought about it. I guess I will now. Let you know?"
"I know nothing about art," Akira admitted.
"I'll send you a photo," Matsumoto promised solemnly. As if he was caught by his own somber voice, he checked his watch and announced, "I need to be somewhere. Can I drop you off?"
Akira pretended not to notice the abruptness. "I'll just catch the train."
Matsumoto was going to say something before closing his mouth in a wince. "Ah, I forgot. I should pay you back for the cab fare that night. Sorry. How much was it?"
"It's fine," Akira said firmly. He didn't help the other man out of an obligation and his flat was not too far from the dingy club anyway.
Matsumoto began to protest but decided against it. "Then let me give you a ride."
Akira sensed that something had changed towards the end of their conversation. The lightness and easy words sunk. Somehow, this was not just about paintings and cab rides. Without reason, he knew that this was important and that he should take note.
He nodded.