The Five Senses: Sound (2/6)

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Sound

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Jin, on the first day that they’re home together, helps him reset his cell phone so that everyone who calls him regularly has a different ring.

 

It’s hard, but they play association games to pick the rings, and Yamapi, thanks to Jin’s terrible jokes and seemingly infinite patience, manages to memorize most of the rings in one afternoon.

 

Ryo’s ring is set to a light tinkling melody called ‘Fairie Dust,’ which makes Jin snort as he programs it into the phone. “Because he’s so short?” Jin asks, when Yamapi says “That one, definitely,” with unmovable certainty.

 

“No,” Yamapi says, “Just because it will make him angry.” And Jin chuckles and the phone beeps as it saves the change.

 

“What ring do you want for me?” Jin asks, and his hands fiddle with the keys.

 

“Just the regular ring will be fine,” Yamapi answers. Jin’s hands stop tapping on the phone.

 

“Really? You can’t think of any song you would associate with me?” Jin says. He sounds a little hurt.

 

“Of course I can,” Yamapi says a little indignantly. “But why would you need to call me very often? You’re going to be right here.” His hand stretches across the table, feeling for Jin’s wrist. He can’t find any trace of Jin, then Jin lays his own hand in Yamapi’s and their palms are warm against each other. “Right?”

 

“Yeah,” Jin says, and Yamapi can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m going to be right here.”

 

Still, one day, when Jin calls him, after he’s gone to the vegetable market to pick up a few things and forgets what Yamapi had said he wanted, Yamapi realizes Jin has set himself a ring tone anyway.

 

It’s Jin’s voice, softly singing into the cell phone mic. The song is in English, but the song doesn’t matter, because Jin is singing softly and it’s wonderful, to hear Jin like that.

 

“You set yourself a ringtone,” Yamapi says, almost accusing when he answers, and Jin’s laughing softly.

 

“That’s so if I ever leave for anything, I can call you and you can pretend I’m singing annoyingly in the shower,” Jin responds. He sounds smug, like he knows that Yamapi loves to listen to him sing, even if it’s seven in the morning and Yamapi doesn’t have work until ten or eleven.

 

Maybe he does know that Yamapi thinks of his voice as an anchor. Maybe that’s why Jin is always singing for him.

 

***

 

Outside of Jin and Yamapi’s apartment, right next to Yamapi’s bedroom window, there is a robin or something. When Yamapi could see, he’d never really noticed, but now all he can think about when he lies in bed in the morning is the sound of that robin, who sounds lonely and sad, but maybe Yamapi is projecting.

 

He’s talking to his sister Rina on the phone, and he mentions the robin and mimics his call, the melancholy trilling. Yamapi can hear her become more excited. “Tomohisa,” she says, “I don’t think that’s a robin at all. That kind of sound is usually made by a Reed Bunting.”

 

“A what?” Yamapi asks, and Rina giggles.

 

“I only know because I studied them in history class. They’re a rare Asian song bird.”

 

“Okay,” Yamapi says, dragging out the word as if he is wondering about it’s significance.

 

“How interesting,” Rina says, and her tone is amused now. “How interesting that one of the rarest birds in Asia would live outside your window.”

 

“Well, it has to live somewhere, right?” Yamapi replies, and he doesn’t get what the big deal is about this bird.

 

“Yeah the swamp,” Rina answers, and Yamapi feels his eyebrows rise. Rina’s voice sounds a little sad now, more gentle than usual. “Their habitat has mostly been destroyed though, by industrialism and stuff.”

 

“Why do you know so much about a bird?” Yamapi says, and Rina huffs. “What’s it matter what kind of sad bird lives outside my apartment?”

 

“It’s just that the Japanese Reed Bunting has limited sight. It navigates by sound. Like you, these days.”

 

Yamapi smiles wryly. Of course the bird sounds sad. Like Yamapi, he’s living in the dark, too.

 

The next morning though, when Yamapi hears the Reed Bunting’s usual morning calls, they sound a little hopeful, like he’s still reaching out to the world.

 

 

***

 

The first time Yamapi hears Jin sing, it is not at a performance, or an audition, or at some rehearsal.

 

The first time Yamapi hears Jin sing, Yamapi is hiding on the roof.

 

It’s not that Yamapi isn’t popular with the other boys, or that he has no one to eat lunch with. But sometimes Yamapi relishes the quiet. At home, there is always shouting. Rina is always crying loudly, and his mother is always softly sobbing, and Yamapi thinks his father’s stony silence, face serious and arms crossed, is the loudest of all. But on the roof there is only the bustle of Tokyo, the faint sounds of people living their lives hundreds of meters below him. The faint sounds of traffic and industry. It’s a comforting white noise that Yamapi finds much more soothing than actual silence, which scares him a little because it makes him feel like he’s completely alone in the world.

 

Yamapi is eating a curry bun that he bought on his way to practice that morning from the convenience store, and it’s pretty good. The bread is soft, but the crust makes a slight crunching sound when he bites into it.

 

That’s when he hears it. The faint hum from the other side of the roof. He leans over and the voice rises in volume and it’s mellifluous, crystal clear and charming. It’s a good voice, and Yamapi can already tell it’s going to be a great one.

 

He clears his throat, and the singer turns sharply, with almond shaped eyes scanning the roof rapidly before landing on Yamapi. The boy settles when he sees it’s another boy, and his mouth drops into a crooked grin. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was up here.” The boy’s voice is squeaky and high, not like his singing voice, which is controlled and silky.

 

“I like it up here,” Yamapi says, not sure if he’s being asked a question.

 

“Doesn’t your mom pack you a lunch?” The boy asks curiously, and pokes his finger at Yamapi’s bread inquisitively.

 

Yamapi scowls. “She doesn’t have time, she has work.”

 

“Well, don’t you have any friends to eat lunch with?” The boy looks at him anxiously, as if he’s worried Yamapi is going to say no.

 

“Of course I do.” Yamapi defends, before he lies back on the concrete. “I just like the quiet, sometimes.”

 

Suddenly the boy is leaning over him, his face too close to Yamapi’s own. “I’m Jin,” the boy says, and smiles, and he’s got a really wide smile, intoxicating and catching, because Yamapi finds himself smiling back.

 

“I’m Yamashita,” Yamapi says, and Jin’s face lights up with recognition.

 

“Ah, Yamapi-sempai!” he croaks, his voice cracking on the honorific. “Yamapi is okay right? I’m really bad at manners.”

 

And then Jin is singing again, at the top of his lungs, songs about nothing and everything and Yamapi just listens.

 

“Sometimes I like to sing by myself, just for myself,” Jin says. “All day I sing what other people want me to sing, and sometimes I just want to sing for myself.” He looks over at Yamapi considering. “But it’s okay if you’re here,” Jin adds, after a moment of thought. “You’re listening to my song.”

 

Yamapi nods, and when Jin looks at his cell phone and realizes he has to go, Yamapi feels an aching loss that’s unexpected. He’s left alone on the roof as the boy, Jin, who’s really more like an overgrown puppy than a teenager, scrambles down the ladder and into the building. Suddenly, the roof seems too quiet, and Yamapi can’t hear any of the hustling street below, only the faint echo of Jin’s voice in the wind.

 

The next day, Yamapi is sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees near the edge of the roof. He feels lonelier on the roof than he ever has up here before. And then Jin is unfolding onto the ground next to him, large bag in hand and full of noise and vigor and immediately, the roof feels like home again.

 

“I had my mom pack two lunches,” Jin says to Yamapi. “You should come over for dinner some nights. My mom is an amazing cook.”

 

Yamapi is halfway through a tempura fried shrimp when Jin starts to sing.

 

It sounds in his ears, and makes his chest feel warm, like he’s found something.

 

“We’re going to be best friends, Yamapi,” Jin says to him as they pack up the bento boxes and place them back in the bag. “Just you wait and see!”

 

Yamapi hears those words, and writes them on his heart.

 

***

 

Yamapi’s meeting with Johnny is tense, because Johnny is agitated. “Yamashita, six months is a long time.”

 

Yamapi can’t see Johnny’s face, but it doesn’t matter, because Johnny doesn’t make any real facial expressions except for mildly irritated and majorly irritated, so he’s probably not missing much.

 

“Yes, sir, I know sir,” Yamapi says, instead of the obvious “Jin went on a six month VACATION and you didn’t say anything, and now I’m causing you problems because I’m temporarily blind?!”

 

Johnny clears his throat. “Still, it’s not a scandal, and for that I guess we can ALL be thankful.” He’s pacing now, and Yamapi can hear his heavy footsteps on the floor in front of him, making the wooden boards creak and groan with Johnny’s wrath. “So NewS is on hiatus until your return,” Johnny concludes. “And I’ll see you in February.”

 

“Yes sir,” Yamapi stands, and reaches for his cane. He taps anxiously around him, until he remembers, with startling clarity, an image in his mind of the layout of this office, which he’s been in many times since he was a child. He confidently walks towards the door, managing to use muscle memory to grab the door knob and twist.

 

Jin is waiting for him outside, grabbing his elbow as soon as the door closes behind him. “Let me lead,” Jin says quietly, and Yamapi gratefully sinks into Jin’s side, lifting his cane (which he still can’t use properly) and relying on Jin to take him where he needs to go.

 

Jin guides him all the way out of the building, to his car. Yamapi doesn’t need to be able to see to feel the stares of the Juniors heavy on his back, and he swallows grimly. Jin squeezes his elbow, and Yamapi listens to his soft sigh. “Don’t worry. It’s just, it was on the news, so everyone knows.”

 

“I got six months.” Yamapi bites his lip. He’s never had a vacation, a hiatus, a stop in his life, not since he’d just been starting. And even then, as a Junior, he’d been popular, and six months of nothing seems vast before him.

 

Jin’s responding laugh is dry and humorless. It sounds like chipping paint, or maybe like water boiling over in a pot and dripping onto the eye, sizzling into nothing. Yamapi has a collection of sounds now, and he can relate all of them to Jin at some point or another.

 

“What?” Yamapi asks, and Jin’s nails dig a little into his skin.

 

“Six months hiatus is Johnny’s way of saying he doesn’t know if you’re ever coming back. Trust me, I know.” Jin’s voice is harsh, and now is sounds like leaves crunching underfoot. But then Jin breathes in quickly, and his grip on Yamapi’ elbow relaxes again to the gentle touch Yamapi has gotten used to. “But it also means he really wants you to come back, too, so don’t worry.”

 

Yamapi doesn’t know what to do with himself, outside of work. He wonders if Jin has ever felt like this—like he’s standing in front of a deep cavern, and he can’t go backwards. Like all he can do is dive in and hope there’s water at the bottom, or something to break his fall.

 

He hears the metal click of the seatbelt as Jin straps him in. “Well, Tomohisa-chan, all ready for soccer practice?” Jin says teasingly, in a mommy voice, and Yamapi scowls in the general direction of the sound.

 

“Shut up,” Yamapi retorts, and they bicker playfully all the way home, while Jin makes light of the fact that he has to help Yamapi do everything.

 

Yamapi likes that about Jin. Jin doesn’t make him feel like an invalid, even as he helps put toothpaste on Yamapi’s toothbrush or chooses clothes for Yamapi to wear and leaves them on the bed. Even as he guides him with a soft grip to the elevator, or to the bathroom, or anywhere because Yamapi can’t find it by himself anymore. Still, Jin doesn’t treat him like he’s useless. Jin doesn’t walk on eggshells, afraid to make Yamapi sad, and Jin doesn’t hesitate to tease him just like he used to.

 

When they get home, Yamapi realizes that the sound of Jin’s tinkling giggles and Jin’s steady banter have successfully distracted him from his worries all the way home.

 

The front door creaks as Jin fumbles with the key in the lock, swinging open. “We’re home,” Jin says, and they’re sweet words, Yamapi thinks. He leaves Johnny and six month hiatuses outside the door, for now, and follows Jin inside.

 

 
 

***

 

“I think you should get a seeing-eye dog,” Jin says. “You can name him Miles, like the American measure of distance, and then you can go places without me.”

 

Fear grips Yamapi’s heart. “Why would I go somewhere without you?” Yamapi asks, his voice slightly panicked. “I don’t know where anything is, and I can’t see anything, and I’d get lost, and…”

 

“That’s what the dog is for,” Jin says. “They learn really quickly, and then you can go places and not be trapped in the house just because I have to go in to the studio or go do work stuff.”

 

Yamapi crosses his arms over himself in discomfort, hugging himself as if he can ward off the very idea that of course Jin has to go back to work, and of course he’s going to have to do things alone because he can’t just sit around the apartment for 6 months, or however long it takes his vision to come back.

 

“I’m not going to get a dog,” he says petulantly, knowing he’s being ridiculous just expecting Jin to be here all the time, but unable to stop himself for wishing for it anyway.

 

“Okay,” Jin says, and then he stands from his chair and Yamapi can hear his bare feet on the linoleum of their kitchen tile. He runs his fingers through Yamapi’s hair, and pulls his head up against his stomach. Yamapi can hear the beat of Jin’s heart, even pressed against the smooth line of his belly. “It was just a suggestion. I’m not trying to push you away, okay?”

 

Yamapi frowns, leaning into Jin’s touch. “Okay,” he answers.

 

“I just worry about you, when I’m not here. What if you have to get out of the apartment? What if there’s an emergency?” Jin’s voice is small and tiny, and that’s how Yamapi knows he’s really worried, because Jin is never quiet. Jin is loud actions and static noise; even when he’s sleeping he’s causing a ruckus.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Yamapi says, and maybe knows he’s already lost to that soft plea.

 

***

 

Jin takes him for a drive, because Yamapi feels claustrophobic inside the house.

 

The leather is cool against his back, and the wind is howling so Jin puts up the top of the car.

 

Jin loves to drive, more than he likes doing most things. Jin is humming as he climbs into the driver’s seat, and Yamapi can hear his hand slide around the gearshift. He hears Jin’s foot tap anxiously on the brake as he shifts the car from park into drive.

 

“Are you ready,” Jin says, and his voice lilts. Yamapi thinks Jin sounds like the ocean crashing on the shore, eager and heady, eroding Yamapi’s melancholy fog with it’s relentless tide.

 

“Yeah,” Yamapi says, and Jin starts to drive. Yamapi doesn’t know where they’re going, but it feels nice to go somewhere, anywhere, outside the walls of their apartment.

 

Suddenly, a light patter starts to beat on the glass of the windows, and Jin chuckles. “It’s raining.”

 

“Duh,” Yamapi says, and laughs when Jin leans over and punches him in the arm lightly.

 

Yamapi loves the sound of rain, soothing and refreshing, washing the world clean.

 

“It’s a shame we’re in the car,” Jin says, and then he rolls down the windows.

 

The rain hits Yamapi in the face, and it’s cold and it stings. The wind is still roaring outside, and all Yamapi can hear is the rattling of it through the trees, and the rustling of leaves as they are stripped from the swaying branches. “Jin, are you stupid? Everything will get wet, Bakanishi!”

 

Jin drives faster, and now Yamapi is soaked on his right side, the water dripping from his hair. He imagines Jin looks the same. “Relax, it’s just rain,” Jin says, and then Yamapi shakes, like a dog, shedding droplets of water all over the car. Jin pulls over, and opens his door. He climbs out and stands in the downpour, and the rain sounds different when it hits Jin’s skin; softer, more loving.

 

Yamapi sighs and climbs out too. Instantly his clothes are plastered to his skin, and he hears the wet, squelching sound as he walks over to Jin’s side of the car.

 

Jin is singing something wordless, just a melody, and he’s singing it into the sky. Yamapi thinks his head must be tilted up, because Jin sounds a little like water is in his mouth, too. But his voice is clear and beautiful, like a bell ringing through the screaming wind and the deluge. “Jin, what are you doing?” Yamapi says waspishly, even as the notes of Jin’s dulcet voice weave around him and lift him up so that he almost forgets the rain. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

 

“Didn’t you feel trapped?” Jin asks, his voice barely discernible. “There’s no way to be trapped now, we’re in the middle of nature.”

 

“Did you drive us out into the middle of a forest in the middle of a monsoon?” Yamapi asks, loud enough that he hopes Jin can hear him. “Are you crazy? What are you doing?”

 

“I’m singing in the rain,” Jin shouts, and then he laughs, and suddenly Jin’s laughter is the only thing Yamapi can hear in the whole wide world.

 

Theoretically, if a tree falls in the middle of the forest, Yamapi will not hear it at all, because Jin is singing and laughing and dancing, and Yamapi can’t see him, but he records every precious sound to his memory.

click me

 

***

 

Yamapi hears a click, and a whir.

 

“What was that?” he asks, panicked.

 

“Nothing,” Jin says. “Just testing my new camera.”

 

“Why is it so loud? Was it made in the 90s?” Yamapi grouches,  and Jin laughs.

 

“Something like that,” he says, and then it whirs again.

 

***

 

Yamapi wakes up unbelievably thirsty in the middle of the night. He scrambles for the light, before he remembers that the darkness surrounding him won’t disappear at the flip of a switch, and he stills. But his throat is still dry, so he crawls out of bed and feels his way to the door. He stubs his toe on his bedside table, and swears, but he makes it to the doorway. He opens his bedroom door, and takes a deep breath. He quietly tiptoes out of his bedroom, not wanting to wake Jin.

 

But then he hears Jin’s voice.

 

“I don’t think I can take on a project like that right now,” Jin is saying at low volume, and Yamapi halts in his tracks, just listening. Jin’s voice is tight, and he sounds stress. “Four weeks is a long time, and I need to be here.”

 

The voice on the other end of the line is agitated, and loud, and Yamapi can hear Jin’s fingers digging into the leather of their sofa. He’s on the land line, which means it’s a long distance call.

 

“I know, okay, I know it’s a big opportunity, but some things are more important than my career,” Jin hisses, and Yamapi’s heart stops. “I know what I’m passing up, okay? Don’t keep rubbing my face in it.”

 

Jin sighs as the voice keeps ranting at him. Yamapi can’t make out the words, only the aggressive tone of what Yamapi assumes is Jin’s manager.

 

“I wish I could say this decision is harder than it is, but it’s not. I’ll always choose him. Always.” Jin’s voice has a note of finality. “It’s four in the morning, here, okay? So I’m going to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

 

Jin slams the phone down on the receiver. Yamapi can hear the crashing of the two plastics against each other. He can also hear Jin sinking back into the sofa, hear the brush of Jin’s hair against the leather, and the rattling of air deep in Jin’s chest as he inhales.

 

Yamapi clears his throat. “Jin, are you awake?”

 

“Pi!” Jin says, and there’s a note of false cheer in his voice that makes Yamapi’s gut clench. “How long have you been up?” There’s an edge to his voice, too, like he’s really asking how much Yamapi heard.

 

“I just got up,” Yamapi says, licking his lips. “I’m really thirsty.”

 

“Oh!” Jin leaps up and retreats to the kitchen, returning moments later and pressing a cold glass into Yamapi’s hands.

 

“Why are you awake?” Yamapi questions, and Jin tenses.

 

“Just talking to some friends in America,” he answers, and the lie echoes across the room so loud that Yamapi thinks everyone in Japan must hear it, but maybe it’s just his imagination.

Sight        Scent