by Z. Allora
Drawing had always been his go-to. Even back when he was living with his grandfather in Inari. His grandfather ran one of the souvenir tea shops, so growing up meant every Monday began before dawn. He helped haul the supplies up the mountain, and then he’d run down the steps to get to school on time. When Daiki was old enough, his grandfather would usually stay the week. Daiki had been lonely until he found drawing and an entire world opened to him.
He adjusted his fox hat to cover his ears and allowed himself to sink deeper into the storyboards.
BEEP! BEEP! Beep!
It couldn’t be time already. How was that possible? The day had flown by.
Daiki stopped the alarm and gathered his things. “I’m off to meet with the editor. Tonight at dinner, please order without me.”
“Don’t forget this.” Akihiro rushed to the door, and handed Daiki his brand-new electronic drawing pad.
Daiki slipped the device into his messenger bag, next to other drawing supplies. “The train ride would have been long without a drawing app on a screen larger than my phone. Thank you.”
When Daiki caught the train, the car wasn’t crowded, so he sat down. He had made this trip many times over the last decade, but what if the publisher was meeting to tell him they were cancelling his series? Storyboards of how the event would play out flashed before him. The end scene was him leaving the meeting and walking home in the rain.
Then before he wrote The End, an imaginary Hironori leaned against the wall of his mental storyboard. His dialogue bubble said, “Let them. There’s a ton of other publishers and editors who want you.”
In the next story window, Hironori took a long drag on a cigarette. The cut of his chin was a bit too sharp, but the cigarette dangling from his lips gave the image a hazy sexual look. Lower on the page, Daiki envisioned Hironori staring at him. The dialogue bubble said, “Business is business. Your mangas sell.” The final picture read, “But check your investment and savings accounts.”
He shook himself. His life was not a manga, but somehow that’s how he saw it… and someone else was drawing his story.
The train arrived at the station. As he passed the station restaurants and food shops, his stomach growled. Did he forget to have lunch? He turned at the newspaper stand and zigzagged up the steps to the street level, avoiding people.
The bustling road was filled with people hurrying home from their long day.
Daiki made the quick trip down the street, past the shopping center and an office building. He ducked his head as he entered a restaurant, then headed straight to the back room where the editor held her meetings. The only thing that changed was the prices on the menu. Now that he was a brand, each of his publishers treated him to nicer meals when they met.
“Nice to see you,” he greeted her.
Saito Azami, who liked cats more than people, welcomed him with her attempt at a friendly smile. “And you.”
He acknowledged her assistant, who gestured to the far chair. “Please.”
After sliding past both of them to get around the table, he sat down. He’d had hundreds of these meetings over the last decade, but each time worry skittered through him.
After they ate, Azami-san held out her hand. “Let’s see this week’s work.”
He pulled out his final sketches.
She skimmed through the pages with her red pen and gave him a few comments. Her assistant took a pass and asked a question or two. The editing ended with him having about an hour of additional work to do.
When he didn’t move to leave, she asked, “Is there something else?”
“Yes. We’ve talked before about the direction I want to take.”
Her quiet sigh indicated her frustration at his insistence. “It’s almost the start of the new year.”
Not for weeks, but he couldn’t give up on this. “All the more reason to clear the slate. I want to move away from outdated tropes. Drawing past the titillation of a gay romance to what it means to be gay in Japan. I want to use my stories to give validation and visibility to those who need it.”
She stood. “Give me some time. Let me see what’s out there.”
Standing, he gave her a more formal goodbye than usual or necessary.
It had started to drizzle, but at least the air wasn’t cold enough to turn the sidewalks into ice. He tightened his scarf and meandered back through the crowds and neon.
Should he have been firmer? No, he’d been clear, and she did say she’d look for something. That wasn’t a guarantee, but this exchange was the furthest he’d gone.
On the way to the train, he passed a semicrowded bar. People were smiling and laughing; he was tempted to stop in. Maybe he could…. But his assistants were waiting for him.
He hurried to enter the station and jogged down the stairs to the underground.
Chapter 2
WANT VISITORS? Sage got a text from the twins.
After editing his video, he was ready for a break, so he typed, Yeah.
Buzz us up.
Ryley Griffin—or Lee as they liked to be called—and Ryder Cage, aka the twins, were already outside. The twins, so nicknamed in high school because they were always together, had decided Sage was their best friend back in ninth grade, and he didn’t disagree.
Sage opened the door. With Lee in his leather skirt and band shirt and Ryder in their layers of black lace, they were polar opposites today, but they always fit together. “Lee, he/him pronouns today?”
“Well done, buddy. How did you know my pronouns are maleish today? My skirt or my lack of shaving?” Lee was gender fluid, and their pronouns changed with their presentation.
Sage rolled his eyes. “Combination.”
Ryder glided across Sage’s living room—slash bedroom slash dining room slash anything else he needed to live—and eased onto the sofa like the model they were and with far too much grace for the tiny apartment. Ryder was nonbinary and used them/they, though he/him pronouns didn’t bother them. “As much love as I have for you, Lee, your adherence to the binary to counter the binary doesn’t earn you points.”
Elbowing Lee, Sage added, “Or blowjobs.”
Lee simply shrugged and sighed.
“When are you going to move out of this place?” Ryder folded the sheets Sage had left rumpled under the cushions.
“What? I love my place.” He’d moved in right after high school. The microapartment wasn’t fancy, but the place was clean and safe.
“You sleep on the sofa,” Ryder pointed out the obvious.
“Because I turned the bedroom into my work studio.” Sage often repeated himself on this topic.
“It’s not like you couldn’t afford something with a second bedroom.” Ryder grimaced and scratched at a stain on the sofa’s armrest.
“You sound like my mother. I have what I need. I’m comfortable.” Sage didn’t want uber luxe to be comfortable. His apartment was what he as a studio drummer could afford, and he was good with that. It wasn’t that Sage had been untouched by the wealth and privilege he’d grown up with; he acknowledged his head start in life. But he wanted to make it on his own.
Lee shrugged and plopped down next to Ryder, who fussed with Lee’s leather skirt until it lay properly. “Are you done with your latest video?”
Frowning, Sage admitted, “Yeah. Still have to edit it, though.”
Ryder grinned. “What’s the topic?”
“Visibility or lack thereof.”
“Again…? Seems like you have a theme going. What is this, the third in as many weeks?” Lee pointed out the obvious.
Sage paced from the galley kitchen to his favorite chair and crashed into the softness. “Fourth, but who is counting?”
“Look, had you not raised the issue, we wouldn’t have known how tenuous the situation can be for gay/queer idols in Asia, or anywhere for that matter.” Ryder gave Sage’s knee a squeeze.
Sage sighed. “There’s still so much to say about how being queer shouldn’t limit what you’re able to accompli
sh in your career. Your band shouldn’t dissolve like sugar in water just because someone is brave enough to be themselves.”
“Amen,” Ryder said without irony.
Lee gave him a nod. “Preach.”
Sage couldn’t stop himself. “Something needs to be done about this. I don’t have all the answers, but wouldn’t it be exceptional to see some openly queer people in a band and not have the labels ditch them? Having their fans stand by them and support them? This isn’t an Asian issue, a music issue, a writing issue, or even a gay issue. It’s a human issue. We all deserve respect.”
“Yup, we do.” Ryder smiled at him.
“The first step is visibility. Seeing and understanding leads to acceptance. I want to see real musicians with more talent than looks giving me music and lyrics from their very soul. I want those people to be both on and off the rainbow. I believe the fans are ready to embrace people on various stripes of the rainbow… because they themselves might very well be on the yellow brick road.”
Lee crossed his arms and turned to Sage. “So I guess you’ll be putting your trust fund where your mouth is.”
“Oh yes, of course he will. What should he wear?” Ryder waved the finger of judgment at him. “Certainly something better than this if you plan on being seen.”
“What’s wrong with jeans and a T-shirt? You told me they are fashion staples.” Not that he gave a shit, but Sage was all about taking less flak from the fashionista turned model. “And wait. Why am I putting my trust fund in my mouth?”
Grinning, Lee pointed at him. “You threw down a challenge with these vlogs. Are you telling me you will not pick it up?”
“Forming a band isn’t on my agenda. I live a comfortable life as a studio drummer.” Sage’s rock-and-roll dreams were a mere buzz in the back of his mind, one he’d shelved a long time ago.
Lee gathered up one of the stacks of books he’d piled on the coffee table. “These are new. Music Business for Dummies, Music Business 101, and why, look, all of these books appear to be about how to start a band. Imagine that.”
All Sage was doing was imagining, strolling down the “would never happen but if it did” path.
Ryder reached over and felt Sage’s forehead. “Are you sick? Didn’t you say on your vlog there should be more bands who were open and accepting?”
“How would I—what? You two think I could start a band?” That was ridiculous enough to make him chuckle, but the serious expressions on their faces stopped him.
“You are a drummer.” Ryder pointed to Sage’s hands, which were currently twirling drumsticks.
Excitement coursed through Sage, making the sticks spin faster. No, he couldn’t start a band. He tucked the drumsticks back under the cushion. “Studio drummer. Big difference from performer.”
Lee shrugged. “A drummer drums.”
Granted, he made a decent living off his studio gigs—and the bigger names were requesting him—but he’d never performed live.
“If you’re interested, we know someone who could help make this happen.” Lee was suggesting they could tap into their global network of friends.
Sage tamped down the excitement. It was a crazy risk. Besides, what did he know about starting a band—aside from a fuckton of research?
Caressing a hand down Lee’s arm, Ryder asked, “Are you thinking of—”
“Who else?” Lee smirked.
Ryder strutted to the fridge and grabbed a water, showing why every designer clambered for them to be on their runway. Freezing as if a photographer had given the order, Ryder tilted their head, making their long hair slip over their shoulder, and then asked, “Would he help? We didn’t exit on the best of terms.”
Patting the space next to him, Lee said, “It wasn’t the worst either.”
Ryder rejoined Lee on the sofa.
“Who are you two talking about?” Sage needed to take back the reins of this runaway conversation.
“We know someone who could help you launch your band.” They spoke in unison. It used to spook Sage when they did that, but he’d gotten used to it.
“Um, there is no band.” And why did stating that fact feel wrong?
Ryder laughed. “You keep saying that, but there is. There has to be. Otherwise how do you get visibility?”
Knotting his hair on top of his head, Lee said, “Sato, from the Miszuka photoshoot I did last year, can help set you on the right path.”
“Wait, didn’t you two date him?” His friends had an interesting dating philosophy, and as for sex, well, no need to go into their business.
“No, his brother. Let me text him.” Ryder’s thumbs were flying across his phone.
Lee nodded. “It’s all about creating a total platform so there’s a built-in fan base to follow.”
“I’m aware of how a platform works.” Sage rolled his eyes. He’d had to—wait, was he really doing this?
Ryder added, “You’re talking manga, anime, recording, then live shows?”
Chuckling, Sage tapped out a beat on his leg. He allowed himself to imagine his band giving validation for those who needed it. Nah. “You two are insane.”
Ignoring him, Ryder continued, “Also a social media presence, commercial spots, perhaps a game show or six. Japan loves game shows. A bit of light humiliation is always a turn-on.”
Lee arched an eyebrow. “Good to know.”
Wait, what? Dare he ask? “Japan?”
“Where else? Both your parents are from Japan. You know the language. Why would you start your band somewhere else?”
“I have no band.” How come the word “yet” was fighting to get out of his mouth?
“No, because first there should be a manga and maybe videos of the band forming.” Ryder giggled and waved Sage off with purple nails.
“I’ll shoot the videos, but which artist?” Lee asked as if clearing his intense photography schedule would be easy.
Sage argued, “You act like it’s that simple.”
Lee and Ryder studied him for a long moment. Then they shook him off like yesterday.
“Band name?” Ryder asked.
Snapping his fingers, Sage had that answer. “There’s only one name for my band.”
“And that is…?” Ryder asked.
“Kashi-sei. It means visibility in Japanese.”
“Perfect.” Giving him a kiss on either cheek, Ryder glided over to the door. “We’ll come up with some artists for you to consider in a few days and start the wheels turning on all the ins and outs of starting a successful band.”
Lee waved to him and followed Ryder.
How could he possibly start a band… and in Japan, no less?
Kashi-sei.
Chapter 3
“OF COURSE I can meet you there. That’s on Takeshita-dōri, right?” Daiki kept his voice even, but something was up. Having two meetings in one week with an editor, and at an entirely different place, was an odd way to end this year.
“Yes, it is almost halfway down on the left-hand side,” Azami-san said. “Thank you and see you there.”
Daiki saved his work and put his things away. “I have an appointment. I will not make it to dinner,” he told his assistants. He handed Akihiro the business credit card and avoided making eye contact. “I appreciate you for taking care of everyone.”
“Of course, Sensei.” Akihiro gave him a nod.
DAIKI EXITED the station and stared across the street. There was a Jumbotron displaying all the people milling down the Takeshita-dōri, and rainbow balloon art over the arch identifying the walking street.
He crossed with the group when the light turned and stepped into the wall of bodies. The slow procession down the four-hundred-meter-long street lined with shops, cafés, and photo booths could take over an hour to get to the other end.
It was a Friday afternoon, so many young people were already dressed in cosplay. No one was here to judge them, so they could show off their deepest selves.
Passing by the shop that specialized in rainbo
w cotton candy made him smile, and he inhaled the sweetness accented by popcorn. Growing up, he’d gotten sick on more than one of the giant rainbow spirals.
The crowd came to a standstill. He glanced up and smiled at his first manga shop, a magical place where he had discovered a world of possibilities. The thrill of holding in his hands the first BL novel he’d ever read made him smile. It had taken him thirty minutes to get the courage to purchase the story about two men in love. He had even hidden it among two other manga he found. Maybe he’d stop in on the way back to the station.
Daiki looked all around at the smiling, laughing, talking young people. They were at ease here. He too had found solace in the freedom of this street, and he wanted them to know it was okay to be different. In his daydreams, they wouldn’t have to hide their need to be themselves outside of this safe space.
The crowd moved forward, and he shifted to the left, toward the restaurant. He exited the mass of people and jogged up the stairs.
As soon as he entered, Azami-san waved him over to the back corner of the empty restaurant. The tables would fill up with tourists in an hour or two, but right now she was alone. After they greeted each other, she said, “Daiki, I’ve got an interesting opportunity for you.”
She had his attention because, unlike his other editor, she never came to him with something she didn’t think would benefit them both in the long and short term.
“How would you like to work on a band manga?” she asked.
Chikushō, yes! Daiki kept his expression schooled blank. “That depends.” He had learned long ago that even the greatest blessing could turn into a curse, so everything hinged on how something was given, why, and what having it meant.
Grinning, she sipped her beer. “I knew you’d say that. It’s almost ground-up.”
“So there’s an actual band? Or it isn’t formed yet?” He tamped down his excitement. No reason to think he’d be involved that deep into the process, but his editor was aware of his desire.
