Rainbows
He was the neon and the rainbow.
The first night with Kazamasa Kohara was a blur. Neon lights blurred together, and he took me to shops with food that I had never heard of. He had me tasting things that I would never have touched otherwise, and he blinded me with a smile after every dish.
On the second night, that smile of his was like a weapon. He used it on me when he wanted to go to a new bar, and he used it on me when he wanted to head out to the dance floor, and he used it on me when he realized he had no money left and needed me to pay for our drinks. He used it on me to get me to pay for the taxi, and he used it on me when he needed help up the stairs to his apartment.
He held my hand on the third night when he took me out to his favorite bar. And he giggled and wrapped his arms around my neck when he coerced me into going out on the dance floor, absolutely drunk. He wore that same lopsided grin when his face was coming closer to mine, and I swear that I saw rainbows and neon flashing when we kissed. It was short, and he was wasted, but in those seconds of kissing him, I knew what it felt like to wake up.
On the fourth night, he was still hung over and ended up taking me back to his apartment. He used his smile and his giggle and every weapon he could to coerce me into video games and takeout dinner. He beat me at Mario Kart and he let me win at Mortal Kombat, and at the end of the night, he ended up asleep by my side. There was a kind of trust between us that only he’d been privy to before that, and when he shifted closer and laid his head on my shoulder, I could almost see it too.
He asked me to stay the night on the fifth night, and for some reason beyond me, we ended up lying in his bed and watching old movies. He said that he wanted to remember what the old days were like, and he said that remembering wasn’t as fun when done alone. I saw past the giggle and the grin that night, and I saw the Kohara that liked to relax and cuddle and laugh softly at lame jokes. I felt like, for once, I could understand someone like him.
On the sixth night, he’d long recovered from that hangover, and we went back to the bars and pachinko parlors and ramen shops. Spending time with him was like a breath of fresh air again, and while we walked he told stories about things that I’d never heard of. The world was rainbows and neon and the glitter that he loved as much as life. My world lit up, and I let him tug at my hand and coerce me into doing things that I never would have done sober.
Night seven was him telling me he loved me, and we were both sober when we kissed again. He used his big smile and his suddenly cute giggle, and I let him kiss me again. I knew on night seven what I should have figured out on night three, and he seemed to have figured it out too. He was the neon and he was the rainbow, and he was the flashing light blinding me, keeping me from seeing everything else.
On night seven, we both knew what it was like to wake up.
On the second night, that smile of his was like a weapon. He used it on me when he wanted to go to a new bar, and he used it on me when he wanted to head out to the dance floor, and he used it on me when he realized he had no money left and needed me to pay for our drinks. He used it on me to get me to pay for the taxi, and he used it on me when he needed help up the stairs to his apartment.
He held my hand on the third night when he took me out to his favorite bar. And he giggled and wrapped his arms around my neck when he coerced me into going out on the dance floor, absolutely drunk. He wore that same lopsided grin when his face was coming closer to mine, and I swear that I saw rainbows and neon flashing when we kissed. It was short, and he was wasted, but in those seconds of kissing him, I knew what it felt like to wake up.
On the fourth night, he was still hung over and ended up taking me back to his apartment. He used his smile and his giggle and every weapon he could to coerce me into video games and takeout dinner. He beat me at Mario Kart and he let me win at Mortal Kombat, and at the end of the night, he ended up asleep by my side. There was a kind of trust between us that only he’d been privy to before that, and when he shifted closer and laid his head on my shoulder, I could almost see it too.
He asked me to stay the night on the fifth night, and for some reason beyond me, we ended up lying in his bed and watching old movies. He said that he wanted to remember what the old days were like, and he said that remembering wasn’t as fun when done alone. I saw past the giggle and the grin that night, and I saw the Kohara that liked to relax and cuddle and laugh softly at lame jokes. I felt like, for once, I could understand someone like him.
On the sixth night, he’d long recovered from that hangover, and we went back to the bars and pachinko parlors and ramen shops. Spending time with him was like a breath of fresh air again, and while we walked he told stories about things that I’d never heard of. The world was rainbows and neon and the glitter that he loved as much as life. My world lit up, and I let him tug at my hand and coerce me into doing things that I never would have done sober.
Night seven was him telling me he loved me, and we were both sober when we kissed again. He used his big smile and his suddenly cute giggle, and I let him kiss me again. I knew on night seven what I should have figured out on night three, and he seemed to have figured it out too. He was the neon and he was the rainbow, and he was the flashing light blinding me, keeping me from seeing everything else.
On night seven, we both knew what it was like to wake up.