Your voice is a treasure

Sayaka Maizono heard many compliments like that. Moreso in the past, during an era of B-list stardom. The once-idol spends her nights singing in front of an older, smaller crowd at a jazz bar. A faint smile creeps, accompanied with the knowledge that the audience is smaller still when she wasn't working shifts.

She's quick to dismiss those feelings. Cheap pride doesn't compensate for low pay. Sayaka would keep the establishment afloat by herself if she had to. Not out of any sentimentality for a modest club that employed her for less than a year.

She needed this. For herself.

Sayaka sings into the standing microphone. Her gaze moves slowly, naturally over her enraptured guests. Men that won't be so moved by preppy tones of old. The song reflects her maturity, as does her appearance. It took skill to pull off a halter dress that accentuates her form so boldly. Jet-black straps cling to her neck and hang so thin against her cleavage to stimulate some imagination. A high slit on the side reveals pale legs, trained from countless hours of practice. In this attire, a single misstep would only mark the wearer as cheap.

Sayaka had little doubt many clients came for that exposure. She made certain they came back for her songs - The one expression that still carried the remnants of her heart.

A head of mousey brown-hair, seated by the bar, catches her attention. Mainly due to how underdressed the man (boy?) is, even compared to the older, suited companion besides him. He had the sort of face that could be easily overlooked, without paying proper attention. So she did.

Sayaka loses sense of time, and once the song is over, she feels manifold more exhausted than during the act.

The curtains close, the echoes of cheers and whistles are her enduring reward.

She passes by the staff bringing the piano over to the stage.

"Fantastic as always, Sayaka!" The manager claps. Her eyes move to those occupying both his sides. The rookie, as many workers called her. Not for long, Sayaka presumed

"You were amazing out there." The newbie said.

"Thank you. And do your best out there." Sayaka replied.

The manager piggybacks the return compliment. "You'll knock them dead, Kaede. You might even be our next big hit."

His words – Though patronizing – were not wrong, far from it. He was a fool for not understanding how right he was. With her experience in show business, the ex-idol could tell Kaede Akamatsu had actual talent. She could also tell the blonde would move on from here within a year or two at most. Those with potential never settle. They shouldn't settle.

If the owner had a fraction of that insight, he'd make more use of Kaede's image before then. That misplaced bluster was so common in men. Enough to rouse women into buying into that confidence. Their dreams. Maybe that's why Sayaka was so often reminded of her first love.

Love – Even in the corner of her thoughts, she can't tolerate the word.

Sayaka turns to the rather handsome visitor on the other side, who'd kept his eyes on her the whole time. "Who might this be?"

Before he could get a word in, the manager performed the introduction. "This is Rantaro Amami. He is the son of one of our highest-profile clients. He's a real VIP."

"Please stop, you're embarrassing me." Rantaro said bashfully. Or that was the intention. It seemed practiced to her. "I've got to agree with the others. You are something else, Sayaka. I just had to meet you in person."

You didn't have to. You wanted to.

She'd long learned how to see through the cracks.

"I'm flattered." She plays along. "if you want to talk, there are better places than standing around here."

"That's true. How about I buy you a drink?"

She accepts. Seeing no reason to refuse.

Love was just a game. And she'll play every single one.

"The usual." Sayaka said to the barista. Tsumugi sees to her order.

Sayaka twirls the glass, letting the drink mix. Sayaka prefers drinking after hours. The heated stares often received, soured the taste. Of course, it could be that she was overly self-conscious, but that was rarely the case.

Sayaka brushes back the strands of her hair. 'He' flinches and averts his gaze.

So obvious. "You're back." She initiates the conversation.

"Huh?" Her brown-haired voyeur spluttered.

"I've seen you come around a lot. Though not usually alone."

"Haha…there's a reason for that." From his voice to the crimson hue on his cheeks, to the way his fingers brushed against them…he really does look like a boy.

Her discernment extends to his order. A glass of wine spritz, three quarters along. A light drink, but the point was missed when he'd refilled five times already.

"Want to talk about it?"

"That was my supervisor." He said grimly. "'Was'. I quit. It was a dead-end job. I put on a suit every morning. Take the train an hour, just to take everyone's shit. By the time I get home, I'm too exhausted to do anything but sleep. If my bosses wanted me after hours, I wouldn't have time for that either."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She really was. It's a dreary story, not the least bit interesting or surprising. "So, you're drinking your heart out to cope." She phrased as a statement.

"Is that bad?"

Sayaka smiled. None too few come to escape reality in booze and sex. Others look for more complex delusions.

"No. Everyone needs a break," She said. "But be careful. What you run to might end up worse than what they were running from."

He stares at his drink like it became poison. "I-I suppose that's how those bad habits start."

She laughs. Again.

Ah, this was sort of the naïve fellow that was too much fun to tease. "How old are you?"

"25." Far older than she'd presumed, with a boyish face that made him look ripe in his teens. He stirs a vague recollection. High school perhaps?

"What about you? Your age, I mean." He asked.

"…That's a secret."

"S-Sorry! That was rude of me." He raises his hands placatively. Had she stared so coldly without realizing?

"You're clumsy." His pained look compels her to continue "I didn't mean It as an insult." It wasn't praise either, but clumsy was better than fake. Some girls would feign such to play to her man's ego, but no guy would go out of their way to appear submissive. Not if they were trying to impress.

"It's okay – and um…feel free to pass up this question – but why would a star like you come up here?"

"There's no rule against workers drinking here. Besides, everyone's taken by the music right now." Sayaka was no exception. Even during this refreshingly awkward conversation, Kaede's composition rings pleasantly in her ears. She glances at her junior. 'Beautiful' was too cheap a description for the way that pink dress adorned the pianist. And that wasn't even her selling point, to anyone with eyes. It was those deft fingers – digits that must have married the keys to produce that bewitching melody. It's enough to make Sayaka forget her companion.

"No, I meant… what's a celebrity like you doing here?" He said. "You're…that Sayaka Maizono, aren't you?"

She whipped her head back to the stranger. The recognition in his eyes was clear as day. In turn, his features became so much more distinct to hers. "I'm surprised someone still remembers me." She theorizes. Was that why he wanted to know her age?'

He guffaws "I was a huge fan! I remember being heartbroken when your band broke up."

Preaching to the Sistine Chapel's choir."It was never going to last. Pop idols have a short shelf-life. And fans were just too fickle to support us." Even after everything she gave up for them, it was never enough. She and her friends were tossed aside. She hated everyone. Fans that betrayed them. More than that, she hated the fans who truly believed in them, believed in that treacherous lifestyle.

"That's sad to hear." He looks at her with those doe eyes. "Is that why you dyed your hair color black? So you wouldn't be recognized by anyone?"

Sayaka blinks. "This is my natural hair color. The blue dye was terrible for my hair, so I stopped." She'd known of the countless debates about the color's authenticity, but to think people sincerely believed it was blue…

"Too bad. I really liked it."

… At last, the compliments. To his credit, they weren't of the typical dry variety. "Sorry, my hair's a sore spot."

He goes quiet. Sayaka finally takes notice of her drink and shortcake, prepared eight long minutes before. She sips the Manhattan, calmed by the bitterness.

"You must be disappointed. I've gone through quite the image change." She says.

"N-Not at all. It'd be weird if you stayed the same."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Twenty-Five."

"I'm a respectable adult, thank you very much." Any 'adult' that has to say that, isn't much of one.

"Is that right?" She tips her glass towards him. "Prove it."

He scowls but accepts the challenge. Unknowing that he'd lost by rising to the childish bait at all.

To her expectations, he downs most of the alcohol in one gulp. "How's that?"

Tsumugi giggles into her hand, sparing Sayaka the effort. "You're not supposed to drink it all at once, sir."

"Eh?" An embarrassed blush spreads along his cheeks.

So cute. She'd never seen one like that before. Having mercy on his fractured pride, she passed off the plate his way. "My treat."

He reacts to the cake like it's bobby-trapped.

"It's blueberry flavored. My favorite." She said. "Oh. I never got your name." He'd amused her enough to warrant that earnest inquiry, at least.

"It's Makoto." A common name, spoken proudly. His ringless fingers scoop up a piece with a fork. The way his lips curve upwards tells her everything.

"Got a girl in your life?"

Scandalously, he replies. "I wasn't kidding about work taking over my life. I was working overtime for so long."

Efforts don't always pay off. "But I get what you mean. I was married to my job too…until I cheated." Kaede's magical playing does good maintaining her affable mood. "Found myself a boyfriend when I wasn't supposed to. Then the bastard cheated and walked out on me once he was through." Karma, you'd think. Only the scales never evened out.

"That's awful. If it were me…"

"You'd what? Make me happy instead? Fulfill my dreams? Show me the world?" Downright criminal how many times she heard those empty promises.

"I would try."

Sayaka's eyes widen a fraction.

"Without beating around the bush, you're way out of my league. Wherever my league is anyway. If I said I could make you happy, I'd be lying. I can't even say the same about myself." His heated gaze could turn the Manhattan into a Bailey's Comet. "But I'd never betray you that way. If anything, you'd leave me first."

"Scotch for two." Her order is promptly granted. Tsumugi places two cold glasses in front of them.

Sayaka drinks like she'd gone hours without water. "What am I supposed to say when you put throw me for a loop like that?" Certainly not to deny his conclusions.

Makoto anxiously follows, ingesting the hard liquor. "Just telling the truth."

She signals a refill. Again, for two.

"Few things more misguided than honesty." A trait people like, frame as virtuous…and are quick to take advantage of. That, and kindness. If Makoto was as straightforward as he put on, he'd do well to unlearn those habits. Sayaka knew more than anyone, that everyone needs a teacher, at first. She had a great many.

"I think you're cute." Not so much a lie, but she laid it on thick.

"You're just saying that." He flushes.

"If you ask me, it's their loss for not cherishing a good catch." Who was she speaking to here?

"How would you know?"

"Intuition. You're dedicated. The kind of guy who always shows up on time and picks up the slack. The kind you don't fully appreciate until they're gone."

"So were many of my co-workers." He said.

She looks at him with wise eyes.

Suddenly, the refilled scotch appears so inviting. It burned all the way down.

He set the glass down harshly. "No, there weren't. I can't count on my hands how much they slacked off. Nobody tried as hard as I did to advance, but those who did either knew people or knew people that did. When I think of the years I wasted, it drives me nuts. I-I'm better than that."

Makoto couldn't tell how much of that were repressed feelings, or the inebriation talking. He didn't have the mind or rationality to sort that out. Waves of electricity jolt the younger boy when a spontaneous heat envelops his lips. Once scrambled thoughts quickly gain clarity. He was in full on lip-lock with the siren that captivated every man who laid eyes on her. Makoto was lulled into the kiss, intoxicated by her sweet fragrance, and the bitter taste of alcohol.

Amidst the motions of tongue and saliva, the singer signals for the bill.

Late – Sayaka thinks.

A weary, recently awoken, gaze falls on the digital clock that blinks "11:49 AM."

She was an early riser, irrespective of when or where she slept. That routine stayed with her since childhood…

Thoughts of youth and optimism jog memories of the previous night's partner. Who…was nowhere to be found in this mostly empty room. Only traces of body warmth lingered on his side of the bed.

Blue-painted nails rip the sheets. "Figures."

Her feet slip off the bedside, touching the floor. Sayaka pulls the bed covers over her, as if to hide her shame. She scans the floor for her dress. She grimaces, coming up empty.

It wasn't terribly unusual for one-night stands to keep her garments as a memento (trophy), but the whole dress was–

irritation subsides into mild confusion upon finding the neatly folded dress on the table.

The door opens, and in comes the kast person Sayaka expected to see. Makoto beams when their eyes meet, before his scramble away after seeing her state.

"Where did you go?" The inquiry came out harsher and more demanding than intended.

"I was getting us breakfast." He holds out the bag, still facing away. "Also…I don't have much of a spare change of clothes…"

Sayaka chastises her overreaction in the corners of her mind. "A t-shirt will be fine."

He set the breakfast on the table besides her clothes, venturing to the sliding closet. He pulls out a white top and tosses it over to the bed.

Sayaka lets the cover drop and puts on the shirt from overhead. It was a tight fit.

She catches glimpses of Makoto's eyes flittering back and forth between her and the wall. She doesn't miss the blush or the accomplished smile either.

"This isn't a hotel?" She asks, dismissing her presumptions once she saw the row of clothing in the closet.

"It's my room, actually. It's a bit empty since I'll be out of here soon…" He said, sadly.

Sayaka frowned, recalling his circumstances. "You're being evicted?"

Makoto's jaw dropped. "I have more than enough to pay my rent." Perhaps he sensed the misunderstanding, with the way he bashfully rubs the back of his neck "I'm attached to this place, but it's too small for me now. So, I'm buying a house."

"That's quite a venture for the financially unemployed." Come to think of it, the bar wasn't exactly cheap either, but he paid for everything.

"Oh. Uh, I won the lottery. Didn't see the point of working like a slave when I'm technically rich. A little at least." As if to say he wouldn't have folded at work without that alternative.

An impulsive streak reared its head. She grabbed a pillow, and with the precision of an athlete, aimed square at that oblivious face.

Makoto flakily dodge. "H-Hey, what's that for?"

"…For making me feel like a fool." Sayaka pouted. Here she was getting carried away when his life was perfectly in order. Lucky him.

What was she doing?

The wafting aroma of fresh pancakes flows through the air like smoke. Butter and syrup slide down the doughy treat and onto the plate. Sweetest of all was the boy at her side, presenting the fluffy meal. "You said blueberry was your favorite."

Sayaka looks Makoto over once. She'd met men more attractive, more exciting, more aggressive, all equally devoid of charm. Of sincerity. A black pool of guilt – thick as mud – wells up inside.

Really. What was she doing?

Makoto inches his head to the side. "Something wrong?"

Sayaka replies, the corner of her mouth slides upwards in a way they hadn't in a decade or longer.

"I hate pancakes."