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Placed in a case of neon green decorated with various flat yet colorful sweet treats, Amemura Ramuda's phone can be considered part of his wardrobe and one will never find him without it. He, most of the time like the rest of Shibuya dwellers, takes selfies with it, often calling his Onee-sans for favors or hangouts, or tapping away at the game Arisugawa Dice has introduced him.
That phone holds more than just his contacts, it has most of Ramuda's messages as well.
Among these messages are those that came from a number that should've been blocked long ago. Messages that should've been stashed in the spam folder but has been constantly replied with the same amount of disdain that is sent towards the fashion Designer and his actions.
Once upon a time, this was a loving thread of messages from Jinguji Jakurai — a Doctor from Shinjuku, Ramuda's friend, perhaps more than that. The affection dried out as the cogs of the government's plan was set to motion, effectively preventing any flow of reconciliation and understanding for the two.
Now it has evolved into a cesspool of bile and anger.
The mellow good mornings and sweet goodbyesare gone, burried underneath by time and more intense and bitter messages — fuck you SMS Ramuda sends days apart when the crippling emptiness cannot be staved off by casual touches and sweet nothings from his Honeys.
Back in the days when Jakurai could only roam around the hospital or Ramuda was swamped with commissions, the pink and purple-haired man would often send [I hope to see you in another lesson soon!] He believed these messages were brimming with anticipation, much unlike the ones he sends to his contacts as well as the old witch who insists on reminding him to do his 'job' well.
Now, it is replaced with [I hope you grow roots and get stuck in the hospital], sent mere moments after their paths accidentally cross. Well, specifically when Ramuda catches pools of azure on him or the older man notices the orbs of cerulean punching holes on his person.
Before, whenever Ramuda learned Jakurai got rare days of getting sick, he'd personally select items and flowers to be neatly arranged into a care package before sending it to Jakurai's home. Knowing full well how the Doctor may have difficulties navigating his phone while sick, a short message of [get well soon] or [message me when you're all well and healthy!] would be sent.
Catching news from secretly stalking his teammate's social media accounts, the older man's number will now be bombarded with [Die, old man] until he gets an [Fortunately, despite your ill wishes, I'm still alive] SMS. Ramuda frequently leaves it on a seen, refusing to acknowledge how the message brought relief to his tense bones.
If Ramuda grants anyone a hint of truth in his web of lies, he can say that his eyes hurt whenever he sees these messages. At one point, he wished to just delete all of them then block Jakurai's number to ease himself out of these heavy feelings. He will find his thumb ghosting over the 'delete' button, he will slowly close his eyes as well as lock his phone. At the end of his episode, that man's number remains in his emergency contacts; no messages are deleted either.
The petite man lies down on his plush sofa, lights from his pure white office are turned off with only his neon wall art illuminating the expanse of the area. His gaze falls on the phone on his tummy, absentmindedly running his fingers on the embossed linings of the confectionary drawings. At the deepest parts of his consciousness, there is the memory of him rolling on this same couch while reading their conversation.
He is quite aware that he just puts more meaning into the Doctor's words than there actually is but this is one of the few bits of happiness Ramuda allows himself as an artificial being. Until now, the fashion Designer idly thumbs through the messages until he reaches the ones sent from two years ago, reading them one by one. But now, he is certain that all of these will stay inside his imagination.
He rolls to his side, scrolling back to the most recent messages, slowly accepting that this offensive back and forth is better than having nothing at all. This is all he's ever going to get from Jakurai.
However, not all he thinks he can get are given to him, sometimes, things he didn't expect to have are still awarded to him.
On an ordinary day filled with Ramuda using all of his braincells working on a new line, he receives a call. Amidst the chaos of suppliers failing to deliver the raw materials on time and his own factory lacking ample time to produce the specially dyed fabric he requires for his latest collection, the call offers him a deal he cannot possibly decline. As per what his brain can still absorb, they want all of the division representative team leaders as ambassadors for a tourism campaign with pay all will agree to. He gives them a yes without thinking that man may accept the offer too. After all, he has no reason to say yes.
He doesn't expect that probably his worst fatigue-induced decision to date is accepting the job as he finds himself in a video conference meeting with all of the division representative leaders. All which means it includes the very man he just texted a big fat "fuck you" earlier today.
Unlike the unassuming whites of his studio with a few boxes and a hangbar littering his sides, Jakurai's background practically screams that he is in his room — the private one in his house, that is. Not that anyone can know but Ramuda has learned his house's every nook and cranny, his bedroom included, hence it is easy for him to recognize the area. The walls are painted in the same shade as years prior while all of his things are in their respective places... more like the places Ramuda remembers they are, except for one element. An ornament that is new to his eyes peeks at the corner of the camera.
It is an unassuming corkboard adorned with a pink frame. The fashion Designer will deem it as a prank joke by one of the Doctor's colleagues if not for the pieces of paper pressed onto its surface. He squints, focusing on the item instead of the host speaking.
The pink and purple haired man audibly gasps as he finally identifies the pictures of multiple SMS taken by another camera and printed on a whole A3 paper. Thankfully for the mute button, no one can hear the keening sound he makes behind his sealed lips at the pink stars decorating each and every one of the messages one can easily read — those are all of his hate SMS for Jakurai!
Ramuda can barely focus for the rest of the call, just nodding away to make discussions end fast. What is that? Why is Jakurai? More questions pop in his mind as the feelings he suppressed all this time rise, all begging for answers and resolutions.
As soon as the video call ends, Ramuda presses 1 on his speed dial. He can practically hear his heart thumping louder than the tone hinting that the phone from the other end of the line is ringing. He counts one to three before the call picks up.
[Hello, Amemura-kun.]
"What the actual fuck is that?!" Ramuda seethes, thinking the man will get what he's pertaining to just by uttering six words. When the Doctor keeps his silence save for some ruffling, Ramuda yells again. "WHY DID YOU PRINT ALL OF MY SMS?"
[Ah, you saw the corkboard then.] Despite the hysterics Ramuda is showing, the ashen haired man remains impassive, infuriatingly calm. How can he call himself a doctor if he cannot sense the urgency in the fashion Designer's voice? Can't he get the hint? [It is a miscalculation of the angle on my part. I didn't mean to show it to anyone else.]
"But you—! You, cunning old coot! If I know—" Mid-sentence, Ramuda feels a sudden drop in emotions. If Jakurai is intentionally riling him up, he will not back down! "Say Jakurai, are you still so into me, you have to print my messages and show it off? Hehehe, Jakurai can't resist me, can you?"
He anticipates that the older man will splutter, utter denials and drop the call on Ramuda or perhaps block the petite man's number. But then, a fond chuckle echoes from the other end. [You caught me red-handed, Amemura-kun.] His voice is still dipping on a deeper tone yet it sounds so light, airy. [It is as you say: I have some lingering attachments from what we used to have before. As poisonous as your words may be now, I can't stop myself from drinking my fill of longing from them. Perhaps, I am inflicted by it to the point of being unable to let go.] Silence returns from the other line. Ramuda holds his breath, anxious as to what the Doctor will say further. [Amemura-kun, are you going to give me the antidote or are you going to continue poisoning me?]
His lungs are screaming but he can't muster the energy to force his lungs to function. His thoughts jog towards the moments he wishes Jakurai tells him something more than just hello and goodbye. Pieces of jagged imagination that are sweet yet bitter when its real nature is exposed.
[Amemura-kun..?]
With this reality presented before him — the sole thing he wished... still wishes to covet, who is he to turn away and never indulge in this moment?
"Ja-ku-rai, I don't have the cure," he mutters, too poetic for his liking but the words coming out of his lips are as perfect as the ones Yumeno Gentaro uses in his novels. "Not that I'm gonna give it to you anyways." In a saccharine tone he continues to sing-song. "Continue getting poisoned until you die."
Another chuckle follows but Jakurai stops himself abruptly by clearing his throat. [May I assume you're also poisoned by it?]
"Huh?" Ramuda's response has more sarcasm in it than he intends it to have. "Have you finally turned senile or what, Jakurai? I've been long dead from it."