Locked posts are the more personal ones regarding my life.
Fandom posts are public.
Writing @ drunkonreality.
Scans @ mynewdaysdawn.
My God, he's even cuter up close, is the first thing I found myself thinking as he came to a stop in front of me. I'd seen him around the restaurant before and he definitely stands out. His hair is dyed a reddish-brown with a splash of black, which I suppose is his hair roots. His face is long and well-defined with a strong jaw and a sharp nose. What struck me most was his smile, young and adorable, but mature in its own way. His voice is higher than most males'. It's the kind that makes you wonder if his voice broke during puberty, and if it had, how much higher had his voice been before that? He's also shorter than the other guys working here, only slightly taller than myself, adding to the cuteness.
"You're on pantry duty tonight," he told me in Chinese, much to my horror. I know he speaks English, I've heard him do so to the customers. I suppose he assumed I'm more fluent in Chinese, as is everyone else working here. "Have you done pantry duty before?"
"No," I replied. It was only my fourth day working there. I'd only done table and condiment duty so far.
"Okay, I'll teach you how to do pantry duty later," he said, making me nervous almost instantly. He would be helping me out in the pantry later, giving me instructions only in Chinese? Fuck, I didn't want to make a fool out of myself in front of him...
"Okay, thanks," I replied instead, unable to do anything else.
The first part of it went well. I understood most of what he said and, even if I didn't, I could guess from his body language. We had to collect all the tea pots, jugs and cloths from the four different stations in the restaurant and wipe the hot water dispensers. Afterwards, he brought me to the pantry and told me to wash all of it.
He washed one of the jugs for me and I watched on in silence, focusing on his hands. My original intention was to observe how he washed them (I’d washed dishes before, of course, but I wanted to see how he did it.) but my attention derailed from the way his hands were moving to his hands themselves. They were more tanned than the rest of the body and there were burn marks and scars. I also noticed a band-aid on his forearm. His fingers were calloused, fingers nails clipped. Thinking back on it now, I can’t even remember how he’d move his hands, only how his hands looked. I only remember that the way he washed the jug told me he'd been working in the F&B industry for a long time. There were no unnecessary movements made and he moved very quickly. He was used to the hustle and bustle of waitering.
I'd been like that once. But after months of absence in the workforce, I'd slowed down considerably. I didn't seem to be able to grasp how speed was second nature in places like these. I was alarmed the first time he came to help me clear a table. He cleared three plates in the time I took to clear one. I realised then how much slower I’d gotten. Time to buck up, I'd thought to myself then. You're back in this craphole.
His hands were so different from his face. He looked and sounded incredibly carefree, eyes sparkling, a hint of a smile constantly on his lips (I don't think I'd ever seen him frown.). There was no poison – absolutely none – in his veins. His hands told a different story. He had the hands of a bald forty-five year old garbageman who would sit in a recliner after a long day at work, a cigarette between two rough fingers.
Later, as I washed the tea pots and jugs, he watched.
“This isn’t your first job, is it?” he asked and I wondered if the way I washed the tea pots and jugs told him that.
I shook my head in reply, scrubbing all the corners of the jug and then the edges. I washed it vigorously.
“And your previous job was also in this industry?”
“Yep,” I replied.
He didn’t say anything after that.
That night, in the comfort of my pyjamas, in the safety of my bedroom in an English-speaking home, I remembered his aged hands. I spread my fingers and looked at my own hands, turning them over and back twice. My fingernails were short. My veins were quite visible through my ill-looking skin. My hands trembled slightly. I wondered what picture my hands painted for others to see. Did they think my hands mismatched my face?
Then I wondered why my hands were constantly shaking. Not much, not violently. In fact, I see the tremors more than I feel them. It's almost as if my hands are refusing to settle. Because I can't decide what sort of person I'd like to be.
I just took some medication that's making me sleepy so this is really gonna be disorganised...
It's just dabbles about my time in Osaka in December. God, I miss those ten days so much.
I miss walking with Bernie from the train station back to her apartment when it's already dark out and the temperature has dropped from a comfortable nine degrees to a biting six. The temperature didn't really bother me, though, because I was having too much fun talking with Berine. We'd talk about the stuff we did that day, we'd talk about Jon and Kansei. The railway tracks were on our left and there were apartment buildings and stores on our right. And, on some nights, we'd see a white cat sitting outside the hair salon. It let us pet it and rub its belly. Friendly kitty.
God knows why but out of all the fantastic things I did in Osaka, that's probably what I miss most. Simply walking to Bernie's apartment from the train station at night. No stars are out, and the path is pretty deserted. Then we'd cross the road and go to LAWSON, a convenience store, to buy a bento and breakfast for the next day, as well as chuhai, before heading on to her cosy apartment.
After #DamageLiver in Shimokitazawa and two Camui Gakuen lives in Chiba, I went on to Osaka and stayed with Bernie for ~10 days. We had an awesome time together and one of the highlights was the #DamageLiver tour final in Shinsaibashi on the 23rd. \m/
fade & fade family love before #DamageLiver
Bernie and I reached Shinsaibashi around 2pm. We headed straight to DROP where we were going to meet Louise and Henry. A few minutes later, Jon came up the stairs from DROP. I quickly grabbed Bernie (because she was facing me, not the entrance to DROP) and said, "BERNIE, IT'S JON." She was so shocked that her foot fell into the drain behind her, haha.
I'm not sure if Jon saw us or not because he headed down the street the other way. He had on his sunglasses and scarf and he basically looked like he just jumped out of one of his many Twitter photos. And he hadn't shaved yet so mm, he looked nice and rugged with the stubble. Much appreciated.
A few minutes later, we saw him coming back. As he approached us, I scrambled to get his Christmas present out of my bag because I was worried I wouldn't get the chance to pass it to him afterwards.
I got him this really cool mini bartending kit. And I forgot to take a photo of it before giving it to him so here's an image off Google.