“I want you to teach me a game I’ve never played before.”
Akane’s phrasing was clumsy and suggestive, and she could practically see Ai’s overprotective, exasperated smile on the other side of the screen. “Oh brother,” he complained at first, then listed out a few of his hobbies, billiards among them.
Billiards was a game that could only be taught in person. To Akane, it was a sign that he was the real Ai. Furthermore, it appeased her desire to be liked. Unlike fashion or music, sports had rules. Until she grasped the basics, she, as the learner, could only do as she was told. In her eyes, being asked to show off your skill was a shortcut to the simple pleasure of pouring a bit of yourself into another person, and she was confident she could accept whatever she was given.
Because of that, she was shocked to find that, unlike any other adult she had met, he didn’t show a trace of satisfaction at impressing an excited, inexperienced teenage girl. It should have been obvious by now that he was special, but perhaps deep down, she still thought she was dreaming.
She grabbed one of the pool cues lying on the table and lifted it up. It was longer and heavier than she had imagined.
“So where do we start? Rack ’em and crack ’em?”
“I know this is exciting, but we gotta start by teaching you how to shoot straight.”
“I mean, I have a general idea…”
She grabbed the white ball and set it down close to her. Imitating a posture she had learned through cultural osmosis, she readied her stick. When she tried to give it a tap, however, the tip went askance, and the ball staggered weakly to the left.
“What the?”
“First, I’ll show you the basics of how to hold your cue.” He picked up the other stick and walked up next to her. “You put your fingers like this.”
His beautiful hand on the table was like a flower blooming against a canvas of grassy green. She could only admire it for a split-second before she raised her voice—theatrical, but not too theatrical.
“Wait…is that what I think it is?!” With this announcement, she was finally able to openly acknowledge the detail that had set her heart alight from the moment they met up that day.
He waved his hand with nary a trace of embarrassment. “Yeah, I figured it was a good opportunity, so I put it on.” He curled his thumb in and out of his fist, twice, like he was flicking a light on and off. The motion highlighted his five fingers, each nail painted blood red, and she knew without asking that it was the same polish she had suggested to him a few days ago—before their arrival at his workplace and after learning that he didn’t normally wear brightly colored nails.
She didn’t want anyone to realize just how closely she paid attention, so as soon as she noticed it, she worked hard not to let her gaze wander back to his fingertips. She knew he probably chose it to match his sweater, but she didn’t say this out loud. Ai’s kindness sparkled just as brightly as it had in Girl’s March, and she admired it privately.
“Awww, that’s so sweet! Ugh, I should have worn mine!”
“You really should have, naked-nails.”
“I swear I don’t normally have bare nails—I just didn’t want to mess them up playing pool! Isn’t that why you only did your left hand?”
“No? It just felt like a waste since I’m gonna have to take it off by the start of my shift tomorrow. Besides, they say Freddie and Brian only did their left hands, too.”
“Oh. That’s cool,” she replied, as if covering for her own ignorance.
“Anyway,” he continued with a wry grin, showing her his left hand again. This time his pointer finger was slightly raised. “This is where the cue goes. Also, I know nobody’s around right now, but you always wanna check your six so you don’t hit anyone.”
As instructed, she looked over her shoulder, then mimicked the shape of his hand with her own, sliding the cue under her index finger. This wasn’t as comfortable as she’d expected. With his guidance, she refined the exact positioning of her hand, then set the finished product on the pool table.
“Be sure to spread your middle, ring, and pinky fingers. Once you’ve got a good balance, take aim and shoot.”
He leaned forward and sent the rolling cue ball into a corner pocket. She reacted to the straight shot with “Wow, that’s awesome!” but really she was more interested in the way the green backdrop highlighted his scarlet fingertips. Perhaps he had chosen to paint his left hand over his right not out of convenience, but purely for this aesthetic appeal.
Then he retrieved the cue ball from the pocket and set it in front of her, so she imitated his stance. When she took the shot, she found that the ball’s speed had stabilized, but in altogether the wrong direction.
“You gotta make a circle with your thumb and forefinger in order to lock it down.”
“Like this?”
She pressed her left hand back to the table and took another practice shot, but she could already feel the tip wavering. This was not an act in order to get him to teach her more; it was the genuine clumsiness of a beginner. And in the context of helping a beginner—or a friend—his next action was hardly unusual.
“Mind if I…?”
Akane only managed to react to his outstretched hand because she had been on the lookout for it. He was surely only trying to shape her into the correct position, yet she ran from his touch. She knew it was rude, so she used the newly escaped hand to stroke her cue stick as she smiled evasively. Add in rapidly blinking eyes the size of saucers, and the performance was complete.
As for Ai, he reacted with unfaltering confusion, followed by surprise (the actual emotions, not approximations). Then he turned bashful. “Sorry, that was thoughtless.”
Akane, however, was relieved to get more or less the precise response she wanted.
That was close—this is the wrong scene.
“I promise I won’t touch you. Now here it is again.”