My blackout curtains were nice. On my head were headphones, and the band Luna Sea was playing. No use in trying to go to sleep again. I was up, as was my habit. No doubt it was early, as nobody was pounding on my door trying to get me up. Just how early was it? I didn't care. Let them knock on my door to warn me. 

Unlike everyone else, I didn't have a roommate. I'd realized this on the first night in L.A. It was freeing, but also secretly lonely. I tried not let that affect me, but during the night I'd often find myself awake. I must have been the most sleep deprived one on the tour. I'd stay out late, then come back and be unable to sleep in the darkness. Turning on the light didn't help, either. 

Flashes in the dark. His face, when we'd been at a club. Which one was it? Somewhere in L.A. We hadn't been able to hang out much in Las Vegas. What had he been doing in his free time? 

As the music played in my ears, I thought about him. The thin, black elastic headband holding back his pink and orange bangs. The designer purse he left with coat check. The tight pants he wore and the loose white sleeveless shirt with a stylized smudgy black and white picture on the front. Seeing him from behind as he led me to the dance floor. 

Dancing with him. Pulsing music around us, the flashing colored lights. The mirror ball. Him looking anywhere but me. Trying to guess at what he was thinking and what I meant to him. What was I to him in that club? And then, what was I to him in the next club? In the restaurant? Walking on the sidewalk? When we had coffee together?

My hands were over my face and I didn't realize. Trying to wipe away these thoughts. Almost like he could hear them. Not wanting to hear them myself.

It was causing an anxious heart. Fast pounding. The same one I felt whenever the curtain was about to raise or part on stage. Racing. 

Racing about him. Ever since the first time I saw him, leaned on Sana's doorway asking me something. His general attitude at the time, so sure of himself. I'd never seen confidence like that before. The way his body casually leaned on the doorframe, staring at me like I was insignificant. 

Every time I saw him. At the airport. At the hotel in L.A. Then finally meeting him on the sidewalk when he had those coffees. Being offered a coffee by him, such a different attitude than before. Something softer, calm. A whole different side. Finding it was so easy to talk to him, even though he made my heart like this. Finding myself strangely calm. Drinking coffee with him. 

He'd taken me to new places. I'd never partied like that before. He led me around as if he knew L.A already, and at night of all things. We'd gone with the other stylists, having such a great time. And the whole time, I was never out of his sight. He was looking out for me. That kind of care. 

I couldn't figure out why he'd care about me like that. We barely knew each other, but from that time we'd had coffee together, he was taking such care. Calming me down. Making sure I wasn't alone. 

So, if he cared that much, what was I to him? A friend? An acquaintance? Does someone take that much care if they're just a friend, an acquaintance? 

How did he feel-

Getting up in bed. Holding the blankets. Feeling the objects around me, but not being able to see them. Instead, seeing his invisible face in the dark. In my memory. His wandering eyes on the dance floor as he was lit up by all these colors. Colors flooding the dark. 

Had he noticed I was alone? That none of my bandmates wanted to hang out with me? 

Getting up more. Taking my phone with me in my pajama pocket, the music still in my ears as I slowly walked around in the dark. Getting ready for the day, even if I didn't want to yet. Automatic. 

He liked to get coffee for everybody. He'd done it again that last day in L.A, but this time he'd had one for me. This other special favor, caring about me again. Seeing my patterns, that I was likely to get up earlier than anyone else in my band, memorizing this from only knowing me this long. 

It was early now. Would that mean he was getting coffee for everyone? 

As a song ended in my headphones, my feet shuffled faster. The idea of him downstairs, maybe at a Starbucks if there was one. Wanting to be there with him. Stand near him. Just like in the club, even if he wasn't paying attention to me like then. Wanting to be near him. 

Thinking this, some of the loneliness lifted. It only made the beating of my heart worse.

"Salila," Ren was saying, leaned over the counter of the Starbucks in his eagerness. Repeating the name of this stylist over and over slowly for the barista trying to write it on the cup. I guess this was a hard name for Americans, too. The barista turned the cup to him for approval. He nodded and indicated to the next cup. He began speaking English words. The only words I understood were "chocolate" and "coffee". 

As he ordered, I looked around the coffee shop from my position next to him. This Starbucks was too fancy. Black iron looking curly cues on the windows. High ceilings. It made me uncomfortable. I looked back at him, and he seemed so comfortable here. I adjusted my position, dropping my hip, trying to look as if I belonged, too. Instead, I shoved my hands into my pockets and my head drooped down as my shoulders went up. Failed.

He looked at me then. This sudden movement. "Is it cold in here?" He asked, switching to Japanese. Before I could react, his hand was on my shoulder rubbing hard. Trying to make me warm. It made my eyes widen behind my sunglasses. 

"Um, yeah," I said, unsure what to say to that. His hand left my shoulder and he pointed to the next cup. 

"Yami," he said my name, indicating to it. The barista made a questioning phrase, an upturn at the end. "Yami," he said, repeating my name again. "Y-A-M-I. Yah-mee." Slowly spelling and saying it for her. 

I realized my mouth had parted open as he said my name. Comforting something inside. Remembering the last time he'd repeated my name over and over. Outside a club in L.A, trying to get me to calm down. A pattern. Trying to get me to back off from fighting someone who wouldn't let us into the club for some reason. Thinking the guy was being racist, yelling at the guy in Japanese when no doubt he only understood English. Realizing later when I'd sobered up the next morning that he probably wasn't letting us in because we were drunk. Being worried that I'd offended Ren, and that he wouldn't talk to me. But, he'd bought a coffee for me soon after, as he was now. 

The coffee. 

My hand pawed around in my pocket. Finding some crumpled bills from a couple of nights ago. These same pants. I brought them out, poking Ren's back with my fist. He turned, in the middle of talking, his mouth open mid-word.

"Here," I said, opening my hand, revealing the bills. "For the coffee."

His face. Like in the darkness, his caring face. He just shook his head and I saw his smirk. He went back to talking to the barista. 

I was left standing there, the money in my hand. Stunned to silence by his small smile, one I'd made. Wondering what it meant. 

As the sun lifted into the sky with no shade between it and us, we were waiting for the others. They'd come out two by two, everyone in pairs. He had a roommate, too, but he was a late riser, he'd explained. We'd talked about a lot of things so far. The tour, the fountain behind us, the Eiffel Tower across the street. 

"I can't believe we have another hour until the buses arrive," he was saying, checking his smart watch. Around us, our luggage was waiting. His was all Louis Vuitton and matched. It would have made me feel uneasy about my ratty old stuff that was all different shapes and nameless brands, but he always had a way of setting me at ease. I had no words for this feeling. 

We'd gone back inside the Bellagio briefly together, one last time. He'd called the other stylists and they'd met us in the lobby. I found out their bus was coming before mine, so I'd have to see him off. I didn't want to. I wanted him to keep talking to me. 

"Yeah, it feels like we've been talking for ages," I said, trying to make conversation. Trying to make it last.

"Oh, am I talking too much?" He gave me that smirk again like in Starbucks. It made my body tense up. 

"No, not at all. Um, I want to hear more." Feeling like I could be honest. There wasn't any risk of him bringing it back at me with a quip, or an insult, or anything that Lyra usually did. No joking. And yet, his smirk had looked playful.

He made to flick a bit of loose thread off his sleeve. I watched it go. How utterly calm I was. It was so strange. I couldn't stop realizing this over and over. 

"Well? What have I not told you? Let me think." 

I noticed he hadn't drank his coffee in a while. It made me realize I hadn't drank much of mine, either. I took a quick sip. It tasted like cinnamon. The same coffee I'd drank and continued to drink since that first day he'd offered me one. I hadn't corrected him, and I didn't want to. It reminded me of-

My ears went hot as I connected something in my brain, this coffee in my hands and him. But, he suddenly spoke again, bringing me out of it.

"What kind of music do you like?" He asked. "I like a lot of older bands. Maybe before your time. You're thirty-four, right? Well, I'm forty-two. Maybe we're different generations. I wonder if you've heard of these bands."

Music. He was talking to me about music? My hot ears perked up. Something else eased inside even more. This subject. This, I could do. I could talk about it for hours, but we only had an hour.

"Try me." Not meaning to sound challenging, but he smiled anyway. My ears went hotter. 

"Well, I like bands like Luna Sea-"

"I was listening to them this morning!"

No way. Was this happening?

"Really?! I love them!" He was beaming so much now. More so than the sun above. His coffee looked completely forgotten in his hands. All of his attention was on me. It made me realize I was smiling, too. 

"Give me a harder one, please. Everyone loves Luna Sea."

"You'd be surprised. Hmm. Let me see..."

As we tossed bands around at each other, talking about our shared favorite songs, the sun rose higher in the sky. But, we didn't notice. Our coffees got cold, but we didn't drink. As the fountain behind us started once again, I only watched him talk animatedly. So in a passion for music, these same bands that I loved. Not being able to believe that he loved them, too. 

Watching him, my heart pounding fast, but feeling so serene and calm. Seeing him, and knowing I wasn't alone. Wanting his company more and more. Not wanting him to board his bus that would eventually come. But, it hadn't come yet. These few moments that were left. I didn't want them to end.