and bought us train passes.
The station was mostly empty. Beneath our feet, glossy white tiles looked clean enough to eat off of. We waited behind a glass wall for the train. Chicago and Amsterdam’s public transit was nothing like this. The seats on the equally clean rail car were a deep red, stain-free, and plush.
“You tired?” Dominic asked as we rode through a tunnel. The darkness made me yawn.
“A little, but I’m all right. How far is your place?”
“Fifteen minutes on the rail, then a ten minute walk.”
He didn’t seem too tired, either. I wondered if he’d asked because he was working out his ‘lesson plan’ in his head. Halfway through the flight I’d made a mile-high club joke, and he responded by telling me to keep it in my pants until we landed.
The train approached the station, and I got my first look of Tokyo from the ground. The sun had set not long ago, but the lights were on. Gleaming steel buildings stretched to the sky. To be honest, it wasn’t so different from Chicago. Busy and corporate, with taxis and cars pushed up together while trying to navigate the streets, and pedestrians with heads down, buried in their cell phones.
But the signage. Everywhere, and the characters were unrecognizable to my American eyes. Once we stepped off the train and made our way from the impressive station, I began to feel like an alien. We looked like no one else, and the conversations that passed by were shocking. The European languages have some sort of familiarity to English, but not this.
As Dominic approached a set of double glass doors, a doorman nodded and pulled it open.
“ Konnichiwa ,” Dominic said, and the doorman echoed it back, a pleasant expression on his face. The lobby of the apartment building was elegant but generic. We paused at the desk for Dominic to pick up his mail, and then rode an elevator up.
“I’m in Japan,” I said out loud.
Dominic smirked. “I’m aware.” He shifted his weight so he was close, his body leaning into mine and his voice dropping low. “Every part of me is aware.” I tried not to shiver from that delicious voice.
Like the lobby, his corporate apartment was elegant and generic, but western style. No sliding paper doors or tan mat floors. It was small by Chicago standards, probably even New York standards. When we stepped over the threshold, Dominic’s shoes came off in Japanese tradition. I followed suit.
To the left was a tiny kitchen space, not much more than a sink and the stove top, separated by a foot of counter. Cabinets overhead and below, a pantry, and a small refrigerator beside that. The square, black dining table divided the kitchen from the living area, also known as the couch. This room was smaller than Evie’s old apartment, but more effective at maximizing space.
“The master room’s to the right,” he said, sorting through the mail and dropping it on the table. “The guest room’s there.” He gestured to the doorway beside the fridge. “You want something to drink?”
“Sure.”
It was abruptly awkward for me as he pulled two clear, odd-shaped bottles from the fridge. I was at his place, completely dependent on him. At his mercy. Oh god, I hadn’t thought this through.
“What happens tomorrow?” I asked while he opened the bottles and something rattled.
“What do you mean?” He extended it to me and I took it. Soda of some sort, but there was a weird clear orb in the neck of the bottle.
“You have to work, right?” I took of a sip of the drink, but the ball floated in the neck and clogged it so I only got half a sip. Lemon-lime, and not too bad.
“I do. There are lots of different tours you can go on. I’ve got some brochures left over from when my parents were here.”
I tried again to take a sip, but the stupid thing rolled right back into the neck. “This drink is defective.”
“You don’t like the marble soda?” There was a gleam in his eyes. Arrogance. Hot, but annoying.
No dice on my third
The station was mostly empty. Beneath our feet, glossy white tiles looked clean enough to eat off of. We waited behind a glass wall for the train. Chicago and Amsterdam’s public transit was nothing like this. The seats on the equally clean rail car were a deep red, stain-free, and plush.
“You tired?” Dominic asked as we rode through a tunnel. The darkness made me yawn.
“A little, but I’m all right. How far is your place?”
“Fifteen minutes on the rail, then a ten minute walk.”
He didn’t seem too tired, either. I wondered if he’d asked because he was working out his ‘lesson plan’ in his head. Halfway through the flight I’d made a mile-high club joke, and he responded by telling me to keep it in my pants until we landed.
The train approached the station, and I got my first look of Tokyo from the ground. The sun had set not long ago, but the lights were on. Gleaming steel buildings stretched to the sky. To be honest, it wasn’t so different from Chicago. Busy and corporate, with taxis and cars pushed up together while trying to navigate the streets, and pedestrians with heads down, buried in their cell phones.
But the signage. Everywhere, and the characters were unrecognizable to my American eyes. Once we stepped off the train and made our way from the impressive station, I began to feel like an alien. We looked like no one else, and the conversations that passed by were shocking. The European languages have some sort of familiarity to English, but not this.
As Dominic approached a set of double glass doors, a doorman nodded and pulled it open.
“ Konnichiwa ,” Dominic said, and the doorman echoed it back, a pleasant expression on his face. The lobby of the apartment building was elegant but generic. We paused at the desk for Dominic to pick up his mail, and then rode an elevator up.
“I’m in Japan,” I said out loud.
Dominic smirked. “I’m aware.” He shifted his weight so he was close, his body leaning into mine and his voice dropping low. “Every part of me is aware.” I tried not to shiver from that delicious voice.
Like the lobby, his corporate apartment was elegant and generic, but western style. No sliding paper doors or tan mat floors. It was small by Chicago standards, probably even New York standards. When we stepped over the threshold, Dominic’s shoes came off in Japanese tradition. I followed suit.
To the left was a tiny kitchen space, not much more than a sink and the stove top, separated by a foot of counter. Cabinets overhead and below, a pantry, and a small refrigerator beside that. The square, black dining table divided the kitchen from the living area, also known as the couch. This room was smaller than Evie’s old apartment, but more effective at maximizing space.
“The master room’s to the right,” he said, sorting through the mail and dropping it on the table. “The guest room’s there.” He gestured to the doorway beside the fridge. “You want something to drink?”
“Sure.”
It was abruptly awkward for me as he pulled two clear, odd-shaped bottles from the fridge. I was at his place, completely dependent on him. At his mercy. Oh god, I hadn’t thought this through.
“What happens tomorrow?” I asked while he opened the bottles and something rattled.
“What do you mean?” He extended it to me and I took it. Soda of some sort, but there was a weird clear orb in the neck of the bottle.
“You have to work, right?” I took of a sip of the drink, but the ball floated in the neck and clogged it so I only got half a sip. Lemon-lime, and not too bad.
“I do. There are lots of different tours you can go on. I’ve got some brochures left over from when my parents were here.”
I tried again to take a sip, but the stupid thing rolled right back into the neck. “This drink is defective.”
“You don’t like the marble soda?” There was a gleam in his eyes. Arrogance. Hot, but annoying.
No dice on my third
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