August 2nd 2002

At this point, dear reader, allow the darkest corners of your mind form hideous and exaggerated images of what is indeed an awful, chilling creature running loose on the grounds of Mallepa--Gackt At Work (GAW).

GAW appertains to nothing of the flamboyant, plastic-cool, androgynous entity that the better population of Japan would pay good money to see pantless. GAW is a dark, fearsome shadow lurking around the director's greasy presence who, upon that dreadful incantation of "ACTION", immediately launches into seizures that involve frantic whippings of index finger against lips and loud unnecessary hissings for everyone to be quiet. GAW has gained an uncanny notoriety for his runaway-vibrator-up-the-ass routine--tear-streaked face shuddering in a frenzy of dramatic contrusions as he screams out his lines into thin air and occasionally claws at his braids, while the rest of us sit under the parasols and pick our noses.

GAW has grown to passionately dislike the treacherously unpredictable weather of Taiwan and is guaranteed to skulk away in brooding fits whenever the ominous reign of thunderclouds takes over his cinematographic aspirations. GAW does not take kindly to short vampires wibbly wobbling around the set grumbling over stale cigarettes, and on most days, GAW takes great pains to convince Leehom Wang that his own commercially crotchistic expertise is something adequately worthy of a lifelong acting experience.

Don't get me wrong. Considering Gackt's obsessive-compulsive perfectionism, his workaholic--no, workaphilic--nature on the set isn't really anything that couldn't be expected from him all along. Also I am aware of how appallingly excited Gackt is at the prospect of his acting debut so most of the time I wisely crouch away at a safe distance from him, thinking that perhaps I ought to leave him alone and then maybe he'll avoid pestering me with his nasty, Wannabe's Syndrome habits in turn.

Such is not my fate. I am forced yet again to face bleak reality, which is that our companies and fanbases are hungrily waiting for us to plunge ourselves into the black waters of Acting Business so that the moment our immersion takes place they can swarm towards us in a froth like thousands of tiny carnivorous fish and devour us in a frenzy for about half a minute before whatever would be left of Gackt and me sinks bubbling to the bottom. Or something. What I'm saying is that by now there's only one known method for me to escape from acting in Gackt's movie, which involves a copious dose of sleeping pills and does not exactly lead to freedom.

August 3rd 2002

Ironically, the lowest point of my relationship with Gackt in Taiwan occurs on the night when the snapshot scene on the beach is being filmed--the same scene which is ostensibly written to promote the touching intensity within the circle of the main characters' relationships. The beach is in a perfect state of pitch dark at this hour and the script demands us guys to engage in sexually paranoid mannerisms with each other while Zeny jealously looks on from a safe distance. The director demands us to improvise so the sense of intimacy permeating between us can come out looking more natural. (I politely refrain from telling him to go fuck himself up the ass.)

As for a week I have avoided being in range of proximity with the male members of the cast which does not include violence and death in any way, inevitably, scenes which demand such intimate physical contact between ourselves can only lead to disaster.

It all starts when the ever so tasteful Yamamoto suggests it would probably be cool if we could simulate a friendly brawl of sorts and playfully pretend to be killing each other. This rite begins with--by this point--a still fairly healthy show of roaring, shoving, mock-punching and head-locking between me, Gackt, Leehom and Yamamoto to promote the unmatchably brainless spirit of male bonding. Then at some point Gackt pretends to knee me in the gut, but I guess he didn't pretend quite properly because his kneecap ended up jabbing somewhere between my kidney and my groin, causing me to double over wheezing and perhaps internally bleeding as well. When it comes to physical performance, I should have known that Gackt always plays rough.

My reflexive reaction is to immediately seek vengeance, but seeing how at the moment Yamamoto is giving Gackt an exceptionally violent noogie that is sure to put Gackt's repulsive hairdo in a great deal of pain, I decide to inflict my wrath on Leehom instead. I deviously plan to embarass him in front of the camera by hurling him face-first into the ground, which is why I innocently charge towards him while extending my leg to hook between his feet at the same time, but obviously this move cannot pass as a recommendable method of attack because as I am straining to maintain my balance in this intricately choreographed assault one of the other two shouty forms around us plunge towards me and as a result throw me down into the sand. Face-first.

I have just managed to peel my face off the ground and am sputtering out a pail's worth of sand when all of a sudden forces equalling in gravity to the weight of Mount Fuji slam down atop my frail, underfed, vertically stunted form. As it turns out the three retards have misinterpreted my tumbling form as an invitation for everyone to throw themselves on the ground (and on top of me) to proceed with our delightful bonding ostentation in a relatively more undercivilized manner. This involves Gackt, Leehom, Yamamoto and me pouncing and scuffling amidst ourselves in a yarnball of arms and legs, struggling to not get killed by all the kicking and screaming, causing a huge seaside sandstorm in a cacophony of masculine yells (and the odd high-pitched shrieks derived from random victims of Yamamoto's indiscriminate groping) all the while trying vigorously to squash whoever is unlucky enough to end up in the bottom of the pile into a human pancake.

Which, within an embarassingly short time, doesn't necessarily require anyone a three-digit IQ to conclude who.

I struggle in weak futility as the three fully-grown men who will be dubbed as my lifelong best buddies in theatres all over Asia continue to mangle and maul my increasingly flattened state of existence, their Concorde-roars of laughter tremoring my eardrums. My face is stuck somewhere between Gackt's crotch and Yamamoto's armpit, which makes it impossible (and probably unwise) for me to breathe in. Finally after what seems like many hours of writhing, twitching and wrestling later I manage to crawl out halfway from under the ferociously throbbing pile of limbs and gasp, "Very funny, guys. I'm getting thinner and taller. My fans would definitely be in for a pleasant surprise should I live to get back to Japan."

The wriggling pretzel-monster on top of me laughs harder.

"GET OFF OF ME YOU FUCKERS!"

The monster stops laughing and shuffles around to disengage its limb-body loose.

After a quick, urgent and mercifully considerate discussion taking place between Gackt and the director it is eventually decided that a final re-take of the aforementioned scene cannot be completed without putting me in an immediate risk of death. So the male bonding scenario is briskly redone in which, basically, I will maintain my distinct persona of being the group's 'father figure' which is decidedly too vogue to do anything as immature as rolling around on the ground pushing the faces of my surrogate sons into the dirt. Sulking away from the range of the camera with a considerable amount of sand in every orifice, I take a position next to Zeny as my masculinity is publicly insulted and spend the rest of the scene watching the three yobbos in front of us simulate gropage and buggery just like the remarkable acting miracles they are.

When enough humping footage has finally been recorded between Gackt, Yamamoto and Leehom, we move on to the oh-so-quaint snapshot scene. It goes without saying that Gackt is going to pose in the middle and that I should be in a molestable distance within, as is always expected from us both this whole time in front of every press encounter. I try to pretend looking all lively and amused, but then Gackt, who just half an hour earlier was trying suspiciously hard to suffocate me to death by sitting over my head, has the nerve to sling his arm around my shoulder in a gross combination of photogenic affection and brute force. Being inferior in both the authority of professional decision-making and not to mention physical strength, I reluctantly allow Gackt to shove his face within intolerably close distance to mine. Leehom is properly pinned in a more decent position next to Gackt's opposite side, and Zeny and Yamamoto squash what little distance remains between us all shut.

The slow panning of our faces as we wait for the timer on the camera takes forever, and during this amount of time I am assigned to cast a dirty, leery look (pretty simple) in the general direction of Zeny's barely existent boobs (all right, very difficult) and gabbering my few lines of half-interpretable Cantonese (next to impossible) in her presence. When Zeny's beaming face and the lack of the aggravated "CUT" in the air imply that I have delivered my lines successfully and not mumbled a fatalistic mispronunciation that might have had the literal meaning of, say, something having to do with sex with goats, we pose in our unnaturally happy stance as we wait for the scene to be cut, taking strict care for our grins to not radiate anything but cheese.

After the scene is finally over, Gackt's arm drops off my shoulder like a dead snake and he, Leehom and Yamamoto start to loudly congratulate each other on the scene's completion in a jockish and long-winded ostentation of high-fiving, arm-punching and back-clapping. As at the moment I can't think of anything more embarassing than to go out of my way in attempting to join their exaggeratedly rowdy newly-formed boys' club, and also because at this point I have wearied of my short-lived pasttime of tricking Zeny into learning dirty Japanese sentences, I decide to do a Clint Eastwood instead. I take to wandering the remaining length of the beach on my own, looking all desolate and contemplative and giving off my best tortured-artist don't-even-think-of-talking-to-me vibes towards the scattered members of the movie crew.

I'm a little depressed to find that this works ludicrously well. No one is talking to me in my desperately cool facade, save for the usual camera-toting stalkers from the press handling the 'documentaries' (which daily quantity exceeds even the number of mosquitos swarming around me in Taiwan). I finally retreat into an unperturbed spot over one of the folding chairs far and away from the focus of civilization on the beach, wondering what hitherto-uncharted, uninhabitable-to-marine-life depths of awfulness yet another evening of cable porn would be waiting for me back at the hotel.

To my astonishment, Gackt floats away from the range of the group a few minutes later and for some reason or another decides to join me in my ostensibly preferred seclusion. Knowing Gackt's behavior during the amount of time we have stayed in Taiwan, I've grown out of expecting him to idly approach me within the range of the location and filming schedules, nor have him even remotely lavish me with my much-deserved attention during any second of my distress, but I am still caught off guard when he imposes ignorance towards the suffering his violence-ridden script has caused me to endure and instead begins garbling, "Do you know, Hyde, I feel the extension of Sho's psyche has opened up the many unseen gateways towards the boundaries of my soul."

Oh, Christ. Gackt has always basically failed to make sense, but he has really lost it now.

If I were in one of my normal moods--namely, deprived of physical and emotional attention at every moment of day--Gackt's words at the moment being, "Hyde, the bond that he shares with Kei is essential to the way he chooses to let Son and the others interfere with his destiny. You need to observe Kei's aura from a closer distance and take note of the way he symbolistically permeates the bond between the rest, Hyde. Hyde, let us explore their irreplaceable connection with this island and the moon to achieve an immortal bond between ourselves and our alter egos," would be automatically translated by my hearing capabilities as, "Hyde, have sex with me. Have sex with me, Hyde. Hyde, let's have sex."

But the way things are, the densely humid atmosphere of Taiwan's horrid climate has affected my tolerance rate in tremendously huge proportions, not to mention the incessant mental foreplay I suspect Gackt has going on with Leehom has really been driving me up the wall for over a week and a half. I listen to him drone on about The Endless Love of Sho and Kei for another ten minutes, keeping in mind that this is only Gackt, that I should be able to tolerate everything about him at this point, that I am older, more mature, more experienced and should thereby limit the control I wish to have over his mouth to extend to solely sexual purposes in the hopefully permitting future, but the only thing I am capable of blurting as Gackt pauses mid-drivel for a comma is, "You suck."

Gackt retains a neutrally blank expression and a lack of audible response, and to my horror, this triggers from me an uncontrollable outburst of my prolonged repression following my first whine-attack. "I don't understand you. Since we've arrived here you've made a complete ass of yourself. Are you always like this at work? I knew I should have never gone on an overseas trip being paid by someone else."

There. I'd let it all out. Shall I shoot myself now or later?

I am momentarily spared from judging the time of my own demise and from hearing Gackt's possible retort as at this point a beaming Leehom has skipped over and self-appointedly joins us by draping himself all over Gackt in that patently over-friendly way that I can't help but loathe. I know it is simply too mean for me to pick on someone as nice as Leehom, I feel so ashamed, blah blah blah, but Leehom's versatility doesn't prevent him from taking on the most glaring trait I hate from all repulsively good people--he tries sincerely and incessantly to please.

Or maybe it's because he and Gackt touch each other in public too frequently and during most times I can barely even catch a damn word they're saying.

However, I can't decide whether to mope or groan when Leehom refrains from yakking to Gackt in Cantonese and instead grants me the shared pleasure of interpreting his horrendous American-surfer lingo. "Hey, guys. That was some seriously cool stuff we've got going on back there. Say, after the whole scene's wrapped up we could maybe hit the town and get ourselves, like, totally wasted for tonight. I know like, loads of places where I'd totally love to take you around while you're here."

I squeeze out a toothy smile and flutter my angel eyes at Leehom, replying in my most incomprehensible Osakaben, "Why don't you take your love and shove it where the sun don't shine?" However my attempts for imposing civil behavior come to a sudden death as Gackt quickly comes to the rescue by lagging an arm around Leehom's shoulder and rattling off in Cantonese, sending them both into an orchestra of roaring guffaws. I am presented with no choice but to passively observe their behavior from my seated position in an attemptedly indifferent manner until they cease their laughter in a fading trail of snorts and hiccups (which, I am spitefully thrilled to note, if carried on for much longer will inflict the serious danger of sex appeal loss upon both).

Eventually Leehom disengages himself from Gackt to put his hand on my shoulder in turn--I glower lethally at the offending limb for awhile, then decide I shall tolerate it--as he says, "It'd be great if you could come along, Hyde. I mean, seriously. Gackt's told me how amazing he thinks you are for being able to give the development of Kei's character such heartfelt inner devotion, and I have to say I absolutely agree. I really look up to your work in this project, Hyde, so, um..." he gives my shoulder a last amicable pat as he says, "hope you'll decide to join us for tonight," before clapping Gackt's forearm in farewell and sauntering off. I am utterly at a loss of words at this unexpected development, so I can only manage a disoriented nod and a stupid half-smile as Leehom makes his way back in the direction of the crew.

As soon as he is out of earshot, I promptly shoot my mouth off. "Heartfelt inner devotion, my ass," I spit to Gackt in English. "Why don't you and Leehom get a life?"

At this point--God knows exactly when--Gackt has lit himself a cigarette and is huffing smoke in the night air with all the stylish elegance that could only be carried out by... well, Gackt. He takes a painfully long drag out of the cancer stick, lets the smoke flow out of his lips and linger thinly in the air, then says, "You are growing to be a piece of cloud in my bright summer sky. A tiny piece of cloud."

I have absolutely no idea what he meant by that. Safe to assume he was probably talking to another one of his invisible 'special friends', as usual, so I viciously snap, "Wannabe."

Gackt's eyes flicker coolly in my direction for a second, then he haughtily says, "Novice."

I gawk speechlessly at him for a moment, thinking I'd misheard him. He'd--he's actually making a comeback! How devastatingly un-chic is that? I thought I was the one who was supposed to act all rude and immature. But I couldn't possibly let him off after what he'd said, so I grumble, "Butt-kisser."

"Potty mouth."

"Poseur."

"Wash-up."

"Priss."

"Crybaby."

"Workaholic."

"Spoiled brat."

"Press whore."

"Stage slut."

"Sellout."

"Business instinct deficient."

"Weight watcher."

"Vertically challenged."

"Silicone addict."

"Old."

"Pansy-assed wuss."

"Undignified lush."

I narrow my eyes, close in on him and say, "Fucking tease."

Gackt smirks and leans in towards me until our faces are only inches apart and breathes huskily, "Sex kitten."

I retreat a bit, gobsmacked, but manage to stutter, "L-ladykiller?"

He's smiling in this unnaturally fond way as he retorts, "Jealous?"

I lift my chin and force out a pout. "Hard-to-get."

"Crazy nympho." He reaches out and rests a hand over my knee, the cigarette dangling flirtatiously from the corner of his mouth.

I gulp and feel a strange impulse to cross my legs. "Scandalously provocative."

He readjusts his pants, visibly fighting his erection. "Passively invoking. "

Now I feel an impulse to chuck that cigarette out of the way and kiss him. "Irresistable," I rasp.

He retracts the cigarette from his mouth and flicks it into the sand while his other hand slides off my knee slowly--if I didn't know better, I'd say... teasingly. I've never really noticed how the artificial blue of his irises could manage to make his eyes look so tender, so intensely captivating. "Absolutely delectable," he mouths.

Gackt's grin is not one of his most attractive feats, but I find something about it disturbingly endearing nonetheless. He sits back and regards me in thoughtful amusement, stubbing the cigarette out on the sand in a swift turn of his ankle as words continue to fail me.

All of a sudden I feel trapped in some indiscernable manner--an alarming forewarning of this familiar situation I have faced one too many times with Gackt in the past. Before I have a chance to think I rise to my feet somewhat abruptly; then, in a sudden spur of immature mischief to have the last word, blurt, "Pushy bottom," before I rapidly turn and stalk off in the (possibly vain) attempt to redeem my mind from yet another night of Gackt-based chaos.

Shit, I think as I scamper over the sand, practically leaving skid-marks behind. That was close.

Too fucking close.

Terrified, I slip into a range of safety amidst the rest of the other actors and vow that I will spend the rest of my stay in Taiwan arduously avoiding Gackt.

August 4th 2002

The morning starts off with the sunniest weather we've had on the island for weeks, putting everyone on the set in significantly better spirits than the norm. I end up turning down Leehom's barhopping invitation on the night before in favor of dining out with the director and Toyokawa, and I'm pleased to note in the daytime that I don't have much basis for regret. The set is filled with the not-so-subtle exchanges of embarassed nods and headachey cringes. Gackt himself looks more freshly dressed up and even less snobbish than usual, and the suggestion that he might have spared himself from much booze the night before provides me with great relief (as I can't envision a worse possibility than Leehom catching on to the ways in which Gackt can be deviously exploited anytime he is drunk). Leehom, on the other hand, is nursing a rumpled look of an unmistakable hangover and is rather blatantly avoiding eye contact with Yamamoto, who looks almost equally worn out. In my discreet amusement I attempt to speculate a possible drunken romantic scenario having taken place between the two of them the preceding night but then remind myself in time that I might not be able to stomach my own imagination.

While waiting for Gackt to complete the scenes he has with Leehom for the day, I spend practically my entire time striving to get a hang of the manual expertise evidently required for the cheap ammo franchise being used in the action scenes, which consists of me trying to toss around (fucking heavy) gun replicas without mortally injuring anyone in close proximity. When Gackt's scenes have finished being filmed and Leehom slugs away to treat himself with a barrel of black coffee, Gackt joins me in my as yet unsuccessful juggling-inanimate-objects-without-looking-like-a-complete-dickhead quest.

"Here now, you're doing it all wrong," Gackt says as he picks up some of the objects lying on the table beside me, but there is no malice nor disdain in his tone, only gentle amusement. His entire scenes for the day have taken quicker than expected to be filmed and he seems to be enthralled by the prospect of free time. He carries out a spectacular demonstration on how to juggle various objects skillfully for the several moments it takes for his unfortunate make-up artist to finish retouching his distasteful hairpiece (which among them include tennis balls, oranges, sunglasses, keyrings, lightbulbs, Gucci shoes, and even balls of socks coming from God knows where).

However, as I soon discover, he's still just as much a miserable failure in handling firearm replicas as me.

I can't help indulging my sadistic streak by laughing my ass off as I watch Gackt drive himself to the brink of madness for the entire afternoon in striving to master the additional gun-flipping tricks required for the action scenes. I used to think of Gackt's ambitious workaholism as something intensely annoying (if not vaguely pretentious), but now that I've looked more into it, I understand it to be more of a form of unresolvable addiction. Once Gackt has his mind on something, he's impossible to be stopped by anyone, including himself. Gackt has always taken himself too seriously... and, I suddenly come to a sheepish realization, so have I.

I realize everyone faces periods in their lives where they can't help but to succumb to their distress (take me, for instance) at one point or another. I'd been so deeply engrossed in my own misery during the time I've spent at the set, I've completely neglected to question how Gackt somehow always manages to overcome the obstacles that he's faced mentally and emotionally by himself. It occurs to me for possibly the first time the burden of responsibility Gackt has taken upon himself by conceiving this monstrosity of a project, and all of a sudden I feel an odd urge to kick myself on account of the spoiled attention whore I've been during nearly the whole time I've came to know him before. Gackt's always been immensely patient with me, I'll give him that. On the other hand, what kind of soulmate have I been? This project basically started off as being the lovechild of both Gackt's and mine, and yet I've done little else in my parental role than to whine to myself incessantly of how deprived I was of Gackt's superfluous affections.

The sight of Gackt straining to conceal hysterical frustration in his attempts to master the acrobatic gun-tricks--and repetitively failing--behind his mannequin-man facade is so outrageously amusing, I end up properly humiliating myself when I only manage to carry out my own stunts half-decently over three hours after Gackt does. However, the best fun for me is when Gackt later forces me into training the cigarette-dart scene with him in the evening. We spend an obscene amount of time where I literally (and rather deliberately) toss cigarettes, matches, matchboxes and even lighters in his face as I continue to impose possibly the worst hand-eye coordination ever known to man.

Leehom returns to the set after sundown. When he approaches us, Gackt and I are in the middle of loading projectile cartridges in the languid nonchalance of two people who've mastered the act for a lifetime, and not under the course of a daytime filled with countless shrieks of frustration (or in Gackt's case, of pain). More out of a desire to physically hurt Leehom than to show off, I leisurely (albeit rather viciously) toss a particularly heavy replica in his direction as he nods to us in greeting. He swiftly catches it with one hand, swoops it behind his back to switch it to the other hand, flips it by the trigger in rapid circles a few times then points the replica back in my direction in the light-speed pace of a true action pro. Then he laughs and tosses the replica back at me. (I duck just in time to avoid the object from knocking out my front teeth.)

So. It turns out he's been mastering the firearm stunts for a couple of months in advance. Big deal.

Upstaged again.

Bastard.

August 5th 2002

Nice weather persists, but not much is going on. I am scheduled to shoot the seaside scene I have with Toyokawa, where I am demanded to run back and forth on the beach so many times in the taking the combined burden of my sand-packed shoes gradually acquires about twice my own body weight. Gackt looks on and over these proceedings from a comfy-womfy distance under one of the parasols, daintily swatting away horny hairdressers and persistent documentary cameramen during his lazy observation of my feeble athletic capabilities.

After my scene has been cut he trots over to approach me, his expression hinting at just what might be a sense of impressed satisfaction. He grasps my shoulder and refrains from immediately withdrawing the contact--he doesn't just brush his palm against me in casual approval, nor suggestively let his hand linger, but squeezes me in a manner I can best describe by being comfortably... familiar.

Eyebrows raised in tender amusement, he says, "You run like a girl."

I slip an arm around his waist and grabbily pinch him on the side. "This coming from someone who screams like my grandmother."

But I smile as I say it.

August 6th 2002

I wake up with the familiar sinking feeling being the realization that Gackt and I still aren't screwing and I wish we were. Now that my sanity's chances for survival during the rest of my Taiwanese stay has been vaguely reconfirmed the pressing need to have my way with Gackt returns to my basic priorities more urgently than ever. I order breakfast to my room and eat by myself in quiet contemplation. I need to deliberately plan my moves towards Gackt in this place with more finesse if I want to get anywhere close to his booty in the near future. Perhaps I've been too inert in carrying out my motivations. Too passively subtle? Despite what anyone else might say, I have taken Gackt to potentially withhold the traits of a natural bottom after all. (The weep-and-console episode I'd once been forced to endure with him over his bed makes for an irretrievable example.) If I've had it set on showing him who's going to wear the pants in our relationship, it's about time I made it clear that having him play me like a puppet on a string is no way for a good bitch [ie. him] to act.

The main problem at hand now would be that the notion of work on the set makes for a horrible distraction, not to mention that Leehom sticking onto Gackt like a wad of gum under a ratty theatre seat and Anne inflicting me with her daily rounds of sexual assault aren't helping me to throw Gackt the blunt suggestions that I want to nail him inside any secluded confinement on the location that's preferably equipped with a lock. On second thought, no other time would be more perfect for me to lure Gackt with my advances than now. No swarm of teenage stalkers, no recording company nagging to me over public appearances, and particularly, no wife to rob me of my wages and mental health.

I ponder the possibility of having to succumb to emotionally involving measures in order to have sex with Gackt and narrowly avoid retching my dumpling. I'd resorted to similar endeavors to persuade Megumi to sleep with me in the past, and look at the magnitude of bad karma it's caused me. But if I want to delve more into it, the idea of seducing Gackt by means of confessing to him my 'heartfelt inner devotion' isn't really as repulsive as it sounds. I attempt to tidy up my hair somewhat and as I observe my incorrigibly bummish reflection I try to convince myself that I've definitely grown to think about Gackt in more than merely financial and sexual terms (although I do find some difficulity on placing my finger on exactly what). Maybe I should just cut with all my sexually insecure, senselessly agonizing mind-wank, tell Gackt spontaneously and sincerely what I really feel for him and watch how he'll react. Should he give anything close to a negative response, with any luck we can just pretend to be a pair of pros who barely interact with each other out of the camera range and never speak to each other again once we escape the realms of Taiwan.

(As if I can't always go back home to Megumi and kill myself by a long and painful life for a yet undecided future period.)

I watch the self-image of my scowl deepening into a pout. I can't stand the sight of my own pouting face--instead of threatening me with the unflattering addition of frown-lines, it makes me look even younger than twelve. This has got to stop, Hyde, I tell myself as I brisk on the rest of my attire and decide upon the act of decision-making. Shit or get off the pot. I shall try to properly distinguish my state of dominance in front of him to take the course of our relationship into my hands once and for all, and if all else fails... well, I can always grovel and offer him my firstborn.

Since I've learned by now that basically no time nor space will exist for me to conduct any lone conversation of sorts with Gackt once we arrive at the set, it seems I will have no choice but to approach him within the adequately isolated lairs of his private chamber, where he presumably has yet to get dressed (I check my watch just to be sure) and I shall subsequently be forced to grab some part of his vulnerably unclothed body to keep his undivided attention as I guide him into facing the truth of our connection and nothing but the truth. I am practically stiff in dreadful anticipation (and, admittedly, other things as well).

I sneak out of my room and make my way to Gackt's floor, intermittently shielding my face and slithering in corners to avoid being harassed by overenthusiastic security guards and random hotel staff on duty. This is it, I think. Either I make my point clear now that I want him desperately and excruciatingly, or spend the rest of our ostensible foreign honeymoon in the agony of indecision and not to mention intense deprivation. I arrive at the front of Gackt's suite and begin rapping on the door, paranoically looking around just in case his bulky bodyguards decide to hurl themselves from out of nowhere to kneel before me and shower the ground beneath my feet with kisses.

"Gackt," I call out, still knocking, "open up, it's me. And don't bother putting anything on if you're naked--I've finally figured how we can seal that immortal bond between Sho and Kei you've been obsessing about and no, it has nothing to do with kismet."

The door to Gackt's suite swings open and I find myself standing face to face with Leehom who is wearing nothing but a white tank top and a pair of boxers.

"!" is all I'm vaguely capable of saying.

Leehom's skin is flushing and slightly glazed with sweat. The look on his face is a worn but glowing expression of accomplished exhaustion, and his hair has that distinct just-got-out-of-bed-ready-to-jump-back-in look that would normally take professional hairstylists hours to achieve. Seemingly oblivious to the utter lack of decency contained in his ruffled state, he belts out a cheerful greeting in English the moment he spots me, as if I were a surprise guest dropping in on his private party (which, if you look at it that way, just might not be too far from the truth).

"Morning, Hyde!" he chippers brightly. "Just in time you dropped in! Gackt and I were just finished with our morning workout. It's a shame you didn't decide to join us."

While this is certainly useful information, facing a half-naked Leehom who looks as if he'd been fucked over half a dozen times isn't one of the circumstances currently listed in Hyde's Normal Morning Situations. More out of bewilderment than rage, I gabber out the first thing that comes to mind (which inevitably turns out to be something goonish), "Am... am I interrupting some kind of scene shoot here?"

Before Leehom has the chance to answer, there is a noise from the background and a moment later Gackt stumbles into view. The first thing I notice is that his similarly ruffled head is lacking its usual parasite-rattail resident, and the fact that he is bare-chested brings forth the full view of his defined upper body glistening with what might or might not be perspiration. Looking not in the least ashamed of whatever it was he'd possibly just done, Gackt walks over to join us in the suite corridor while discreetly checking that the zip on his flies is properly done up.

"Hyde," he greets me warmly--ever the diplomatic, the sneaky son of a bitch--as he gazes at my fear-strained face. "Didn't expect you to be dropping in so early. Hope you don't mind our lack of presentable appearance; Leehom and I were just finished getting ourselves really warmed up, if you'll excuse the pun." He emits a row of deep chuckles which I take to mean that he has probably just attempted to say something funny.

I am not amused. (I have no idea which pun he meant, either. Something to do with heat?) If this were a romance novel my lower lip would tremble and the delicate features of my face would turn deathly pale under its vanilla-smooth tone. As it is, I carefully lean against the doorframe and attempt to make it look as if I am coldly indifferent instead of shakily trying to support myself, although the rip of fury in my chest makes me want to march up in front of Gackt and slap him to death.

Instead I slowly croak in Engrish, "Erm... do you want me to go away and come back later? You know, just in case I'm coming in between some kind of... unfinished business here."

Leehom, if anything, looks deceptively surprised. "Oh hey, it's no problem. You can just stick around until Gackt and I finish showering and getting dressed and we can all head to the set togethe..." He turns to look at Gackt's shirtless state, then looks down at his own lack of proper attire, and stops. "...oh. OH."

As if having just realized the magnitude of indecency contained in our situation, Leehom's face rapidly blushes beetroot as he flusters to look back at me. "Now, hold on just one second. This isn't what you might think it is."

"I'll just bet it isn't," I snarl at him fiercely, very clearly making my point that I am not up in handling any arguments. I shoot a dirty look at Gackt and nearly facevault on the spot.

Gackt who has unattentively and subconsciously acquired a magazine pin-up pose, hands on hips with his interest seemingly fixed on some indistinct spot across the room, as usual doesn't seem to be immediately catching up on the indignity of it all. Both Leehom and I stare at him expectantly as we wait for the dreadful realization of my potentially catastrophic walk-in to fully permeate his brain.

This turns out to be a really slow process, so I snap to Gackt in Japanese (mainly to grab back his already diverted attention than anything else), "Gackt, just tell me here and now that you've slept with the director as well, so I can at least withdraw from any future desire to inquire of your omnigamous sex life once and for all."

The snarky tone within my voice apparently has a universal language of its own, because Leehom is restlessly shifting from foot to foot in a manner of someone striving to retain their bladder and is probably inwardly debating how run through walls. "You know, I think I'll be on my way to... uh... get dressed in my own room," he uneasily pipes up. "See you guys at the set."

We all stand stock-still at the corridor until the long and deathly silence eventually tears Gackt's attention back to the present. His gaze alternates between us both before it finally settles on Leehom. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," I reply firmly. I figure it's about time I took my stand for a change.

"Yes," Leehom repeats gratefully. I have an overwhelming urge to knock him out senseless but manage to restrain myself. He stutters, "I... uhmmm... I suddenly remembered I told Zeny I was going to... uh... help her grab some, uh... stuff. Yeah."

I nod slowly. Leehom stays rooted at where he is. After awhile he babbles, "So. Uhmmm... after I've picked up all my stuff I'll be well out of this place."

I have no idea what Leehom is wittering about until he casts a desperate gaze in the direction of Gackt's crotch and bleats, "Dude?"

Another dust-settling silence falls between us for the several agonizing moments it takes for Gackt to realize this is his cue to take Leehom's pants off. Leehom practically grabs the trousers before Gackt has fully retracted his leg from them, hastily stumbling into them and zipping up the fly at lightning speed. Gackt, refusing to look embarassed, stands poised in only his thong. For a moment I expect him to shake Leehom's hand and give him a hearty pat on the back to thank him for coming, as it were.

Leehom quickly leaves, I revel in imagining, whimpering like a dog with its tail between its legs. (Actually, he made a rather dignified exit for a person who until a few nanoseconds ago was still being deprived of his pants.) I give half a minute until the door safely closes behind me, then slowly turn to face Gackt and get ready to initiate World War III.

Gackt seems unimpressed, crossing his arms over his bare chest as the lurid purple color of his thong continues to ruin my eyesight. The two-timing, promiscuous manwhore. Leave him for less than twelve hours and he'll screw anything that stands upright regardless of age, gender nor IQ. And from my own first-handed experience, it was just alarmingly unnatural for someone to seem as perky as Leehom at this wee hour of morning, unless they'd just made close acquaintances with, shall we say, one of Gackt's most popularly demanded assets. "That was not very polite," Gackt reprimands me. "I've actually planned on inviting Leehom for a lovely beachside breakfast."

"DID YOU HAVE SEX WITH HIM?" I roar.

Gackt looks hurt. "Of course not." he purrs. "Leehom and I just returned from our regular schedule of vigorous morning workout." Ho really.

"Just tell me one thing, Gackt," I fume. "Are you on a secret mission from space to seduce everyone in the Asian show business?"

"Down at the gym," Gackt continues calmly, ignoring my accusation. "There were some things about the stunts that I wanted to go over with him, so I invited him up to my room and told him to keep himself entertained until I finished showering. I was just disposing of my attire when you dropped in."

I am like Fox Mulder. I want to believe. And Gackt wants me to believe too. He's tilted his face to a penitent angle. Cute, but from what I know of Gackt, plus having a marginally vital part of Leehom's attire (and not to mention, very possibly, anatomy) between his legs induces scepticism. I narrow my eyes and give him my best shot at a cold stare. "Then why the fuck were you wearing his pants?"

Gackt looks very mildly sheepish. "Well, I rushed out of the bathroom when I heard Leehom answer the door for you but when I reached the living room I remembered what you said about maintaining the decency of appearance within my own quarters. So I grabbed the closest item of clothing I could spot, which turned out to be the pants Leehom's taken off." Looking somewhat pleased of himself, he added, "It's a good thing I always have my own thongs tucked in pretty much every corner of this place, though."

Despite (or more likely, because of) the bizarre absurdity contained in his reasoning, I grudgingly realize that the saner part of my mind is slowly accepting it to be the truth. One of the things I can't stand about Gackt is that he does not, to my best knowledge, even have a passing familiarity with the concept of modesty when it comes to anything involving the glory of his masterful tool of love. He'll brag to me about any and all of its gripping encounters provided that my ears haven't started bleeding yet.

But still. "Hidden thongs aside, why the hell would anyone walk around in your hotel room in only their underwear while they wait for you to shower?" I expostulate.

Gackt shrugs simply. "It's hot, and I did tell Leehom to make himself comfortable."

My brain seizes up. The big brave words "I fucking quit" are warm, ready to roll, and yet they stick, feeble and reluctant, in my throat. Now, I tell myself, is not the moment. Why, he'll think I'm in love with him! The only decent thing to do is to walk.

"Then feel free to approach me within professional working ranges once you're not in so much heat anymore," I say sharply, and in a flash of inspiration, flick out my shades which are happily tucked in the convenient reach of my breast pocket, calmly putting them on. "I'll see you around the set if you need me." I intend to sweep out in alluring Dracula flourish and it's going to plan until my sleeve accidentally catches on the doorknob and I am yanked back by the arm to crash sideways against the door, nearly tearing my shirt in half. I curse and shake my sleeve off the offending doorknob pompously and I'm unsure whether the symphony of measley coughs I hear behind me is Gackt making a well-mannered attempt to conceal his mirth but I don't look back to find out.

I tell myself to get over the morning's traumatic incidents, but the rest of the day does not provide me with much reason to be more optimistic. I oblige to go berserk under a decidedly nonthreatening Red Riding Hood-type costume and run around in public raving and hissing as usual. I frothingly observe Leehom openly molesting Gackt on camera under the pretext of restraining him from fits of hysterical grief. And I plot a piano wire lynching for the special effects supervisor who probably thought it was funny to hurl me up and down in the air several thousand times as property continues to douse me with fake downpours to the point of everyone else finally getting their parts right.

August 7th 2002

Gackt has a pressing arrangement due with the representatives of his company in Taiwan and is therefore absent from the set for the entire day. With him (who bears a significant role in both the acting and directing procedures of the film) gone, what generally takes place are idle technical crew roaming over the movie grounds trying to paw at the heat-immobilized actors like a scene out of Night of the Living Dead. Since by now I have gotten immune to high levels of stalker ferocity caused by my long exposures to Anne's endeavors, I find this change to be fairly tolerable.

I'm absolutely desperate for someone to talk to at work without them trying to either 1)have sex with me in unnatural ways, 2)capture a behind-the-scenes footage of me doing something obscenely natural, like scratching myself somewhere indecent. But the prospects aren't good. Only Yamamoto who, inevitably, trots over and gives me an earth-shattering noogie as way of greeting, bothers to drone to me about the weather.

Leehom, on the other hand, seems visibly intent on approaching me alone to assure me of his side about what actually took place between him and Gackt the other morning now that Gackt is gone. I proceed to give him immense trouble in carrying this out, if anything, because his efforts are downright laughable. Over the course of the morning I develop complicated systems for avoiding him at every point we meet on the movie set. For example, if I ran into him on the set of the action shoots, I would surround myself with a group of the technical crew and start asking them questions in what seemed like fervent curiosity, so that it would be impossible for him to sit near me and start a conversation. It was fun.

The thing I know I won't be able to stand about Leehom's doubtlessly logical explanation regarding his indecent exposure within Gackt's quarters is its inevitability to become a broken record.

I am trapped in my movie debut with two other big-name artists from the music industry, both of whom prefer 'vigorous workouts' with each other to me. I'm too feeble to conduct a seriously intimidating vampire impersonation. I have a lousy marriage. And Gackt isn't fussing over me 24/7. We've destroyed the ozone layer. I have dopey wardrobe. I've got an itchy spot on my stomach which may be a flea bite. A forest fire somewhere in the tropics has just decimated millions of trees. Which negates the fact that I've always been an avid recycler. The climate in this country is still purgatory. A meteorite is probably going to smash into Earth. And I can't stand what I'm wearing. Someone is poisoning dolphins. I still have a pathological fear of returning back home to Megumi. My roots are growing out at alarming speed. These documentary cameramen are really beginning to piss me off. And during the entire time I've been at Taiwan I still have yet to sleep with Gackt. By the time noon arrives at the set I'm feeling as thoroughly foul as a person can without actual physical illness.

Despite all I have done to keep his approaches at bay, Leehom subsequently manages to catch up with me sometime during the late afternoon when I've already felt too worn out to attempt an escape. He creeps up to my seated position under the parasol while I am trapped in the delicate task of glugging down my bottled water and unsolicitedly takes a position beside me, steadily implying his refusal to budge until I finish hearing him out.

As can be expected, I can almost mouth out the words he's saying even before they ring in the air. "Hyde, before we all start jumping to conclusions, let me attempt to explain that whatever you thought you walked in on yesterday morning was... it was a mistake, just one huge misunderstanding. Gackt and I have always been really close to each other, and I trust everything about him with all I've got, but I would never think to perturb the delicate balance he's got in his life by... uhm... coming inbetween things. I just... I have too much consideration for him--for both of us, in fact--to have anything that might change the nature of our relationship intrude with what we've already got. You understand what I'm saying, right?"

I nod slowly, taking in his every word without really listening to anything. I am aware he is waiting for me to make a graciously forgiving response, so more out of an attempt to dwindle from taking an active role in the conversation than anything else, I half-assedly ask, "Leehom, how do you really feel about working with Gackt?"

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair in long-practiced pin-up drama. "You know, I don't really expect anyone to understand completely the depth of emotion that I withhold for him. For such a long time before I'd just been spending my time working, and pissing around with these stupid people in the business who were just... Anyway, this year, the best thing has just been getting to see Gackt again. It's been amazing. I'd forgotten what a great person he was. He's so kind and gentle and easy to talk to, and...God...that look that takes over his face when he's totally engrossed in mastering something..."

I glance down. He has an erection.

Leehom coughs and shifts his position a little. "However. There is absolutely nothing of that... kind of thing between me and Gackt. If anything, I'm the one who should be insanely jealous of what you two have got. I never got around in telling you this, Hyde, but I just want you to know that Gackt's been talking about you such a lot, and saying such nice things about you. He really respects you so much, you know. And everything he said made me feel a lot of warmth for you. I just knew that anyone who Gackt liked such a lot, had to be an amazing person. It was as if I adored you before I even met you. And when I first got to know you in person, and you were all coy and gentle and polite--it was just so sweet, I really... you know... I just like how you are."

"Wow, thanks," I say lamely. "I'm so happy you feel that way."

I've never felt so grateful about the limitation of my English vocabulary because Leehom seems delighted beyond belief to hear my insubstantial answer. His face lighting up in warm relief, he slings a fond embrace around my shoulder and says, "You two have done so much in giving me the time of my life here so far, and I just want you to know how much I totally appreciate that. I feel totally honored to become close acquaintances with the likes of such a talented genius like you, Hyde. Thanks so much for all the support you've given me in this project--it really means so much more to me than you think. I totally hope we can still keep in touch in our old days long after this entire project's wrapped up."

"No problem," I smile. "I totally feel the same for you."

August 8th 2002

After I return to the main set from shooting my scenes at the desert area, I gesture for a loitering documentary cameraman to come near me and whisper to him that Leehom Wang has been holding conspicuous trysts with a fifteen-year-old Suzuki Anne in her hotel room for the several nights they have spent on the location and his manager would be glad to elaborate in person should any further details be in demand. Watching the cameraman scurry away into the distance at the prospect of this hot money-grabbing gossip, I lean back into a comfortable position under the shade and wait for Gackt to return in the afternoon.

It isn't the Zen way but it should get the job done.

August 9th 2002

Gackt has apparently returned to the boundaries of the location sometime during yesterday's late evening but I don't get to directly approach him until this morning, thanks to the late meeting he'd conducted with the technical staff from the moment he'd arrived which extended till deep into the night. I find him poised in front of the warehouse set nursing a large styrofoam cup of what's possibly coffee with his eyebrows knitted together like apocalypse's taken place the day before and no one's informed him of it. Being instantly forewarned about the amount of damage a cranky Gackt can inflict upon the world, I hesitantly maintain a safe distance, but he nods to me in greeting when he spots me so I tentatively approach him closer.

As I bring myself to a sitting position beside him, he frets, "Leehom isn't coming in to the set today. He was called in to his company by his publicity staff. Apparently his manager just went berserk over some news about him getting involved in this possibly illegal scandal of sorts. Good thing the press hasn't got their hands in it yet."

"Oh," I reply; admittedly sounding a bit more smug than I probably should. "Well, he'll be fine. The worst that'll happen is that he'll get chewed out by his manager for attempting underage sexual assault."

He slowly turns his head to face me. "You wouldn't have anything to do with it, did you?"

I feign shock. "Why, no! Why would you think that?"

He pouts a little. "Nothing. It's just that the idea of you and Leehom possibly gaining competitive feelings for each other during this project would be something that's immature beyond comprehension."

Defiantly, I retort, "Well, far be it from me to feel competitive towards anyone during the making of this high-budget hack-work."

Silence. We both sulk.

Between the hours of eleven and noon, while I am vainly and masochistically attempting to gain control over the abducted skateboard which I'd spotted lying idly around the set, Gackt asks me whether I really do think of his hairdo in this movie as being exceptionally ugly.

Between one and two in the afternoon, after I have just returned from my daily round of trying to run over the child actors on the set with my bike, I tell him yes.

Between the hours of four and five, after Gackt returns from entertaining the lust-ridden female staff by standing on his hands in public, he tells me I must have no style, then.

After sundown, we head off to town to dine out together and I am almost ready to talk to Gackt again. We always end up in one of the infinite amount of fancy seafood restaurants. As soon as we have ordered shrimp again (which, needless to say, Gackt barely touches) I complain to him that we should stop eating so much shrimp, and that I never thought I'd be sick of our culinary routine during the time we have spent in Taiwan, but truth at hand is that I am. Gackt takes a sip out of his brutally expensive liquor and states that since the notion of two popular Japanese musicians starring together in a movie already might seem like an obvious sham in itself, we should at least start working together to release the soundtrack. I munch and grumble over my (boring, expensive, and yet criminally small) portion of seafood some more and tell him I'll consider it.

Once we return from dinner we head back to the hotel and Gackt invites me to his room. I am too bloated with shrimp to have sex thoughts of any kind and am somewhat relieved when the first thing that he does inside is to locate his guitar, moments later wholeheartedly drowning himself in his musical expertise as I sprawl myself all over the living room couch. Anything to keep him from ceaselessly torturing me with yet another one of his obscene come-hither rituals. I have always had second thoughts to getting involved with anything remotely connecting with music when it comes to dealing with Gackt (mostly because of this irrational lingering fear I have of being exposed as a tone-deaf fraud), but as I pay more and more attention to the melodies he strums out, I find the lack of emotional balance in his tunes stirring my nitpicking mind into an inexplicable and urgent desire to criticize.

I make the mistake of suggesting to him a change in tempo, which he responds to by a long-winded rant about the patterns of classical music that almost all contemporary bands these days seem to completely abuse, which I retort by mentioning the gratuitous homoerotic values that he never neglects to perform inside each of his stage appearances, which causes him to bring up the perverse attention-seeking methods contained within my own long-gone gypsy-princess gimmicks, which subsequently grows into a lengthy debate between us over who has the dorkier fashion sense, and tell me, is it ever possible for ANYONE to discuss their differences in wardrobe tastes calmly and reasonably? NO! OF COURSE NOT! WHO DISCUSSES THESE THINGS WITHOUT SCREAMING? NAME JUST ONE PERSON!

It is unclear on exactly which of us gets the last word but by the time our argument ends I have sulked far and away near the window smoking like a locomotive while Gackt returns to his serene classical guitar-picking reverie, this time unperturbed. I feel an urge to grab hold of his guitar and wallop him with it but on the other hand the prospect of spending my night alone should he kick me out into the hallway isn't really that fantastic. Eventually I nod off on the monstrous sofa across from him with the last thing I remember hearing being the intricate (but fundamentally soulless) tunes of Gackt's composition gradually sliding me out of wakefulness.

August 10th 2002

I stir awake sometime between midnight and dawn over the same sofa and realize something peculiar: I am shivering. Since the weather has been continuously giving me heat rash for nearly the entire time I've been here, for a moment I am seized with the dreadful thought that I've been mysteriously teleported back to Japan until I will my ears to function and hear the fervent drone of rain flowing over the streets and the hollering of the wind outside. I sit up and realize I'm alone over the living room sofa in Gackt's suite and all my senses are screaming, Sleep, damn it, just sleep! save for the slowly reviving part of my mind which is telling me, Get a blanket. Now.

I rise and begin lurking around in search of the bedroom. The place is completely silent save for the loud pattering of rain outside, and there is nothing more I want at this point but to curl up in a huge, warm, soft duvet and conk off until daylight or doomsday arrives, whichever comes last. I finally locate the bedroom and stand in the open doorway, blearily taking in the sight inside.

Gackt literally has the monstrously sized bed all to himself. He is lying on his back smack in the middle of the damn thing with his chest rising up and down in rhythmical mid-REM breathing, the treasured duvet covering him from the stomach down. He is, unquestionably, naked. I observe his comfort enviously for awhile, contemplate going up to my own quarters to seize myself the blanket-hogging rest I properly deserve then realize I am too sleepy to even bother walking back to the living room. My mind drifting back into a sluggish haze of pleasant dreams involving a small country of screaming, record-buying teenagers, I quietly strip down to my briefs and carefully slip underneath the covers beside Gackt, taking strict care not to even budge nor perturb his sleeping form in the least.

My head has just blissfully sank onto the gigantic feather pillow and I am slowly dragged back into visions of my worshipping, nubile, beautiful young fans when Gackt's voice pipes up from behind me, "Are you trying to lure me with your seductive advances?"

I twitch at that narrow brink between sleep and wakefulness for a second before I am unwillingly wrenched into the latter. "Hrrmmm?" I grunt.

"Don't try to hide anything from me. I can clearly see what lies behind your mask of bashful gentility--an urge to seize, dominate and control."

I groan and have an overwhelming urge to bury my head under the pillow. "Gackt, it's cold out there. I just want a blanket to share with."

"Ah. But what lies behind the metaphor of this blanket which you speak of? It is a form of protection, disguise, and warmth. You're trying to seize me away from my defenses and expose me to the lingering chill of fate."

I roll my eyes as far as they would go and subsequently turn my shoulder to face him. Only Gackt's face is visible to me at this point, cold blue eyes staring at me suspiciously as the rest of his form huddles underneath the duvet, which he is clutching possessively with both hands. I am tempted to slap him just in case he's actually gibbering mid-slumber but realize it won't heighten my chances of being granted any permission to share his duvet.

"Look, can't this psychobabble wait until in the morning?" I groan. "I'm dead tired."

"Like a panther you wait, observing your prey while you feign immobility in patience. But never expect me to take in to your dark ways of deceit."

"Gackt, share me the blanket."

"Sharing is merely a delusion we succumb to in order to bestow the whims of others."

I am seconds away from succumbing to my whims of bursting into hysterically frustrated tears. "I just want to get a few hours' shuteye here and then I'll be well on my way. Please, is that really so much to ask? I'll only take up a part of the bed thiiis small so as to not to perturb your carefully guarded 'defenses', kaythankspleasetakesmallchildrenbythehand."

"Why not partake in the lavish luxuries of your own domain?"

"It's too cold. And besides, I think I misplaced my room card somewhere in the living room. I can't go looking for it now."

"In that case I'll help you search for it. If your words bear some form of honesty then surely your willingness to solve the cause is out of the question."

I will myself to take several deep breaths and refrain from knocking Gackt out cold just to get myself a decent night's rest. "Gackt, please. Just allow me to sleep here for a few more hours. I am really. Very. Tired right now."

He frowns. "I still think we should go on the lookout for your room card. What if an individual of lowly prestige seizes possession of it?"

Eventually, I release an exasperated sigh and throw aside my pillow and tear back the blanket and give him a long, forceful kiss and shower his body with love bites that'll surely be a bitch for him to explain to the make-up department later on and give him the king of all blowjobs just so I will be permitted a state of residence underneath his duvet.

Afterwards, we fall asleep. Or at least Gackt does. I have to rush to the bathroom to gargle as soon as he's done with and by the time I've returned from the blinding brightness of the bathroom lights I realize I'm already incapable of dozing off anymore. Wiping my mouth, I glower at Gackt who has totally abandoned his poet-cum-philosopher-cum-seducer-on-crack persona and is hunched away in the opposite end of the bed with his back to me, deviously impersonating someone snoring. Cheeky bastard. I bury myself under the blanket beside him, angrily realize I have an erection but would infinitely know better than to shake Gackt awake and nag for the same treatment that I'd given him now that I've finally managed to shut him up. I toss and turn until the rain stops and the countless shrieks of sparrows echo loudly in the approaching daylight.

I wake up suddenly a few hours later with Gackt violently shaking my shoulder and shouting within unnecessarily close distance to my ear, "Wake up! It's eleven. We've overslept. Get up." We frantically rush around the room with me intermittently shouting "Fuck!" while I stumble into my pants as Gackt takes an unnaturally long time (as usual) to select which thong model to wear for the day. We decide to skip showering and Gackt drenches himself with a more abundant amount of cologne than usual to compensate, the heavy fumes of the fragrance nearly suffocating me to death before I manage to crawl towards ventillation. I accidentally rip the seams of my shirt in the process of pulling it over my head and thereby condemn myself to lend the least lurid item out of Gackt's personal wardrobe. It turns out to be a crudely patterned long-sleeved shirt that by some odd manner still manages to cling tightly to my frame despite the marginal difference in size between Gackt's body and mine. (Then again, Gackt has always been an avid supporter of physical masochism when it comes to the maintainance of appearance.) We share a bad-breath kiss then scamper downstairs to face management.

In the van heading towards the set, Gackt still fusses about to tidy up the shirt I'm wearing while I false-anxiously ruffle around his hair in my secret (but fruitless) attempt to cause it some visible damage for once. The drive to the location proceeds in a relatively nonhazardous manner, although the incessant thunderous rumblings of my stomach in its loud demand for breakfast basically distracts our attention from pretty much everything else.

Seemingly oblivious to the fact that we're preposterously late (not to mention the glaring oddity that I'm wearing his shirt) Gackt promptly begins bustling around jabbing out orders the moment we arrive in a manner that seems to be shouting, "Do I have to do ALL the work around here?" Then his stylist drags him away to dunk his head in grease per usual, carrying out the Herculean task of making Gackt look uglier than you'd ever thought he could be. I mope around for a bit once he departs for shooting, tugging at the ends of the too-loud, too-tight shirt I'm wearing in mild dejection, up to the point where the crew throws at me some proper breakfast to devour and I'm feeling properly rejuvenated to poke fun at Gackt's acting efforts again. I watch as Gackt dashingly takes part in a spectacular simulation of a jewelry store robbery until he crashes headlong into the doorway and it is at this point that the costume department staff belatedly come to the realization they've forgotten to cut out slits for the eyes over the blindfold-mask-thingy concealing Gackt's identity.

I finish shooting what little parts I have scheduled for the day and loiter around the set feeling considerably useless until I spot Leehom and wade over to see how he's doing. He looks far from pleased; this morning's he's finally been admitted back to the location after being treated to a devastating earbash by his manager and publicity staff for hours on end the day before.

"I'm completely innocent, man! I'm no freaking paedophile! Okay, so Anne did invite me over and tried to harass me a few times but her bodyguards were leering over us the entire time it was practically impossible for me to even get a good grope at her. I just spent, like, thirty hours listening to my manager blow his top off over the priorities of that boy-next-door public image crap and whatnot. My parents would kill me if stuff like this ever broke out to the press. Damn. They're treating me as if I had no self-control to speak of."

I pat his back sympathetically and say, "Don't feel you have to talk about it." Leehom looks up at me wistfully and tells me he wouldn't know what he would ever do without me to support him in this awful crisis. "It's my pleasure," I tell him, sincerely.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot Gackt returning from the shoot and taking off his shirt under one of the parasols, grabbing hold of some bottled water and dousing his head with the contents. I look at the impeccably defined build of his chest, the graceful arch of his neck, the way his sopping wet hair hangs over his eyes and drips down the delicate angles of his face, and am reminded of all those countless times I could have just grabbed hold of whichever part of him came within my reach and forced myself on him. Begged for him to let me have him, but didn't. Haven't. Yet. He catches my gaze and raises his hand in a slight wave as he throws me one of his "I have known all along that I am the number one individual being capable of accomplishing this task" grins. It makes him look pretty, I decide. Well, freakishly pretty is probably more accurate. But that grin is one of the many things about him which has been irretrievably embedded in my mind nonetheless.

"And besides," I muse in a fond tone, barely caring that I am slipping back into Japanese, "sometimes the only trick in maintaining self-control is to always consider what you've already got."

to be continued

©Cupidophilia 2004, text by nyde. All rights reserved.