Engaged in the Moment

  Joe’s message arrived suddenly. “Can I see you?” Akine looked at her phone, hesitated only a second, and typed back a single word. “Yes.” “When?” “In a couple of hours,” Joe replied.  “I’ll come by.” ジョーからのメッセージは突然だった。 「会える？」 秋音はスマホを見つめ、ほんの一瞬だけ迷ったあと、一言だけ打った。 「うん。」 「いつ？」 「二時間後くらい。」とジョー。 「迎えに行くよ。」 Joe: “Where do you want to go?” Joe: “…The water’s edge？” Akine nods. They walk. At first apart. Then their steps fall in sync, as if pulled by something unseen. No plan. Just side by side. The road toward the river. Joe looks at her. Suddenly, bold: “…A kiss.” Akine doesn’t answer. Their lips meet — slow, unhurried like the greeting of old friends. Joe: “Let’s walk a little more. The view’s better over there.” Akine: “Do you come here often?” Joe: “I sit on that rock. Think.” Joe: “The sunset here… worth more than anywhere else.” He pulls her close. This kiss is deeper, searching. Her tension eases. She surrenders to it, surprised at herself. Silence. Heavy wi...

Unbearable Pull The two began to walk side by side toward Akine’s apartment. No words, only the sound of footsteps on the night’s stone path. Akine glanced at Joe from the corner of her eye. The shadow swaying past his shoulder seemed to echo her heartbeat. Joe opened his mouth once, then closed it again, keeping the silence between them. A faint breeze brushed past, drawing them closer. For an instant, their hands nearly touched. At that moment, their eyes met. No words were needed. Within the quiet, both knew what would come next. Joe stepped closer, silent. His hand touched her cheek — and she could not turn away. The kiss was gentle, warm, carrying years already lost and the weight of a night that might never return. A stranger, yet suddenly— as if he had always been there. When their lips parted, his smile was small and soft. 抵抗できない何かが 二人は秋音のアパートへと並んで歩き出した。 言葉はなく、夜の石畳に響く足音だけがあった。 秋音は横目でジョーを見た。 彼の肩越しに揺れる影が、自分の鼓動と重なっているように思えた。 ジョーも一度口を開きかけては、閉じ、 沈黙を守った。 か...

After the opening Akine did not want to remain in the crowd. The tension of being with strangers, the conversations— all of it had surpassed her limits. She couldn’t bring herself to return to the room, and whispered softly, “Let me stay by the water…” The night wind cooled her skin. At that moment, she noticed a tall man walking without purpose. Step by step, he was drawing closer to her. オープニングの後 秋音は人混みに残りたくなかった。  知らない人との緊張、会話、全てが限界を超えていた。  部屋に戻る気にもなれず、 小さくつぶやいた。 「水のそばにいよう…」 夜風が肌を冷やす。  そのとき、背の高い男が目的もなく歩いているのに気づいた。  一歩ずつ、彼女に近づいてくる。 Akine tilted her head.   “Are you a drummer?”  Joe blinked. “??? ” “I was there, a couple of days ago,”  she said, smiling.  “You look like him.”  Her smile widened.  “I just got here for the exhibition. But I feel like you were the first familiar face in this strange town.”  “Exhibition?” Joe asked quickly.  “I was there too. Why were you there?”  “My work is there. Today was th...

After the rehearsal Joe was walking toward the harbor. Before leaving, he wanted to touch the stillness of the water. The town’s streets, unexpectedly, guided him. An entrance where voices and lights gathered. There, the words were displayed: “Engaged in the Moment.” He did not understand the meaning. Yet it resonated, like a rhythm left deep in his chest. Through the glass, he saw a painting. Simple, yet filled with strength. The desire to see it closer grew within him. リハーサルの後 港へ向かって歩いていた。  去る前に、水の静けさに触れたかった。  街の道は、思いがけず彼を導く。 人のざわめきと灯りが集まる入り口。  そこに掲げられた言葉 「この瞬間に抱かれて」 意味はわからない。 けれど、胸の奥に残ったリズムのように響いた。  ガラスの向こうに見えた絵は、シンプルで強さを感じた。 近くで見てみたいという感情が高まった. Opening Reception at the Exhibition Shadows and light lined the wall. Black seeped, white breathed. There was no sound, yet it echoed in his chest like the aftertone of a drum. A single abstract in ink— not a form, not a wave, but simply ma itself. Joe stopped walking. That painting was his favorite. H...

Akine's First Day The room the gallery owner lent her was small yet warm, faint with cedar. She touched the worn quilt and listened to the muffled silence. The town’s air was different—cool, wide, tinged with salt and metal. Restless, she stepped into the dim street, lamps leaning like old men in quiet talk. From beyond the murmur, a rhythm— like footsteps, but alive, carrying heat. It led her through an alley, to a low building spilling light and sound. Blues rock—her favorite. A rehearsal. She peeked inside, guilty, curious. The drummer drew her eyes. She slipped back out, telling herself she had seen nothing, heard nothing, breathing into the wind. Yet the rhythm lingered, like the secret pulse of the natural world.  秋音、最初の一歩 ギャラリーのオーナーが貸してくれた部屋は狭かったが、杉板の風がかすかに漂う暖かさだった。 彼女は擦り切れたキルトに触れ、くぐもった静寂に耳を澄ませた。 街の空気は違っていた。冷たく、広く、潮と金属の匂いが漂っていた。 落ち着かず、彼女は薄暗い通りに足を踏み入れた。ランプは、まるで老人たちが静かに語り合うように傾いていた。 ざわめきの向こうから、リズムが聞こえてきた。 足音のようでもあり、しかし、生きていて、熱を帯びていた。 そのリズムは彼女を路地へと導き、 光と音を放つ低い建物へと導いた。 ブルースロック。彼...

  Joe’s Night Walk / The Day Before He Meets Akine The last cymbal faded into silence. After clearing up with the others, he stepped alone into the night. Beneath the murmur of the city flowed something softer, not quite music, not quite memory. His feet marked a steady rhythm, streetlights passing like beats in a measure. And soon, the air began to taste of salt. ジョーの夜の散歩 / 秋音と出会う前日 最後のシンバルの音が消えた。 彼はバンドのメンバーと一緒に片付けを済ますと、一人で夜の中へと歩み出た。 街のざわめきの底には、音楽とも記憶ともつかない、もっと不思議なエネルギーに満ちていた。 足は一定のリズムを刻み、街灯がビートと共に通り過ぎていく。 やがて、空気は潮の匂いを帯び始めた。 Akine’s Night Walk / The Day Before She Meets Joe She felt something in the air, pressing lightly against her skin. A low, gentle rhythm wove its way through the silence. With a shawl draped over her shoulders, she stepped onto the damp street. With each step, the distance between herself and what awaited seemed to fade away. Behind the fear of loneliness before a challenge faced alone, an undercurrent of expectation wrapped over it,  an...

Joe - The BEAT The rehearsal room throbbed like a living thing.  Joe sat low behind the drum kit, his shoulders loose, wrists snapping in clean arcs.  Sticks struck skin and metal, thump, snap, hiss, the floor tom rumbling under his feet, the ride cymbal scattering light and sound into the dark corners.  He didn’t count time; he breathed it.  The kick drum was his pulse, the snare his breath.  When the groove locked, it was as if the whole world moved in time with him; even the flickering neon outside the rehearsal window seemed to flash on beat.  Tour dates blurred together in his mind, and the cities merely passed by. But rhythm ruled him, and he obeyed. That was his only compass ジョー / ビート リハーサル室は、生き物のように脈打っていた。 ジョーはドラムセットの奥に腰を下ろし、肩は柔らかく、手首は鋭く弧を描く。 スティックが皮と金属を打ち――ドン、パシン、シュー。 フロアタムが足元から唸り、ライドシンバルは光と音を闇の隅々へ散らす。 彼はリズムを数えない。リズムを呼吸する。 バスドラムは彼の脈、スネアは彼の息。 グルーヴが噛み合うと、世界全体が自分のビートで動いているように感じられた。 リハーサル室の窓の外で瞬くネオンさえも、拍に合わせて点滅しているかのように。 ツアー日程は頭の中で溶け合い、街はただ通り過ぎてい...