“HI, I’M Watanabe Wayuu, one of the lead singers of Kashi-sei.” Idol or not, he struggled to stare directly into the camera. Way tried to act normal, but he rambled through his introduction. He caught himself shifting from foot to foot and forced himself to stand still. No matter how many interviews he had done in his career, butterflies still thundered through his stomach. To maximize Kashi-sei’s reach, the group leader, Sage Nakamura, had enlisted his friends, Lee and Ryder. These two would film the intros of each band member for their band’s social media channels and throw snippets onto all their platforms. The duo filming Way gave an encouraging thumbs-up as if he hadn’t sounded stupid. Way stepped out onto the balcony of the high-rise apartment he called home. “This is one of my favorite places in our apartment. This view of Tokyo is incredible. Sometimes I come here and write.” Lee stepped forward with a camera. “Let me get some footage of the view. You’re doing great. We’ll add a voice-over during the silences and when we ask you questions.” Staying quiet, Lee panned across the gorgeous skyline with his camera. How could Way live in such luxury? Only one person knew that a few short months ago, the landlord had evicted him from his run-down apartment. If the opportunity of living with the band hadn’t happened, he’d have been selling his body outright to put a roof over his head. But thankfully— Don’t get used to this luxury! It won’t last. Nothing ever does. Way’s phone buzzed. He didn’t have to check the text to know it was another threat from Ito-san, his sadistic manager, whose sole purpose was to use Way. Ito-san’s role in life seemed to be to make Way unsteady and miserable. Way should have had sex with him. Giving in to him might not solve the problem, but it would quiet the monster. Ick! Even the thought of doing that again made his skin crawl, and he’d never feel clean again, but…. As an idol trainee, he’d learned his body didn’t belong to him. They rebranded him and controlled his individuality. The company he signed with owned him. They decided who he would be. “I’m going to get some stills.” Lee started twirling and shifting, snapping pictures of Way. Standing behind Lee was Ryder, who was all kinds of perfect at being their nonbinary self. They pointed to their own face and smiled. Oops, idols needed to project a happy image. Way gave the camera a sultry smile. He tried not to ask himself whether without the branding and expectations Watanabe Wayuu even existed. “Tell us what you write?” Lee asked. “Songs… I write lyrics and ideas for songs.” Way hated to admit he’d filled many notebooks with his idiotic thoughts and useless feelings. Who was he kidding? Words upon words do not make a song. “Have you shared any with Sage? Kashi-sei?” Ryder asked. “Nah, what I’ve written isn’t worth anyone’s time. I mean, not yet.” That addition saved nothing. Ryder gave them a bridge to the next segment. “What other places are special to you?” “Takeshita Dori. And with magic—” Way held up his fingers and snapped them as they had practiced. Snap! And through the practical magic of editing, the next images seen would be in Takeshita Dori, the iconic pedestrian street with its vibrant, colorful culture that attracted Japanese youth and tourists alike. “Cut. Great. You change into something you would have worn pre-idol, and I’ll do Zen’s intro video. Then we’ll head over there.” Lee set down his camera. “Thank you both for making this easy,” Way said. Not a lie, but a small exaggeration. It was never easy for him to talk about himself. He escaped into his bedroom, but Ryder had followed him. “Hella outstanding,” Ryder said as they stood in the walk-in closet and worshipped with their fingers the clothing Way had laid out. “Is this what you are wearing?” Way said, “It was my mother’s.” “Wow, Mama Watanabe rocked this back in the day? I wanna meet her. She for sure is a Queen of Visual Rock.” “I wish.” Way swallowed hard, never quite able to shake off the stabbing pain that came from the realization. “She died years ago.” “I’m sorry.” Ryder grabbed Way’s shoulder and squeezed. Trying to shake off the sorrow that clung to him, Way adjusted the clothing on the hangers. “During her treatment, she shared stories and pictures of the Visual Kei bands she’d seen in concert. She was quite the fan.” Ryder smiled. “I admired the allure of the eighties subculture music movement. The freedom for the fans to be themselves must have been incredible. Japan led the way.” Way peeked through the hair that fell over his eyes. He enjoyed Ryder’s perspective on many things. “In what way?” Ryder continued, “Seeing guys in gender-nonconforming clothing and big hair made my world fall into place. I didn’t seem so… different. If it weren’t for Lee and Sage, I’d have moved to Japan.” Way’s mouth dropped open, wondering if he was following the English words. Moved to Japan? Laughing, Ryder model-strutted to the window and gave him a graceful nevermind wave. “Oh, of course it would have been chasing a dream that I was decades too late to catch. Still, I believed the freedom I had longed for still echoed in those alleys. But being yourself is a gift only you can give yourself.” “Yeah.” Way swallowed hard and took the clothing into the bathroom. He left the door open a crack. Indecision rode him. Should he say what he’d felt aloud? Once he’d spoken the words, he wouldn’t be able to take them back… or maybe he wouldn’t want to. As he dressed, Way continued, “After my mother’s death, the only solace I found was parading the streets and alleyways of Takeshita Dori. I was, as you said, decades late, but it didn’t matter.” “I bet your stunning appearance caused quite a stir.” Shrugging off the flattery, Way slipped out of his shirt but left on his leather pants. As his more masculine clothing came off, he shed expectations that didn’t fit. “If you mean I got attention, yeah. Wearing my mother’s original Visual Kei pieces with touches of other Harajuku Kawaii fashion-styles soothed my soul.” For those moments, he had stitched his world back together, albeit with safety pins and some well-placed bandages in a very non-Yami Kawaii. Even with his darker thoughts, he hadn’t thought about “cute sick” fashion in a long time. He slipped into a watery black silk shirt, then pulled on a black satin corset. He restrained a moan of satisfaction when he added an Elizabethan-style black duster embroidered with a silver floral pattern. Glancing in the mirror, he grinned. Yes! These pieces allowed his true core to shine. “I bet there are images of you pre-debut floating around.” Sounded like Ryder was pacing the room. Anything that was counter to Way’s dominant, more Alpha image, his old group’s management had done a lot to capture and kill. He’d loved posing for those pictures, though. He attached silver chains around his waist so they dangled around his right thigh, and then he added some necklaces. “Might be a video of me singing a song or two. Takeshita Dori is where I discovered my voice.” Tracing the floral patterns of silver on his jacket, a sharp sadness cut through him. “My mother never heard me sing. She would have appreciated my singing her favorite songs.” “I’m sure of it. But your father must have been proud,” Ryder mused. “Nah. After my mom… well, my father quickly married his mistress. My stepmother found what she called my weird girly clothing and tossed almost every piece my mother had left me. The only ones saved were those hidden under my school uniform and in my laundry basket.” He toyed with the crinoline still on the hanger and tried to ignore the pain of losing his mother and things connected to her. Having his clothing thrown away stripped him and gave him nothing except an empty need that was never supposed to be met. Ryder leaned toward the bathroom. Way could see the anguish written on their face through the crack in the door. “I feel terrible your stepmother was cruel.” Way had forgotten yet again how things that were commonplace to him horrified others. Adding a bunch of bracelets and rings to every finger, Way tried to find the silver lining. “Anyway, to make a long story longer, my father and his new wife were happy the talent agency wanted me. They were even happier with the advance they took on my behalf, and they couldn’t send me off fast enough.” Way opened the bathroom door all the way. He turned toward the mirror to touch up his makeup. “But there were things my mother gave me no one could throw away. She taught me to mist my face, correct my eyeliner, and then see what needed reapplication.” “She sounds like she was a wise and lovely woman.” Ryder’s voice was strained, but they seemed to strive to be upbeat. Way smiled through the anguish and focused on the good. “She taught me how to play up my eyes, so I always wanted to add a flourish like this.” He indicated his artfully applied eyeliner, which he loved because it made him prettier. Ryder meandered over and leaned against the doorway. “You’re good at that. My eyeliner wings could pass for abstract art.” “I’m sure that’s not true.” Way chuckled. Then he added a deep reddish-purple color to his lips. “It’s great your mom taught you so much.” Ryder smiled at him. “Mine can barely remember my pronouns.” Way wished his mother were alive to have that kind of problem. He missed her so much. “We spent hours together. She taught me what clothing to pair with what, how to do my hair, how to walk… everything.” Ryder grabbed the hanger with the black crinoline skirt. “Not wearing this?” “Not yet. Still getting back to… me.” He didn’t want to push his image too far. “To you?” “Who I was before I was a trainee.” Way teased and sprayed his hair out. His long hair made him happy. “If you want to talk about what you mean, I’m here. No pressure.” Ryder stared at Way in the mirror and gave him the space. If anyone could understand him, Way knew it was Ryder. They were comfortable being gender fluid, and to Way they were perfect. “I think… I guess I might be like you… just not as perfect.” Way hoped his awkward English words didn’t highlight how uncomfortable he still was talking about gender. “Oh, honey, you’re already fantastic. You’re a goddamn idol.” Ryder fussed with Way’s chains. “Or are you referring to my nonbinary gender identity? The ever-changing face of Ryder.” Way’s voice had failed him, so he bobbed his head. Ryder put a hand on Way’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” But instead of the sense of a weight being lifted, he felt like all the lies he’d tried to shake off had tumbled around him, filling him with confusion. “It feels….” “Odd to admit that?” “Exactly.” “I felt like I was mistaken, and my thoughts and feelings could not be right.” Giving Way a smile, Ryder continued, “I learned that’s called imposter syndrome.” “Imposter syndrome?” “When you feel you’re pretending to be something you are not. I felt like I was being a fraud—like I was playing someone I wasn’t—when I tried to act like the gender I was assigned at birth.” Ryder sighed. “I figured either way I’d feel like I didn’t fit, so I might as well feel like a fraud for being who I was rather than for who I was not.” “A fraud?” Way wasn’t sure he understood how Ryder was using the word. Ryder was nonbinary, wasn’t he? “Meaning not real?” “Not being nonbinary enough.” Ryder glanced away. “Sometimes I still feel like that.” Way found that hard to believe. “But you are always confident.” Ryder gave Way their cover-worthy smile. “I’m glad you think so.” “I do feel like an imposter.” Or like he was simply crazy. Sighing, Ryder nodded. “That’s rough. I understand. Before I told Lee and Sage, my being nonbinary didn’t feel real.” “And you were only a teenager.” Way was an adult; he should be able to handle it better. “It’s difficult at any age, and Japan is still a conservative country, but Sage and, from what I’ve seen, the other members will support you.” Would they, though? Most times it was easier to talk the talk, but if he went more androgynous, with a heaping helping of the feminine, would they balk? Though no one seemed to have an issue with Haru being himself. He had been up front about it at the band interviews, and no one seemed bothered that he was trans. Still, Haru used he/him and had remained circumspect about his identity publicly. “I don’t know… I mean, I don’t even know how I see myself. I don’t need to change my pronouns, though they/them sounds good. Does X-gender fit?” “That means nonbinary in the West, right?” Ryder asked. “According to Zen’s sister, yes.” And Zen… how would he respond to Way morphing into… someone more gender neutral? “That’s a lot of worries to carry around. But what’s nice is you’re in a safe place to unpack and sort through everything.” Ryder gave Way a model smile. If only he could really believe that.