The Ghost of You
There's a beat in your head that's incessantly pumping. It's not one that's a part of any of your songs. It's something distinctly different from what you've ever conjured up before, and it's just going, and going, and it pumps you up even more.
01.22.2011
You come out to screams of adoring fans and do your own thing. The beat is barely there to be noticed but once the noises die down, you immediately take note of its presence. You sing a couple of songs and go backstage for a minute. There, the next shots are waiting for you. One of your friends hand it over and you down one, take a gulp of water, and go back on stage. You're not so sure what they're giving you but you love it. It makes you feel like you're at the top of your game.
Not much deeper into the show, you sense something. Like a nagging feeling that you can never shake off. You try to find what it is and it's not until you direct your attention to the VIP section that you realize what it is. Or rather who it is.
Up in the box you see a shadow of a familiar figure staring down. It's someone you don't expect to see. You don't need to see his face to know it's him. You can sense his presence and you're annoyed that after all this time you haven't lost that special talent of knowing when he's around. He's staring down at you. You get nervous but it's not because you're on stage. You were never good at eye contact, more so when it was with him, but you berate yourself because he's just staring down at you, not staring you down.
You sing the songs your friends made for you and dance the choreographed moves another set of friends prepared especially for you. You look up at him and want to say, "I'm never going to be some stupid robot like you are, I'm my own self." You want to show him how good you've become, how you're more than just a part of them. But all you throw in his direction are some confused looks and unsure glances. You can't even look straight into his unseen eyes. He doesn't flinch.
You go back stage for breather, and down another shot. When you come back out, you see a clearer version of him. He’s not just a silhouette anymore. You see his face. And the beat in your head becomes louder.
His face is expressionless except for the tense line of his mouth. He neither acknowledges you nor ignores you when you look at him, he just stares at you, and he remains stoic in the few seconds of eye contact you had before you have to avert your eyes.
The other people with him, ones who used to be your comrades, bop their heads to the music, but he's still, just watching you. The beat is much louder now, and it's making your head throb. Like an artificial pulse you can dissociate with the real one. You keep dancing and singing but you don't know what you're doing anymore. You've gone on autopilot. In your head you listen to that intoxicating beat. You can hear whispers intermeshed with he beat and the whispers are talking.
"It's Kazuya. Kazuya is here," one of them excitedly says.
"No kidding! The one from KAT-TUN? That's strange." Another answers.
"What's he doing here. Doesn't he know he's not welcome here?" Yet another angry voice responds.
You feel like you're listening to a conversation but you don't know to whom. The whispers are ethereal and they're gone before you finish listening to them but they go back once in a while, mixed with the noisy and yet constant beat in your head. Every time they start talking you stare up at the box and it almost makes you shiver. Because he really is there. Kazuya is there.
It's dark and you barely see anything, the beat is still thumping loudly in your head but it's not the same as what everyone in the club hears. You know because you can hear it what they hear, but they don't hear what you hear. Strobe lights pan the dance floor and a remixed version of Enrique Iglesias' Tonight is blasting from the speakers, much to your chagrin. You leave the dance floor and the girl you were grinding up with doesn't even notice you gone. She finds someone else as soon you leave her line of sight and it's no big loss for both of you. You don't even know her. You barely remember what she looks like.
When you get back to your seat, a friend passes you another shot of that magical stuff from the show and you down it without a chaser. You're not the least bit tired and you're looking for more. At some point, a girl slides up next to you and nuzzles your neck.
"Great show earlier," She murmurs into your ear.
You lean away and take a look at her. The faint light reveals long, flowing, blond hair, large eyes, and a patrician nose. Her ample breasts press against your arm and her long legs are folded up on the seat. You grab a handful of her hair and stick your tongue inside her mouth. She offers no resistance and you make out for quite a bit after that. Your friends hoot and cheer and you continue snogging her.
You get bored of making out faster than you expected. You take another shot and head for some other part of the club.
That's when you see him. Kazuya. You know for sure it's him. The beat in your head increases a notch, reminding you that it's still there. Kazuya. He's at a darkened corner, leaning against a wall with a tall glass of beer in one hand. He's talking to someone you don't know so you just stand there like a deer caught in the headlights, deciding whether to go and talk to him or flee before he sees you. He makes the decision for you by looking directly at you unexpectedly. Like he knew that you were right there all along. His gaze is smoldering and he never breaks eye contact even as he nods to what the man he's talking to is telling him. You remember one of your friends telling you something about him being gay. That was the time you got really uncomfortable with his intimate mannerisms, such as holding your hand when he gets fired up about something, or suddenly grabbing your ass while you're on stage. That's when you started to entertain the idea and got really scared at how it made you feel.
The man he's talking to glances in your direction, and wordlessly stalks away when he recognizes you. Now Kazuya is all alone, too.
You take the shot you weren't aware you're holding and make your way towards him. Every step you take fall in tune to the pounding beat inside your head, now louder than ever. His eyes are burning up, and you feel like curling up into a ball. It's obvious he's not in a good mood. You can feel the hostility boring into your very core, and you look away a couple of times, but you keep walking.
There are so many things you want to ask him about tonight, like "Why'd you go?" or "What did you watch me for?" or "Did someone make you come?"
"Didn't you hate me so much as to act like I didn't exist? Why are you here?"
And that every tiny part of you, that part that seeks to please, wants to ask him, "Did you like the show?"
But you ask none of these when you finally reach him. You look into each other's eyes for a bit. He tilts his chin up to meet your stare head on. He's got that stubborn twitch in his jaw when he's really mad, and his thin bangs fall partially over his eyes. He's quite beautiful like that and you can't help yourself.
You grab a handful of his hair and kiss him.
He's unyielding at first so you yank his hair harder, and he opens his mouth out of protest. You take it as your opportunity to get inside his mouth and ravish its contents. He kisses you back eventually. You close your eyes and let the moment seize you. Kissing him is just as you secretly imagined it to be all those times it crossed your mind, and you get a massive hard-on. Kazuya moans when he feels it rub against his hip. It's intoxicating. You can't stop. The all too familiar beat is going nuts in your head, accelerating until it's but a noisy whir. Kazuya's moving against you, reciprocating in turn every time you viciously grind against him. His strong, almost nauseating perfume makes you heady. You can taste the alcohol in his mouth, but it doesn't matter because you can still taste him. Your senses are overloading, and some part of your brain, gives a shot at making sense of things, reminding you of your friends and what they'll make of you now. They can be watching you now for all you know. Let them look, you think, take their fill and judge me. I don't give a fuck.
The next thing you know you're in your hotel room, naked and in bed. The beat is back to its normal pace in your head. Under you Kazuya writhes and tugs at your exposed cock as you envelope a distended nipple with your mouth. He arches against you, letting you know he's hard, too. You go lower, kissing his trim abdomen, and then much lower. You take in half of his length into your mouth, not feeling a twinge of remorse as you do something you've sworn you'll never do. You eventually take in all of him, fighting back the reflex to gag. His nipples are pointy peaks and he's harder than ever. You take this as your cue and flip him over on his stomach. You don't know where it came from, but you have a condom and a tube of lube. You know how these come into play. It's not long before you're pushing yourself into him, fighting the slight resistance.
His moan is muffled by your pillow when you enter him completely. You lean forward and kiss his nape. Your left had caresses his torso. You stay still for a bit, but eventually you begin to move, slowly at first, and then together with the beat in your head. Kazuya meets your every thrust. You reach for his softening cock and tug at the same rhythm as you're going. He's becomes hard again. You speed up, just as the beat in your head does. Your thrusts, the beat. They're both faster, louder, more distinct.
In your own frenzy, you barely notice the wetness that falls over your hand that is Kazuya coming. You orgasm shortly after him, intensely and unexpectedly. Unexpectedly intensely. You collapse beside him and let the aftershocks lull you to sleep. You fall asleep before you can put two and two together. You're unconscious before you can catch up with everything that has happened. Everything is disjointed.
You don't exactly wake up but you see Kazuya sitting on the edge of the bed. His back is to you and his head is bent down. He's still completely naked.
For some reason he knows you're conscious.
"We're falling apart, Jin. You, me, all of us. We're falling apart. We're ruined." He says in monotone.
The meaning is lost on you. Not soon after he says this and you're out cold again, but you notice one useless detail before you drift off. Your bedside alarm clock was glowing. It was about a quarter to four o’clock in the morning.
01.22.2011
At around 10:00 PM, in an upscale izakaya-slash-karaoke bar in Ginza, Kame downs another shot of tequila, and sings Real Face, as per request from some of his friends. The booze is bottomless and he's having the time of his life. At 4:00 AM, his friends shove a grumpy him into a taxi and send him home.
The next morning you wake up with a splitting headache and dirty sheets. Evidence of what happened the previous night because surely, you alone can't make that much of a mess. But Kazuya's not there anymore. His clothes are gone, too. Not even his overpoweringly sweet perfume lingers. You're left alone in your 5-star hotel room, almost going blind with the sunlight streaming in. The silence is deafening. The beat that was endemic in your head is gone. You remember what Kazuya said. It takes a moment to sink in and when it finally does your eyes widen and briskly shift from side to side. It makes you want to scream.
We're falling apart, Jin. You, me, all of us. We're ruined.
No, you want to shout. No, you're wrong, you scream with all your might but it's swallowed up by the infinite silence residing inside you. Not even a whimper escapes from your pursed lips. Out of nowhere, a gut wrenching roar that morphs into a piercing scream fills your head and it can't get out. Horror dawns on you when you realize it's your own, and you scramble out of bed and crawl to where your jeans were mindlessly discarded. You reach inside its pockets searching for the pouch of little white pills. You pop two of them and they painfully slide down your dry throat. You resist the urge to vomit. You stay still. Soon enough, the screams inside your head taper off to silence. You close your eyes and drift off into a dreamless sleep, stark naked on the cold uncarpeted floor. You know you're going to have a cold when you wake up in the evening, but you don't care anymore. You give in to the unsuffocating emptiness and what sort artificial peace it has to offer. You give yourself in to all of it, vowing that tonight you'll take another of those shots and hear that beat again. Tonight, you'll see him again.
--End---