fic for paddyabroad (2/2)
Part 1
Not even a week could stop Hiroto cringing at the thought of the Nao incident; of what could have happened, had he arrived just a little later than he did. And if he was still thinking about it, he was certain it would be grating even harder on Nao.
Hiroto was pretty sure the hesitant glance Nao sent his way over lunch confirmed his suspicion, and he decided to crack the nut sooner rather than later.
“Are you feeling ok?” He eased, knowing she’d keep herself reserved unless he showed he was willing to listen.
Nao’s gaze fell to her fidgety fingers, glossy nails wrinkling and then smoothing Hiroto’s tablecloth. “Fine,” she said, voice tranquil but throat catching a little.
“You know you can talk to me,” Hiroto replied, knowing full well he was practically dictating cliché lines of a romantic comedy script. He watched Nao curl over a little, chewing on her full lower lip out of anxiety, and just knew she wasn’t going to open up. He sighed. “Is this about the other day?” He was pretty sure it was.
Nao’s eyes met his again, momentary confusion swirling about their depths. “What? Oh, that! No, it’s not. It’s nothing, really.”
That was mildly surprising, and Hiroto could hear the sincerity in her words leaving no room for doubt. But if that wasn’t the problem, what was?
“Then what…?” He started, but stopped when he saw a familiar glint in Nao’s eyes that could only mean tears. He reached a hand across the table to pat her shoulder but immediately she flinched away, and it was as if the Nao he knew had gone into hiding.
It was a good few minutes before she finally spoke. “Can we not talk about it?”
Hiroto licked his lips and sniffed nonchalantly, eyes fixed on a point behind Nao’s head. “If that’s what you want.” He paused, before asking about something that had danced over his mind quite a few times since the events of the previous week. “Do you still want to go to that university party on Friday?”
Nao looked up at him, her usual (albeit slightly diluted) babyish smile back on her face, and in that moment she more closely resembled a small child than Ren did. She nodded, carefully styled glossy curls bouncing with the movement.
Hiroto returned the gesture, but he couldn’t calm the storm of worry chewing up his insides.
--
Taking the comments of the advisor into consideration, Hayato made up his mind about what to do. He wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of his days ignoring Ryu, regretting following his thread the night it appeared. He would just have to somehow get Ryu to talk it all out with him, or in the very least ask if Ryu could see it as well.
This would only be possible, he reasoned, if he could get Ryu on his own somehow, which would not be easy. They rolled as a pack; trying to separate it was like trying to get the flour back out of cake batter.
In spite of this, a chance arose that Thursday morning, when Take invited both Ryu and Hayato to help him pick out a good birthday present for the girl he had his eyes on. Hayato had agreed instantly, though not without wondering why Take had asked him, of all people, to go. Surely he should have known better, given all of the failed presents Hayato had managed to purchase (from what they all supposed was a junkyard) over the years...
Still, this was an open opportunity, and Hayato wasn’t about to get picky about things.
The three of them casually exited an English lesson - if a paper aeroplane fight could be called a lesson - and made their way downtown towards the shopping district (which none of them set foot near normally, but this was an exception). Take led the way to a cake shop first, but quickly turned around and sped to the other end of the street when he saw the girl he liked working the till behind the counter. He ignored Hayato’s prods at him to get back in there and confess, instead changing the topic and dragging a persistent Hayato and a non-verbal Ryu to a jewellery shop. They were quick to vacate that place as well after just a second of ogling at the price tags. They found another shop down the road with similar items being sold at more reasonable prices, and got to work on searching for a gift.
“How much money did you bring?” Ryu asked with a frown when even the cheapest bracelet was turned down by Take.
“…One thousand yen.”
They left that store with flames of expense licking their heels.
Whilst checking out a relatively low-priced bakery, Hayato felt a sudden urge to ask why Take had brought him along. So he did.
Take sent a short glance to Ryu, who was looming over the pastry counter on the opposite side of the room, before leaning in close to whisper into Hayato’s ear.
“It’s Ryu’s birthday next week. Buy him something.”
Hayato’s eyes stretched wide and he gaped stupidly. How had he forgotten? Why on earth did Take ask Ryu to come as well? What would Ryu want for his birthday? Questions swirled around his head and he waited impatiently for one of them to land on his lips.
“Then why is Ryu here?” He settled on. His eyes were starting to go dry and sting from being open for so long without blinking.
“I wanted him to help me pick something out for Maki while I helped you get a clue. You’d forgotten, right?” Take pushed aside a muffin to take hold of the box of carefully crafted macaroons from behind it.
Hayato was about to respond when he felt a figure slide into the space between his left side and the counter, and he turned his head to see the back of Ryu’s as he payed for the crème puff in his hands. Hayato jumped away with a squeal like the boy was poisonous, but he froze when Take started laughing. Ryu sent him a judging look over his shoulder, and he responded with a sniff, his worn-out-but-still-awesome silver school shoes rocking back onto their heels as he turned around and left the two of them alone to pay for their cakes.
The shopping district was surprisingly deserted, much to his distaste. If there was anything he didn’t get on well with, it was silence. It meant he had no choice but to think about things, and it seemed the only things he ever thought about when he was alone were his problems.
His brother was away for the weekend on a trip to look around a university campus in Okinawa, and his dad had only been coming home in the early hours of the morning, so Hayato didn’t really feel up to returning to the apartment just yet. His abused little finger was throbbing sorely, the cord around it tight and trying to entice him back to where Ryu was probably bitching about him for walking out on them without warning.
Out of nowhere, he was caught off guard when a hand curled around his mouth from behind, dragging him down the alley to his left and roughly slamming his back into the grimy wall. His eyes, previously pinched shut, opened, and he took in the pierced mug of the gang leader that had dropped by Kurogin the other day. He cursed his bad luck; trust him to be alone the next time they met.
The leader, clearly not in the mood to hang around, sent a bony knee straight to Hayato’s gut, successfully winding him. The wall was a great hindrance, and for someone so lanky this opponent had quite a bit of strength, making light work of keeping Hayato in place.
Apparently the guy was talking to him, because his lips were moving and his strikes were getting more ferocious by the second, but Hayato couldn’t hear him over the scream of adrenaline pumping through him; the shriek of his thoughts in his ears. His vision was clouding, the figure in front of him starting to resemble a poorly taken photograph.
His eyes focused just enough to make out a ring-adorned fist heading for his face, and he winced in advance, waiting for a blow that never came. Squinting, he saw a hazy orange blob flitting about in front of him, and a couple of yells made their way past his sound-proofed ears. The hands that had been twisted in his shirt unclenched, and he dropped to his knees in a daze.
“Formation B, Hayato!” He heard over the buzzing in his eardrums. “Are you deaf? B!”
He still had enough brain in him to follow the command, struggling to his feet and limping as fast as was physically possible to the end of the alleyway. Out in the streets, he got a few funny looks and frowns from the small number of people roaming the area, but ignored them in favour of getting into the first cake shop they looked at. He hadn’t a penny on him, but he didn’t need food. He needed a chair.
“Can I sit down?” He panted, eyes pleading the girl of Take’s dreams to have mercy.
Apparently his friend had a good eye for girls, Hayato thought as her lips spread in a smile sweeter than the confectionery delicately arranged beneath the glass of the counter. “Of course,” she said, her honey voice a little surprised, but mostly comforting.
Hayato stumbled towards a two-seater and slumped down, bones cracking with every movement. He’d taken more hits than he would ever usually let in, and he cursed himself for spacing out at such a crucial moment. That fight hadn’t solved anything; hadn’t done anything to protect his classmates. All he’d managed to claim was a bruise-speckled body (his forearms alone resembled the fur of a leopard) and a few holes dripping blood and stinging like the smallest of paper cuts. It took everything he had in him to stop his fist from slamming the table at his own nonchalance.
The tinkle of the shop bell sounded through the confined space, and looking up, Hayato saw Ryu stroll in looking a touch messed up. His hair was more tousled than Hayato’s on a Sunday, and his blazer was slanted to one side, but other than that he was the same old Ryu. Hayato had never felt happier to see the boy.
He stood from his seat, meeting the redhead at the entrance. “What were you doing back there?” He was quick to ask.
The other’s eyes rolled in a tiny circle, one that made Hayato glad he didn’t blink or else he’d have missed it. “Pulling a Yankumi,” Ryu said.
Hayato bit back a laugh, and he watched Ryu try to do the same. After a twitchy-lipped moment, they both settled on grins.
“Thanks.” The formality was unusual for them, but Ryu looked pleased with himself, smile turning slightly smug, and it made Hayato’s heart swell. He found himself reaching out to smooth down Ryu’s tangled locks, and really, were these even his hands? He couldn’t believe how forward he was being; it was as if he was watching this moment from outside his own body with no grip on his actions.
Ryu’s smile dropped and he tensed, unmoving, while Hayato continued to card through the other’s hair, fingers making the most of having a mind of their own.
The ring of the shop door bell made Hayato drop his fingers like Ryu’s head was hot iron. Take stepped through the entrance, eyeing the two of them curiously.
“Did I interrupt something?” He asked, and the two were fast to shake their heads.
The air in the room was suffocating until Take shrugged and turned to the counter for a bit of shameless (or rather, completely undetectable) flirting.
Both Hayato and Ryu shared a sigh, at which point their eyes met and they flinched as if caught reading with a torch after bedtime. It lasted just a second though before Ryu headed back to the doorway he’d just come through, lightly tugging Hayato after him.
“You need to go home and get patched up,” He spoke softly, and if his mind weren’t still putty and willing to believe anything, he’d have assumed this Ryu to be an imposter. Ryu was caring about him for the first time in as long as he could remember, and the thought was almost chilling.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied dumbly, tripping on air and stumbling forward. The bitchy laugh that came from behind him actually served as reassurance that his friend hadn’t undergone some sort of body switch.
“I’ll walk you, come on.” Ryu took the lead then, and Hayato followed him like a puppy, eyes taking in the bounce of Ryu’s hair and the subtle sway of his hips. Yes, he was limping a little, but Hayato’s leg was in worse condition. He was in no position to be worrying about others when both his head and his heart were pulsating with such force that it was furthering his dizziness.
He made the firm decision not to stop himself thinking about Ryu. It was only piling pressure onto his stack of things to deal with. He thought about how body-conscious Ryu would always get at sleepovers, insisting on changing in the bathroom. He thought about Ryu’s odd socks, and the time he had explained, when Hayato had asked him, that they made him feel like he was able to defy his father without him even knowing. Hayato had called him lame for getting satisfaction from such a thing, but now it seemed kind of endearing.
God, his feelings were too much.
They were standing outside his apartment in what felt like no time at all, and Ryu stepped aside to let Hayato work on the lock. Once inside, Hayato stripped jacket and slacks, dropping down on his futon with his eyes shut tight.
“You’re dripping on the pillow,” Ryu informed him, monotonous.
With a grunt, Hayato raised himself enough to confirm that he was in fact doing just that, the red dots staining the cheap white fabric. He sat up reluctantly, head weighing a ton and drooping to one side. Looking up, he noticed that Ryu looked hesitant, still stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“You can come in, you know.”
At those words, the boy’s head lifted, and Hayato watched his moment of deliberation pass before he stepped into the small apartment. The action made Hayato what was making this time so different to all of the other times Ryu had stopped by his place after getting a bit roughed up. Maybe it was because neither of them were talking, which was pretty unusual as fights tended to rile Hayato up and have him bragging about how good his strike aim was (or how he could have taken down the opponent on his own).
The feeling of something landing by his side startled him. Ryu unravelled his spine to lie down on top of the duvet in the space next to Hayato, eyes fluttering closed.
Hayato’s breath got caught in his throat, and it took him a good few airless coughs to convince himself to exhale.
He definitely shouldn’t have invited him in.
--
Friday rolled around sooner than expected, and Natsu was about as prepared as he had been for his exams at school (not at all). They’d started to set up the gear an hour ahead of the scheduled start time, but the guests were arriving surprisingly early. Not once, but twice had Hayato had to put out his toilet cigarettes due to complaints from snobby university students who wanted to make proper use of the restroom.
Their equipment - amps, stands, microphones, stools and the drum kit - were all in place by seven o’clock, thirty minutes after the scheduled start time. As soon as people noticed they were in position to start their performance, a crowd gathered around the outdoor pool. Natsu assumed at least a handful of them must know of Lands, as they’d been topping the Oricon charts with their new single for the past four weeks, but was disheartened to overhear multiple students asking each other who was performing (even after being told the band’s name). It wasn’t totally unexpected though; these people hardly seemed the types dig rock music (the orchestra inside the venue backed up that theory).
Nine bars into ‘Yuuki’, Natsu saw a girl step outside and weave her way into the crowd, and it took him a few moments for him to recognise her as the factory kid’s girlfriend he’d tried to pick up just a few days ago. She was dressed more casually than the others in jeans and a long top, and for some reason this made her stand out. Natsu let his eyes wander through the rest of the crowd as well, seeing the girls’ dresses glitter in the fancy candlelight and the boys’ suits crease as their backs began to slump.
The song ended, and Natsu stepped off the stage for a smoking break and maybe a beer from the indoor bar. He was close to the door when a pair of identical screams resounded from either side of the outdoor patio, a noisy splash and the slap of hands on concrete following in quick succession. Two shrieks of “My contacts!” broke through the crowd’s silence, and Natsu glanced around to see a fallen girl patting around on the floor next to the door. Kneeling down, he helped her look, finding the small glass circle and popping it into his mouth before putting it back on her eye.
“Thank you,” the girl mumbled, and the look of admiration in her eyes told Natsu she was a fan (and quite a pretty one at that).
“Did you trip? Err…”
“Asako.”
“Yeah, uh, you. Are you hurt?”
The girl looked down at her grazed knee and shredded palms with a frown and a nod, which Natsu took as his cue to help her up onto her feet and guide her inside to the venue’s laundry room. Just as he entered, he was stopped by a body in front of his own, and he found himself eye-to-eye with the factory boy who, it seemed, was on his way out.
Recognition struck the boy, who promptly scowled at him, stepping back into the room and moving out of Natsu’s way. Sitting on one of the plush sofas was his girlfriend, skin soaked to the bone with a towel draped around her neck and a staff uniform in place of her party clothes. Her gaze met his, but apparently she couldn’t remember his face, her eyes calm as they fell back to the tumble dryer spinning her own drenched clothes.
Her boyfriend appeared to be watching the non-existent reaction with confusion, standing at Natsu’s side. Natsu took a moment to inspect the other’s staff clothes as well: a white slanted-collared shirt, decorated with a number of meaningless extra buttons, and a simple pair of black slacks. He was tapping his foot in agitation, and Natsu guessed it was down to the fact that his chick had just turned a blind eye to the guy who had tried to bed her not a week ago.
He didn’t linger long, though, brushing past Natsu as he made his way to the lobby, and Natsu followed him (but not before leaving the contact-girl with a promise that he’d bring her a bandage. Of course, he had no intention of keeping his word).
He managed to trail the other male as far as a street corner outside unnoticed, all the while wondering when he’d turned from a rock star into a stalker. It was only when the other spun to one side to rest against a wall, cock back his head and light up a smoke that Natsu’s presence was revealed. The former barely reacted, eyes calculating, but eventually he just sighed, which Natsu saw escape from his lips as a wisp of grey.
“What do you want?” He grunted. To this, Natsu merely slipped out his own ten-pack and lit up, also moving to lean against the brick.
Peace filled the air around them as they both looked up at the starless sky with no thoughts in their heads. When their cigarettes were nothing more than butts, their boots ground them into the gravel floor and directed their legs back to the swanky party location.
Natsu was reminded that he’d left his own gig part way through, but something was stopping him from going back to the poolside stage (probably the string around his finger, which had, surprisingly, managed to slip his mind).
The nameless boy that had played on his mind for the past few dream-rich nights led the way back to the washroom, and Natsu noted the cleanliness of his hair in comparison to the last time they’d crossed paths. It was soft-looking, and it seemed his red-hooked finger wanted nothing more than to slide through those thin strands, and the way it dug into his skin made it impossible for him to forget that he was barely a meter away from being able to do so. He forcibly leashed that urge with a poker face, but his eyes never left the other (though not of their own will).
This feeling was new; a new level of attraction that far surpassed anything he’d felt for his countless past fucks that were nameless to him. He hadn’t been told this guy’s name either, but they hadn’t really met under the right circumstances to share polite introductions, and Natsu didn’t really mind that. Perhaps he was better off not knowing. Maybe the string would leave him the fuck alone if he payed it no attention.
The door to the laundry room had closed since they’d left it, and the figure ahead of him stopped, clearly noticing this himself. They drew to a wordless stop, and Natsu tiptoed forwards to press his right ear up against the wood. The other copied him, head nestling into the space right in front of Natsu’s face (he couldn’t help but inhale, an exotic pairing of mango and nicotine mixing in his nostrils when he did so).
“Well- are you sure it’s not Hiroto’s?” Sounded a muffled voice from the other side of the obstructive wooden panel.
“Positive, I’ve been right next to him for days and we haven’t had any connection.” The factory boy’s girlfriend.
“Do you know who’s on the other end?”
“…No. But I have a feeling I’ll meet them soon. I don’t know why, just…” The voice became a murmur, too unclear to make it comprehendible through the door. Natsu was about to pull away, but froze when they became audible again. “How am I going to tell Hiroto? I mean, I wanted to tell him the other day, but it just wouldn’t co-” The rest of her line was cut by a choke from the boy in front of him, and Natsu crept around to get a look at his face. It looked blank, emotionless, but his eyes were glazed and his thin lips quivered, and Natsu could tell the tears were waiting to make their appearance, sweating like bombs behind the mask of his face.
He gave the shorter boy a pat on the shoulder. The world knew that ‘comforting’ wasn’t his middle name, but it felt like his duty to make an effort. As he did so, the other’s eyes snapped up and his face twisted up in pain, right hand gripping the pinkie of his left. The tears made snail trails down his cheeks, let loose from their cage, but they didn’t continue past a couple of droplets. Natsu looked down to watch the cord between them glow; watch the other swat at the string, testing its tangibility.
It was then that the door was flung open, and they tumbled through the entrance, landing in a two-man pile just past the frame. Nao’s troubled face loomed above them, but neither was able to avert their eyes from the light developing between their hands. Natsu took no notice when the girls left the room, nor when his band mates yelled obscenities at him for ditching their show, and consequentially, their wages. Once again he could hear the dull thud of his heartbeat, and it was like bad fuzzy club music stuck on replay in his ears and it was driving him fucking insane (whether with irritation or want, he wasn’t quite sure).
Eventually the cord lost its hypnotic glow, and they looked up to lock eyes, barely aware that they were still lying on the solid ground, one with wet hair probably sending chills up his spine. Neither was aware of quite how much time passed; neither really cared.
Natsu cracked the alien silence. “Wanna come to my next gig?”
The other’s face contorted into a pensive frown; he was clearly weighing his choices (and taking his time doing so). When his mouth curled up in a tiny smile, Natsu figured he’d got his answer.
--
The kiss was inevitable really, what with their faces being so close, Hayato’s head feeling more than a little messed up and Ryu smelling so, so good.
“You mean… you can see it too?” Hayato asked a little breathlessly when they broke apart, his eyes impossibly wide and hopeful. Ryu had kissed him back.
“See what?” Ryu asked, before he could process the question fully. He worked it out quickly enough to stop Hayato’s face falling, though, and hurried to speak up. “Oh, that. Yeah. I can see it.”
Hayato’s grin cracked his face in half, and his eyes were slim, dark moons on his face. “Since when?”
Ryu smiled back, unable to keep it in, but not really trying to anyway. He lost his confidence when he answered though, looking at the glow between them. “Four years ago.” He didn’t look up, thus missing the sideways drop of his friend’s jaw and the dull thump as it hit the pillow.
“Four fucking years? Why didn’t you say anything?!” He all but screamed, unable to control himself. The other’s small shrug did nothing to ease his ever-growing frustration, rather the contrary. All thoughts were thrown to the air con when Ryu linked their fingers though, the zap of lust that shot through his every nerve making him shudder and act on instinct, pushing Ryu onto his back and smashing their lips together again.
Had Hayato’s brain had more structure than the mush it had become inside his ringing skull, and had his blood not have been hammering against his skin with every intention of making him explode, he probably would have cried, because the Ryu that was underneath him was aggressive, feverish, forceful … needy. And God, could Hayato relate, need overpowering his senses as he angled his head to deepen the kiss.
This Ryu was like oxygen, took priority over oxygen, and he groaned shamelessly into the other boy’s mouth, tongues slipping and sliding and effectively melting Hayato from the inside out.
This was a world better than the kiss he’d stolen from the girl who worked at the game centre (and a universe better than the slap his cheek had received afterwards). It was better than Lazy Sunday, his favourite day of the week, when he got a day off from his (non-existent) leader’s duties, nobody asked him to look decent in clothing dressier than boxers and a loose shirt, nobody punched him in the face for insulting their gang, and best of all, nobody could keep him from inhaling twice his weight in instant ramen with his bed hair resembling the noodles themselves.
That thought brought him way less excitement than it usually did, his hands on fire as he looked down through squinting eyes at the boy under his sweating palms. It all felt so easy, and no kiss should feel so good; feel like more than just lips on lips, but this was so much more, heat passing between them and warming their bellies.
Hayato couldn’t even think about what Ryu’s dad would say if he found out.
Strangely, though Hayato would never admit it, that piece of information only added excitement to the moment, like Ryu was a forbidden fruit within easy reach of Hayato’s fingertips. He drank in Ryu’s moans like they were colourful juices and mixed them with his owns, experimenting. He bit, slurped, growled, and just knew Ryu would make dog jokes for weeks like the funny guy he thought he was, the vain bastard. Attractive bastard.
Perfect bastard.
Their entwined fingers were scarred, their skin marked with blood-red rings, and they parted in time to see their loops become a single O around both of their fingers. Immediately Hayato felt the absence of the sore burn that he’d become accustomed to, but he could still feel the lingering bond. He felt it speed through his veins like a snake of blood, making his heart pound faster to keep it alive and moving. He felt it curling up in his cheeks when Ryu smiled (which he been doing a lot recently, Hayato noticed). He felt it wrapping around his heart, and Ryu’s, the organs dissolving and fizzing in a puddle between their flush-pressed chests. He felt it all.
And it felt brilliant.
Not even a week could stop Hiroto cringing at the thought of the Nao incident; of what could have happened, had he arrived just a little later than he did. And if he was still thinking about it, he was certain it would be grating even harder on Nao.
Hiroto was pretty sure the hesitant glance Nao sent his way over lunch confirmed his suspicion, and he decided to crack the nut sooner rather than later.
“Are you feeling ok?” He eased, knowing she’d keep herself reserved unless he showed he was willing to listen.
Nao’s gaze fell to her fidgety fingers, glossy nails wrinkling and then smoothing Hiroto’s tablecloth. “Fine,” she said, voice tranquil but throat catching a little.
“You know you can talk to me,” Hiroto replied, knowing full well he was practically dictating cliché lines of a romantic comedy script. He watched Nao curl over a little, chewing on her full lower lip out of anxiety, and just knew she wasn’t going to open up. He sighed. “Is this about the other day?” He was pretty sure it was.
Nao’s eyes met his again, momentary confusion swirling about their depths. “What? Oh, that! No, it’s not. It’s nothing, really.”
That was mildly surprising, and Hiroto could hear the sincerity in her words leaving no room for doubt. But if that wasn’t the problem, what was?
“Then what…?” He started, but stopped when he saw a familiar glint in Nao’s eyes that could only mean tears. He reached a hand across the table to pat her shoulder but immediately she flinched away, and it was as if the Nao he knew had gone into hiding.
It was a good few minutes before she finally spoke. “Can we not talk about it?”
Hiroto licked his lips and sniffed nonchalantly, eyes fixed on a point behind Nao’s head. “If that’s what you want.” He paused, before asking about something that had danced over his mind quite a few times since the events of the previous week. “Do you still want to go to that university party on Friday?”
Nao looked up at him, her usual (albeit slightly diluted) babyish smile back on her face, and in that moment she more closely resembled a small child than Ren did. She nodded, carefully styled glossy curls bouncing with the movement.
Hiroto returned the gesture, but he couldn’t calm the storm of worry chewing up his insides.
--
Taking the comments of the advisor into consideration, Hayato made up his mind about what to do. He wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of his days ignoring Ryu, regretting following his thread the night it appeared. He would just have to somehow get Ryu to talk it all out with him, or in the very least ask if Ryu could see it as well.
This would only be possible, he reasoned, if he could get Ryu on his own somehow, which would not be easy. They rolled as a pack; trying to separate it was like trying to get the flour back out of cake batter.
In spite of this, a chance arose that Thursday morning, when Take invited both Ryu and Hayato to help him pick out a good birthday present for the girl he had his eyes on. Hayato had agreed instantly, though not without wondering why Take had asked him, of all people, to go. Surely he should have known better, given all of the failed presents Hayato had managed to purchase (from what they all supposed was a junkyard) over the years...
Still, this was an open opportunity, and Hayato wasn’t about to get picky about things.
The three of them casually exited an English lesson - if a paper aeroplane fight could be called a lesson - and made their way downtown towards the shopping district (which none of them set foot near normally, but this was an exception). Take led the way to a cake shop first, but quickly turned around and sped to the other end of the street when he saw the girl he liked working the till behind the counter. He ignored Hayato’s prods at him to get back in there and confess, instead changing the topic and dragging a persistent Hayato and a non-verbal Ryu to a jewellery shop. They were quick to vacate that place as well after just a second of ogling at the price tags. They found another shop down the road with similar items being sold at more reasonable prices, and got to work on searching for a gift.
“How much money did you bring?” Ryu asked with a frown when even the cheapest bracelet was turned down by Take.
“…One thousand yen.”
They left that store with flames of expense licking their heels.
Whilst checking out a relatively low-priced bakery, Hayato felt a sudden urge to ask why Take had brought him along. So he did.
Take sent a short glance to Ryu, who was looming over the pastry counter on the opposite side of the room, before leaning in close to whisper into Hayato’s ear.
“It’s Ryu’s birthday next week. Buy him something.”
Hayato’s eyes stretched wide and he gaped stupidly. How had he forgotten? Why on earth did Take ask Ryu to come as well? What would Ryu want for his birthday? Questions swirled around his head and he waited impatiently for one of them to land on his lips.
“Then why is Ryu here?” He settled on. His eyes were starting to go dry and sting from being open for so long without blinking.
“I wanted him to help me pick something out for Maki while I helped you get a clue. You’d forgotten, right?” Take pushed aside a muffin to take hold of the box of carefully crafted macaroons from behind it.
Hayato was about to respond when he felt a figure slide into the space between his left side and the counter, and he turned his head to see the back of Ryu’s as he payed for the crème puff in his hands. Hayato jumped away with a squeal like the boy was poisonous, but he froze when Take started laughing. Ryu sent him a judging look over his shoulder, and he responded with a sniff, his worn-out-but-still-awesome silver school shoes rocking back onto their heels as he turned around and left the two of them alone to pay for their cakes.
The shopping district was surprisingly deserted, much to his distaste. If there was anything he didn’t get on well with, it was silence. It meant he had no choice but to think about things, and it seemed the only things he ever thought about when he was alone were his problems.
His brother was away for the weekend on a trip to look around a university campus in Okinawa, and his dad had only been coming home in the early hours of the morning, so Hayato didn’t really feel up to returning to the apartment just yet. His abused little finger was throbbing sorely, the cord around it tight and trying to entice him back to where Ryu was probably bitching about him for walking out on them without warning.
Out of nowhere, he was caught off guard when a hand curled around his mouth from behind, dragging him down the alley to his left and roughly slamming his back into the grimy wall. His eyes, previously pinched shut, opened, and he took in the pierced mug of the gang leader that had dropped by Kurogin the other day. He cursed his bad luck; trust him to be alone the next time they met.
The leader, clearly not in the mood to hang around, sent a bony knee straight to Hayato’s gut, successfully winding him. The wall was a great hindrance, and for someone so lanky this opponent had quite a bit of strength, making light work of keeping Hayato in place.
Apparently the guy was talking to him, because his lips were moving and his strikes were getting more ferocious by the second, but Hayato couldn’t hear him over the scream of adrenaline pumping through him; the shriek of his thoughts in his ears. His vision was clouding, the figure in front of him starting to resemble a poorly taken photograph.
His eyes focused just enough to make out a ring-adorned fist heading for his face, and he winced in advance, waiting for a blow that never came. Squinting, he saw a hazy orange blob flitting about in front of him, and a couple of yells made their way past his sound-proofed ears. The hands that had been twisted in his shirt unclenched, and he dropped to his knees in a daze.
“Formation B, Hayato!” He heard over the buzzing in his eardrums. “Are you deaf? B!”
He still had enough brain in him to follow the command, struggling to his feet and limping as fast as was physically possible to the end of the alleyway. Out in the streets, he got a few funny looks and frowns from the small number of people roaming the area, but ignored them in favour of getting into the first cake shop they looked at. He hadn’t a penny on him, but he didn’t need food. He needed a chair.
“Can I sit down?” He panted, eyes pleading the girl of Take’s dreams to have mercy.
Apparently his friend had a good eye for girls, Hayato thought as her lips spread in a smile sweeter than the confectionery delicately arranged beneath the glass of the counter. “Of course,” she said, her honey voice a little surprised, but mostly comforting.
Hayato stumbled towards a two-seater and slumped down, bones cracking with every movement. He’d taken more hits than he would ever usually let in, and he cursed himself for spacing out at such a crucial moment. That fight hadn’t solved anything; hadn’t done anything to protect his classmates. All he’d managed to claim was a bruise-speckled body (his forearms alone resembled the fur of a leopard) and a few holes dripping blood and stinging like the smallest of paper cuts. It took everything he had in him to stop his fist from slamming the table at his own nonchalance.
The tinkle of the shop bell sounded through the confined space, and looking up, Hayato saw Ryu stroll in looking a touch messed up. His hair was more tousled than Hayato’s on a Sunday, and his blazer was slanted to one side, but other than that he was the same old Ryu. Hayato had never felt happier to see the boy.
He stood from his seat, meeting the redhead at the entrance. “What were you doing back there?” He was quick to ask.
The other’s eyes rolled in a tiny circle, one that made Hayato glad he didn’t blink or else he’d have missed it. “Pulling a Yankumi,” Ryu said.
Hayato bit back a laugh, and he watched Ryu try to do the same. After a twitchy-lipped moment, they both settled on grins.
“Thanks.” The formality was unusual for them, but Ryu looked pleased with himself, smile turning slightly smug, and it made Hayato’s heart swell. He found himself reaching out to smooth down Ryu’s tangled locks, and really, were these even his hands? He couldn’t believe how forward he was being; it was as if he was watching this moment from outside his own body with no grip on his actions.
Ryu’s smile dropped and he tensed, unmoving, while Hayato continued to card through the other’s hair, fingers making the most of having a mind of their own.
The ring of the shop door bell made Hayato drop his fingers like Ryu’s head was hot iron. Take stepped through the entrance, eyeing the two of them curiously.
“Did I interrupt something?” He asked, and the two were fast to shake their heads.
The air in the room was suffocating until Take shrugged and turned to the counter for a bit of shameless (or rather, completely undetectable) flirting.
Both Hayato and Ryu shared a sigh, at which point their eyes met and they flinched as if caught reading with a torch after bedtime. It lasted just a second though before Ryu headed back to the doorway he’d just come through, lightly tugging Hayato after him.
“You need to go home and get patched up,” He spoke softly, and if his mind weren’t still putty and willing to believe anything, he’d have assumed this Ryu to be an imposter. Ryu was caring about him for the first time in as long as he could remember, and the thought was almost chilling.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied dumbly, tripping on air and stumbling forward. The bitchy laugh that came from behind him actually served as reassurance that his friend hadn’t undergone some sort of body switch.
“I’ll walk you, come on.” Ryu took the lead then, and Hayato followed him like a puppy, eyes taking in the bounce of Ryu’s hair and the subtle sway of his hips. Yes, he was limping a little, but Hayato’s leg was in worse condition. He was in no position to be worrying about others when both his head and his heart were pulsating with such force that it was furthering his dizziness.
He made the firm decision not to stop himself thinking about Ryu. It was only piling pressure onto his stack of things to deal with. He thought about how body-conscious Ryu would always get at sleepovers, insisting on changing in the bathroom. He thought about Ryu’s odd socks, and the time he had explained, when Hayato had asked him, that they made him feel like he was able to defy his father without him even knowing. Hayato had called him lame for getting satisfaction from such a thing, but now it seemed kind of endearing.
God, his feelings were too much.
They were standing outside his apartment in what felt like no time at all, and Ryu stepped aside to let Hayato work on the lock. Once inside, Hayato stripped jacket and slacks, dropping down on his futon with his eyes shut tight.
“You’re dripping on the pillow,” Ryu informed him, monotonous.
With a grunt, Hayato raised himself enough to confirm that he was in fact doing just that, the red dots staining the cheap white fabric. He sat up reluctantly, head weighing a ton and drooping to one side. Looking up, he noticed that Ryu looked hesitant, still stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“You can come in, you know.”
At those words, the boy’s head lifted, and Hayato watched his moment of deliberation pass before he stepped into the small apartment. The action made Hayato what was making this time so different to all of the other times Ryu had stopped by his place after getting a bit roughed up. Maybe it was because neither of them were talking, which was pretty unusual as fights tended to rile Hayato up and have him bragging about how good his strike aim was (or how he could have taken down the opponent on his own).
The feeling of something landing by his side startled him. Ryu unravelled his spine to lie down on top of the duvet in the space next to Hayato, eyes fluttering closed.
Hayato’s breath got caught in his throat, and it took him a good few airless coughs to convince himself to exhale.
He definitely shouldn’t have invited him in.
--
Friday rolled around sooner than expected, and Natsu was about as prepared as he had been for his exams at school (not at all). They’d started to set up the gear an hour ahead of the scheduled start time, but the guests were arriving surprisingly early. Not once, but twice had Hayato had to put out his toilet cigarettes due to complaints from snobby university students who wanted to make proper use of the restroom.
Their equipment - amps, stands, microphones, stools and the drum kit - were all in place by seven o’clock, thirty minutes after the scheduled start time. As soon as people noticed they were in position to start their performance, a crowd gathered around the outdoor pool. Natsu assumed at least a handful of them must know of Lands, as they’d been topping the Oricon charts with their new single for the past four weeks, but was disheartened to overhear multiple students asking each other who was performing (even after being told the band’s name). It wasn’t totally unexpected though; these people hardly seemed the types dig rock music (the orchestra inside the venue backed up that theory).
Nine bars into ‘Yuuki’, Natsu saw a girl step outside and weave her way into the crowd, and it took him a few moments for him to recognise her as the factory kid’s girlfriend he’d tried to pick up just a few days ago. She was dressed more casually than the others in jeans and a long top, and for some reason this made her stand out. Natsu let his eyes wander through the rest of the crowd as well, seeing the girls’ dresses glitter in the fancy candlelight and the boys’ suits crease as their backs began to slump.
The song ended, and Natsu stepped off the stage for a smoking break and maybe a beer from the indoor bar. He was close to the door when a pair of identical screams resounded from either side of the outdoor patio, a noisy splash and the slap of hands on concrete following in quick succession. Two shrieks of “My contacts!” broke through the crowd’s silence, and Natsu glanced around to see a fallen girl patting around on the floor next to the door. Kneeling down, he helped her look, finding the small glass circle and popping it into his mouth before putting it back on her eye.
“Thank you,” the girl mumbled, and the look of admiration in her eyes told Natsu she was a fan (and quite a pretty one at that).
“Did you trip? Err…”
“Asako.”
“Yeah, uh, you. Are you hurt?”
The girl looked down at her grazed knee and shredded palms with a frown and a nod, which Natsu took as his cue to help her up onto her feet and guide her inside to the venue’s laundry room. Just as he entered, he was stopped by a body in front of his own, and he found himself eye-to-eye with the factory boy who, it seemed, was on his way out.
Recognition struck the boy, who promptly scowled at him, stepping back into the room and moving out of Natsu’s way. Sitting on one of the plush sofas was his girlfriend, skin soaked to the bone with a towel draped around her neck and a staff uniform in place of her party clothes. Her gaze met his, but apparently she couldn’t remember his face, her eyes calm as they fell back to the tumble dryer spinning her own drenched clothes.
Her boyfriend appeared to be watching the non-existent reaction with confusion, standing at Natsu’s side. Natsu took a moment to inspect the other’s staff clothes as well: a white slanted-collared shirt, decorated with a number of meaningless extra buttons, and a simple pair of black slacks. He was tapping his foot in agitation, and Natsu guessed it was down to the fact that his chick had just turned a blind eye to the guy who had tried to bed her not a week ago.
He didn’t linger long, though, brushing past Natsu as he made his way to the lobby, and Natsu followed him (but not before leaving the contact-girl with a promise that he’d bring her a bandage. Of course, he had no intention of keeping his word).
He managed to trail the other male as far as a street corner outside unnoticed, all the while wondering when he’d turned from a rock star into a stalker. It was only when the other spun to one side to rest against a wall, cock back his head and light up a smoke that Natsu’s presence was revealed. The former barely reacted, eyes calculating, but eventually he just sighed, which Natsu saw escape from his lips as a wisp of grey.
“What do you want?” He grunted. To this, Natsu merely slipped out his own ten-pack and lit up, also moving to lean against the brick.
Peace filled the air around them as they both looked up at the starless sky with no thoughts in their heads. When their cigarettes were nothing more than butts, their boots ground them into the gravel floor and directed their legs back to the swanky party location.
Natsu was reminded that he’d left his own gig part way through, but something was stopping him from going back to the poolside stage (probably the string around his finger, which had, surprisingly, managed to slip his mind).
The nameless boy that had played on his mind for the past few dream-rich nights led the way back to the washroom, and Natsu noted the cleanliness of his hair in comparison to the last time they’d crossed paths. It was soft-looking, and it seemed his red-hooked finger wanted nothing more than to slide through those thin strands, and the way it dug into his skin made it impossible for him to forget that he was barely a meter away from being able to do so. He forcibly leashed that urge with a poker face, but his eyes never left the other (though not of their own will).
This feeling was new; a new level of attraction that far surpassed anything he’d felt for his countless past fucks that were nameless to him. He hadn’t been told this guy’s name either, but they hadn’t really met under the right circumstances to share polite introductions, and Natsu didn’t really mind that. Perhaps he was better off not knowing. Maybe the string would leave him the fuck alone if he payed it no attention.
The door to the laundry room had closed since they’d left it, and the figure ahead of him stopped, clearly noticing this himself. They drew to a wordless stop, and Natsu tiptoed forwards to press his right ear up against the wood. The other copied him, head nestling into the space right in front of Natsu’s face (he couldn’t help but inhale, an exotic pairing of mango and nicotine mixing in his nostrils when he did so).
“Well- are you sure it’s not Hiroto’s?” Sounded a muffled voice from the other side of the obstructive wooden panel.
“Positive, I’ve been right next to him for days and we haven’t had any connection.” The factory boy’s girlfriend.
“Do you know who’s on the other end?”
“…No. But I have a feeling I’ll meet them soon. I don’t know why, just…” The voice became a murmur, too unclear to make it comprehendible through the door. Natsu was about to pull away, but froze when they became audible again. “How am I going to tell Hiroto? I mean, I wanted to tell him the other day, but it just wouldn’t co-” The rest of her line was cut by a choke from the boy in front of him, and Natsu crept around to get a look at his face. It looked blank, emotionless, but his eyes were glazed and his thin lips quivered, and Natsu could tell the tears were waiting to make their appearance, sweating like bombs behind the mask of his face.
He gave the shorter boy a pat on the shoulder. The world knew that ‘comforting’ wasn’t his middle name, but it felt like his duty to make an effort. As he did so, the other’s eyes snapped up and his face twisted up in pain, right hand gripping the pinkie of his left. The tears made snail trails down his cheeks, let loose from their cage, but they didn’t continue past a couple of droplets. Natsu looked down to watch the cord between them glow; watch the other swat at the string, testing its tangibility.
It was then that the door was flung open, and they tumbled through the entrance, landing in a two-man pile just past the frame. Nao’s troubled face loomed above them, but neither was able to avert their eyes from the light developing between their hands. Natsu took no notice when the girls left the room, nor when his band mates yelled obscenities at him for ditching their show, and consequentially, their wages. Once again he could hear the dull thud of his heartbeat, and it was like bad fuzzy club music stuck on replay in his ears and it was driving him fucking insane (whether with irritation or want, he wasn’t quite sure).
Eventually the cord lost its hypnotic glow, and they looked up to lock eyes, barely aware that they were still lying on the solid ground, one with wet hair probably sending chills up his spine. Neither was aware of quite how much time passed; neither really cared.
Natsu cracked the alien silence. “Wanna come to my next gig?”
The other’s face contorted into a pensive frown; he was clearly weighing his choices (and taking his time doing so). When his mouth curled up in a tiny smile, Natsu figured he’d got his answer.
--
The kiss was inevitable really, what with their faces being so close, Hayato’s head feeling more than a little messed up and Ryu smelling so, so good.
“You mean… you can see it too?” Hayato asked a little breathlessly when they broke apart, his eyes impossibly wide and hopeful. Ryu had kissed him back.
“See what?” Ryu asked, before he could process the question fully. He worked it out quickly enough to stop Hayato’s face falling, though, and hurried to speak up. “Oh, that. Yeah. I can see it.”
Hayato’s grin cracked his face in half, and his eyes were slim, dark moons on his face. “Since when?”
Ryu smiled back, unable to keep it in, but not really trying to anyway. He lost his confidence when he answered though, looking at the glow between them. “Four years ago.” He didn’t look up, thus missing the sideways drop of his friend’s jaw and the dull thump as it hit the pillow.
“Four fucking years? Why didn’t you say anything?!” He all but screamed, unable to control himself. The other’s small shrug did nothing to ease his ever-growing frustration, rather the contrary. All thoughts were thrown to the air con when Ryu linked their fingers though, the zap of lust that shot through his every nerve making him shudder and act on instinct, pushing Ryu onto his back and smashing their lips together again.
Had Hayato’s brain had more structure than the mush it had become inside his ringing skull, and had his blood not have been hammering against his skin with every intention of making him explode, he probably would have cried, because the Ryu that was underneath him was aggressive, feverish, forceful … needy. And God, could Hayato relate, need overpowering his senses as he angled his head to deepen the kiss.
This Ryu was like oxygen, took priority over oxygen, and he groaned shamelessly into the other boy’s mouth, tongues slipping and sliding and effectively melting Hayato from the inside out.
This was a world better than the kiss he’d stolen from the girl who worked at the game centre (and a universe better than the slap his cheek had received afterwards). It was better than Lazy Sunday, his favourite day of the week, when he got a day off from his (non-existent) leader’s duties, nobody asked him to look decent in clothing dressier than boxers and a loose shirt, nobody punched him in the face for insulting their gang, and best of all, nobody could keep him from inhaling twice his weight in instant ramen with his bed hair resembling the noodles themselves.
That thought brought him way less excitement than it usually did, his hands on fire as he looked down through squinting eyes at the boy under his sweating palms. It all felt so easy, and no kiss should feel so good; feel like more than just lips on lips, but this was so much more, heat passing between them and warming their bellies.
Hayato couldn’t even think about what Ryu’s dad would say if he found out.
Strangely, though Hayato would never admit it, that piece of information only added excitement to the moment, like Ryu was a forbidden fruit within easy reach of Hayato’s fingertips. He drank in Ryu’s moans like they were colourful juices and mixed them with his owns, experimenting. He bit, slurped, growled, and just knew Ryu would make dog jokes for weeks like the funny guy he thought he was, the vain bastard. Attractive bastard.
Perfect bastard.
Their entwined fingers were scarred, their skin marked with blood-red rings, and they parted in time to see their loops become a single O around both of their fingers. Immediately Hayato felt the absence of the sore burn that he’d become accustomed to, but he could still feel the lingering bond. He felt it speed through his veins like a snake of blood, making his heart pound faster to keep it alive and moving. He felt it curling up in his cheeks when Ryu smiled (which he been doing a lot recently, Hayato noticed). He felt it wrapping around his heart, and Ryu’s, the organs dissolving and fizzing in a puddle between their flush-pressed chests. He felt it all.
And it felt brilliant.