Spoken Silence [Part 3], PG, Gackt/Hyde
Title: Spoken Silence
Author: riverofnara
Pairing: Gackt/Hyde
Rating: PG for now
Summary: "I want this finished tomorrow," I state, holding the piece of paper up.
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: I do not own these two and the events in this series have not happened.
Author's Note: Once again, I'm deeply sorry that this is way overdue. Thank you to the reviews and to my wonderful beta larkir! Please enjoy and feedback/criticism is great. Previous parts under the cut. :)
[Part 1] [Part 2]
The session ends pretty well with the few hours we had in the studio. I had hoped we could have recorded more but I was informed that we would have more time tomorrow. I waste no time in planning tomorrow’s session with the utmost attention to what exactly needs to be accomplished. Every minute counts for me when it comes to recording, and if it requires me to write out every single detail, so be it.
Sitting in a plastic waiting chair in the studio’s hallway is not the most ideal place to do this but I am not leaving until the schedule is in order. That is, until You claps me on the shoulder, some time after our session has ended.
“I’m sure you have everything you need planned out,” he says, peering down at the paper in my lap, “You don’t have to have it down to the last minute.”
“It would certainly help,” I mutter, setting my pen down to rub some feeling back into my hand. You squeezes my shoulder, a little softer than it is necessary, but then his touch grows firm as he shakes me slightly.
“Go home, Gacchan,” he tells me, “That’s more than enough for tomorrow.” I give him a look. You has the tendency to excessively worry when it comes to me but he’d only argue back that I’ve given him plenty of reasons to worry.
But he knows me, understands me more than anyone else in this world. He knows the power of my determination and how far I will go for something I want. And the reason he has kept up with me for so many years is because he shares that same kind of drive as well.
The difference between us, however, is he believes in limits; he knows when he has reached the end of his potential and that he needs to back down. Me, I can’t turn that off. I’m not so content in letting my potential determine what I do, especially if I need to do it. It’s a time old argument we constantly get into. You often jokes that he sticks around just to put me in my place and remind me that I am human. I’m not about to deny that it’s true, but I’m not going to let it be an obstacle either.
“I want this finished tomorrow,” I state, holding the piece of paper up. You nods and takes the paper from my hands.
“It will be,” he reassures me.
“Good.” I stand up, taking the sheet back and folding it carefully to fit just right into my pocket. I don’t doubt I will be working on it later tonight; but for now, I will appease my friend and do exactly as he orders. He smiles and pats me once on the chest before walking down to the exit.
“I’ll drive you home,” he calls out over his shoulder.
“Didn’t you drive your own car over?” I point out, grasping my keys from my back pocket.
“Nah, I called a cab.” I snort and he elbows me in the side. “It was early, I was too sleepy to drive.”
“You were too lazy,” I tease, opening the door to the parking deck. As he passes by me though, I hand him my keys, which he accepts with glee. I have a sneaking suspicion he just likes to drive my car.
“Call it what you like, I know the truth.”
“How do you plan on getting home?” I ask. His confident steps fumble as this thought occurs to him but he recovers nicely.
“Call a cab?” I roll my eyes.
“Drive to your place and then I’ll drive home.” You shrugs, keys swinging around his fingertips as we reach my car.
“Whatever works -“
“As long as you get to drive,” I finish. He just grins and opens the driver’s door.
~
He invites me in for a drink, a usual occurrence after a recording session. He goes into the kitchen for either water or beers - you never quite know with him - while I walk around his living room, studying the various pictures decorating his shelf. I have been here thousands of times but I always look at these pictures.
Family, friends, a picture or two of himself. There is one I haven’t seen before at the end of the shelf. I pick it up, careful not to touch the glass. It’s a photo of us at his birthday celebration last year, with Chacha in the background, just a few short seconds away from tackling You to the ground. But just for a few seconds for the camera, he and I were standing together, my arm over his shoulder and both smiling to capture that moment.
It brings a smile to my lips and I set the frame down as delicately as possible. I don’t look away even when You joins me in the living room, handling me a glass of water. He follows my gaze to the picture and grins, tilting the picture his way.
“I just found all those photos from that night,” he says, “It was about the only one that was somewhat guest-appropriate.”
“It wasn’t that wild,” I protest, though to be honest, I do not remember the entire night - with the type of friendships we have with our fellow bandmates, it’s not hard to just imagine what we got into. You doesn’t respond, just chuckles into his glass as he sips his water, ever the relaxed gentleman.
Right then, my phone chooses to vibrate and I take it out, accepting my new message.
Piano about to meet its doom and be thrown out window. Fucking song.
I snort. Trust Hyde to be so melodramatic.
Don’t be a brat, I type then send to him, tucking my phone back in my pocket. When I look up again, You is looking my way, curious. He nods his head in the general direction of my phone.
“Who was it?”
“Hyde. He’s been having trouble with a song. I helped him out last night, told him to let me know how it was going today.” I turn away from the bookshelf to sit on the couch. You doesn’t move - he just looks thoughtful, tapping his glass against his lower lip.
“Oh, you were at Hyde’s this morning?” I freeze for just the briefest of moments then set my glass on the coffee table. My attention is focused on my response and what to tell him, giving myself a minute by pretending to get comfortable.
“Mhm, I fell asleep there on accident, otherwise I would have been at the studio this morning.” When I look his way again, You has moved to the other side of the table, choosing a matching chair to relax in. But he is watching me as if he were a scientist studying his subject. I don’t look away though - I have nothing to hide from my best friend.
“How is he doing?” he asks, with an air of politeness. I hate to admit I have my suspicions. It isn’t like Hyde and You are good friends - I can count on one hand the number of times Hyde and You have seen each other face to face - but then again, You has always been a caring person, generally curious. I shrug.
“Other than his music troubles, fine,” I reply, “He starts working with a new band next week.” Though L’Arc-en-Ciel broke up after Hyde refused to speak again, he remained in the business as a songwriter and occasional guitarist for a record company. Mostly, he helps new bands get their foot through the door but he works with other bands as advisors or stand-ins when needed.
“I see… amazing how he still works with music after everything that happened…” You trails off and I cannot describe the gratitude that rushes over me. No matter how close we are, I have never been comfortable discussing Hyde with You. It is not like it’s off limits or I do not trust You; my friendships with both men, however, are different from each other. It doesn’t feel…right to talk to one about the other.
“His talents shouldn’t be wasted,” I say as I stand up. I hold my hand out for his glass but he shakes his head and I see that he’s still thinking. I have no idea what and I don’t ask. I just walk into the kitchen with my glass, mostly to symbolize the end of the conversation. My glass doesn’t need much refilling though so I dump it and place it in the dishwasher.
When I return, You is standing back up near the bookshelf, his glass abandoned on the table. He tilts his head my way, opens his mouth but then closes it again.
After a moment, he turns to face me.
“I think we need to add that new song onto the list,” he says with a smile. It’s not quite right - You is trying too hard to make it genuine. It occurs to me, as I stare at my best friend, that I missed something - an opportunity that I rejected without even acknowledging it. What that opportunity is, I don’t know. Something in me urges me to ignore it against my better judgment. But one look at my friend’s face, I see that it’s not only an escape route for me, but for him as well. And I can’t bring myself to push You.
“The one I showed you last week?” I ask and the weird moment melts away immediately, as You walks towards me with a grin, his awkward smile gone.
“Yeah. I think it could be a pretty good single.”
~
I stay for another hour before I leave, tomorrow’s session perfectly laid out and ready to execute. I spend my drive through the list of things I might as well do before the day is over - a memo to my manager about a live performance next week, emailing the “To Do” list for tomorrow’s session, look at the different covers for my next album.
But even then, my mind just drifts until it’s back in You’s living room, pouring over the unusual exchange. I can conclude that You wanted to say something; he was leading the discussion somewhere but I dismissed the invitation without considering it. I know I prefer not to discuss Hyde’s and my friendship with You but why? Why would it matter what I tell You about Hyde?
The obvious answer is what our relationship used to be, but that was years ago - over a decade even and we both believed we were better friends than lovers.
I was the one who brought it up though, I remind myself but I shove the thought away as soon as it appears. Yes, I brought it up but by the end of it, he agreed with me and barely made a protest after he thought about it. And we’ve both have had our fair share of relationships since then; it wouldn’t make sense for You to be jealous now.
And even if that is the case, Hyde has nothing to do with my friendship with You. I cherish both of them and their friendships but separately. Hyde is the kind of deep friendship you find when you’re least looking for one. But You will always be my best friend and that will never change. He should know that.
If he doesn’t, I wonder if that is because of him or because of me. The thought troubles me while I pull into my driveway. I turn the car off and just sit there, staring at the wheel.
Is there a variable I missed with You? Something that happened and I have not noticed it before? I know I am a better friend than that. Sighing, I open my door when my cell phone rings. I glance down to see my manager’s name scroll across the screen.
Relief swarms through me and I welcome the distraction. This issue isn’t going to go away but a clearer head will do more for me than just sitting in my car, waiting for an answer to pop up. As soon as I accept the call, my mind is on music again, purged of any personal concerns for the moment.
Author: riverofnara
Pairing: Gackt/Hyde
Rating: PG for now
Summary: "I want this finished tomorrow," I state, holding the piece of paper up.
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: I do not own these two and the events in this series have not happened.
Author's Note: Once again, I'm deeply sorry that this is way overdue. Thank you to the reviews and to my wonderful beta larkir! Please enjoy and feedback/criticism is great. Previous parts under the cut. :)
[Part 1] [Part 2]
The session ends pretty well with the few hours we had in the studio. I had hoped we could have recorded more but I was informed that we would have more time tomorrow. I waste no time in planning tomorrow’s session with the utmost attention to what exactly needs to be accomplished. Every minute counts for me when it comes to recording, and if it requires me to write out every single detail, so be it.
Sitting in a plastic waiting chair in the studio’s hallway is not the most ideal place to do this but I am not leaving until the schedule is in order. That is, until You claps me on the shoulder, some time after our session has ended.
“I’m sure you have everything you need planned out,” he says, peering down at the paper in my lap, “You don’t have to have it down to the last minute.”
“It would certainly help,” I mutter, setting my pen down to rub some feeling back into my hand. You squeezes my shoulder, a little softer than it is necessary, but then his touch grows firm as he shakes me slightly.
“Go home, Gacchan,” he tells me, “That’s more than enough for tomorrow.” I give him a look. You has the tendency to excessively worry when it comes to me but he’d only argue back that I’ve given him plenty of reasons to worry.
But he knows me, understands me more than anyone else in this world. He knows the power of my determination and how far I will go for something I want. And the reason he has kept up with me for so many years is because he shares that same kind of drive as well.
The difference between us, however, is he believes in limits; he knows when he has reached the end of his potential and that he needs to back down. Me, I can’t turn that off. I’m not so content in letting my potential determine what I do, especially if I need to do it. It’s a time old argument we constantly get into. You often jokes that he sticks around just to put me in my place and remind me that I am human. I’m not about to deny that it’s true, but I’m not going to let it be an obstacle either.
“I want this finished tomorrow,” I state, holding the piece of paper up. You nods and takes the paper from my hands.
“It will be,” he reassures me.
“Good.” I stand up, taking the sheet back and folding it carefully to fit just right into my pocket. I don’t doubt I will be working on it later tonight; but for now, I will appease my friend and do exactly as he orders. He smiles and pats me once on the chest before walking down to the exit.
“I’ll drive you home,” he calls out over his shoulder.
“Didn’t you drive your own car over?” I point out, grasping my keys from my back pocket.
“Nah, I called a cab.” I snort and he elbows me in the side. “It was early, I was too sleepy to drive.”
“You were too lazy,” I tease, opening the door to the parking deck. As he passes by me though, I hand him my keys, which he accepts with glee. I have a sneaking suspicion he just likes to drive my car.
“Call it what you like, I know the truth.”
“How do you plan on getting home?” I ask. His confident steps fumble as this thought occurs to him but he recovers nicely.
“Call a cab?” I roll my eyes.
“Drive to your place and then I’ll drive home.” You shrugs, keys swinging around his fingertips as we reach my car.
“Whatever works -“
“As long as you get to drive,” I finish. He just grins and opens the driver’s door.
~
He invites me in for a drink, a usual occurrence after a recording session. He goes into the kitchen for either water or beers - you never quite know with him - while I walk around his living room, studying the various pictures decorating his shelf. I have been here thousands of times but I always look at these pictures.
Family, friends, a picture or two of himself. There is one I haven’t seen before at the end of the shelf. I pick it up, careful not to touch the glass. It’s a photo of us at his birthday celebration last year, with Chacha in the background, just a few short seconds away from tackling You to the ground. But just for a few seconds for the camera, he and I were standing together, my arm over his shoulder and both smiling to capture that moment.
It brings a smile to my lips and I set the frame down as delicately as possible. I don’t look away even when You joins me in the living room, handling me a glass of water. He follows my gaze to the picture and grins, tilting the picture his way.
“I just found all those photos from that night,” he says, “It was about the only one that was somewhat guest-appropriate.”
“It wasn’t that wild,” I protest, though to be honest, I do not remember the entire night - with the type of friendships we have with our fellow bandmates, it’s not hard to just imagine what we got into. You doesn’t respond, just chuckles into his glass as he sips his water, ever the relaxed gentleman.
Right then, my phone chooses to vibrate and I take it out, accepting my new message.
Piano about to meet its doom and be thrown out window. Fucking song.
I snort. Trust Hyde to be so melodramatic.
Don’t be a brat, I type then send to him, tucking my phone back in my pocket. When I look up again, You is looking my way, curious. He nods his head in the general direction of my phone.
“Who was it?”
“Hyde. He’s been having trouble with a song. I helped him out last night, told him to let me know how it was going today.” I turn away from the bookshelf to sit on the couch. You doesn’t move - he just looks thoughtful, tapping his glass against his lower lip.
“Oh, you were at Hyde’s this morning?” I freeze for just the briefest of moments then set my glass on the coffee table. My attention is focused on my response and what to tell him, giving myself a minute by pretending to get comfortable.
“Mhm, I fell asleep there on accident, otherwise I would have been at the studio this morning.” When I look his way again, You has moved to the other side of the table, choosing a matching chair to relax in. But he is watching me as if he were a scientist studying his subject. I don’t look away though - I have nothing to hide from my best friend.
“How is he doing?” he asks, with an air of politeness. I hate to admit I have my suspicions. It isn’t like Hyde and You are good friends - I can count on one hand the number of times Hyde and You have seen each other face to face - but then again, You has always been a caring person, generally curious. I shrug.
“Other than his music troubles, fine,” I reply, “He starts working with a new band next week.” Though L’Arc-en-Ciel broke up after Hyde refused to speak again, he remained in the business as a songwriter and occasional guitarist for a record company. Mostly, he helps new bands get their foot through the door but he works with other bands as advisors or stand-ins when needed.
“I see… amazing how he still works with music after everything that happened…” You trails off and I cannot describe the gratitude that rushes over me. No matter how close we are, I have never been comfortable discussing Hyde with You. It is not like it’s off limits or I do not trust You; my friendships with both men, however, are different from each other. It doesn’t feel…right to talk to one about the other.
“His talents shouldn’t be wasted,” I say as I stand up. I hold my hand out for his glass but he shakes his head and I see that he’s still thinking. I have no idea what and I don’t ask. I just walk into the kitchen with my glass, mostly to symbolize the end of the conversation. My glass doesn’t need much refilling though so I dump it and place it in the dishwasher.
When I return, You is standing back up near the bookshelf, his glass abandoned on the table. He tilts his head my way, opens his mouth but then closes it again.
After a moment, he turns to face me.
“I think we need to add that new song onto the list,” he says with a smile. It’s not quite right - You is trying too hard to make it genuine. It occurs to me, as I stare at my best friend, that I missed something - an opportunity that I rejected without even acknowledging it. What that opportunity is, I don’t know. Something in me urges me to ignore it against my better judgment. But one look at my friend’s face, I see that it’s not only an escape route for me, but for him as well. And I can’t bring myself to push You.
“The one I showed you last week?” I ask and the weird moment melts away immediately, as You walks towards me with a grin, his awkward smile gone.
“Yeah. I think it could be a pretty good single.”
~
I stay for another hour before I leave, tomorrow’s session perfectly laid out and ready to execute. I spend my drive through the list of things I might as well do before the day is over - a memo to my manager about a live performance next week, emailing the “To Do” list for tomorrow’s session, look at the different covers for my next album.
But even then, my mind just drifts until it’s back in You’s living room, pouring over the unusual exchange. I can conclude that You wanted to say something; he was leading the discussion somewhere but I dismissed the invitation without considering it. I know I prefer not to discuss Hyde’s and my friendship with You but why? Why would it matter what I tell You about Hyde?
The obvious answer is what our relationship used to be, but that was years ago - over a decade even and we both believed we were better friends than lovers.
I was the one who brought it up though, I remind myself but I shove the thought away as soon as it appears. Yes, I brought it up but by the end of it, he agreed with me and barely made a protest after he thought about it. And we’ve both have had our fair share of relationships since then; it wouldn’t make sense for You to be jealous now.
And even if that is the case, Hyde has nothing to do with my friendship with You. I cherish both of them and their friendships but separately. Hyde is the kind of deep friendship you find when you’re least looking for one. But You will always be my best friend and that will never change. He should know that.
If he doesn’t, I wonder if that is because of him or because of me. The thought troubles me while I pull into my driveway. I turn the car off and just sit there, staring at the wheel.
Is there a variable I missed with You? Something that happened and I have not noticed it before? I know I am a better friend than that. Sighing, I open my door when my cell phone rings. I glance down to see my manager’s name scroll across the screen.
Relief swarms through me and I welcome the distraction. This issue isn’t going to go away but a clearer head will do more for me than just sitting in my car, waiting for an answer to pop up. As soon as I accept the call, my mind is on music again, purged of any personal concerns for the moment.