Chapter Text
“Hey, can you shut the fuck up?” Akira asked.
“What? I’m not even saying anything.”
“You’re thinking too loud. It’s disturbing my peace. Plus, you’re getting ash everywhere.”
Kouyou looked down to see a growing pile of dust on his jeans. He snuffed out his forgotten cigarette and brushed it off.
“Sorry, sorry, I just want to practice some solos. Give me a few more minutes.”
“Kouyou, you asked for fifteen minutes last time. Like the generous guy I am, I gave you like, five more on top of that. But now we’ve run into a real situation.” Akira popped a stick of gum in his mouth.
“My phone died in the middle of the best Snake game of all time. Seriously, that thing was long enough to go back to Kanagawa. Anyways, I’m hungry now.”
Kouyou ran an exasperated hand down his cheek, both at Akira’s insistence and to the ancient flip phone that he was waving around. The man refused to upgrade it; hardheaded as always. Another memory flared up. Months ago, Akira said that he would perform at Tokyo Dome without in-ear monitors, with the casual tone of someone that didn’t just say he was fucking with the most important moment of their lives.
“The sound is going to be really murky,” he warned.
Akira flashed him a winning smile in response. “Nothing me and my floor monitors can’t handle.”
Now, the clock ticked away, slicing into Kouyou’s patience. He pushed down the irritation that threatened to engulf his chest. If nothing else, he had to be perfect. He couldn’t be anything less than that.
“Okay, well did you figure out where we’re going to eat then? Like you said you would?” he asked.
“Nope. Got distracted.”
The corner of Kouyou’s mouth twitched up. “Then I actually do think I have some time left.”
Kouyou grabbed another cigarette. He was about to light up when his eyes slid over to Akira, who was watching intently. He blew a bubble and it burst apart; the snap cutting through the quiet. Kouyou thought back to a conversation they had a week ago, where Akira said he was thinking about quitting smoking. “Huh,” was all Kouyou had to say before Akira was swept up into another silly argument between Yuu and Takanori. It seemed so off-handed then, but now, he wasn’t so sure.
“Never mind,” he muttered, tucking the cigarette back in its box. His fingers found their way back to the fretboard.
Before he even had the chance to strum out a chord, Akira made his way from the couch and wrapped his arms around Kouyou. Kouyou sighed. He leaned back into Akira, letting the warmth of the other body crest over his own.
“Can’t miss another meal, dude. It’s not good.”
Koyou scoffed. “Okay, mom.”
He just needed more time, just a little more.
Akira was quiet for a moment, rubbing his hands over Kouyou’s arms. “Hey, you wanna make a bet?”
Kouyou hummed. “I’m listening.”
“You are such a dork about sound, it got me thinking. Let me fuck you. You win if you stay quiet the entire time and you get another half hour to practice. If you do use your voice or come first, then we go and eat immediately.”
Kouyou swiveled around to face him. “You’re joking.”
“Dead serious, bro,” he said, meeting Kouyou with a steady gaze.
Kouyou stared at him incredulously. They had seen the best and worst of each other, so he hadn’t had a reason to be shy when they started fucking earnestly. He could moan and curse and scream with abandon, knowing it made Akira drive into him harder. More importantly, Akira was competitive. He could drag this out all night if it meant winning and he would try extra hard to trip Kouyou up.
His heart rate picked up the more he thought about it. Akira wasn’t the only one that could play dirty. It pissed him off; how Akira knew it’d be hard for Kouyou to refuse a challenge. He tapped a finger on his chin, considering.
“I have a million questions. One: here, in the studio? Are you insane? Two: Is breathing okay or did you come up with a new kink in the last thirty seconds? Three: Are you doing this just so you can get off on the sound of your own voice? If so, you don’t need my help.”
“Yes. Also yes, but keep the dry heaving to a minimum. No, to the kink, at least for now. And no comment,” he answered, counting each answer off his fingers.
“Ok, I have one more question.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you fucking insane?”
“Well,” he said, a cheesy grin spreading over his face. “I insanely want to fuck you right now.”
Kouyou’s eyes narrowed. “Why now?”
“That’s more than one question.”
“Come on, Aki. You don’t usually ask for something like this.”
“Well, I really do want to and,” his voice trailed off for a moment. Kouyou blinked in surprise when he felt the pad of Akira’s thumb press between his eyebrows. He gently rubbed the space there, to try and smooth the furrow out. “You look like you need it.”
Kouyou hadn’t even realized that his face tightened at all. The rest of his body came back to him in sharp, sudden focus–all the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness in his limbs. Huh. Maybe he did need a good fuck.
He carefully set his guitar back on its stand, a smirk creeping up on his face. Akira’s eyes flickered in anticipation. He spit his gum into a trashcan. Kouyou had already made up his mind. “You make me feel ten years younger, you know? As in, having to jerk off without mom and dad hearing it. Humiliating.”
Akira returned his smirk with ease. His thumb returned to Kouyou’s face and started traveling down the side of his nose, passing over his delicate cheekbones. “You could always back out if you’re a pussy.”
“Not a chance. But just so you know, it’s impossible to get off when you’re wearing this ridiculous shirt.” He tugged at the hem of Akira’s latest monstrosity: a sea-blue T-shirt with dizzying, swirling patterns. Why he decided to wear it in the middle of December was beyond Kouyou. Just plain old stubborn.
Akira rolled his eyes. “Lucky you, we can do something about that.”
Akira’s thumb finally reached Kouyou’s mouth. Kouyou caught the tip between his teeth and sucked. Akira’s breath hitched. Desire, thick and rising, clouded his eyes.
“Game starts now.”
Kouyou moved first. He wrapped his arms around Akira and pulled him down to sit in his lap. It was a tight squeeze for two grown-ass men, but it didn’t matter. Kouyou kissed him and Akira hummed in pleasure. He traced his tongue over Akira’s top lip, asking for entry, which Akira granted. Their wet tongues slid in and out of each other’s mouths to tease, as if they hadn’t been doing just that all night.
It felt like coming home. It always did. Akira’s breath mingled with his own, making the space between their mouths hot. Intoxicating. It was like the only air he could breathe was what Akira passed through to him–that stupid, minty fresh smell that he chased from one kiss to the next. Soon enough, it was hard to tell which breath was his and which was Akira’s. As if that was important to begin with. As if they were ever meant to be apart. Kouyou caught Akira’s bottom lip and sucked, earning a light groan from the other man.
But they had to break eventually. When Akira pulled away, Kouyou could only stare, mesmerized, at the thick string of saliva that connected their mouths together. Akira’s kiss-swollen lips gleamed in the light. Kouyou’s cock pressed uncomfortably against his jeans. Fuck, he was hot.
Akira shucked that (ugly) shirt and tossed it aside. Kouyou followed, his gaze ravenously taking in Akira’s figure, slim but toned. His brown hair fell gently past his shoulders. Kouyou wondered how messed up it would be by the time they were through.
Then, Kouyou rose up to catch Akira’s mouth again, at the same time Akira bent over. Their heads collided with a hard thunk and pain erupted from his forehead. Kouyou’s hand flew to rub the spot as Akira let out a string of curses.
“I’m lightheaded enough as it is. You’re trying to make me lose the few brain cells that I have?”
Kouyou broke out into a smile. He kissed his forehead repeatedly as an answer. Akira’s face melted under Kouyou’s lips, exactly how he knew it would. Soon, they were kissing properly again. Akira’s hands trailed up the sides of Kouyou’s torso and started to rub both nipples in little circles. Kouyou’s mind immediately vacated and he faltered.
“I got you,” Akira said. If Kouyou could string two words together, he would call what happened next definitely “not getting you,” but he was trapped.
Akira slowly rolled his hips against Kouyou's own. His hands flew to hold Akira’s back. This was his first real test–the first real pressure on his cock. It sent waves of pleasure over him, almost making him dizzy with want. Still, Kouyou exhaled sharply and stayed silent. Akira noticed and rolled down even harder. This time, Kouyou had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself. On the third try, Kouyou let himself thrust upward, just a little, to meet Akira’s hips. They worked up a steady rhythm from there, with the sound of their labored breathing filling the air. With a groan, Akira’s head fell into the side of Kouyou’s neck. Kouyou felt Akira shiver under his fingertips.
Akira moved to suck at his earlobe, rolling the shitty piercing that he had done a million years ago on the tip of his tongue. Then he traveled to the underside of Kouyou’s jaw. He bit the skin there and sucked hard. Kouyou flinched. He almost stopped breathing, with the effort it took to suppress the moan that wanted to crawl out. Akira immediately stopped moving and–that fucker–pulled away to snicker in the crook of his arm.
Kouyou slapped Akira’s arm lightly and rerouted as much brain power as he could to glare at him. Hickeys before Tokyo Dome were so fucking stupid–a brand new low for his idiot boyfriend.
Akira’s eyes flickered in understanding and he laughed. He swiped his tongue over the spot and Kouyou felt his breath fan out over his neck as he widened his mouth again. He couldn’t let that happen. Kouyou shoved him back, but not before gripping his hand so he wouldn’t fall. In one (mostly) fluid motion, he swung Akira around so that he was sitting in the chair while Kouyou was on his knees. He needed to distract and he needed to win.
Kouyou tugged at the waistband of Akira’s jeans and, with some help, shrugged them off. His boxers followed. Akira’s rosy cock stood proudly in front of him, mere inches away from his face. His face grew hotter than he thought it could. His mouth watered, but he willed himself to stay focused.
He drew his face closer, nudging his nose against the silky shaft and sighed so that Akira could feel the heat of his breath. Kouyou tilted his head to stare at him through half-lidded eyes. Akira’s cock twitched. He clenched the armrests and hit Kouyou with a gaze that could melt every iceberg in the Arctic. He was hungry. Ravenous.
But not yet.
He started to ghost his fingers along the length of Akira’s long, slender cock. His other hand gripped Akira’s milky thigh. Akira gasped, eyes never leaving Kouyou’s. Kouyou watched his chest rise and fall heavily. Akira’s silver cross lay just above his toned abs, and it glinted in the light as it bobbed alongside his breath. He suddenly remembered when that stomach was softer, something he would poke and tickle when they were younger. He paused to kiss the memory into his body. Akira sighed, small and content.
Kouyou spit, letting the saliva drip and bubble slowly into the palm of his hand. Then he caressed Akira’s cock in earnest, giving it a tug. Akira sucked in a sharp breath. Kouyou’s lips curled into a smile. He did a few more languid strokes, base to tip, studying Akira’s face when he winced and scrunched up his face in pleasure. Damn, he was cute. The thought just made his hand move faster. His thumb swept over the head of his cock on every upstroke, wiping away little beads of precum.
“Fuck, Shima,” Akira cried.
For some reason, he was trying really hard to not buck into Kouyou’s hand. A point of pride, perhaps. Or maybe he didn’t want Kouyou to know how close he was to coming. Kouyou sat back on his heels to spit into his hand again. That wouldn’t do.
He got back to stroking Akira’s cock, using his mouth to cover the base and the balls–what one hand could not do. Akira groaned, pretty and broken, over his body, and didn’t stop groaning while Kouyou worked him to the edge.
“You are so good, Shima. Fuck, Kouyou. Please, please you are so goddamn beautiful–”
And on and on and on. A warm glow rose to his cheeks. He could feel Akira’s balls tightening. He was close. Kouyou could bask in the praise forever. Invincible. But he had a bet to win. He dug his thumb into the slit of Akira’s cock and Akira moaned as if he had been shot.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp tug at his hair. He was being pulled off and up from the floor. They were both standing to face each other now.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Akira hissed, his voice dangerously low. “I won’t let you.” The threat went straight to Kouyou’s neglected, heavy dick.
But Kouyou could not protest. Could barely roll his eyes before Akira fell to his knees and started undoing Kouyou’s belt. He threw his shirt away while Akira helped him out of his pants and boxers.
Akira flashed him a shit-eating grin and then took Kouyou in as far as he could stand. His mouth was so fucking hot. Kouyou almost bit his tongue clean off. He thought Akira would tease him, like he had just done, not go all the way all at once. Akira drew back up and started mouthing along his thighs.
“You like that, pretty boy? So does everyone else, I guess. But these thighs are mine. All mine. How lucky I am.”
Kouyou quivered and threaded his fingers through Akira’s hair to ground himself. His eyes squeezed shut. Every pant of breath on his skin drove him insane. Every squeeze on his skin sent electricity zinging to his brain, which was already short-circuiting in pleasure. His head grew fuzzy in anticipation, and Akira hadn’t even gotten to the main act yet.
A sting of pain crashed him into the present. His eyes flew open to see Akira’s mouth sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. He squirmed at the bite, but Akira held him in place with an iron grip. The pain was on the knife’s edge of pleasure; twin bolts of lightning coursing through his body. His hips stuttered. When Akira finally let go, he paused to admire his handiwork. The skin was already starting to purple and darken. Kouyou breathed heavily. He nearly begged Akira to start paying attention to his cock. Instead, Akira patted the bruise lovingly and turned up to lock eyes with Kouyou.
“You’re not wearing those thigh-highs to Dome right?”
Kouyou almost screamed.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He smiled and wrapped his hands around Kouyou’s waist, kissed his bare stomach. It rumbled in response. An embarrassed flush crept up the back of his neck. He wanted to bury his face in his hands, but he knew it was pointless. Akira chuckled and sank back down. “Now where were we?”
Kouyou almost flinched when Akira licked a stripe up the front of his cock. He tilted his head to do the same on the other sides, applying more toe-curling pressure each time, and ended with a kiss on the head of his cock. He pulled back the foreskin and swirled his tongue around the sensitive head, warm and wet with desire. Then he dipped his head around the tip and started sucking him off in earnest. The bob of his head was mesmerizing and each time he went down, he pulled a little more of Kouyou inside of him.
Akira drew back with a sickening pop. He held Kouyou’s cock in place and rubbed his lips over it, streaking his mouth in precum. Kouyou felt like someone punched the air out of his lungs. He stared with his mouth hanging open, as Akira flicked his tongue to swipe away the cum, locking eyes with Kouyou the entire time. One of Kouyou’s hands snaked around his sharp jawline and cradled his head. He rubbed his thumb across Akira’s cheekbones and Akira leaned into the gesture. Akira’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he sighed. The pearly shine of Akira’s lips and mouth made his cock pulse again. Kouyou loved this asshole more than he could stand. Unfortunately, his body’s betrayal did not go unnoticed. A smug little smile tugged on Akira’s lips before he clutched Kouyou’s hips again, making him gasp.
His hands fell away when Akira continued his earlier task of driving Kouyou absolutely mad. Adrenaline buzzed in his head and he felt a familiar, white-hot coil tightening in his belly. Kouyou felt himself hit the back of Akira’s throat. Akira stilled and pulled back a little, cheeks hollowed out, his swollen lips ringing the base of Kouyou’s cock. There was an absolutely batshit glint in his eye that grew bigger once Kouyou realized that Akira had no intention of going anywhere. He started heaving. He needed the friction. He needed Akira to fucking move. He needed anything, any sort of relief, but there was none to be found. His chest seemed to convulse with every ounce of strength it took to not thrust into Akira’s mouth.
He was just about to give in and beg, or even worse, come, when Akira slid off his dick. He drew up to face Kouyou, cock in hand, stroking lightly. Their panting filled the room with unmet need, thick and hot.
“You’re so stubborn, bro. Just give up,” Akira breathed.
Kouyou stared in complete disbelief. His hazy mind struggled to tease the words apart. Akira could have won their bet. He was so close. But, Kouyou thought, with a sinking feeling, Akira was a performer. And he wanted a show.
Fine, Kouyou thought as he rolled Akira’s balls as an answer. He smirked when Akira inhaled sharply. His hand flew to clutch at Kouyou’s wrist and he returned the smirk with one of his own. “Let’s fucking go, Kou-chan,” he purred.
He dragged Kouyou to the studio table, right next to the mixer, and wheeled him around so that he was facing the booth.
“Stay for a minute,” he muttered. Kouyou nodded, hearing the rustle and zip of Akira’s backpack behind him. Then he heard the click of a lube bottle opening and spread his feet apart in anticipation.
Akira teased a fingertip to the entrance of his hole. He felt the cool lube against his skin and sighed, relaxing into the press of Akira’s fingers when he finally pushed in, easy. It hadn’t been too long since the last time they had sex, but Akira took his time anyway, working the one finger in and out while Kouyou loosened around him. After a while, Kouyou tilted his head to fix Akira with an impatient look.
Akira chuckled. “Going soft already, huh?” He added a second finger easily and started to scissor inside of him. Kouyou sunk to the table and buried his face in his elbows; the pressure was starting to build up in his belly again. His hips rocked back and forth to the motions. Akira curled his fingers and Kouyou jerked back up, as if electrocuted. He nearly keened.
Akira pulled out and Kouyou immediately felt a pang of regret at the loss. He focused on getting his breathing under control as he listened to the telltale crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened.
Control. He could hardly remember what the prize was anyway. Akira almost fucked linear thought out of him. It probably wasn’t that important, since there was nothing outside of this room as far he was concerned. All he had was this vague notion of winning. And that required control.
Akira teased the tip of his cock to his entrance. Kouyou shuddered and Akira withdrew. He squeezed his cheeks and started pressing his dick between them. His cock was warm and familiar, but not where it should be, which was inside of him and fucking him into a blaze. Kouyou bit his lip to stop the curses from escaping. He bucked his hips against his dick to encourage Akira to hurry up.
“Easy, love,” Akira said. Kouyou scoffed at the pet name. Finally, fucking finally, Akira pushed his cock inside Kouyou.
The effect on Kouyou was instantaneous. He breathed out, shaky and burning with pleasure. Akira pushed in a little deeper on the next stroke and again, Kouyou sighed, this time, a bit tighter as he struggled to keep it together. Akira rolled his hips on the third stroke, which was unbearable for Kouyou’s restraint but felt like heaven for the sinful, animalistic part of himself that always wanted this. That wanted to be fucked so badly that he would forget his own name. Akira set a steady pace until he bottomed out inside of Kouyou.
The edge of the table dug into Kouyou’s hips, but he could hardly care. Akira draped his whole body over Kouyou and wrapped one arm around his chest, squeezing a nipple. Kouyou violently twitched at the sensation; a live, dangerous wire. All the while, Akira’s cock pulsed inside of him, hot and needy.
“You feel so good, man. You’re so beautiful,” he said as he continued rolling his hips inside of Kouyou. Although Kouyou had to stay silent, Akira moaned with abandon. The smack of skin against skin made him feel delirious. Each little gravelly grunt and drawn-out whine pushed him closer to the edge. Kouyou saw stars when Akira hit his prostate; and tears sprung to his eyes at the effort it took to suppress the whine he wanted to release. Instead, he pushed back on every thrust and they settled into a quicker rhythm.
A new sound appeared, alongside Kouyou’s labored breathing and Akira’s groaning—the wet noises of Akira’s cock as it slid in and out of his ass. Kouyou’s skin crackled and popped with every stroke. By this time, Akira was not faring so well. He could feel his thrusts growing more erratic by the minute. Akira pushed Kouyou down so that he was folded against the table and then he curled around Kouyou, chest-to-back, making Kouyou feel even hotter, stickier, and even more delirious with want. Kouyou saw the sheen of sweat along his arm and Akira’s beside him. He relished the bite of Akira’s cross as it bit into his back.
Suddenly, Akira slowed down and kissed Kouyou’s left ear. His fingers laced through Kouyou’s on the table.
“Y’know, I don’t remember anything… before we met,” Akira whispered in his ear. Each syllable was slurred, like it took a Herculean amount of effort to concentrate on speaking, but that he needed to do it anyway, to make sure that Kouyou heard and understood the depth of each word.
“I think my life started the second I met you.”
The scream that had threatened to rip itself out of his throat finally escaped. It took the shape of his name. Raw. Primal. Love.
“Akira!” he cried. “Akira, Aki, please. Please don’t stop. Aki– Ah, please. Akir… Ah, Ah…”
He felt Akira’s smirk against his shoulder and he started pistoning inside of him. He hiccuped more of Akira’s name until he couldn’t anymore, until the only variant he could muster was his first and last syllable–perhaps the first sound any human had ever spoken, predating language, predating history. To Kouyou, there was just no world without Akira. Not when he was everywhere–above him, under him, inside him, filling him with every good feeling that this life had to offer.
Akira came inside of him with a growl and Kouyou felt a rush of heat inside his ass. His cock throbbed. As Akira continued to thrust through the aftershocks, he reached around to stroke Kouyou’s own release. His rough, calloused fingers felt so damn good on his cock and he bucked his hips helplessly under his touch. They both quivered like the strings on his guitar; separate but singing the same note; the same song. He felt like gunpowder looking for a spark to shoot. Dynamite waiting for a match to burst.
Kouyou flew apart.
“Yes! Fucking yes, Kouyou, my Kouyou…” Akira babbled as he milked Kouyou through his own orgasm. Ropes of his cum, thick and spurting, decorated the floor. He heard something high-pitched and drawn-out, before he realized it was coming from himself. After a while, he pawed at Akira to let go. Akira did, and pulled out not long after. He whined again at the loss.
They both collapsed on the floor, struggling to catch their breath and feel their limbs again. Akira tied up the condom and tossed it into the trash. Kouyou came back slowly.
“You are so cheesy; it’s unbelievable. I’m speechless,” he finally said, resting on his palms. His voice was still fucked-out.
“Didn’t sound like it to me, genius.” Akira sounded just as breathy and loose as Kouyou.
He rolled his eyes. “You always think with your dick. They should write it in the contract as a liability clause.”
Akira threw his hands over his heart and lolled his head back, boyish grin tugging at his mouth. “Ouch. Meanwhile, here I am, the lovestruck fool, thinking ‘who needs a vocalist when you already sound so goddamn pretty?’”
“Yeah, well who needs a lyricist when you’re dropping lines like that? Did you write Cassis?”
“Ugh, maybe. Figures it takes two of us to get one Taka-chan.”
“And it takes half a person to get Mr. Robot Kai-kun, so I dunno, might break even.”
Akira laughed, throaty and oh, so warm. They cleaned up and lazily put their clothes back on in a comfortable silence. Akira lay on the couch and patted between his legs for Kouyou to join him. The old thing groaned under Kouyou’s weight. He settled into Akira’s chest as he picked up Kouyou’s phone and started fiddling around with it, presumably looking for a place to eat.
“Why don’t we just go to that ramen place on the corner?” Kouyou asked. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, suddenly bone-tired.
Akira frowned. “Nah, since they changed owners, they switched up their noodle recipe and I can’t eat that shit anymore. It’s a weird texture.”
“You’re a weird texture,” Kouyou muttered.
Akira chuckled and used his other hand to undo the clip holding Kouyou’s hair back. It was barely doing its job at that point, anyway. He started carding his fingers through it, softly working out the tangles. Kouyou blinked slowly at the ceiling, feeling himself nodding off until Akira’s voice cut through.
“Hey,” Akira said.
Kouyou turned to look at him and came face-to-face with Akira’s deep, brown eyes boring directly into his. His hands slowed, still gentle on Kouyou’s scalp.
“Don’t burn out.”
Kouyou smiled again, hoping to diffuse the sudden intensity lodged in Akira’s eyes. “Not in the five-year plan,” he said.
Akira smiled back, but they both knew there was no such thing as a five-year plan. Not in their line of work, and not by how easy it was to sabotage Kouyou’s last five-minute plan. Well, that was Akira’s own fault.
“What about you?” Kouyou asked, trying to change the subject.
“What about me?”
“How are you feeling about everything?”
“Can’t quit as long as long I’m with you.”
“Like, cigarettes?” he asked, frowning.
Akira rolled his eyes. “No, you idiot. The band.”
Kouyou huffed out a laugh. “Well, I know that. But like, are you actually serious about not smoking anymore?”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, I’m just starting to be.” He hummed before continuing. “It’s not that I don’t care about Dome, but it’s happening whether I want it to or not. I’ve worked hard for it. You have too.”
Kouyou nodded, unsure about where this was going.
“It’s just that the band will continue after that. I can’t write songs like you guys. I can’t do half the shit that Takanori does and I don’t think anyone can. I’m not the leader either,“ he said. Kouyou opened his mouth to protest, wanting to remind him about the songs that they wrote before the GazettE, but Akira was faster.
“Hold on, let me finish. So I was thinking about what I could do and honestly, I think I just need to be there. Or like, be reliable. I need to take care of myself so the GazettE can last forever.”
And there it was: forever. What a concept. Kouyou did not measure time in “forever.” Kouyou’s sense of time was whatever he felt like doing at that moment, even if it pissed everyone off. The present rapidly folded into the past and the Dome was a period at the end of the word “future.” Everything after that was blurry and indistinct.
But Akira was thinking about “forever.” Of course he did–that’s just the kind of romantic he was, even if he didn’t like to show it. It was the same earnestness that drew stoic Kouyou to him in the first place, as if magnetized.
Akira shrugged, as if he could read Kouyou’s thoughts. He continued idly scrolling on Kouyou’s phone while he spoke. “That’s why I’m weaning off, but it's slow going. Chewing gum when I feel an urge. Working out more. Actually, I read that working out and bulking up means that I gotta eat before I actually get hungry. That’s how you gain muscle mass.”
Kouyou nodded, remembering the handful of times Akira asked him to join him at the gym because he “weighed 20 kilos wet.” He also insisted it was fun, to which Kouyou had serious doubts. That aside, Akira needed to eat much more now, for the sake of himself and the band. But Akira became hungry tonight, waiting for Kouyou. A nasty little feeling hooked itself into the bottom of his chest. Kouyou swallowed.
“You’re a grown-ass man. You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said, forcing nonchalance into his voice.
Shame.
“You know it’s not just about me.”
Rejection. The feeling hoisted itself up and lodged itself in his throat.
Akira sighed and put the phone down. “Listen bro, I’m not gonna baby you or lecture you. I’m only going to say this once, and then I’ll drop it, I promise. If you keep this up, you’re not going to play well. Please don’t fight when I ask you to eat with me.”
It was a nasty habit he developed in their early years, when he was forced to pretend that the desperation to succeed, to get the best sound possible, was fulfilling enough to ignore his empty wallet and their emaciated pantry. He believed that that precious sound was their ticket out of the gutter.
But the truth was a little more complicated than that. If it wasn’t for Akira’s miraculous ability to make friends with anyone and everyone, Kouyou wasn’t sure that any band would keep him around for longer than six months. Drinking as much as he did certainly didn’t help. He landed on a particularly hazy memory, when Akira wasn’t there, when his stomach crawled out of his fist and he swung at Yuu in front of half the industry, in front of Sugizo, of all people. Yuu didn’t speak to him for nearly two weeks.
Kouyou’s mouth twisted at the memory of dozens of conversations they’ve had that were just like this one. This time felt different. This time, they were on the precipice of something great and unknown. A calm, sober understanding settled over his chest.
“Okay,” he said.
Kouyou glanced at the clock, watching the second hand inch forward; relentless. Akira was right, of course. And if he was trying something new, Kouyou thought he could too.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight you either. I’ll try to remember.”
Akira didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arm around Kouyou and squeezed. The seed of something big took root in Kouyou’s heart and started to swell.
“I haven’t been very nice to us, I think. Sorry it took me so long to realize.”
Akira pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Forgiveness granted. I forgive you for going at your own pace; Snorlax-style.”
Kouyou made a noise of protest, but it had no teeth. He dug a little closer into Akira’s body, struggling to grasp the enormity of the gratitude lodged in his chest. It felt dishonest to hammer that formless mass into words, but it was impossible to contain.
The longer the silence stretched on, the more oppressive it felt, as if his love was adding physical weight to the air. It was going to smother him if he didn’t say something. Dome was only a few short days away. Two decades of loving Akira was even longer.
The problem was that he didn’t want to be misunderstood when it actually mattered. Banter was fine. Even arguing could be easy. But when it came down to it, the only form of expression Kouyou knew was music. That’s what he was fucking good at.
Sure, there was sheet music and tabs and keeping time, but the music itself wasn’t as linear as a sentence. You could make a whammy pedal whine your sorrows faster than you could even think; make an amp blow out your heart in three dimensions. It was okay if a song was messy or didn’t have a melody at all. In his opinion, a good song was whatever could beat a pulse in your chest long after the performance was over–the afterimage of a firecracker burned behind your eyes.
He thought about what the other members might say. Obviously, Takanori wouldn’t have struggled. He would get physically ill if anyone stopped him from saying the most beautiful, poetic line at any given moment. Yuu wasn’t his twin guitarist for nothing. That man was just as clumsy and awkward, but where Kouyou struggled to get anything out, Yuu spoke too damn much. Still, you could mold something into the right shape if you had the words to start with. Yutaka’s ruthless efficiency was annoying, but they couldn’t have gotten to where they were without it. Yutaka would simply say “I love you,” but Kouyou didn’t want to just gift Akira the present. Kouyou wanted more—a promise into the future. Something that could match the conviction of Akira’s “forever.”
He thought about saying nothing again. Maybe he could think of the perfect declaration or write the perfect song to perform in the perfect moment. Of course, this would happen in the perfect future, which never seemed to reach him. He knew Akira wouldn’t have minded and it wouldn’t have been unusual.
Still, his guitar and pen were all the way on the other side of the room and Akira was right here. Right now.
Before he could say anything, Akira interrupted. “You’re doing that again.”
“Doing what?”
“Disappearing. Come back to me, bro. Earth to Shima.”
Koyou smirked against Akira’s chest. Yeah. He always made the mistake of staring directly into a fire. Kouyou steeled himself to try. The ticking of the clock receded and vanished, swallowed by the thump of Akira’s heart. That precious life was nestled right up against his cheek. Kouyou closed his eyes and followed it to the words he wanted.
“I’ll find you, you know.”
Akira scoffed, but Kouyou could hear the smile laced through it. “Is that a threat?”
Well, this already wasn’t coming out right. He shook his head and took a moment to gather his thoughts.
“You said… that you don’t remember life before me. I don’t either. But when I think about what happens next, your quitting.” He tried not to cringe at how stilted he sounded, but he pressed on. “What we’re gonna do after Dome. After everything. I haven’t thought about it like you have. I just can’t imagine it yet.”
Akira’s hand stilled. “You don’t have to think about anything,” he said, clearly trying to give Kouyou a way out. “We’re going to be okay because it’s the five of us. When have we ever failed?”
Kouyou smiled and didn’t take his offer. Nothing was a mistake, just a chance to learn again.
“I know that we’ll be fine. Now, I mean.” He looked at Akira then, and saw alternating visions of all the boys and men that Akira used to be. The pimply middle-schooler that he learned guitar with, side-by-side, and their high school years bouncing between half-assed homework sheets and half-used makeup palettes. The rockstar he became on stage, all pop and smoke and spark, approaching something close to the divine. The skinny little kid at the edge of the football field where they first met. The boy-not-quite-man he was when he held Kouyou’s hand for the first time at Fujino station.
Kouyou landed on Akira’s baby crows feet and the faint laugh lines on his cheeks. Those were new. He wondered what Akira would look like when they finally deepened and aged into the beautiful older man Kouyou was sure he would be. He couldn’t wait to kiss them someday.
“What I wanted to say was that I think, if there’s a next life, that I’ll find you there. And the one after that. And the one afterwards. I’ll always find you.”
For a moment, they didn’t say anything. It surprised him–he hadn’t planned on saying it at all–but it was true. It wasn’t that he believed in an afterlife, but that he believed in Akira strongly enough to alter faith. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Akira stared at him, wide-eyed and glassy. “Say it again.”
Kouyou traced the woven lines of Akira’s palm with his eyes and kissed the inside of his wrist, right by his pulse point. He lingered there for a while, just breathing in the warmth from his skin, reverent.
“I’ll find you.”
“Again.”
Kouyou kissed the center of Akira’s palm and then brought it down to lace their fingers together. Akira’s weird skeleton fingers lined up with his larger hands perfectly.
“I’ll always find you.”
“Again.”
“I promise,” Kouyou said. If he could, he would sew their hearts together and pull that blanket over their heads so that they would never have to leave; thick and warm and quiet. Instead, he took Akira’s hand and linked their pinkies. The first stitch.
“Hah,” Akira scoffed, though it sounded suspiciously like he had to force the sound through a lump in his throat. “You crazy son of a b—“
The default iPhone ringtone cut through; jingly marimbas bursting their bubble apart. Yuu’s name lit up the screen. Kouyou had half a mind to decline the call, but Akira picked up after a moment’s hesitation, like the good friend he was.
“I didn’t want to call you because you never pick up your goddamn phone, but Akira isn’t answering. Let me tell you something: the soundproofing is in the recording booth, not outside of it. Please shut the fuck up and go somewhere else. And one more note: don’t bother coming to rehearsal tomorrow because I will fucking vomit if I see you two again.” With that, he hung up.
His phone buzzed one more time, with a text notification that read “But srsly, if u dont come 2morrow ,Im breaking Hellion’s neck.”
Akira stared at the phone, mortified. A deep red flush bloomed across his cheeks.
Kouyou laughed and kissed the skin there, as if he could chase the color away. “When did he get so goddamn prude? Like Hugh Hefner didn’t come in talking about his latest Big Tit-ular Girl of the Week for the last eight years.”
Akira loosened under his grip and chuckled in his mouth. Kouyou felt the rumble pass through his chest.
Kouyou planted one last, breathless kiss. “I’ll properly thank you when we get home, okay?”
“Looking forward to it. Oh, and I found a new seafood restaurant that just opened a few streets over. About five minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you mention that earlier?”
“Well, at the end there, you really looked like you had something to say.”
Something to say, said, will say again.
Kouyou smiled. “I guess I did. Now, let’s go eat.”