"Lead me to the light
And take me to the edge of heaven
I am standing in the night
And looking for the edge of heaven
We’ll be touching the edge of heaven”
*
It began like any other Friday. Wake up, go to practice – show up just barely late enough to earn a glare from Takuro; return it with a sweet smirk – then go out for drinks with the guys. Nothing special or out of the ordinary.
Night fell beyond the pane of glass – Glay had taken their often frequented booth by the window of their favorite bar – and the first appearing stars were trying to dodge the misting, growing cloud cover. As the canopy of darkness descended Teru and Takuro both rose and excused themselves, the first to leave. Hisashi watched them leave, idle and relaxed.
As they disappeared through the main door he was still nursing a drink that was not his first; a pleasant buzz was slightly confusing and pillowing his senses. If he had not been drinking he might have taken his leave as well. After all, this was Jiro he was left alone with. However, with the cushion of the alcohol, Jiro’s enthusiasm and antics were merely amusing, no longer irritating.
The two of them – they didn’t get along well, and they both knew it. It wasn’t like they hated each other – after all, they were in the same band, hate simply wouldn’t work. They simply clashed, and sometimes sparks flew. Hisashi wondered if Jiro sometimes went out of his way to draw Hisashi into and argument. At times, it appeared that way. Hisashi was habitually aloof and cool, he typically shrugged a taunt off with disdain. With Jiro, however, it was always different.
And this Friday was different as well. The other two left early, and Hisashi and Jiro stayed. Together. Talking and not fighting.
As the night wore on their conversation rapidly degenerated. It was only after they exchanged the telling of what they perceived to be the most awful jokes – which were incredibly funny, as they were drunk – that the night came to a close.
They left the bar together, and as soon as they stepped into the chill evening and left the companionable, golden light behind, a silence fell. Hisashi pulled his coat tighter around himself, watched his breath mist in front of his face The sidewalk they began to walk was empty. Neither lived far from this bar, and for now they were heading the same direction.
Hisashi’s vision was slightly fuzzy and skewed; the lamppost lights had a soft glimmer around the edges, something that was unnatural but rather pretty. He walked mostly steady, but he felt just a bit too light. At his side, Jiro seemed to be slightly worse for the wear, stumbling every so often. After the first few stumbles he decided to use Hisashi to steady himself, and he decisively put one arm around Hisashi’s waist, leaning against him a bit. Smiling slightly, Hisashi let him, and he soon discovered that it made him feel more grounded. Without thinking, he let his arm creep up around the bassist’s shoulders. Like that, together, they walked.
Stars were winking down blurrily from patches in the sky, and after a small stretch of silence, Jiro sighed. “The stars are so pretty,” he said. He pulled Hisashi to a stop – they both stumbled before steadying themselves against each other – and he tilted his head back to look at the sky.
“Aa,” Hisashi agreed quietly. He raised his own face to the night blanket, breathing in the cold, clean air, feeling slightly heady. When he straightened again, he found Jiro’s deep, chestnut eyes upon him.
“Nani?” he demanded, when Jiro didn’t speak. Jiro’s eyes sparkled, his cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and the cold. A smile played across his full lips.
“Ne, Tono-chan,” he said, chancing to use the nickname Teru used for Hisashi. “I have a secret...”
Hisashi tilted his head to the side. Part of him, a distant part, wondered why he wasn’t irritated by Jiro’s child-like aspect and enthusiasm. But then again, some part was enjoying this, didn’t mind humoring him.
“Do you want to know?” Jiro drew out, manner now slightly teasing.
“Hai.”
“Then come closer.” A cute smile, with something glittering behind that gaze. Jiro impulsively grabbed Hisashi’s hand, tugged him forward. Hisashi complied.
Jiro bent his face near Hisashi’s ear. His soft breath warmed the side of Hisashi’s neck.
“I want to kiss you,” came the whisper. Then Jiro pulled back to see Hisashi’s face. He still had his fingers curled around Hisashi’s hand.
Hisashi stared at him in utter, star-lit silence, eyes raking across his features.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Shyly coy glance, husky voice.
Hisashi’s eyes were riveted to those lips, he watched intently as Jiro spoke. Jiro’s lips had always been full, cute, pouty. But never... So tantalizing...
Jiro’s demure gaze slid closed as he leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a manner not entirely chaste. Hisashi had not moved to meet him, but with the sudden electricity of their lips touching, he could do nothing but kiss back.
“Mmm,” Jiro murmured into his mouth. He pulled away, peered up at the guitarist through his lashes. “You taste like beer,” he informed Hisashi, wrinkling his nose. As he spoke he trailed the fingers of one hand down Hisashi’s arm, his gaze becoming elusive.
“What do I taste like?”
Hisashi still felt somewhat breathless. And clearly Jiro was not the only one affected by the alcohol, not the only one made more bold. “I don’t know,” he found himself murmuring. With one hand he touched Jiro’s face, fingers skimming over the flushed skin. “Let me taste you again...”
Jiro parted his lips as Hisashi leaned forward to kiss him again, another shock of heat vibrated between them. The empty street – although cognizant as they were, if other people had appeared on the street they may never have noticed, too wrapped up they were in each other – disappeared, coherent thought disappeared.
Alcohol dissolves the walls used to control emotion and thought. Defenses disappear and things happen either unintended or merely fantasized of but never acted upon Thoughts and inhibitions are swallowed like the drink.
Jiro pulled Hisashi against him, then. As they kissed, lost themselves in each other, Jiro’s arms crept around Hisashi’s waist, slipping closely around him, warm and secure. They staggered, slightly, at the sudden imbalance, and Jiro stumbled back, running into the brick building wall. He pulled Hisashi with him, bodies never breaking contact.
Jiro giggled. “Itai,” he murmured, seeking Hisashi’s lips again with a small pout.
As the street stretched on in emptiness and the stars glimmered, something in Hisashi stirred toward discernment.
< Something... Isn’t right... >
His thoughts were elusive, dimmed by the drink and the sensations assailing him. Jiro was a surprisingly good kisser...
< Matte... >
He hardly heard his own thoughts. Jiro had begun to avidly apply himself to Hisashi’s neck. The slender guitarist let his head tilt back, felt a sound of pleasure bubble up in his throat.
< Chotto... > he thought again. It was so hard to think, but he knew something wasn’t right. But what...?
A flash of insight struck him; his eyes snapped open to see the stars staring back innocently. His gaze was wide. This was another man kissing him, touching him. But even that wasn’t so important. This was *Jiro*...
Hisashi jerked away, pulling back his hands that had drifted to rest lightly against Jiro’s chest. He moved suddenly enough that it was easy to disengage himself from the warm arms around his waist, the hot lips against his neck. He stumbled backward with his momentum, staggering before managing to steady himself.
Jiro’s eyes had opened at his sudden movement, he stood there breathless and flushed, gaze seeming about to flinch away. He had one hand steadying himself with the wall.
Their gazes were locked for an instant, an eternity; one startled, dark, and panicked, the other wide, warm, and pleading.
“Hisashi...” Jiro’s soft words broke the spell.
Hisashi turned and fled.
*
Hisashi opened his eyes with a groan. The first instant one golden shaft of light struck his eyes he flinched. His body felt lethargic, a headache tapped annoyingly against his skull. Yes, he definitely had a hangover.
< It’s been worse, however, > he thought with some amount of self-consolation. His head wasn’t splitting, at least. And his stomach seemed inactive.
He released a heavy sigh, sitting up slowly in bed, running his fingers through his tangled hair. He yawned, let his eyes adjust to the light with a grainy squint.
“I need coffee,” he muttered. It always helped his handovers dissolve more quickly. And he needed to banish a taste from his mouth. He hadn’t brushed his teeth last night, merely stumbled home before collapsing. And before that—
He had been kissing Jiro.
That taste was still poignantly in his mind. He definitely needed to change that.
He dragged himself out of bed with a vexed sigh. < This... is awful, > he thought, entering his kitchen. < We dislike each other as it is... And now that happened.... How the hell *did* that happen, anyway? >
It was a blur, the previous evening was distant and fuzzy. The only thing he remembered was the kiss. The kiss that had been more than merely *a* kiss...
He remembered drinking with Glay, then Takuro and Teru leaving. He remembered himself leaving, Jiro next to him, and something about an empty street. But that was all blurred. What he recalled vividly was them kissing... There was no transition from blur to heat, he didn’t know who instigated it. He was afraid it was him.
< Either way... I think forgetting about this completely is the only ting to do. We clearly both made a mistake last night, no matter who started it... >
Somewhat satisfied with this thought, he put on some coffee. As he was about to sit down, however, the phone rang. He peered at it quizzically before picking answering in the middle of the second ring.
“Hisashi desu.” His voice was slightly hoarse.
“Anou... Hey Hisashi. It’s Jiro.”
Hisashi blinked, felt a pinprick of trepidation. Jiro never called him when he could avoid it. Normally Teru or Takuro called if it involved the band...
Not certain what to say, Hisashi waited in silence for Jiro to continue. Jiro cleared his thought, spoke again after a soft moment. “Takkun wanted me to call you... He said we’re gonna have practice today, with that live coming up and all.”
Hisashi released a sigh that was a mixture of relief and irritation. Relief that that’s all Jiro had said, and irritation that he would have to go to the studio in spite of it being Saturday. “Yeah, alright. When?”
“Noon. Since it’s Saturday and stuff, we’re starting later.”
“Wakatta.”
There was a silence, and as much as Hisashi wanted to simply hang up the phone, he waited. But Jiro merely said: “Guess I’ll see you then. Ja.” And he hung up.
Hisashi gazed blankly at the phone for a long moment before finally placing it in it’s cradle. < At least last night wasn’t mentioned... But dammit, that was awkward... >
He wandered suddenly if maybe Jiro didn’t even remember. He didn’t hold alcohol very well, after all, and Hisashi had been pleasantly buzzed, perhaps drunk, but Jiro had been worse.
< And maybe it was just awkward because it was me he had to call. Not like we’re going to stop and chat or anything... > And the lack of cheerful – annoying – bounciness in Jiro’s voice? Surely it was just from a hangover...
Yes, surely that was it.
Satisfied with his rationalization, Hisashi finished his coffee and headed for the shower.
*
It was a simply solution, really. As he drove to the studio – glaring at the people on the sidewalks shopping and spending their Saturdays *not* working – he went through his mind recalling the details of a normal day.
On a normal day he and Jiro would greet each other, but say little else. On a normal day he would ignore Jiro for the most part, perhaps pointing out some inane-ness behind his cheery comments or even countering something he said with a well-placed word – and Jiro would continue to provoke him or act hurt and pouty.
On a normal day Teru and Takuro would console Jiro or laugh with Hisashi, depending on who was being more cruel, who was ‘winning’. They would play along with Hisahi and Jiro’s endless game. Every so often Takuro would yell at them to concentrate or get to work, but that was only when it got vicious enough, when either Hisashi or Jiro was especially cranky or upset about something else.
And that was that. Simple. Easy.
He would make sure today was a normal day. Last night didn’t need to be brought up.
Hisashi sighed to himself as he pulled into the studio, releasing a breath that was a mixture of annoyance at having to be at practice, and satisfaction with his simple plan. Glancing around as he climbed out of his car, he recognized Teru and Jiro’s cars, but not Takuro’s. Frowning to himself, he walked across the lot and slipped inside.
He half-expected to see Takuro upon entering. He thought perhaps Takuro had gotten a ride with Teru or Jiro for some reason – his car broke down, any reason – but the studio was occupied merely by two people, both of whom looked up when he entered.
“Ohayo,” Teru greeted. He was sprawled on the couch.
“Where the hell is Takuro?” the guitarist demanded, frowning darkly.
Teru arched his eyebrows. “No good morning for us?” he asked in his husky voice, feigning hurt.
Hisashi rolled his eyes. “Good morning. But I figured *he* of all people should be here. It’s his band, isn’t it?”
Teru only laughed. Hisashi, sighing and eyeing Takuro’s as-yet-untouched guitar, took off his coat and put it on a table against the wall. As he did so he cast a sidelong glance at Jiro. But if the other man had been looking at him for longer than that moment upon his entrance, there was no indication. Jiro was watching his hands as he idly played his bass, counting out a random, soft melody.
When Hisashi glanced back at Teru, turning around to face the couch, he saw Teru’s eyes shift from Jiro to himself. There was a question behind his gaze, but Hisashi said nothing as he moved and dropped down next to Teru.
The vocalist cocked his head slightly, and then nodded in the direction of Jiro. “He’s not himself, exactly,” he explained to Hisashi, voice very quiet.
Again, Hisashi cast a glance at the bassist. His boyish features were utterly unreadable, he was still looking downward. But as Hisashi’s eyes paused to rest on him, he looked up, lifting his chin slightly to toss a glance at the two of them. When he saw Hisashi looking and their eyes met Hisashi heard the soft play of notes falter.
Hisashi quickly looked away, letting his gaze slide steadily and easily from the dark brown eyes, back to Teru.
“How so?” he asked softly, a façade of indifference close and comfortable about his features.
“I dunno... He’s just not his normal self. You know, the bouncy, cheerful, never-shuts-up self you love so much...?”
“Ah, of course,” Hisashi said. A grin played on the edge of Teru’s lips at Hisashi’s expression, but his voice was serious as he continued.
“I asked him what was wrong, but he either wouldn’t tell me or it really is nothing. Do you have any idea?”
“I don’t know.”
“You mean you don’t care, ne?”
For some reason, that comment bothered Hisashi. He frowned slightly. “I didn’t say that.”
< We don’t actually hate each other... It’s a game. I mean, yeah, it’s not like we’re great friends, we’re not even friends, but.... It’s not like I don’t give a damn. >
Teru blinked at him. “Eh... Okay. Whatever.”
Silence collapsed over the room like a blanket. The only noise to invade the still air were the soft notes from Jiro’s bass, counting out a low, slow, rather melancholic tune. Hisashi was just leaning back with a sigh, folding his arms behind his head and resting against the soft, worn back of the couch, eyes closed, when the door opening disturbed the silence.
But it felt very nice to have his eyes closed, the previous night had neither ended early nor sober. So he remained that way, eyes closed and listening.
“Oi, sorry I’m late minna-san.” It was Takuro, and he sounded semi-chagrined.
< He should be down right begging forgiveness, > Hisashi thought sourly, not cracking open his eyes. < Calling us to practice on a Saturday... >
“It’s alright Takkun,” Teru said, sounding like his typically forgiving and coolly happy self. He nudged Hisashi in the ribs – for which he received a grunt – and then Hisashi felt the couch shift as Teru rose.
< Mmmm... This couch is surprisingly comfortable. >
“Hey, Hisa.” Teru’s voice was now farther away. “C’mon, let’s start. The sooner we begin the sooner you can go sleep or whatever.”
“Give me a minute,” he said, still enjoying the darkness of his eyelids. He noticed distantly, then, that Jiro’s soft bass melody had ceased.
“Oi, Tonomura, get your ass of the couch!” This time it was Takuro, and he didn’t sound nearly as amused as Teru.
Sighing, Hisashi opened his eyes, favored the two with a cool glare – Takuro matched him, but Teru only grinned – and then walked to his established place and took his beloved guitar from its stand.
Thus practice ensued. Hisashi wasn’t technically as tired or grumpy as he pretended, he just liked being difficult, especially if their dear leader was going to show up late. When the end of practice was finally announced, to Hisashi it felt strange. Shorter.
Maybe it was merely the fact that it was a Saturday and practice truly *was* shorter. But even that didn’t feel right. Maybe it was simply that Jiro said barely a word. Maybe it was because they didn’t argue once.
Hisashi released a breath in a gesture of apprehension as he set his guitar back on its stand carefully. He let his hand rest against it for a moment, staring blankly.
< It was supposed to be a normal day... But it wasn’t, dammit. >
< I hoped maybe he forgot last night, but he clearly hasn’t. If he had forgotten... He wouldn’t be this quiet. Even a hangover wouldn’t do that to Jiro. >
He finally turned away from his guitar, letting his eye briefly sweep the room. Everyone was getting ready to leave, Takuro and Teru were talking about what sounded to be nothing, simply making conversation.
It was seven in the evening, and there was certainly nothing here to stay for. “Ja ne,” he called, grabbing his jacket and turning toward the door. A chorus of short goodbye’s reached him and, tugging on his coat, he slipped outside.
As he walked toward his car his thoughts began to wander. He wondered what he should do that evening. After all, it was early, he could go out, do anything. However – he didn’t really feel like it. The previous night had been late and stressful, and he could always waste some time online at home.
< God, look at me.... A Jrocker staying home on a Saturday night. With a computer no less. >
The thought brought a smirk to his lips.
< Well, with a computer and a cat. >
Resigned to the idea, rather looking forward to the rest, he was halfway across the parking lot when someone stopped him.
“Hisashi.”
The smile fell from his lips like cracked glass. He stopped walking, muscles tensing.
“Nani ga?” he asked carefully. He knew his voice was flat.
Hesitation. Silence. Then: “Anou... Can I talk to you?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Jiro.” His tone was pointed.
He thought Jiro was going to give up then, give way like he should. So they could forget it.
The stretch of silence behind him seemed indicative of that fact, and satisfied, he began to walk again.
“Hisashi, please...”
< No, Jiro. I don’t want to talk about it. Just – forget it, I know that’s what we’d do anyway... >
He kept walking.
*
Jiro stared blankly at the steering wheel, at his hands where they clutched the rim. But he did not see them. He only stared listlessly, seeing nothing, endlessly thinking, chasing his thoughts in an imperfect circle.
He didn’t know what to expect when he came to practice. If he was smart he would have prepared himself for the worst – that being cold hostility from Hisashi – but he was too hung-over to be able to manage that. He had been able to only show up.
The silence he got from Hisashi was cold, but it was neither angry not hostile. But it was distant, very distant. The guitarist had never been more unreachable.
“But what did you want?” he whispered to himself. “Last night...”
< Oh god, that shouldn’t have happened... >
He was rather drunk. After all, drinking wasn’t his strong subject, he didn’t hold alcohol well. So he shouldn’t have been able to recall the previous night. But he did, he remembered far too well...
The kiss was intensely vivid in his mind, that was bad enough. But worse, he knew that he had started the kiss.
< ‘I have a secret... I want to kiss you... Do you want to kiss me?’ >
< This is just another reason I shouldn’t get drunk... >
Kissing Hisashi was never something he meant to do. The thought of kissing Hisashi – he couldn’t lie to himself, that had struck his consciousness once or twice. Maybe more. But it was surely not something he could pursue, he *knew* that, so he had always pushed the idea down, ignored it.
< I mean, we’re both boys... And that – that’s just not the way it works, not the way its supposed to work. >
< And we’re band members...> Another complication.
But knowing these things – it didn’t make it any easier. He could repeat them to himself like a mantra, but part of him could never accept them. That was the part of him that had taken over and made him kiss Hisashi. The part of him that—
He let out a small yelp at a knock on his window.
Bewildered and blinking, he turned and found Teru peering in. Repressing a sigh, swallowing his thoughts, Jiro mustered up a smile as he rolled down the window.
“Jiro-chan,” Teru said, peering at him, head slightly tilted. “What are you doing?”
Jiro’s smile achieved a degree of sincerity at the way Teru said his name, the way he tilted his head cutely.
“Eh... Nothing, Tekko,” he replied, flushing slightly, reeling in his thoughts from their far off, anguished realms.
The other man frowned. “So it’s a normal occurrence for you to just sit in your car and stare?”
Jiro chuckled nervously. “I’m... Just a little distracted right now, I guess.”
“Clearly. You weren’t exactly yourself at practice. You’re not now, either.” Teru’s look was pointed.
“Gomen,” Jiro said quietly.
“Baka,” Teru said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not trying to get you to *apologize*. I wanted to know if there was anything I could do.”
< Oh Teru... If only... >
“Don’t let me get drunk again.” The words slipped from his lips before he had a chance to think. He froze.
Teru’s eyes widened slightly. “Drunk? What happened last night? Is that what this is all about?”
Jiro recovered quickly, seeing his way out. “I – drank more than I should have. A lot more. I’m paying for it today.”
The singer’s look became sympathetically comprehensive. “Oohh, yeah, I gotcha.” He paused, and Jiro thought he was about to go away. But then: “Ne, Jiro... Is that all?”
“What do you mean?” Fake innocence.
Teru shrugged. “I don’t know, but... You seemed more upset, or sad, than sick...”
A fake smile. “Oh, no, Tekko, don’t worry. I’m fine. Sleep will do me good.”
Teu heard the particular inflection in his voice, and he took his cue. “Oh, alright. Well, then feel better Jiro, ne?”
“Aa, thanks Tekko.” The vocalist stepped back, Jiro began to roll up the window. “Ja ne.” He managed a small, true smile.
Teru smiled back and gave a small wave, and then as Jiro pulled out he turned and walked away.
< Walked away... Like Hisashi... >
< No, dammit! > he cursed immediately, fingers tightening around the wheel. < The last person I want to think of is Hisashi... >
< Who I kissed last night... >
It was more than just a kiss, though. It was more passionate, heated; he could remember the feel of Hisashi pressed against him, he could vividly recall the feeling of being trapped between the guitarist and the wall, sinking with blind pleasure into the crushing sensation.
< ...Who ignored me in practice... >
Chill arrows had struck Jiro, emanated from every action of Hisashi’s. They had shared that single glance before Takuro arrived, when Jiro chanced to look up to steal a glance at the guitarist and found him looking back, and after that, no eye contact had been made. Absolutely none.
< ...Who I tried to talk to, but who only walked away. >
He didn’t know what he had intended to say to Hisashi. Now, on some level, he was glad he hadn’t had a chance to say it. But then again – Hisashi had ignored him, had simply walked away. That was clearly indicative of something, and Jiro had to respect that.
“He wants to forget it,” he whispered to himself. “I can tell in everything he does... He just wants to forget.”
That was fine, Jiro could accept that. At least, he thought he could.
And he could forget it too. Yes, surely he could. It was just a kiss, it was just a sporadic dream.
And of course dreams, things that were less than dreams, were easy to forget.
They had to be.
Surely.