“Fire
I can see it burning so brightly
Fire
I can feel it calling out to me”

*

It wasn’t supposed to hurt so much.

It wasn’t even a crush, it was nothing, nothing and a kiss. So it wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It’s not as if he expected things to change between them. He may have always been an optimistic person, but he didn’t believe things would change. He wasn’t *that* optimistic. It wouldn’t work, he *knew* that.

And yet – it still hurt.

And – in all honesty, things *did* change between them after that kiss. He couldn’t deny it, he could only watch in helplessness. Hisashi simply became more distant, drifted further and further away. He became colder, wrapped a dark shield of ice around his shoulders. Clearly he was disgusted, clearly he was aching to forget. Maybe it haunted him, because it was unnatural, unintended.

And for Jiro – the kiss also preyed upon his mind, he fell further and further. It was amazing how quickly he could fall.

Hisashi’s cold silence mocked him, mocked his secret hopes that often even he wouldn’t acknowledge. No, not cold silence, it was harsher, it had become hostility. Since that night – every day was worse.

Sometimes it probably was more harsh. The comments were more biting, the glances more frigid. Those were the times when Jiro wanted to melt into the floor, to disappear, or at least run away, hide from eyes that were invisible but that he felt, eyes from every angle that knew him and mocked him for what they knew.

And sometimes it was surely only Jiro’s anguished imagination. He heard the comments dripping acid when they were only said with mild derision, he invented the hostility in Hisashi’s dark, alluring eyes. But even on these days, when he was seeing things darker only because of his perspective, it still hurt. It still felt real.

It felt real, like that kiss had been real...

< Real drunk, > he thought harshly. < What happened only happened because we were drunk... I did something I would never have done sober, and he responded because he didn’t know what was going on... >

Rejection and shame had flushed through him the moment Hisashi shoved away. He had still been drunk, but at that moment, things had become remarkably clear. The look in Hisashi’s eyes – panicked and startled – was enough to let him know how the other man felt. And he was shamed because he had kissed him at all.

And as much as he reminded himself endlessly how he knew nothing would change, how it wasn’t even a crush, how he really shouldn’t *want* it to change, it kept getting harder. Too hard.

It was simply remarkable how things could change so rapidly, so completely, in the space of three weeks...

*

“Tired
Close your eyes see dreams of tomorrow
Tired
The weeks are turning to eternity”

*

Something wasn’t right.

It was something in the air, something in the music, even. Hisashi wondered if he was the only one to feel it, feel it hovering over his consciousness, pressing against his back.

In between songs he threw a quick glance around the room, shaking his bangs back as the last notes of Soul Love faded. As his eyes swept the room he saw that he wasn’t the only one tensely uneasy. Teru was also glancing around, typically easy-going expression missing, sporting instead a faint line between his brows. Takuro seemed to be staring rather intently at his music, as if seeking answers within it, or simply seeking to ignore the tension in the air by crawling into the notes and melody.

And Jiro had his head tilted downward, as if he had been watching his hands as he played, and now continued to gaze though his fingers no longer moved. The tension seemed to be stemming, flowing, from him.

It had been three weeks since that night on the street, that night and its events that were only known to Hisashi, Jiro, and the silently watching nightscape. Three weeks during which Hisashi had been unable to make himself forget. The harder he tried, the more the memory bubbled up to his consciousness.

His reactionary response was simple – lash out at Jiro. Become more distant from him, ignore him. Do not look at the situation deeply, look at it dispassionately and move on.

Sometimes, these thoughts held closely in mind like an incantation, he spoke and then realized he had been too cruel. Like he had often thought before, it wasn’t as if they hated each other.

Sometimes he saw a sharp flash of hurt in Jiro’s eyes before the bassist turned his face away. Those were the times that he regretted his actions the most.

But he didn’t stop, because he wouldn’t lose this battle Forget about that night, pretend the kiss never happened. It was simple.

He saw the effect he began to have on Jiro. He wasn’t blind to it, although he liked to pretend he was. Sometimes the bassist would argue back, and it would be like it was before, a petty argument that was, in the end, meaningless. Jiro’s eyes would glitter as he cast a retort at Hisashi, and things would be like they were before, only the banter would die more quickly.

But other times Jiro would barely begin the repartee; instead, he would merely let the words strike him in silence. It was those times that Hisashi almost apologized. Almost.

However, Tonomura Hisashi was not one to apologize. Why? He didn’t know. It wasn’t really a matter of pride – well, it was sometimes. But he just didn’t like to. It was the way he had always been; on some level, perhaps, he was raised that way, and it was difficult to break old habits.

But he didn’t like to think deeply about it. He reminded himself to relax his thoughts as he flexed his fingers, waiting for Takuro to tell them what to work on next.

During that short pause between songs, during which Teru grabbed a bottle of water to take a long, quick drink, nothing was said, they all embraced silence. Everyone was conveniently focused on their instruments, their music, or simply on the ground, until Takuro finally called the next song to play.

When the music started back up and they began to work on a newer song, they had to concentrate more. Thus, the tension was dispersed for a time; it was not pushed away, but it at least fled to the corners of the room to wait in crouched silence. As the work finally began, the suggestion of a collective sigh was released by the four band members as well as by the very air of the chamber.

During the next break, however, a longer one, the tension diffused once again throughout the room, fleeing the minimal protection of the walls and attacking in full force. Normally Hisashi and Teru would take this chance to smoke in the gray, back ally, Takuro would – well, in all honesty, Hisashi wasn’t sure what Takuro would exactly do – and Jiro would wander off to get Pocky.

This time, however, Jiro was the first to leave, melting away from the room as soon as Takuro called “break.” And on some level Hisashi knew he wasn’t going to get Pocky; it was in the way his eyes never left the ground, the way his strides were soft and quick.

As the guitarist set his instrument down with a sigh, he stretched, eyes flicking to the quickly-disappearing bassist, watching him until he slipped through the door leading further inside. Then Hisashi fingered his pack of cigarettes. He cast a glance around the room, quickly scanning the others, frowning slightly and thoughtfully when his eyes again passed over the door through which Jiro had so hastily disappeared. When he turned his eyes to Takuro and Teru, he saw that they were watching where Jiro had been as well.

Hisashi waited to see if Teru intended to head outside, toward the ally door which was next to the door Jiro had taken, with a corner separating them, but the vocalist remained where he was, gaze thoughtful and somewhat darkened. Instead, Teru began to engage quietly in a conversation with Takuro. Slipping his cigarettes back into his pocket, Hisashi moved over to join them.

They looked up at his approach, automatically adjusting to welcome him into a hushed circle.

“What’s up?” he asked quietly, although he already knew the answer. One word.

“Jiro,” Takuro replied, confirming his thoughts. Hisashi sighed in acknowledgement, but said nothing.

“You *have* noticed, right, Tono?” Teru pressed, watching the guitarist.

“Of course I have,” he replied, shifting irritably. “Do you think I’m blind?”

Teru shrugged apologetically, brushing back his bangs absently. His eyes were worried.

“Do either of you have any idea what’s going on?” Takuro asked, eyes flicking to each in turn.

“Family problems? Girl problems?” Teru suggested, clearly speculating.

Hisashi said nothing, only shook his head mutely when Takuro’s eyes questioned him.

< It can’t be about what happened, > he told himself. < No way. >

He let a frown touch his lips. < I wonder what *is* wrong, though... >

He realized, then, that he hadn’t thought much about it. He had told himself what it *couldn’t* be, but speculated little on what it truly could be.

< I guess I’ve just expected it to go away... I mean, he’s Jiro. He’s happy, bouncy, cheerful... I keep assuming he’ll get over this little depression in his life and go back to normal Jiro. Annoying Jiro. >

He had never considered that Jiro’s bounciness would stay hidden for long. The idea wasn’t natural, he couldn’t imagine Jiro any other way. He didn’t particularly care for the prospect of Jiro losing his enthusiasm, the thought made him uncomfortable, made him feel strangely at a loss.

But he only shook the sensation off, quickly dissolving the thought. He turned his attention back to the men before him.

“What should we do?” Takuro was asking.

“What *can* we do?” Teru returned, looking both pensive and helpless. “I mean, if he wants to talk about it, I’d like to think he knows he can come to us...”

Hisashi could inherently tell by Teru’s tone that ‘us’ did not include Hisashi. He wanted to frown again, but forced his face to remain emotionless. He maintained his silence.

Takuro opened his mouth to continue, words of concern to match the worry in his eyes probably ready to fall, but when a voice broke the hushed stillness, it was not his.

“What’s up, guys?” Jiro’s voice was soft.

Both Hisashi and Teru jumped, startled, and then all three turned to face the door through which Jiro had left and now returned. Hisashi could have seen it from the corner of his eye, but he had been too lost in thought and conversation to notice the bassist entering. And with Jiro’s typical, bright cheeriness missing, he was instead sinking further into himself and becoming easier to overlook, he was wrapping a cloak of diminutive darkness about himself, drifting always in his new, soft silence.

“What’s going on?” Jiro’s eyes flashed across each of them very briefly. Hisashi exchanged a glance with the other two.

“We wanted to ask you the same thing,” Takuro said slowly, gently, letting both curiosity and compassion color his voice.

Jiro dropped his eyes. “Anou... Yeah, I – I actually wanted to talk to you guys.” He shifted slightly, nervously. “But I was gonna wait ‘til the end of practice...”

Hisashi’s eyebrows contracted at Jiro’s obvious and uncharacteristic hesitancy.

“That’s alright,” Takuro said. “We’re worried about you.”

Finally Hisashi was included in the collective voice, Takuro’s gesture encompassed the three of them. “Yeah,” Teru put in, emphasizing Takuro’s kind words. Hisashi added his own nod in silence, feeling obligated to express his agreement, but also wanting to do so in spite of that obligation, wanting to add whatever fragile comfort he could give.

Jiro, as he watched them, having looked up as Takuro spoke, was silent. An inexplicable sadness crept into his eyes, making his natural pout seem no longer playful and cute but mournful and upset. And when Hisashi nodded, in essence verifying that he, too, was worried, that he somehow cared, Jiro’s gaze lingered upon him.

In all honesty, Hisashi would have rather let his eyes slide quickly and conveniently away when Jiro looked at him, when Jiro looked at him like *that*. But he couldn’t look away because of the intensity in the other man’s warm, brown gaze, he could only stare helplessly back. He didn’t know what passed between them in that moment, he had trouble enough dealing with emotions when they were obviously shown, he was helpless when it came to things hidden or concealed.

< What are you thinking, Jiro? Why are you looking at me like that? >

Hisashi was relieved when Jiro finally looked away, releasing him.

“So... Will you talk to us now?” Takuro pressed gently, as Jiro’s silence continued.

“I... anou... hai,” Jiro said, voice almost falling to a whisper. Hisashi exchanged a wondering, concerned glance with Teru. Then they waited in silence for Jiro to continue. The bassist kept his silence a few moments longer, gaze always darting, flinching away from prolonged contact with anyone else. Hisashi noticed that he had his hands clenched tightly into fists.

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, Jiro finally spoke. “So I – I’ve been thinking a lot lately. And.... And I’m sorry....” Again, that hesitation, upset and painful.

Hisashi stared at him in consternation. < Why the hell is he apologizing...? >

Jiro’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. But it seemed to harshly strike every corner of the room, to reverberate, echo.

“I want to quit GLAY.”

Hisashi felt Teru’s hand close over his arm, suddenly gripping the other man tightly as if for support, something to ground him. His grip was too tight for comfort but the guitarist didn’t notice.

Hisashi remained frozen himself. He remained frozen, shocked into stillness, while inside his world and mind reeled. Jiro’s words washed over him like a violent wave, slammed into his consciousness.

“You – you want to... leave GLAY?” Hisashi choked out. Apparently he was the first to recover speech, but his voice was tight, the words tried to catch in his throat from disbelief.

Jiro opened his mouth, looked at Hisahi, and then his words failed him. His eyes were large and upset.

“Why?” Takuro finally asked, demanded. His voice was shaky and ragged, this was one of the only moments that Hisashi had heard him to be so unnerved.

“Jiro, you can’t leave...” Teru said at the same time, finding his own voice.

Jiro flinched, possibly at both of their words, but did not respond to Teru. In answer to Takuro he said, haltingly, “because... because this just isn’t working. It’s not – it’s not what I want anymore.”

Hisashi knew he was lying. Jiro’s voice was weak, his words were thick with an unhappiness that couldn’t be caused merely by a change in or loss of ambition.

Takuro knew that too. “Is that all?” he asked. There was a certain amount of calm in his voice once again, Hisashi distantly marveled at how well the other man could recover control. Hisashi’s own mind was still whirling, trying to make sense of Jiro’s actions.

“Yes,” Jiro bit out, voice soft. Now, he wouldn’t look at any of them.

Hisashi felt Teru release his arm, and he glanced to the side in time to see Teru take a step forward, gaze intent and emphatic. But the vocalist was halted by Takuro quickly and gently placing a hand on his arm, restraining him. Teru’s passionate eyes swiveled to him, and Takuro gave him a look that said ‘let me handle this.’ Teru seemed to hesitate, Hisashi could see the tenseness in his shoulders, but finally he acquiesced, stepping back once again.

“Jiro,” Takuro began, quietly and slowly. The bassist dragged his eyes to Takuro. His hands were still balled into fists.

“We’re all in a band together, but we’re more than band mates, we’re friends. I’d like to think you can trust us...” His voice was imploring.

“I do trust you,” Jiro whispered. His gaze was momentarily pleading when he spoke, as if he was desperate to make sure they believed him.

Takuro did not refute his words. “Then tell us why you want to quit. Surely – surely we can help, and if we really can’t, then we’d at least like to understand...”

“I already told you,” Jiro said quietly. His voice was more shaky now. He momentarily closed his eyes.

“Don’t lie to us.” Takuro’s voice was not condescending. It was, however, demanding, but in a gentle way, compassionate.

“I’m not.”

Hisashi watched in anxious worry, listening to their exchange, his heart sinking every time Jiro spoke, because with each new sentence or assertion he sounded more upset, more desperate.

< This is worse than I thought, than any of us thought... Oh God, he wants to leave GLAY? > They couldn’t lose a band member now. They couldn’t lose Jiro. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

Throwing a quick glance at Teru, he saw the same nausea reflected in Teru’s eyes. Next to Teru, Takuro continued to try.

“Jiro... We just – we just want to help... To know why...” Takuro seemed like he was approaching a wall. What else could one say, after all?

“I...” His voice died.

Teru finally jumped in. “Jiro, you can’t – you can’t leave GLAY!” His husky voice was pleading, and it seemed like it was too much for Jiro to take.

The bassist tried to speak again, but no words came out, and he shook his head, biting his lip. Before any of the three could react, he turned and fled, disappearing not through the door into the inside hallway, but through the heavier, dark gray door to the alley.

No one tried to stop him, however, not even to call out his name. Three pairs of eyes watched helplessly; and then, after he was gone, for a long moment the room breathed tense silence.

Takuro was the first to break it. “I don’t understand,” he murmured, speaking as if to himself. He turned to face the others, disturbed perplexion on his face.

Teru looked just as upset. “It has to do with us,” he declared, soft but sure. “I mean, you saw the way he was looking at us, how he wouldn’t say...”

Hisashi said nothing. He was listening to them, but in his mind he was turning the conversation over and over, replaying what Jiro had said, seeing the emotions flickering across his face.

< So much worse than we thought... >

“I think... you might be right,” Takuro acknowledged quietly, speaking with a heavy sadness.

Teru made a sound of frustration in his throat. “But – but why? What did we do...? Or...” He trailed off. Hisashi, eyes focused across the room on nothing, waited to hear him continue, to hear this sudden epiphany he seemed to have had.

But Teru’s voice didn’t continue. Frowning, Hisashi focused his gaze, turned to look at Teru. Only when their eyes met did the other man speak.

“Tono, you have to go talk to him.”

He almost choked on air, startled by the sudden mixture of pleading and determination in Teru’s voice, the conviction in his eyes.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes!” Teru was pleading and accusatory at the same time. “You treat him *awfully*! I’m not saying he’s always nice back or anything, but – but maybe it’s you. Or at least has to do somewhat with you...”

Hisashi wanted to protest, but he found he couldn’t. < I was just thinking about how I treat him so harshly, > he thought. < And – no, this can’t be because of me, can it? >

Worry began to gnaw at him. “I – I guess...” he finally said, quietly. He was wrestling with himself, he didn’t want to believe he could truly have upset Jiro so much.

< But – but if it is me... I have to talk to him. >

“Arigato,” Takuro said quietly, while Teru’s eyes expressed his thanks. Both of their gazes turned to the door, now solidly closed behind Jiro. Hisashi’s eyes followed more slowly, and then he finally approached. Upon reaching it he cast a quick glance behind him, but neither Teru nor Takuro said anything. Teru made a shooing motion, encouraging and imploring him, and Takuro merely watched.

Drawing a deep breath, not liking the uncomfortable, shaky feeling inside, he opened the door and slipped outside.

The air was very still. It was not yet evening, dusk was still at least an hour away, and the weather was not atypical. The sky was scudded slightly with clouds, white and gray puffs scattered idly around, and the temperature was normal. The grayness of the alley should have been stark against the blueness of the sky, but it wasn’t. Instead, it seemed to melt into the sky, either the sky was more pale or the stone was more vivid. Hisashi didn’t know which.

The only aspect of the day that was notable was the absence of wind. It was not too warm or too cold outside, the air was simply there, and the faintest hint of staleness, with no wind to disperse it, hung in the air of the alley. Four stone steps led down to the dirty, paved strip between the buildings, there was a waist-high, metal railing on each end of the stairs.

Jiro had his back to the door, he had one hand resting lightly on the railing. Near his foot was a half-burned, then later crushed, cigarette.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, after the door had opened and then closed and Hisashi had stood there in silence, not sure how to begin. Jiro didn’t turn as he spoke, he simply apologized, voice quiet. As he stood there he seemed lost, the set of his shoulders was defeated.

Hisashi didn’t know what to say, but he had to say something. < I’m sure he thinks I’m Teru or Takuro... >

“Jiro...” He let his voice die as Jiro’s shoulder stiffened perceptibly. He hesitated, waiting for a reaction.

Finally, Jiro whispered: “Oh... Hey Hisashi.”

Hisashi frowned slightly, then continued, deciding to get straight to the point. “Teru – he seems to think that – that this is partially because of me,” he explained quietly, as Jiro continued to stand where he was, facing the blank sidewall of the opposing building.

“Is... that true?” < Will you lie to me, too? >

Jiro’s words were careful. “Why would you say that?”

“Because Teru seems rather convinced. And... I mean, I know that – that I’m not always nice to you...” < I also know that’s an understatement... > “but – but you can’t leave GLAY because of me...”

Jiro didn’t directly respond. “I want to leave because I’m unhappy,” he acknowledged quietly.

“And are you unhappy because of me...?”

No response.

He struggled with the words he knew he had to speak. “Jiro... Listen. I know I’m hard on you, but... but I don’t want you to leave because of me, I don’t want you to leave at all...”

“Then why do you hurt me so much...?”

The words were a whisper, and by the way Jiro suddenly became very still, Hisashi wondered if he meant to say them at all.

< Why do I hurt you so much...? How – how much do I hurt you? >

“Jiro.. Please look at me...”

For a long time he thought the bassist was going to ignore his request, but after a breathless, windless moment, Jiro finally turned around, moving slowly. His eyes were the last thing to face Hisashi. As their gazes met Hisashi saw that same, inexplicable sadness from earlier, only now it was clearer, more focused. On him.

“I don’t think you understand,” Jiro whispered. “It’s because of – because of what happened that night...” Each word seemed to be dragged out of him, seemed to wring his heart.

Hisashi knew what night he meant. He didn’t know what to say or to think.

“After that happened, why – why did you start treating me... like this? So harshly...?” His eyes revealed that he expected the answer to hurt him.

Hisashi floundered for words, trying to get a grip on his spinning reality. “I – well, I mean, I thought that – that you’d want to forget. That night was a mistake, you know? We – we were drunk, and I didn’t see any reason to talk about it... I thought... we should just ignore it...” His explanation was halting, he knew it didn’t even make much sense. How that led to his harshness was only clear to him.

But Jiro didn’t press it, maybe he somehow understood as well. “Is that all?”

Hisashi let a frown tug his lips, he didn’t know what Jiro wanted to hear. “Jiro... I – I’m sorry,” he apologized, the words slipping out before he thought about it. “I mean – I’ve never been the best at dealing with emotional situations, you know? I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that, and... I’m sorry...” he repeated, trailing off.

To his dismay, Jiro only looked away. “I wasn’t – I wasn’t looking for an apology, Hisashi,” he whispered, voice ragged. “I’m not leaving because – because of your cruelty...”

Hisashi frowned, this didn’t make sense.

“I want to leave, because – because I want to forget.”

That made even less sense.

Jiro continued, and his voice went from hesitant to broken. “There are certain things you aren’t supposed to feel for a band member, for – for another man...” His eyes finally sought Hisashi’s on the last word, he appeared to drag them to the guitarist, as if it took all of his effort and self-control to do so. They were shimmering with something unspoken, with what might have been unshed tears.

Hisashi’s mouth went dry. The emotion must have reflected in his eyes, because Jiro seemed to see it, he looked quickly away.

“And that – that’s why I have to leave, to escape this,” Jiro whispered.

“No.” Hisashi responded immediately in spite of his suddenly confused world. He tried to force solemnity and determination into his voice. Jiro’s eyes were fixed on him, large and upset. He seemed like a deer caught in headlights, frozen but tensed, ready to flee.

“Jiro, you can’t – you can’t leave if that’s the only reason.”

“But-”

“It doesn’t matter.” He plowed on, not caring what Jiro might have said. This was his fault, and he was responsible for fixing it. There were still tears on the edge of Jiro’s eyes, and Hisashi didn’t want them to fall, he wouldn’t let them fall.

Jiro’s eyes slid away. “You don’t – you don’t feel like this too, right?” His soft words were delicately spoken, hesitant. It was strange, but his voice implied that both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ would be unwelcome.

Hisashi spoke carefully. “I – I’ve never looked at you that way before.” < I’m straight... I mean, okay, so when you kissed me I reacted, but... I was drunk... >

Jiro only nodded in response, maybe sad, perhaps only resigned.

“But – I don’t want that to affect you like this,” Hisashi continued, speaking uncertainly because he suddenly did not know how to act. Jiro gazed at him, bit his lip. Hisashi took a deep breath. “Listen. The only reason I was so mean is because... Well, I don’t know, I can’t even really explain it. It was a natural reaction. I thought... I thought it was a mistake for both of us.”

“It was,” Jiro whispered.

Hisashi frowned. “Nanda?” Jiro slid his eyes away, seemed reluctant to respond. On impulse, Hisashi reached out, taking a step forward, and rested a hand gently on Jiro’s arm. “Jiro...”

The bassist flinched at his touch, his eyes leapt to Hisashi’s. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to do that,” he said haltingly. “I never planned on it, it’s not like I – I had been working up courage of anything...”

Hisashi studied him in silence. < God damn it, I don’t understand... Okay, so he likes me, but I can tell the feelings aren’t very strong, even he seems to know that... >

“I don’t understand why this makes you so upset, enough to try and make us believe you want to leave GLAY...”

“Don’t you see?” Jiro said softly, emphatically, eyes mournfully intense. “It’s bad enough that – that you don’t like me back, but – but boys can’t date boys. I shouldn’t feel this way at all...”

Hisashi was coldly shocked. “That’s what this is about? Homosexuality?”

Jiro looked away again, turning his eyes to the ground. His face was slightly flushed. “I can’t be like that,” he whispered. “I’m a pop icon. And – and if my family ever knew... And people. Most people just – just don’t accept that.”

< Oh Jiro... >

“That’s a very strong generalization to make,” he chided gently. Okay, so he himself was rather startled by the revelation that, at least on some level, Jiro wasn’t straight. He wasn’t sure how to treat him, suddenly, because he knew that Jiro had started the kiss intentionally – intentionally in a drunken sense – and that he *liked* Hisashi. But Jiro shouldn’t be reacting like this...

Jiro’s eyes sought his. “So... you don’t hate me?” he whispered.

The thought staggered Hisashi, and suddenly his actions toward Jiro took on a new meaning, seemed dangerously close to irreparable. “No,” he replied firmly. “And that others wouldn’t either, if they knew.”

“Don’t tell them,” Jiro said, voice pleading, one hand reaching out to clutch Hisashi’s upper arm.

“I won’t,” he soothed quickly, alarmed by the intensity in Jiro’s voice. There was a moment of silence then, during which Hisashi waited to see if Jiro would speak again, but the bassist refrained. So he continued quietly: “then... you’ll stay, right, Jiro? I guess... I guess I really screwed up, and I’m sorry, but we’ll make it through this, okay?”

Jiro’s eyes were still wide and warmly dark. No spark of his old self was yet visible. “Hai,” he finally agreed, eyes searching Hisashi’s face. “A – arigato, Hisashi.”

“Smile,” Hisashi commanded. Jiro blinked, taken aback. “You’re not quitting GLAY, I promise I don’t hate you, and I’ll stop being so mean. Surely at least part of that should make you happy enough to smile...”

A slow smile crept onto Jiro’s lips. It was small but genuine, almost shy, and it cast a dim reflection in his eyes. Hisashi nodded in encouraging satisfaction.

It was then that Hisashi realized his hand still rested on Jiro’s arm, and vice versa. Noticing this, he quickly and smoothly disengaged himself, stepping away. “Can we go back inside now?” he asked, gesturing toward the door behind him as he moved.

“Hai.” Jiro nodded slightly; he didn’t seem to notice Hisashi’s abrupt and hasty retreat.

The guitarist led them inside, stepping quietly through the door, hearing Jiro’s soft footsteps shuffling behind. He felt slightly shaky within from the entire turn of events. But all things considered, he realized he was remarkably calm.

< At least Jiro isn’t going to truly leave GLAY... But – there are still some things unsaid. That was the longest serious conversation we’ve ever had, but I know it’s not quite over... > He repressed a sigh, turning away from his thoughts.

As he stepped into the room, two pairs of eyes immediately fixed on him. “Well?” Teru demanded. He seemed, by the set of his jaw, ready to continue, but when Jiro appeared, he cut off. Hisashi halted where he was, and Jiro stepped up next to him, pausing there. From the corner of his eye, Hisashi saw Jiro shift uncomfortably because of the two gazes fixed so intently upon him.

“Anou... Gomen nasai,” Jiro said quietly. “I’m sorry for making you worry – today, and also before this. I’m not... leaving GLAY.”

Smiles immediately broke out on Teru and Takuro’s faces. “Yokatta,” Takuro said. But the questions danced behind his eyes. He, however, had the tact to restrain himself from asking. This was not the case for Teru.

“Jiro, but why-” He cut off with a surprised mutter as Takuro nudged him not-so-gently with his elbow. Teru tossed an annoyed glance up at Takuro, but he also appeared somewhat chagrined and did not try to continue.

Jiro also did not speak, not offering an explanation even though he knew that’s what they wanted. Hisashi could fairly feel the nervous aura he radiated.

Takuro stepped in once more. Perhaps he, too, felt Jiro’s discomfort, and respected it. “Well, it’s been a slightly more eventful day than usual. How about we call it quits, ne?”

Hisashi glanced at his watch. Practice would normally have been over in just another hour, but he certainly didn’t protest. Teru also seemed to like the idea of getting out of there early, especially considering that it was a Saturday. “Cool!” he exclaimed. “Let’s go out for drinks!”

Hisashi hid a smile. In spite of the still-heavy air, Teru managed to sound genuinely excited, as if he had already moved on from Jiro’s near-quit.

“Aa,” Takuro agreed, rolling his eyes momentarily at Teru’s exuberance.

Teru caught Hisashi’s eyes, and Hisashi nodded, and then the guitarist turned to Jiro. “Jiro? You in?”

The bassist offered an apologetic smile, and then flashed it to Teru and Takuro, who also watched him curiously. “Eh, sorry, minna, not tonight.” Before they could protest, he continued. “Thanks, I normally would, but I’m pretty tired, I haven’t beep sleeping well. I kind of just want to go home, you know?”

“Hai.” Hisashi was the first to agree.

“Ne, Jiro,” Takuro added, “Why don’t you head on home now, then? We need to clean up and stuff, but there’s not that much, so you can go on home.”

“Hontou ni?” Jiro asked. His countenance was grateful.

“Sure!” Teru said, chiming in. “We’ll see you Monday, ne, Jiro?”

“Hai.”

Hisashi, casting another quick glance at Jiro, saw that a spark of his old self was fighting back toward his eyes. Jiro felt his flickered gaze, and turned to meet it, holding Hisashi’s eyes a moment longer.

“Ja ne, Hisashi,” he said quietly. “Arigato, again...”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, just as softly. He could feel both Takuro and Teru watching them. “Go on home,” he said, nodding toward the far door. “Ja ne.”

“Ja,” Jiro murmured again, and then breaking his eyes away, he left Hisashi’s side. He repeated his farewell to the other two, who returned it warmly, and then shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned, and without looking back, walked out the door, leaving the room in tenuous silence.

As soon as the door shut behind Jiro, Teru broke the silence. “Itai!” he exclaimed. “Why the hell did you nudge me so hard? That hurt!” Hisashi, bemused, turned back toward them in time to see Teru’s fist collide with Takuro’s arm.

The taller man chuckled, glancing down at Teru with no spark of pain in his eyes. Teru glared back in accusation.

Hisashi rolled his eyes, and then aimed to walk toward his guitar. As he did so, he could feel Teru and Takuro turn expectant eyes upon him. He pretended not to feel their gaze. He had to pass by Teru and Takuro in the process of approaching his amps, however, and when he neared them, they stopped him.

“Well?” Teru finally demanded, sounding exasperated. He grabbed Hisashi’s arm with one hand.

Irritably, Hisashi shook it off. “Well what?”

Teru frowned at Takuro, and Takuro arched one eyebrow back. “Well...? What was wrong with Jiro?” Teru finally pressed.

Hisashi shrugged. “Isn’t it only important that he’s not gonna try and leave?”

Takuro frowned. “Well, yes, but... Why was he so upset?”

Hisashi shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It was nothing.”

“It was clearly *not* nothing!” Teru argued, brow contracting.

“As far as you need to know, it was,” Hisashi insisted quietly. And before they could respond, he turned and continued to walk. He left their perplexed silence behind.

< I promised Jiro I wouldn’t say anything. I swear it wouldn’t matter to them, but it’s certainly not my right to tell... I promised him. >

He began to tidy up the room, working in silence, and finally he heard Teru and Takuro rustling behind him, following suit. As they worked in silence and the sun began its descent in the sky, Hisashi mused upon the fact that there was now a secret that only he and Jiro shared.

part 3