“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”
*
The following week was incredibly tense. It was not the same tension that
had been threaded throughout the air previously. That had been poisonous
and threatening, foreboding. This was simply – tension, pure in its
hovering form, irritating and uncomfortable but tolerable.
Hisashi could tell that it wasn’t imagined, that Jiro felt it as strongly as him, while perhaps Takuro and Teru were only made wary by it, but in spite of this tension, the bassist was quickly recovering, he was embracing his old self.
The Monday directly following the fateful Saturday that Jiro tried to leave Glay was the worst. Jiro had been the last to practice – a title normally held by Hisashi – and when he first entered, Hisashi had seen the fear in his eyes, wide and doe-like, liquid.
He had watched as Jiro’s eyes flickered to Teru and Takuro, but they only greeted him kindly, welcoming him back quickly with no breath of Saturday. Jiro had been somewhat jumpy the rest of practice, but the following day, he was better. Hisashi, upon reflection Monday evening, had figured out it must have been because Jiro thought he told Teru and Takuro.
That is to say – he didn’t seem to necessarily think Hisashi had said anything, Hisashi liked to believed Jiro had trusted him when he promised he wouldn’t tell Jiro’s reason for the attempted leaving – but he seemed fearful that they had found out anyway. Only after he knew they truly were still in the dark did he become more at ease.
Even on that first day, however, practice went more smoothly. And Jiro steadily built back up to his former cheeriness, and Hisashi would have found it impossible to believe that the previous week and its events had occurred except for the ever-present, underlying tension.
As they were finishing up practice on Friday, he let these thoughts and wonderings lead his mind, his fingers were left to find their own way across the strings.
< As much as I’m glad things are getting more normal... They won’t be completely settled until I talk to Jiro. >
He and Jiro had not said much to each other that week. This was a change in that they did not argue, but instead of arguing there was simply less talking. It was not coldness or silent hostility, it was just – wary silence. And even though Hisashi was pleased that the fighting had stopped, he still wasn’t satisfied.
< Knowing the things I do, now... Seems like he shouldn’t be afraid of me anymore. I’m the only one who knows about that kiss, that he took the initiative, and the only one who knows how upset he was when he thought of the band or anyone else finding out. >
< I wish he would trust me... >
His thoughts trailed off and he let the music die as Takuro called out that practice was officially at an end.
“Yatta!” Jiro exclaimed, while Teru, at the same time, said:
“Ya know, we went *fifteen whole minutes* over when you said we’d end, Takkun.” The vocalist was righteously indignant.
“And I’m sure those fifteen minutes were pure agony,” Takuro said dryly, rolling his eyes. Jiro laughed, and Hisashi remained contentedly silent, watching his three band members.
Preparing for the weekend proceeded in silence that was broken every so often by a soft, short conversation or mutter at moving heavy amps. Friday meant it was time to clean up the studio, clearing surfaces and pushing amps and equipment fully out of the way because – well, Hisashi didn’t know why. They did it because Takuro told them to, and it was the same reason one cleaned one’s house. It was just something one did.
As Hisashi put his guitar carefully away on a stand pushed against the wall, he cast a quick glance around. He saw, then, that they were almost done in their cleaning duty. Takuro was moving the last of the amps, and Teru and Jiro were on opposite sides of the room, Teru putting away his microphone stand, and Jiro kneeling next to his bass, putting it in its case, having apparently decided to take it home.
Hisashi studied the blonde bassist for a moment, as he knelt on the floor settling his instrument gently away. His boyish features were unreadable, neither happy nor upset, closed nor expressive. He seemed simply passive and perhaps a touch tired. Or maybe he was just getting weary of the tension.
Hands leaving the smooth surface of his beloved guitar, Hisashi turned away decisively and strode toward Jiro, steps quiet and unhurried, but purpose in his eyes.
Reaching Jiro, he paused behind him. “Ne, Jiro,” he said quietly.
The bassist jumped slightly upon hearing his voice, momentarily freezing. His hands were resting on the clasps of the case, ready to flick them down. They froze with him, and then, slowly, Jiro resumed, securely shutting the case. He glanced over his shoulder, up at Hisashi.
“Anou... Nani ga?” he questioned. The nervousness in his eyes made Hisashi want to sigh.
“I was wondering – would you go out for drinks with me?”
“Eh...” Jiro’s voice trailed off, he stalled by pushing himself to a stand, rising gracefully from the floor before turning to face Hisashi. Even though he turned toward him, his eyes were restless, never quite meeting Hisashi’s gaze.
“I – I can’t, but thanks, Hisashi. I’m pretty tired...”
“Please,” Hisashi asked softly, knowing the quiet words to be out of character, but determined to talk to Jiro.
“I...” Jiro’s gaze finally settled on him. His eyes were wide and searching, and for a long moment he was silent. Then, finally, he agreed. “Hai,” he finally said. “I’ll go.”
“Doumo.”
Jiro seemed somewhat put off by the quiet word of thanks, but said nothing.
“I’ll drive, okay?” Hisashi offered.
“...Alright. You can go on out, ne? I want to put my bass in my car and stuff.”
“Okay.” Seeing nothing else to say, Hisashi turned and walked away, feeling Jiro’s confused gaze following him. He was satisfied to note that neither Teru nor Takuro had seemed to notice his approach of Jiro or their quiet conversation.
“Ja ne, Tekko, Takkun,” he said, when he neared the door, reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys. Both men looked up, Takuro from his amp, Teru from untangling some wires. The cast smiles his way and words of farewell, and then he was slipping out the door.
He didn’t have to wait long for Jiro. A few moments after he had unlocked and climbed into his car, the other man appeared in the parking lot, bass in tow. Hisashi saw Jiro’s eyes flicker briefly to Hisashi’s car, but there was only that one, short glance, and then Jiro headed directly to his car, face angled slightly down.
Hisashi waited silently and patiently as Jiro put his bass away then approached the passenger side of Hisashi’s car. When he reached it, however, he did not enter.
Hisashi turned fully to the side, curiously peering out the window. Jiro blinked back. They stared at each other for a minute, and then finally Jiro mouthed something and pointed at the handle.
Wincing sheepishly, Hisashi quickly hit the unlock button. All four doors clicked, and a moment later Jiro slid inside.
“Gomen,” he apologized. “I’m not used to driving with anyone, so I always forget that manually unlocking doesn’t work for the rest of the car.”
“It’s okay,” Jiro said quietly, waving the apology away. He offered the barest of smiles.
Repressing a sigh, Hisashi pulled out of the parking lot and they fell into silence. The drive to the bar – a different one than where they had gotten drunk and outside of which had kissed – was awkward, but it could have been worse. A quiet stillness reigned, and if there had not been a radio, Hisashi knew the silence would have been unbearable.
Reaching the bar, they entered in silence, Hisashi holding the door open for Jiro without thinking, Jiro only giving a nod of acknowledgement, no words being exchanged. It was only after they had taken a table near the corner and ordered drinks that Hisashi finally spoke.
“Listen, Jiro,” he said, speaking quietly, but still causing Jiro to jump slightly at the sound of his voice. “I wanted you to come here so we could talk.”
“Okay...” Jiro said softly. His eyes skittered momentarily to Hisashi’s face, then once again slid away.
The guitarist sighed. “I know that things are getting better now, but – something still isn’t right.”
The bassist didn’t respond.
“I just – I just don’t want you to be so nervous and stuff around me,” Hisashi explained.
“I’m not,” Jiro argued automatically, pouting slightly. But the effort was half-hearted.
“Yes, you are,” Hisashi insisted, “And – well, I’d just really rather you weren’t. I’d like to think that... I dunno, but now I know something that no one else knows-” Jiro dropped his gaze, but Hisashi pressed on “-and sometimes it’s better if you don’t have to keep a secret like that. I won’t judge you for it, Jiro, I swear. Nothing has put me in the position to judge anyone, and you’re included.”
Jiro seemed reluctant to respond.
“Things weren’t great between us before, we argued so much and all, and I don’t really want it to be like that again.”
“It won’t,” Jiro said softly, voice almost a sigh.
Hisashi studied him. Jiro studied the table top.
“There’s something else,” Hisashi finally ventured. Jiro lifted his eyes, finally meeting Hisashi’s gaze, silently waiting for him to continue. A glimmer of fear reflected in those eyes.
Hisashi didn’t know exactly how to begin. “Okay, so... You said that – that you liked me. At least, to some extent, and that’s why – why you kissed me and stuff.” Jiro’s cheeks flushed, he looked away, and even Hisashi, to his dismay, blushed slightly. He continued quickly.
“So, is that... anou... still an issue?” he asked delicately.
Jiro looked at him, slightly perplexed. “Issue?”
< Clearly my choice of words was poor... > “Do you – still like me?”
Again, Jiro blushed. “Oh! Um... No. I mean, no offense or anything, demo... It wasn’t anything serious, you know?”
“So that’s not why it’s been so tense and stuff?” Hisashi asked.
Jiro breathed a sigh. “No. I don’t... I don’t really know why it’s been like that,” he finally admitted.
“You have no reason to be nervous around me,” the guitarist pressed.
“I know,” Jiro whispered. He lifted his eye from their intent scrutiny of the wooden table. “I’m sorry, Hisashi, I really am. I just... With everything that happened...” He trailed off. His warm brown eyes were expressive.
“I understand,” Hisashi soothed. “I just wanted to make sure there weren’t still.... feelings. And to make sure you knew you could trust me. I haven’t said anything to Teru or Takuro. And I won’t.”
The barest suggestion of a smile touched Jiro’s lips. “I bet they’ve harassed you about it to no end, huh? Wanting to know what we talked about and why I tried to leave?”
Hisashi grinned. “Yeah... Teru seems really annoyed that I won’t say anything. Takuro accepts it more or less, but Teru’s a bit bitter. He’s letting it go, though.”
“...Thanks again, Hisashi,” Jiro said, “for not saying anything.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The smile Jiro gave him was finally real.
“So... Are we okay, now? Hisashi asked. < You don’t ‘like’ me, and you don’t have to be nervous around me? You know that you can trust me and I won’t try to judge you? >
“Hai.”
Before Hisashi could say anything else, a third voice broke into their conversation. “Wayama? Tonomura? What the hell are you two doing here?”
Both men turned to see Takuro regarding them with surprise, Teru at his side.
Hisashi looked back coolly. “It’s a bar. We’re drinking. What did you come here for?”
Jiro seemed highly amused by this comment, or perhaps it was the rather dumbfounded looks on Teru and Takuro’s faces. He giggled.
Hisashi sighed. “Want to join us?” < We’re done talking anyway. I think things are better... >
In spite of their apparently consternation at seeing Hisashi and Jiro sitting and having a drink together, Takuro and Teru both took seats, never men to turn down an offer of alcohol.
*
The night was dark, velvet soft, as Hisashi pulled back into the studio parking lot. The building was black and dead, fading into the night, windows without any glimmer of light.
There was that silence between them in the car again, but this time it was comfortable, not so hard and unforgiving. Jiro’s car was the only other vehicle let in the lot, also dark and still.
Hisashi pulled up next to it. “There you go,” he said, his foot securely on the brake, tossing a glance at Jiro.
The bassist nodded, then wordlessly opened the door. With one foot out, letting in the night air, he paused, turning back. “Hisashi... Thank you, again.”
“For what?”
Shoulders shrugging slightly. “I don’t know, but... I feel better now. After – talking to you, and stuff.”
The guitarist offered a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Again, Jiro made as if to leave. And once again, he paused. His eyes found Hisashi’s, and he gazed at him for a moment, uncharacteristically reticent. When he spoke his low voice was quiet. “Anou... I don’t know if you’re real busy this weekend or anything, but... Well, I’ve been having some trouble with some of the songs,” he explained, “so that’s why I’m taking my bass home. If you – if you want to play with me, or just hang out or something... Let me know, okay?”
Hisashi was quiet for a moment. “Takuro has his work as our leader,” he mused, “Teru has Ami... You get lonely, ne, Jiro?”
The bassist’s gaze was elusive, his face was tilted slightly down. “Ah... hai.”
“I have Ayu-neko, you know,” Hisashi said quietly, and image of his proud feline coming to mind. “She’s good company. Never talks back.”
Jiro didn’t seem to know what to do with his answer. He also seemed to take it as a negative, assuming that maybe Hisashi didn’t want the company when he already had Ayu. “Oh...”
Hisashi’s eyes swept over his cheeks, saw a light flush, possibly of embarrassment, staining the smooth skin.
“She’s not a very good conversationalist, though,” he admitted, continuing. “Maybe she listens well, but sometimes I get bored of talking.” Jiro lifted his eyes hesitantly. “I’ll call you tomorrow, ne?”
A smile formed on Jiro’s lips. “Okay,” he agreed. Hisashi almost smiled at Jiro’s boyish happiness. “Then... I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Oyasumi.”
Jiro climbed out of the car. “Oyasumi.” His head dipped back into sight for a moment to say his goodbye. Then he closed the door and walked to his car.
Hisashi watched him thoughtfully for a moment, but when Jiro started his own car, flicking on the headlights, Hisashi pulled out of his reverie and drove off.
*
Days turned into weeks, weeks drew on, turned into an entire month. And slowly but surely, clearly, things began to change.
It was strange, but Hisashi and Jiro fell smoothly into friendship. Past differences simply disappeared, dissolved, fading away like so much mist at sunrise. Maybe it was because Jiro had said things to Hisashi that he had never told anyone else, that he had revealed a particular fear. Or maybe Hisashi was just finally giving the optimistic, endlessly cheerful bassist a chance.
“You like Jiro, neko-chan, don’t you?”
As these thoughts flowed through his mind, he was standing near the window in his kitchen, leaning his head against the frame, staring out. Beyond the window a soft rain was falling, but blue-gray clouds were amassing on the horizon and in the sky. A storm would break that evening, would turn a gentle fall into a rough deluge. The water drops streamed steadily down the glass as he stared blankly.
Ayu was in his arms, happily purring as he continuously, thoughtlessly scratched her. The sprinkle of the rain, peppering against the window, and Ayu’s soft, steady, rumbling purr were the only sounds until Hisashi spoke.
At the sound of his voice Ayu meowed. It was only in response to hearing him speak suddenly, softly, she was merely responding to her master’s voice, but Hisashi liked to believe it was in answer to his question. She truly did seem to like Jiro. Jiro had been to his house a few times in the past month, on the weekends, and although Ayu tended to ignore visitors, turn her nose up and walk away, she had taken a liking to Jiro. She had been wary at first, trotting into the room, and then hesitating when she saw him. But she had cautiously approached, rubbing against his leg, and the next time he came she had run over to him joyfully.
“Yeah,” he mused with a quiet sigh, glancing at Ayu, who peered back. “I like him too...”
Just a little too much.
It was completely unexpected, but at the same time, undeniable. Hisashi couldn’t decide if he was more surprised that he was attracted to another man or that it was Jiro.
“Who am I kidding?” he muttered immediately, turning his eyes back to the window, sighing heavily. The surprising part was that it was Jiro. Jiro, who he had very little in common with, who he had fought consistently with for the first few years of knowing him.
Hisashi had never really considered himself bi, he had always stuck to women in the past, but the idea had every so often touched his mind. When he had first met Teru, in fact, he had considered pursuing something there, but not too seriously – which was good, because is seemed that Teru was straight. But it had been enough to acknowledge that he definitely felt some attraction toward men, if not consistently.
A week ago he had almost said something to Jiro. But he had still been reluctant, still been unsure. He had decided to give it at least another week, to see if maybe the infatuation passed out of his mind.
That didn’t happen. Jiro had consistently been on his mind for the past month, let alone since that night that he kissed him. That night that he kissed him...
< God, I still remember. I still remember what it felt like, when he kissed me. What it tasted like... >
< ‘What do I taste like?’ ...... ‘Let me taste you again.’ >
Another sigh, this one heavier. He wondered why this was happening so suddenly.
Or was it sudden at all?
Perhaps this had always been an underlying feeling. On some level, he supposed it was possible that he had always been attracted to the bassist, and that’s why they fought more, why there was more tension.
Or perhaps he had just begun to see Jiro in a different way.
Before, Jiro had just been – *genki*. He was always happy, always talking, always bouncing. He was always doing things that annoyed Hisashi; he annoyed Hisashi simply because he was *always* like that. But now Hisashi had been able to see a different side. Suddenly Jiro had more depth, more character, Hisashi had seen him struggle through a deep sorrow, regret, and even fear. He had been allowed to see that the happiness was sometimes a forced façade, there were real emotions behind the cheeky grin.
“He was like an anime character,” the guitarist informed Ayu softly, letting his thoughts form words on his lips, still musing, reasoning things out. “And now he’s become more 3-d, more real...”
Ayu shifted, turning to look at him, meet his gaze. Her look was reproachful, and he blinked; then he realized he had stopped petting her. He resumed with a sigh.
“You’re demanding,” he chided. He cast a glance at the time. “Jiro’ll be here soon,” he murmured. He finally drew away from the window, setting Ayu gently to the ground. She turned to peer at him momentarily, but seeing that she would get no more attention, turned back around and trotted off, out of the kitchen.
He followed her example, leaving the kitchen to go shower and turning the lights off as he left, letting the grayness from outside cover the room in a blue-silver liquid.
*
“It’s quite a storm out there,” Jiro noted. In response to his words lightning flashed, a green-blue spark.
Hisashi glanced at the window, nodding in agreement. He was sprawled in a chair in his living room, while Jiro sat on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. There was some anime on the tv, but Hisashi, admittedly, had not been paying much attention. A mostly-empty box of pizza was sitting slightly askew on the table.
The guitarist reached for his beer can, but soon discovered that it was empty. “You want another?” he asked Jiro. The blonde glanced at him, saw the can, and nodded, a natural smile on his face.
“Doumo.”
Hisashi said nothing in return, merely grabbing the two empty cans and taking them with him into the kitchen. He placed them on the counter near the sink, mind elsewhere. Grabbing two more, he reentered the sitting room.
Jiro was not where he had left him. Hisashi paused in the doorway when his quickly-searching eyes fell on Jiro. The bassist was on his hands and knees in the middle of the carpet, and Ayu was facing him, her tail swishing. Both seemed completely oblivious to Hisashi’s presence, and he remained still, resting his shoulder against the doorframe, tilting his head slightly. Watching.
Jiro moved one hand, playfully batting toward Ayu. She seemed taken aback by the action, danced hesitantly backward. When his hand drew back, however, she bounced forward, trying to land her paws on the slender fingers. Back and forth they went, Jiro batting at her, the cat trying to respond with the same speed, but always missing.
She let out a playful yowl of frustration as Jiro won the game time and again, and in response Jiro lifted and then dipped his other hand down, batting her tail. She whirled around, and the bassist giggled. His fingers hovered, he seemed ready to startle the cat some more, but then Jiro’s bright, warm eyes suddenly caught sight of Hisashi.
A blush flamed on Jiro’s face and he quickly sat back on his heels. “How long have you been standing there?” he demanded, accusing.
“Long enough to see you harassing my poor kitty,” he returned.
“She started it,” Jiro protested with a pout. Ayu turned fully around to glance at Jiro, looking at his face, then at his previously-offending hands. Then she turned to Hisashi and swished her tail once.
Jiro seemed somewhat put off by the soft expression on Hisashi’s face, and he didn’t continue. Hisashi tossed him his can of beer, but the blonde wasn’t prepared. He scrabbled for the can, only barely catching it. Ayu was startled by the sudden movement, and streaked from the room in a dark blur.
Hisashi chuckled. “She likes you, you know,” he said quietly, as Jiro rose from the ground and returned to his seat on the couch.
A smile touched Jiro’s lips. “I like her too. She’s fun.”
“She doesn’t get to play often,” Hisashi admitted. He stood behind the chair he had previously occupied, leaning against it. He sipped his freshly opened beer.
“Why not?”
“Well... I just don’t play much with her.”
Jiro’s gaze was reproachful. “That poor thing.”
“I pet her,” Hisashi replied in his defense. “And I feed her. I just... don’t play.”
Jiro shook his head in a disapproving gesture. Hisashi, meanwhile, cast a glance out the window, trailing his eyes over the window pane and toward the unseen sky where clouds covered the world like velvet and shed streams of water. The sound of the rain hitting the window was rhythmic and strong, almost as loud as the volume of the anime – which was, admittedly, not very loud – and far more soothing.
He didn’t pay attention to the flashes of lightning he saw or the claps of thunder he both heard and somehow felt. He just stared out the window, thinking of the cat that had gone running and of how happy she was when Jiro was around. How happy he had come to be when Jiro was around.
Drawing a deep, silent breath, he tore his eyes from the window. Jiro was resting languidly against the back of the couch, beer on the table in front of him, eyes on the television. Movements quiet and fluid, Hisashi walked over to the couch, also set his can on the table, and sat down.
Jiro seemed startled by his actions; the bassist blinked at him, glancing to the side when Hisashi settled himself on the couch instead of the chair. But he said nothing, letting Hisashi’s actions pass with only a question in his eyes, not his voice.
Hisashi remained silent as the episode on the tv continued, letting his eyes rest on the screen, but again, not knowing or really caring what was happening. The silence between them was broken only by the natural noises of the rain and the anime. Every so often the lightning or thunder disturbed the quiet stillness, but Hisashi’s house felt secure and safe, a haven from the storm that was at its climax, raging against the windows and earth.
Only when the episode ended and a particularly booming roll of thunder had sounded did Hisashi speak.
“You know, Jiro,” he began quietly, turning to face the bassist. Jiro turned toward him inquiringly, eyes large and blinking in the dim light and alternating flashes of lightning. Hisashi’s heart picked its pace up ever so slightly. The innocent and curious look on Jiro’s soft, lovely features, coupled with the flickering, almost-haloing effect of the lightning, threatened to steal his breath.
“...I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
Brown eyes blinking. “What I said?” He pursed his pouty lips thoughtfully. Then his gaze brightened. “Oh! You mean about the baseline in Be With You? Yeah, I-”
“No,” Hisashi cut in gently, shifting very slightly closer.
Jiro’s voice trailed off. “Oh...” The guitarist wasn’t sure if Jiro noticed his movement, the fact that they were almost touching. Hisashi’s eyes were fixed intently on those of the bassist. “Then... what?” Jiro asked, peering at him.
Still no nervousness in that gaze. Only curiosity, innocence. Brightness. Trust.
Leaning, feeling warmth. A breath closer, a breath away. “This.”
He pressed his lips against Jiro’s in a gentle, solid kiss.
It was everything he remembered, at the same time it was completely new. Same taste, same full lips, same hidden-but-there sensation of electricity and rightness. But different actions. No response. No warm return.
Then – a hand on his shoulder. At first uncertain, then more firm. Pressure. Pushing him away...
The force of Jiro’s hand was not strong, but it was there, it was enough that Hisashi hesitated in confusion, that Jiro pulled away.
There was a ragged edge to Jiro’s breathing. They both froze, faces a few inches apart. When Hisashi’s eyes slid open, Jiro was staring at him, gaze wide.
“What – what are you doing?” Jiro’s voice was breath, it shook.
“I...” Hisashi’s voice failed him, confusion riddled his senses.
The gleam in Jiro’s eyes bordered on frantic. Hisashi could see the tenseness. The fingers of his hand were both trembling and stiffly tense.
The guitarist didn’t draw back, he didn’t want to. “Jiro...”
“I have to go.” The words spilled out of Jiro’s mouth over Hisashi’s soft word, it was as if his name being spoken forced Jiro into action.
Hisashi wasn’t prepared for Jiro to move so quickly, to slide so quickly and smoothly away, out of his proximity, off the couch. He was grabbing his jacket from the armrest before Hisashi managed to reach a stand, confused and hurt.
Usually warm brown eyes wide, unresponsive, almost panicked...
“Jiro, wait,” Hisashi said quickly, taking a step toward the bassist. Jiro shook his head, he didn’t even look over his shoulder as he moved hurriedly toward the entryway. Hisashi followed hastily.
He tried again. “Jiro-”
“I have to leave,” Jiro repeated. His voice was unsteady, it still trembled. Hisashi bit his lip, quickening his steps as Jiro reached the front door. He turned the last two steps into a run as Jiro’s hand closed around the handle and he jerked open the door.
The storm poured in, lashing rain, wind, and thunder suddenly intensified by the mere opening of the front door. Cold pinpricks of rain hit the floor, whipped inside.
Hisashi lunged forward, closed a hand around Jiro’s wrist. “Jiro, please, don’t go out in this storm. You shouldn’t drive-”
“Let me go!” Jiro tried to jerk away, his face was turned away, toward the storm. Away from Hisashi.
The guitarist held on tighter, voice pleading. “Please, you can’t,” he said desperately. “It’s not safe, and I’m sorry, and-”
“Let me go, Hisashi!” Jiro repeated, more harshly. He turned pleading, desperate eyes to Hisashi; his face was splattered with water drops like tears, his hair was already tousled, damp.
The sheer emotion in his eyes made Hisashi’s grip loosen, made him flinch. And once he was free, Jiro let the anguished glance last only a bare moment longer, and then he was passing through the door, out into the storm, steps hurried, almost running. Never looking back.
Hisashi’s hand gripped the door tightly, spasmodically, he watched Jiro go with a helpless, hurt gaze.
< I thought... >
It didn’t make sense.
< A cold kiss... Pushing me away... ‘Let me go, Hisashi!’ >
The taste of the kiss, it still lingered on lips. More than the one that had previously lingered in his mind. This was fresher. And as much as it was shorter, colder, it seemed to hold in it more emotion.
He closed the door heavily, finally doing so out of reflex after Jiro’s car – < Oh God... he shouldn’t be driving in this... > – had pulled away almost half a minute ago. Then it was firmly latched, the storm was again solidly and securely kept out. Only now his home wasn’t nearly so welcoming and comforting.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the front door in a gesture of hopeless defeat and turmoil. His hand was still tight around the knob. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, the events of the evening played over in his mind.
< I don’t understand... > Painfully confused, uncharacteristically anguished.
Ayu meowed, then, having apparently approached, or perhaps having been nearby the entire time. He could hear her to his right, and she gave up a mournful, haunting series of mews, a soft, continuous lamentation.
Maybe it was for the cold that had seeped inside, that would be locked inside with them for the rest of the night. Maybe it was for the puddle of chill water that had so quickly gathered on the entryway ground, tears of heaven shed in anger.
And maybe it was just because Jiro was gone.