Experience Pearls

Give me all your tears

Let me turn them into pearls

Let me turn all the tears

that you have cried into pearls

Hand them over to me - I'm gonna keep,

keep them for you.

I want to hold you,

I want to kiss you.

I want to mend what is broken.

Love me the way that you loved her - please

Cause now I'm giving it all -

And so I've made up my mind - I'm gonna be

yours this time - I'm gonna give what I've got,

and get your love in return.

And so I've made up my mind - I'm gonna be

yours this time - I'm gonna teach you to trust

and learn how to burn -

Experience pearls

Pearls of experience

When sand strikes up in your eyes

I will cover your face.

I'll plant your desert with roses,

and I'm gonna keep, keep them for you.

And so I've made up my mind...

I'll wear your pearls more precious than silver

I'll wear your pearls so close to my skin.

I'd tear myself apart just to get you -

And so I've made up my mind...

And so I've made up my mind...

*

Jiro didn't have much to do. He didn't just sleep there on the couch - for a while, he paced the room, he did nothing, but without merely sitting still. After initially waking up from confused, painful recollections calling in the guise of dreams, he found that Teru and Takuro had left for the day. They left him a note, which he found, and the scrawled words read simply
that because Hisashi wasn't coming back - according to Jiro, and they had no reason to doubt him - they weren't going to practice that day. It was Friday, which meant they wouldn't convene for practice again until Monday.

< I get a long weekend, > Jiro thought dismally, staring at the note in his hand without really seeing it.

Casting about the room, he saw his stuff against one wall, and Hisashi's against another. Hisashi's stuff - that meant the guitarist would be returning to get his things, at some point.

And Jiro was going to be there when he did.

He didn't really reach any conclusions, as he first napped on the couch, then haunted the studio, and then inevitably returned to the couch, weary at mind and heart. What he did know was confused. He knew that seeing Hisashi this sorrowful over his divorce hurt himself, he knew that having admitted his feelings and received only a retreating back in response hurt like hell.

He didn't really know what he was going to do, when Hisashi returned. But - he had to do something. All he had been able to do on Hisashi's wedding night was ask him not to do it. Say 'please don't marry her' and then accept no and a cold door in his face as the answer.

He had given up, after that. Decided that as much as he wanted Hisashi, Hisashi was married now, he was unattainable, and so Jiro had nursed his depression in silence.

But this was his second chance. Hisashi clearly still loved his wife, who was leaving him, but he couldn't hold on to that forever. Jiro - could help him forget, could help him move on. Move on with *him*.

It was his second chance. He didn't want to miss it.

*

"You know... It hurt when you didn't come to my wedding."

Jiro started. The voice that broke the silence was soft, just barely over a whisper, but Jiro was nearly startled off the couch. He had been laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, and half-asleep with his eyes open.

He pushed himself to a half-sitting position, turning to the side and blinking owlishly in the dim light of the open room.

Hisashi stood there regarding him, a few feet inside the door, across the stretch of chill floor. Apparently Jiro had missed even the opening of the latch.

".. Ara?" he finally managed, blinking confusedly.

What might have been the barest trace of amusement, if not a smile, crossed Hisashi's face. "I've known you a long time... I know what you were thinking about."

"Do you?" Jiro returned quietly, sitting up fully.

Hisashi looked away, and then moved to half-heartedly gather his things.

"It's not like it was easy on me either," he offered finally, head down, voice floating over his shoulder. Jiro's eyes never left the kneeling figure. "Getting married, I mean."

"What do you mean?" Jiro asked softly, voice emotionless. He and Hisashi had never spoken about the past before. Since Hisashi's marriage - more directly, since that night before his wedding - the subject of 'them' had never come up, not overtly.

Consequently, Jiro didn't know what to expect.

"At the time... I hadn't - I hadn't reconciled my feelings yet. For you," he said carefully. There was a notable emphasis on his words 'at the time'.

Jiro's heart fluttered at the implications. "You..." he trailed off.

Hisashi finally favored him with a glance, sitting back on his heels and turning his head. "It's not that I really wanted to break it off with you, when..." He trailed off, changed his sentence. "I loved her then, but I hadn't - I hadn't really forgotten about you, not completely, and..." Again, he trailed off, and this time fell silent.

"And you've 'forgotten' about me now...?" Jiro returned, not hiding the bitterness in his voice.

Hisashi's eyes flashed. "I had to," he said, a little too harshly. He rose and walked to where his guitar rested on it's stand, and curbed himself in that interval. When he spoke it was with more care. "People change, Jiro. People's feelings change."

"Because they have to, or because they want to?" Jiro challenged.

"Dammit, Jiro," Hisashi said, throwing him a flashing glance. "Why now? Everything was fine, and now-"

"It wasn't *fine*," he snapped back, being angry because it was easier than sorrow. "I hated seeing you with her. And we fought more, didn't you notice? After you got married?"

"You can't blame that on me," Hisashi returned angrily.

"So it's my fault? It's my fault for loving you?"

Silence snapped into the room with a cold abruptness. Jiro's words verily echoed, in the silence, in his mind. Hisashi's gaze was fixed on him. His dark eyes were slightly widened, his hands frozen - minutely trembling, in reality - where they rested on the neck of his guitar.

Jiro bit his lip and looked away.

< I didn't mean to say that... I didn't know, I didn't, Hisa. But... It's true, I know it is now, in my heart. Between your marriage and now, I tried to forget about you, but I could only fall in love with you. >

He began to have trouble holding on to his anger, that anger was dissolving into apprehension.

< Say something... Please... >

But nothing. Only silence.

Jiro forced himself to raise his eyes back to Hisashi in a pleading gesture. "Hisashi... I... Don't just look at me," he implored.

Hisashi haltingly responded: "You... love me...?" Incomprehension gleamed in his eyes. His anger seemed to have been shocked away, and now only confusion and a haunted look resided in those eyes.

Again, the bassist bit his lip. "I... Yes," he managed, finding it hard to keep his voice steady under that gaze, unable to manage more than a whisper.

Hisashi's silence seemed to demand further explanation.

"I - I didn't mean to," he said haltingly. "After you got married, I thought that I'd - move on, because - I mean, you were married. And I thought I did, I thought I gave up. But - but it's true, I - love you."

Hisashi stared at him a moment longer, and then, almost as if lurching into action, he took his guitar from it's stand and moved to put it away. Jiro rose from his seat, but took no steps forward, only watched with an anxious, pleading gaze as Hisashi put his guitar away. Then he grabbed his things, picked up his case, and turned around.

His voice was carefully level when he spoke. "I can't deal with this right now, Jiro. Do you - do you understand that?" A tremor touched his voice only once.

"I'm sorry," Jiro said, "I-"

"Don't apologize," Hisashi murmured.

"And don't keep your distance," Jiro rejoined. "I know that you really didn't need me to say any of this right now. I know that - that it's killing you that you're getting a divorce. And - I think I know that more than the others. So - I'm here, if you need me."

< Don't shun me, > he implored silently. < Not now, not ever. But - I know you need someone right now. So - let me close to you... >

As he spoke he took a few steps forward, unable to resist approaching the other man. Hisashi tensed, but didn't step back and away from him.

"Arigato..." Hisashi finally replied, appearing uncertain.

Jiro paused a few steps away, unable to reconcile going any closer.

Then Hisashi made as if to leave, and was about to walk toward the door. His first few steps brought him closer to Jiro, and it was there, surprisingly, that he paused, his skittish gaze returning to the blonde. He turned, even, to face him fully.

"Jiro... Do you... Is it true?"

Jiro blinked at him, frowning slightly. "Is what true?" he asked, only able to keep half his attention on his words. The rest of his mind was busy analyzing his proximity to Hisashi, and with only a step between them, he found it hard to repress warm tremors.

He couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse that Hisashi had stopped so near.

"Do you - love me? Truly...?"

Jiro's eyes focused on Hisashi's. In that dark gaze he saw desperation and loneliness, two shadows normally masked or gone from his typically cool gaze. He appeared fragile and vulnerable, his slim figure suddenly frail, eyes lost and features uncertain.

Jiro couldn't stop himself as he stepped forward. He didn't realize he stepped forward, even, until he was touching Hisashi's face, trailing his fingers down the smooth, pale skin. Utterly lost in dark eyes.

Hisashi stiffened, but did not pull away. He merely froze, trapping Jiro with his eyes, trapped in place himself by Jiro.

"Yes," Jiro whispered to him, unable to stop touching his face. Hisashi's skin was chill; he wanted to change that. His eyes were frightened, lonely; he wanted to soothe that. And - God help him, he wanted Hisashi so much...

"Jiro-" Hisashi's voice was tremulous, almost hoarse.

Jiro kissed him.

Then a loud clatter followed as the guitar case in one hand and the bag in the other fell to the floor, loosened from fingers claimed by shock. Jiro stole any words Hisashi might have said by covering soft but chill lips with his own, and neither reacted to the tumble of Hisashi's belongings. Jiro's other hand found it's way to Hisashi's face, and he cupped his cheeks, eyes sliding closed, yet still not free from the pull of dark eyes.

Hisashi didn't respond, at first. He merely froze and tensed up; Jiro could feel his rigidity. But Hisashi didn't push him away, either, and his lips were pliant, if not responsive. And when Jiro slipped his tongue into Hisashi's mouth, gentle if forceful, Hisashi began to tremble.

He was ruled by hesitation only another moment, and then he responded, kissing Jiro back suddenly, fervently. Jiro felt weak - it had been a long time since he and Hisashi had kissed. Between then and now it was an action that existed only in his dreams, but now, suddenly, it was true, and Jiro clung to Hisashi. He pressed against the lithe guitarist, both from want and for support, and threaded his fingers through soft, blue strands, tangling his fingers in shimmering hair.

Hisashi's hands found their way to Jiro's waist; he seemed to hesitate slightly before placing them there - part of him was still hesitant, it seemed. But Jiro had lost himself already. He coaxed Hisashi's mouth more fully open, increased the depth and passion of their kiss.

At this he felt Hisashi's fingers spasm reflexively, and a low sound caught in the bluehead's throat. As breath began to manifest as a need, Jiro broke the kiss. Fingers still tangled in Hisashi's hair, he pulled the guitarists'
head backward; he met no resistance, and was rewarded with a pale expanse of throat, beckoning and pale.

He began to place kisses down the line of Hisashi's throat, mouth ardent and hot.

"Ji... ro..."

He felt the vibration of Hisashi's half-moan with his lips.

"Jiro... Stop..."

Hisashi's hands firmed at Jiro's sides, pushing him away. Jiro pulled back, enough so that Hisashi could straighten. But he only claimed Hisashi's lips again, as soon as those eyes found his own again.

The guitarist's grip on his waist wavered, loosened. But then it firmed, and with obvious effort Hisashi broke the kiss by turning his head, eyes closed.

"Jiro... please..." he said, breathless. At his tone Jiro recovered himself; he drew back, removed his fingers from the strands of Hisashi's hair. He stepped away, in a vain effort to prevent his desire being affected by proximity.

Silence fell between them like a wall, then. There was a foot of space between them as they both recovered their breath. Jiro watched Hisashi, and the guitarist kept his head turned away, slightly down, with his eyes closed. The blonde bit his lip - he could still taste Hisashi - and didn't know what to say.

Suddenly, finally, Hisashi spoke. "I have to go," he announced abruptly. His eyes flicked to Jiro and then away, quickly. Movements abrupt and swift, he reached down and grabbed his things.

"Hisa-"

"I'm leaving," Hisashi said, cutting him off. Jiro watched him walk to the door, and after only a moment's indecision, followed quickly. When he reached the door, Hisashi was a few steps into the parking lot.

"Hisashi-" he tried again.

"Oyasumi," Hisashi responded, not turning to look.

Jiro stopped there in the doorway, clenching his fingers, staring at the bluehead's retreating back.

"Will you forget so easily now?" Jiro finally called out into the velvet of the night. < Is that all you can do, Hisa? Run away? > "Did you forget at all like you claimed?"

There was no response as Hisashi disappeared into the night.

Tears of frustration sprang to Jiro's eyes. Earlier that evening, when Hisashi first came back, it was okay, Hisashi wasn't ready to run from him. But then Jiro said he loved him, he kissed him, and now Hisashi was gone. Again.

< But... I can't have ruined my chance yet. And - and that kiss... Surely that means something. God... Let it mean he still remembers, still cares... >

Angrily brushing tears from his eyes, desperately remembering the taste on his lips, he fell into the loneliness of night.

*

Hisashi pulled up with a sigh to their apartment. No - not theirs anymore. There was no more 'they'.

She was at her mother's, in the country. She had gone there a week ago, when things were rough between them. It was only yesterday that she called to say she wasn't coming back, that she wanted a divorce.

"Fuck," he muttered harshly, as he shut off his car and gripped the wheel with chill, not-quite-steady fingers. Such recollections only brought regret and pain. Mostly pain. Because she was leaving him.

He didn't think it would end this way, not for them. They had their troubles, but who didn't? He was a musician, and Glay was doing well, they were popular. He and his wife should have just had to work through some problems, like other members of bands and their wives.

But instead she was leaving him. Did she ever love him at all? He wanted to tell himself yes. But sometimes he wondered. Had he been a fool for this long?

Muttering to himself, using anger as a shield, he pulled the keys from the ignition and got out of his car, slamming the door with more force that was necessary. Removing only his guitar from his car, he went inside to the lonely, empty place that was now - only - his.

Once inside, he didn't really know what to do with himself. He wanted to sleep, because sleeping gave him a reason not to think, but he wasn't tired enough. He wanted to get drunk, because that was another way of not thinking, but all he had was beer, and getting drunk on beer took too much effort.

He ended up in his room, losing himself in melancholy. He left most of the lights off, only turning on a bedside lamp, leaving the room bathed in a dim, yellow glow, letting himself adjust to and sink into the darkness. Unable to resist, he pulled a box out from underneath their - his - bed, something she had always told him to get rid of.

As far as she knew, it was just junk, things he held onto. She knew that his favorite sweatshirt was in there - she only let him wear that around the house; she didn't like it if he wore it outside, she said it was too worn and old - and, as far as she was concerned, there were similar pieces of meaningless mementos.

But beneath the sweatshirt - which, for the record, he was quite fond of - were the things he kept for a reason. Because they meant something. Slowly, idly, he sifted through the contents, sitting on the edge of the bed with the box next to him.

There were some pictures in there, from their wedding. There were, in fact, quite a few things from their wedding. Some pictures - professional and Polaroid - a copy of their invitation, the box from the ring he had given her. These things he lingered over only momentarily, brushing fingers gently over them before shoving them aside. She had never known he was so sentimental - he kept it well hidden, his softer side. She never would know.

Before his thoughts could travel further, he continued his idle search. There was a receipt in there, and, looking more closely at the item and the date, he saw it was the receipt from his most recent computer, his treasured IBook. At this he smiled fondly, almost forgetting that he had actually kept this.

Then there was a copy of some sheet music, crumpled and faded. Studying it,
he recalled that it was the first sheet music he had ever played as a member
of Glay.

As he gently lifted the rest of the music out of the box, laying it with the first page on his other side, he found a ticket stub resting beneath it. Breath catching, he picked it up.

He didn't keep mementos from dates. It wasn't him. He kept things from his marriage, from other important events, but from dates? No. It wasn't his style, a mere date didn't mean enough.

And yet - he had kept *this*. From his first date with Jiro. Their first real date, not when he walked him home that one night. A date when they went to dinner, and then to a movie.

That was the first of only a few dates with the bassist. Even if Hisashi had kept only this, from their first date, he remembered the others well. Too well.

His wife hadn't known how sentimental he was. Neither did Jiro. Staring at the small, faded stub, he couldn't help but think of the blonde, and his stomach clenched in response.

He appreciated the sentiment, he really did. When someone loves you it's supposed to make you happy. And it did make him happy, in a way. But that happiness was drowned out by the hell that was the rest of Hisashi's emotional life.

He needed to deal with the divorce, first. He could hardly deal with the divorce *before* Jiro said anything. Now - it was intensely difficult.

Jiro loved him.

When Jiro said that to him - Hisashi wanted to scream how, when, even why. But instead he had only fled, because that was all he could think of to do, because he wasn't prepared to rationally deal with that, that of all things.

Their history already haunted him, was present in his consciousness more than he cared to admit. He hadn't lied to Jiro. It had taken him a long time to get over Jiro, as foolish as that sounded - after all, they only went on a few dates. But they were together everyday, dating or not. Perhaps that had an effect.

In the time Hisashi was engaged, even, he sometimes thought of Jiro, of what they no longer had. But he knew he couldn't act on it, he convinced himself he didn't want to. Maybe that's why they fought more. Because he was slightly colder to Jiro, and because Jiro was angry at him for his marriage, for more.

He thought things were over, finally, after he was married - and happy - with his wife. And now everything he thought he knew was going to hell.

Fingering the ticket stub in his hand, he began to feel bad about his reaction back at the studio. It was warranted, yes - at least, he thought it was - but it wasn't necessarily fair. Jiro said he loved him, and if that was true... Hisashi didn't want to be the cause of pain or anguish for him.

Acting decisively, placing the ticket back in the box and then setting the other objects carefully back inside - even his wedding mementos - he rose and booted up his IBook. A few moments later, as the dim, bluish glow of the screen added to the illumination of the bedroom, he was writing Jiro an email.

Each member of Glay had the email addresses of the other member's. It was somewhat pointless, as they saw each other very often, and if anything urgent needed to be said, the phone was used, but they had them anyway. Hisashi wondered how often Jiro checked his email, and decided that hopefully he would check tonight.

> Hey, I wanted to apologize for earlier today. For everything today, I mean. Reacting like I did. I'm not good at dealing with emotions - I have trouble enough handling mine, let alone someone else's. I don't want Glay to suffer because of me and you... I don't really want us to suffer because of me and you, either.

> You told me you understood how I was feeling. Maybe you can also understand that I don't know how to handle any of this.

> So I'm sorry. Ja ~

> Hisashi

Before he could reconsider, he scanned the message once, then clicked send. There was a certain apprehension that came with sending it - he didn't want to give Jiro any ideas; he was confused enough as it was - but there was also a peace of mind. He didn't want to hurt Jiro.

That done, he turned off his computer, having no inclination to remain online. The day's events were finally starting to catch up to him - earlier than he thought they would, in fact - and he was starting to think he might be able to sleep.

Placing the box securely in it's place beneath his bed, undressing the bed - and trying not to notice how empty it looked waiting for only him - he won the struggle with emotion and memory and drifted into restless sleep.

part 3