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...

*

He didn't know why he let Jiro hold his hand. That day in the park, in the rain...

Maybe he was too emotionally exhausted to think logically, to listen to his head. The clouds in the sky forced a haze upon his mind, he couldn't think clearly.

Maybe he was pretending it was his wife, that she hadn't left him and his broken life was a dream. He was desperate for the attention of anyone, he needed to be assured that his failed marriage wouldn't be some ultimate end.

Or maybe he was afraid that if he pushed back again, Jiro would finally leave him alone. That if he tried to walk away once more, Jiro wouldn't stop him.

Hisashi was letting Jiro closer to him. Over the two weeks following their Saturday together, he was spending more time with Jiro.

Some part of him had vowed to avoid any emotional attachment the moment his soon-to-be-ex coldly broke the news. He would distance himself from dating, friends, anything that might result in betrayal. He knew he had to deal with his divorce first before safely re-entering an emotional world.

But he was failing miserably in his attempts.

"Damn you, Jiro," he murmured, staring out the window from where he sat on his window-seat. The glass radiated the dark coolness of the night, and the stars twinkled softly in the velvet of the sky.

< I hate it because you care too much... >

Ayu leapt up beside him, then, and Hisashi glanced down. His cat blinked naively and hopefully up at him, arching her back as she expectantly awaited a hand. Her eyes were large and dark, glimmering and innocent. In them Hisashi could see Jiro's warmth and kindness, his care and innocence.

< And I hate it because I think about you too much... >

He sighed, let his head fall back against the wall again, and absently pet Ayu's fur. Mild frustration burned within him.

< I'm torn. It still hurts that she's leaving me... So I should be sitting here, thinking about that. Being depressed because my wife hates me, but instead... I'm thinking about you. Wondering what you're doing right now. >

< Is she thinking about me? Are you...? >

"Maybe it'd be easier if I didn't think about either of you..." He muttered.

But he knew he couldn't do that, either. He was too weak, foolish, and desperate.

He closed his eyes with another heavy sigh, and, forcing his muscles to relax, he drifted through the darkness of thought and memory, blocking the merrily blind stars and naïve darkness from his sight.

Images flashed in his head. Not collective pieces of thought in the form of words, but mere images. He recalled his wedding; flashes of memory from that day flickered through his thoughts. The flowers, the soft whiteness. The joy, the beauty of his bride. The congratulations from his friends, the painful knowledge that Jiro wasn't there...

His memory shattered. The recollection of his wedding dissolved, broke apart as surely as his marriage.

He remembered his first date with Jiro, then, and the events leading up to it, the way they danced around the prospect for days. He remembered the expression on Jiro's face as he answered the door when Hisashi was there to pick him up;
the soft smile on his lips, the shy look in his eyes.

"Jiro," Hisashi murmured, breathing his name like a sigh. "I remember..."

< I remember so much about you, minute details down to the way your eyes shine. >

< And I remember that night in the rain, our second date... We were walking through the park... It started raining... I kissed you... >

He could never forget the way Jiro tasted. It had lured him, captured him, haunted him. He could recall every touch, every kiss.

'Was Glay the only reason we broke up?' The sorrow and regret in Jiro's voice had been haunting. Everything about him had become haunting.

"Jiro," he whispered, "...I don't know why it happened. I don't know why anything happens anymore..."

Frustration again suddenly flared. "God damn it," he said lowly, harshly. "Why...? Why am I thinking about you?"

He wanted to sleep, because with sleep sometimes came dreams, but always came emptiness. Lack of thought. He needed that - for his sanity, for his peace of mind. He needed to escape from his life.

But he couldn't sleep - tortured thoughts would keep him awake, he would begin to remember, to wonder.

So, as he stared out the window and thought about the past and the future and the growing confusion and pain and emptiness that seemed to be encompassed by the darkness of the midnight sky he had to turn to his last resource. Standing up from the window seat, abruptly enough to startle his cat, he resolved to get drunk.

*

He didn't know how long ago the stars had been happy and clear. As he gazed at them now they were anguished and crying, a trail of dust was left behind as they wavered in the sky like tears, tears themselves, shedding their own tears.

His head rested against the glass of the window. He could feel the strangely soothing coolness stark against his forehead. The transparency of the glass confused him, at times felt flimsy, ready to break and spill him into the night, and at other times repressive to the point that, if he had the strength, he would have tried to claw his way out.

He traced his finger against the window pain, trailing his fingertip against the cold glass. The chill sensation seemed distant from the fuzziness encompassing him.

"...Why are you crying...?" he murmured, voice a whisper, maybe less. He couldn't tell. "Namida..." he whispered, gazing at the tearful stars.

He saw their tears. He remembered Jiro's. He always fought his own.

"I won't cry for you, Jiro," he said very softly, dizzily. "I haven't yet... I won't..."

Wait.... He had cried for someone. Someone who had hurt him deeply. Who? Where had remembered tears come from...?

He could only remember Jiro, he could only attach strong emotion to the bassist.

"Jiro..." he murmured, eyes blearily fixed on the stars and their trails of stardust tears. He was fascinated by their determination. They kept shining even as they kept trying. They were lost in the same, dark sky all together, but they were separate, distant, had only their own light.

"Are you lonely, little stars?" he whispered. His finger still traced an idle pattern on the glass. "Do you ever get lonely?"

His finger suddenly stopped moving. "I'm lonely," he told them. "I'm lonely... al the time. Especially right now..."

Something in his heart told him to fix that. A voice in his head whispered how easy it would be, he didn't have to be alone. Pick up the phone. Call someone.

Something else within him shied from the idea, something that was drowning in the alcohol. He couldn't hear it.

He tried to move, and to his dismay, it was difficult, more difficult than it should be to move. He pushed away from the window seat, tried to stand, and found it incredibly difficult to balance. His head, before this softened by a cloud of fuzzyness, protested and began to pound unpleasantly. He felt his hands shaking. Was the rest of him shaking?

He couldn't focus as he crossed the room stumbling, knowing his steps were far from graceful and not entirely straight, but now with a goal in mind.

He reached the phone.

He couldn't focus, he couldn't think clearly. He couldn't comprehend the time of night by looking at the clock, he couldn't remember his cat's name. But he remembered the phone number, and, fumbling for the phone, and then having to
sink back to support himself on the bed when he stopped moving but the room continued to spin, he dialed.

He thought his mind would clear. He had a task and a goal at the moment, after all. But his grip suddenly felt tenuous on the phone, the room, unexplainably, felt as if it were moving farther away, becoming distant like the stars. He felt like he clung to the phone, tightened his grip on it because he had nothing else to hold on to.

The sound of ringing reached him as if across a great distant, came through the phone as if through a tunnel. One ring, two, three, four. And then a metallic voice - Jiro's...? - saying words he couldn't comprehend. He remembered knowing
them, but they had no meaning. His mind was elsewhere, trying to steady the loom but drowning instead.

A distant, low beep, followed by silence.

"...Jiro...?" Hisashi managed to murmur, clutching the phone more tightly now. His head was pounding. He wanted it to stop, but thinking about it, thinking about how his head hurt and how he wanted it to stop only increased the throbbing. His vision wavered, sight crossed, blurred, and became senseless.

He fought for purchase. "I'm lonely..." he managed to murmur, a flash of insight recalling him to earlier, when he told the stars how lonely he was, when the stars told him of emptiness.

And then that flash was followed by darkness. The phone disappeared, and he was suddenly holding nothing, he could dizzily see nothing. His world went black.

*

Jiro blinked sleepily, holding down a yawn. He watched his hands as he tuned his bass, concentrating on chasing away his lethargy. He had been at Teru's the night before, helping him finish up a song. Unfortunately for them both, he wasn't nearly as good as Hisashi, whom he was replacing. Teru had asked him quietly after practice the previous day, wanting to know if he'd help because he felt bad about asking Hisashi, all things considered. Jiro, of course, had agreed. He just hadn't proved to be very much help.

Once they had finished working, it was late enough that Teru wasn't going to make Jiro drive home when Jiro was yawning as much as he was, so he let him sleep on the couch.

< And morning came too quickly, as far as I'm concerned, > he thought wearily. < Those songs are hard work... >

He sighed.

Teru had made a few strange comments the night before. Jiro, at the time, had taken no special note of his words, but in retrospect he began to think otherwise. Teru seemed to have some sort of - suspicion? Mere idle curiosity? - concerning Jiro and Hisashi.

"This seems pretty hard on Hisashi, with his divorce and all," he had said.

"Mm? Oh, yeah," Jiro said, glancing up from the page of notes. "He's taking it hard."

"Seems like he really needs someone right now... For support."

"Yeah." Jiro had offered a small smile before turning back to his work, adding a short, off-hand "friends are important in times like these."

"Just friends?" Teru had murmured. But Jiro had only half-heard and then ignored him.

And then, later:

"Do you think he's okay?"

Jiro had blinked, again glanced up, at the same time suppressing a yawn. It had been getting quite late. "Who?"

"Hisashi..."

A frown. "Sure... Why not?"

"I don't know... He's alone and stuff. He's probably not used to that..."

Jiro had offered a small smile. "Ne, Teru, his wife has been gone two weeks now. Who do you think has been with him? I imagine he's used to the empty house by now, even if he doesn't like it..."

"....I guess you're right."

< Teru... How much do you suspect? Wouldn't it be easier if you just asked me
about it? >

< ...Not that I know what I'd say. I don't know where Hisa and I stand, I just - I can't figure it out. He's let me closer to him, but I don't know how close, I don't know on what level... >

Again Jiro sighed. "I hate getting less sleep... Thinking gets so hard," he muttered to himself.

A moment later the studio door opened, the click of the latch quiet but nevertheless drawing the attention of the three men already inside and waiting. Jiro paused, his fingers stopping on the strings, and he glanced up in time to see Hisashi slip inside.

"You're late," were the first words out of Takuro's mouth. Whatever conversation he had been having with Teru had halted upon Hisashi's entrance, and he now faced the slim guitarist, frowning.

"Gomen," Hisashi said, voice tight and with an edge of something approaching weariness. Jiro's brow contracted, and he watched in silence as Hisashi said nothing more, only moved to where his guitar rested on it's stand. His face was guarded, features carefully emotionless, and his gaze had slid quickly away from Teru and Takuro.

When he reached his guitar he paused with his hands on it, eyes flicking to Jiro as if he felt his gaze. A long moment was shared between them. Jiro studied Hisashi's eyes intently, hoping to see in them a hint of whatever it was that wasn't quite right, but, to his dismay, finding them blanker than usual, more guarded. They were the opaque color they had been two weeks ago, when he never gave Jiro a second glance. The soft glitter and soul Jiro had been able to see in them were hidden once more.

Hisashi looked away, and Jiro bit his lip.

< Did something happen last night, Hisa? > he wondered silently. < I wish I could talk to you, but... >

"Let's warm up!" Takuro was calling. Jiro pulled his eyes away from their study of Hisashi to see that Takuro had his guitar as well as Hisashi. It was time for practice.

The first half hour was smooth. They spent some time warming up, playing their older songs that were easily known and cherished by heart. Jiro noticed that Hisashi struggled a bit more than usual - the typical confidence was gone and the notes were left shaky, or he was just a half beat behind - and he knew the others noticed too. No one said anything, but Jiro heard the slightest hesitation behind Teru's words a few times, as he waited for Hisashi to pick the beat back up, and he saw Takuro's gaze darken and flicker to Hisashi multiple times.

Jiro, however, didn't see any reason to worry. Hisashi was tired, he figured. Perhaps he hadn't slept well, God knew he had reason enough. But as soon as he thought this, tried to push over-protective anxiety from his mind, there was a
crash.

Wide brown eyes flew over to Hisashi. The music of Jiro's bass, Takuro's guitar, and Teru's voice disappeared in a jagged edge, and before he could think Jiro shoved his bass onto its stand and was at Hisashi's side.

The slender guitarist was kneeling, one hand pressed against his head. His guitar, his beloved guitar, lay askew on the floor. His other hand was near it, fingers tense against the ground, as if unstable against the flat surface.

Jiro fell to his knees, putting one hand lightly on Hisashi's back. He ignored Takuro's worried exclamation of "what the hell?" and Teru's startled gasp.

"Tono?" he asked softly.

"...Daijoubu," Hisashi murmured. He shifted slightly, turning his head enough that he could shift his eyes to Jiro in acknowledgement. They were tight with what seemed to be both pain and weariness, and there was a slightly distant,
glassy cast to them.

Jiro glanced up when the vibrations of Teru and Takuro's footsteps stopped. "He said he's okay," he told them. "I don't know what's wrong, but he's not well..."

Teru exchanged a concerned glance with Takuro. "Is he sick?" Teru demanded.

Jiro shrugged; one hand was still placed on Hisashi's back, a silent comfort. "I'm not sure..." he said softly, eyes drifting back to Hisashi. The guitarist didn't react to their discussion of him. Instead, he merely began to move, to try to push himself up. Jiro knew he needed the support, and he also knew that Hisashi probably wouldn't ask for it. So gently, silently, he helped Hisashi to a stand, and was surprised when he didn't try to push Jiro's support away even once they were on their feet.

"Do you think he should go home?" Takuro asked, studying Hisashi. His concern was mirrored in his eyes.

"I can take him," Teru offered. "I'm not sure he should be behind the wheel..."

"I can make it," Hisashi muttered, rousing himself enough to argue.

"You're in no condition to drive, Tono," Jiro admonished softly, immediately. "You dropped your guitar. You would probably rather get in a car wreck than do *that*, normally. I'll take you home," he declared. He shifted his eyes back to
the others. "Gomen ne, Takuro, but I don't think practice will continue today..."

"Don't worry," Takuro assured him. "Just be sure to let us know if something's really wrong with him, alright?"

Jiro offered a small smile. "Hai." Then, to Hisashi: "C'mon, Hisa, I'll drive you back to your place. We can worry about your car later, ne?"

"Jiro-" Hisashi murmured.

Jiro cut him off. "I don't wanna hear it," he said. "Just let me take you home, alright? No arguing."

A long pause. Then: "...Doumo."

Jiro led Hisashi toward the door, not technically supporting him but hovering to be ready if he stumbled. The guitarists' steps were hesitant and his gaze was still wrong, distant, and Jiro guarded him carefully.

He was wrapped up enough with taking care of Hisashi that he didn't feel Teru's thoughtful, penetrating gaze on his back.

*

"Oh Hisa," Jiro murmured as he pulled up in front of Hisashi's home. "What happened last night?"

He was speaking to no one. Hisashi had fallen asleep a few minutes into the rather short drive and Jiro had been left to his own wandering thoughts. But now he was afraid he would have to wake him. It was Hisashi's house, after all. He'd need to let them in.

"And we're not spending the day on his front porch," Jiro muttered, turning off the car. He turned to the side to look upon Hisashi. The guitarist had his head tilted back against the headrest and fallen to the side, lips parted slightly, eyelashes dark against his skin.

Jiro frowned slightly. Hisashi's pale cheeks were slightly flushed, a light stain of rose marring the flawless porcelain. His eyebrows were contracted slightly, as if in a troubled sleep.

"Hisashi," Jiro said softly, reaching over to gently touch his shoulder. No response.

He sat there for a moment, studying Hisashi, and then finally decided to get out of the car and go around to the other side. He opened Hisashi's door and found him still unmoving.

"Oi, Hisashi, we have to go inside now," Jiro told him, reaching out and shaking his shoulder with one hand. At this the blue-head roused, stirring and then rolling his head to look sleepily at Jiro.

"Jiro...?" he murmured. "You're here..."

< And *you're* definitely not all here, > Jiro thought to himself with aninward sigh. "Yeah, I'm here. I drove you home, see? You're in my car."

Hisashi blinked, then peered at his surroundings, a distance still occupying his gaze. Then: "...Aa..."

"C'mon, Tono, we're gonna go inside and then you're gonna go to sleep. 'Kay?" He offered Hisashi a small, bright smile as the other man turned back to him.

Wordlessly Hisashi complied, wincing slightly as he moved to get out, one hand reflexively pressing against his temple. Jiro bit his lip. < He must have one hell of a headache or something... >

Hisashi climbed out of the car easily enough - although Jiro hovered closely in case he began to stumble - and then Jiro locked his car and followed Hisashi to his front door. It took Hisashi a minute with the keys, but then they were finally inside and Jiro was steering Hisashi to his bedroom.

"Sleep," he ordered, pointing at the bed. Hisashi moved to comply, but then he paused, turning to regard Jiro with a dim, owlish gaze in the darkened room lit only by the light through the open door.

"But you-"

"Uh uh," Jiro said, "you just sleep and I'll hang around here to keep an eye on you. I'll make myself at home in your place." He took a step forward and gently forced Hisashi down to sit on the bed. "Sleep," he insisted softly.

Before Hisashi could begin to protest Jiro stepped back, gave him another smile, and then turned around, slipping out the door and shutting it firmly behind him. < Surely he'll forget about me and go to sleep, > he thought. < It's a nice dark room with his bed and he's - I don't know, but whatever's wrong I swear he's only half-conscious. I just hope rest makes him better...>

"Oyasumi, Tono," he whispered softly to the empty hallway. Then, breathing a sigh, he entered the kitchen and tried to find a way to occupy his time.

*

"...Jiro...?"

He squeezed himself more tightly into a ball, shying away from the disturbance which sent ripples through the placidity of his hazy slumber.

"Jiro."

It was more insistent this time, that voice from beyond the glass that kept him from consciousness. He knew sleep was slipping away, and he clung to it desperately.

"No... Sleeeep..." he mumbled back in protest.

"Jiro, wake up...."

Jiro opened his eyes, finally swimming out of the haze and breaking through the glass, however unwillingly. He hated the feeling of being woken up.

He blinked to clear his vision, and, to his perplexion, found that his cheek was pressed against something that was definitely harder than a pillow, and his vision was half-consumed by an expanse of some cream color. It was also
nighttime; a few stars were peeking at him from the sliver of window in his sight.

"....Koko wa?" he said, opening his eyes wide. That window was in the wrong place, the world didn't look right, it was definitely upside-down...

"Jiro, over here."

Realization dawned. He was on his side and curled rather tightly into a ball. The world wasn't upside-down, it was sideways. He was laying on his side.

He blinked and shifted to look back over his shoulder. He was met with the face of Hisashi peering down at him, head slightly cocked.

"You're awake!" he exclaimed brightly, scrambling to a sitting position.

"Aa... I just woke up a few minutes ago," the guitarist responded. "Why were you, anou... Sleeping on my floor?"

Jiro blushed slightly. "Well..." He paused, frowning, as he tried to remember. "Oh... See, I came in here to check on you a while ago, I'm not sure when. But I decided I was kind of tired so I just sorta knelt down here - I thought your carpet was very soft - and rested my arms and head on the bed. I guess I feel asleep and managed to shift myself to the floor."

He grinned sheepishly. Hisashi merely shook his head. "But enough about that. How are you feeling?" he demanded, pushing himself to a stand and straightening his rumpled clothing. Hisashi sat back, glancing up at him briefly before
looking away, toward the window.

"Alright," he responded slowly. "I don't really remember much... I know I had been at practice and that you brought me home, but the details..." He shrugged.

Jiro sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving Hisashi as he studied him intently. Neither seemed bothered by the dimness of the room. The only light was that which seeped in from the hallway through the partially open door, bathing half their faces in a soft glow.

"What happened, Hisa? What... What was wrong with you?" he asked softly.

"Last night... I got really drunk," he said quietly. "And I don't know what time it was, but it was probably really late, two-ish or something? Anyway... It - wasn't a very good night."

"So... that was just a hangover this morning?" Jiro inquired.

Hisashi shrugged slightly.

Jiro studied him, saw the pallor of his skin and the haunting in the recesses of his eyes. "Hisa," he said softly. "Have you - been eating?"

Hisashi's eyes flickered to him, as if half-heartedly surprised, then drifted away again. "Yeah, I guess... But - I'm not hungry so much lately," he admitted.

"Oh, Tono," Jiro said softly, "you can't let that happen to you...! Getting that drunk added to malnourishment....?"

"It's not malnourishment," he argued unenthusiastically. "I just - don't always remember to eat, I skip a meal or something."

"Well, it's close," Jiro said firmly. < God, I hate seeing you this depressed... You're too stressed or upset to even eat? > "You're thin enough that it makes a difference. Now more than ever you have to take care of yourself so you can get through this."

"For Glay...?" he murmured, still gazing out the window.

"No!" Jiro exclaimed. "It's not about the band, you don't have to be well for the band, you have to be well just *because*, and for the people that care about you. Glay is important, but - other things are more important."

"Sometimes I wonder," Hisashi murmured.

Silence. Then: "....What do you mean?" Jiro asked softly, silently begging Hisashi to at least look at him.

There was a long hesitation before Hisashi spoke. And when he spoke his words were musing, were not an answer to Jiro's whispered question.

"It's raining," he said softly, as if speaking to himself. Jiro blinked, and then shifted his eyes to the window in time to see a flash of lightning. "Storming, actually..."

Now that Hisashi mentioned it, Jiro could hear the rain on the roof and slapping against the window, a steady rhythm that, sleeping and waking up to, he had subconsciously dismissed as ambiance. A rumble of thunder punctuated his thoughts, and he was surprised by its intensity.

"I didn't know it was supposed to storm tonight," he said out loud, for lack of anything else to say.

Another flash of lightning burst against the window sharply, and this was more intensely accompanied by a clap of thunder. And in the next breathless moment the lights flickered out.

Jiro bit back an exclamation of surprise, and next to him he heard Hisashi mutter a curse.

Reflexively Jiro reached out to touch Hisashi, an automatic response to the abrupt, total darkness. His hand found Hisashi's shoulder, and once he touched him he bit his lip, afraid he might regret it. But Hisashi didn't pull away or
stiffen.

"It's okay," Hisashi murmured instead, and Jiro's heart skipped a beat at the tone of Hisashi's voice. It was finally unaffected by the haunt of stress and pain of the past few weeks, it was simply a soft, impulsive response to Jiro's
expression of apprehension, comforting and gentle. "I don't know where a flashlight is, but I have some candles. Stay here, ne, Jiro?"

"Hai," he replied, regretting the sudden lack of warm contact as Hisashi rose. With a soft sigh he laid back on the bed, gently flopping down onto his back. He listened to the soft noise of Hisashi walking across the carpet carefully, could hear and imagine the grace that Hisashi was never without.

He didn't notice that Hisashi's steps had halted, not faded, until Hisashi suddenly spoke, voice drifting from the direction of the door.

"Jiro... The other day... I lied."

The tautness of silence with something left unsaid followed, quivering in the air. Jiro stared blankly into the darkness, both afraid and wanting to see Hisashi's face. "Tono?" he finally whispered. The quiet was long enough that he was afraid Hisashi was going to leave without speaking, that perhaps he was already gone.

But then, softly and almost with a wistful quality, Hisashi spoke. "When you asked me about the rain... If it reminded me of anything. I - lied. I... still remember."

With that he was gone.

Jiro's pulse had quickened and now his memories raced with it. He recalled that day, that night, the way Hisashi kissed him. < Our second date... You remember, Hisa... Does that mean - anything? >

Part of him said it shouldn't, that Hisashi just felt bad about lying, he just wanted to say it. But it wasn't the words so much that mattered but the tone, the way he said it, the pulse in the air between them.

Jiro wasn't certain how long Hisashi was gone, his thoughts were too preoccupied, even though he knew he thought too much. He always thought too much, and he could never help it in the past. But when light glimmered on the edge of his sight he sat up, turning in the direction of the door. Hisashi appeared with a candle held carefully in one hand and what appeared to be a bag in the other.

"Found your candles, I see...?" Jiro inquired. He watched as Hisashi set the lit candle down and reached into the bag. He pulled out a variety of candles and then proceeded to light them one by one. Jiro watched in silence, and it
was only when Hisashi carried two candles past him to set on the dresser that
he spoke again.

"Hisa... are those... scented!?" he exclaimed, wandering if he imagined the scent of vanilla in the air or not.

"Anou.... hai," Hisashi responded, sounding embarrassed.

"I never thought you were the kind to have scented candles!" Jiro exclaimed, giggling. "It doesn't fit your whole aloof personality."

"I didn't buy them for myself," Hisashi said in defense. "Teru gave me some candles for Christmas one year - and no, I don't know what possessed him to do so - and I'm not sure about a few others... They were just with the ones Teru
gave me."

"Aww, you don't have to lie, you know," Jiro said playfully, still giggling at the thought of Hisashi with vanilla-scented candles. "You're allowed to show me your soft side."

Hisashi didn't deign to respond with anything but a grunt. Jiro, still amused, rose and helped distribute the rest of the candles around the room. The end result was a gentle, golden glow that lit the entire room softly.

"Shouldn't you put some of these in other places, not just in here?" Jiro inquired, standing near the bed and surveying the room. The flicker of their shadows created a continuous mural across all four walls.

"No, the rest of my house is really messy," Hisashi replied immediately.

Jiro rolled his eyes. "I was in the kitchen and living room earlier, Hisa, so you're not hiding anything from me. Although you're right, it was rather messy," he reflected.

"I'm not much of a housekeeper," he muttered. "But this way we're less likely to break something by falling."

The rain continued to pound against the window and silence fell. It was somewhat uncomfortable, and Jiro was thankful that at least the flash of lightning and bursts of thunder made it not so complete.

"Hisa," he said suddenly. "Now that you're all settled with the candles and stuff, I should probably be going. I mean, I've been here all day and stuff..."

There was a pause from Hisashi, who stood facing partially away from him, toward the window, and a few feet away. His elegant features were softened by the candlelight, and Jiro wondered if the appearance of indecision on his face was a trick of the light or real.

"I guess. I mean, you can go home if you want to, or have things to do or something, but - you don't have to. 'Cause - well, I didn't really thank you yet for taking care of me today and stuff, I was pretty messed up, I know. You can stay longer, if you want... Besides, there's a storm going on, it's not safe to drive in."

Jiro's heart fluttered. "A - arigato," he said, stammering slightly. "I guess I'll stick around." Hisashi looked at him then and gave him a very small, but what appeared to be genuine, smile, and Jiro couldn't help but smile back.

"Are you cold?" Hisashi asked suddenly. "You looked cold when you were curled up on the floor..."

"Ah... hai, I guess I am. Your heat won't be working without power, so I suppose that's not helping."

"Here..." Hisashi knelt down at the foot of his bed, and Jiro watched, a bit confused, until Hisashi pulled a box out from beneath it. On top was a folded sweatshirt, and Hisashi placed the box on the bed and handed the sweatshirt to Jiro. "Put that on," he said. "And I'll be right back, I'm going to get something to drink, okay?"

"Aa," Jiro said, holding the sweatshirt in his hands as he watched Hisashi pick up a candle and leave in silence. Impulsively, after a moment, he lifted the sweatshirt to his face, and, breathing deeply, he could smell the lingering
scent of Hisashi.

He breathed a sigh as he moved to put it on, to hopefully banish the chill that Hisashi's question had made him aware of, but he halted as his eyes fell on the box Hisashi had left on the bed. Without the sweatshirt on top a variety of things were revealed, most of them pieces of paper. What caught his eye was a ticket stub.

Moving carefully, hesitant to look but too curious not to, he reached over and picked it up. Bringing it near his eyes, in an effort to see in the soft glow of the candles, he read the title of the movie and caught his breath.

It was from his and Hisashi's first date.

As he stared at it in his hand, sweatshirt momentarily forgotten, Hisashi walked in.

"I hope you don't mind," Hisashi was saying as he entered, "I don't have much around here, but I found some wine. I figure it might help you warm up, and I still have a bit of a headache..."

He trailed off, and Jiro raised his eyes from his hand and the ticket stub to stare at him. Hisashi had halted two steps in the door, and his eyes were on the stub.

"You kept this?" Jiro whispered. Hisashi's eyes were drawn to his.

"...Hai," he responded, voice very soft.

"I... never knew you were so sentimental, Hisa," Jiro said quietly. Hisashi looked away, and the candlelight highlighted a very faint blush on his delicate cheekbones.

He didn't seem to know what to say, or perhaps didn't want to say it, so Jiro coughed lightly, as if clearing his throat. "Yeah, wine's fine," he said, changing the subject, putting a lighter tone in his voice. For lack of anything else to do he slipped the sweatshirt on, and when his head appeared through the collar he found Hisashi pouring a second glass of wine at the desk by the wall. Jiro let the ticket fall back into the box, and then he ran a hand through his hair, settling it back down.

Hisashi approached, then, and gave him a glass in silence, eyes flickering merely once to Jiro's. A silence that should have been tense, but was more comfortable than Jiro would have anticipated, followed. He sat back down on the
bed and felt himself begin to grow warmer as he sipped the wine and settled onto the warmth of Hisashi's shirt.

His mind was not as relaxed as he would have liked, however. He was glad to be there, to be with Hisashi when he needed someone, but at the same time he was anxious, the entire situation was dreamlike and uncertain.

< I can't believe he kept the stub... Did it matter so much? Or am I over-analyzing... Is it merely a memento of the past, of something that will stay the past? >

He repressed a sigh.

< Maybe I should've left when I had the chance, > he mused silently. < It would be less stressful. >

His eyes drifted to Hisashi, who was again, as always, gazing out the window. He was leaning against the wall just beyond his desk and near the window, wine in one hand, head tilted against the wall. < But then he'd be alone, and he's
not used to always being alone... >

What might have been twenty minutes passed as they sat in silence. As the rain fell and the sky flashed Jiro settled into the silence, finding it more comfortable and relaxing. In the soft darkness movement caught his eye, and Hisashi, a mere, lithe shadow, detached himself from the wall. Jiro rose to a stand as he turned, and their eyes met briefly.

Jiro was the first to look away this time. Biting his lip, suddenly nervous again, he looked idly at the wall as he heard Hisashi move. The guitarist picked up the bottle of wine and approached Jiro, who's glass was empty.

Jiro caught his breath; Hisashi paused close to him, closer than was necessary, and he moved to pour more wine. He reached out almost as if it was a reflexive motion to steady the wineglass, and his fingers brushed Jiro's. Jiro knew he
started to tremble, and he fought to stop it.

Hisashi's touch made Jiro finally look at him, turn an uncertain, shy gaze to meet Hisashi's deep, solemn eyes. Hisashi finished pouring, but he froze where he was, his hand still resting against Jiro's. A breathless moment was shared
between, as Jiro fell endlessly further into Hisashi's eyes, as the candlelight flickered, and then Hisashi leaned forward and his lips brushed Jiro's.

Jiro didn't have time to close his eyes before it was over. Hisashi pulled away a mere inch, and his eyes slid open to again stare deeply at Jiro. The bassist felt his heart pump erratically and his mind lock. He knew his hand was shaking, now, and he felt Hisashi respond by covering it completely.

Believing this was not real, and so unable to resist, unwilling to lose this chance, Jiro closed the space between them, meeting Hisashi in another kiss. This one was longer, sweeter, and Jiro had leaned forward to initiate it, but Hisashi met him halfway. He knew he would have dropped the glass if Hisashi's hand had not been there, pressed around his.

When they drew back Jiro felt Hisashi take the glass from him, slipping it from his fingers gently, and with a glance that lingered, Hisashi drew away. Hardly daring to move, Jiro remained where he was, eyes trained on Hisashi, who moved
toward the desk once again. He couldn't think, he didn't know what to do.

< Was that... a mistake? What if he - regrets it now? Or is this what I've been waiting for? Is this a dream...? >

Breathless because of his own uncertainty and fear he couldn't look away as Hisashi set the wineglass and bottle down and turned around. He could only watch as an observer, see the flames reflecting in the dark pools of Hisashi's
eyes, see Hisashi approach him gracefully, see himself stand there trembling.

There was a pivotal moment of suspended time as Hisashi stopped in front of him, hesitation a thin curtain around him. They were two figures frozen in time, locked in place, and Jiro watched as if from a great, untouched distance.

Then Hisashi reached up and he was slipping his hand behind Jiro's neck. He guided him forward, his eyes slid closed, and he kissed Jiro.

Jiro was himself again with a gasp; distance disappeared and tingling sensation exploded, emotion flooded his consciousness.

< This is real, this is happening... >

Jiro felt boneless. He reflexively clutched Hisashi's arm with one hand, clinging to him for support. This kiss was promising, more fervent - Hisashi kissed him with abandon, as if some personal battle was over and his last barrier of hesitation was gone.

He ran his tongue over Jiro's lower lip, and the blonde could do nothing but submit, letting Hisashi kiss him more deeply, feeling the beginnings of being utterly swept away. He felt Hisashi's other hand on his face, gently tracing the line of his jaw, the touch of his fingers both electrifying and soft.

Hisashi finally released him, breaking the kiss. Jiro, filled with a heady sense, opened his eyes, feeling dizzy and wonderfully lost. His eyes slid open to find Hisashi gazing into them, the color of his eyes dusky like the twilight
darkness. An expression was in them that Jiro had never seen before, and seeing it reflecting him took his breath away.

He felt Hisashi's hand on the back of his neck flutter against the flesh absently, softly, fingers brushing lightly Jiro's hair. His other hand trailed across Jiro's lips, tracing a gentle line. He leaned forward with the clear intent to kiss Jiro again, and it was only then that, with the greatest effort, Jiro managed to whisper "matte..."

Hisashi stopped, drew back slightly. "...Nani?" he asked softly, peering into Jiro's eyes.

"I - I...." Words were elusive with that gaze upon him, with Hisashi so tantalizingly close. Jiro took a deep, shaky breath. "Is this - right?" he whispered.

He didn't know what he expected for an answer. But Hisashi said simply, truthfully, "I don't know..."

Jiro bit his lip, looked away. "Tono..."

He felt Hisashi shift. "This *feels* right," Hisashi said, speaking softly near his ear. "And... I know that all I can think about is you, after these past two weeks... I know that I wouldn't have survived without you... I can't promise anything. But - God, I'm so tired of being alone, and you... you are so perfect..." His voice trailed to a whisper and died off.

"...Are - you sure?" Jiro said softly, trembling in spite of himself, quivering in reaction to Hisashi's breath on his neck. "Because... Tono... You know I - I love you, so much, and I can't - I can't say no to this much longer, and - if you..."

Hisashi pulled him into another kiss, and Jiro knew it was the end. He slid his arm around Hisashi's waist, drawing them closer together, breaking the rigidity of his muscles. He had not realized he was so tense with anticipation and
restraint.

Hisashi tangled one hand in Jiro's hair, the other still a gentle force on the back of his neck. Jiro knew he was hopelessly lost as they pressed their bodies and lips together.

Every touch was gracefully gentle, carrying a searing heat and passion tempered with tenderness. Jiro lost all conception of time and surroundings, falling completely into the sensations and emotions that accosted him. A moan rose in
his throat as Hisashi sucked on his lower lip, stroking the back of his neck with feather light touches that made him shiver helplessly.

"God... Hisa..." he murmured breathlessly. He slipped his hand from behind Hisashi's waist, placing both hands on the side of Hisashi's face, cupping it. Hisashi pulled away obediently, and Jiro returned the favor, placing kisses along his neck. He sighed against Hisashi's throat as Hisashi wrapped his arm around Jiro's waist, keeping a heat shared between them.

Jiro released a startled, soft cry when he felt the slender fingers of Hisashi's other hand slip beneath his shirt, slide along his torso and up to his chest. He moved his hands, which threatened to spasm, to Hisashi's shoulders, grip tightening reflexively. He sought Hisashi's lips again with a soft whimper.

As they kissed passionately, fervently, Jiro felt Hisashi's other hand shift. He slid it from around Jiro's waist to the front, and when his fingers closed around the material of the sweatshirt, in prelude to pulling it off, Jiro pulled away.

"Chotto," he managed to say softly, breathlessly. Hisashi's hands froze and he opened his eyes to see Jiro's wide, deep chestnut gaze.

"Tono, I - I've... never done this before." His voice emerged a whisper, and he knew his cheeks flushed. He didn't quite meet Hisashi's gaze, instead let his eyes study the perfect, smooth skin, fall of bangs, bruised, parted lips. "With
another man, I mean..."

Hisashi raised one hand to stroke Jiro's cheek, murmuring his name softly so that Jiro would meet his eyes. "We don't have to do this," Hisashi told him softly.

Jiro didn't answer. His pulse was quick and erratic. "Hisa, have - have you...?"

The guitarist's gaze didn't waver, his eyes continued to capture Jiro, who's breath was continually stolen by the solemnity and desire he saw woven in that dark gaze. "Aa," he told him softly. "A few times... But - Jiro, we don't-"

"No." Jiro silenced him with his murmured word, spoken with shaky conviction. Hisashi again traced gently Jiro's cheek.

"No, I - I want this, because.... Because you're so beautiful, and - and kind. Because for so long, I've - thought about you, wanted you. Because you shouldn't be lonely, and... and because it's you, Hisa."

< It's always been you, it will always be you... >

The storm crashed against the window, the only barrier separating one passion from another. The candles continued to flicker, casting a warm, perpetual glow and a blind eye over the pair. Any more words that might have stumbled from
Jiro's trembling lips were swallowed by Hisashi.

The blonde gave himself up completely to emotion, putting his faith and trust absolutely in Hisashi, who already held his heart.

Time was not present, completely lost meaning like the clocks on the wall who's hands ceased to move. Passion became warmth, warmth grew to heat. Hisashi's borrowed sweatshirt lay on the floor, discarded and useless, and next to it was
Hisashi's and Jiro's shirts.

Jiro's heart was pounding as the back of his legs hit the bed. He sank backward as Hisashi gently forced him down, the world spinning and no longer making sense, he didn't want it to make sense. Hisashi was kissing him gently, and his
hands moved in a smooth caress over his chest and down his stomach, his touch softly firm.

Jiro wondered if Hisashi could hear or feel the pound of his heart, because as his fingers teased the waist of Jiro's pants, he hesitated.

"Jiro," he breathed, own breath short, drawing ever so slightly away. Jiro opened his eyes, gazed up at him. "Are you sure?" Hisashi whispered, hovering over him, hands frozen. His eyes were dark pools, haunting and deep, drawing
Jiro completely and helplessly within him. They mirrored a softness countered by passion, a paradox of emotion glittering.

"Yes," Jiro whispered in spite of his reflexive fear. He slid his arms around Hisashi's neck and shoulders, pulling the lithe body against him, onto him, overwhelmed by sensations and emotion.

< Only you, Hisashi... >

He arched into Hisashi's touches, molded into the searing gentleness, soft fire. This was how it was supposed to be, it should always be, a dream of a stolen kiss, stolen heart.

< ...Zutto... >

Their shadows danced on the walls.

part 5