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...

*

Dreams gave way to haze, mist gave way to morning. Slowly, languidly, Jiro's eyes slid open to a silver, soft dawn. The light that streamed inside was white, as if the sun were shedding its light through a thin cover of silver-blue clouds. The storm had passed and left in its wake a soft, harmless blanket.

Jiro breathed a deep sigh, staring at his surroundings. No moment of confusion had accosted him as he woke. He had never woken up here before, but nothing could banish the memory of last night.

He was laying on his back, and he let his head tilt to the side, to Hisashi, to the warmth he could feel next to him. The slim guitarist lay on his stomach, his face toward Jiro, one hand on the edge of Jiro's pillow. Jiro remembered falling asleep with that arm around him.

< I expect to wake any moment, > he mused distantly. < I expect this dream to end... >

It still didn't feel real.

He pushed himself onto his side, reaching out to ever so lightly brush his fingers against Hisashi's bangs, moving them to the side. Hisashi's face was calm in slumber, elegant features serene and achingly beautiful. He always pretended to be so cold and distant, uncaring. His features were marble most of the time when he was awake, perfect, cold marble.

But now they were porcelain, delicate but not diminished in beauty, ever precious. Jiro had always believed that Hisashi wasn't how he pretended to be, but he could never have imagined that he would be allowed to see deeper, never
dreamed he would be the one to be touched with such care, looked at with such fire.

Images of the previous night flashed in his mind, recollections of emotion and sensation arose.

Hisashi's voice, soft and breathless, whispering soothing words until pleasure overcame pain.

Coming with Hisashi's name on his lips, vision swimming with brightness, blind ecstasy clouding his sight.

Hisashi shuddering, arms shaking, collapsing atop Jiro; two bodies melting together in the aftermath of bliss.

Jiro gazed at Hisashi's face, not really seeing him, seeing instead memories and images of the previous night. It was only when Hisashi spoke that he blinked and focused.

Hisashi's eyes were open to slits. "How long are you going to stare at me?" he asked softly. A smile teased the corner of his lips.

Jiro blushed, but he said quietly, solemnly, "as long as you let me."

Hisashi merely gazed back at him, eyes dark, consuming, and lovely, and he moved his hand, which rested on Jiro's pillow, to gently brush his cheek.

*

Jiro had never looked so beautiful.

Hisashi had woken almost in confusion; he was not used to waking up to another presence beside him, not anymore. But as his eyes had started to flicker open he saw it was Jiro and a warmth washed over him, and he lay there for a long
moment, watching Jiro watch him, knowing the blonde didn't see his eyes slightly open.

Jiro's skin was warm and soft against his hand as he gently caressed the bassist's cheek. He noticed a slightly pink hue. "What were you thinking about?" he asked, letting a bare amount of teasing slip into his voice.

Jiro flushed more. "What do you think?" he countered. A smile curved his full lips.

Hisashi maneuvered himself from his stomach to half-up on one elbow, sliding his hand behind Jiro's neck and pulling him forward. The blonde complied willingly, and they shared a long, gentle kiss. Jiro's arm circled around him, he began to trail his hand down Hisashi's back. As his slender fingers touched the flesh, Hisashi couldn't suppress a startled hiss of pain, pulling away reflexively.

Jiro looked with concerned surprise at him, opening his eyes. "Hisa...?" he asked softly.

"Daijoubu."

Jiro nudged Hisashi's arm so the guitarist lay back on his stomach, and he pushed himself further up, leaning over to peer at Hisashi's back.

"Oh..." he murmured, fingers ever so lightly skimming against his skin, just around the sensitive areas. He traced the outline of several scratches, near Hisashi's shoulders and upper back, formed when Jiro's nails dug into his skin.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, sounding upset. "I - I didn't realize..."

Hisashi chuckled. "Don't worry about it..."

< I didn't even feel it at the time. A small price to pay... >

Jiro bent down and placed a kiss on his neck, lips and breath soft like velvet. Hisashi couldn't help the sigh that crept from his lips.

"Are you okay...?" Hisashi asked quietly. "I mean, do you feel.... You know..." He gently disengaged himself from Jiro's arm, gracefully but gingerly turning over to lay on his back, settling the scratches hesitantly against the bed
before relaxing. Jiro snuggled up against him, burying his face in the crook of Hisashi's shoulder.

"Iie, I'm alright," he murmured. "Just a little sore, that's all."

Hisashi absently stroked Jiro's hair. They lay like that for a few minutes, Hisashi losing himself in thoughts, completely awake, but Jiro seeming ready to drift back to sleep. When his breathing was becoming slower and more regular, Hisashi shifted.

"Oi," he said softly, tapping the side of Jiro's head with his finger. "You can't go back to sleep."

"Yes I can," Jiro muttered, burying his face more comfortably. Hisashi tapped him again, harder this time.

"We have practice today."

"Itai," Jiro accused, finally looking up at him and batting his finger away. "Practice...?" he repeated, blinking.

Hisashi sighed. "Look at the clock." Jiro peered over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. "Is this the time you normally wake up?"

".....Hai...."

"That's because we have *practice*, just like we do basically any other day."

"Can't we just.... skip?" Jiro pleaded hopefully, turning his large, brown eyes to gaze mournfully at Hisashi, pouting.

Hisashi lifted his head and pressed a kiss to those lips.

"No," he said firmly, although his mind wished otherwise. "But you can stay in bed while I use the shower, ne?"

Jiro exhaled in defeat. "Yeah, okay," he replied, suppressing a yawn as he rolled away from Hisashi, releasing the guitarist with a soft sigh.

"I won't be long," Hisashi told him softly, brushing his hand against Jiro's bangs one more time, and then leaving Jiro sprawled alone on his bed.

The shower was refreshing and relaxing, although he winced as the hot water stung his back. The pain diminished, however, and he breathed the steam in deeply. He wondered if Jiro had fallen back asleep. Unlike Hisashi, he still
seemed quite sleepy.

But a few moments after awakening, Hisashi had been fully aware. The events of the previous night had rushed back to him, and immediately his mind was awake with unanswered questions and musing thoughts.

He wasn't entirely sure how last night happened. It wasn't a mistake, he knew he couldn't call it that. But a distant part of him said it wasn't fair.

'Because... Tono... You know I love you, so much...'

< ...I know, Jiro... >

Then, later: 'Oy'sumi, Hisa... Ai shitteru...'

Jiro had mumbled those words before drifting off to sleep, he had mumbled them already half-asleep, and Hisashi had been unable to say anything in return. He had gently held Jiro to him, arm secure and almost possessive around Jiro's
waist, but he had been able to only gaze wordlessly and helplessly at Jiro's closed eyes and slumbering face.

Hisashi had wanted it to happen, and so had Jiro. And yet.... What would comenext? What was going to happen?

< Is it possible for this to end happily? Is it possible that this could be the end of suffering and a beginning, and it could be right and joyful? >

One thought of Jiro's angelic face and open, loving eyes made him want to say yes, made him want to believe wholeheartedly that it didn't have to end in sorrow. But there was a voice inside him that said no, that said he was
destined for loneliness and depression because that's how things had always ended for him. He knew he was pessimistic, but that didn't mean he could help himself.

< What if last night just - just made it more complicated? I didn't understand my feelings before, and now.... Now I understand them less, I think. >

But last night - had been so *right* in a way, a way he couldn't understand or explain.

But... What would the future bring? Was it so impossible to love and be loved? Not merely that, but to love one person and have them love you in return?

He couldn't answer that, because it had not happened yet.

*

As Jiro turned the water off in the shower he heard the phone ringing. He heard only one ring before it was cut off, and he assumed Hisashi had picked it up.

< I bet it's Teru or Takky, > he mused, stepping from behind the curtain into the rest of the warm, steamy bathroom. < They didn't hear from either me or Hisashi, so I guess they might be calling to see how he is, and if we'll end up practicing today or not... >

< Damn! I should've thought of this sooner... We could have gotten out of practice if I told them Hisashi was sick or something. > Irritated at himself for not thinking of the idea sooner, he sighed.

"Oh well, I suppose we didn't practice yesterday, we don't want to really slack off, huh," he asked, speaking to no one in particular. He took his time dressing - in the same clothes as the day before, unfortunately; he grimaced at the wrinkles - and then took the liberty of borrowing Hisashi's hair-dryer. Some time later, when he was somewhat satisfied with his appearance and the mirror had finally cleared of vapor, he hung his towel up to dry and stepped into the cool hallway.

Hisashi wasn't in the bedroom, and the bed, strangely, was still unmade, something he thought Hisashi would have taken care of.

"Tono?" he called curiously as he stepped back into the hallway. He heard no answer, and frowned.

< I know he wouldn't leave without me... I mean, it *is* my car in the driveway... >

He made his way to the kitchen, knowing there were very few other places he might look, save the closet. He stepped into the doorway and stopped.

He had found Hisashi, but as yet, Jiro's presence went unacknowledged, even if his footsteps were clearly audible in the silence that Jiro suddenly noticed was tensely unnatural.

The guitarist sat at his kitchen table, head resting forward on his folded arms, dim light, silver and streaming in from outside, reflecting dully from his blue hair. He didn't look up as Jiro stood there for a long moment, studying him.

Finally Jiro spoke. "Hisa...?" he asked, tentatively. "Is - something wrong? Was that Teru or Takkun on the phone...?"

A pause. Then: "Iie."

Jiro frowned. "Oh. Then... who was it?"

Another long silence, and then Hisashi finally looked up. But he didn't look at Jiro. His gaze was somewhere else, dark and distant.

"...Izumi."

Jiro's breath caught. "Your... wife?" he whispered. Shock rolled into him like a wave, his thoughts spun with no direction.

< He's never called her by her name since she asked for the divorce, > part of his mind registered dully. But it didn't mean anything to him, nothing made sense, meant anything. Yet.

Hisashi's eyes turned to fix on him momentarily, gaze meeting Jiro's directly for a mere instant before again turning away. Jiro was stunned. Hisashi's eyes were dark, unreadable, and above all else, cold.

"Yes." A single, chopped response.

Jiro wanted to take a step forward, to approach him, but he was frozen, both held back and pushed away.

"What... did she say? You seem... upset..."

"Upset?" he heard Hisashi murmur, very quietly, to himself. His voice was bitter and harsh. To Jiro, he said, slowly: "She... told me she had been thinking. A lot. And that maybe - we could... try again."

His mouth went dry, he couldn't breathe. "She doesn't want... a divorce...?" he whispered, voice nearly failing him.

"She's coming home. This weekend." It was Wednesday. "So we can... talk. And..." Hisashi voice fell off.

Jiro stared at him. "And...?" he prompted in a hoarse, breaking whisper.

"We can work things out."

A long moment of silence pulsed between them, then, settled over the kitchen like a blanket woven of tension. Jiro's thoughts raced, they were practically incoherent. He could think brokenly, but little made true sense. Hisashi sat
stoically, blankly in the chair. His gaze was fixed on the wall next to Jiro.

"You... Can't be serious..." Jiro finally managed, taking a step forward. He stopped as Hisashi's gaze flicked to him.

"That's what I asked her..." he said softly. His gaze was still blank and cold.

Jiro bit his lip. "Hisa, please look at me," he said quietly, desperately.

Hisashi finally turned his dark eyes to Jiro.

"You - you're gonna say no, right...?" Jiro asked hesitantly.

The guitarist looked away. "I don't know."

< ...No... >

Jiro took a few rapid steps forward, impulsive and desperate. "But... but you can't..." he began, placing one hand on Hisashi's shoulder. To his dismay Hisashi shrugged it off, stiff and rigid.

Jiro stepped away as if burned.

< No...! >

"I need to think," Hisashi said, emotionless.

"But Hisa-" His voice was a tremulous whisper.

"Leave me alone, Jiro."

< This can't.... This can't be happening... >

"Tono-"

"Get out of here!" Hisashi said harshly, eyes flashing as they finally, lastly, focused on Jiro.

Jiro pressed one hand to his mouth as he held back a sudden, silent sob, as the rafters of his tenuously formed world began to crash down. Two hot, painful tears slipped from his eyes, twin useless, dull pearls to fall forgotten on Hisashi's cold floor.

He fled into a gray, loveless morning.

*

He finally heard the sound of the door being opened, and Teru sat up on the couch, running a hand through his hair to push the bangs off of his face in time to see Hisashi step inside. Teru waited expectantly for Jiro to follow, but instead the door merely closed.

He frowned.

"You're late," Takuro accused immediately. "Are you still feeling sick? You shouldn't be here if you are."

Teru hid a half-hearted smile at Takuro's mothering tone.

"Gomen ne," Hisashi apologized coolly.

"Where's Jiro?" Teru demanded, rising and approaching to stand next to Takuro. They watched as Hisashi moved toward his guitar on its stand.

"I don't know."

"But your car is here. I thought he'd be bringing you or something," Teru said slowly.

"No," Hisashi said curtly. "I caught a cab."

Teru studied Hisashi in silence, watched him as he inspected his guitar, perhaps because he remembered dropping it the day before, and watched as he picked it up and began to tune it. Everything about the way he was acting screamed of something being wrong. His eyes were distant - not cold and aloof as usual, but more unreachable - his features were strained and his movements were stiff, guarded. It was as if he were drawn further into himself, wrapped in a cocoon of thought.

"Is something wrong, Hisashi?" Teru asked carefully, eyes still trained on the guitarist. Hisashi's fingers stop their movement on the strings.

He glanced up, briefly. "Izumi called this morning."

"Izumi!?" Takuro exclaimed.

"What'd she have to say?" Teru demanded at the same time.

"She's coming home this weekend." He had begun to pick out a small, simple melody. "She wants to talk to me, maybe - work things out."

"That's great!" Takuro exclaimed, as Teru added a similar sentiment half-heartedly.

< That's good news, isn't it? > he thought worriedly. < Then why are you like this...? >

"Yeah," Hisashi said, never missing a beat, head now fixed down.

< What's going on, Hisashi? > Teru mused. < I know there's more to it... I just don't know how much more. How is Jiro involved? Because I know he is... >

He wasn't blind. Teru's suspicion began the day Hisashi announced his divorce, when Jiro was the first to immediately run after Hisashi outside to talk to him. Since then he had begun to watch them, and to his surprise he had seen
what appeared to be friendship. Friendship between the two who never stopped fighting.

< For God's sake Jiro didn't even go to Hisashi's wedding... >

He thought that meant they were about as close to hating each other as two people in the same band could be. But after the divorce announcement he could have sworn they were becoming friends.

So when Jiro came over to help him work on a song the other night he had tried to probe, but Jiro had seemed oblivious. Teru's suspicions had been all but confirmed, however, when Hisashi collapsed in practice and Jiro was the first person at his side.

< I saw the look in his eye, I heard him call Hisashi 'Tono'... Surely I'm not mistaken, > he thought, staring at Hisashi's lowered head and stiff posture. < There's something wrong, and it involves Jiro... >

"Where's Jiro, Hisashi?" he finally demanded again.

Hisashi stopped playing. He looked up. "I told you I don't know. Try his house."

"Is he sick?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Teru shrugged. "You saw him last. He took you home."

Hisashi didn't deign to respond, returned to his guitar.

"I'm calling him at home," Teru announced. Takuro grunted in response, moving off toward his own guitar, and Hisashi continued to ignore him.

Picking up his cell phone, he dialed Jiro's home number. He was greeted with four rings, and then the happy, recorded voice of Jiro came on.

< He's not home? Where is he....? >

"...Anou, hey Jiro, are you there?" he began after the beep. "We're here at the studio, but you haven't shown up and we were wondering where you were. Is everything okay? Maybe you overslept or something, right? I hope so, 'cause if
you're sick - well, please let one of us know when you can. I hope you feel better.... Ja ne."

As he clicked his cell phone shut he cast a sidelong glance toward Hisashi. As soon as the guitarist saw him looking his gaze slid away.

"Obviously he's not there," he told the others, frowning slightly.

"What do you think we should do?" Takuro asked. "Anywhere else we might try?"

Teru was hardly listening. Instead he was watching as Hisashi suddenly stopped playing and instead placed his guitar back on its stand.

"I don't think he's coming today," Hisashi told them, voice distant and emotionless.

"What? Why not?" Takuro demanded.

"I would suggest canceling," Hisashi said, already walking toward the door.

"What's going on?" Teru demanded, taking a few steps after Hisashi. The blue-head didn't halt or even glance back.

"Tonomura Hisashi," Teru snapped. Hisashi stiffly came to a halt, and Teru stared at his back, finally angry. "Why isn't Jiro here?"

As Teru stared grimly at Hisashi's back he saw Takuro shift slightly out of the corner of his eye. But the other man didn't say anything to break the tense, crackling silence between the two friends.

Hisashi's stance was unyielding, and when he spoke, his voice was flat and flippant. "Ja ne."

He walked out the door.

*

Jiro didn't know what time he got home. When he began driving into the dawn he couldn't stop crying. The tears that wouldn't stop blurred his vision, made the road a hazy, unstable mirage, and he was forced to pull over. Some lingering
end of coherent thought managed to suggest this rational idea, and he stopped his car on the side of the road, near a gas station.

When he finally reached home it was cold and empty, unrecognizable - because nothing mattered.

'We can work things out.'

< You and Izumi... Do you love her, Hisa? After all this...? >

'Leave me alone, Jiro.'

< Is it so easy, then? To just... push me away? >

'Get out of here!'

The tears began to fall again.

< Why, Hisa, why? If you still love her so much, if you're considering this, then - then why did you let last night happen? Why did you make me believe...? >

< And if you don't love her, then why.... how can you consider this? >

His heart was aching, breaking.

< Is that all you can do, Tono? Leave me hurting like this...? >

Only this time it was more complete. In the past, when he and Hisashi broke up, and then later when he told Hisashi not to marry Izumi, it had been different. It had not been nearly so final, so pivotal. But now - it was worse.

< God, so much worse... >

Now things had gone farther then they had in the past. He told Hisashi he loved him, Hisashi *knew* Jiro loved him, and Jiro had been the one to help him survive hell with his wife. Jiro had placed all of his trust in Hisashi, had given him his heart, and he had just begun to believe he might get something in return.

"I wanted to know... If it ever mattered. If we - ever mattered," he whispered to no one, voice broken. "And I thought... I thought it did."

The email. The coffee shop. Holding hands.

"...I thought I did..."

The ticket stub. The kisses. Memories of when they were together.

"Was I - so wrong...?"

He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, feeling hopelessly, endlessly alone, scars heavy upon his heart and memories, when the phone rang. He managed to again halt the tears, although they still left tracks on his face; a flash
of anger was enough to banish the sorrow at least momentarily from his sight.

But he felt weak, so weak as he stood there and listened to the phone ring. He didn't want to answer. He didn't care who it was.

< Because it won't be Hisashi... And if it was.... I don't - I can't talk to him... >

He heard his voice, carefree and genki, and then he heard the beep.

"..Anou, hey Jiro, are you there? We're here at the studio, but you haven't shown up and we were wondering where you were. Is everything okay? Maybe you overslept or something, right? I hope so, 'cause if you're sick - well, please let one of us know when you can. I hope you feel better.... Ja ne." Teru's kind, curious voice, edged with suspicion, disappeared.

< ....Feel better? >

Jiro approached his answering machine, intending to erase the message, when he saw that there were two messages recorded, not just Teru's.

Blankly, mechanically, he hit the playback button.

At first there was nothing, merely a crackling pause. Then: "...Jiro...?"

Jiro's breath caught. He trembled.

Another silence, ghost-voices whispering. And once again: "...I'm lonely..."

With a click the message was over.

It was Hisashi's voice. He sounded different, distant, and there was a wistful, pained, aching quality to his voice, but Jiro knew it was him. He would know anywhere.

Teru's message came on next, but Jiro didn't hear. He stared dumbly at the machine, and he couldn't stop shaking.

Memories of last night washed over him. The heat, the passion. The kindness, the gentleness. The way Hisashi looked at him as if he was the only one that mattered.

< He needed me, that night... When he was drunk, he left this message - he needed me, because he was lonely, and I was the person he could turn to, who he wanted... >

A sob escaped his throat.

< Who he wanted... at the time. But that was then, and now.... it's a lie. It's a fucking lie... > The message was a brand from the past, burning his heart. Mocking him because it was a reminder of what suddenly could not be.

One more choked sob, another. The pain felt endless because he felt so alone.

His knees gave way and he sank to the ground as the tears began to rain once more.

part 6