Hisashi slammed the door of his car. Hard. Never mind that he had just bought it a few days ago and the insurance has not yet fully been paid. He was raging mad, and he had to make his point. His feelings were evident in the heavy steps he took towards the front door of Jiro's house.
He raised his hand up, ready to assault the door anytime, but his hand froze in mid-air. Softness marred his features once again, proclaiming victory over the look of ire on his face. "Jiro…" he whispered. He closed his eyes, recalling the last moment he had his hand up in the air: when he had caressed the bassist's soft cheek. "Jiro, I love you," he mumbled. "Please don't make this any harder for me."
Hisashi knocked on the door; and there was only silence. He knocked again, this time harder than the last. Emptiness still met him.
"Damnit, Jiro, I told you not to make things any more difficult than it already is," he cursed under his breath. Then his fist pounded on the heavy door along with a loud voice. "For crying out loud, Yoshihito Wayama! Get out of there and let me in!"
The door stared back at Hisashi wordlessly.
"Goddamnit, Jiro! Am I gonna have to break the hinges off this stupid door of yours or am I gonna have to smash your windows to gain entry?"
The surroundings were as still as ever.
In desperation, Hisashi placed his hand on the knob in an attempt to twist the metal with all his angry might. He was surprised to find it turn so easily in his hand, unrestrained. He pushed it open and let himself in. "Jiro?" he called out. "Jiro, it's me, Hisashi. Can we talk?"
Only his echo answered back.
Hisashi ambled inside, careful with every step as though cautious that a thousand and one booby traps would spring out and kill him. He walked further inside the living room, looking for any sign of life. Finding nothing, he headed for the kitchen, stopping short in front of the breakfast counter. The breath hitched in his throat as memories of that sort-of argument with Jiro flooded his mind…when he had, in a way, explained why he had to act a little indifferent to Jiro in front of the others despite the times they shared together, when he had busted his lip on Jiro's shoulder, when Jiro had taken care of him so gently…//when Jiro and I almost kissed.//
The guitarist closed his eyes to blot out all the happy thoughts he had with Jiro. He needed to find that man fast. Being inside the bassist's abode was bringing him too many memories. It wasn't that he wouldn't treasure any of it. He simply just had to get his business down straight.
Anger once again flashed through his eyes when he opened them. Hands balled up into fists at his sides and his voice was solidly roaring as he addressed the entire house. "For the devil's sake, Jiro, will you crawl out of your hole and face me? I don't have time for this kind of stupid game, you hear? I'm just plain sick and tired!" But no matter how much Hisashi screamed, no matter how loud his voice could get, he seemed to be getting the same response: silence.
"He's not here," Hisashi said to himself, looking around from the center of the house. His gaze finally settled his attention to the staircase leading nowhere but up. //Maybe he's asleep?// He eyed the top of the stairs, curious as to where it could lead him. He had never been up the second floor of Jiro's house ever, at least not beyond the door that distanced the other man's bedroom from the rest of the house. Hisashi took a deep breath as his right foot landed on the first step of the stairs on his way to his ascent. "I might as well try."
"Yoshi?" Hisashi uttered, this time more gently than he called the bassist earlier. He figured the soothing calm voice might make Jiro more welcoming of a talk with him. Besides, he'd learned over the years of being with the youthful blonde that Jiro's worst comes when he'd been roused from a peaceful slumber. He walked carefully--Jiro's bedroom was relatively dark compared to the rest of the house--towards the bureau he saw with the aid of the ample sunlight seeping in from outside. He flicked to life the lamp sitting atop it, making it cast a soft hue on the place.
The bedroom was as empty as the rest of the house. Hisashi invited himself further inside, feet gliding gracefully over the dark blue carpeting. Every corner of the place didn't give clue to anything resembling the bassist.
Hisashi looked wistfully around the confines, a sigh punctuating his act. Slender lithe arms wrapped around his own torso, one palm capping a shoulder, hugging himself to comfort as much as he could. Jiro was nowhere to be found inside his very abode and Hisashi felt as though it were final, no matter how inane the thought was. It was the bassist's house after all. But the guitarist was positive Jiro knew that he'd run up to him, especially when there was a problem or something he wanted to clear out. It had always happened that way: when he asked Jiro's help with Ayu, followed by the invitation for a snack. He had returned Jiro's jacket back himself and had made himself welcome. He was the one who pleaded for the practice sessions. He stepped into this very home to explain why he had to pretend nothing has blossomed between them during the resumption of their rehearsals. He had approached Jiro right after the meeting to ask him over to his house. And damnit, *he* was the one who had kissed Jiro. In everything, Hisashi did the approaching. He couldn't lie about that…he would never lie about that.
Perhaps it was the melancholic feeling brought about by being alone where he longed to be with someone, but Hisashi decided to stay in Jiro's room just a little bit longer. Yet he also couldn't deny he was still angry at what the bassist did. Jiro stormed out of the studio without giving him the chance to defend himself, to clarify what Jiro might've misconstrued. The bassist had conceded to defeat even before the battle has started, a war Hisashi was certain as hell Jiro would emerge victorious. The guitarist was just as willing to lose anyway.
Hisashi's hands slipped from his arms to be pocketed in his blue jeans, an act he always did to convey a building up of determination from within him. He had come all the way here to demand reasons. He would be waiting for Jiro. This thing between them had dragged on too long already. The buck should stop now and it was time to settle things up. If Jiro would remain stubborn, it would be alright. Hisashi would accept defeat if Jiro didn't really want him after all. //But I won't go that easily…not without a fight. //
"And when he gets here," Hisashi threatened, crackling his knuckles, "I'm gonna bang my fist on those pouty kissers of his."
Hisashi wandered aimlessly around the room, buying time. His gaze fell on the doorway leading to Jiro's walk-in closet. Curiosity nagged at him, forcing him to draw open the closet doors. He tried hard to ignore the whiff of Jiro's scent he caught whisking from the clothes neatly folded and hung. Hisashi's fingertips fluttered lightly over the linen of Jiro's coats, enviously recalling how dashing the younger man always looked in suits.
"You can tell a lot about a person by looking at his closet," he quoted his mother always saying. And Jiro was a simple man, this Hisashi was able to confirm. The blonde always opted for something comfortable and it showed for although Jiro always wore outlandish clothes onstage, his closet consisted for materials sewn into nothing beyond T-shits, jeans and suits. Proof of it was lone pair of leather pants hanging at the darkest end of the built-in furniture. Suppressing a giggle proved impossible though when he saw a pair of bright yellow smiley face boxers. //Trust Jiro…//
He read 4:48 PM from the table clock half-hidden from the messy pile of papers scattered about on Jiro's desk. Hisashi had wanted to clean it up--he really was bored--but later dismissed it. His desk back at home was a *lot* messier than this. Besides, if the mass of papers actually contained one of Jiro's love letters to Reiko, he'd rip it all off into smithereens.
Hisashi checked his own watch next, obviously letting his impatience irritate him. With arms crossed over his chest, he walked towards the center of the room and hunkered down the soft mattress of Jiro's bed. He leaned back against the headboard, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. All the waiting and anticipation was wearing him out. The yawn attested to that.
The watch became the object of his gaze once again. This was proving to be really taxing. //I suppose I could catch a few winks//, he thought, curling up on his side and laying his head on Jiro's pillow. He was never a heavy sleeper unless when drunk anyway; he felt confident he'd be roused just as soon as he'd sense Jiro's presence back. //I could argue with him when I feel re-energized…even if it would take me all night.// And as soon as his head touched the pillow, he was snoring.
Jiro slowly brought the shot glass close to his lips, his nose wrinkling at scent of the spirituous aroma of the golden liquid in it. //Scotch//, he had thought at first but now he wasn't really sure. //'Could even turn out to be rum.// But he was beyond care. Earlier he had directed the cab driver to take him to the earliest bar open in the afternoon, reason why he'd been sitting in the same stool for the past two hours or so, tipping his head back to get the liquid down the hatch.
The alcohol burned his throat and he grimaced. He was never one to be tolerant of hard liquid, so much so that he could only brag about handling beer very well. Anything laced with 80 proof or more was for Hisashi's consumption. Sometimes, it wondered him if the bluehead had a liver made of steel. Then he snickered in spite of himself. //Hisashi's made of everything steel//, he thought bitterly, //from his lungs, to his liver…to his heart.//
"Isn't it pretty early to get drunk?" said a voice.
Jiro looked up to meet the friendly eyes of the bartender. The old man didn't seem to have recognized his popular face. He flashed an intoxicated smile. "It's 'cause you're open for business pretty early in the day for drunks like me."
"You're not a drunk," said the man. "But you *are* drunk."
"Tell me something I don't know." Jiro lifted his empty shot glass and waved it at the man. "Can I get another one right here?"
The man Hirose sighed. "If I'd let my business mind rule, I'd give you everything so me and the missus could have some nice vacation over at Okinawa. But my conscience is ruling so, even of you're a paying customer, I can't give you more than you can handle, superstar or not."
The bassist snickered. "You know me?"
"My daughter has your face plastered all across the walls of her room. And if I tell her that you're seated in my bar right now, she wouldn't have believed it. But she wouldn't believe it even more if I'd tell her you're drinking yourself into a stupor. After all, you've just resurrected from an accident."
"So you're not going to tell her I've been drinking like hell?" Whether or not the old man was telling the truth, Jiro felt worried. He'd never wanted to look like such a bad example on innocents.
"No…though I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you." Hirose began wiping a few glasses with a dishtowel. "You can't be behaving like this because of a girl, can you? I mean, you're very goodlooking and--"
Jiro shook his head. "Never had much problem with girls."
"So what is it?"
He stared at the man's face, trying to think. No matter how kind and understanding Hirose seemed, Jiro knew he couldn't tell anyone about his current dilemma. A whole lot was at stake, the greatest of which would have to be Hisashi and himself.
Jiro shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't." He slid off the bar stool and took out his wallet, ready to hand the man his plastic money before freezing into a stop. It wasn't his signature, it wasn't his data, it wasn't his card.
He still had Hisashi's credit card.
"Is something wrong, Jiro-san?"
His hand combed through his hair. "No, nothing's wrong. I just got something mixed up, that's all." Recovering from the incident, Jiro gave the bartender his own credit card to cover the bill. "Put in a fresh bottle of scotch in there. I might need to continue this home."
Hirose sighed but took the payment nonetheless. After punching in the tab, he returned the card to Jiro, along with the box containing the bottle of scotch. "Just assure me you'd be careful, okay?"
He smiled, a genuine one. "For your daughter, I'd be," Jiro replied. He gave the bartender a generous tip, along with an autographed photo he'd always kept in his wallet for moments like these. "Thank you."
Jiro zigzagged his way to the front door, barely missing crashing into four tables on his exit. Hirose could only look at the poor boy, silently praying that whatever might be troubling the bassist would be over soon enough.
Hisashi startled awake at the sound of a car fading into his audal range, accented by the slamming of the car door shut. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he sat up. "Huh? What happened?" he asked, giving his lithe body a stretch. He heard the vehicle's engine fade out from his range. Looking out, he saw that the sky outside the window was dark, an indication that it was already night. "Where am I?"
The surroundings came into focus. //Since when did I have the inkling to clean up?// Next he noticed the heavy collage of pictures on one wall of the room. "Where--"
Hisashi's sensitive ears caught the sound of the front door opening and closing shut. A deep voice singing "Be With You" followed, a bit off-key, one might note. Hisashi's gasp could almost be heard in the entire room. "Oh my god!" he cried in whispers, covering his gaping mouth in disbelief. It finally dawned into him he was in Jiro's house…//and Jiro had just arrived!//
The guitarist sprang to his feet as though the comfy mattress were afire then clambered around the room like a headless chicken. //Shit shit shit! I haven't made any plans on how to confront him! Oh fuck fuck fuck!//
In his frenzy and the dim ample light on top of the small bureau, he didn't notice the furniture that he ran smack into it, causing the wooden item to rattle. The lamp came crashing down--miraculously still in one piece--along with a box which must've been haphazardly sitting on the edge of the bureau. "Crap! Just when you're in a hurry…" Hisashi quickly got down to his knees and tried to hurriedly stuff the contents of the box--some unalbumed pictures--which had spilled onto the floor. //If Jiro ever sees me in this state, I'd nev--//
His eyes caught the image on the photo paper.
And then Hisashi froze.
With almost trembling hands, he picked one of the photographs up and stared at it, assuring himself time and again that his eyes weren't deceiving him. He recognized the man in the photograph: that famous hooked nose, the envied thin lips, the smooth face…the signature blue hair.
It was him.
He looked at the other photographs and found all of them bearing the same subject. There were shots of him stealing forty winks during a rehearsal break…looking bored as Masahide gave them a lecture during a meeting…sitting down on the hood of his car and enjoying his nicotine Shangri-la…laughing at a witty line Teru had dropped…elegantly sipping the contents of his beer in one of their night outs…and a few dozen others he couldn't remember doing. But it was him nonetheless. There was not one doubt about it: Jiro had captured him in every moment Hisashi never thought anybody would've seen, noticed, remembered and much less caught on film.
If these photos had been taken by anyone other than Jiro, Hisashi would've been scared to death and called for the police. But this was Jiro…someone he's been with for a long time, someone he trusts, someone who makes Hisashi feel very beautiful and wanted, someone who owns the pair of eyes he's been spending in unknowingly…and someone he loves so much.
Now, more than ever, Hisashi was sure.
"How did you get in?" came *his* voice.
Hisashi slightly gasped and his head turned to see Jiro standing by the doorway of his bedroom, the light from the fallen lamp being his only aid to see the bassist. "I, uh…" He rose to his feet, holding Jiro's gaze from a few feet away. "The door," he replied. "I mean, it was unlocked. You...you must've left it."
Jiro's silence served enough response. Hisashi noted that although the other man still hadn't been saying a word, the dangerous look on Jiro's face was not there as it had been earlier when Teru was around. The guitarist watched as Jiro set a bottle of Johnny Walker down a side table.
Hisashi's forehead crinkled in wonder. //Jiro could never handle hard liquor.// Then he looked at Jiro shrugging out of his parka. //Don't hurt yourself because of me, Jiro…because it damn hurts me, too.//
"What?"
Hisashi blinked. "What what?"
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
The blue head moved from side to side. "Nothing. I just thought you shouldn't be drinking anything harder than beer. I mean, you just got out of--"
"What are you doing here anyway?" Jiro asked, cutting Hisashi off.
Hisashi cleared his throat. "I came because…" He paused for a while to tuck a loose strand of cerulean hair behind an ear. "Well, I wanted to talk to you…about what happened…this afternoon."
"What about it?"
"What did you mean by that?"
"Mean by what?"
"When you got enraged back there at the studio…just before you stormed out. You said a lot of things…"
Fingers raked through the blondish-brown mane. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" Hisashi repeated, not wanting to believe it.
"I was partly drunk. I didn't know what I had been doing or saying."
"So you didn't mean any of those things you said?"
"Maybe…perhaps…like I said, I don't know." Jiro shrugged. "I told you my mind was clouded with alcohol. I can't even remember what I've been saying."
Hisashi's delicate mouth opened to say something, perhaps something to argue the bassist with, but he said simply, "I see…"
Jiro didn't think he could handle it anymore, Hisashi standing there in the middle of his semi-dark bedroom, forcing him to spill his heart out. He wasn't ready to face the man, not at this time. He didn't even want to talk to Hisashi about his outburst earlier, praying that the older man would just leave it as is. But Hisashi obviously wanted more, had wanted for Jiro to swallow every damn bit of pride and respect he had for himself.
"Jiro, I--"
//No, I have to be strong//, he thought. "Aren't you supposed to get going now? Teru might be looking for you."
Hisashi held his gaze for a few moments. "Teru's the last person I need to see right now."
"Is that so?" Jiro let himself further inside by a few steps but clearly keeping a very safe distance from Hisashi allowing the bed to separate them. "I just thought you'd want to be with him at the soonest possible time. We've weaseled our way out of the meeting earlier than usual. That's a lot of time to spend--"
"Yoshi, I want to stay here…with you."
Jiro closed his eyes, the tips of his fingers digging into the corners. This was proving to be too much for him to handle. Hisashi sounded dead serious. To add more to the burden was the name Hisashi used to address him. Only Hisashi calls him Yoshi and gets away with it.
Finally, Jiro set his gaze on the man before him. "What do you want from me, Hisashi?" His voice nearly cracked with emotion and pent-up tears.
It took Hisashi a few seconds before he replied. "I want an explanation."
"Haven't I given you enough? I told you I was drunk. Drunk people often--"
"Jiro, you stormed out of the studio after lashing out a mouthful on a relationship with Teru you've so accused me of having." Hisashi's voice was more grim now. "Not once did you slur and no matter how much you insist you didn't make any sense at all, you were coherent. And I'm damn sure you know every word you've said."
"Alright, so maybe I did!" Jiro had almost yelled. "What does it matter anyway?"
"But Teru and I are not--"
"Hisashi, I thought we've settled this."
"Settled?" Hisashi cried a trifle too shrilly. "You cut off every explanation Teru and I had to say and you call that settled?"
"But he loves you and you love him. What's there to explain?"
"Then how about explaining this." Hisashi held up the hand holding a few of the photographs that had spilled from the box. He tossed them over to the bed, right by the edge and close to Jiro's knees. "I think I at least deserve to know."
Jiro sighed deeply before bending over to pick up the photo of Hisashi. "He's my favorite subject," he spoke up softly after a few moments, eyes still intent on the snapshot.
"Subject?" Hisashi echoed.
The pair of almond-shaped brown eyes tore away from the paper to focus on the beautiful man before him. "There's something about him that makes me want to capture his every movement, his every moment on film. He just has to sit there or laugh or glare or stare into oblivion and he'd be the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on…and he doesn't even have to try to be one. Yet the fact that he's so near yet so out of my reach always drills its way into me, hurting me like no other person had ever done before or could ever do in the future. So I just watch him, taking sick joy in the shuns and glares he sends my way, praying for any moment when I could just get him to be with me, if only on paper."
The hardness in Hisashi's eyes died down, his voice regressing into a soothing calm. "Why…why didn't you just tell him?"
"How could I? He seems to see no one but our dear Mister I'm-So-Charming-Nice-Guy-Vocalist. He doesn't even seem to give a damn if I exist beyond music which is, frankly, the only thing he and I visibly have in common. Above which, do I even stand a chance?"
"Just tell him…"
"Tell him what: how I feel for him?" Jiro cried incredulously.
"You'll never know--"
"It's hard enough that he had to know about it this way, seeing everything I've been keeping from him…the only possible way I could have him. It's even harder that I gather my nerves up and tell him outright, spill to him my soul. I don't think it works that way, Hisashi."
"Maybe he just didn't know how special he is to you. He didn't even know he was special in the first place. He'd always thought of himself to be trying too hard, that's why he always hides behind his mask of arrogance and supposed coolness. But deep down, he's weak. He never thinks of himself as special. Perhaps maybe no one ever made him feel that special. He never knew he was. I didn't…"
"Well, I do! He's very special. He's been here," Jiro cried, pointing to his chest for emphasis, "always. And God, I love him so much! I love him so much that it almost killed me and he doesn't even realize it!"
"Jiro, he--"
"You know, he breaks my heart over and over again, but I still love him…so much…so much that no one could possibly have any idea just how."
Hisashi bit his bottom lip then bent his head down, keeping his eyes strayed away from Jiro's piercing ones. "I'm…I'm sorry," he said, hardly finding his voice. "I'm sorry that--"
Jiro sniffed to hold back impending tears. "Yeah, well…me, too."
The bluehaired man looked up, a slight smile present on his lips. "I mean, I'm sorry he didn't know sooner that you feel the same way he does."
Round eyes stared back disbelievingly at the guitarist. //What did you say?//
"Now he knows it…"
"Hisashi?"
"We both do."
"Don't play with me, Hisashi, I can't take anymore pain. I've been battered enough these past few days. I won't be able to handle any more. I don't need his pity. And if he's just out here telling me all these things just to test how strong his hold on me is, he might as well just kill me."
"And leave him behind?"
"I just don't see how he can love me back. He and I…we've never been together in a place for more than two hours without a fight brewing up between us. And he's always been clear on his hatred for me. I can't even see how this is possible."
"It's because he hates you more than anyone that he can love you more than anyone, too."
"Hisashi, I--"
"He loves you, Jiro. He loves you very much. Or else, he won't be confessing everything he'd been keeping for so long. If he didn't love you, he wouldn't be standing here right now."
Jiro's heart melted right at Hisashi's words. Any ounce of anger and irritation he had felt was now gone, and this he showed in a voice so gentle. "Hisashi…"
Hisashi probably would've said more, would've given more explanation to the bassist, but he didn't. From the moment Hisashi's name left Jiro's lips ever so lovingly and longingly, the guitarist started on his heels and launched himself in abandon onto Jiro's arms, his own limbs snaking their way around Jiro's graceful neck. No words passed between them as Hisashi pressed his lips to Jiro's own pouty ones, totally surrendering himself while claiming the bassist at the same time.
Jiro felt his knees turn to jelly as he felt Hisashi's kiss and he wound his arms around the guitarist's slender waist both for support and assertion. The first taste of Hisashi's lips propelled Jiro from the reality of his bedroom to another plane of existence, where the only sensations were Hisashi's seductively wet mouth, Hisashi's tantalizing scent, Hisashi's ragged breaths.
Jiro didn't need air; Hisashi sustained him. Angling his head, Jiro brushed his tongue across the other man's slightly parted mouth. Hisashi moaned, opened wider. Jiro's tongue plunged inside.
It was sheer bliss.
Involuntarily, Jiro's hand smoothed from Hisashi's waist to cup his hands on either of the guitarist's cheeks, the kiss coming in deeper. Hisashi's tongue tentatively stroked his, and Jiro's knees weakened another time. Blood rushed to his groin. Air. Jiro needed to breathe after all.
Jiro lifted his mouth and dragged in oxygen, leaning his forehead against Hisashi's. "Aishiteru, Hisa." Jiro realized that just the one word said everything he felt.
"Aishiteru, Yoshi," Hisashi murmured, his voice ragged. "Aishiteru." He looked up at the bassist with lidded eyes and met his kiss halfway.
The minute Jiro's lips touched his again, Hisashi let himself be under each and every spell the man had to use on him. Jiro was a wonder, taking his bottom lip between his, suckling on it, tasting every flavor he could offer. Hisashi closed his eyes and let himself be enveloped in the pleasure.
He moaned as he felt Jiro's tongue dart out to lick over his bottom lip, his subtle way of reseeking his consent for entry. He willingly parted his lips as he did earlier, sighing as Jiro's kiss deepened, passion threatening to consume them both. Hisashi kissed him back, his own tongue meeting Jiro's in a passionate dance, his hands going from their place around Jiro's neck to twine through Jiro's soft hair.
Their mouths parted. Without lifting Jiro's lips off Hisashi's velvety skin, he made his way down the guitarist's neck, teasing the skin with his tongue and nibbling at the pale expanse of skin, at the same time sliding his hands down to Hisashi's chest. His skillful fingers flicked open the buttons to his chambray shirt then shoved the sides of Hisashi's shirt apart as a prelude to performing the age-old rhythm of love and waited for a restraint from the other man.
There was none.
In seconds, the blue garment fell into a smooth puddle
at their feet.