Chapter Text
“Hey, grab it before it gets cold.”
Uruha looked up from his guitar, face to face with the man he’d been trying to avoid the last two days. A vague trace of a smirk was still present on Aoi’s lips, and all Uruha could manage was a barely audible ‘t–thank you’ as he aimed to grab the cup of coffee without coming in contact with the fingers already wrapped around it. But he would have no such luck, and his mind was flooded by memories of Friday night playing in technicolour at the touch.
***
He was busy. Busy scrutinising himself in the mirror before leaving for the stage, a pout forming the longer he looked at the flimsy leather skirt barely covering his thighs, broad shoulders squeezed into his sister’s old top, and a mop of dyed hair brushing at his collarbones. Too busy, in fact, to pay attention to the corner of the room, where unbeknownst to him the other guitarist was taking in the softness of his features and the slight insecurity in his posture, committing every single detail of Uruha to memory.
Aoi sighed and returned to his guitar, knowledge the younger was out of reach morphing his expression into a bitter smile. Uruha was ethereal beauty; immensely talented and dedicated, yet always overthinking the most trivial matters. When very drunk, he could jump from topic to topic making no sense to anyone but himself, grinning and having revelations he would forget by dawn. He was everything at once, imperfectly perfect, an absolute mystery – while Aoi was nothing. Just a persona for Yuu to hide behind as he prayed faking it ‘till you make it would one day eliminate the difference between the two.
A member of staff announced that they had 15 minutes until the show and Uruha’s heart sped up just a tiny bit at the sight of red tartan, Aoi having moved to stand behind him.
“Stop stressing over it, you look good. If you didn’t, Ruki would’ve intervened hours ago,” Aoi joked with a placating hand on his shoulder. “Another beer?”
Unable to process the compliment, touch, and question all at once, Uruha simply stared at Aoi’s reflection, brain making dial-up noises. By the time he realised a simple ‘sure’ would have sufficed and probably come across better than silence, Aoi had already returned with a drink placed on the table next to him. It helped ease the nerves, and after a final glance in the mirror the two guitarists joined the rest of the band.
The live had been good despite Aoi almost jumping backwards into Reita, both crammed into the left-hand side of the small stage, and Ruki having the occasional issue with his microphone, making him resort to simply shouting his lungs out. All of this was made insignificant by the passion of the crowd and Uruha was high on adrenaline, still in disbelief that all of it – the lights, noise and intense adoration from fans – was his life now.
“Should we invite everyone to ours?” came from Reita, busy packing up his bass, and Uruha nodded with a bright smile on his face. He was excited to have the night go on. And, while he would never admit it to anyone, he was desperate to spend time with Aoi.
Over the year or so of getting to know each other, Uruha had become obsessed with his counterpart. Aoi was everything he wasn’t – dramatic, made up of fire and smoke where he was pragmatic, often feeling like a mere observer of his life. But when Aoi would bring him coffee, offer to share a cigarette, or simply look at him – never through him – with those eyes wise beyond their years… Uruha felt like maybe he mattered.
In the breaks between composing or practising, they discussed everything from the latest movies, albums, to random facts about their life – ‘we should go to the seaside one day and I’ll teach you’, ‘oh, it’s definitely Metallica for me’ – and Uruha would hold on to every bit of information, every like and dislike, every piece of the puzzle called Aoi. He knew a person with that much passion and vigour would never be interested in someone like him, but just being around Aoi made Uruha's world feel more vibrant.
After a quick change into their normal clothes and something akin to an attempt at taking off their makeup, the band located the nearest conbini to stock up on some cheap alcohol and orange juice. Reita and Uruha’s place was closest to the venue and while not spacious or neat, everyone had grown attached to it, eager to claim their places on the mismatched furniture. The two hosts huddled in front of the TV and tried to decide on a movie; meanwhile, Ruki looked for a clean cup, pointedly ignoring the fact he was unable to reach the top shelves. Aoi and Yune were on the sofa discussing the live; the drummer seemed somewhat withdrawn, though, which caused the conversation to dwindle and Aoi’s eyes drifted over to Uruha persuading Reita to pick some sci-fi flick.
Aoi was already on his second bottle by the time something was selected and Ruki, having found a cup that had seen better times (but at least was not growing mould), took a seat next to him. Uruha and Reita soon emerged from the kitchenette, a bottle in hand each. The guitarist’s shoulders sagged a little upon seeing Aoi already surrounded on both sides by Ruki and Yune, and he scolded himself for being so fussy about something as insignificant as a movie. A friendly poke in the ribs made him stop lingering in the middle of the room and he sunk into a nearby chair, stealing glances at Aoi: a wry smile on his face as he listened to Ruki complain about something. Typical.
A few beers/orange juices later the atmosphere had gotten a lot more chaotic: Reita’s innocent joke about Aoi hogging up all the attention and space on stage was being interpreted as accusation by said (very tipsy) man, who was doing his best to give off an intimidating aura, hair still in tiny pigtails not helping whatsoever. Uruha, pleasantly buzzed and wholly entertained by the scene, didn't notice where his train of thoughts was leading – or that he was voicing things aloud – until Aoi abruptly turned, equal parts confused and amused, and asked: “You really thought the tartan made me look cute?”
While the flush from the alcohol masked his cheeks going red, the coughing fit that followed left no room for doubt that Uruha did not mean to express any of it. He couldn't decide whether to deny he would ever say anything like that – or to play along, make it into a joke. So for the second time that night he just stared at Aoi, internally pleading for him to drop the topic. As luck would have it, a sudden movement drew everyone’s eyes to Yune, who stood up and began collecting his belongings after announcing he was going home. Aoi frowned, about to ask if everything was okay, but the drummer simply looked at him.
“I’m just tired and it’s pretty late,” he explained and looked off, hesitating before he quietly departed. The mood turned a little morose, everyone's gazes downcast: they felt like something was wrong but didn’t really know how or whether to discuss it. Ruki narrowed his eyes in thought, replaying the events of the evening – out curiosity more than anything – but to no avail. He didn’t notice Reita crouching by the VCR to put on another movie, or that Uruha had swiftly left for the bathroom.
He splashed his face with cold water, willing the red to fade, and deeply regretted getting this inebriated around Aoi. He could only pray the other man found his mishap funny and would quickly forget about it rather than tease him – or worse, have it create distance between them. Hiding his face in the towel, darkness a comfort, Uruha wished he wasn’t such a mess, so unable to stop thinking about Aoi – who at that very moment was replaying his silly confession over and over. While ‘cute’ wouldn’t necessarily be the first adjective Aoi would want anyone to use to describe him, hearing it come from Uruha made all the difference. And although he knew that the words were nothing more than drunken ramblings, he felt like a teenager with a silly crush, falling deeper for someone and revelling in the feeling.
Realising that Uruha had been gone for quite a while, Aoi was about to knock on the bathroom door and check on him as it suddenly swung open, revealing the taller man: eyes wide, a few wet strands of hair clinging to his face. He looked breathtaking, the warm lighting in the hallway casting soft shadows; Aoi couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering all over Uruha’s face, and a little voice at the back of his head pointed out how soft his lips looked. The intense gaze made Uruha blush again – all of his efforts gone to waste – and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he was immersed in another fantasy about Aoi, or if this was really happening.
“Sorry, did you—”
“I just wanted to che—” Aoi started at the same time, both men having recovered from the moment of surprise, and promptly stopped, the situation and nerves making him laugh instead. Yet again Uruha could only stare – Aoi’s smile was always a delight, but absolutely mesmerising in this proximity.
It made his whole face light up.
“I just wanted to check you hadn’t passed out or something, you’ve been gone a while, Uru,” Aoi finished, a grin lingering after the laughter.
“Uh, yeah, no, I’m fine. As you can see. Obviously,” Uruha responded, captured and rooted to the spot. He’d spoken to Aoi one on one plenty, but he had never been this close. It almost felt like there was something else behind his eyes, something new. His words and tone had the same teasing lilt as usual, but were now accompanied by a softness, an openness in the look.
“That’s good,” Aoi smiled, taking a step back and letting Uruha return to the living room. Reita had plopped down next to Ruki and was talking about yet another piece of Sex Pistols memorabilia he ‘absolutely had to have’, start of some action movie playing in the background. While the four of them could squeeze onto the sofa if needed, Aoi craved to have Uruha to himself and caught the younger by his upper arm.
“Hey, do you want some water? It’ll probably help you sober up a bit, and I’ll make us some tofu,” he suggested as Uruha turned towards him, still flushed: alcohol, affection, Aoi taking him over. After a brief nod of confirmation they proceeded to the kitchen; Aoi was trying his best not to burn it down while cooking in the state he was in, and Uruha looked on, leaning against one of the counters nursing a glass of water. Aoi moved so fluidly, graceful even off-stage, and Uruha was captivated, only half aware he was blatantly staring. It did not escape Aoi, though, who felt a pair of eyes follow his every action.
Aoi was about to call out and let Ruki and Reita know that the food was ready when suddenly Uruha entered his field of vision to shush him – the other two had managed to doze off, movie long forgotten. While Aoi poked his head around the corner, Uruha picked up a piece of tofu and let his mind wander. The image of Ruki’s head on Reita’s shoulder was rather cute, sure… but his two friends being asleep meant that him and Aoi were essentially on their own – and the nerves were back.
“So, what do we do now?” Uruha muttered, raising his eyes to seek out Aoi’s, already on him.
“Your house, your rules,” he replied, and the smirk that appeared on his face only made Uruha more nervous. Aoi’s eyes caught a tiny crumb of tofu sticking to the corner of Uruha’s mouth; far too drunk to consider that this sort of touch would be inappropriate, he swiped a thumb over the plush lip. It was much softer than the little voice in his head could even begin to suggest, Aoi noted, and his hand lingered until he felt Uruha's trembling breath – at which point he quickly retracted it.
“Crumb,” he immediately clarified, only now realising what he had done, and looked anywhere but at Uruha, who so wished he could ask Reita to pinch him. Was he still daydreaming about Aoi?
“Oh,” he exhaled, proving that he wasn’t – his dream self would never be this awkward. Uruha could not make his breathing even out, nor quiet his thoughts. Surely everything that had happened tonight was just a coincidence – he was drunk, Aoi was drunk too; there was definitely an explanation for the overwhelming tension he had felt all night… Right?
“We should probably get out of here, leave Ruki and Rei to sleep, no?” Aoi broke the silence, awkwardly glancing back at the sofa, unable to meet Uruha’s eyes just yet.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll set the futon up,” Uruha replied and left, not ready to be around Aoi, only Aoi, in his bedroom; the two had shared rooms a number of times before, Uruha normally throwing himself on the bed without a care in the world – and, on occasion, even leaving Aoi to sleep on the floor in the man’s own home. Something about tonight felt different, though.
After another swig of beer and having somewhat collected himself, Aoi proceeded to the bedroom with Uruha’s acoustic guitar in hand. He wasn’t tired yet, and if anything could make them feel more at ease with each other it was music. The room was small, clothing, notebooks and CDs scattered everywhere; the chaos grated slightly on Aoi's neat nature, his own place looking rather minimalist and cold in comparison.
“There’s this phrase that came to me earlier,” he said upon entering, raising the guitar in explanation. Uruha was on his bed, knees drawn up and all of his attention on his Gameboy Advance; a sound of acknowledgement was all he could offer until the end of the level, so Aoi settled on the other end of the bed and began to strum, warming up his fingers. The notes came out effortlessly and he closed his eyes, letting the music flow through him. This time he did not feel Uruha’s eyes on him, nor see the adoration in them as he listened to the soulful melody Aoi was producing. Uruha wanted to do nothing more than capture this moment: the two of them here, Aoi looking celestial. He was reeling in reverence at the talent and beauty in front of him, and the sounds he was thus far the first and only to hear in all of time.
As the final chord rung out, Aoi slowly rose his head and brushed some hair out of his face. He looked up at Uruha expectantly, and the other guitarist hoped awe was clearly displayed on his face, since he was at a loss for words.
“Aoi, that was― it was really beautiful,” he said, worried that Aoi would take his silence negatively. “You should show that to Ruki, I’m sure we could incorporate it somewhere.”
“I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s a bit… I don’t know, too mellow?”
“It’s sentimental; it makes you feel something. I could never come up with anything like that, you know.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Aoi smiled, inwardly elated by Uruha’s words.
“Ah. Well, maybe… But I can’t see why we couldn’t do a ballad in the future, your work deserves to be heard,” Uruha continued, his voice lowering in volume upon realising he was progressively embarrassing himself.
“Mhm,” Aoi hummed, slowly closing his eyes and turning his gaze towards the wall. “You know, maybe we should practise here more often. Your room has nice acoustics.” He looked back at Uruha, who could only stare at the smirk that had returned to Aoi’s lips.
“Anyway, I think I might sleep soon, it’s getting late. Do you have a shirt I could borrow?”
The myriad of questions and implications left Uruha’s mind spinning, but he managed to stand up, murmur something akin to ‘yeah’, and proceeded to rummage through the closet, wishing he’d done the laundry. He pulled out a black t-shirt and passed it to Aoi. “You can have the shower first, I’ll… tidy up, maybe?” he said, rubbing the side of his neck, suddenly conscious of the state of the room.
“Thank you,” Aoi smiled, passing a playful look around and raising his eyebrow in mock distaste. “Don’t overexert yourself,” he said before leaving, stopping Uruha in his tracks and almost making him drop his copy of ‘Three Dollar Bill, Y’All’.