Chapter Text
Spring 春
I.
The best thing about being in a relationship, in Toru’s humble opinion, is coming home to someone.
He’s only gone out to the local grocery store and is back within half an hour, but still he cherishes the little moment of anticipation as he reaches his own front door.
From outside, the guitarist hears random snatches of English lyrics (“…love with the shape of you, we push and pull like a magnet do…”) punctuated by the sounds of opening and closing of various cupboards and drawers. He can just imagine the scene beyond the door: Taka doing a little dance in the kitchen as he goes about his business (“oh I, oh I, oh I’m … in love with your booooody...”). Toru had always secretly loved the vocalist’s dorky dance moves from even before their friendship had blossomed into its current state; now, he’s thankful he doesn’t have to hide it.
Toru is resting his forehead against the painted grain of his door, smiling to himself, when he spots the woman from #57 coming out of her apartment, presumably to make use of their complex’s gym by the way she’s head to toe in Lycra. He lifts his head and wipes the grin off his face, but the twinkle in his eye is irrepressible. He nods in greeting.
“Must be nice,” she says, giving him a knowing smile as she passes behind him.
“What is?” he enquires amiably, passing the grocery bags in his right hand to the left before delving the now free hand into his pocket for his key.
She merely shakes her head whilst walking towards the elevator, but it’s clear what she meant.
Yes, it is, Toru thinks when he’s finally inside and has toed off his shoes.
From the genkan, he watches quietly as an oblivious Taka undulates his body to music that only he can hear, while waving around a wooden spoon. When the singer begins to shake his booty, a smile blooms anew on the guitarist’s face. He abandons the shopping bags on the spot, and within a few strides he’s where he wants to be.
“Oh hey – that was quick,” Taka greets him, taking an earbud out when Toru enfolds the smaller man in his arms. The embrace doesn’t stop the vocalist’s ridiculous dancing, so the guitarist begins to move his own body to complement the other’s movements. For a few moments they just enjoy the feel of their bodies moving in time together.
“I’ve made onigiri for the picnic later,” Taka murmurs after a while, “the one with shiso furikake has your favourite mentai mayo inside.”
“Thanks,” Toru replies, distracted by the wriggling of the vocalist’s butt near his crotch.
Suddenly, Taka’s eyes turn mischievous, knowing exactly what effect his body’s movements are having on the guitarist.
“I forgot to ask you, but did you get some beer, too?” the singer asks, feigning innocence and continuing to vibe to the music that leaks faintly from the earbuds.
Taka’s movements falter briefly when the guitarist counterattacks by simultaneously dragging his hands down to the other’s slender hips and his lips up the other’s sensitive neck.
“Yep,” Toru responds, taking the smaller man’s right earlobe into his mouth and gently biting down on it.
Smoothly, the taller man takes the wooden spoon from Taka’s left hand and places it on the counter next to them, all the while their bodies writhing in synchrony. His hand now freed, the vocalist reaches backward and buries his fingers in the guitarist’s hair.
“Got more of your genmaicha, too,” Toru whispers directly into the vocalist’s ear. The sensation makes Taka’s back arch and a soft “oh” fall from his lips.
“…come on, be my baby, come on…” the song continues in the rapidly disappearing space between them.
“…come on, be my baby, come on…”
Taka finally stops dancing and turns around in the guitarist’s arms. Slowly, Toru’s movements also come to a complete stop. They breathe in each other’s air.
“I’m in love with your boooody…” Taka half-sings, half-whispers against Toru’s waiting lips. He then hitches a flexible leg up onto the guitarist’s hip, bringing their groins together. The taller man groans when the singer begins to grind against him teasingly.
“…come on, be my baby, come on…”
And, in that instant, all coherent thought flies out of the guitarist’s head. He hoists the singer up so that both his legs wrap around the taller man’s waist, and crashes their lips and tongues together.
They make it somehow to the couch by sheer instinct.
“I’m in love your body,” Toru cheekily confesses in time with the music, as Taka uses his hands to bring the guitarist down to said body.
And then: “I’m in love with everything about you.”
The unexpected admission makes Taka’s closed eyes pop open, coincidentally as the music abruptly ends. It’s such a momentous occasion that they both know at once to still the movement of their hips. Taka’s eyes gaze up at him in wonder.
They’ve been together for a while now, but it’s the first time that either of them has mentioned the “L” word. It hadn’t been the guitarist’s intention to confess it then, but as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew them to be true.
Toru caresses the singer’s face with the hand that isn’t the one propping himself up, and places a sweet kiss on the petite man’s forehead.
“I…” Taka starts, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden misting of his eyes, “I…”
“I know,” Toru says, tracing a finger along the outline of the singer’s lips, when it becomes obvious that the smaller man is too choked up to continue.
Taka nods, and brings a hand up to move the guitarist’s hand from the vocalist’s mouth down to his chest. The heart beating rapidly and fiercely against his palm tells the guitarist the singer’s reply without words.
Here, in Tokyo, the streets are already lined with sakura trees whose branches are heavy with several tiny pink flowers. It is only a matter of time before similar buds will flower, too, in the cities north-east of the capital.
And, staring down at the petite man beneath him, Toru knows that the time will soon come when he’ll hear his own words echoed back, as surely as he knows summer turns into autumn, into winter, and into spring.
II.
Toru slowly returns to wakefulness at the feeling of fingers gently carding through his hair.
When he opens his eyes, he sees Taka is lain beside him, belly down and propped up by his elbows.
“Good nap?” the singer asks, bending his head down to peck the guitarist on the lips.
“Un,” Toru replies, stifling a yawn.
The smaller man lays back down, tucking his head underneath the guitarist’s chin. He cuddles the guitarist closer to himself, despite there being ample room enough on the couch for the taller man not to topple on to the floor.
“Such a good idea,” Toru murmurs, when he flexes his ankles to stretch out his calves, toes barely touching the far end of the couch.
“Huh?”
“Really random birthday present, but pretty useful,” the guitarist explains amusedly, pressing a kiss to the whorl on top of Taka’s head.
“Oh.”
“Thanks.”
“Not gonna lie,” the singer chuckles after a pause, the air he puffs out raising pleasant goosebumps on Toru’s chest, “it was for both of our benefit.”
“Got the idea after getting sick of waking up with a hangover AND a stiff neck,” Taka admits.
“But of course, this was before, uh… things changed… and I could sleep with you in your bed.”
“Good change?” Toru fishes for a compliment, fingers drawing lazy, ticklish circles on the singer’s naked back that make the latter squirm.
“Good change,” Taka affirms between giggles, “Best. Change. Ever.”
III.
Elsewhere, Ryota checks his ketai for the umpteenth time.
He had found a great spot for this year’s ohanami, hidden away from all the crowds of locals and tourists alike. It was on the city’s outskirts, a good hour’s drive from its centre at peak hour. By his reckoning, finding parking in this suburban area would only add twenty to thirty minutes, tops.
So what was taking Toru-nii and Mori-chan so long? The bassist puzzles out loud, staring down at the string of unread messages he’s sent to the latter, since he didn’t want to distract their band’s leader from his driving.
Across the picnic mat, Tomoya’s eyes widen and he stops munching on a cracker in disbelief.
When he gets over his surprise, the drummer catches the eye of the bassist’s wife, who looks up from feeding their toddler a stick of mitarashi dango.
Tomoya makes a discreet gesture with his hand first towards Ryota and then towards his own head as he tilts it.
He doesn’t know?
The bassist’s wife scrunches up her eyes, suppressing a laugh as she shakes her head sideways: no.
Then, she lifts up her chin towards the drummer and lifts her eyebrows expectantly: you tell him.
Tomoya glances at his own wife, who sits to his right and who nods in assent. He gulps.
When Ryota looks up, he sees that Tomoya’s features are contorted in a peculiar way. The bassist tilts his head in question.
“Ano,” the drummer haltingly says, “about Toru and Takahiro…”
“Yeah?”
“They’re probably late ‘cause… uh…”
“Late ‘cause what?”
“They’re uh…”
Blushing, Tomoya loses his nerve and hurriedly crawls over to the bassist. He cups his hand over the other’s ear as he whispers his explanation.
When he’s done, the drummer rocks back onto his heels as they await the bassist’s response.
One second, two seconds, three seconds … five seconds pass, without so much as a twitch of the bassist’s face.
Then:
“EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH???!!”
At last, Ryota achieves the impossible and reaches F#5 with no nipple-pinching required.
And, overhead, the sakura blossoms are startled off their branch, and are carried off by a gentle zephyr high above the trees as laughter echoes below.
A petal floats higher and higher into the atmosphere, until it is scorched by the sun and its form disappears into pure energy. Who knows what form it will take next, of the myriad that exists and is still yet to exist? One aeon, a corner of an ice sheet that covers the Earth; the next a perfectly-shaped mollusk shell. In the blink of the Universe’s eye, a hair on a wool-covered creature; and in the next, a flower bud that bursts to life.
The particles dance and dance, like invisible dust motes in the sunlight, until called back down to Earth as a thought of a baby forms. Yes, they twitter amongst themselves as they float back down, perhaps it would be nice to be a mole on a cheek, next.
Owari.