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It was almost dawn when Toru woke up. Well, he's not actually supposed to wake up unitl late noon—not until he had rested his sore muscles and aching throat from their concert last night.
The Tokyo Dome was brimming with energy last night. There are tens of thousands of people seating on the stands, on the chairs across the field—smiling and laughing and cheering and singing along with them—and they all came for them. They all gathered for ONE OK ROCK.
I't was surreal, to see those people waving their arms, putting up lights, like a sea of thousands of fireflies.
It was surreal to hear and feel the dome shake with the instensity of their voices and claps and the vibrant energy from everyone.
It was surreal to stood on that stage, to feel the heat and the adrenaline rushing through your system—to feel your blood sizzle with thrill and excitement and satisfaction—as they tried to perform to their fullest.
It was surreal, now that they've reached one of their ultimate goals—to perform in Tokyo Dome before reaching their 35's. It was surreal—too fucking much—that Toru almost weep on his knees the moment he first stood in front of those thousands of guests.
They would be celebrating after the tour, but now, they would need to rest and gain more strength for the next shows. Especially Taka who was sporting a fever last night. It was a huge hassle to drag the vocalist towards the bed. The older man said that he wants to celebrate with the others but Toru won't have any of it, so he carried the practically boneless voxalist back into their unit—on his back, like the old times. Taka was laughing and cooing at that for a moment, but he immediately fell asleep afterwards as exhaustion finally claimed his consciousness.
Toru fussed at the sleeping form of his lover, changing his clothes and tucking him beside him before falling into a warm sleep.
But it feels colds now and...
With bleary eyes, he patted the spot next to him. He had expected the vocalist to be clinging to him like an octopus—like he usually did whenever he's not satisfied with his performance on stage—when he wakes up, but not today. The spot was empty, cold, and there's not a trace that the older man was even there with him.
What the fu—
He abruptly rose in a sitting position, his head spinning at the sudenness of his movements. He massaged his temples as he thought of the possible places the vocalist could go to. He's not even feeling well, dammit!
Maybe he had hung out with his friends?
They haven't seen each other for a long time, well except for Masato who was in the States last time, right? But Taka was there when they went to bed last night, so what, he sneaked out just to have a drinking session when he couldn't even get up from the stage last night due to fatigue?
Bullshit.
Maybe he had gone for a walk? That's plausabile but they're not in LA right now so Taka knows better than to get mobbed by fans in the roads.
So, where the fuck is that midget? He still has a fever, mou!
Toru groaned as he pushed himself off the bed. He looked around the room to find a shirt or sweater—because he loves sleeping naked these days—and when he found one, he quickly pull it on and padded towards the door of their bedroom.
It was eerie silent in the house—there's the lack of usual clacking of pans and the sizzles of food being cooked.
Taka would always do that in the morning, cooking meals—wearing Toru's large shirt and only his boxers—barefooted and hair tousled like hell from his sleep. Toru loves waking up like that, the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast wafting through the air, a foreign song sometimes can be heard in the background while Taka is humming and silently singing along with it. Toru would linger a bit longer on the doorway, watching Taka's movements for a while—thanking all of the gods he know for meeting this man in that live house years and years ago. Then he would announce his presence by hugging the vocalist from behind—who seems to have grown a resistance against his sudden clinginess. He doesn't seemed to be surprised anymore or attempts to elbow Toru in the guts whenever he appears and embrace him from behind. Then they would eat, bickering and laughing and talking all the time—sharing this one serene, intimate moment (which is a thousand times better than romantic, candle light dinners in a fancy restaurant)—before they go to their own ways for the day.
But it seems that it was not the case for this morning.
Taka is not in the kitchen, the utensils and dishes were neatly stacked over the counter. It was dimly lit, cold, lacking the presence of the man who could make anyone's day brighter just by his stupid smiles.
Where is he?
He padded to the living area, and upon seeing it empty, he was about to go back into the bedroom to retrieve his phone and call anyone—Tomoya, Ryota, Jamil, Takeru or even that Rola girl—to ask around if Taka is with them—
Because Taka never leaves without telling me. It's not his style to just...disappear and escape feom reality (well, I did once, but that was a long, long time ago) like this. He's not feeling well and...and...
—when he noticed the flutterings of the thin, white curtains from the sliding door leading to their balcony. He was sure that it was closed like night, so why..?
His brows knitted in confusion, and curiousity as he quietly sneaked towards the glass doors which were slid open. The gentle morning breeze blew inside the unit, carrying the faint scent of Sakura blooming on the grounds below them.
He peeked around, and felt all the tensions and fears and anxieties inside him washed away when he saw that the vocalist is there—sitting on the wooden chair and looking to far, far away.
Taka is looking away from him, so Toru could stare at him a bit longer—noticing how the wind gently ruffles his newly blond hair, noticing how his eyes were sunken deep, red-rimmed and showing signs of sleep deprivation. He was wearing a face mask, probably to avoid having allergic reactions from pollens and smoke and dust that can ruin his voice and immune system. His shoulders were slumped down, exhaustion visible on his entire frame.
Taka looks older, he grimly thought.
The memories of last night flooded his mind. He was so ecstatic and pumped out that his brain conveniently ignored the fact—the ugly fact that they realized last night when Taka made a lot of mistakes, his voice cracking and his stamina failing throughout the show. It was painful to watch him struggle, to watch him do his damn best to make it until the last song has ended, until the last chord has been strummed, until the last verse has been sung. It was painful to watch him like that, even more painful when Toru couldn't do anything to stop it, to relieve him from all the shits that has been plaguing him.
Taka had jokingly blamed it on the signs of aging last night, but Toru knows—everyone of them in the band knows—that those words mean a lot more than a passing joke.
They we're aging.
They we're running out of time.
Something painful formed deep into his throat. What the hell. They we're supposed to be celebrating, drinking ang planning things for their next album! They we're supposed to be happy, excited, giddy like the old times whenever they've just finished a show—legs and muscles screaming in protest for a rest, mouths split open by huge grins, and eyes twinkling in delight, not like this...
Never like this...
Where is Taka?
Where is the Moriuchi Takahiro he knows?
He was here, physically, but his spirit, his presence, his entire being is somewhere else—far beyond Toru's reach and it hurts, because he knows that it's those thoughts—those silly, anxious thoughts—were the vocalist's company at this moment.
Don't do that.
Don't do that anymore...
"Taka."
And then he could not take it anymore, as loudly cleared his throat and ventured outside, making Taka blinked in confusion befor he slowly—painstakingly slowly—turned towards his direction. Toru relished at the warm feeling when Taka's eyes grew a bit brighter when he noticed his presence.
"Toru..." he mumbled against the fabric of his face mask, "Morning. How was your sleep?"
He grunted as he trudged towards the railing and lean on it, the breeze tousling his already messy bed-hair, watching the vocalist in the corners of his eyes, "It was awful. My legs hurt like hell, and—," he paused, "You weren't there when I woke up."
He saw Taka avert his gaze at that.
"What's wrong Taka? Aren't you supposed to be sleeping like a log until dusk?"
"Wha—I'm not the one who always wakes up late, mou!" he said, obviously offended but Toru couldn't care less—as long as there's that spark in his eyes—, "Can't I even wake up without you shitting me out?" he huffed in annoyance.
"You're exhausted as hell last night, idiot. You even have a fever!" he said before he faced the grumbling vocalist, "You're supposed to be in bed and not out here getting yourself exposed to allergens."
"Well, that's what this mask is for, you dumb fuck," he gritted out as he tugged the clinical mask around his face, "Besides, can't I enjoy the Sakura season this year, too?! And I'm also feeling a bit better..."
Ah right. This man has been bugging him about going to Hanami for years, but Toru could not allow him for obvious reasons. One is that Taka would surely be surrounded by their fans the moment he stepped out in a public park where most Cherry Blossom trees are. The vocalist wouldn't want the attention so it will be impossible for him to relax in the end. Second, Hanami is also notorius for scattering allergens in the air and Taka is so fucking prone to it so...
But he looks so exhausted and fed up now...
"We'll try this year," he yielded, watching in fascination as Taka's almond-shaped eyes widened into childish awe, "The peak would fall on your birthday, right?"
"W-we'll do?"
"That's what I just said, idiot," he mumbled under his breath.
"No need to get snappy at me, jerk!" Taka crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the chair. The longer strands of his hair were falling like curtains on his flustered face, "Maa, I would want to do that though, go to the Hanami for a change..."
Change.
"Anyway," Toru said after a long, comfortable silence, "what were you doing here, again?"
Taka shrugged, "I just...just wanna think of things."
He arched a brow in disbelief, "And you can't do that later when you've finally rested?"
"But how can I rest when everytime I close my eyes, I can dream about all the shitty stuffs I pulled last night?" he softly said, voice barely above a whisper, "It was a mess...I was a mess...and in Tokyo Dome of all the places!" he grunted out, dumping his face onto his open palms as he pulled on the strands of his hair.
"You know it's not your fault—,"
"Of all times, Toru, of all fucking times that I would mess up, why it does have to be in Tokyo Dome?! In the place we have dreamt so many damn times in the past?! In the place we could only dream, we could only see in our wildest imaginations when we're younger! Of all the fucking times!"
Toru sighed, letting the man rambled on his thoughts. He guessed that this is better—well, a screaming, fuming Takahiro is always better than a cold, dead silent one in the first place—and he's willing to strain his ears early in the morning just to make his lover feel even a bit better.
"And then...and then there's this feeling of fear that I...that we wouldn't be able to do this anymore," he said, finally saying the things they were all thinking for a long time now, "Give three, five, seven more years and we wouldn't be able to perform like we used to, and it scares me because this is..." he looked up at the guitarist, eyes tired and dark and filled wiyh fear when it's supposed to be glinting with happiness and satisfaction from reaching their dreams, "...we're running out of time, Toru-san..." he mournfully said, unconsciously resorting back to calling him like he used to.
Well...
That was his cue to use his magical ability to calm Moriuchi Takahiro down. The skill that he had mastered and forged through the years they've been together as friends, as bandmates, as more-than-friends-but-less-than-lovers, then finally as lovers. He sighed and stepped forward, easily sinking on his knees in front of the distraught vocalist. He took away those palms, making Taka looked at him in desperate need for comfort, for reassurance, for warmth.
Like he used to be when they were younger.
Ah, there you are...
He craddled Taka's warm yet ashen face between his cold, calloused hands and stared right into his eyes. His temperature is still warm, but not as burning as last night after the encore. The medicines that their manager have give him before they left the venue has probably done their job.
"You're right," he said, his thumb tracing the dark circles under those almond shaped eye, "But didn't we already know about that? Isn't that why we're doing things, different, new things right now because we know—that we're perfectly aware—that we're running out of time?"
Taka stubbornly shook his head, "But I messed it up! It was our dream! The guests went there to have fun not...not see a fucking shit on stage!"
"Well, you certainly don't look like shit, Taka."
"I'm serious here, asshole!" he said, almost pushing away, "I'm pouring all my heart here and I'll kick your ass if you make fun of it!"
Toru let out a soft, hearty chuckle at the huge pout on the vocalist's face. It was slow, but the color, the life is creeping up to his face, making their place alive with just his voice and yells.
"Shhhh, shhh, clam down," he said, ponching the uncovered cheek with all his might that earns a loud shriek from Taka.
"You fucking—,"
"You messed up, so what? Didn't you already did that, a couple of times even in the past?"
"WHAT."
"Remember when you rolled on your back in Budokan, just because you're going at it too hard?" a grin spread across Toru's lips as Taka's eyes widened in indignation, "Then you suddenly spouted weird english lyrics for Living Dolls that night too, remember?"
"At least it fits the songs!" he defended himself, "And it's your fault for making a song with too much English!"
"It don't have too much English! Then, remember the time that you also have a terrible voice in Yoko Arena? The first half of the show was awful, nee?"
"What, is this some kind of sick attempt to make me feel even worse you bastard—,"
"Then you messed up in Jibun Rock again," Toru continued, watching as a vivid scarlet blooms on Taka's cheeks, "Then you almost sang the wrong verse for The Beginning—,"
"It's not noticeable coz I immediately stopped singing back then!"
"Then you ocassionaly forget lyrics and chords in our minor shows after that. But in Nagisaen, you tripped on your own foot even if we have rehearsed that part in Jibun Rock before the show, remember? What's with that song even? Why are you so keen in botchering it up?"
"It's not my fault! The song was just too hard to sing while moving around on stage, mou! Are you done digging all my shits?!"
"Not yet."
"Motherfu—,"
"Kidding, kidding, ow, ow, don't punch me—," he foraned when Taka landed a series of punches on his shoulders, almost shoving him back onto the floor.
"Stop recalling all of those stuffs, mou!" he angrily scowled, "What are you even trying prove with it huh?!"
"Maa, what I've been trying to say is that," he said as he faced the fuming, huffing, pouting vocalist again, "You're doomed to fuck it all up sometimes, Taka."
...
...
Eh. That didn't came out right.
"What the hell, are you cheering me up or what?!"
"Gomen," he hides his snickers behind a fist, before he pulled a straight face, "I mean you've already messed up so many times in the past, and no one give s a fuck, so why does this bothers you so much?"
"Because it's in Tokyo Dome!"
"Eh, but you see, Taka," he said, a small, loop-sided grin splitting on his lips as he touched the vocalist's face, his fingers brushing away the blond strands straying on his cheeks, "That's what makes you so different from every other vocalist. You're still a human, ne? Someone who makes mistakes, someone who feels sick, someone who feels out of his loop at the wrong moment but even then, people would still gladly go to watch you sing. You know why?"
Taka slowly looked back at him, blinking curiously and unintentionally batting his eyelashings over the now-flaming cheeks. He looks so bashful, so young, so adorable, so fuckable like that.
"...why?" he hesitantly asked.
"That's because it makes you perfect, Taka. All the ad libs, all the mistakes covered up with wide grins and laughters, all the forgotten lyrics replaced by random ones, all the times you rolled around and pretends that it's part of the show—all of it makes you the perfect vocalist I can ask for, you idiot," he watched as different emotions flicker on those orbs.
Disbelief.
Humiliation.
Anger.
Then, relief.
Giddiness.
Bashfulness.
Happiness.
"So don't ever go mulling over the things that has alrwady been done, nee? You're gonna age faster if you do that!" he then playfully flicked the vocalist's forehead as a punishment for his actions, "We don't want that, ne?"
It took a moment before Taka finally responded. Perhaps he was debating between believing his guitarist, his leader, his lover's words and from just pushing Toru over the guard rails for digging and bringing all of his shittiness up.
And then, finally—fucking finally—Taka smiled—his full lips widening with the bright, youthful grin that Toru—and hundreds of thousands of people—loves the most; his eyes glinting with relief and mischief and gratitude all at the same time.
"Hai, hai, you fucking sap," he finally yielded, making Toru's heart expands within his chest in satisfaction as he pulled down the mask and leaned forward to plant a not-so chaste kiss on the vocalist's lips, "Mppmmh! Gah, you pervert!"
Toru laughed as he stood on his feet and offered a hand for the vocalist to take it, "Come on, let's go back to bed. It's still early, nee?"
A wide, perverted grin spread across Taka's lips aa he stared at the hand offered to him, "Why Toru-san, is that a low-key offer for wild, passionate morning sex, huh?"
...
"You're sick and we're in the middle of the tour, idiot," he said before Toru grinned down at him, "Well, would you want to?"
...
Taka was instantly jumping on his feet at that, reaching and grabbing his hand—like the way he used to—before squeezing it with so much gratitude and love.
"Oh hell, of course, I do!"
Toru laughed at that—praying that he can still have all of Takahiro even if every thing will be all gone in the future—before muttering under his breath.
"Fucking pervert."
"What was that, Toru-san?"
"I said your fucking hot, Taka."
He blankly satred at him, "Fuck you."
"No," he pushed the vocalist insde and slid the door close, "I will be the one fucking you."