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They meet at the beginning of the summer, when the leaves are bright green and the birds are loud throughout the campus. Everywhere Haruki turns there are students rushing to get out of school or to get to lab. Some of them are tripping as they go, creating a mad dash and a bright blend of colors that makes it impossible to pick out any one student. Except for Akihiko, who stands at the edge of the people in black and grays, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, his eyes intense and focused on Haruki.
Haruki feels caught in the moment, frozen as Akihiko gives him a slow once-over, his eyes half-lidded as he takes in Haruki at the other end of the rush of students. Haruki can feel the moment growing between them, something hot running down his back the longer he keeps eye contact. It would be foolish to misread the expression on Akihiko's face, to misunderstand the intention.
After all, Haruki wants him too.
-
Ugetsu is everything Akihiko has ever wanted, bold, beautiful, passionate. He plays as though his entire soul is in his violin, as though if he ever stopped, he might die. Every shift of his hands screams of future success, every stroke of the strings, even when he just stands under the lights before a performance. Ugetsu was born for fame, for fortune, for beautiful men and women hanging onto his every word.
Next to him, Akihiko doesn't stand a chance. But he holds on with all the strength he can find, in any way he can, even when Ugetsu starts pulling away. He clings to Ugetsu even when being next to him is like walking over coals. Even when the way they kiss changes, when the press of their lips does nothing to close the distance Akihiko can feel growing between them. Even when their fingers don't quite line up as they hold hands, or when Akihiko's palm goes numb no matter which way he tries to hold Ugetsu's hand.
He stays because he doesn't know who he is if he's not listening to Ugetsu play. He doesn't know who to be without his mother and father and their beautiful life, without the way Ugetsu filled all the emptiness in Akihiko's heart. In the space where his heart should be there is nothing. So he tries to keep it together because Ugetsu loves him. Because he loves Ugetsu. Because that's the truth he's known the longest.
Then, one summer, he meets Haruki. He's older, broad around the shoulders, with short hair that's starting to grow out. He'll need a haircut soon, Akihiko thinks, when he first lays eyes on Haruki. Across campus, through the green leaves and the soft summer wind, they look at each other and Akihiko doesn't look away. Even after, when they form the band and Uenoyama signs on too, Akihiko can't quite take his eyes off Haruki.
It happens slowly, almost without his notice or permission. He still carries Ugetsu in his head and in every song they play. But Haruki is there too, always meeting Akihiko's eyes when Uenoyama says something outrageous. When he needs assurances, Haruki gives them without complaint, without expectations of anything in return. They sleep together, back to back on Haruki's old mattress, in his tiny apartment, with the windows wide open so Akihiko has that as an excuse to stay close.
"It's cold," he says.
"I can close the windows," Haruki answers.
"Nah, too much trouble. Just don't move too much."
Haruki laughs, a soft sound that gets lost in the beeps of cars coming through the window. Akihiko can't see him, but he can imagine the way Haruki's eyes crinkle at the corners when he's smiling, the way the left side of his mouth always goes up first. He can picture the way Haruki's hair falls over his forehead, the way it might slip from the back of his ear. He imagines tucking the strand out of the way, imagines the warmth of Haruki's skin, his soft exhale.
No one's ever stayed once they've gotten this close to Akihiko. The girls he hangs out with usually bore him before he ever feels comfortable crawling into bed with them like this. To sleep. To dream. No worries except whether he'll hear his alarm in the morning. He has nothing to fear from Haruki, no reason not to let himself be a little vulnerable. Haruki isn't a quick fuck who'll cling to him the next morning. He's not a lovesick girl who rides on the back of Akihiko's motorcycle and pretends she's scared just to hold on a little tighter. Haruki isn't Ugetsu. He isn't the part of Akihiko that hurts.
He's safe.
It's perfectly okay for Akihiko to turn over and let his arms fall across Haruki's waist, to let his forehead press against Haruki's back, to curl up and say, "Lets sleep," and pretend he doesn't hear the way Haruki's breath catches in his throat.
-
Haruki is in love with Akihiko. Or more pathetically, Haruki wants Akihiko so much it threatens to eat him alive every time they're together. He wants him so much that when Akihiko touches the ends of Haruki's hair and says, "You should let it grow out," Haruki says okay. He stands still in the band practice room, waiting as Akihiko strokes the strands between his fingers almost absentmindedly.
The touches don't stop there. The longer Haruki's hair gets, the more Akihiko can't seem to keep his hands to himself. He reaches out without thought, tucking Haruki's hair behind his ear or helping him pull it into a ponytail. Akihiko learns how to do a simple braid and once, when they're practicing and the sweat keeps getting into Haruki's eyes, Akihiko braids his hair.
Everywhere Haruki turns, Akihiko is there, waiting for him outside of his classroom on practice days. He's there in the mornings too, fresh out of the shower, and smelling faintly like flowery perfume. Akihiko doesn't parade his dates, his girlfriends, or his one-night stands. But Haruki can see them anyway, can smell them on Akihiko, the way the scent of their shampoo clings to Akihiko's leather jacket. He can see them on the marks on Akihiko's neck, the bright red spots that turn purple and blue, that fade to a sick yellowish white before disappearing. He knows when someone is really good by the way Akihiko moves, the way he sprawls out on the practice room floor, by the satisfied look on his face.
Any time they're together, Akihiko gravitates towards Haruki hands-first, always reaching for every bit of Haruki he can find, taking and taking. He doesn't think of Haruki enough to imagine that it must hurt him to feel Akihiko's skin on his so often.
But it's all right. If Akihiko's hands are all Haruki's going to get, he'll take it. He'll take those sidelong glances, those pensive looks, the too-long stares when Akihiko thinks Haruki isn't paying attention to him. He'll take what he can get and hope he's strong enough to stand it.
-
Ugetsu won't touch him. They'll fuck but they won't touch. None of those gentle caresses. No accidental brush of hands. So Akihiko touches Haruki because he needs it. He needs the feel of skin under his fingertips, the assurance that Haruki won't leave him, that he'll take everything Akihiko throws at him. Because Haruki loves him.
The thought sticks like the flurries on the school grounds, carpeting the large courtyard. Akihiko can't see Haruki from the classroom window, but he imagines him as he saw him that first summer. They'd been younger, both of them passing each other casually as they made their way to class. He doesn't remember if they both knew Uenoyama by then or if he came later. All he knows is that he saw Haruki and wanted him, the desire burning through him crystal clear and sharp.
Sometimes, when the days seem to drag by slowly enough that Akihiko wants to tear his hair out, he'll think of that singular moment, the scent of blooming flowers and the heat of the sun on the side of his face. He likes to imagine it was Haruki who came to him and not the other way around, that Haruki was the one who walked through the hallways, peeking in through classroom windows until he found the right door. He imagines Haruki wanted him enough to come for him, to wait outside the classroom door and fall into step with him, to flirt back.
He sighs, the night taking away the sound as the curl of smoke from his cigarette disappears into the darkness above. He's on the balcony of some girl's apartment and she's inside on the bed waiting for him.
"Come back to bed," she calls, the sweet sound of her voice settling in Akihiko's chest.
He closes his eyes, takes a final drag of his cigarette, and says, "I'll be right in."
When he lays back down on the bed, her hands are soft on his face, her fingers threading through his hair. He turns from her, the sheets sliding underneath him as he gets comfortable. The feel of her arm around his waist is unfamiliar and unsettling, as is the press of her forehead against his back.
"Good night," she says, placing a kiss in between Akihiko's shoulder blades.
He closes his eyes tight against the lights of the city in the distance, imagining their positions are reversed, that he's holding her, pressing kisses into the nape of her neck. If he imagines her as someone else, with a voice that soothes and teases him, with long hair that he's run through his fingers countless times, well, that's no one's business but his own.
-
Haruki is an old hand at wanting people who don't want him back. His lost loves are as countless as the falling snowflakes that melt onto his glasses. Growing up, there used to be a little boy, with a wide grin and an infectious laugh, who lived next to him. He and Haruki used to hold hands on the way to school, innocent and carefree. They shared lunches, picked each other first for projects, and went to each other's houses. They were never anything more than close friends, but Haruki thought of him often after they stopped seeing each other. He remembers each and every one of that little boy's eyelashes, the curve of his cheek, the way he picked at his hair when he got nervous. Haruki could recite word for word some of the conversations they had.
Then there was the girl in middle school who told him he wasn't her type. The girl in cram school who always asked for his notes but wouldn't give him hers. There was the boy who was his best friend in his first year of high school, the one who moved away after Haruki told him he was gay. There was the boy who was Haruki's first kiss, their hands shaking as they held onto each other in an empty classroom. The same boy who pulled away, running before Haruki could process what had happened. The same boy who later laughed at him when Haruki asked him out.
He has thick skin. But more than that, he knows who he is and what he wants, and he knows when he isn't wanted. He knows when it's enough, and Akihiko's mouth on his, his hands hot and insistent, his body hard on top of Haruki's, is enough. He won't be anyone's crutch. He won't be anyone's second choice.
"You have to go," he says.
Akihiko makes an aborted movement forward off the couch, but Haruki pulls himself together and stands. He can feel Akihiko's eyes on the back of his neck, can still taste the kisses.
"I'm sorry," Akihiko says.
But all Haruki can hear is his own pathetically needy voice saying, "It's okay, whatever you need, I'll do anything." All he can hear is Akihiko's low growl. All he can feel are Akihiko's trembling fingers, his harsh breaths. All he knows is that Akihiko said, "This doesn't change anything."
-
Akihiko has nowhere to go. He's standing outside of Haruki's building, hoping the cold winter air washes away the terror in his body. He's adrift the next few days, vaguely aware of the people he follows home and the places where he sleeps. He's bounced around before, depending on the good will of his one-night stands.
He doesn't know what he's going to do when he sees Haruki again, doesn't understand why whenever he closes his eyes, all he can feel are Haruki's hands on his face. That tender touch, the soft kisses, the reassurances. He curls into himself, into the warmth of the stranger next to him, and thinks back to the first time they met.
Haruki started growing out his hair when Akihiko mentioned he liked long hair. And he never cut it, no matter how much Akihiko played with it, no matter how many times Haruki told him to stop. He could pick out Haruki in a crowd from the shade of his hair, would know him blind from the scent of the shampoo and conditioner he uses.
They don't say it aloud but Haruki grew out his hair for Akihiko. Because he loves him. Which is why it takes Akihiko a moment to pick out Haruki the next time they have band practice. The room is still the same five foot by five foot space, barely larger than a closet, with just enough space for the four of them and their instruments. The lights are bright, reflecting off the metal in the room. It's almost blinding.
"Haruki," Akihiko says when he spots him.
Haruki sits to the right of the door with his back to the wall. It's his usual spot and he raises a hand in greeting even as he checks his guitar. It's him, obviously so. Those are the same soft t-shirts and his dark blue jeans. He has the same shade of brown to his hair, the same slope to his nose, the same searching eyes. His voice has the same melodic tone, easy and pleasant despite their argument the last time they saw each other. Only the hair is different.
It sits above Haruki's shoulders, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones.
"Hello," Haruki says, waving, as though it's any other day.
Akihiko stands at the door even when Uenoyama and Mafuyu walk in, bypassing him and heading for Haruki. They're loud in their surprise, walking around Haruki and complimenting his hairstyle.
"You look great," Mafuyu says.
"Nice haircut," Uenoyama agrees. "Isn't it, Akihiko?"
Mafuyu also turns to look at him, and if it's a trap, it's been nicely laid out. He can't say he doesn't like the haircut. It isn't his right. But he can't bring himself to say that he likes it either. Haruki looks great. He's always looked amazing in whatever way he chooses to present himself. Akihiko met him with short hair, across a courtyard in the middle of the summer. Ever since then, all he has are memories of Haruki with long hair.
Haruki laughing next to him, their shoulders brushing as they planned their next practice. Haruki waiting for him at the entrance of the school, frowning only slightly whenever he saw that Akihiko wasn't alone. Haruki angry at him, shoving him out of the way during their first real fight. Haruki's back warm against his as they slept together that first time, the soft brush of his hair against Akihiko's face when he turned in the night.
There's so much of them that's wrapped in Haruki's hair, too many memories ending with Akihiko's fingers in those soft strands. He's wished so many times that things were less complicated, that he could just love Haruki freely, without the burden of old loves pulling him down. He's no one without Ugetsu, but he's even less without Haruki. And it makes sense, it's just his luck, that he's realizing his feelings now that Haruki's ready to move on.
"You cut your hair," he says at last.
"I did," Haruki says without looking up.
Akihiko stands at the threshold of the practice room, his eyes taking in Haruki as he tunes his guitar. "It looks good," he says.
"I know," Haruki answers.
*
If Akihiko were to be honest with himself, then he might be able to admit that he's been in love with Haruki for far longer than he even realized. It started on a crisp fall day, months after they met each other. As they walked from one end of the hallway to another, heading for their practice room, it occurred to Akihiko that it had been a while since the scent of falling leaves had brought him peace.
He met Ugetsu on a rainy spring day and lost him in the fall. Ever since then, it's been hard for him to feel settled when the leaves start changing colors. But he walks that hallway with Haruki by his side and it occurs to him that the shorter days might be in his favor. Because it gets darker earlier, he might have the excuse to walk Haruki home. That in the fading light, he might even find an excuse to get Haruki on his bike.
If Akihiko were honest with himself, he might admit that he should have gone back to his parents much sooner than he did. But he's rarely honest with himself. Maybe that's why he can see through other people so easily. After all, a liar can spot a lie much quicker than someone who's always told the truth.
*
Who is he?
There are days when Akihiko wakes and stares at the high ceiling in his childhood bedroom, trying to picture who he is and what he wants. He used to be on the track team when he was younger, then on the soccer team, and finally he started playing the violin. It was the one thing that stuck the longest because he never outgrew the awe that he felt at hearing the notes born from his fingers. That he could create such startling beautiful sounds enchanted him.
He thought he was good until he met Ugetsu, and Akihiko finally learned what true beauty was. He's a lover of beautiful things, always has been. He just never learned how to care for them properly. It's why he gave up the violin. It's why he and Ugetsu fought so often, why Haruki left. Because Akihiko doesn't know what to do with the things he loves if he doesn't own them.
That's his parents' fault. But also his.
He's older now and he should know better. Having traumas is no excuse for being a shitty human being.
He sleeps. He wakes. He finds out that there are things he can do on his own, that the love he had for the violin still exists. He finds new hobbies to occupy his time. He even takes up gardening, planting a seed here and there in hopes that it'll grow. He's shit at it, but he plants them and hopes that something will happen. He occupies his time with little tasks, trying to see if there's something that might pique his interest long enough to become something worth pursuing.
His days go by in a flurry of self-discovery. And though he wishes there was someone with him to share in the joy of his potential new self, he knows better than to call Haruki. It wouldn't be fair.
*
The seasons change and as spring gives way to summer, Akihiko makes a decision. He doesn't tell the others about the violin competition, but Mafuyu finds out anyway. He plays a few notes before he goes on and he isn't bad. More than that, for the first time in a long time, playing the violin doesn't feel like a chore. He runs his fingers over the strings of his violin, plucking a few just to hear the sound. He can feel his heart beating with excitement, his breath getting faster as his turn gets closer.
He's practically vibrating when they call his name and he walks onstage. He can feel all eyes on him even though the lights blind him for a moment. He can make out the judges in the front row and a few of the contestants, who already went, loitering near the foot of the stage. He inhales, the smell of wood polish strong as he shifts his violin into place.
He thinks of Haruki as he plays, the way he saw him last, short hair and bright beautiful eyes. This time, there's no pain with the memory, no sense of loss. He's made a decision since he's been with his parents, since he told Ugetsu it was over. He's done chasing people who don't want him. He's done wanting to fill the void in his chest. He's not going to use others to fix his problems. Not anymore. Not if he wants to be a person worthy of Haruki.
*
Haruki in the audience catches him off-guard. One moment, Akihiko is thinking of him and the next, he's sitting before him, a pained look on his face.
I'm thinking of you, Akihiko wants to say.
But Haruki leaves before Akihiko is done. He's the last to go and he still has to wait for the announcement of the winners before he can make a break for the door. He doesn't stop to say hello to Mafuyu as he heads for the exit. Outside, he heads away from the train. He knows Haruki, so he knows to head for the water.
*
Sometimes, when Akihiko is alone in his room, or when the silence of the night gets to him, he thinks of his parents and his childhood, and all the endless combination of things that made him this way. He doesn't trust other people with his feelings. He doesn't trust that if someone knows him all the way, they'll want to stay. He's afraid of being too much, of wanting more than the other person. He's terrified that if Haruki realizes how much Akihiko wants him, he'll run away.
*
He can't stop touching him.
When Haruki says yes and Akihiko kisses him, he remembers that it's the first time since Haruki cut his hair that Akihiko has touched him. Haruki's hair is shorter but it feels just as soft under Akihiko's fingers. It smells the same, the calming scent of rosemary doing so much to ease the pain in Akihiko's chest. He holds on tight, amazed that he gets to have this.
Haruki said yes.
It's too much for him to handle. There are so many things he wants to say, so many promises he wants to make. In the end, he says nothing and makes no promises. He lets Haruki lead him home, lets Haruki press him into the sheets on his bed, lets Haruki be the one to touch him first however he wants him.
In the morning, he wakes to the scent of cigarettes, the sharp tobacco smell permeating the room. When he opens his eyes, Haruki is smoking, watching him from the edge of the bed. Akihiko takes his time looking at Haruki, at the way his bangs have started to fall into his eyes. He sits automatically, reaching out to tuck the strands of hair behind Haruki's ear.
"Hello," he says.
And Haruki smiles.
-
Mornings are the best part of this new thing between them. The sun shines through their open blinds, hitting Akihiko in the face so that he turns away, pressing his forehead into Haruki's back. They never remember to close the blinds, too preoccupied with each other, with rearranging their limbs so that they fit as close as possible on Akihiko's bed.
Every morning, Haruki waits until Akihiko's almost awake before standing up and finding his clothes. If he's not in a hurry, he'll swing by the shower and wait until Akihiko joins him. Most of the time though, he's awake with just enough time to drop by his apartment and grab his things before he has to head to class. On those days, he'll slip on his clothes, sitting at the edge of the bed to put on his pants. Akihiko will roll over just as Haruki is done. His hands will be insistent on Haruki's stomach, his fingers digging in to keep him in place. And his mouth. His beautiful mouth will be hot on the back of Haruki's neck, pressing kisses into the nape of his neck only to bite down on Haruki's shoulder.
"Stay," Akihiko will say, even as he presses closer. "Please."
Akihiko hasn't stopped touching him since they got together, since Haruki let him. Haruki isn't even sure if he notices what he's doing. The touches are so absentminded, so second-nature that it might not have occurred to Akihiko that he's doing anything at all.
When they're walking, Akihiko will reach out for Haruki's hand, lacing their fingers together as they go. When they're in bed, he'll run his fingers through Haruki's hair, will tuck the short strands behind Haruki's ear, as though they're still long. Still in his way.
Akihiko touches freely, quick brushes when he has somewhere to go but he passes Haruki in the halls. Lingering touches when they're nearing the end of band practice and they can't wait to go. Sometimes, if the mood is right, Akihiko will spend long moments just pressing his hands onto every inch of Haruki he can reach. He'll map out Haruki's body in kisses and slow drags of his fingernails.
Haruki likes those moments best. He likes it when Akihiko lets him in, when he's unguarded and unafraid. He likes it when Akihiko bites him in the mornings and whispers, "You smell like my cigarettes," in his ear.
-
Akihiko will never stop touching Haruki.
Never.