Archive of Our Own

Day: Guitar strings

The little box they came packaged up in was just a plain beige colour, the colour of untreated cardboard, but with a large red circle in the middle depicting some sort of disc or vinyl record. Mafuyu traced the pattern with his finger, imagining that the coils of metal inside were red like the disc, and not silver. Which would be pretty strange for guitar strings.

Uenoyama had grabbed five. Five boxes. 

Five boxes were enough to say that his boyfriend anticipated many more string snappings in their future — and while it was true that his partner’s had been worn to metallic dust by his overzealous playing style, as much as it had been the result of plain blood and sweat, Mafuyu couldn’t deny that their snapping tally was pretty much equal at this point. That, in itself, spoke volumes. 

Things had changed. And those changes were good, better even.

In any case, it was enough to know that their relationship was expected to last at least another five boxes. Five boxes, ten sets of strings per box. And because it hadn’t even warranted a discussion, it was clear that there was no doubt in either of their minds.

It was little signs like that, the goalposts creeping further out, faster than they approached them; toes crossing boundaries to push forward together, looking back only to see how far they’d come - that convinced Mafuyu that life itself truly had changed.

His partner fiddled with the peak of his cap before wandering off to have a look at other musical gadgets and accessories — stuff that they definitely didn’t need — leaving Mafuyu to flick through music books on his own, humming some of the scores he found that caught his interest.

He supposed he couldn’t blame him. Exhaustion from late night studio sessions, or the endless cycle of tours was one thing, but the joy and relief that came with no longer needing to be frugal, was another. 

There was also the joy that came with performing in and of itself. With Uenoyama… with Haruki and Akihiko. And it was the inherent enjoyment of the music, not the money that came with it — although it definitely helped — that sometimes made Mafuyu feel like he was cheating at life a little bit, and his gut squirmed guiltily out of habit. 

In any case, the fact remained that they could treat themselves now, to whatever shiny new piece of equipment or fancy tech they wanted. They could label it an ‘investment’, and not even Haruki could scold them for splurging. 

New was good. Better.

But… even still.

Although long since retired, Mafuyu had kept the second-hand effects pedal — for sentimental reasons mostly — but also as a chipped, faded reminder of the effort and courage involved in taking that first step, making that very first ‘investment’ in music.

Well, maybe not his very first…

Uenoyama returned empty handed, except for the string boxes, and Mafuyu thought it was probably a good call. 

It was a new hat, the one he was wearing, so the other boy was touching it a lot today in an effort to mold it comfortably to the shape of his head. Mafuyu knew it was mainly that that was causing this new habit, but that it was also one of a few telltale signs that his boyfriend was feeling just a little self conscious today. 

New was good, yes, but also a path untrodden, unknown — and Uenoyama always did prefer to remain firmly within the radius of his own confidence. Which, to be fair, was impressively big.

His boyfriend needn’t have worried though, the fortunate byproduct of it all — well, unfortunate for Mafuyu — was just how outrageously cool he looked despite that. The baggy t-shirt he’d thrown on this morning, without spending even a second’s thought, was just the right colour and shade to cast a glow on his skin from below. His cheekbones stood out like steely arrow heads beneath the cap, and his eyes, now comically round in response to Mafuyu’s unprompted, open-mouthed staring, were the perfect blue.

He wasn’t even doing anything, and yet apparently doing nothing was still enough to leave Mafuyu without a pulse.

“Tch.”

The effect of the accompanying eye roll was lessened considerably by the blush spreading across his nose. Mafuyu almost snorted.

So, some things hadn’t changed after all. 

The store was quiet today, except for the hum and groan of the air conditioning units. Given the warm weather, especially welcome today after such a long and punishing winter, Mafuyu was hardly surprised that people were outside making the most of it. They were only here out of pure necessity too, after all.

Waiting in line to pay, Mafuyu found his gaze fall to the boxes in his boyfriend’s arms. His hands, even larger than they had been when they’d first met, were gripped tight around the edges — his forearms flexed and well defined, doing the majority of the work that his relaxed posture seemed to hide. Mafuyu’s eyes travelled to the boxes themselves, and fixated on the red disc on the packaging.

Silver strings.

What if they really were red, as he’d briefly mused earlier? In that case he imagined them, not metal, but almost ribbon-like. Six red ribbons, soft and delicate when loose, but strong when twisted and pulled taut into a working guitar string.

What did it mean that they ran up the body of the instrument in parallel, never touching, or that they had a tendency to snap under pressure? What did it mean that Uenoyama had replaced his own when they broke, in what felt like a whole other lifetime ago, or that each other’s hands had caressed and plucked at the others’? 

Was there more weight on the side that created great music, or more on the side that created discord? And how did the red strings of fate stack against them? 

Mafuyu didn’t believe in fate, he believed in music, and in love – two times had been enough for him to fully comprehend the extent of its power. For better or for worse. 

And he believed the two, music and love, were far more real, far more raw than the concept of fate ever could be. 

He knew Uenoyama felt the same, and if the two of them were guitar strings then they’d coexist harmoniously side by side. Their lives didn’t need to overlap - they just needed to be pointing in the same direction - roles separate and distinct, but beautiful in combination.

The two of them were, at a fundamental level, quite different. But similarly, at a fundamental level, that had never really mattered.

He felt something soft brush his forehead, lifting him gently out of his thoughts. His vision - which he hadn’t realised had been compromised until now - returned, light flooding in like he’d broken through the ceiling of the deep ocean. 

Uenoyama was brushing his bangs away from his forehead and tucking them behind his ears, no doubt attempting to bring some order to his far-too-long hair, currently tied into a low ponytail - fringe just a little bit overgrown and floppy. With the warmer seasons fast approaching, he probably should get it cut, though the idea of there being fewer opportunities for his partner to run his fingers through it made him seriously think twice.

“You lose your eyes when you frown like that.”

—And it was funny that Mafuyu hadn’t really noticed until Uenoyama had started tackling the problem himself. 

Though Mafuyu couldn’t quite see past his boyfriend’s long fingers as they continued to sweep his hair to the side, he could hear the exasperated smile beyond the fussing, fond with a hint of smitten. He felt a thumb drag purposefully, but lightly, across his cheek, the skin beneath tingling even after the hand had retreated. Seconds later the new hat was being placed carefully upon his own head, fixing his hair in place properly.

Mafuyu smiled blindly back, a small, teasing grin that he knew would make the other boy squirm — the desired effect. He hummed. “Why fix it myself when we both know you love to fix it for me?” 

As he raised a hand to wrap around the other boy’s wrist, Mafuyu felt a finger flick his forehead with a disgruntled “oi”. Mafuyu grinned again, the pulse held captive beneath his fingertips quickening, and his own heart skipped a little in kind. It was the L-word that had caused it, he knew, which was odd given the amount of times they’d both uttered those three little words out loud already. At least once a day for the last — he did a quick calculation — many days. 

Mafuyu figured it must have been muscle memory.

*

After paying and exiting the store, they separated. Mafuyu to meet with Haruki, and his partner to babysit Hiiragi and Shizusumi for a few hours. The very public kiss that they shared as they parted ways — a public display that Haruki would probably flay them alive for, despite their relationship being the worst kept secret in the Japanese music industry — was a promise that they’d meet again later for dinner, at their apartment.

🎸˚｡𖦹☆°‧⋆

Evening: Undercut

“Any gyoza left?”

Mafuyu picked up some of the emptier cartons to check. Thankfully the last carton contained just one. He passed the forgotten dumpling to Uenoyama with his chopsticks, and Kedama arrived right on cue, tongue out and with hopeful eyes watching the exchange like a hawk. Meanwhile Mafuyu caught a glance at his boyfriend’s face and fought to suppress a snort.

It wouldn’t be fair to laugh, really. It had been his idea in the first place. 

Actually if he was blaming anyone he was blaming Hiiragi.

“Woah, Mafuyu— the fuck happened, man?” The blond laughed. “You look like shit!” 

Apparently a simple ‘hello’ wasn’t how they were doing things this morning. Though, to be fair— was it ever?

It was only a few days after the CAC disaster. That Mafuyu deemed it a ‘disaster’ had little to do with the fact that Given had failed to win, and everything to do with the fact that SYH had failed to lose. A cruel twist of fate that Mafuyu hadn’t mentally prepared himself for, as much as his boyfriend had conceded with a surprising amount of grace. 

It was for that reason that the insult stung a little more than usual. The four identical bruises he and his bandmates still carried, hidden beneath their clothes and lying flush against their skin like the shadows of the instruments they played, only served to irritate him further.

Besides — Mafuyu took care of his skin, he really did, and if there had been anything Hiiragi had managed to drum into him from a reasonably early age it was the importance of drinking water and establishing a proper skin care routine. Which, after some resistance, he eventually did.

But even he had to admit his skin had seen better days. 

“It’s stress,” the blond concluded, before Mafuyu could form a response, poking at his forehead and bringing his face far-too-close in his relentless pursuit of finding more things to complain about. The other boy found them, apparently, wincing dramatically at the state of Mafuyu’s eye bags, to which Mafuyu slapped his hand away and told him where to go. 

Despite that, the blond had shoved a tub into his hand the next time they’d hung out. “A face mask,” he’d explained  — the good stuff. He’d beamed then, positively radiant, and Shizusumi had nodded solemnly behind his back, confirming that it was indeed the ‘good stuff’, either that or it was heavily implied that Mafuyu should just take the little tub without argument.

The exchange had resulted in Mafuyu adding the face mask into his routine on a semi-regular basis, and Uenoyama had reacted exactly how he’d expected him to react that very first time he’d interrupted it. 

His partner had returned to the apartment to find Mafuyu in his pyjamas, hair held back by a fluffy watermelon headband, his face covered in a thick, dry paste. His eyes and mouth remained uncovered, like three potholes in concrete.

“Mafuyu…?” his partner half stuttered in the doorway, picking up Kedama and pulling him into his chest, not daring to take a single step forward. 

Mafuyu pointed at himself. “What is it? Something on my face?”

The other boy continued to stand there, dog squished tightly and (apparently) uncomfortably against his t-shirt, stunned — all before making a scratchy motion against his cheek, his eyebrows shaped like a question. Mafuyu giggled at the unspoken attempt at one.

“You don’t have to look so scared, dummy— it’s just a face mask,” Mafuyu eventually said through a grin, closing the gap between them and carefully taking a trembling Kedama out of his arms. He used his spare hand to reach for one of his boyfriend's, guiding his fingers to touch the hard shell the mask had created on his cheeks, all while the other boy continued to look concerned, like Mafuyu had inadvertently papier-mâché’d his own face. 

When Mafuyu eventually lowered his hands, Uenoyama continued to prod at the stuff. Mafuyu released Kedama from air-jail.

“But, I don’t get it. What does it do?” He asked earnestly, and Mafuyu marvelled at having just learnt another one of his boyfriend’s rare blind spots. His reaction also implied that he’d never seen Yayoi wear one, and Mafuyu made a mental note to ask her another day. 

“It’s fixing my skin, you know… getting rid of my lines and eye bags. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

Uenoyama frowned until a deep crinkle settled between his brows, and Mafuyu couldn’t help but appreciate the irony.

“So, how do I look?”

His boyfriend ignored the question, still seeming genuinely perplexed, “Really?” 

Given their proximity, Uenoyama took his time studying Mafuyu’s face, mask and all, the crease above his nose getting deeper with each second he spent looking.

“But— you don’t have any bags,” he eventually concluded, “and your skin is fine as it is…” 

His partner had made the mistake of tracing an arch across Mafuyu’s cheek, a gentle echo of the morning, with brown eyes glazed and soft. “Isn’t it?”

Mafuyu had found himself too overcome, then, to really argue the point. 

Instead he’d half attacked the other boy in a fit of cuteness aggression, chasing him around the room while Kedama had yapped and pawed at their legs, before succeeding in planting a series of victorious kisses all over his face. The dust he’d managed to imprint on his partner’s nose and forehead had been the white flag they’d needed to call it quits, and the mask had cracked and disintegrated in the subsequent laughing fit.

Over time it had become one of their shared traditions. Whenever Mafuyu indulged in a face mask, Uenoyama joined in — both looking like a pair of housewives whilst they ate their takeout and watched TV. 

As a result, Mafuyu found himself constantly fighting the urge to laugh, not because either of them looked ridiculous — even though they definitely did — but because of how serious his partner tended to be the majority of the time. With that in mind, he figured that if the other boy ever found out that the whole thing had been Hiiragi’s idea to begin with, then one of his new favourite traditions, just another little slice of domestic paradise, would be well and truly over.

Ultimately, Mafuyu reasoned, it was worth keeping that fact to himself as future leverage. Hiiragi would never let him live it down, and Uenoyama would be well aware of that fact if he’d known.

The light from the TV was painting his boyfriend’s face in various colours and shades, the darkness of the room only making the glare reflected on the white mask even more vivid — all so that the colours cast onto the canvas, as scenes flashed and dimmed on screen, reminded him of photos he’d seen of the Northern Lights.

Mafuyu didn’t even realise he was staring, his attention filled to the brim with the face of the boy beside him, until he noticed Uenoyama’s eyes dart to meet his own, a blush creeping into his neck and settling somewhere beneath the mask. 

“Oi, don’t get any ideas, I know that look.”

Mafuyu’s mask cracked as his lips spread, once again, into a devilish grin, not completely sure he’d ever actually stopped grinning… not completely undeterred either.

And yet— rather than pursuing further, Mafuyu shimmied further into the couch instead, his partner pulling at his feet so that he could stretch his full legs out over his thighs, all performed perfectly in sync as if it were a well choreographed dance routine. 

Which, of course, it was.

Uenoyama yawned, creating small lines in the thick dust that stretched and cracked as his whole expression expanded, before relaxing completely. His partner allowed his head to fall onto the back cushions, and Mafuyu knew that it was only a matter of time before he slipped, unintentionally, into a post-dinner doze. 

He looked… incredibly peaceful, it was always a nice thing to witness given how often he went without rest. 

It was also nice that, whether his boyfriend was wearing the face mask or not, Mafuyu was still able to read his every microexpression like the sheets of music they studied daily. The idea was a relief as much as it was funny. 

Of course, he’d been bitten by the inability to see behind a person’s mask – the truth behind a smile – once before.

.

In all the time he’d known him, Uenoyama didn’t wear a mask. He just… didn’t need to. In fact Mafuyu was positive that he couldn’t. His boyfriend’s expression was as illustrative as he himself knew that it was, was always doomed to know – all while his blush whispered a thousand secrets, loudly, like his body’s own version of stage make-up. 

And the effect was endearing, of course it was. 

The only time his boyfriend wasn’t overthinking, or else awkwardly navigating himself through the five stages of embarrassment, was when he was far too exhausted to spare any energy on it.

Mafuyu liked all sides of Uenoyama, all versions of his boyfriend that he knew existed in that beautiful mind of his, but he liked that one especially because of how surprisingly loose tongued he got with his head on a pillow and his eyelids half shut. Mafuyu guessed he’d confess to murder if only he’d done ten solid hours of practice, and offered a nap in a warm bed, before simply asking him where the body was.

Mafuyu on the other hand…

He hadn’t been lying that day he’d been half-chased down the street. The first time he’d sang to the band’s guitarist and left the other boy unreadable. Before then he’d been told time and again that he looked like he wasn’t thinking, or feeling, anything at all, and the feedback itself had been numbing. The weight of words – too heavy to think, let alone say aloud – kept his expression frozen. He supposed that was his mask.

And it had been a good one.

The stage was some of the only times he’d ever truly relinquished his hold of it. You can’t sing without opening your mouth wide, without feeling each word and the meaning behind them with your entire chest – he was surprised to find he moved himself with it, and the movement was appreciated. 

All in all, it was baby steps between performances, followed by huge leaps the length of entire setlists – until, all of a sudden, those baby steps turned into strides that were just right, hands inside his boyfriend’s nervous and sweaty ones, refusing to let him be left behind again. He was no longer an alien or a blank piece of paper, but a person with complexities and nuances as evident as the songs he sang. 

The mask wasn’t a mask at all, but now his heart and the skin that he wore, comfortably now, fit together perfectly. Seamlessly. 

Before then, the only other times he’d dropped his guard had been when he was alone with Uenoyama, and those instances had gotten more and more frequent by the day. 

That all led to now, face masks removed and both sufficiently drowsy, Mafuyu with one arm around the boy he’d shared a bed with almost every night since graduation. 

The two of them, nestled in between silk sheets they’d chosen together, may as well have been one body, and the silk that cocooned them was light enough to feel like it was barely touching — which was, perhaps, the point. 

The sheets had actually been Uenoyama’s idea, which had surprised Mafuyu given how little his partner usually fussed over that sort of thing. The suggestion to replace their old ones had only come about in the first place due to Tama’s paws getting dry and cracked over the summer — the vet had given him a thick balm to use, but his boyfriend had argued that changing the sheets to a fabric easy on his paws, as a precaution, “couldn’t hurt”. 

The implication had made Mafuyu feel things he couldn’t put a name to, but they’d had sex that night on the old sheets to celebrate.

Sleeping beside him, Uenoyama was nowhere near as… rigid now, the defensive plank position he’d adopted those first few times — in what could only be described as gay malfunctioning if not gay panic, nerves as loud as the noise his throat had made in the effort to swallow them down — had evolved over time into comfortable snuggling. 

It didn’t take his partner nearly as long to fall asleep either, which was good and bad, in Mafuyu’s opinion. Good because it meant he wasn’t overthinking. Bad because sometimes he’d fall asleep before kissing his forehead, to which Mafuyu would pout and his clueless boyfriend would never see the damage he’d caused. 

Even still, he did always manage to say “I love you,” even if it was slurred into the pillow, or cut off by the wholly expected arrival of very loud and deep breathing. 

It was like he said, he liked loose tongued Uenoyama especially. The beginning twitches of sleep he could feel backing into his torso, were just an added bonus. 

Tonight Mafuyu was the big spoon, which meant he could trace the neat lines of his boyfriend’s undercut from pillow to ear, and slip a hand up his t-shirt for warmth. With how broad his partner’s shoulders were getting, his label as the “big spoon” in these situations was stretching the truth further and further. True to his promise, Uenoyama really was starting to fill Akihiko’s shadow, in all senses of the word. 

As exciting as the chaos was, routine was nice. Among the mess, among the abstract shapes, faces and feelings - all blurring and colliding, breaking apart and reforming - there were still some clear lines hidden in the impressions, some guard rails to keep him grounded.

Folded sheets, two pillows side by side. 

Uenoyama’s undercut, delicate hairs, poker straight and peppering his neck.

Clock hands, and fingers intertwined.

Everything here was in its right place, familiar and unchanging. Mafuyu hoped this was just one of the things that never would.

.

Yeah. He could breathe easily like this.

🎸˚｡𖦹☆°‧⋆

Morning: Music sheets 

“Would you die for me then?”

They’d been empty words. Words said in heated anger, the flames of which should have been extinguished as soon as they’d been unleashed out into the cold, winter wind. 

Meaningless. Nothing. Like pages of lyrics that never make the cut, you have to write them down in order to confirm what you already knew, that they were never good enough to see the light of day to begin with.

A mistake, not a request. Certainly not something someone would say to a person they loved.

Everyone knew that. Even a group of high school friends had known.

But that’s the thing about words that are spoken. You can’t throw them away.

They hang in the air. They break people.

People and hearts.

He’d had that dream before, many times. Well, maybe not ’dream’, but a memory masquerading as such. Upon waking, the words would continue to echo and reverberate in his head, an ominous bass line that instantly stripped the morning of its soothing silence, and the day of its potential for peace. 

He could bury it, now, to a place he didn’t have to look at or inspect, but it still seeped through his consciousness like a poison, infecting his mood for the rest of the day.

And so it was this morning.

Uenoyama was still sleeping soundly, unburdened. The morning light drew soft, golden triangles onto his bare chest from the curtain lines in the window. One arm was bent over his head while the other lay on his stomach, where Mafuyu’s hand had also been only moments before. With each breath his stomach rose before his chest, mimicking the flow of the tide, which is how Mafuyu knew he was still deep within the waves of some early morning dream.

It had been easy to slip out of bed without disturbing him, today. Mafuyu wasn’t at all surprised. 

Despite the weight of the dream, the sight still managed to pick his heart up a little against the force dragging it down, so that a shadow of a smile managed to tug the corner of his lips.

He finally turned away, silently, and padded into the living room. The cool wooden floors felt extra cold against the sweat on his bare feet, yet he welcomed the sensation gratefully.

The living room table was a mess of paper and empty take out cartons. 

Documents half stained with coffee rings, dog-eared letters roughly opened and hastily forgotten, music sheets outnumbering the rest.

And it was the music sheets, where precision and clarity are not only key but absolutely vital, that were the most chaotic by far. 

Mafuyu pushed a few aside so that he could examine them one by one. The lines over the sheets had been scribbled together, markings over markings, edits and adjustments, and in the background were faint lines that had been harshly erased - far gentler strokes pencilled over the top with care.

Theory met reality on those pages. In theory the lines on the pages should be ordered — ordered in the sense that they should give direction to a piece of music, the neat set of instructions necessary to do the job well. 

But… in reality… 

Chaos, from corner to corner, ran rampant, and Mafuyu couldn’t help but chuckle despite the heaviness still weighing on his chest. ‘Chaos’ was what they’d both personally contributed to the page, and it was that that made the lines music, and not just artless form and structure. There was a full spectrum of emotion to be found beneath the chaos, and Mafuyu much preferred that to the silence of theory. 

As he scanned the pages he could read his partner’s frustration from a mile off, followed by the relentless teasing behind his own annotations. Challenge met with the desire for balance; compromises less about meeting in the middle and more about finding that extra something born from conflict and opposing ideas.

The lines really were a story as much as they were just… 

Lines.

.

Mafuyu was so engrossed in the pages that he didn’t hear his boyfriend approach, only noticing when he felt sturdy arms wrap around his torso from behind.

“That dream again?”

The weight on his shoulder was grounding, and the lips pressing into his jawline were a soothing balm. 

Mafuyu’s hands found his partner’s as he tilted his head back into the other boy’s, letting go of a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “I’m alright,” was his answer, the appending “…now” going largely unspoken, but understood.

And, strangely, he was. Flat, maybe, but he could already feel the dark threads gripping at his chest, starting to unravel and recede, like the sun chasing away the night.

And yet his sun just happened to be a perpetually grumpy teenager with black hair and piercing blue eyes, the colour of ice. Not quite bright and beaming, like it was in the early afternoon, but more like… morning, perhaps Mafuyu’s second chance at a good one. Like its dew, cool and sweet, and its rays that are easy on the eyes, it all promised opportunity on the horizon — if only you were willing to trust in its own awkward brand of tireless warmth and kindness.