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They were at some after party Kyo hadn’t been able to say no to, so he was putting in the necessary amount of socializing before he could sneak off home without people judging him too harshly. Not that he cared much about that at this point in his life and honestly, these things weren’t all bad now that they didn’t just involve drinking until your liver gave out.
Still, there was a part of him that was forever that twenty-something standing awkwardly in a corner, worrying about what people thought of him. A drink he didn’t really like was in his hand, which he’d been trying to down to take the edge off.
Kyo avoided large group settings as best he could. Some people were social butterflies, but Kyo always thought of himself more as a lonesome little lizard, skittering along a wall when someone got too close. He did sometimes like to just be near other people. To listen to and watch them. Observing had taught him a lot about how humans behaved, and he had tried to copy and apply it to his own social interactions. But it had almost never felt natural to him, even after all these years.
Over time, he had grown into himself more, felt more self-assured these days. But he could not, and did not want to become something he wasn’t.
He watched a group of people gather to take a selfie. Kyo just observed, sipping his drink. He saw how a few others caught on and jumped in easily, and nobody seemed to think it odd. Arms slung over shoulders, cheeks smushed together so everyone could fit into frame. Kyo didn’t really mind that he couldn’t be like that, but there was always that tiny part of him that longed to be what he was not. To be included. To belong. For things to feel easy.
There was a touch of fingers brushing his waist, and he turned his head instinctively, even though there was only one person it could be. He gave Kaoru a nod, noting the fresh beer in his guitarist’s left hand. Kaoru took a sip and nodded at the group Kyo had been watching as he came to stand alongside him.
“Ah, we were that young once,” he hummed fondly, and Kyo could tell this wasn’t his first beer, but that was alright. He didn’t answer—there was no need. If there was someone he could share comfortable silences with, it was Kaoru.
Neither of them had ever been very good at talking about their feelings. Kyo liked to think he was a little better at it now, but back then—back all the way to the beginning of Dir en grey, when they’d shared a shabby little flat—he had preferred scribbling in notebooks, while Kaoru had taken it out on his guitars.
His memory was notoriously bad, and even though there had been a lot of shit going on in his personal life back then, Kaoru had always been an anchor. Only later had Kyo realized management had probably stuck them together so Kaoru could keep an eye on him. The realization had made him angry at first, but when he gave it some thought, he came to the conclusion that Kaoru had never made him feel like a burden or someone who needed extra care. He had been there for him with an easy hug, or an offer to borrow a manga they were both interested in. It had always been genuine. He had always made Kyo feel like an equal, not someone lesser who needed taking care of.
And Kyo had gotten lost on the subway in Tokyo when they first moved there. He’d been naïve and awkward and shy, and somehow it was like people had smelled it on him back then. Kaoru had been there in one particularly bad situation when some sleazy man tried to proposition Kyo under the guise of being able to make the band famous. All he had to do was follow him into some back room and he’d explain the deal. Kyo had been so eager. The man had looked professional to his 22-year-old self. And they had all been working so hard, maybe this could be his chance to catch a break for them as a band. He’d already told the man to lead the way when Kaoru’s firm hand appeared on his shoulder to stop him.
All the purple-haired bandleader had said in a cool voice was, “We’re not interested,” as he had gently steered Kyo away.
Kyo chuckled when he thought back on it now. He’d started to challenge Kaoru about it then, and the other had frowned, placing both hands on Kyo’s shoulders as his expression softened. When Kaoru, albeit a little awkwardly, explained to him what it was the man had wanted, Kyo’s eyes must’ve about popped out of their sockets. He’d gaped at Kaoru and blushed, brushing the other man off and heading outside for a smoke.
Kaoru had always looked out for him, and there had been a period in Kyo’s life when he resented the guitarist for it. But at that time, there hadn’t been much he didn’t resent. Back then, he had made a valiant effort to push Kaoru and the rest of the band as far away as possible without actually breaking them apart. When he thought back on it now, he was glad he had always been a bit of a coward and hadn’t fully succeeded in his efforts.
Kaoru could be blunt, pigheaded, and maybe a little cold at times. But Kyo had hardly even seen those sides directed at him, unless it came to bickering about Dir en grey business. Most arguments between them, if you could call them that, had been about work. Neither of them were very confrontational, except when Kyo wanted to be on purpose. He’d definitely gone through a phase of that when they hit their low as a band.
Thinking back on it now, he could call it a lot of things, but mostly, he’d just been angry at every- and anything, but especially at himself. During those times, it had made him unreasonably furious when Kaoru would accommodate him, to the point where he’d ask more and more ridiculous things of the guitarist in some attempt to sabotage their relationship — one of the few steady and good things in his life.
He had hated Kaoru for being kind and understanding with him, even when he’d been unreasonable and selfish. What had been the most confronting about the situation for Kyo was that, for Kaoru, it had always seemed so effortlessly easy to love him, when at that time Kyo could barely stand to look at himself in the mirror in fear of who was staring back at him.
There had been plenty of times Kaoru could have made fun of him or made him feel small. Kaoru definitely joked with Die in that way at times. But he never did with Kyo, and the vocalist was glad of it. He realized he’d always had the feeling of being safe with their leader, no matter how cliché that seemed. Maybe they had all sensed it when they had unanimously sprung the leader role on their poor unsuspecting guitarist.
He remembered Kaoru trying to include him countless times, even if it did end in him drinking so much beer he got sick once or twice. A lot of old memories were a blur, but he always remembered what Kaoru’s hands felt like when he’d reach out and touch Kyo’s waist to get his attention, or brush his lower back as they made their way through a crowd. How they would sit, legs and arms pressed together in the cramped bus management had hired to drive them around.
He knew how Kaoru used to get so nervous he’d throw up before shows, and how Kyo would sit with him in a hallway or on fire escape stairs as they smoked, squished against him to offer quiet comfort. How Kaoru would ruffle his hair and smile at him, eyes so bright. Both so young and full of the same dreams and goals.
How, after their first big concert, Kaoru had hugged him so tight and Kyo had smiled until his cheeks ached. How they had laced fingers, and Kyo had waited for the rest of the guys to notice, and they all thanked the audience. How Kaoru’s arm had been around his shoulders backstage for what felt like forever, like a favorite blanket, as they all came down from the thrill of their first successful big one-man live.
Kyo came back to the present as someone from a new band he didn’t really care about approached them and Kaoru did his best to make polite small talk. Kyo felt oddly nostalgic as he watched Kaoru talk, and he could still see him in there — the young, slightly intimidating guy he’d locked eyes with in a dirty live hall toilet on the evening of December 24th so many moons ago.
Kyo found himself escaping the party not too long after that, under the guise of needing a smoke. He wasn’t too surprised when Kaoru joined him a little while later.
He found himself wanting to say something cliché like ‘thank you for being you,’ but he really couldn’t make himself do it. Kaoru seemed to sense the slight tension in the air as the silence stretched between them, before the guitarist asked, “Everything okay?”
Kyo swallowed and acted on instinct, turning toward Kaoru beside him and closing the distance to wrap his arms around the other’s waist, resting his cheek against Kaoru’s chest.
This, too, had never been very natural for Kyo. He wasn’t that comfortable initiating touch, even with people he knew very well, and had always been grateful for Kaoru’s easily given touches when they were younger.
He squeezed his eyes shut and sensed Kaoru’s surprise, but it wasn’t long before he felt the guitarists arms tighten around his shoulders to reciprocate the hug and he was simply held.
With him, it had always felt easy.