Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The two men are in a dimly lit corner of the pub, soft amber light wrapping around them, casting shadows on the aged wooden beams and brick walls.

All around, the chatter is loud, perfectly masking the sound of their lips pressing together. Somewhere nearby, the thud and scrape of cues hitting billiard balls.

Nobody is paying much attention to them, everybody is too drunk on beer to care.

Near the bar, a TV hangs crookedly, the muffled commentary of a football match lost amid the clinking of glasses on the counter and someone cursing a missed penalty.

One of the two men, the one pressing the other against the wall, wears a hat that hides him from view. Only a few strands of orange hair peek from beneath it, and his cheeks are slightly flushed from the alcohol. He has both hands around the other’s waist, fingers curled in the belt loops of his pants.

Despite the soft moans low in his throat and his tousled black hair, the second man has exceptional poise. Graceful and elegant in his black shirt, the top two buttons left undone. A confident aura radiates from him, even when it seems the other is in control of the kiss, setting its pace and intensity. The hands he looped around the other’s neck slip down to tuck themselves into the back pockets of his pants, pulling him closer.

At the contact, they both groan softly in unison.

The orange-haired man laughs. “Getting eager? People are watching,” he says, pressing a trail of kisses along the other’s neck. He sucks a dark red mark exactly where it meets the shoulder.

“Let them watch,” the other replies, unbothered. “Tabloids gossip about me all the time anyway.”

The loud cheering of fans drowns out the answer he receives. Arsenal has just scored against Manchester United early in the second half, taking a 2-1 lead and bringing themselves one step closer to the Premier League Trophy.

Pints of frothy beer sweat on the tables as everybody stands to celebrate, and the scent of old wood mixes with that of spilled ale.

“When’s your next match?” the black-haired guy asks, but doesn’t really listen to the answer. His gaze shifts, caught by a group at the bar laughing too loudly.

The atmosphere is already ruined. He doesn’t like making out among drunks. They’re a type of person he’s never trusted, and getting caught up in a fight is definitely not part of his plans for the evening. Damaging his hands is out of the question.

The orange-haired man smiles brightly, and the expression gives his eyes a friendly warmth.

“Fancy another game, Ugetsu-san?”

***

Ugetsu had never played billiards before moving to London, and although it’s not in his top five favourite activities, he must admit it’s not a bad way to spend an evening different from the others.

There are many things he has never done in his 20s and that he’s slowly discovering now, now that he’s on the other side of the world, and when he thinks of “home,” he’s not exactly sure what place he should picture in his mind.

Despite his young age, he has lived on three of the five continents, each time starting over, adapting to new habits and lifestyles, becoming familiar with the local food and acclimating to every type of climate.

Compared to New York, London feels more human-scaled, more intimate, a mix of busy urban areas and quieter neighbourhoods. He likes getting lost in alleys full of antique shops and bookstores, then hopping on the Tube to find his way home.

One day, he even believes he saw the Royal Family inside black cars preceded and followed by guards on horseback.

Of course, it’s a rainy city, and on many days he can experience all four seasons, but he has gotten used to it fairly quickly. Anyway, he spends most of his time indoors, between rehearsal and performances — whether the waters of the Thames swell or the sun beats down hard on Trafalgar Square, it’s not really his concern.

He glances across the green baize at Itaya, who’s lining up a shot. Sometimes, Ugetsu still marvels at how small the world is, and how he ended up in another country with someone who, even if never met directly before, is part of his circle of acquaintances in Japan. Mafuyu had introduced them years ago after one of his band’s concerts, but Ugetsu barely registered his name, let alone his face. He became familiar with his look after seeing him appear several times on Mafuyu’s and his boyfriend’s Instagram profiles. Apparently, they meet often.

Having become a professional footballer, Itaya is often traveling around the world too, but whenever he can, he returns to Tokyo, to his roots. The opposite of Ugetsu, who has lately done so only when forced by tours and official commitments. He prefers to pretend that place no longer exists on his personal world map.

Itaya arrived in London a few months after Ugetsu, and after a few days of reflection, Ugetsu decided to approach him. Being both public figures, getting in touch didn’t require much effort, and before he realized it, Itaya had become the closest thing he ever had to a friend.

Well... friend. Let’s just say their acquaintance quickly became quite intimate, with Ugetsu kissing him goodnight one evening. His intuition that Itaya was also into boys proved correct. Despite a brief initial surprise, Itaya had reciprocated with enthusiasm and a bit of clumsy inexperience.

Only a few days later, Ugetsu had taken him to his place.

The cue cracks and the balls scatter, three of them immediately sinking into pockets. Ugetsu sets his pint down on the edge of the table and prepares for his shot. Though partially hidden beneath the low cap over his eyes, Ugetsu knows Itaya’s gaze is fixed on his cue.

Sometimes, just to embarrass him a little, he asks Itaya to show him how to properly hold the cue, or how to position himself to make sure his shots go into the pockets. Then, Itaya positions himself behind him, their bodies touching, and overlays his hands on Ugetsu’s to guide him.

He’ll spare him tonight — the poor boy tries everything he can to avoid curious eyes and keep his private life hidden. He certainly doesn’t want to be the one to expose Itaya. Not that he really cares about him, but he’s a nice guy, and being a public figure is already hard enough; adding more pressure would be downright diabolical.

Ugetsu knows it all too well, perpetually pursued by journalists and photographers who, instead of exclusively focusing on his music, seem especially interested in his dating life. Half the casual flings attributed to him aren’t even true.

Just like the other strange story that he’s supposedly made a pact with the devil, allowing him to come through every kind of accident unscathed. All because a few months earlier, a car had rammed the taxi he was in, and he emerged uninjured. The impact was so minor that any other outcome would have been stranger. Yet, rumors began to circulate, and now he has become a sort of Dorian Gray, able to escape any dire consequence, his youth and invulnerability preserved in a hidden painting.

He sinks a ball, the satisfying sharp crack ringing out.

“You’re getting better at this!” the ever-cheerful Itaya praises him.

Fame seems to have left his most genuine soul untouched. Easy-going and supportive, he still matches the stories Mafuyu and his boyfriend told Ugetsu.

“Of course I am,” he teases, chalking his cue as if he’s been doing it his whole life.

Always surrounded by elegant people in even more elegant places, he doesn’t mind the more spartan atmosphere of London pubs. It’s a world completely different from his own, but he doesn’t hate it.

Itaya adjusts his position, bending a little to calculate the angles and the perfect curve to sink another flawless shot. The balls roll with a clatter and a sharp whistle rises from a few patrons walking by, the floor creaking softly beneath their boots.

Ugetsu bites his lower lip, eyes raking over Itaya’s body — tall and muscular, with a toned, athletic build as expected from a professional football player. He raises his pint to his lips again without averting his gaze from him.

Even though he’s been living in London for quite some time now and has had his share of local drinks, he still misses the crispness of a cold Japanese beer, cleaner and lighter on the tongue. The bitter tang here is a little rougher than what he was used to.

It must be the alcohol, but suddenly he wants to be pinned down on a bed and feel those strong hands on his body. The fact that Itaya is four years younger than him has never been a problem for Ugetsu. Sex is just sex, there’s nothing more to it. Nothing shameful about being topped by a younger guy.

Around them, chatter rises and falls, bubbling with laughter and the scrape of wooden chairs on the worn floor. Some are still celebrating Arsenal’s victory, the beer flowing like a river.

Itaya gets ready for the last shot, chest almost touching the green felt as he leans over the table from the hips. The cue ball glides smoothly, neatly sinking a red ball in the corner pocket.

“We shouldn’t stay out too late tonight,” he says in a velvety voice, sliding close to Itaya, fingers twining into his sweater to get his attention.

Ugetsu wouldn’t mind being pressed against the rough brick wall for the second time, their lips tasting faintly of toasted malt and a hop tang. Heat courses through his veins.

“We’ve got an early flight tomorrow,” he adds.

When he turns to meet Ugetsu’s gaze, Itaya’s eyes hold the same light. His hand snakes around Ugetsu’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Guess we’ll sleep on the plane, then.”

Chapter Text

As expected, Ugetsu and Itaya spend most of the flight dozing.

In the end, contrary to all good intentions, they remained awake until late. Maybe it was the anxiety of returning to Japan after a long time, but Ugetsu felt restless once back from the pub, and was happily distracted by Itaya.

That boy’s stamina is astonishing. It’s probably because he’s a footballer used to running up and down the field, but he has lungs of steel and tireless muscles.

By the time they were done, Ugetsu only knew that countless empty condom wrappers were scattered between the bed and the floor of his apartment, and he was so exhausted he didn’t even bother to shower.

“Tomorrow,” he had mumbled, already half-asleep, and how he regretted it when the alarm disturbed him around five-thirty, just when he would have rather rolled over and gone back to sleep than have dragged himself under the stream of water.

He hadn’t even finished packing. After a lifetime spent traveling, packing a suitcase is something he still hates with all his being. He always ends up forgetting something and buying it at the airport or upon arrival.

“We should post something on Insta,” Itaya says at some unspecified point during the flight, after sleeping so many hours they’ll probably suffer jet lag for days.

Ugetsu smirks. “We should.”

The shot is simple — the airplane window from which only clouds can be glimpsed, and their fingers making a victory sign.

<<Tokyo, here we come! ✈️✌>> is the caption under it.

Itaya makes sure to tag Ugetsu as well. It’s just a matter of seconds before his phone floods with notifications — mostly likes, but also a few comments from supporters.

<<have a safe flight!>>

<<is he travelling with murata-san?>>

<<what’s up with them being together lately?>>

<<itaya-san, anything to confess?>>

Ugetsu leans over Itaya’s shoulder to read the comments and chuckles softly. Mafuyu’s notification also arrives, his fluffy Pomeranian as the icon. Ugetsu still doesn’t understand the reason why Mafuyu and his boyfriend stubbornly decided to adopt a dog identical to his first one. Not only that, but it even has the same name.

Ugetsu doesn’t know much about pets, he’s never had one and doesn’t even think he’d be able to, but he too knows there’s something completely wrong about that choice. Anyway, it’s not his problem.

He already has his own ghosts to deal with.

<<see you soon!>> is his comment.

Their arrival is not unexpected. Mafuyu already knew about it, and so did the rest of the group. It would have been naïve to cross half the globe only to discover that his band is performing on the other side of the ocean.

Ugetsu often keeps in touch with Mafuyu, not only via texts but also by voice. Once, Mafuyu even visited him while he was in York — he was on tour in Europe and Ugetsu was playing in a majestic cathedral. It was there that Mafuyu informed him that their friend — Uenoyama was there too — was soon moving to England. He thought he was doing Ugetsu a favour, offering him company.

Mafuyu is the only person in the world to whom Ugetsu has confessed his perpetual sense of loneliness. Well, perhaps another sensed it, but Ugetsu fought tooth and nail to prove it wasn’t true.

He helped Ugetsu as much as he could, but also unknowingly placed a weapon in his hands. Ugetsu still has to fire the shot, but it’s certainly loaded. Soon, he will be able to take off the safety.

“Do you think they’ll see it?” Itaya asks, gesturing at the photo still glowing on the phone.

“I really hope so.”

***

When they land in Tokyo, night has already fallen.

It’s raining, and Ugetsu thinks that, deep down, it’s not so different from London.

“You sure you don’t wanna sleep at my old place?” Itaya asks — his ‘old place’ being the house he grew up in, definitely too intimate a place to step foot in. What’s next? Meeting the parents?

“I’ve already booked a hotel,” he refuses the offer, throwing his duffel over his shoulder.

He’s always amazed at how little he can manage with, even when facing an intercontinental trip.

It’s a bit sad, actually — his entire life packed into such a small space. And truth be told, he could even do without that. He has nothing truly essential, nothing that can’t be replaced. That, too, is sad.

For once, his violin stayed at home. He’s not sure it was a smart move — after all, besides being a work tool, it remains his only and healthiest way to sort out his thoughts. He’ll have time to regret it, he imagines.

“It’s not like we’re in a relationship,” he adds, already walking away, raising a hand in farewell. “See ya.”

***

Riding through the streets of Tokyo in a taxi gives him a strange feeling.

Like something extremely familiar but terrifyingly foreign at the same time. He used to walk these places every day, he buried his memories in every hidden corner of the city, his heart still beats between a small public park and an izakaya that withstands the passage of time.

The pouring rain distorts the landscape beyond the window, making it feel even more alien. Against the dark sky, the lights of neon signs and offices open well into the night stand out, their reflections shimmering on wet streets.

Suddenly, he thinks about his old apartment tucked away on the other side of the city, that godforsaken apartment he had stubbornly called home for years. That underground place, lacking necessary light and always too damp, always missing the warmth needed to be called home, except when… His phone vibrates in his jacket pocket, and he rushes to grab it, as if wanting to escape the trail of thoughts he was following.

<<Uenoyama-kun says you should have already landed. I hope you had a good flight. We will see you tomorrow, Ugetsu-san.>>

A small smile appears on his face. Small gestures like this make him think there’s someone in the world who cares for him genuinely.

Mafuyu has always been a good kid, and Ugetsu is glad life has become gentler with him now, as if trying to atone for the pain it scattered along his path. Of course, time can never fully erase the scars. They remain.

Even though the ones Ugetsu sports are of another kind, he thinks he knows something about pain, and how a part of it will always flow through their veins. You just learn to move and try to stay afloat on the worst days, praying the tide soon recedes, so that you can at least rest your feet on solid ground. And then there are the days the ground gives way, turning into quicksand beneath your feet, and even if you think you’ve hit rock bottom, you sink a little more.

The taxi stops in front of his hotel and, after a polite farewell, he rushes out, running towards the entrance while shielding himself from the pouring rain by holding his duffel bag over his head. With the check-in already done, he can swiftly reach his room and lock the door behind him.

The evening air, combined with the downpour, has left him shivering, and even though he doesn’t feel like it, he knows it’s best to take at least a quick hot shower and slip into warmer clothes.

A little later, wrapped in a crew-neck t-shirt and sweatpants, Ugetsu smokes a cigarette near the window. He keeps it slightly open to let the smoke drift outside.

His gaze wanders over the city skyline, over the tall skyscrapers, the lights, the cars. Somewhere, in those streets...

He crushes the cigarette in the ashtray and closes the window, leaving outside the sound of rain.

Despite the many hours he has spent sleeping, a heavy lethargy falls over him. Luckily, he has no commitments until tomorrow evening; he plans to spend most of the next day in bed.

He needs to be rested for what awaits him.

***

The vibration of his phone wakes him around eleven in the morning.

With one eye half-closed, struggling against the harsh brightness of the screen and the shining sun outside the window, he sees Itaya’s name. He exhales slowly.

<<should we go there together?>>

The temptation to roll his eyes is strong. Nothing annoys him more than being woken up, especially by a phone notification. All his life, he hasn’t changed his opinion about technology and doubts he ever will.

But, after all, he’s the one who dragged Itaya into this situation, so his fingers muster a huge effort to type <<sure>> before sinking back into the pillow.

***

It’s sometime in the mid-afternoon when Ugetsu wakes again, this time on his own.

The light coming through the window is less intense than in the morning, but the bright blue of the autumn sky has its own distinctive intensity. It reminds him of a cool breeze, of leaves crunching beneath shoes after twirling to the ground in a whirlwind of fiery colours.

Two missed calls, one text from his manager checking if the trip went well (the poor woman always keeping an eye on him even during the few breaks he very rarely allows himself), and a bunch of other texts from Itaya. Better call him back.

“Was sleeping, sorry,” he says, his voice still slightly hoarse.

“Man, I couldn’t sleep at all last night!” replies Itaya cheerfully, as if he really hadn’t closed an eye, and the sleepless night, instead of tiring him out, had made him hyperactive. “Send me the address to your hotel, I’m picking you up!”

Ugetsu still wonders how he manages to get along with someone so diametrically opposite to him. Energetic. Outgoing. Maybe his lighthearted spontaneity is what Ugetsu needs. His cheerful optimism and positive energy always break any tension that might arise.

But then again, united by a common goal, they’ve never had any real friction. Fortunately, sleeping together hasn’t ruined their relationship; it’s a good stress-reliever, something they both invest time in, but not their hearts.

Shortly after, as he splashes cool water on his face to wash away the sleep from his eyes, he wonders if he should wait for Itaya to join him and maybe take a shower together.

No, better not.

Better to arrive at the evening appointment with a clear mind.

***

When they get off the train and head to the venue where a table for seven has been reserved, the sky is a deep dark blue. The many lights make it impossible to see the stars, but a sliver of the moon peeks out from behind a tall building.

“Will we be the first ones to arrive?” Itaya asks.

They walk side by side, but neither makes a move to hold hands or put an arm around the other’s shoulders. The presence of other people on the street isn’t the main reason.

“I hope not. I want to see their faces when we show up together.”

It’s a childish kind of satisfaction, perhaps, but it’s these little victories that send a thrill down his spine.

Itaya laughs, and the sound is lost amid the chatter along the street.

As soon as the venue appears in the distance — two potted plants flanking the entrance and a time-worn sign — Ugetsu’s breath catches in his throat for a moment. Naturally, he knew what he was getting into. After all, he’s the one who has pulled the strings leading to this moment. But that silhouette outlined in the distance, his figure lean and broad, will forever stir something within him.

“It seems we’re lucky,” he whispers softly to Itaya, nodding towards the place ahead. He tries his best to control the emotion in his voice.

Itaya’s expression mirrors his smirk as they cover the short distance left, and he puts his arm around Ugetsu’s shoulders.

Now at the entrance, the two stop in front of the tall figure who looks up at them, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes.

Ugetsu smiles.

“Hi, Akihiko.”

Chapter Text

The group is almost complete, gathered around a low table inside the venue.

The interior breathes a calm coziness, a quieter, more contained chatter compared to Europe. It’s lively, certainly, but more respectful. A restrained Energy that invites conversation rather than shouting over background noise. Unlike London’s sprawling, boisterous pubs, here the sounds are more contained: the clink of ceramic cups, the quiet laughter — it all contributes to a feeling of intimacy and belonging.

Ugetsu missed that warm light pooling over lacquered wooden tables, and the strong, permeating scent of sake mixing with the smoke from yakitori skewers. His stomach stirs, eager to welcome back the taste of home.

Even though there’s no place he considers home more than any other, Japan remains the country where he has lived the longest, the one that represents his roots, his origins. No matter how far he strays, he always ends up returning here, even when he’d rather not.

Only two people are still missing, but the ones who matter to Ugetsu have already arrived.

Sitting beside Itaya and across from Mafuyu, Ugetsu takes a refreshing sip of Japanese beer. Ah, how much he had missed it. In front of him, Mafuyu’s boyfriend is carefully peeling edamame, while Itaya’s chatter fills the air. As an official member of a football team, he has plenty of anecdotes to share. Judging from the excited tone that never lets up, Ugetsu senses a certain nervousness in him. After all, the person he is waiting to see again hasn’t arrived yet.

Every now and then, Mafuyu shoots him watchful glances, as if wanting to keep an eye on him and gauge his expressions, his mood. Ugetsu still remembers the conversation they had a few weeks earlier, before he booked his flight to Tokyo, about this group reunion. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea... Ugetsu-san, are you okay with seeing Kaji again?” Mafuyu asked, his voice low and a little uncertain. But Ugetsu reassured him, “Of course, it’s been a long time,” as his fingers moved naturally to the piercing in his ear.

So much time has passed since that phase of his life. So many things have happened, he has met new people and climbed even higher to the top of the world. Music remains his most faithful companion, solid and steady by his side even when his emotions play up and his mind is a confused tangle of unspoken thoughts.

With half his face hidden behind his beer mug, he tries to further relax his expression and forces himself to follow what Itaya is explaining loudly — the time he almost got lost during his debut at a stadium, unable to find his way back to the locker room after stepping away from the team for a moment.

Ugetsu smiles, amused, shifting his gaze to him.

“You’re always so bad with directions, Shogo,” he says, the attention of the whole table turning to him. “A few weeks ago, we were supposed to meet in front of the National Gallery, but he couldn’t find his way out of the station.”

He steals a couple of edamame from Itaya’s plate and crunches them. “Mind you, he’s been living in London for what, seven months now?”

He doesn’t miss the brief moment of silence that follows his words, nor the way Mafuyu’s eyes track the movement of his fingers from Itaya’s plate to his mouth.

Ugetsu offers a wide smile, pretending not to understand why everyone seems so surprised that he and Itaya can have art dates around London. He rests his cheeks against his closed fist and looks towards the opposite corner of the table.

He’s not surprised to feel Akihiko’s gaze on him, after all, he has just finished speaking, but the certainty of it gives him a small sense of satisfaction.

It’s been a long time since he last saw him. Scrolling through the group’s online profile or watching them on a TV program isn’t quite the same — the flatness of the screen can never capture the full essence of a real person. A life reduced to pixels lacks any depth, not just physical, but especially emotional.

He lets his gaze linger on his face for a little longer. Akihiko hasn’t changed a bit. His face is still all strong lines and intensity, rough corners and sharpness, yet still incredibly gentle. The green of his eyes is as subtle as he remembers.

Ugetsu thinks back to everything that was, to everything that could have been. To what he lost, and what he rejected. He’s always broken things before they broke on him, so that conclusion between them was inevitable.

When he thinks back to his twenties, in his mind he sees a blurred image, a tangle of grey and black, like an old television losing its signal. No matter how hard he tried, it was as if he unconsciously wanted to sabotage himself and prove his own irredeemability. So many times he realized he was doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong words, but he always noticed a second too late.

He knew that, in the end, there would be broken hearts on the side of the road, and yet, he couldn’t stop the game with his usual calm arrogance. He knew he would always win, that Akihiko would always come back to him.

Until he didn’t.

So many things cross his mind in this fleeting exchange of glances that seems to last an eternity. What is Akihiko looking for in his gaze? A sign of weakness? A deep, permeating loneliness?

Ugetsu offers a small smile, as if to say, ‘See? I’m still standing tall,’ but also, ‘Glad to see we’re both doing well.’

Mafuyu gives a small cough, breaking the idyll. Ugetsu’s gaze needs convincing to finally pull away from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the sixth person arrive at the table.

“Sorry, I’m late. Had a deadline I couldn’t postpone.”

Ugetsu’s eyes shift with indifference to the newcomer, sizing him up from head to toe and back again. It’s perhaps the third or fourth time he’s seen him, but he couldn’t say if he’s changed much over the years — it’s not like he’s ever paid him much attention anyway. Well, maybe his hair is a bit longer than the last time he ran into him, but he’s not sure.

“Haruki!” Akihiko says with enthusiasm, getting up from the table to greet him. He places a brief kiss on his cheeks (which earns a “Eew, we’re in public” from Mafuyu’s boyfriend) before his gaze quickly flits to Ugetsu.

Ugetsu remains perfectly impassive and, in fact, feels no discomfort at this public display of affection — if they need to flaunt their relationship in public...

Akihiko invites the bassist to sit at the head of the table, an honour that belongs to him as the eldest in the group, but one that turns his cheeks pink. That, and probably the way Akihiko greeted him in front of everybody.

When their eyes meet, Ugetsu offers a polite bow of his head in exchange of a smile. Sometimes he wonders if all that courtesy is just a façade. How can that guy smile so warmly and cordially at someone like him? Has Akihiko really found an angel after living in hell?

“We waited for you before ordering, Haruki-san,” says Mafuyu, before turning to Uenoyama. “By the way, any news on when—”

“This job will kill me.”

The last person missing finally appears, dressed in a suit and tie.

Ueki Ryu. Ugetsu doesn’t think he’s ever met him in person. Maybe once, just briefly, in a small live house that reeked of sweat and amateur bands. But he’s seen him enough times in photos to recognize his composed, serious expression and his collected, apparently cold appearance.

He slumps down beside Itaya with a sigh, as if worn out by a long day of work. He immediately loosens his tie, then takes it off completely.

From what Ugetsu has heard about him, Ueki is the most “normal” one in their group, working in a regular office as a systems engineer. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what it means — probably something very boring involving numbers and calculations. Definitely not something for him.

After a moment to pull himself together, Ueki looks to his side, noticing Itaya’s presence. His eyes light up, and a smile seems to erase the fatigue of the day.

“Itaya, oh my god! It’s so nice to see you again!” he says, giving him a hug and a few pats on the shoulder.

Ugetsu is sure it’s been more than a year since they met, having just missed each other the last time Itaya was in Japan.

“Let’s order already, I’m starving!” says Uenoyama, catching the attention of a young waiter.

Meanwhile, Itaya turns to Ugetsu with an emotion he can’t hide, and Ugetsu returns a knowing smile.

The dinner unfolds as a pleasant stream of conversation, questions, and answers, as they catch up on the latest happenings in their lives.

Ugetsu’s gaze wanders for a moment among posters of jazz clubs and handwritten menus on the walls. There’s none of London’s relentless urban clamour; everything feels like a gentle embrace.

No matter how hard he tries to deny it, perhaps this city really is his home. It’s the one he instinctively recognizes as such.

It’s the first time in his life he finds himself with a group of people who, though he can’t quite consider friends, are at least familiar. Despite everything, he feels at ease among them. It must be nice to belong to someone, to ease loneliness with conversation and company.

The evening continues with countless dishes, bowls piling up and plates emptying. Numerous bottles of alcohol, after filling glasses, are replaced by new ones.

“Heard you got into the Osaka Philharmonic Orchestra,” Ugetsu says at some point, raising his glass towards Akihiko in a toast. “Congrats.”

Mafuyu told him about it some time ago. He’s always his source of information. When he first heard the news, he felt strangely happy. He had never felt that way about someone else before. Years ago, he was too self-centered to rejoice in another’s achievement, as if too greedy for success and glory, and any recognition given to others was somehow taken away from him. But if there’s one person who deserves this accomplishment and a thousand more, it’s definitely Akihiko.

Ugetsu never apologized for how he clipped his wings all those years ago. Not that it was ever a deliberate act, but he knows he was the cause of many of Akihiko’s self-esteem issues.

Akihiko didn’t lie that day — he never abandoned the violin, never stopped loving it, even though Ugetsu had managed to make him hate it with all his heart. And hate himself.

It’s when everyone raises their glasses for a congratulatory toast that Ugetsu sees it: the ring on the bassist’s finger catching the light.

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to be here anymore.

It was a stupid idea.

Why did he even want to be here in the first place? He takes a long sip of beer, the taste tickling his palate, then gets up.

“Going out for a smoke, I’ll be right back.”

***

Outside, the evening air has grown cooler, the sky a deep indigo.

He lights up a cigarette, shielding it with his hands, and takes a deep drag, feeling the nicotine slide down his throat and into his lungs, a sharp tickle that makes him wince. He holds the smoke in his chest for a moment, savouring the brief sensation of warmth and calm, then slowly exhales. The smoke rises in a sinuous wisp, drifting lazily upwards before dissolving into the sky. The night is studded with pinpricks of lights.

He doesn’t have anything personal against the bassist. Probably, surely, he’s a good person. Better than Ugetsu, undoubtedly. If he’s been with the same person for ten years, that must count for something.

But he was still the trigger that set off the beginning of the end, so no matter how hard he tries, Ugetsu can’t exactly see him in a positive light.

He senses the movement before seeing a figure emerge, the quiet sway of the traditional curtain hanging at the entrance.

Then, Akihiko’s deep voice.

“Got a light?”

Chapter Text

Akihiko’s sudden appearance at his side catches him off guard, and his eyes widen imperceptibly.

But he’s good at hiding his emotions, he’s always been, so he swallows his initial surprise, puts the cigarette between his lips, and retrieves the lighter from his pants pocket. His fingers press down, and a small flame wavers before their eyes. He moves closer to Akihiko, who already has a cigarette in hand.

Seven Stars — the same brand.

The flicker of the burning tip briefly illuminates his face, a warm orange glow dancing across his skin. He’s breathtakingly beautiful.

“Is it okay for you to be here?” he asks, putting the lighter away and turning back to gaze at the sky. What he really means is, ‘Is it okay for you to be here with me?’

Akihiko sits down on the stone bench beside where Ugetsu is standing, their swirls of smoke almost intertwining in the air.

“I said I was going to the bathroom.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

He speaks without looking at him, gazing at the stars, searching for the moon, now hidden behind some building. It’s a shame he can’t see it. The crescent moon is his favourite phase.

What are you thinking about when you look at the sky?

The question arises spontaneously in his mind, unbidden. Maybe age has made him softer. Since when has he become so sentimental?

“You and Itaya, huh?” Akihiko breaks the silence between them.

“Hm? What about it?”

“Didn’t know you were into younger guys.”

Ugetsu huffs a laugh, his cigarette held loosely between his fingers as he turns towards him for a moment.

The soft, intimate light outside the entrance faintly illuminates the landscape just enough for him to make out the outline of a matching ring on Akihiko’s finger. His face is turned upwards, as if the sky had held his attention until just moments ago, but now his eyes are closed, as if deep in thought. Ugetsu lets his gaze linger on him a little longer.

“You’re younger than me too.”

Akihiko snorts. “Just by a few months.”

“Still... Besides, I don’t really care about age.”

What if he sat beside him? What if he stole the cigarette from his lips and finished it himself? What would happen then?

“I’ve noticed.”

He wonders if Akihiko keeps up with his dating scandals, true or alleged. If he maybe keeps count and feels a pang in his stomach.

“It’s a stressful environment. I need to relax.” Ugetsu doesn’t deny them, doesn’t explain that most of them are pure journalistic inventions. What would be the point?

Their conversation isn’t going anywhere — can it even be considered a conversation? — yet, he wants to stay here with him a little longer. It’s been years since they last shared a cigarette.

Images come unbidden, flashes of memories from a past life. Shared earphones while watching a concert on a computer, passing a cigarette between them until it burned down to their fingers. Their hands intertwining as they studied the same sheet music, inhaling each other’s smoke.

What if he revealed the real reason why—

“Wanna sit?” Akihiko asks.

Ugetsu doesn’t see why he shouldn’t.

“I’ve been sitting all evening, I’m fine here,” he says instead.

“Don’t make me beg. Let’s talk a bit?”

Ugetsu exhales more smoke, masking a sigh whose meaning he’s not even sure about.

“We don’t have anything to talk about anyway,” he replies, but still takes a seat beside him. He makes sure to sit on the edge, on the opposite end, as if wanting to leave as much space as possible between them. It’s better this way.

“Wow, I didn’t think you hated me that much.”

Hate? Ugetsu doesn’t think he’s ever hated Akihiko a single day of his life. But if Akihiko believes that, maybe it’s better.

“Still have your motorbike?” he changes the subject.

“Parked right there,” Akihiko replies with a nod, and Ugetsu follows his gaze in the indicated direction.

In a neat row of motorcycles and bikes, he recognizes a familiar silhouette.

“It still works?” he asks, surprised. “How old is it? Twelve?”

“Fourteen. Got it after our graduation, remember?”

Of course he remembers, how could he forget? Back then, Akihiko juggled a thousand part-time jobs and brought home unsold convenience store leftovers for dinner, but he managed to save enough to buy that secondhand motorbike. Ugetsu reacted with coldness at first, always a bit dismissive of new things, but in reality, he didn’t want to show how fast his heart beat at the thought of sitting behind Akihiko and holding on tight as he drove around Tokyo.

“My phone is dead,” Ugetsu says then, jumping from one topic to another as if the possibility of deepening any conversation scared him. “Can I borrow yours for a sec? Need to book a taxi later. The trains will have stopped running by the time we finish here, and I don’t feel like walking all the way to our hotel.”

He stresses the word “our,” making it clear that, just as he arrived with Itaya, they’ll leave together too.

With the cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth, he looks at Akihiko expectantly.

“Sure.”

Ugetsu takes it from his hand as soon as Akihiko pulls it from his pocket. It’s a different model from the one he remembers, but that’s understandable, few phones last that long.

“You need the code to unlock—” Akihiko starts, but Ugetsu swiftly unlocks it with quick movements of his thumb.

“Still haven’t changed your password, have you?” he says, tone oozing cockiness — he hopes it’s enough to conceal the quickening of his heartbeat.

He wasn’t sure Akihiko still used their birthdays as the code to unlock his phone, it was a gamble to try. An almost crazy hope. And when he sees it works, his breath nearly catches in his throat.

He has no idea how this makes him feel, or what it could possibly mean. Maybe it’s just laziness. Maybe, after using that sequence of numbers for so long, learning a new one would be a hassle.

In the split second before the wallpaper appears, Ugetsu braces himself to see a photo of Akihiko and his new boyfriend. Well, “new”... after more than ten years, there’s nothing new about it.

Time is a strange thing. Twelve years have already passed, yet he remembers everything from that time, the last weeks when he felt his relationship with Akihiko slipping through his fingers. He remembers that star-crossed evening, and the slap Akihiko gave him after Ugetsu had punched him. He remembers Mafuyu’s heartfelt, dramatic voice, the message of hope woven into his song. “It’s okay,” he repeated to himself until exhaustion, when his life was anything but okay.

He spent the last ten years travelling the world, trying to forget the part of his heart he left behind. Trying to convince himself he could live without it, that people like him don’t deserve a happy ending.

He thinks about all this in the few moments before seeing the phone’s wallpaper and bracing for the worst. He wouldn’t rule out the possibility of throwing the phone on the ground if he saw their smiling faces staring back at him.

Instead, contrary to every expectation, he’s greeted by a landscape. A rose-colored late-afternoon sky, the sun hidden in the distance behind soft, creamy clouds. It looks like the roof of a building. It almost seems familiar, as if he had seen it before, but he can’t remember.

He feels Akihiko’s gaze on him, as if to test his reaction, but Ugetsu offers none, not even knowing what he should react to.

After opening the app, he books a taxi for later with a few quick swipes of his thumb. When he hands the phone back, the brief, delicate touch of their fingers is so fleeting that Ugetsu doesn’t even have time to notice if they still hold the same warmth as before, if they are as gentle as they used to be when—

“How’s life in Osaka?”

“It’s good. I’m... I think I’m happy with my music now.”

“It’s nice to hear that.” He means it sincerely, but it still hurts, somehow, like prickles in the center of his chest. Life moves on, things settle, and the people who deserve it get their happy ending.

He flicks his cigarette into the half-full ashtray beside them and lights another one immediately. He feels the need for it.

“You better go back in. I’ll stay here a little more.”

Chapter Text

Ugetsu still doesn’t feel like rejoining the others.

Even though the temperature outside has dropped and his hands have grown cold, he prefers to stay out a little longer, partly watching the people passing by, but mostly lost in thoughts about the past. He’s rather good at it: wallowing in memories, indulging in self-pity, imagining how things could have been and never will. This follows him everywhere, in every country, on every continent. No matter how far or close from home, he’s always oriented towards the past, unable to escape its grip.

He pulls his jacket tighter around himself to shield against the chill in the air creeping in. The reflection of lights in the puddles still left on the asphalt from the day before holds a hypnotic charm.

He’s about to toss his second cigarette when Itaya joins him outside. He has a stupid grin plastered on his face and flushed cheeks.

“Had too much alcohol?” Ugetsu asks with a laugh, patting the empty space next to him beckoningly. “A bit of fresh air will do you good,” he adds, inviting him to rest his head against his shoulder.

Actually, Ugetsu is not someone who enjoys showy displays of affection or sweet nothings, never has been, especially not in public, but he suddenly feels lonely, and a bit of human warmth might be exactly what he needs.

“How long since you last saw him?” His voice is gentle, a little softer than before.

Better to talk about Itaya than about himself.

“He said he got a girlfriend.” Itaya tries to sound casual, as if it didn’t matter to him, as if he found it almost amusing.

Ugetsu knows that tone well; he’s used it often. It’s the tone when something inside you breaks, but you don’t want to show it.

‘Because I don’t have any friends!’ Ugetsu told Mafuyu a whole lifetime ago, as if it didn’t hurt him, as if loneliness didn’t keep him awake at night. He said that as if it didn’t concern him personally, as if feeling Akihiko slip further and further away didn’t make him feel terribly alone.

“Wanna go back home?”

Itaya nods slowly against his shoulder. The evening has been emotionally heavy for both of them; it’s better to end it here.

“Let’s go in to say goodbye, then we’ll leave. I’ve already booked a taxi if you want to sleep together tonight.”

When they go back inside, the place has nearly emptied.

Mafuyu is pouring himself more alcohol, seeming to handle it well. Certainly better than his boyfriend, who’s staring blankly at the wall. Or than Ueki, half-collapsed on the table. The bassist, instead, still seems sober as Akihiko fills his glass again.

Ugetsu decides not to pay them any attention.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way,” he says to no one in particular. No one seems to have noticed his prolonged absence. They all have their established lives.

“Leaving already?” Mafuyu asks, still holding the bottle.

“We’re still a bit jetlagged and would prefer to rest some more,” he apologizes. He’s good at sounding sincere when making up excuses. “But we’ll see each other again since we’re staying for a couple of weeks.”

Whether spending their rare break entirely in Japan is a good idea, Ugetsu can’t tell yet. At the moment, it seems more like a bad move than anything else.

“I hope you’ll both come to our concert this weekend.” The bassist’s voice is polite and kind, as if he genuinely cared about their presence.

Ugetsu would expect some resentment from him. After all, isn’t Ugetsu the one who put his current boyfriend through hell? He tries not to let his gaze slip again to his hand.

Itaya wraps an arm around his shoulders naturally, and Ugetsu feels the warmth of his fingers gently squeezing. But above all, he feels Akihiko staring at him.

Ugetsu, however, holds his own eyes steady on Mafuyu — it’s him he’s chosen as his only interlocutor.

“We’ll definitely be there,” Itaya slurs his words, clearly drunk and laughing loudly, the alcohol giving him an extra touch of spontaneity.

“I better take him back to the hotel.” Ugetsu seizes the opportunity to get out of the situation and leave as soon as possible.

He’s never liked crowded spaces anyway.

***

The taxi ride is quite silent, each lost in their own thoughts about the evening.

Tokyo’s streets are always busy, even late at night, especially when the trains have stopped running and there are few alternatives for getting home.

Ugetsu sold his old car years ago and hasn’t sat behind the wheel since. He’s sure he could still do it, but he’s lost the touch. There’s always someone to drive him, whether it’s his manager, Itaya or the partner of the moment.

The car moves at a steady pace, headlights cutting through the dark, the city rushing past in blurred streaks of neon. They sit close together, knees brushing, as they look in opposite directions out the windows.

They start kissing under the harsh lights of the hotel elevator, hands gripping tightly, searching for contact beneath their clothes. When they reach Ugetsu’s room, they don’t bother turning the lights on. The blueish glow coming from outside is more than enough.

Itaya’s mouth tastes of alcohol and desperation. Both are struggling with their ghosts.

Itaya pins him against the locked door, parting his legs with his knee and pressing against his body. Ugetsu lets him take complete control; it’s what they both need.

Their clothes quickly end up on the floor, a trail scattered all the way to the bed. Itaya’s lips are on his neck, as familiar as lips can be after only a few months together. Ugetsu tangles his fingers in his hair, wanting the closeness to chase away the shadows.

Shortly after meeting in London, not long after they started seeing each other — at first because they were the only familiar faces for one another, then because they genuinely got along and their personalities were compatible — Itaya confessed a secret he had never revealed to anyone else.

Being so far from home had probably made him more vulnerable, and he had clung to someone he thought could support him. They were in bed, a white sheet covering the lower halves of their bodies. Outside, the sky was darkening, and the chimes of the Big Ben drifted in through the windows. “I’ve had a crush on someone since high school.”

In the present, Itaya kisses his chest, then moves lower, lips trailing along Ugetsu’s inner thigh.

Ugetsu wraps his fingers in his orange hair, urging him to go faster, to fill the void that’s opening inside him. His head sinks into the pillow as Itaya enters him, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

His back is solid and muscular, as are his thighs, shaped by hours of training and matches. Despite the alcohol in his system, Itaya is as focused and aroused as he can be, drawing moans and gasps from Ugetsu with every thrust of his hips.

That night in London, right after Itaya made that confession, Ugetsu remembers thinking they had more in common than he had realized.

“Do they know about it?” he asked.

“Never told him. I don’t even know if he’s into guys,” Itaya replied with a long sigh of resignation, as if he had thought about that problem for a long time but never found a way out. “I think you’ve met him before. He’s Uecchi and Mafuyu’s friend. You’ve probably seen him at one of their concerts.”

Ugetsu wasn’t sure he understood who Itaya was talking about. It had been years since he’d attended a Given concert, whether due to real or imagined work commitments that had kept their schedules from aligning. But if that person truly belonged to their same circle, then maybe fate was really sending him a sign. Itaya kept talking, but before long Ugetsu’s mind drifted away from his story, drawn in a different direction.

He silenced him with a finger on his lip before kissing him.

“I’ve got a plan.”

Chapter Text

Ugetsu has never been to a stadium before.

Not that he particularly cares. Throughout his life, the idea has never crossed his mind. Sports don’t fall within his interests.

In high school, he often skipped P.E., feigning illness and retreating to the nurse’s office. Or, when possible, he’d disappear to some remote corner with Akihiko. He worked hard in all his other subjects, but that one just didn’t suit him. It’s not that he lacked ability — he had excellent physical endurance and strong lungs — it was simply not worth the effort.

For years, the only physical activity he’s done is stretching and loosening his fingers, neck and shoulders before playing.

If the body is a temple, Ugetsu has never been informed. Or perhaps he practices a different religion.

His smoking and irregular, unbalanced eating habits are clear proof that he’s no health enthusiast.

The match is between a couple of local, non-professional clubs. Itaya, now part of the football scene, knows some of the players, who kindly gave him two tickets. It’s pre-season friendly or something like that — Ugetsu hasn’t paid much attention to the details. What matters is that patches of the stands are empty, and the usual surge of boisterous fans is tempered by the smaller scale of the clubs playing. Even more importantly, not only aren’t they in the standard stands surrounded by the loudest supporters, but they’ve also been given two reserved seats in the VIP section, among other notable figures from music, sports and sponsors. Ugetsu is extremely grateful.

Not that he lacks adaptability or a spirit of sacrifice, but since he’s already participating in something he has no interest in, at least he can be comfortable and relatively at ease.

Surely, if not in the newspapers, they’ll at least end up on some social media. The nation’s representative violinist with a national team player together at the stadium? Not something you see every day.

The plan Ugetsu devised that night in London, when he still had Itaya’s scent on his skin, is very simple, almost childish. Like when, as a child, you show a new toy to a classmate just to show off and make them a little jealous. The same principle is at the heart of the plan he shared with Itaya.

We have a common goal and we’re already seeing each other, he thought, tracing a finger across Itaya’s bare chest. So why not make sure the people we’re interested in see us together?

“Let’s join forces and make them jealous,” he whispered in Itaya’s ear. They had nothing to lose.

And that’s how they have started posting pictures of themselves together, making themselves visible in public. Nothing official, nothing confirmed, but still something that could spark some suspicion and cause some ears to prick up with interest.

Ugetsu isn’t the type to take photos with his flings, especially since there wouldn’t be much to photograph. He doesn’t do dates. He mostly has bedfriends, people he can spend a few leisure hours with, no strings attached. And he certainly can’t post pictures of their legs tangled in the sheets at dawn.

But with Itaya, things started and developed differently: there’s an underlying friendship in their closeness, not just sex. Not love, certainly, but mutual respect and pleasure in spending time together. There’s the shared connection to the same people back home in Japan, and now, a common goal: to capture the attention of their love interests.

Ugetsu still haunted by his first, never-forgotten love. The love with whom he shared turbulent years, marked by walls of silence and slaps to the face. By music played together and kisses stolen in the illusion that things would get better.

And Itaya, silently in love with his high school classmate, seen only sporadically in recent years. A friend whose orientation he doesn’t even know, and with whom he can’t even tell whether he’s allowed to hope or if it’s better to let go.

Ugetsu leans close to Itaya’s ear, resting a hand on his leg. “You know I’m here just for one reason, right?”

“I promise I’ll return the favour,” the other replies.

In truth, Ugetsu doesn’t mind being here that much. Itaya is pleasant company, fun and spontaneous, and when he watches a football match (or any sports, really) his most childish, playful side comes out. He loves sports, simple as that. In any form, whether he’s the one playing or just watching as a spectator.

“Brought something for you,” Itaya says with a big smile that makes him look younger than his twenty-eight years.

He reaches into his bag, turning away for a moment, and Ugetsu raises his eyebrows, surprised by the gesture.

He’s not good with surprises.

For some reason, they make him feel indebted, make him wonder if he truly deserved them. The memory of the first gift Akihiko ever gave him is still vivid in his mind. If he closes his eyes, those fragments of broken ceramic are still on the floor.

When Itaya turns back, Ugetsu finds himself face to face with a deep blue cap, embroidered with the JFA crest in white thread.

“Official cap of the national team,” Itaya says proudly. “Perks of dating me.”

“We’re not dating,” Ugetsu states matter-of-factly, but his words lack any sting.

“Oh, shut up,” he replies, placing the cap on Ugetsu’s head and adjusting the brim just so, pushing back a few unruly strands with a teasing smile. “Cute.”

Caught off guard, Ugetsu sulks bashfully, pulling a slight pout. “Don’t get any weird ideas. Just focus on your stupid game,” he snaps back, his tone childish, hiding the faint blush on his cheeks as Itaya takes his phone and unlocks it.

“Come on, let’s take a photo and make someone jealous.”

Ugetsu pulls the cap lower over his head, covering almost half his face, and leans his head on Itaya’s shoulder.

Just seconds later, the photo appears on thousands of devices around the world, captioned << with my best buddy >>.

The match starts soon after, and Ugetsu does his best not to get distracted, but he has to admit that Itaya’s enthusiasm for every dribble and free kick is contagious.

He appreciates his company. It must be the first time in his life he’s gotten so close to someone completely unconnected to the music world. Maybe that’s the reason why they get along so well.

Of course, Itaya enjoys listening to Ugetsu play — whether in his apartment for a private concert or in a concert hall filled with hundreds of spectators — but he knows nothing about music. He can’t tell a Mozart from a Brahms, or a viola from a cello, but Ugetsu doesn’t pity him. And Itaya doesn’t put him on a pedestal. It’s a good balance.

Every now and then, Itaya rests a hand on Ugetsu’s knee or forearm to point out a particularly impressive move, and Ugetsu realizes that football isn’t so bad after all. It’s hard not to be influenced when someone talks about their passion with such enthusiasm. He even tolerates the way groups of fans cluster together from time to time, breaking into practiced chants and waving their flags.

From now on, whenever Itaya invites him to watch him play, Ugetsu will see him in a different light.

***

After the match, which took place in the early afternoon, the day is still long, and it’s too soon to say goodbye just yet. Itaya decides to repay Ugetsu for his sacrifice by taking him to a small nearby café.

Intimate and quieter — exactly what he needs after nearly two hours surrounded by shouting fans and the referee’s whistles.

“That Ueki guy is really missing out. I don’t see why he’s not dating you yet, you’re a nice guy,” Ugetsu comments, sipping a fruit smoothie that’s probably just sugar and no fruit.

Itaya grins. “You better not fall in love with me, Ugetsu-san. My heart is already taken.”

“Idiot.”

As if. Ugetsu doesn’t even believe he’s emotionally capable of falling for anyone other than Akihiko. Even before meeting him, he’d never had a teenage crush on a classmate.

His world was enough for him.

His music was enough.

He didn’t think of love as useless or a distraction. It was simply something irrelevant to his life. Whether love existed as a concept in the universe didn’t concern him, didn’t touch his existence.

But then Akihiko came along, and his arrival shattered every one of Ugetsu’s most solid certainties.

Fifteen years and counting, and his heart is still swayed by those green eyes and the pale blond of his hair.

Itaya laughs, stealing the glass from Ugetsu for a moment and tasting its content. Ugetsu lets him do it.

“So, what’s our next move? Do you think we should come out in the open?

“Not yet,” Ugetsu replies, using a paper napkin to wipe a corner of Itaya’s mouth. “It’s still too soon, and we don’t have any guarantees yet. At the concert on Saturday, we’ll try to test the waters. For now...” he trails off, fishing the phone out of Itaya’s front pocket. “...let’s post about our little date.”

Itaya leans close, conspiratorially, lips almost pressed to Ugetsu’s ear as he whispers, “I thought you didn’t do dates.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Opening the front camera, Ugetsu frames himself and Itaya behind their half-empty glasses. Just before snapping the photo, he leans a little closer to Itaya, taking his straw between his lips to show even more closeness.

“Can you make it visible only to certain people, not everyone?”

“Sure, there are Stories for that...” he starts to explain, taking the phone back from Ugetsu to upload it online.

“Yeah, yeah, skip the details. Make it visible only to our circle.”

“You’re really a wicked genius.”

Chapter Text

The two days before the concert are carefree and cheerful.

It’s the first time Ugetsu has stayed away from music for so long, not holding his beloved instrument in his hands, and it’s scary how there’s a whole world out there beyond his violin.

How many things he has missed, how many experiences he hasn’t lived while he was holed up like a recluse in his basement, and then later in apartments around the world, thinking only about playing.

“Do you think I’m a boring person?” he asks suddenly one evening when he’s invited Itaya to spend the night with him — normally Itaya goes back to his parents’ house at the end of the day.

“We just did it in at least three different positions, I still have to recover, and you think you’re boring?” he laughs, tossing a used condom into the bin next to the double bed. A few more already lie there, tied off.

Ugetsu rolls his eyes, his thighs a bit sore after riding him for a long time. “Wasn’t talking about sex. Just in general.”

If he had to evaluate his life from the outside, how would he see himself? Thirty-two years old, no steady partner, no valuable friendship (except Mafuyu, of course, but the general public doesn’t know about their bond). Just a string of concerts and performances. It feels like a hollow, meaningless existence.

What are his hobbies and interests? He doesn’t think he has any. He doesn’t think he’s ever had any.

“You don’t give yourself much credit, Ugetsu-san,” Itaya comforts him, handing him a warm towel to clean himself up. He knows Ugetsu doesn’t move a muscle after sex, preferring to lie inert in bed. “I always have fun when I’m around you.”

“I’m not a fun person.”

“Yes, you are,” he replies immediately. “You’re ironic and sharp. You have a great laugh and know how to adapt to any situation. When you came to the stadium with me, I was very happy.”

Ugetsu gives a small smile. Itaya is really a good guy. Optimistic and positive, he always sees the beauty in everything. He’s enthusiastic about life, living each day as if it were an adventure, no matter what he’s doing — whether choosing where to buy dinner or improvising a game of basketball on an abandoned court.

The day before, while heading back after a day spent visiting parks and temples, they passed by a small, makeshift basketball court with an old hoop that no longer had a net, only the metal rim remaining. Nearby, a ball, a little battered and dirty.

Ugetsu sat on a nearby bench, watching Itaya score basket after basket. His muscles still remembered the countless hours playing basketball during high school. Itaya told him about it — how they spent every break in the school gym, how it was on that court that he fell for Ueki.

Watching him jump for a basket as the sky turned pink in the distance, Ugetsu couldn’t help but admire his toned body, and how, after taking off his jacket, his sweatshirt lifted with every jump, revealing his abdomen.

But it wasn’t just that; it was also the light in his eyes as he moved, the concentration on his face.

Despite his apparent goofiness, Itaya is a serious person, determined in his goals, earnest in what he does — and that is what truly makes a person attractive.

“Come on, Ugetsu-san,” he exclaimed, lively and playful. “Take a few shots too!”

“No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

But in the end, Itaya took him by the hand and led him onto that worn-down court in front of the basket. He placed the ball in Ugetsu’s hands and showed him how to bend his knees just enough to get a solid base, then how to lift and extend his arms in a smooth, confident motion to guide the ball in a perfect arc towards the hoop.

“I’ll kill you if I hurt my hands because of you,” he threatened him, not entirely joking.

“I won’t let you get hurt.”

When they returned to the hotel, Ugetsu didn’t even give him time for a shower.

***

It’s not exactly right to call it a concert. It’s more of a musical event in a smaller venue for a limited audience, featuring bands of varying levels of fame alternating on stage.

Either way, it has been years since Ugetsu has set foot in a live house. The last time must have been about ten years ago, a spring day when he casually met Mafuyu in front of Shibuya station and encouraged him to attend his boyfriend’s live show after hearing about his fears.

The smell inside the venue is the same, that of too many people packed in one place, mixed with food, drinks, and sweat. It felt like going back ten years, when Mafuyu pushed his way through the crowd and Ugetsu stayed behind, distant, content having helped him.

Even if he didn’t show it, that time he saw Akihiko in the crowd, arms raised to the sky, shouting and dancing with everyone else to the steady beat of a pop song. He hadn’t seen him that carefree in a long time, and Ugetsu slipped away silently, unnoticed, getting into a taxi that would take him to the other side of the ocean.

So much time has passed since that day, yet everything seems frighteningly the same. He’s just older now, but his heart beats to the same rhythm as back then.

The curtain is still drawn on the stage, and Ugetsu imagines technicians coming and going, setting up cables and checking the sound and lighting systems. He pictures the backstage bustle, veteran and newer artists preparing to perform.

Itaya is by his side, their bodies close as they make their way through the crowd. Neither of them intends to push for the front row; they’re willing to leave that privilege to some devoted fans.

“Ugetsu-san! Shogo!”

Mafuyu’s cheerful voice makes them turn towards him.

“Shouldn’t you be backstage preparing?” Ugetsu asks.

“There’s still some time before our performance. We’re in the second half of the evening.”

Better this way — Ugetsu always enjoys seeing him.

His hair is neatly styled, his bangs partially swept to one side revealing his forehead, and a light veil of makeup evens out his complexion. Becoming professional musicians also means having a team to take care of their look.

“You look smoking hot!” Itaya says with a whistle of appreciation.

Ugetsu’s mind immediately wonders what Akihiko looks like, though he can’t imagine him being more handsome than he already is.

He shakes the thought off, following the conversation between Mafuyu and Itaya about the other bands performing that evening — Ugetsu doesn’t know any of them.

“Is Ueki coming too?” Itaya asks with indifference, as if not really interested in the answer.

“He should be. He texted me a bit ago, saying he’d managed to get off work on time, so I think he’ll be here soon.”

Ugetsu wants to make a sarcastic remark about the sly smile that has oh-so-casually appeared on Itaya’s face at the confirmation, but then he sees Akihiko approaching them and his mind goes blank.

Black leather jacket, tight jeans, boots.

Ugetsu knows there’s so much more to him than his look. He was drawn to him for the depth of his soul, the intensity of his feelings, and the delicacy of his music. Strange to say, but back then, when they first met, he hadn’t paid much attention to his beauty. If a pretty face was all Akihiko had to offer, Ugetsu wouldn’t still be here twelve years later.

Yet, he has to admit he looks divine.

He has a thin line of eyeliner on his eyes, so light it’s almost as if it’s not there, almost as if it’s Ugetsu’s imagination that applied it.

Maybe he should stop staring.

He notices he’s not alone; next to him stands the bassist with a side ponytail falling over his shoulder and bangs almost covering one side of his face. It stings Ugetsu to admit it, but even he looks pretty good.

He thinks about himself, about his messy hair, his black shirt peeking out from an open jacket, and plain trousers.

“Good luck with your concert,” Itaya says with enthusiasm, and Ugetsu is grateful that he’s doing small talk for both of them. A small smile is all he can manage.

“Only your boyfriend is missing now, where is he?” Ugetsu asks, comforted by Itaya’s presence right by his side, fighting the same battle.

“Taking a last-minute nap,” Mafuyu replies, glancing over his shoulders as if he could see him resting through the walls.

“And those other friends of yours? The annoying one and the creepy one?”

He doesn’t need to sugarcoat his words in Mafuyu’s presence, he knows he can be frank without being misunderstood. Besides, it’s an objective way to describe them: an exuberant blond as blinding as the sun, paired with a gloomy, silent type who offers the world just one expression.

Akihiko bursts into a rough laugh at the question, and it wells up from so deep that Ugetsu’s stomach twists.

“You have to admit the description is pretty accurate,” he says, still laughing. “I think they’re on tour now, Brazil or something?” He turns towards Mafuyu, who nods in confirmation.

“Speaking of which,” Akihiko continues, looking him straight in the eyes, “since when have you been going to the stadium?”

Setting aside that Ugetsu doesn’t see how “speaking of which” fits the question, he can’t really hold back a satisfied grin. ‘Keeping an eye on me?’ he’d like to ask, just to put him on the spot and see him gasp for an answer while standing next to his boyfriend.

“It’s fun hanging out with Shogo,” Ugetsu shrugs it off, feeling invigorated by the interest shown. “It’s nice watching football together.”

“You don’t like football.”

“Maybe I do now?”

As if to say, ‘It’s been a long time, how can you be so sure about it?’ But oh, how well Akihiko knows him.

Itaya joins the conversation.

“A few days ago, I even taught him how to play basketball. You should’ve seen the shots he made.”

He really is the perfect partner in crime.

Akihiko opens his mouth to reply again, as if an unconscious competition had started about who knew Ugetsu and his athletic skills better, but he closes it shortly after.

For Ugetsu, it’s already a big victory.