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Shit.
That’s the only thing Hiro can think to himself when he sees the tall, red haired man who walked into the party fashionably late.
He doesn’t know who the fuck invited Yamashita Toru or why he wasn’t told because if not, he wouldn’t have dared show his face at this place. He knows he shouldn’t be completely surprised; he and his brother (and by extension, Toru, since those two are joined at the hip) do run in similar circles, their scene being surprisingly small, but godammit, even if he’s ran into his brother and his bandmates before on these kind of events, he’s not ready for it to happen right now.
He slumps back against the lounge couch he’s sitting on, white blond hair sweaty and sticking to his neck. He’s praying Toru won’t see him, even standing up and making a beeline for the restroom in futile hopes of hiding until the man is lost in a far off corner of the room with his friends, until he hears a familiar deep voice in his ears, the kind that raises the hair on his neck.
“Hiro-kun, what a surprise.”
He was expecting some anger, even biting sarcasm in his tone, but there’s none of that. Instead there’s just an eerie calm, and he only sees a dash of humor in his smile when he turns around to meet him. It shocks him, and he’s still for a second.
“Ah… Toru-san, I wasn’t expecting to see you here” Hiro stammers, trying to appear more composed, as if his neck isn’t beginning to prickle and burn right now.
He wasn’t the kind of person to mince words, which often got him in sticky situations. He never said stuff without having a reason to, but that hadn’t made the fallout from his statements any easier throughout his life. When it came to the angry words that had left his mouth a few months ago, in a moment of blinding rage that made him disregard the scrutiny he was under, his bandmates knew well enough to not meddle into how he handled the subject of his family. Shohei, still new to this, had mumbled some confused expression of shock and worry, but it had all been disregarded when offstage, his former? leader had wrapped his arms around him like he always had when Hiro faltered.
Former? Was that the word?
Either way, in his manic outburst, he hadn’t really cared who got hit in the crossfire between him and his brother. He hadn’t thought at all, really, about Taka’s bandmates until now, with Toru staring down at him with a mix of curiosity and irritation at Hiro’s innocent facade.
“Right. Of course you didn’t” Toru just sighs as he plops down casually on the couch where Hiro had just stood up. Of course, when cornered, both the brothers reverted to the same similar evasion strategy.
Hiro doesn’t exactly know what he’s supposed to do now. Leave? It’s the logical thing, Toru would certainly not be keen to hang out with him the way they once had. But pride is his Achilles’ heel and he cannot help the nagging in his mind that says he’d be admitting defeat in some way if he leaves. So he doesn’t, and instead takes his seat again, this time with awkward company. They both each grab a beer from the ones Hiro had gotten at the bar earlier, and Toru, just like he remembers, is skilled at girl-catching party tricks like opening the beer cap with his lighter.
“Did you come here… alone?” Hiro asks, and Toru gives him a side glare. On one hand, it is just like the younger man to act this nonchalant while his deep yearning shines through as obviously as it can. On the other, to him it feels like a small jab, even if it hadn’t been intended that way. Because indeed, he’s come alone tonight and he doesn’t want to think about why.
“Came on my own” he nods simply, not adding more to the sentence. He isn’t sure if what reflects on Hiro’s face is disappointment, relief, or both. “So did you, I see.”
As always, there’s a thousand questions Hiro could ask, but for once, he isn’t ready for the answers. Then again, his brother’s radio silence is in of itself an answer, much as he hates to face it. Not like it should be surprising, this is their usual routine of coming and going, but Hiro is more afraid than he lets on that this time he’s crossed a line.
“Was planning on leaving with company, but it seems like you ruined my chances” he tries to be glib. He’s trying and failing at many things lately.
“I’m sure I ruined your night alright.”
“Don’t give yourself the credit” Hiro says, half arrogant and half self-deprecating. He doesn’t want the guitarist to know how much he’s affected by the situation. “You’re not the one ruining my night.”
The weight of the person who has probably ruined both of their lives hangs heavy between them as they walk to the terrace for a smoke. After fiddling for the lighter for a second, struggling from irritation to get his cigarette lit, Toru can’t help but speak up again.
“Did you really have to pull that stunt? None of us ever did anything to you or your bandmates” he says dryly. “You and Taka have unresolved issues, but the moment you drag the band into it, that’s when we stop being cool. Which I thought we were, by the way” he adds.
“Toru-san…” he tries to start. “I don’t hate you, I hope you know that?”
“It’s not about me, okay?” he tries to keep his voice even and not think about how Ryota had seemed a little sullen on the flight back from Korea when he told him what had gone down at My First Story’s Budokan show. “But I thought you had the maturity to separate the personal and the professional, and not mess with what other people that have done nothing to you have worked so hard for.”
Hiro is a bit dumbfounded, because Toru isn’t a verbose man, unlike his brother. Sure, he knows from others he’s got a bit of a temper when time calls for it, but he hadn’t ever been at the edge of his lashing out. From what little Taka had told him back in the day, it was usually him who went off the deep end, and Toru the one to reel him in with infinite patience. And that’s what Toru doesn’t understand. How is he supposed to separate the personal and the professional, when to him and his brother both have always been deeply intertwined, when they’ve been the only way to speak to each other from the distance, when it’s been the one way both seek validation and something to ease the storm inside? That by playing the melody to the message in a bottle Taka had sent him, they’d all gotten themselves in this hellish mess, and couldn’t say they weren’t aware of it?
How does Toru not know that this is about him, that the moment Hiroki felt himself falter on that stage at the thought of his brother once more choosing to chase the stars instead of looking back at him, he’d looked back as he usually had but realized the leader that had guided him and believed in him wouldn’t again stand by his side when the words choked up on his throat in front of an audience. But Taka, Taka had everything that Hiro had ever wanted for himself, and that included Yamashita Toru, the man who had never failed to be by his side to catch him before he fell. Toru was the key, the one who had picked up Taka and without whom his brother would have never flown beyond his reach.
Hiro cornered the taller man, his fierce eyes and the suddenness of his action working in his favor, making him take a step back. The startle in his eyes only pushed Hiro forward. He was a predator, a black widow– small, but deadly. He had both eyes on the prize– the man in front of him, the steadiness in his stance and the sure feeling of his presence. He doesn’t even flinch as he places one hand on Toru’s shoulder, the other on his neck, and pulls him down to kiss him, as if to claim him for himself. Because if there’s one thing he can steal from his brother it’s this.
“Hiro…?” Toru stammers after a moment, pushing away just the slightest, but Hiro doesn’t miss the fact that it took him a moment to break off the kiss. He pushes his lips against the older man’s again, tugging on his hair, and getting a low-pitch groan. Satisfied, he uses the moment to push his tongue in his mouth, tongue poking at his canines.
“Bet my brother doesn’t kiss like this” he whispers, heated. Toru freezes. It’s a taunt, meant to be provocative, enticing, but all he hears is the fact that Hiro knows about him and Taka’s.. whatever it is. The sudden tension in his body doesn’t go unnoticed by the little firecracker that has him trapped against the balcony railing.
“I… we don’t…” he murmurs, tongue clumsy against Hiro’s skilled one. Not like he doesn’t have his fair share of experience, but speech is less of his thing. How does he begin to explain the endless waltz of years circling each other they’ve been through? The things they do to get back at each other? God, is he turning Hiro into one of those, too?
The small amount of guilt in his gut was offset by the rage, the humiliation he felt at his latest falling out with his vocalist. Toru lets Hiro lead the way to his apartment, knowing this is probably the cruelest way he could get back at the lover who has once again scorned him. But hell, Hiro is so warm and willing and does something with the heel of his palm against his crotch that has him seeing stars. And it’s too easy to let himself be wanted and needed. If they were truly dating, Toru would’ve never felt like falling into someone else’s arms, but there’s a reason this isn’t cheating. You can’t break a promise that was never made.
Hiro is quick at relieving Toru from the black button up he’d been wearing, hands swiftly snaking around his pretty waist. His mouth immediately latches onto his chest, where his eyes had spotted a ghost of healing bite marks. He knows his brother’s lips have also wandered these same paths, and wonders if he can taste whatever courage he’s left behind, the defiance Taka had that made him climb higher and higher. As he moves further down with his teeth and bites at the man’s prominent Adam’s apple, his mind muses if maybe Toru is the secret to Taka’s fearlessness, as the one who saved him. Because having someone who will never leave, no matter how much shit you give them, probably makes a man feel unbeatable.
Toru’s phone is ringing but he pays it no mind, ignoring it from where it’s still in the pocket of his forgotten pants. All he can think of at the moment is that god, these brothers are gonna be the death of him. His gravelly voice echoes in Hiro's living room, pictures of his proudest moments and framed records filling the walls, as if his sinful mouth was not enough to show him that he’s every bit as good as his older brother.
He’s not expecting a hunched over figure at his door, a familiar one that makes guilt simmer on the pit of his stomach once again. He brushes his hair off his face as he sees Taka waiting for him, telling himself that he hasn’t done anything that wasn’t forbidden by their absolute lack of stability. Taka has done this to him on purpose before, so why should he care? He’s half expecting the short man to look up with a face full of lipstick marks as he once did in this same doorway; instead, he’s hit with eyes that have never looked at him with so much resentment, and a phone being chucked at him indignantly. His world falls apart as he stares at the luminescent screen, his own lighter clutched in a familiar tattooed hand. He barely has time to react before those surprisingly strong hands push him against the railing.
“Get your hands off my little brother.”