Archive of Our Own

Ichigo is stuck right in the peak of LA traffic when he hears Orihime’s voice on the radio, and he has half a mind to ask the driver to change the station. It’s the audio version of a talk show she was on earlier in the week — casual, amicable. Orihime had always been the best at promo back then, remembering names, shaking hands, laughing politely at the un-funny jokes.

The interviewer lets a round or two of idle chit-chat about her upcoming HBO original go on—how did she prepare for the role, what made her go from music to acting, what did the director think of a former teen idol joining the cast—before she moves in for the kill: “So, how are things between you and the guys?”

Ichigo closes his eyes and sighs.

“All good,” Orihime replies and he can picture her, both hands in her lap as she flashes a good-natured, diplomatic smile. “I’m always supportive of everything the boys do, and I’m excited for them, naturally.”

It’s more or less the same soundbite she’s been giving ever since the teaser for her show dropped, but the interviewer pushes. “You know, Uryu tweeted to congratulate you…”

“I saw that,” Orihime replies happily. Ichigo had seen it too. It was polite and well-worded, but casual enough that Ichigo could tell he’d written it himself and not passed it off to an assistant.

“And you posted a screenshot of Chad wishing you over text.” Ichigo didn’t know that. “He’s not a man of many words, is he?”

Orihime laughs. “No, he’s not.” She sounds fond, and Ichigo has to grip the car seat both because of that and the question he knows is coming next.

“So, no beef between any of you then?”

It’s a softball, and Ichigo almost has to respect the woman for tiptoeing because a lesser interviewer would have gone for the jugular. The clear omission of Ichigo’s name hangs in the air like an open wound, clear enough that he wonders if Orihime has him on The List.

(That was what they called the no-no’s back then, the banned questions. Dating, drugs, that one incident from 2012 that management was still having a hard time burying.)

“Of course not. You know, I love them, and we shared this beautiful thing for six years—that’s always going to be a part of me and I’ll always wish them the best.” It’s a kind but firm answer, an I’m done talking about this now, if anything. The interviewer accepts the dead end and lobs a few more questions in a completely different direction. Then, they say their goodbyes and the audio filters out right into the beginning of the trailer.

Ichigo tunes it out, having already seen it when it first dropped. He’d learned about the show with the rest of the world, not shocked, but still surprised. Orihime had always liked the acting part of the job—the music videos, the T-Mobile ads, the elaborate stage performances. She liked hiding behind a mask and she was good at it. It was one of the earliest things they could relate to each other on, though his mask eventually took him in a different direction altogether.

Anyway, the show is some kind of modern satire, a dark comedy the Emmys will go gaga over, no doubt, but for once Ichigo doesn’t mean anything bad by it. The first time the screen had panned to her, his heart had nearly stopped, blood rushing so loudly into his ears that he almost missed the perfectly-delivered dialogue. Starring, it said, her name in bold next to a series of A-list actors they'd all idolized at one point or another. Pride and bitterness had surged in his chest at the sight of it. He remembers Orihime at fifteen, the insecure slouch in her shoulders that they trained out of her. He remembers that awful year at the Teen Choice awards, when the host made a stupid joke at her expense—remembers pulling her into a hug backstage after and promising to always be there for her, no matter how bad things got or how grown up they’d be. Remembers the way Chad and Uryu had followed suit and they’d all curled around her protectively, the first of many group hugs.

He remembers all of it. Of course he does.

Maybe that’s why he wonders how they could forget.

+

The story goes that K-Town began as a concept in Urahara’s uptown office. The notorious talent manager had all but picked them out of a line-up at the mall, seemingly at random—or at least with a vision only he was seeing.

Chad was the only 18-year-old, while the other three were still waiting for their birthdays to come around. They hadn’t even gotten their drivers’ licenses, though Ichigo knew how to drive. At the time, Ichigo had still been living with his parents, recording half-hearted demos with two other guys he knew from high school. Before K-Town, he hadn’t even had his first kiss. It didn’t occur to him that he could be pop band material, and the only relief was that neither could the other three.

At first glance, no one could have looked at them and thought of them as a cohesive unit. Uryu was aloof, Chad was quiet, Ichigo had a rebellious streak and Orihime was eager to please. None of them even liked the same kinds of music, though Ichigo and Chad had some overlap. Yet, Urahara had looked at them with intrigue, cogwheels turning in his head as he asked them to sing Don’t Stop Me Now. After that first shaky harmonization, he made them do God Only Knows instead, and by that second verse, he seemed to have an idea of how things should go. Urahara had managed talent before. Everyone remembered how he’d turned things around for The Visored after their very public fall from grace.

Except this time, he wanted a pop band — one that would be different from all the bands before, one that would transcend limitations of genre, tradition, style and presentation. And, of course, gender. No one could help but notice that Urahara was applying all the standard aesthetics of a Western boyband to a group that had a girl in it.

“Of course, you would have to think very long and hard if this is something you want to do,” he explained. “I would encourage you to talk to your parents — and each other! — before you come to a decision. Right now, I’m just giving you a key to the door in front of you. What comes next is up to you; you can use your key to open the door, or you can lock it tight and we can never speak of this again.”

They’d all glanced at each other, nervous and uncertain. Would people really be interested in four scrappy teenagers from the middle-of-nowhere Japan making music for them?

“I mean, it does seem too good to be true,” Orihime had sighed later, when they broke away from Urahara to get to know each other and talk in a nearby cafe. “Would people really care about what we have to say?”

“And what does he get out of it?” Uryu mused, glancing over his shoulder at the building that housed Urahara’s office.

“A cut of our profits, probably,” Chad replied. It was a small price to pay for what he was promising them—if they even made a profit.

“I’m not sure if I could do pop music,” Ichigo scowled. “I mean, my band’s pretty punk-rock.”

Orihime’s eyes glittered in awe. Uryu, on the other hand, looked unimpressed. “Yes, I’m sure your avant-garde lyricism will have a major breakthrough in the underground scene. I can already picture the bras sailing through the air.”

“Hey!”

“Let’s face it: this is a business,” Uryu interrupted him. “The question isn’t if we’re going to get along, or if we’re going to make music we like. It’s a question of if we can do business together.”

“That sounds pretty harsh to me,” Orihime admitted. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d like to sing a song I didn’t care about. Besides, if we were spending that much time away from our families, then I’d at least like us all to get along.” She shot them a big-dimpled smile, and all three boys loosened up despite themselves.

“He did say everything would depend on the first album,” Chad began slowly. It was the first real thing he had said all afternoon while Uryu and Ichigo bickered and Orihime bulldozed over them with her own ridiculous suggestions. “If it sells, it sells. Otherwise we can just go our separate ways and go back to what we were doing before this.”

The other three gaped. It was a reasonable way of thinking about it, for sure, though they all agreed to go home and think some more. Maybe discuss this with their families.

Dedicated fans of the group would be able to tell you what happened next: that Chad, Orihime and Ichigo had shown up on the day of, only to realize Uryu wouldn’t be joining them. That his father had said no, wanting him to focus on school and finish his education. That the other three had deliberated for a good bit, wondering where life would take them from here, wondering if they would get in trouble for what they were about to do next, debating whether or not Uryu would even get along with the rest of them. Whether the fight was worth it.

In the end, in a story that had since been repeated in a million interviews and documentaries and magazine articles, they decided to break into Uryu’s house in the middle of the night and convince him to run away with them for a year—vagabonds with a potential record deal and songs to sing. Chad had a car, Orihime had packed an overnight bag, and Ichigo was ready to kick Uryu if he didn’t come willingly. They were on the cusp of a life-changing journey, though none of them had ever fathomed just how much that would be on the night they had climbed the drain pipe to Uryu’s room and told him he was going to be in their band, whether he liked it or not.

Uryu, of course, only seventeen then, only in his pajamas, then, had said only one thing: we need better outfits.

K-Town would go on to break Guinness World records, sell out stadiums, make it to the top of every chart there was in every possible country, and win the hearts of millions of teenagers around the world. It was a success story of once-in-a-blue-moon proportions, though the numbers were only scraping the surface of it.

The rest was an unspoken history only four people in the world knew about. And until the tell-all dropped, maybe fifty years down the line, they had all vowed it would remain that way.

+

Ichigo returns to the studio a little after lunch. Renji and Rukia are already there, hunched over the same phone. There’s a song playing, and it takes Ichigo a second to realize why it’s so familiar.

“I thought you two said you were working,” he says loudly, hoping they’ll cut it out and get back to the song they’ve been recording all week instead.

Rukia rolls her eyes. “We are working. Gosh, you guys sound young here,” she says, a little distracted when the chorus rolls in. “How come you don’t do riffs like this anymore?”

“I told you, I don’t want to make music like that,” Ichigo says shortly, pulling up his hoodie so he can take it off. There weren’t any paps near this studio, but he still hadn’t wanted to take a chance. He’s been lying low since his first album, but he knows that hasn’t stopped people from wanting to take pictures of him.

The YouTube video auto-plays into the next one, a shrill chorus of screams bursting from the speakers. It’s a concert clip, Ichigo figures, and he leaves them in the recording room to go dump his hoodie on a chair. Rukia and Renji are excellent producers, but they’re a little eccentric and refuse to do anything without each other, which means they’re always being oddball comedians in the studio. It’s the kind of goofery that made the K-Town producers always split them up into two separate sessions—him and Chad, Orihime and Uryu. Or him and Orihime, Chad and Uryu. In the later years, they never really liked putting him and Uryu in a session together, and all things considered, it was probably for the best.

When Ichigo returns, Rukia and Renji are still watching the concert clip.

“...why I wanted to say once again that I love being in London,” Orihime is saying. “And I love it more tonight because I have my boys here with me.”

The crowd awwws. Ichigo hears a younger version of himself say, “Are you done?” and he walks up to watch the video despite himself. It’s a shaky clip from their Landmark Tour, Orihime standing front and center while the other three watch her with fond exasperation. Orihime’s hand flies up to her throat. “Gosh, were you waiting for me to finish?”

“Yeah,” Chad says, and she turns crimson.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been rambling for ages!”

The crowd laughs, most of them too young to realize everything is orchestrated with a band of this scale, even the accidents. Orihime had always had a knack for making the planned seem spontaneous, though, magical even. A pre-encore with her was like the last hour before a sleepover ended, when the pretty girl leaned over to tell you a secret that would change your life forever. Ichigo and Chad had co-written a song about it for one of their albums, but it hadn’t made the final cut. Ichigo still thinks about it sometimes.

Rukia rewinds the clip and laughs. “She is such a natural.”

“Makes you guys look like amateurs in the background there,” Renji agrees with a teasing lilt, elbowing Ichigo in the side.

“Anyway, I’m so glad we got to come here tonight and play for you,” Orihime says, her voice turning soft and reflective, a world within herself. The audience grows hushed. A big screen pans to her face, and there’s a sheen of tears in her eyes, a genuine moment of sincerity. “We’re just four kids from this little town in Japan called Karakura. We never imagined we would make it, but we’re so thrilled that we did. We’re so grateful we could leave a little piece of ourselves here with you.” Then, a broad smile fills her face, the mask coming back on again: “So, as we’re reaching the end of our time together, London, I guess I just have one question I want to ask you.”

She turns to her bandmates with a sly smile, then turns back to the mic, eyes sparkling.

Are you ready to rock-and-roll?

Then

A loud rush thrummed through Ichigo’s ears, his legs trembling hard as they headed backstage.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Orihime said, clutching her chest like she was having a hard time breathing. “Did we just play at the O2?”

Ichigo grinned. Chad and Uryu were the same beside him, muscles glinting in the low light, clothes drenched. The air was rancid, sweat coming off them in waves, but everything was shimmering, everything was bright and they just couldn't stop grinning. Ichigo couldn’t stop grinning. He couldn’t stop shaking. An after-echo of the crowd rang in his ears, followed by pitched screams, the heavy bass of their band’s guitars, the constant quickening of his own heartbeat. He’d told Chad before the show that if he survived O2 without having a heart attack midway, it’d be a miracle.

He grinned at Chad now, knowing they were both thinking the same thing. Orihime was smushed up against Uryu’s side, and Uryu was close enough to Chad that it was almost instinctual to draw them all into a group hug. Somewhere behind them, a series of cameras went off and there was the whir of a video recorder as well, desperate to capture the moment. Their loved ones were cooing, the crew was cheering, but at that moment, only three other people in the world existed, and they were all feeling the same thing he did. It was so tenuous, so electric, Ichigo just closed his eyes. The feeling was still there. It coursed through his bandmates’ arms and to him, brimming until his chest was full. They did it. They really did it.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” someone said, and they broke apart, laughing shyly, wiping sweat, wiping small tears. Orihime bounced away to hug her brother, Chad turned to his grandfather with open arms, and Uryu parted the crowd of staff and dancers to find his parents standing in a corner. Ichigo did the same, easily spotting his mom, his dad and his sisters at the far back, smiling and waving at him excitedly.

The feeling from before grew tenfold as he walked up to them, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, reaching for her first and enveloping her into a tight hug.

“Oh, my darling, you were amazing,” Masaki praised. Ichigo buried his head into her shoulder and smiled.

“Congratulations, Ichi-nii!” his sisters chirped.

Ichigo wiggled his fingers at them to join the hug, laughing when they ran up to his other side and squeezed him tight. When had they gotten so tall?

“My little baby is a rockstar now!” Isshin fake-sobbed. “Oh, Masaki, look at him, our little boy.”

“Dear!” Masaki chided, sharing a look of fond exasperation with Ichigo. “There are cameras everywhere, stop crying. Put your game face on.”

Isshin instantly sobered, his spine ramrod straight as his face folded into a frown.

“Wow, that was quick, Dad,” Ichigo noted.

“Well, that’s showbiz for ya, son,” Isshin said, clapping his shoulder like he was teasing, but Ichigo felt the weight of his fingers, the firm squeeze conveying an unspoken pride.

“I think if anyone knows showbiz, it’s the guy who just played to a sold-out stadium in London with his band, Dad,” Karin pointed out, rolling her eyes. Her statement immediately led to a series of bantering and bickering that Ichigo only half-took in as he glanced around the room. On one side, Orihime was clinging to her brother’s arm, her head on his shoulder while he made small-talk with one of their dancers. On another, Chad was sitting down on a sofa with his grandfather, the two of them watching the scene with their chins on their hands and their mouths moving quietly. At the far back, Uryu was in deep conversation with his parents. Both his mother and father seemed restrained, but even at this distance, one thing was clear—their heads were high with pride. Ichigo smiled.

“What are you smiling about, sunshine?” Masaki ruffled Ichigo’s hair, following his gaze to the group he was looking at.

Ichigo shrugged. “Dunno. Just happy they came around eventually.”

“Oh, that’s what parents do,” Masaki said, squeezing him between his shoulders. “They were very moved, when you guys were up there, shining so brightly. Who wouldn’t be?”

“They put you guys all together down there?” Ichigo had only barely glanced down at his family in the crowd back when they were performing, too absorbed in hitting the right notes and getting the choreo down.

“They did,” Masaki said, pleased. “Your Dad and Chad’s abuelo have already exchanged numbers with plans to go golfing some day.” She brought up her hand to stage-whisper, “I think they’re just looking for an excuse to smoke those cigars your dad thinks I don’t know about.”

Ichigo laughed.

Eventually, they had to move the after-party back to their hotel, a stream of cars lining up to pick them all up and drop them off. Ichigo hit the showers in his parents’ room, washing down the post-show grime with only a vacant idea of what he was doing, flashes of the show still coming back to him at random. The life. The color. By the time he headed out, his parents were asleep, snoring.

Ichigo stepped out and gently closed the door behind him, heading up the hallway in search of the others.

The first person he caught was Orihime, her hair wet from her own shower, face free of make-up as she stepped out of her own room. “Hey.”

Ichigo smiled. “Hey.”

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” she suggested.

“Nah.” His smile turned to a grin. “Way too much adrenaline.”

Orihime nodded. “I know. I still feel it in my fingers.” She held her hand up to him, showing him the feeble tremble. “Do you feel it there too?”

Ichigo shook his head. “Feel it in my knees.”

That last, sweeping look he’d given the crowd, taking in the thousands of nameless faces, the fan-made signs, the waving glowsticks, and yes—the sailing bras. He couldn’t help but think of Uryu’s acerbic comment from oh-so-long-ago, the realization that even on their best day, his high school band would’ve never tasted even a little of what he was tasting now.

He was going to remember it forever. Orihime smiled knowingly, hugging herself tighter as they walked up to Chad’s room together, where Uryu was already spread out on the sofa. His head was resting on his tucked arms, but his eyes were wide open. Somewhere downstairs, an actual party was happening, with all their assistants and crews and make-up artists. But up here, it was quiet. Uryu said nothing to them, just sat up and made room for Orihime, while Ichigo took a wicker chair on the other side for himself. A little bottle of vodka was sitting on the side, and Ichigo picked it up, just as Chad was coming out of the bathroom.

“Who left that here?” Orihime marvelled.

“Urahara,” Chad replied, as Ichigo flipped the bottle over to find a post-it note that read: ‘Congratulations on your biggest night yet! Party hard, but party responsibly. Love, you-know-who.’

“Huh,” Ichigo said, passing it to Uryu, who held out a hand. “Looks like that guy knows how to do something other than bully us after all.”

“I’ll bring us some glasses,” Chad said.

They didn’t drink often, as a unit. For one, their schedule hardly allowed for that kind of leisure, but also because everyone on the team told them it was bad for their skin. Tonight, however, was different. They just played at the O2.

Orihime and Uryu leaned forward as Chad poured a shot into each glass. Ichigo held his up and waited for Chad, who quickly followed suit. Then, all three of them stared at Ichigo expectantly, like they were expecting him to make the toast.

“Cat got your tongue?” Uryu suggested dryly, when Ichigo took a bit too long to think of something appropriate to say. Chad and Orihime stifled a laugh each.

“Shut up.” Ichigo flushed, leaning forward with his glass. Some of the vodka spilled over his fingers, getting them a little sticky. “To us,” he began, a little uncertain. “To K-Town.”

To Ichigo, and Orihime, and Chad, and Uryu. To being best fucking friends and ruling the world together. He didn’t say it. They knew it. The other three just clinked their glasses and threw their shots back until their throats burned.

The evening flooded past them pretty quickly after that. Someone suggested a drinking game. Someone suggested truth or dare. With the alcohol flowing, their tongues were loose now, returning to the rapid chatter of Japanese they only used when it was just the four of them. Most of their team was American, and besides—they’d been encouraged to speak in English as much as possible behind the scenes, if only so they could sound more natural during press tours. Chilling like this felt a little bit like slipping back into themselves. Their real selves.

But it didn’t matter. They realized quickly enough that truth or dare was a rather dry game. Between the four of them, there just weren’t as many thrilling teenage experiences to go off of, no reference point as to what kids their age actually dared each other to do. The only challenge that came to mind were kissing dares, and Ichigo knew the others were thinking it too. It was the only remotely bold thing that crossed their minds.

“So,” Orihime announced, leaning back. It was her turn. There was a weird tension in the air, a weight that hadn’t been there just a few moments ago. Ichigo was determined to stare at his own kneecaps. His cheeks were hot.

A few months ago, they’d been at a talk show somewhere, playing one of those ‘name-the-bandmate’ games under the bright beam of studio lights. Someone in the crowd had asked them who they were most protective of in the band, and all four of them had taken their squeaky markers and scribbled down a name on their boards, mindful of using the right letters and each other's given names. When Uryu and Ichigo had both written ‘Orihime,’ there was somewhat of a stir, the drama-eager interviewer leaping at the opportunity to tease some sort of rivalry there. Pop culture back then was still fresh off the wave that stupid vampire series had created, but Orihime leaped in quickly to affirm that they were all close friends and that there were no crushes (or rivalries) between them. Ichigo added that, since Orihime was the only girl, and a tender-hearted person at that, it was only natural that they were more mindful of how they could make her feel safe. Uryu more-or-less confirmed the same thing, while their teams nodded in approval in the background.

It didn’t stop the whole thing from snow-balling. Even before the show, they were asked all the time about what they thought of shipping—specifically of that subset of fans that shipped them with each other. They always feigned surprise at that and responded with empty platitudes, but in truth, their team monitored social media rather closely—and apparently, there was somewhat of a debate about him, Orihime and Uryu now. Specifically, the perceived tensions between him and Uryu, the source of which was Orihime. Ichigo had only seen brief glimpses of the masterposts on Tumblr or LiveJournal, but they were lengthy — replete with interview clips taken out of context, and completely innocuous moments that were slowed down into GIFs and dissected. Even body language experts were involved, though Ichigo was sure most of them were self-proclaimed. The Japanese side of their fandom was much quieter, but a lot of fans around the globe had divided themselves into their respective allegiances early on — you were either Team Ichihime, or Team Ishihime.

(Of course, there were some fans who disapproved of the discourse entirely, citing all kinds of things, from how unprofessional it was to date within a band, to how Ichigo and Uryu had more chemistry with each other than either of them did with Orihime. There was also a small subset of fans that tweeted how come no one noticed that Chad wrote Uryu’s name every few weeks, but this was a smaller group, and a much quieter one.)

Ichigo didn’t know what to make of it. It was weird. For most of his teenage life, he’d been a zit-faced kid who girls didn’t even bother looking at. A little make-up, a little grooming, a little PR, and he’d somehow turned into a star overnight, the kind of heartthrob that kids had posters of in their bedrooms. The kind of person who had torrid love affairs with his bandmates and lied to the world about it. He tried not to think about it, and he certainly hadn’t brought it up with either Uryu or Orihime. But looking at them now, he knew they were all thinking about it, even Chad, who seemed amused, brows lifted sky-high in curiosity.

“I guess we should rip the band-aid off, huh,” Orihime declared softly, glancing between Uryu and Ichigo.

Ichigo felt a rush of heat coil in his gut. It had never been like the fans said. They were all friends. But Ichigo and Uryu butted heads so easily, so often, that pretty much everything had been a contest between them so far—who got more solos, who could play more instruments, who wore what cooler. There was just an easy rivalry between them, and it was hard not to think about who’d win at this. Orihime loved both of them, but who would she kiss, if it really came down to it?

Across the room, Uryu’s eyes narrowed. Ichigo stared at him, willing, telepathically, for him to just be cool about it, to not make it A Thing like he did everything else.

But then Orihime said, “I dare you two to kiss each other,” and Ichigo’s heart stopped.

Uryu, too, blinked, like he didn’t hear her right.

“Orihime…” Chad started nervously, like he hadn’t been expecting that.

Ichigo hadn’t been expecting it either. A renewed tension entered the room.

“What?” Orihime murmured, confused. “Did I say something?”

Ichigo wanted to groan. Of course Orihime would miss the obvious—that any and all tensions between them were entirely because she was a girl and they were boys and girls and boys couldn’t just be friends without the world making a big soap opera out of it. Orihime’s brain worked differently.

“You want me to kiss Ichigo?” Uryu suggested. Ichigo wasn’t sure he liked Uryu’s tone.

“I could be the one kissing you,” he pointed out.

Uryu looked offended by that.

“Ideally, you’d both be kissing each other. Consensually.” Chad turned to Orihime. “Are you sure about this?”

Orihime smiled, serene. “Mm-hmm.”

“Didn’t realize you were that kind of girl,” Ichigo said dryly.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to!” Orihime pointed out, but there was something about pleasing her, about making her dream come true that gave Ichigo pause. Uryu was staring at him with weighted hesitation, an animal ready to sprint, but nobody had actually said no yet.

“Fine, fuck it,” Ichigo shrugged it off, nodding at Uryu. “You wanna kiss me?”

Uryu licked his lips. “I suppose we should.” He turned to Orihime. “That was the dare, right?”

“Be more enthusiastic about it, dumbass,” Ichigo muttered, wiping his building sweat down the front of his pants before grabbing Uryu by the collar. Orihime gasped in surprise, somewhere in the background. Ichigo could see Chad glancing back and forth between them, out of the corner of his eye. But most of all, he could see Uryu, poised, positioned, like he was preparing more for a fight than a kiss.

When their mouths caught, there was a moment of pure heat, like all the electricity of the night flowed down to sparks between them. It was only later, much later, that Ichigo realized he’d given his first kiss to a dare.

Now

There’s a girl hiding in the bushes. Ichigo can see her through the window of his car as they pass her by and cross the gate. His bodyguard clocks it too, sighing deeply.

“You want me to send her away?” he asks, already unbuckling his seatbelt with a swift swish.

“Be nice about it,” Ichigo tells him, glancing behind his shoulder as the car slows down. His bodyguard gets down and walks over to the bushes. The car starts moving again, but Ichigo watches the two of them talk, the girl turning appropriately red as the conversation grows longer. She’s holding something in her hand—maybe something she wanted to give him, something she wanted him to sign. Ichigo would’ve stopped for her, if they were back at his London apartment. But this is his family’s compound, the place where his parents live, so encouraging the habit is a bad idea, even if he can see the headlines already. Ex-idol BRUTALLY rejects fan. Fan kicked out of former popstar’s mansion. Ichigo tries not to read those anymore, tries not to care, but six years of caring very hard about what people think of him has left behind its residue. He has half a mind to get down and go sign whatever it is the kid brought, if only to avoid being called a diva by the Daily Mail.

In the end, he just grabs his guitar case and walks up the driveway into his parents’ house, barely casting the scene a second glance. His security here is tighter than it is in London, and it’s been a while since they’ve had any incidents, so he leaves it be.

When he goes upstairs, his mother is already in the kitchen, talking on the phone, but she blows him a kiss when she catches sight of him. “Yuzu,” she mouths in explanation.

Ichigo huffs affectionately, heading over to the sink to wash the studio grime off his hands. The second album’s been in production for a while now, but he’s not sure what he wants on it, what kind of story he wants to tell. Every sound feels wrong, even if the lyrics are exactly the kind of moody, grungy crooning people have come to expect from him. Everyone had said the second album would be harder, and the longer he’s been working on it, the more he realizes it’s true. It doesn’t help that his label is so off-hands—exactly the kind of thing he’d needed coming out of the band, but something that frustrates him now. There’s no one to push against, no one to tell him what to be, what to say, what the public needs. There was a time when that kind of freedom excited him. When he could grab the mic and say something no one thought the handsome, well-behaved Asian idol would say—the kind of things he saw his heroes say, growing up. The kind of things the band never allowed them to say.

It’s fine. Ichigo is taking his time working on it. After six years of deadlines, vision boards, concept planning, tour-planning, and fighting tooth and nail to keep songs that were off-brand, time is a luxury. Freedom is an indulgence. Album two can wait.

“...just came in,” Ichigo hears his mom say, as he re-enters the kitchen. “Yuzu says hi.”

“Hey, Yuzu,” Ichigo says, leaning in to talk to the speaker. Yuzu talks his ear off about college, chirping in that teenage girl way that he’s seen so often at fan conventions, at meet and greets, no matter where they were in the world. While he’d been around the world singing songs, his sisters had shot up in height, in age, and then moved off to college with a bittersweet speed. Now, it’s just his parents in the house—and him, whenever he comes down from London.

The rest of the day he spends with his mom, her watching the TV, him scribbling vague lyrics in his journal that he’ll probably crumple up and throw later. His mom flicks through each channel with idle interest, not saying much to him. She knows fully well how he gets when he’s writing. The important thing is that they’re together, that they’re sharing the same space. After six years of rarely being on the same continent as her, being on the same couch is a blessing he never takes for granted—even if she’ll sometimes chide him about it.

Later, he’ll think about how mundane the moments are, right before you hear big news. The exact shine of dust motes coming through the window, the patterns the curtains make on the carpet. Masaki gasps, and it’s an odd enough sound that Ichigo looks up, just in time to catch the ET News headline—Former band member comes out in emotional Instagram post. There’s a picture of Chad’s face right beside it, from a few years ago. In it, he’s smiling, his eyes closed, but the person he’s smiling at is cropped off from the image. Ichigo doesn’t need to see it. He already knows.

It was him.

Then

Meeting days were Ichigo’s least favorite days. And it wasn’t just him. Whenever there was an all-hands, Orihime’s smiles were less bright, Uryu barely even snarked, and though Chad was quiet as always, there was something surly about his silence on those days—on the days where they came into the office in New York and sat down in front of a bunch of suits whose first priority, above everything else, was to get K-Town’s money to make money. Ichigo wasn’t sure he even knew most of these people beyond their job titles. Branding execs, lawyers, record label directors. People who spoke in tongues, throwing around words like carve-outs and industry standard and commercially satisfactory.

The argument that day was about a bonus track. They hardly wrote songs together—all four of them—but this one had come along late during one of their recording sessions, when they were just lazing around, jamming with no real goal. Chad had plucked the strings of his guitar, Orihime had hummed along, Uryu began a melody pass and Ichigo gave the song a body, a shape. Someone excitedly reached out for a recorder, all of them talking over each other as they stumbled out different words, different verses, and that was how it all came together. It was one of those rare songs where you could sense traces of all four of them, weaving together in an eclectic mix like an early Gorillaz record, too unpolished for pop, but raw. Surreal. And even though they never usually agreed on tracklists, they were united in this. Magic like that was rare. Exciting.

“The fans will love it,” Orihime defended, her hands on the table, head tilted out towards the execs. “It’s a side of us they don’t usually get to see.” She turned to the boys for support.

Ichigo nodded, as if to back her up. “It completes the story of the album.”

“Agreed,” a woman said, one of the few in the board room. Most of their make-up artists and dancers and assistants were women, but here, the composition was wholeheartedly one-sided, and Ichigo couldn’t help but feel like that was one of the reasons why everything felt like an us vs them whenever they came in here. “But Ichigo, the song is six minutes long.”

“Too long for radio,” someone clarified hurriedly.

“So it’ll be the album closer,” Ichigo argued. “It doesn’t have to be a single.”

“Sure,” one of the execs cut in, placating. “I mean, guys. We like the song, too.” We’re on your side, no, really. “We’re just not sure if this plays with our core audience.”

Uryu narrowed his eyes. “We know our target demographic,” he pointed out, a little dry, as if to demonstrate, however subtly, that they were the ones meeting fans, hearing stories about what this song or that one meant to them.

“You’re underestimating what the average teenage girl would want to listen to,” Ichigo added, glancing at Chad, as if to rally more support. Chad didn’t say anything. Ichigo frowned but turned back to their adversaries for the day. “What we have here doesn’t sound like anything else you’ve got on the radio.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say in a room full of people who liked to play it safe, in a room full of people who wanted the next teeny-bopper that would play at a Target or a Walmart. Most of K-Town’s discography catered to that sound, but some of their very best work—the ones that got the highest-pitched screams at a show—were the ones where they were playing it close to the edge, the ones where they were inviting their fans to a new sound, a bolder declaration. Hip thrusts, risque lyrics about going in the back of a car, to the back of a darkened room somewhere, electric and exciting and new. Parents and conservative critics might have clutched their pearls, but fans went crazy for that kind of stuff. Ichigo could see it in his head already, the kind of chants they could come up with for this one, the call-and-response, the sweat, the fervor.

Maybe that’s why the rejection stung. Or maybe they’d heard one too many no’s, these last few months—no cursing, no public political affiliations, no bell-bottom pants, no tattoos, no piercings. Maybe the real issue of the song was that they had a line about throwing caution to the wind, about saying what you really think. Ichigo didn’t know. When they left the room that day, it was in a frustrated steam. Uryu walked off to take a call. Orihime headed to her car, begging her driver to roll the windows up and avoid the paps. Ichigo found Chad instead, walking alone past a set of elevators.

“Hey.” He bumped his shoulder to Chad’s. “What was that back there?”

Chad turned to him slowly. “What do you mean?”

“Thought you liked the song,” Ichigo said.

“I do.”

“Thought we agreed to go in there as a united front.”

Chad turned a little ashen, a little uncertain. He didn’t meet Ichigo’s gaze. For a long time, it was quiet in the elevator, New York scenescapes passing them by as they descended floors.

“I thought it would be better,” Chad said eventually, “if we played it safe.”

Ichigo scoffed. Chad may have been quieter than the rest of them, but he was not passive. There had been many occasions in the past where he’d been a passionate defender of his bandmates, of their music, of their image. Ichigo had been next to him in those meetings, watching him challenge their overlords, suggest ideas, reject bad ones. Heck, he was the first one to get a tattoo. It wasn’t in him to back down. It wasn’t in any of them. That was why they were the best at what they did.

“There’s nothing risky about what we said,” Ichigo argued. “You and I have written far worse.”

Chad leaned his head back, sighed. There was a look in his eyes that Ichigo didn’t like, an almost-sad kind of uncertainty. Chad got like this sometimes—backstage, during recording sessions. He went somewhere in his head, somewhere deep and contemplative, like he could see what was coming next before it was even here.

“I don’t want things to end,” Chad confessed. “I don’t want to make the wrong move.” He turned to Ichigo. “You remember those clauses they made us sign? The bell-bottoms clauses?”

Ichigo frowned. That was what he’d called their cleanliness clauses back then, the ones that dictated their public image and outlined penalties and contract terminations for violations. He’d been joking, at the time. For all their outspoken rebellions about the world, about society and art, all four of them were mostly tame. He couldn’t see any of his bandmates getting someone pregnant, or getting on ket and making a fool out of themselves. They were all polite, professional, punctual, that good ol’ Japanese work ethic keeping them in most of their network’s good graces.

“What about ‘em?”

“I keep thinking,” Chad continued, “that I was stupid to break them. I could’ve—brought this whole thing down. Just because I wanted a tattoo.”

“Chad,” Ichigo laughed weakly. “C’mon, dude. It’s just a tattoo.” Nothing had even happened. Most of their management frowned, but they never enforced any penalties or went out of their way to airbrush it. A lot of the fans even made sticker replicas, pasting it on to their arms in the same Chad did, grinning proudly and showing it to them during meet-and-greets. It had become a tradition, a concert ritual. It was cool. Chad was cool. That was his whole thing. He was the cool one.

But Chad just frowned. “I don’t want to be selfish.”

For weeks, Ichigo kept thinking about their conversation, mostly just confused about how unlike-Chad it was. Even though he had no proof at all, he couldn’t help but feel like the whole thing went beyond the tattoos, that even though Chad was anxious about ink on skin, what he was really anxious was something deeper. He had no way of confirming it, though, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he was being ridiculous. Chad was one of his best friends. If there really was something he was worried about, Ichigo would be the first to know.

When the four of them returned to rehearsals, Ichigo didn’t think of pressing the issue any further. But Uryu had this glint in his eye throughout the entire session, and by the end of it, he beckoned all four of them to join him in one of the private rooms.

Orihime blinked at Chad and Ichigo, perplexed, as the three of them wordlessly followed him.

“What’s going on?” Ichigo asked.

Uryu moved to shut the door behind them. When he turned on his heel, he smirked. “I may have been scheming, these last few days.”

“Is this another fashion thing?” Ichigo asked. “Because I don’t know what to tell you, dude, I still haven’t changed my mind about dying my hair green.”

“And I still don’t know if I could do a buzz cut,” Orihime said apologetically.

Uryu tsked. “This is not about fashion.” He withdrew his phone from his pocket and swiped open the screen. “I’ve been talking to a producer online for the last couple of days. If we send him Serendipity, he’s willing to leak it on Soundcloud.”

Ichigo glanced at Chad out of the corner of his eye. “And why would we do that?”

Uryu passed him the phone. “Nothing creates hype better than a leaked song,” he explained. “Besides, this way, we can wash our hands of the responsibility. If the song does well, the label will have no choice but to put it on the album—as a bonus track, at the very least.”

“And if the song performs poorly?” Orihime asked.

“We’ll never challenge the label again.” Uryu shrugged. Even as he was saying it, Ichigo knew that wasn’t true. At this point in their careers, they were too big for anything to perform poorly. Their fans bought everything—face masks, tooth-brushes, singing dolls. Links they posted about hurricane relief garnered thousands of hits within the hour, so much so that they were constantly approached to be ambassadors for various causes. They had an influence. There was no way the song wouldn’t go viral. And if their fans caught wind that they were fighting The System with it, the fervor would be even more intense. It was exciting, to say the least, but what kept Ichigo from getting carried away was his earlier conversation with Chad.

“You don’t think we’d get in trouble?”

Uryu gave him a deeply skeptical look. “You care? About getting into trouble?”

Ichigo glanced at Chad again. “No, but…”

“I think we should do it,” Chad said, surprising him. He smiled. “Thanks, Ichigo, but I think Uryu is right. If we believe in something, we should do it. As long as we do it together.” He looked up at Ichigo.

“Always,” Ichigo replied strongly. Always together, that was the deal.

Orihime glanced between the three of them, still confused, but in the end, she shrugged too, shooting them a mischievous smile. “I’m down if you guys are.”

And that was the story of how Serendipity came to be.

But it might have been the first indication that they weren’t always in everything together like Ichigo had thought they were.

Now

Chad’s turned the comments off on his Instagram post, but Ichigo still lingers on the page. It’s been a few hours since the announcement, and Ichigo knows all the social media apps and tabloids are probably on fire right now, but it takes a Herculean effort to avoid switching between them, to avoid seeing what the people are seeing. There’s this weird pressure between his eyes, an urgent kind of push to say something. Even though the band ended over two years ago, and none of them have truly talked to each other since then, there’s an implicit implication that people are going to be watching him. That’s the way it is with K-Town. When one of them is in the headlines for whatever reason, everyone’s always waiting for a reaction from the other three. Ichigo’s been careful about not feeding that hungry machine, not giving them more bait. But it’s hard. No matter how much they’ve tried to distance themselves from the multi-million dollar operation, everything always comes back to K-Town—did the other band-mates know? How are they taking it? Are they supportive, judgmental? Did he tell them personally, when they were in the band? If not, why?

Ichigo doesn’t know why. He thought he knew a lot of things about Chad. He thought six years of sharing tour buses and dressing rooms meant you saw your bandmate as three dimensional, as a real flesh and blood person that the media, the fans, and maybe even the family and friends didn’t get to see. But knowing now that there were sides to Chad even he didn’t know sends a weird feeling through his stomach. He’s been trying to tell himself that some things were real, and some things were a performance—and that he knows which was which. The more he thinks about it now, the more he realizes he knew nothing at all.

Ichigo switches off his phone and goes looking for his mother. He’s not going to be posting anything tonight just so he can get a pat on the back from the performative crowd on Twitter. He’s not going to perform for anyone. What Chad is and isn’t, how Ichigo feels about it—that’s no one’s business but theirs. As long as Chad knows he’d do anything for him, even now, even years later, he really doesn’t give a fuck about anything else.

Or so he thinks, but when Masaki catches sight of him, her concerned frown tells him maybe he’s not been doing such a good job at hiding his turmoil as he thought.

“Hey, Mom,” he says, collapsing onto the couch next to her.

“Ichigo,” she coos, setting her phone aside instantly. “My love, what’s wrong?”

Ichigo combs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. You have time to talk?”

Her expression turns tender. “Of course I do. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I guess I was just thinking about—y’know. Chad’s announcement.”

Masaki nods. She’d been there when he saw it. Had given him space when he said he wanted to go into his room and be alone for a while. Now, she reviews his face, only mildly curious. “Did you know?”

Ichigo shakes his head. “No. He never said anything to me, not once.” Heat rushes to the surface again, that same heat of protest that’s been bothering him all day. “I don’t know if the others knew, though. He and Orihime were close, towards the end. They’d go off on their own together a lot, talk about things…” Ichigo shrugs. “Maybe she knew.”

He’s not trying to sound accusing or hurt, but Masaki’s hand settles on his in a gentle, placating way, like she wants to soothe him. “Mm.”

“I just.” He sighs. “I keep thinking back to the band. All the things we said to each other. I thought I really knew him, but looking back now, I figure a lot of the times we were talking, he was talking about something else.”

“Oh, Ichigo.” Masaki strokes his cheek. “Don’t go there. You four were so close, of course you knew him. Some things can be difficult to talk to anyone about, even to ourselves. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t know him.”

“I know, I know.” He rubs his eye. “Shit, I’m trying not to make things all about me, I know I do that.” He looks up at his mother. “But it just sucks that he thought he couldn’t tell me. That I wouldn’t—love him or protect him or whatever. I would’ve done that. I would’ve done anything for him.”

“Ichigo,” Masaki chides. “I’m sure he knows that. He was your best friend.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo mutters, his voice quietly defeated. “Was.”

His mother gives him a sympathetic smile.

In the weeks that pass, Ichigo continues to keep a low profile, but he caves and skims through the news to see the reactions. Most of them are positive, supportive. The fans trend some hashtags to make Chad feel loved. Chad puts out a tweet thanking them—and the world—for their support. Ichigo keeps thinking maybe he should call, check in and make sure no one’s been giving Chad any trouble. But time passes and he doesn’t really know how to phrase it. How can he tell Chad he’s here to protect him? It’s not his job anymore, and they both know it. Everyone thinks they’re connected like limbs, like parts of the same hivemind. But the truth is that whatever heart used to beat between the four of them, it’s faint now. Barely pulsing.

Ichigo goes back to the studio. Spills his guts about watching the world whizz by while he stays left behind. If Rukia and Renji notice he’s more motivated than he was before, they don’t mention it. They just hurriedly put the tune to the words, the beats to the production. Album two starts to take shape sometime then—a record that’s barely more than a string of raw emotions strung together. He calls it Speaking Is Not Communication. During a limited press run, an interviewer tells him a lot of the songs reminded her of her divorce. Ichigo tells her that that wasn’t the album he thought he was making when he was making it but that he welcomes the interpretation.

The longer he thinks about it, however, the more he realizes that that’s exactly it, even if he hadn’t thought about it that way then. Ichigo dated around a little after the band broke up, but none of those relationships felt like an open wound after they ended. Some relationships were an entire way of life, a commitment that changed you, aged you, took you to an entirely different world and brought you back different. K-Town was like that. He didn’t think he’d feel so much about it when it ended, but he fears now that he’ll feel some type of way about it forever. Listening to the album back, he realizes he’s got more bitterness and confusion and longing in him than he thought he did. Pitchfork gives it a glowing review. His label pushes him to do a few music festivals in the summer. Ichigo accepts it all with a numb kind of grief, a passive acceptance. His sisters and parents realize something is off, but nobody really knows how to talk to him about it. It’s not an experience most people have had before—blowing up like they did and having to deal with the fall-out. Rukia gives him the number of her therapist. Ichigo pretends to take it and then deletes it off his phone.

The chatter online continues to endure. In January, Orihime’s show gets nominated for an Emmy and wins. Orihime herself gets nominated for Best Supporting Actress and loses. A journalist who had been weird and micro-aggressive towards them a couple of years ago puts out an article about how important Chad’s coming-out is for the Mexican-Asian LGBT diaspora. Chad ignores the article but thanks an at-risk youth foundation for naming a wing after him. A couple of weeks into March, K-Town’s label celebrates what would’ve been its eighth anniversary with a Greatest Hits collection, and everyone starts to make a little more money. Their team emails him a draft of a thank you letter they’re planning to send out, signed Ichigo, Uryu, Orihime and Chad <3. Ichigo okays it and asks his assistant to take his phone away from him.

Then the summer hits and Ichigo jets off to his endless string of music festival appearances. He didn’t think it’d be as fun, singing to a crowd that might have never heard of him before—but a lot of the people seem to know the lyrics, seem to be singing it back to him. This is his favorite part of the job, if he’s being honest with himself. Connecting across cultures, across worlds with the language of music, a language he’s always spoken well. Some of the songs off Speaking is Not Communication start charting again, and his team puts together a little celebration.

He’s coming back from one of those shows one day when his assistant enters his dressing room, looking a little harried. Ichigo raises a brow. “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with someone from Anna Wintour’s team,” she says nervously. “You’re invited to the Met this year.”

Ichigo wipes his neck with a towel. “The Met Gala?”

“Yes, the one.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Well, you are still very famous, and your music is what people would generally consider cool and relevant right now,” she says. “You have an album that’s charted well, you’re doing Lollapalooza, Glastonbury…”

“Alright, I get it,” Ichigo grumbles.

She gives him a hopeful glance. “This could be good promo? We heard Balmain would love to represent you, and they’ve already sent us designs we think you’d like.” She quickly comes over and taps her tablet, handing him the prototypes.

Ichigo pinches, zooms and whistles. “Damn,” he admits. “That is…pretty cool.”

“It’s very cool,” she says quickly. “Again, Anna personally sent the invite, and if you’re okay with repping Balmain, then we can block your calendar for an appearance in May and maybe do a red carpet interview to talk about Speaking while we’re at it.”

“No interviews,” Ichigo tells her. “But I’ll go show my face for a bit if it’s really that important.”

“Presence is currency,” she hums absently, tapping off a few keys with her long, manicured fingers. Then, she pauses. “There’s just, um. One little thing.”

Ichigo raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“The co-chair this year? For the Met?” She bites her lip. “They’re saying it might be Uryu. Uryu Ishida. Like, from…you know.”

Yeah. Ichigo knows. For a moment, he feels hot, scrutinized. The words of his assistant fade and become dull, replaced instead by the rushing thud of his heartbeat. This shouldn’t surprise him. It really shouldn’t surprise him. But he’s disoriented by it anyway. He’s suddenly nervous at the thought of running into Uryu at the Met, but when he thinks about what other context would be fine, he realizes they’re all equally uncomfortable. The last time they spoke, things weren’t exactly great between them. There’s no saying what the vibe is now, what shapes their faces will make if they cross paths.

But Ichigo tells himself he’s never been afraid, least of all of Uryu, so he shrugs and says, “Cool. I’ve got no problems with that.”

His assistant instantly looks relieved.

Then

The Berlin show didn’t bomb, but Ichigo left the stage feeling tense and anxious anyway. His mic cut off during one of the songs, and even though he recovered by the next verse, nothing anyone said was making him feel better. Flashes of the show kept returning to him, that dip in his stomach when he realized something was off and they were in front of hundreds of thousands of people. It was bad. He hated thinking about it.

After the show, Orihime came up to him and tried to rub his back, her voice soft and sympathetic. Ichigo didn’t lean into it, didn’t pay attention to the words she was saying to comfort him. He was still strung tight and annoyed.

After a while, Orihime just grew resigned, saying “Come on, let’s go get dinner,” in her bright, encouraging tone.

Ichigo shrugged her arm off. Even as he did it, he knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. “It’s fine. You go on without me.”

Orihime’s face fell. She looked like she had something to say, but she swallowed back her words and gave him a small smile before skipping off to the canteen. Ichigo sighed with regret. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized Uryu was giving him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it and headed to the showers instead. He stood under the hot water for an inadvisable amount of time, waiting until it got late, until even the chefs would close up and go back to their hotel rooms.

When he came out, only Uryu was sitting at the table, picking through his rice bowl. Ichigo came and sat down next to him with a sigh.

“Orihime go to bed?”

Uryu gave him a brief glance. “Yes.”

“Did she eat?”

“Yes.”

Ichigo resigned himself to this being the extent of their conversation and picked up his own spoon to get started on dinner.

“She was only trying to make you feel better,” Uryu said, after a while.

Ichigo winced and closed his eyes with regret. “I know.” He turned to Uryu. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself these last few days.” Uryu knew very well just how sick he’d been—he’d come down with a fever about a week ago but still went out on stage to perform. He missed his sisters. Touring in general was an exhausting time, and it didn’t hold the same charm it used to only a few years ago. No longer could they go out to the O2 or Wembley or Madison Square Garden and still feel the same chills they did when they were teenagers. Now, it was just about the bottom line, about getting through the show, the night.

“Everyone's been having a rough time,” Uryu said carefully. When Ichigo took a closer look at him, he seemed tired, too. “After what happened last fall…” He didn’t finish his statement, but Ichigo felt his grip on his spoon tighten.

The thing about touring was that it had to be the primary focus of your life for months together. There was a lot of money involved, a lot of jobs—and pivotally, a lot of fans who showed up each night, desperate to see them. Canceling was a bad look, not just on that night, but on their reputations overall. A part of K-Town’s charm relied on that reputation, the fact that they came on every night come rain or shine, the fact that they always smiled and bantered and put on the best show seven days a week. But things hadn’t always been great behind the scenes. Last fall, Orihime’s brother had had a sudden depressive episode that ended in him being committed to a mental health institution. Orihime had flown back to Tokyo for a day, then returned to Sydney to finish the Australian leg of their tour like she wasn’t tired and upset and stressed out of her mind. A couple of weeks later, Uryu got a call from his mom. His grandfather had died in his sleep, and they’d had to do the funeral without him. K-Town was in Vienna that week, so his parents hadn’t wanted to bother him; they knew he wouldn’t have been able to fly back in time.

And it wasn’t just these big things either. There were other things, little things that built with time. A missed birthday here, for Ichigo’s sisters. A missed doctor’s appointment for Chad’s abuelo. Their families were the best, but being on the road for months on end felt terrifying when you realized that life back home didn’t actually hit the pause button when you were gone.

These weren’t things they talked about, as close as they were. Sure, Ichigo let Orihime sleep next to him every single night, the week she returned from Tokyo. Sure, Chad did the same for Uryu. They were a team. They could always sense when one of their moods dipped, and they always had a gentle touch here or a reassuring word there for each other.

But Ichigo was looking forward to it ending. ‘It’ as in the tour, on good days. On bad days, ‘it’ was more of a crash-and-burn. The whole thing, coming to an end. He never said it out loud, didn’t make the others worry. But man, he could use the sleep.

“I’ll apologize to her in the morning,” Ichigo told Uryu, when they finished dinner.

Uryu softened. “Do,” he said plainly, clapping Ichigo on the shoulder and returning to his room.

Later, Ichigo would realize that Uryu had been feeling a lot of the same things he had been feeling—that Uryu had guiltily been picturing the crash-and-burn of it all too. But at the time, Ichigo felt a little lost, like he was the only one who couldn’t keep up with the pace of it all, even though the others had far more to complain about. Singing the same songs every night, going to bed in one country and waking up in another. Ichigo wasn’t sure when people were going to stop needing them, when they were going to move on to the next big thing and stop chanting, “More! More!” He stopped calling home as often, started smoking more. Not a concerning amount or anything—just enough to fight the adrenaline.

One night, when they had just flown into Osaka for the last leg of tour, Ichigo hit the private bar of their hotel, not wanting to go to bed just yet. It was quiet down here. No staff, no dancers, no people wanting to borrow his ear about something unimportant. There was only one other guy on the other side of the bar—older, maybe in his 30s, with slicked back hair and rings on his fingers. He seemed famous. Ichigo couldn’t recognize him from this distance, but he knew from experience that sometimes a famous guy just wanted to be left alone, even if he was in a space where you could see him. So he left him alone. He just wanted some peace and quiet anyway, so he was content with settling with his own drink.

A couple of minutes later, however, he realized the man had gotten up and was now approaching him. Ichigo tensed.

“I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” the man said in Japanese.

Ichigo never knew how to answer this question, so he simply introduced himself and said he was a member of K-Town.

“K-Town,” the man repeated, amused. He offered his hand to Ichigo. “Ginjo Kugo. I’ve heard of you guys.”

Ichigo shook his hand, respecting the man a little for not pretending to be a fan. Ginjo slid into the seat next to his and ordered a drink, not just for himself, but one for Ichigo as well.

“Thanks,” Ichigo said.

Ginjo nodded, then asked what brought K-Town to Osaka, how many days they were here for. Ichigo told him a little about the tour, intrigued when Ginjou began asking thoughtful questions about the process. Most people in the industry didn’t see K-Town as serious artists, or capable of being the brains behind the operation, but Ginjou spoke with a nonchalant familiarity that made Ichigo feel comfortable. Like an equal. Ginjou explained that he was a producer in LA, name-dropping some big artists he’d worked with with enough casualness that it didn’t come across as pretentious. He said he was here now at his Osaka house for some downtime.

“I’m almost jealous,” Ichigo noted dryly. “I could use some downtime, too.”

“You should come visit.” Ginjo shrugged casually. “I’ve got a recording room at my place—no need to step out anywhere, complete privacy.”

“Maybe some time,” Ichigo replied, “but we’ve got a packed schedule. You know how it is.”

“I wasn’t talking about the band.” Ginjou ran a thumb along the rim of his glass. “I was talking about you. You’re the frontman, right?”

Ichigo frowned. “We don’t have a frontman.” It was one of the first things they’d discussed as a unit. They never sold member versions of albums, never did photobooks that didn’t have all four of them in them. It was a part of their brand; you were in it for all of them, or none of them at all. They were honest with their choreographers about this, and most magazine photographers knew not to place them in positions that put one of them in more prominence than the others.

Ginjou just smiled. “Sure.” He glanced around the bar in passive interest. “But bands go off and do their own stuff all the time, right? You’ve got the Beyonce types, the Timberlakes…”

“I mean, yeah,” Ichigo said slowly. “Sure. But not us.”

“So what’s the end game? Guy like you, you’re not going to be doing teeny-boppers for the rest of your life, are you? What about your bandmates?”

“Uryu’s into fashion. Chad writes sometimes,” Ichigo explained. “Orihime’s…I don’t know. She got an offer to be in some kind of girls’ love thing last year, but our management didn’t think it was a good look.”

“And you?”

“I write too,” Ichigo mumbled. “Just a couple of songs on my own time. It’s not like—an ego thing. We just don’t have room sometimes, or things don’t really fit the vision we’re going for…”

Ginjou held his hands up. “Hey, I’m not a cop.”

Ichigo relaxed, laughing a little. “Yeah.”

“What have you been writing about?”

Ichigo considered that, taking a sip of his drink. “Just. Things,” he explained. “Life on the road, life away from home. That kind of stuff.”

Ginjou smiled. “Sounds interesting.” He slid a card out of his jacket pocket and pushed it towards Ichigo. “I know you’ve got your schedule, but you should reach out sometime. I bet we could make something good together.”

“Yeah.” Ichigo took it. “Thanks, man. That’s nice of you.”

He didn’t think much of that conversation, tucking the card away somewhere in his wallet for a later time. When they were in Japan, they usually did three shows per city, so most of his thoughts were consumed by the tour, by working and trying to make it back home in one piece.

Sometime after Tokyo, after their last show for the year, Ichigo went back to London and slept for what felt like a week, tired out of his mind and completely unsociable. Things were pretty radio silent from the others’ end as well. Chad had mentioned going on a little trip to Mexico, Uryu was going to go stay with his parents, and Orihime had to fly back to her brother, who was on the mend now but still pretty fragile. As for Ichigo, he wanted to rest. They had about two weeks off until their next meeting, and then they’d be back on a cycle again—a cycle of making music, promoting it, touring it. Usually, Ichigo was too tuckered out on his break to even consider flying out anywhere else, but this time he thought of heading back to Osaka for a couple of days, just to see where things led him.

Ichigo was coming downstairs for breakfast one morning when his phone pinged. He withdrew it from his pocket, expecting it to be a picture from Chad or a text from Orihime, updating him on things at the home front. Instead, it was a Google alert with his name attached to the headline.

TROUBLE IN PARADISE FOR ICHIGO KUROSAKI? TOP BAND IDOL CONSIDERS CALLING IT QUITS.

Even as his heartbeat kicked up, Ichigo pressed the link with a trembling thumb. The piece went on to talk about how creative dissatisfaction and work-related stress had gotten to him and that he was seriously considering out—talking to big-name producers and securing himself a golden parachute. According to a credible ‘source,’ of course. The rest of the article was pretty much filler, claiming he’d always been the strongest presence in the band, the unofficial leader. The publication concluded that they’d reached out to a K-Town spokesperson who assured them that Ichigo was going to be staying and that any and all news about the band would come from their official fansite and not a gossip magazine.

Ichigo felt his throat go dry as he opened his contacts. He considered calling Ginjo, considered chewing him out. In the end, he just blocked the number, feeling like an idiot. For a while, he stood there in his hall, wondering how he could’ve been so stupid and naive as to spill his guts out to a stranger like that, especially now, especially when things were already tense within the band. He wondered how many of their staffers were working overtime to do damage control on the barrage of articles that were coming out about his supposed exit. All of them were linked back to the same piece and none of them had anything more substantial than the undisclosed source. But news tended to spread. Like wildfire.

Ichigo stared at his phone guiltily. Then, he summoned enough courage to call his assistant. She picked up after a couple of rings, sounding sleepy. It was probably early in LA, but Ichigo began venting in a rush, telling her about meeting Ginjou at a bar and how most of what they’d said to each other was casual, he wasn’t planning on leaving, he wasn’t going to be the one to break up the band.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, sounding completely unsurprised. “We’ve got it under control.”

“Okay,” Ichigo said, still tense, still expecting her to launch into an action plan. They’d had action plans for way less. They’d had action plans when Uryu had the flu. “Should we send out a cease and desist or something?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” she replied, her voice tight and robotic. Almost annoyed.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry about it. Enjoy your break, okay? We’ll see you in New York when you guys come in.”

When the call concluded, Ichigo wandered into his kitchen aimlessly, his thoughts drifting to the conversation with Ginjou, the conversation with his assistant. Even as he fumed, a part of him could admit that nothing the article covered had been false, exactly. Exaggerated, maybe. But Ichigo and Ginjou had talked about the stress. They had discussed creative dissatisfaction. None of it was a lie, even if he liked to lie to himself about it.

And as for his assistant’s lack of a reaction—what the hell was that? One would think that a headline like this would cause at least some panic within the team. Robotic calm felt like a disproportionate reaction.

Unless they already saw the writing on the wall. Unless they already anticipated it well before he, Uryu, Chad and Orihime did. Had they discussed it in meetings, the best way to milk them for what they were worth before they realized they were too grown-up for it all? Were they taking bets? Ichigo dreaded thinking about it.

By the time he flew into New York two weeks later, some of the panic had subsided. The city was gloomy and rainy. Forecasts had predicted inclement weather for the week, so Ichigo figured most of their time would be spent cooped up at the InterContinental. Although the others were supposed to be flying in at around the same time too, he heard nothing from them. The group chat was eerily empty for most of the day, and then at noon, a text came in from Uryu.

Family meeting @ the lounge today. 3 PM. Are you in? I need to talk to you.

Ichigo frowned. A minute later, Orihime and Chad reacted to the message with a thumbs-up each. It felt too synchronized to be coincidental. Were the two of them together right now? Ichigo had no clue. He didn’t feel like venturing out to find them, so he decided to take a nap instead, setting an alarm for 2:50. He sent a thumbs-up to Uryu’s message too, not thinking much of it. They had meetings before The Big Meeting sometimes. Usually, it was so they could put their heads together about something and head to the office as a united group. Ichigo wasn’t sure who started calling them family meetings—probably Orihime—but they were more informal, more private. No assistants, no staff. Just them. As Ichigo drifted off, he wondered if the rest of them were as glum as he was. He wasn’t looking forward to going into the office later and discussing a new album, but maybe he’d hate it less if he was going in with them.

Some time later, his alarm chimed, and Ichigo got up groggily to pull his pants on. The hallways were empty, spare for a crew member or two walking around. Ichigo headed to the lounge, pushing the heavy door open to let himself in. To his surprise, Orihime, Chad and Uryu were already there. None of them seemed enthusiastic, but Orihime gave him a feeble smile when he came into the room.

“Hey.” Ichigo dropped down on the couch facing them. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Chad replied. “We just got here.”

Ichigo stared out at Uryu, who was looking at his own knees. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed.

“What’s going on?”

Uryu cleared his throat. “Right.” He looked like he was braving himself to speak. Ichigo glanced at Chad and Orihime to see if they had any idea about what he wanted to say. They shrugged.

“I wanted—” Uryu began, then cleared his throat again. “I called this meeting because I suppose I wanted you three to hear it from me.” He looked up, his eyes obscured by the glint flashing across his glasses. “I’ve decided to leave the band. I’m thinking of announcing it at the meeting today.”

Ichigo’s world fell away from him. What? “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Uryu continued, “and I’ve realized that it’s time for me to make a decision about—”

“What the hell are you talking about, Uryu?!” Ichigo stood up. “What are you saying?”

Uryu looked bewildered.

“Ichigo, calm down,” Chad said. “Let him talk.”

“Calm down? Uryu just said he’s leaving the band, did you not hear him?” Ichigo turned on his heel and glared at Uryu. “Explain.”

“I was going to,” Uryu reminded him coldly.

Ichigo simmered down.

“I appreciate our years together,” Uryu continued, after a brief moment of silence, “but I don’t wish to renew.” He turned to Orihime and Chad. “I still have every bit of respect for K-Town and what we started together, and I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I don’t think I can go on any longer. I hope you understand that I didn’t…that I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“We do,” Orihime agreed, shaking her head. “I mean, it’s hard, obviously, but at least you told us in person. That counts for something, right?” She turned to Chad, who nodded.

Ichigo’s ears perked at that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Ichigo,” she withdrew, hesitant. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

“She means that I’m not the only one who’s been feeling like enough is enough off-late,” Uryu cut in.

Ichigo narrowed his brows. “You’re talking about The Guardian article,” he realized. He almost wanted to laugh. “You realize that’s a crock of shit, right? I got tricked into saying things I didn’t mean.”

“Ichigo,” Chad said gently. “It’s not just that.”

“We know you two have been,” Orihime began, then bit her lip, “having second-thoughts about all of this lately. We figured. I mean, I’m not going to lie and say it isn’t painful. And we’re not exactly sure where this leaves us…” She and Chad exchanged a look, and then they both looked up at Ichigo. “But we understand. We don’t want to force anyone to be here for our sake, so if—if it has to end, it has to end.”

“I never asked for it to end.” Ichigo pointed at Uryu. “This guy asked for it to end.”

“You didn’t ask,” Chad agreed. “But you don’t have to, Ichigo. We see it in you, every day. You don’t want to be here.”

Ichigo’s ears burned. “I want to be here,” he said stubbornly. “You know who doesn’t want to be here? The guy who called the meeting. And if he doesn’t want to be here, maybe we should go on without him.” Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. He knew the band would never be the same without all four of them. But he was a little tired of all of them pointing the finger at him when Uryu was the one who said the unspeakable.

“Ichigo…” Chad began.

“Leave,” Ichigo said. Orihime and Chad flinched, like they were shocked. But before they could open their mouths, he turned to them. “Please. I need to talk to him alone.”

Orihime’s eyes widened. She began gnawing the nail of her pinky like she had things to say but couldn’t form the words. Chad, however, just nudged her. “Come on.” He gave her a hand, helping her up. “We’ll go wait in the car,” Chad told him. “Don’t take too long. We still have a meeting to head to.”

Ichigo barely nodded. Beside him, Uryu crossed his arms as they watched Orihime and Chad leave together. Their hands were still linked. Before the door closed, Ichigo caught sight of Chad pulling Orihime closer with a big arm, his mouth pressing a kiss on top of her head to comfort her. They looked like kids.

“I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss about this,” Uryu began, irritated. “You haven’t been yourself lately. You’re tired. Did you or didn’t you say that?”

“I said that to you in a private fucking conversation because I thought I could trust you,” Ichigo snapped. “Obviously, I don’t want to kill the band. But you’ve seen the last six years. You’ve seen how busy we are, how we don’t get to see our families or take days off or do anything kids our age do. It gets to a point.”

“And I believe we’re there.”

Anger and hurt welled inside of Ichigo at once. “Why now,” he said to Uryu, not looking at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you decide to leave now?”

Uryu blinked in surprise. “With the meeting coming up…”

“This is not about the meeting,” Ichigo cut him off, his tone harsh. “This is about The Guardian article, isn’t it? You saw some B.S. about how I wanted out, and now you want to beat me to it, because you’ve always gone at this like we’re in some sort of rivalry.” He shrugged. “Well, we’re not. Because I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere.”

“How egotistical,” Uryu snorted. “I tell you I want to leave the band, and your first thought is to make it all about yourself?”

“That’s not it,” Ichigo hissed. “If anything, you’re the selfish one. Don’t you realize what breaking the band up is going to do to Orihime and Chad?”

Uryu looked unimpressed. “Don’t condescend. Do you think they appreciate being pitied?”

Ichigo said nothing. Six years of memories, of laughter and legacy and joy and music. And Uryu was just walking. Like it was an easy decision. Like it didn’t kill him on the inside to abandon his friends in exchange for doing what he wanted.

“If you care about them, be man enough to admit to what you truly want,” Uryu said, after a long moment of silence. “If not to them, then at least to yourself.”

“That’s what you’re doing, right?” Ichigo bit back, sarcastic.

“Yes,” Uryu replied simply. “I make no apologies about it.” He nodded at Ichigo and left, probably to join Chad and Orihime in the car.

“No,” Ichigo muttered. “You never have.”

+

K-Town ended in a New York office towards the end of a rainy day. Uryu announced he was leaving. The team asked the others whether they wanted to call it off, or if they were willing to renew as a three-piece unit.

(“The ball is in your court, guys,” an exec had said, which Ichigo read as them being prepared for either possibility. No one tried to talk them into another year, when they would’ve done so vociferously only the year before).

Chad and Orihime had looked at Ichigo, then. Uryu had looked down at his own lap. And that was when Ichigo decided that if their story was over anyway, he might as well be the one to pull the plug on it.

Now

Ichigo skips out on the Met to wallow.

His assistant doesn’t show it, but she’s pissed. Balmain’s probably in her ear telling her they never want to work with him again. Daily Mail runs a headline about a feud between him and Uryu. Of course, even though Chad and Orihime weren’t there either, he’s the one who takes the heat. Chad was a presenter at the GLAAD awards. Orihime was filming a movie, probably urged by her team to make the best use of her current publicity before the second season of her show began filming.

Ichigo, on the other hand, has an open schedule, now that promo for his album has officially ended. Everyone knows about it. A couple of people joke about it online. K-Town enters the long list of pop groups where the members can’t be seen in the same room anymore, for a variety of reasons. A bunch of publications reach out for comment. Neither he, nor Uryu say anything.

Rukia asked him once why K-Town ended. Not in that gossipy way journalists or show hosts did. Not in that fake way Hollywood types did, when they wanted to show you they were listening when they actually weren’t. Rukia was trying to draw something out of him, get him to express himself. She was trying to pull it all out so he could look at it, make sense of it. Make music with it.

At the time, when things were ending, Ichigo thought Orihime and Chad were going to be madder at Uryu for breaking things off than at him for hesitating. He pictures it in his mind’s eye now, the two of them drifting closer together while he drew further away. Discussing what would happen if everything blew up tomorrow, if it all just ended. Maybe they texted each other, when the Guardian piece dropped. Maybe they’d been preparing. Neither of them seemed surprised when Uryu made his announcement. And neither of them seemed mad either. In being honest, Uryu seemed to have redeemed himself in their eyes. They seemed relieved that at least they got a warning.

Ichigo hadn’t even given them that. He’d gone and blabbed to a high-level producer—exchanged numbers with him, even—instead of talking to his own bandmates. Instead of sitting them down and telling them that he was tired, but not of them. That he wanted to leave the band, but not his friends. In doing neither, he lost it all. Made Orihime and Chad believe they were burdens to his dazzling solo ambitions, and forced Uryu to go for the mercy-kill. Sure, maybe Uryu’s reasons might not have been entirely altruistic—but at least he was honest.

Shame wells within Ichigo in such high proportions that he almost doesn’t care anymore. If his assistant hates him, if the world hates him, if his band-mates hate him, so be it. God knows he deserves it. He was scared, back then, that if he called things off, the others wouldn’t know where to go, what to do. They’d seen how it ended, for bands in the past. Now, Orihime has a thriving acting career, Chad gets to live with more honesty, and Uryu is out rocking the most bizarre, feathery outfit on the Met Gala carpet—and somehow looks good doing it.

(Yeah, Ichigo might’ve looked the pictures up).

In the end, Ichigo just packs his bags and leaves London. His mom and dad raise their brows, but they’re more than happy to accommodate him when he returns, bringing him along as the third-wheel to all their dates.

+

Ichigo debates about it for the longest time ever, then asks his dad one night if he wants to sit down and watch that K-Town docuseries with him.

“I’ll be right there in a moment,” Isshin says somberly and disappears for a while, leaving Ichigo baffled while Netflix sits idle on their TV. When he re-emerges, he’s wearing a XXL K-Town shirt (Ichigo didn’t even know they made those in that size) with a picture from one of their early shoots on it. When he sits down, Ichigo realizes it’s got a ‘This little lesbian LOVES K-Town’ scribbled on the back in fading marker. He snorts. Isshin always loved the zany fan-made stuff. He’s pretty sure his dad still has those strawberry headbands and glowsticks somewhere out back, but thankfully he’s dialed things down for tonight.

“Papa’s ready now!” Isshin says, shooting him a peace sign.

Ichigo just rolls his eyes and hits play. The last time he saw this must’ve been during the premiere, but the video automatically picks up at a halfway point. Ichigo figures his parents or his sisters must’ve been watching it, whenever they were missing him more than usual. For a while, they just watch it silently, Ichigo marvelling at the rush of memories, Isshin lipsyncing to all the scenes. They get to the part where he, Uryu and Chad surprise Orihime on her birthday—treading into her room with a giant cake—and it takes effort for Ichigo not to tear up. When she wakes up, she’s so happy, pressing kisses to all their cheeks, all their faces.

“I love you guys so much,” Orihime tells them, pressing the back of her hand against her eyes while Chad smears her cheek with a dollop of cream.

“Don’t get too sentimental on us,” Ichigo watches a younger version of himself tease. But he remembers jumping in after the cameras shut off, remembers licking her cheek and tackling her down to tickle her after the crew left. The scene flickers to another concert clip. When the performance ends, they all pile up in the car. Chad dozes. Orihime leans her head against Uryu’s shoulder and watches him play a dress-up game on his handheld console. They bicker when she makes a ridiculous suggestion that he doesn’t want to go with. Ichigo sees himself, watching them fondly from his seat across. The voice-over admits that they have a sibling-like bond—a crew member probably, weighing in on what they observed. But Ichigo has siblings, and he knows he never felt the way he does about them about K-Town.

At the end of the night, Isshin recreates one of his favorite scenes—a popular dance sequence for one of their hit singles. Ichigo laughs and records him, then sends the video to his sisters. He doesn’t know how to thank his dad, but from the way his dad ruffles his hair, maybe he doesn’t need to. That night, before he goes to bed, Ichigo scrolls through Twitter again, just to kill time. Just to try and fall asleep. He sees a sharp, 4K clip of Chad as a guest on Dancing With the Stars. He sees a grainy video of Orihime leaving a dive bar somewhere at the same time as an NBA player. He sees someone call Uryu’s outfit cunty and almost blocks them before realizing it’s a compliment. Disconnected lives. Strangers now. But there’s still something familiar about the way Chad smiles when a song he likes comes on, about the way Orihime expertly moves away from the cameras and into a car. About the way Uryu can take a risk and pull it off.

Don’t wanna love anyone but you, he hears a younger version of himself sing, echoes from the television speakers. And in a year or two, I hope you’ll miss me too.

+

A couple of weeks later, Ichigo is just getting into his London apartment, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Frowning, he sets his bag down and fishes for it, completely unused to someone calling him at this hour.

It’s Chad.

With a shaky thumb, Ichigo swipes open the call, automatically assuming the worst. Someone dead. Someone hurt. Someone compromised because a news outlet found something out that they shouldn’t have.

“Hello,” he says shakily.

The relief he feels when Chad’s voice comes through is immense. “Ichigo.” He sounds warm, happy. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Ichigo says, blinking rapidly, trying to comprehend the fact that this is the first time in two years he’s talked to anyone since the band broke up. “No, I’m fine, Chad. Hey.”

“Are you still in LA?”

“London, actually. Just got back.”

“Oh. Sorry. Is it late?”

“No,” Ichigo says quickly. “Of course not. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you had June open,” Chad says. “Emma, your assistant, I think, said you did, but I wanted to hear from you.”

Ichigo’s throat is dry when he sinks to the couch. “I’m free, I think. Why?”

“I’m getting married.”

Ichigo almost drops his phone. “What?” he laughs weakly. ‘Chad—that’s amazing. That’s great. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Chad laughs too, then launches into a sweet story about falling for one of the DWTS contestants while he was on set. Ichigo keeps clenching a fist, releasing it, unable to contain himself—even though it’s been a long time since they’ve said more than a word to each other. Chad, getting married.

“Actually, Ichigo, I had a favor to ask,” Chad says, after a quiet pause.

“Anything,” Ichigo replies, almost in an instant. And he means it.

“We’re having it in Mexico. I was hoping you three would be my groomsmen.” There’s a moment of silence. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll be there,” Ichigo says readily. “I’ll be there, just. Send me the date. I’ll get someone to do the tickets, figure things out with my team…”

Chad laughs. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ichigo breathes. It’s a long time before he gets to sleep that night.

+

The security for Chad’s wedding is almost presidential. Someone from his team picks Ichigo up at the airport under his usual alias, guiding him into a big car with tinted windows. Ichigo half-expects the rest of the band to be in there, but when he pushes the door open with a sweaty hand, it’s empty.

Throughout the journey, Ichigo struggles to keep nausea at bay. It’s the same nausea from the flight before, from the week before, from the second Chad made the call. The reality of his situation has yet to sink in. In less than an hour, Ichigo will be in the same room as his bandmates to celebrate something good, when the last time they were in a room together, it had been to decide on something bad. Or maybe that’s an oversimplification. If he woke up tomorrow in the past, he’s not sure he would’ve changed things ending—maybe only how they ended. But that’s a futile exercise too. In the end, he supposes he should just be grateful he was invited at all.

Despite the secrecy surrounding the event, the venue is actually a homely villa sitting by the quiet Mexican coast. Ichigo disembarks the car with a little awe, watching twin lines of golden candles beckon him with their glow.

“Kurosaki Ichigo?” says a Japanese woman at the entryway, formal and polite. When he nods, she taps a few buttons on her iPad, then urges him to follow her.

“We don’t have any festivities planned for tonight, but the family is having a photoshoot by the beach,” she explains. “Your room is in the villa, on the second floor. I’ve been told some of your bandmates would be meeting up at the outhouse, though.”

Ichigo blindly hums along, only to stop in his steps when he notices her staring at him expectantly. It’s only then that he realizes she’s waiting for him to make a decision—say hi to Chad at the beach, say hi to Uryu and Orihime at the outhouse, or go to his room and pretend not to know anybody.

Ichigo swallows. “Are—Is anyone already here?”

She nods. “Ishida-san and Inoue-san arrived a few hours ago. They had their bags sent up to the villa.”

“But they’re at the outhouse?”

The assistant nods again.

Ichigo licks his lips. “Take me to them. Please.”

The path branching away from the beach is darker than the rest of the estate, but Chad’s assistant navigates her way smoothly. In the distance, a few lights twinkle—the familiar flash of cameras that usually makes Ichigo anxious, except the private setting and the silence of the evening indicate a certain level of privacy. Nobody knows a former K-Town idol is getting married tomorrow morning. Except, of course, the folks who are already here. The ones who had the privilege of being invited.

It’s only when they’re a few feet away from the outhouse that Ichigo realizes he’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. His linen shirt is already drenched in sweat, even though they’re in relatively pleasant weather. If Chad’s assistant notices his distress, she doesn’t say, calling out to one of the staff to roll Ichigo’s luggage up to the villa. When she turns to give him his room keys and a map of the estate, he almost drops both things, then stutters his thanks.

And then he’s alone.

The outhouse is made of stone, a pretty little thing with vines curling over the roof. The front door is open, and he can hear the light thrum of music inside, which is comforting. Almost inviting. More inviting than the open door, even. Ichigo steps up and through, then glances around to signal his arrival.

The first person to notice him is not Uryu, nor Orihime. It’s a tall, muscular dude who looks familiar, but Ichigo can’t place him.

“Oh, hey,” he says, turning to the hallway before Ichigo can respond. “Orihime!”

Ichigo’s heartbeat surges, and he has a split-second impulse to flee, but he stays rooted in place, paralyzed. The hypnotic swish of a floor-length gown swims into view, and then he’s face-to-face with Orihime, the first girl he ever loved when he was still developing a vague notion of what that actually was.

“Ichigo-kun!” she squeals, setting her glass of champagne down to throw herself into his arms. Ichigo immediately opens himself up and squeezes her tight—maybe a bit too tight, but he doesn’t know how to make the embrace less desperate, hasn’t had the right amount of practice in a while.

Orihime graciously allows him the vice-grip for a few seconds, then gives him a gentle pat on each of his arms. “Hi,” she laughs, kissing his cheek. “How are you?” Ichigo wants to kiss her too, but she pulls away and holds onto his hand instead. “Come say hi to Uryu.”

Ichigo tries to protest, but he seems to have swallowed his tongue, so he lets her lead him, giving the other guy a confused nod. Frank Ocean is playing, which is nice, but he’s worried his hand is too sweaty in Orihime’s, and he’s distracted by her sheer dress, by her tight chignon that gives her a mature kind of beauty. He barely has time to take her in for all she is before she pushes him through a door, and then he’s face-to-face with Uryu.

Ichigo struggles to breathe.

In a loose, open-collar shirt and slacks, Uryu looks stunning. The mild surprise on his face is a tiny knife in the chest, but the slender, elegant lines of his body are distracting enough. Ichigo’s throat is so dry. He’s so overwhelmed by the combined beauty of his former friends, the sheer physicality of their presence that he’s forgotten both languages he knows.

“Kurosaki,” Uryu pauses, mid-folding up his sleeve. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Shut up, jerk,” Ichigo says instantly.

Orihime cups her mouth to protect a laugh from spilling out. Both of them glance at her, and then they’re smiling too, the awkward ice suddenly thawing.

“It’s so good to see you,” Orihime says after a moment, her eyes genuinely shining like she means it. “After…well. We’re just glad you decided to come.”

Ichigo frowns. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s Chad’s wedding.”

“I know,” Orihime says quickly, but Uryu says, “You didn’t show up to the Met.”

It’s not accusatory, which is what cuts Ichigo. It’s almost…sad. When Ichigo looks up at Uryu, he’s carefully pressing his sleeve down, but the tight line of his mouth reveals a hurt Ichigo wasn’t expecting.

“It wasn’t—I didn’t—” Ichigo cuts himself off, feeling like a tool.

“We don’t mean anything by it,” Orihime assures him. “We were just worried…”

“That I wouldn’t want to come?” Ichigo suggests, hearing the bewilderment in his own voice.

Orihime hesitantly looks between Uryu and Ichigo. “We just figured you needed space,” she says kindly.

“I didn’t need space,” Ichigo argues.

“Could’ve fooled us,” Uryu remarks.

Ichigo frowns. “Not enough to avoid a wedding. You know me better than that.”

“I was co-chair,” Uryu snaps, like that’s some kind of argument. As Ichigo considers his statement, he realizes it probably is. Fashion means everything to Uryu, it’s always been important to him, and looking from his side of things—with Ichigo being a no-show, not even bothering to send an apology text—Ichigo can immediately tell just how much he fucked up.

“Uryu,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He pictures it in his head—Uryu, waiting. Glancing around, hoping. Re-checking the RSVP. Believing in Ichigo, that he’d be the bigger person and put all of this behind him to support his friend on his big day, the way he had with Chad. Realizing he wasn’t going to show.

“I was punishing myself,” Ichigo confesses in a rush. Both Uryu and Orihime’s eyes go wide. “I was upset that I hadn’t been honest with you, towards the end of the band.”

A part of him feels surreal saying it, that clear realization that it’s the evening before Chad’s wedding and maybe the oddest time to be having this conversation. Then again, he’s not sure when it would’ve ever been the right time. Isn’t that why they’re here now, with Uryu looking like a kicked puppy?

“I was mad at myself for—hiding how I truly felt,” Ichigo continues, at their prolonged silence.

“And how is that?” Uryu asks coolly.

“I love you,” Ichigo admits. “All of you. And I didn’t want to let you go, but I didn’t want to stay either—and I realize now that I fucked up again by not actually talking to you about how I felt, ever. But I didn’t want you to see me. I didn’t even want to look at myself. And I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.” He casts a helpless gaze out at Uryu. “I’m sorry, Uryu.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Uryu is the one who breaks it.

“So you were wallowing.”

Ichigo releases a feeble laugh. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Uryu jokes. “I suppose that does take the sails out of my anger just a little bit.”

Ichigo takes a tentative step closer. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Uryu nods. They hug.

Ichigo squeezes him, then cups his cheeks. “You looked amazing.”

Uryu flushes. “You saw?”

“Course I did.” Ichigo turns to Orihime. “I keep up with you guys, you know?”

Orihime comes up to them and joins the hug in lieu of an actual response, her head resting on Ichigo’s back. Ichigo squeezes her hand with one hand, and Uryu’s waist with the other. Love courses through him and he closes his eyes, allowing it to flow through the circuit for once. Allowing himself to just feel.

This is how Chad finds them, a few minutes later. When he catches Ichigo’s eye, he smiles knowingly. “What did I miss?”

“Group hug,” Orihime murmurs, beckoning him with a flip of her hand.

Chad laughs and sets his things down, walking over to the group to sway them in his heavy embrace. It’s the squishy kind of hug, the one that should feel intolerable after a few moments due to the heat. Ichigo lets it go on for much longer. When they break apart, he throws his arms open for Chad—just Chad—and they hug again, tight and firm, Ichigo’s face buried in Chad’s shoulder.

“Glad you made it,” Chad mutters in his ear and pats his back.

Ichigo breaks off and sniffs with a subtle laugh. “Yeah. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Chad squeezes his arm. “Did anyone give you welcome champagne?”

“Oooh, I’ll get it!” Orihime heads off to the hallway in a rush. Chad and Ichigo exchange a smile.

The rest of the evening they spend sitting by the lounge, flicking through the pictures Chad shows them and listening to his wedding stories. They hum along to their favorite songs. They help each other adjust their clothing. Orihime introduces Ichigo to her boyfriend, who is apparently the guy Ichigo first met when he came through the door. When Ichigo asks Uryu about him, Uryu rebukes the entirety of the NBA for not teaching its athletes what colors go with what but admits that he seems good enough for Orihime.

Ichigo wants to say it feels like no time passed at all, but the truth is that he feels every inch of every second they spent apart. He knows he’s an idiot for letting it grow, but wallowing hasn’t taken him anywhere in the past, so he just rests his knee against theirs and allows himself the gratitude of their presence. Here, with the four other people who know him best, he knows he's in his element.

Eventually, Chad gets pulled away for one task after another and it’s just the three of them, watching him from a distance.

“Sado-kun is all grown up, huh,” Orihime murmurs in awe. “I mean. Marriage. Who would’ve thought.”

“It’ll be you next,” Ichigo tells her, to which she flushes.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She leans back with a sigh.

“I can already picture the Daily Mail headline.” Uryu spreads his hands out. “Boyband Bennifer. Asian Posh and Becks.”

Ichigo snorts.

“You were always more Posh than me.” Orihime nudges Uryu with an elbow.

Ichigo laughs.

At the end of the night, when Chad returns, Orihime’s boyfriend offers to take a group picture of them, joking about sitting on a goldmine—the rights of which would set him up for life, should he sell them. Orihime laughs and shakes her head, then pushes Chad to the middle so they can smile for the cameras. It’s probably the millionth picture they’ve taken together in their lifetime, but there’s something intimate about the way Chad’s hand sits on Ichigo’s back, and Orihime’s head is leaning against Uryu’s. There’s a joy on all their faces—an acknowledgement that they’ve finally come home.

Ichigo immediately asks everyone to send it to him.

+

About a week later, after everyone has headed home and Chad has long-jetted off towards his honeymoon, Ichigo opens Instagram for the first time in a while and allows his fingers to hover over his gallery. He hasn’t posted anything since the announcement of his first album—had actually wiped the account clean and allowed his team to handle the rest, but he stares at it now, considering.

Then, he presses down on the picture and captions it with a thumbs-up emoji, an inside joke that nobody else but the four of them will know. He hits post.

Within minutes, thousands of likes begin to pour in, his screen actually freezing with the unexpected action. In the minute where his phone takes its time to catch up with the rest of the world, Ichigo imagines most of the major entertainment publications will be rushing to break the news—K-TOWN PEACE SUMMIT AT SADO YASUTORA’S WEDDING; DID K-TOWN JUST HINT AT A REUNION?; POP BAND REUNITES AT WEDDING: FANS BREAK THE INTERNET.

And so on. Ichigo force-switches his phone off and lets the internet handle itself. Then, he picks up his guitar case and decides to head to the studio.