Archive of Our Own

Akito still kept hold of the polaroids.

It was crappy quality and only managed to last so long because of the way it was lodged in his wallet. However, beyond the creases and the small chunks which had eroded from the corners, was the entryway to a flood of cherished memories he swore to remember. Fading into obscurity were figures of their past selves, their faces blurry yet bright with their stretched grins. Akito's hair had been shorter then, tufts just managing to brush the back of his neck, and nothing like the mullet he adorned now. It made him wonder, as he brushed the outline of one of their faces, if anyone else looked drastically different compared to back then, be it their clothes or their hair or even the way they pronounced words. He, for one, knew for sure all the time staying in another country was starting to show some long-term consequences. His vocabulary had shifted entirely with the culture exuding in every small crack on the pavements and every vine creeping up the sides of desolate buildings, the same buildings he ran to for a some peace and a cigarette. It was within one of these buildings which he hid within now, trying to let the shadows blanket him from the sweltering heat. His forehead was pressed firmly against the icy brick wall, leaving him awkwardly stood, staring down at his wallet where the the image was slowly becoming burned into his retinas.

Vivid bad squad had failed Rush Beats in its final stages. Despite the advice they held faith in and the sweat and tears they dedicated to their dreams, they remained crushed under the shoes of those who were simply perceived as 'better'. It took quite some time to entirely digest such a soul-crushing loss, the stages of denial running rampant in their minds for days on end, rendering them tired from all the late nights they spent thinking of the 'what-ifs'. Now while he didn't necessarily like making a contest of it all, his other members at the time spoke on how he took it the worse: buried beneath his bed covers by day and escaping into the night when his head became a little too loud. He hadn't believed he had handled it too awfully, at least until he began to hear the steady patting of rain, and suddenly, he remembered where he was. Out in America, just out the way of the bustling New York city centre, on his own in the cold. He puffed out a cloud of smoke, swallowed the bitter taste of nicotine down his aching throat, and stomped out the bud on the concrete. He wasn't meant to be here. Then again, he didn't really know where he was meant to be at all.

Past the stone walls of the building, the rain began to hammer down violently, numbing the noise of passerby's until the only sound which rang out were his shallow breaths. The sun had long since set, leaving the starless sky to shroud him in the darkness of another polluted night. He surprised himself when he imagined star-gazing again for the first time, the activity one he never indulged in when he was younger, but now one he appeared to crave a little more each and every time he looked to the sky. New York wasn't the place to do these sort of things, he had learnt rather quickly, because to survive there meant never letting yourself slow down. It was what drew him to remain in the city in the first place. Yet all he thought about lately was when he would be allowed to drown in his reveries again, without the disturbance of reality hitting him on the back of the head.

He dug his shoe into his fallen cigarette once more, assuring it was dead, before he strode to the entryway of the building. Rather than a door, only a measly sign warning not to trespass greeted anyone passing along. Good thing Akito had no care to read it. If anyone questioned him, he'd lie and pretend he hadn't spent the last few years forcing himself to understand English; like he hadn't spent everyday of his monotonous life trying to be something substantial within this sea of buildings and pollution.

When he went to reach for another cigarette, he realised he had emptied the box, causing him to shove his fingers in his hair and groan. He was meant to make that box last at least another week. Whatever, he thought, because he needed to pick up his new round of medication anyway, so a pit stop to the convenience store would be quick. Only, he was meant to pick up his sleeping meds at 8pm, and he didn't exactly have any semblance of time without his phone. "Your mobile phone will be a distraction to your routine," they always used to tell him, back when he was young and naive, "so we will keep a hold of it, our marketing teams can take care of your social media." Like a fool, he believed them.

By the time he was ready to step back onto the streets, the rain resembled hail, pelting into his back and weighing his clothes to the ground. Biting at the skin at his lips, he dragged himself through the shadows, meandering around the abandoned shopping trolley and the shattered glass bottles at his feet. Within seconds of walking, he was no longer in the comfort of solitude, instead he was flashed with the overwhelming presence of LED lights and adverts scaling the protruding towers. He was being shoved every which way until he stumbled into the rhythm of the crowds. Umbrellas poked and prodded at his sides all while he took the brunt of the downpour on his head, the rain dripping down his face and blurring his vision. To anybody passing him, he probably appeared pathetic, squinting ahead like some form of lost dog searching for a treat. Nevertheless, he pursued on, his socks growing damp and squishy as he looked for the lights shouting at him '24/7 Convenience store'. He did eventually find them, though they were half-flickering, half-dead upon the front of the store, with a crammed entryway which rang a bell each time you walked in. Akito fought his way through the waves of the crowd, accidentally elbowing at least two people on the way, to make it to the store, his change jingling in his pockets. Dripping water droplets through the doorway and onto the shop's tiled floors, he staggered his way to the counter, ignoring the disdainful glare the tired cashier shot him the moment he stepped afoot in the store.

"Spirits?" He inquired, settling his arms on the counter, before the pain of bending down spiked his back, and he opted to awkwardly stand with his damp clothes sticking to his skin.

The cashier huffed, dark circles framing her eyes, "Twenty, kid, but we've got some Malboro for fifteen, ninety-nine?"

"Sure," Akito decided, handing the cashier his ID alongside the cash, watching as the cashier took her time to full analyse Akito's card. He shifted on his feet, antsy, and found himself biting his lip once again. Though, the cashier did eventually grace him with the card again, taking in the money to put into the till.

"Shit, you're only twenty-two, kid." The cashier mumbled, as she fetched him his change, "you gotta life ahead of y', what you doin' with crap like this?"

At that, Akito bit his tongue to hold back a scoff, quickly accepting his change to pocket it. "Just handlin' some crap, nothing special 'round here." Which, though still rather vague, happened to satisfy the cashier as she bid him a good night. It appeared that no matter where you were in New York, there would always be mutual understanding that everybody was having a shit time making ends meet. Akito wasn't much different, just a young boy traversing a big world on his own, dreaming of the possibilities which could have been. He unwrapped the cigarette box while stepping out the store, frantically searching for his lighter. The chill of the rainwater made his hands shake while he fought to lit a fuse. He tried one, twice, and finally a third time when he stepped out the store. With the triumph of getting a small flame going, he raced to light his cigarette before the rain killed his spark. Only, there was no feeling of rain droplets hitting his skin.

Slowly, he peered at his surroundings, until he noticed the presence of an umbrella being held above his head. His heart skipped a few beats, but not exactly out of relief. Rather, he dragged his eyes slowly to the awfully familiar figure who was holding the awfully familiar umbrella above him. He slowly dragged his thumb off the lighter's ignition.

"Ah," he mumbled, or at least tried to despite the nicotine stick in his teeth. Rather, it just came out as an awkward groan. Beside him, his manager shook his head disapprovingly.

"Does performing truly mean that little to you now, Shinonome?" Douglas asked sternly, a permanent frown etched onto his aging face. They stared at each other for the briefest moment, those lilac eyes boring through him, until Akito felt a sudden pain shoot through his head. Akito quickly looked down at the floor, blaming the shiver through his body on his damp clothes. He took the cigarette from his mouth to cough.

"Just finishin' the pack, boss, can't let it go to waste." He tried to argue, even as Douglas shifted a glare down at the clearly freshly opened packet. Akito tried to hide them, but it was too late. He was ready to stick the cigarette back in his mouth when Douglas snatched it away. "Oi-"

"Your breath reeks." Douglas complained, "and you're meant to be preparing for tomorrows regime, if you even still remember it." His boss gripped the cigarette as thought it were a bug: pinching it between his fingers and holding it far from his face. Which was ironic, because Akito was growing confident he wasn't the only one who kept a lighter on his being.

"Yeah yeah, just gotta bounce to the pharmacy, got my collection at eight." After all, he wasn't going to be fitting into any regime in his current state. His hair was dripping less now, but the damage had been done. His nose and cheeks were red, his arm hair are stood on its ends, and he knew he had a headache coming on. But it would be okay, because those magic pills will at least gift him around six hours sleep in bed tonight. He could achieve that, at the very least.

"Interesting," Douglas sneered, which never meant anything good, "because it is already nine."

Oh.

"Ah shit-"

-

He maintained his schedule rather well as a teenager. Six on the dot, he'd get up and shove on some loose clothing, ready to slip his way downstairs and through the front door for a morning jog. He wouldn't spend hours out, just enough to enjoy the rising sun and clear his head, and more often than not, it worked. Then again, growing kids were known to have more energy than most, which might have contributed to his overloaded schedule.

Rather than doing the smart thing of looking forward in the crowded streets, his eyes were instead fixed on the sleeping pills Douglas and him collected from the pharmacy. As of late, the dosage had risen, though Akito told himself it was just a minimal setback. A setback to whatever dream he was truly reaching toward right now. Douglas walked in front of him, never beside, as they made their ways back to Akito's apartment complex. It was one specifically rented to some of the performers who worked under Eagle studios, because it would have been laughable to watch Akito try to find an apartment himself. Just a young teen who barely knew fluent English, asking random strangers if they could split money with him on an extortionately priced, cramped apartment. It's why, despite everything, the apartment was the only reasonably "nice" thing he actually believed he had been provided, but that didn't mean it didn't come with its own multitude of faults. The most egregious offender, being that Douglas or one of his staff could drag him from his bed at any given time to complete this and that, until he was left exhausted and sleeping on the couch when the bed was too far away to walk to.

Douglas's umbrella barely escaped Akito's figure, causing heavy splats of water to land straight in his hair and down his back.

"There might be a storm brewing, and you wonder why we keep you under such watchful eyes. Douglas scorned, going on about his integrity as a performer connected to Douglas' name, then onto some sort of new changes with his schedule which were running too fast out of his bosses mouth to register. Akito's sharp nails picked at his cuticles, where the loose skin gave way to small puddles of blood. Anything was better than hearing Douglas talk.

"Your sponsorship in October also contacted to clarify- oh, well would you look at that." Douglas stopped in the centre of the street, sudden enough that Akito almost collided into him. When he began to follow Douglas' eye line, he felt the heavy sloshing of bile in his stomach. There, pinned in the centre of the blinding billboards, was the display of a familiar girl. Only, it had been years since Akito had last seen her, her blonde hair longer and curled to frame her face. She still adorned those signature pigtails, and a tilted cap atop her head, pasted with an embroidered brand's name across the front. Her smile was light. glowing, her golden eyes squinted down at the bleak streets where Akito was fixed in place. Her baby face had matured now, only a little, her soft cheeks dusted with a gentle blush with accentuated her eye-shadow. The street-wear brand she had collaborated with displayed its tag besides her photo, promoting her upcoming, 'sold-out' performance in the next couple of days.

Azusawa Kohane had never looked more confident. Maybe it was the camera work or the post-edit which illuminated her image, but if you were to ask Akito to be truthful, he'd tell you that she simply always had the essence to captivate the world. It was why he was unable to draw his eyes away now, much like some of the other people around him, who were snapping photos and talking in excitement and anticipation for her next album release.

"She really gives an impression, huh?" His boss mumbled besides him, the words almost lost to the crowds. Akito didn't respond, causing Douglass to huff and raise his volume, "not taking her on was one of my greatest failures as a producer. If only…" His worlds trailed, but Akito didn't need to look to know there were eyes piercing the side of his head. It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out what he was implying. Akito just shoved his hands in his pockets, ignoring the urge to walk off entirely. He still needed that paycheck at the end of the day, so he continued to follow behind Douglas even as he rambled on about the multitude of ways Azusawa would have benefited from his companies' influence. Akito let it all fly over his head, quietly settling in the relief that Kohane had in fact not stepped anywhere near Douglas back then. After all, Kohane was always one of the smartest in their group, always searching for rationality above all else. If Akito had done the same, perhaps he would have also stuck with Alan's way of work, instead of mindlessly believing in the first person who said they could heal his incompetence.

Past the late night tourist shoppers and the knock-off mascots trying to get them to take photos, the two eventually reached the line of apartments which Akito had the pleasure of seeing everyday. Clinically white walls which scaled beyond Akito's half-focused comprehension, littered with cheap plastic plants to give an impression of being pristine. All a load of crap, Akito had concluded not long after he moved in, for they were just prison cells painted to look like five star hotels. They were stale of any other personality otherwise, the heavy weight of money in the companies pockets clearly being to precious to waste on the smaller artists in the kiosk of Eagle production's money-making machines. He considered once asking where more of their successful performers were directed to stay, but he decided that for his own sanity, he shouldn't force himself into wondering why he wasn't also allowed an overseas private villa.

Akito finally opted to look at Douglas, who was much more enamoured in the plentiful of notifications ringing his phone. He always made an effort to look busy. "There's arrangements with the people over at Street Sense podcast to have you attend as a guest, I need you ready by seven." He continued to incessantly tap at his phone, "understood, Shinonome?"

At the mention of a podcast, Akito grimaced. "What? No," he argued, the irritating ring of a bicycle whizzing past joining the endless horns of the cars stuck in traffic. He caught a whiff of something he didn't have the mental capacity to acknowledge. "Why am I attending those shitty money grabs when we could be doing somethin' real?" Something like music, like letting his voice brake through the misery of his life in search of something more. "Has Eagle really stooped that low?"

Douglas' brow creased, his voice dead cold. "We haven't, but you have." The old man scolded, his mouth fixed in an ugly scowl. Akito felt the bile simmer. "You ain't what you used to be, kid. You're lucky I've been able to grab you somethin' to chew on considering the crap you give me."

Akito found he had no response for that; he bit at his bottom lip again. Only this time, the bitter wave of copper flooded his taste buds. He found it familiar, almost comforting, amidst the nauseating sounds and smells and the way he no longer felt steady on his own two feet. Instead of trying to muster a response, he staggered to his apartment building's door, hoping to convey his message.

"Oh, Shinonome," Douglas stopped him, not a semblance of remorse to his tone, "about the sponsor in October, they wanted to clarify that they need you to gain some muscle back in your biceps, just to fit the-"

Akito slammed the door to the apartment building behind him.

-
His apartment truly reflected the current trajectory of his life: a shit-hole.

Unwashed clothes strewed across his cramped rooms, making it nearly impossible to step on the ground. Alongside them were abandoned soda cans which he was due to pick up for recycling a few days back. His dishes were still on the rack, some from where he had yet to put them away, and some which hadn't been washed in the first place. Some of the crap overstocked in his cupboards and shelves were the weird selection of sponsors he had acquired and swiftly regretted. Now they sat to fester in mould, at least until he finds the time to truly sift through them for the ones he actually tolerated. However, despite the plateau in attention and stats which Douglas kept hammering into his head, his schedule only had only appeared to triple in work. From shitty podcasts to obscure fan events which just required someone to fill the silence, Akito was being hand-fed leftover scraps which the other dogs under Douglas' control didn't want. He was like some sort of scapegoat, who only existed to maintain the appeal of his coworkers by looking like an embarrassment next to them.

Akito believed he had what it took, at least he used to. He always convinced himself that it wasn't him, but the cheap love songs they were writing him, or the lack of consistent clothes which he was contracted to wear. He told himself, if he could just get himself some time behind a computer and microphone, shielded from the judging eyes of the world, he could make something substantial. Maybe even something enjoyable. Yet above all else, they would be made by him, carved and constructed with the building blocks of his being. The melodies would erupt with his sorrows, his joys, and every last little feeling he had locked away in his chest, until they formed an orchestra which could shake the very plates of the earth. They would seep into the ground and catch fire to its surroundings until everyone had a piece of Akito's soul blasting in their headphones. Yet, he was shackled by a contract to nod along with what he was provided, even when it made him want to claw his hair out.

Tripping over his clusters of rubbish to reach his bed, his mind drifted to An Shiraishi, another member of his old squad who enjoyed being a free spirit as much as he did. He remembered how they composed songs together, spending nights excitedly bouncing ideas off each other until Akito was jumping on his bed and his sister Ena was banging his walls to get him to sleep. Now, burying himself into the covers of his scratchy bed sheets and flat pillows, he no longer felt the same exhilaration he once did at the thought of making music. Every time he even came close to considering it, his attempts would leave him scratching at his hands anxiously until he got mad enough to throw his notebooks across the floor. Everything he wrote now was cultivated with the hollow, wasted shell of the skills he once held a long time ago. Lyrics were now nonsensical and messy, those same feelings he once loved to swarm his pieces now dry and stale. He found no joy in it anymore, the way he also lost the thrill of his morning jogs and styling his hair. He lost his interest in fashion as soon as he learnt he was no longer able to dress himself, he lost interest in the small joys of eating pastries and pancakes when Douglas set him on his first diet, and he lost any interest in putting in the work as soon as he swallowed the uncomfortable truth of his future.

Vivid bad squad was never coming back, and if anything, they were all doing better that way. Everyone but himself.

He had become a slob who needed pills to sleep and cigarettes to harbour the last bit of control left in his fabricated life. He woke dreading his encounters with Douglas in the morning and dreading his lonely spirals in the night, where he imagined every possible scenario of getting fired the next day. His contract was running out quickly, and it was a little too clear that the spark within his chest was flickering away. Where would he go after, he wondered, but each and every time his mind reached the same sickening conclusion. There was nowhere else after this. Without his job, he would truly fade away into obscurity. No grand speeches or prayers, no expensive ceremony. Just him, and his reminder that he had never reached the best version of himself that he had always aspired to be. Slowly, he curled himself further into the covers, trying to hide himself from the greater world outside. He ignored that he was still in his day clothes, and the way his hair was still dampened by the rain. Rather, he snagged two pills from his pharmacy package, and swallowed them raw down his scratchy throat. He almost choked on them, but gradually, he forced them down into his system, and waited for them to kick in while he closed his eyes.

He dreamt of Vivid Bad Squad again that night, and clutched his pillows tighter.

-

Dragging the violin bow across the strings a final time, the musician sighed, and lowered his instrument. The muscles in his hands were worn, and the physical therapy sessions could only achieve so much to restore them. Displayed on video call, his father was sat straight at the dining table, a black coffee steaming off at the corner of the camera in its white ceramic cup. Hesitantly, the violinist spoke, "was that an extravagant performance, or was I only subpar in my chord changes?" He asked, his eyes slowly blinking from the heavy weight of exhaustion. Observant as ever, his father looked into his eyes, but didn't raise the concern. Not directly.

"There is said to be a sufficient museum of musical history a few blocks from your hotel," the aging man slowly said, his wrinkled mouth in a tight frown. "I believe it would be an enriching excursion before the night's performance."

Registering the words across the delayed video, the violinist settled his violin down, his fingers dancing along the metal strings. He shook his head fervently. "Father, while I appreciate the suggestion, I do wish to know about my feedback, if you would be so kind." The violinist, as he waited, began to also consider the way his finger almost slipped in the transition to the third movement, or the way his pressure on the strings weakened in the finale from where his fingers had began to ache. That wasn't acceptable, not in the world they had to survive in. The critics would hear every unintentional fluctuation, every hesitant and misplaced finger, and they would mock him for ever trying to follow his fathers footsteps. Yet, if he did not, where else was there for him to go? He had failed time and time again to reach the title of competent, and now, being a classical musician was his final resort. If he failed at this too, he might as well not be anything at all.

"Apologies, Toya," his father's voice finally came through, though it was distorted by the delays of being oversees, "The connection appeared to be too weak, but I am assured that you will do well, you are my son, after all."

"Of course, father." Toya mumbled robotically, his fingers still firmly pressed on the violin strings, even when they began to hurt. He couldn't make the same mistake twice. Like many of their conversations lately, the awkward silence began to grow, especially as Toya tried to ignore the way his father stared at him intensely, like he was searching for something in Toya's barren expressions. He still refused to put away the violin, and they both knew that Toya would stay awake to practise even if Harumichi advised otherwise. Funny how time could change people, for better or for worse.

"I must say, I hope you use this time in New York to its fullest." Harumichi finally spoke, his tone calm, concerned even. "You should seek out its culture again, you may be enlightened to new experiences." Toya didn't respond, his eyes still glued to the violin which carried so much weight. Weight of who he once was and who he was becoming now.

For a moment, he thought back to that time he had not played the violin, nor played classical at all. However, he quickly blinked the vision from his head. Reminding himself of that time for too long made him feel ill from how little he had valued it.

Now, it was gone, he was gone. He swallowed back his sorrows, but they always dragged their way back up.

"I mean it, Toya." Harumichi emphasised, now much more sternly, "I believe this trip will be beneficial for you. Go to places, take in your environments, meet with people." Toya felt his heart jolt at the last word, the fuzzy vision of sunset hues invading his mind again. That faint orange glow, one so bright that Toya had to cover his eyes, paired with light laughter that echoed and vibrated across his entire body until his bones shook. New York meant that there was the slightest chance that he would be there, and he would be able to bathe in that overwhelming warmth once again. Only, he couldn't, because there was no way he truly deserved such privileges now, after both the failure and coward he had become without the crutch of his group to keep him upright.

"Very well father." He answered, though it wasn't convincing in the slightest. It was at these awkward points that Toya would leave the call, but before he could press the button, his father spoke.

"Goodnight son," he bid, his pace slow, as if trying to lengthen the time of the call even just for moments longer. "You've done well for yourself." With that, Harumichi ended the call before Toya could get a word in, leaving him stranded in his silent apartment, where a warm lamp light illuminated the cozy space. There, Toya stood, still tracing the violin with his fingertips as he stared at his phone and its blank screen.

His father never wished him goodnight.

-

Akito woke up late, as always. Which meant he showed up to the podcast with mismatched shoes, a backward shirt, and no opportunity to take a breather before he was shoved in front of the camera. It was why he was now stumbling down the streets in a sleep-deprived haze, ignoring the five missed calls and the stares he was getting from judgemental strangers. Who cared if his hair was pointing every which way and he looked crazed from a lack of breakfast, he was a man in need of sustenance, and maybe an extra huff of nicotine.

It was why he wasted little time glancing for a cafe for brunch, which luckily, was one of the few things New York was able to supply him with in abundance. Cafe's of delicacies which littered the streets, serving platters which left Akito's tummy aching from satisfaction. Every new stack of pancakes he tried were larger and sweeter, or perhaps that was the the ravenous gluttony speaking for him, built up over the weeks he was forced to go without his precious desserts. If Douglas knew of all the occasions he slipped into a cafe for a quick treat, he would surely be smote. It was with this fact on his conscience, and the aggressive gurgling of his stomach, in which he walked straight into the side of a stranger on the street.

"Ah- shit!" Akito yelped, scrambling to stand with the painful stinging in his knee. When he opened his eyes fully, he noticed that strewn across the floor, was the elegant design for some sort of poster, now crinkled and being stepped on by ignorant passerby's. "Shit, shit! Sorry-" he rapidly spoke, as he offered a hand to the stranger, while simultaneously trying to grab all the fallen papers from the ground. The stranger seemed to appear unbothered, outside of the slight injuries they both accumulated, as she helped Akito bundle up the stacks of paper again. They must have been there for several minutes, merely running after the flyaway pages, until Akito handed the lot back with panting breath. "You good dude? Fuck, that was a nasty fall."

The stranger shook her head, speaking much more eloquently compared to Akito's profanities, "not a problem, sir, your assistance is appreciated." She then adjusted her clothes, layered in a manner way too hot for the humid weather, it almost made him sweat just staring at her. "Would you perhaps like one, good sir?"

Akito bit down on his lip, his eyes darting down to the poster to avoid eye contact. He didn't necessarily know how to exactly turn down this lady, especially after he had just sent them both crashing into the ground. Therefore, he reluctantly took it into his hands, straightening out the wrinkles as he glanced to the title. 'Echoes of Eclipse: a classical showcase.' Akito squinted his eyes at the italic writing, his head thudding at the sight of the genre. Hearing the term classical again left an ambiguous pain in his heart; a wave of gentle blue hues swarmed his mind.

"Sorry uh, ma'am, ain't a classical guy." He mumbled, more so as a reminder to himself, of what he had let go. That gentle smile and tender voice, which entranced him until he felt his body become weightless from ecstasy. Those silver eyes, like shards of expensive diamonds, which shimmered the sun's light in their reflections until they blinded Akito from their beauty. He remembered everything about that distant memory, from the rich smell of coffee which lingered on his skin, to the glimmer in his eyes when a new book released. Akito remembered the power in his voice, the determination which seeped in his steady rhythm, and the way that voice still danced in his mind. Especially those final words, the ones which bid him farewell, with that same angelic smile, before he promised that they would find each other again. Those words were years ago now, alongside the sweet smiles and the pretty moles on his body, and had become a broken promise he uselessly gripped onto, as if he would magically return before him, opening his arms for Akito to dive into. That goddamn boy, his most dearest partner, his-

"Toya?"

Printed on the back of the flyer in neat lettering, was the display of names which were to perform that very night. Tonight, tonight, the damn name was printed to perform as a part of this damn show, as clear as the deadly sunlight. His old singing partner's name haunted him, opening the floodgates to all the memories they once shared. The intimate whispers into the night over the phone, discussing their next set-list, or the endless trips to the cafes where they argued over who paid that round. Like a tattoo, visions of Toya remained glued in his head; his rare giddy grins and the focused furrow of his brow when they studied. Akito's hand cramped from how hard he was clutching the paper, reading the times over and over again. Toya was playing tonight, and only tonight, at 10pm, during the time he was due to meet with Douglas' team for dance practice.

Yet, if there was an opportunity to see Toya, even if from the shadows of an audience, was he not foolish to at least try?

Fuck. His mind was running too many miles a minute, and his stomach was still rumbling in impatience. He felt his lungs constricting in his chest, and he was sure that the stranger could see his hands trembling. He hadn't heard Toya's name in years, had spent months on end trying to pretend he didn't wish to claw back into his company and embrace. Toya was the answer to all his questions, the fuel to his flames. He had spent every day in a selfish, indulgent bliss, being by Toya's side, to the point he tortured himself now, wondering why he took Toya's presence for granted.

"H-hey, hold on-" Akito stuttered, before cringing at the meek manner of his voice. Pathetic. "How uh, do you get tickets for tonight. There's still ones going, right?" Just one, he thought, his teeth drawing blood in his mouth now, because he was a little too hopeful about the idea of seeing Toya again. Would he have grown his hair out? Would he still wear similar fashion? Would he let Akito dress him again, or do his makeup, or would he never wish to see Akito again? Never wish to acknowledge Akito now that he was older and more dedicated to a career which was actually taking him somewhere beyond their pipe-dreams. Akito always had that underlying dreadful feeling settled in his body, the one which reminded him that Toya has always been too good for him. And yet, shit, how he craved the feeling of Toya looking at him again, at the sight of his face lighting up when their eyes interlocked.

"Ah, indeed sir, they are available online. Though I believe they are quickly running short. Just scan the QR code on the flyer to reach the site.

Akito's heart unfairly leapt in his chest, "yeah, yeah thanks! Sorry 'bout the fall again." Akito muttered incoherently, which each word being another step he rushed away to reach the nearest cafe in sight. It was cramped and the food was certainly overpriced, but at that moment, he couldn't care in the slightest. He sat at the first empty table he found and sat in the closest seat. Blinded by euphoria, he quickly tugged out his Douglas-proof burner phone and scanned the code to send him to the official website, and sure enough, the reminder of his old singing partner's name was blaring at him through the grand editing of the sites entrance. Scrolling through every last inch of the site, his leg tapping frantically beneath the table, he honed in on the 'Buy Tickets' section of the site, where that very night's performance was the first to appear. Like the stranger had commented, the display warned him that there were only so many tickets left, which meant he had to act quick. If that meant alerting Douglas to his purchases, than so be it. Cursing his stubby fingers and the way they kept sending him to the wrong locations across the site, he eventually found the option to purchase. He swiftly input his details (ones he had been forced to memorise ever since the staff at the studio stole his card for "safekeeping") and watched as the website began to load. And load. And load some more.

"For fucks sake," Akito spat, before quickly shutting himself up when the surrounding strangers stared over, fuelling the urge to shrivel in his seat. His anxieties were inconsolable, from the shitty morning to now what could be a once in a lifetime chance to glue his shattered heart back together. He tugged at his hair, chewed at his lip and bounced his leg even more uncontrollably. For ages, that dumb looking wheel spun in circles like a dizzy ballerina, each spin making him lose that spark of hope that he would ever see Toya again.

He was about to press cancel when the screen finally changed. There, displayed like a damn golden ticket, was his chance to see his old partner once again. He nearly jumped from his seat, until once again he remembered that he was in a public setting. So instead, he called the waiter over to order the largest set of pancakes on the menu, drenched and soggy with the sweetest syrup and the most dazzling selection of vibrant fruits. He had no care for the details now, like how he was going to evade Douglas' damn dancing sessions. or how he was even going to dress or get there. What mattered was that for the first time in years, that little ember caught aflame in his heart. For the first time, he didn't feel the need to reach for nicotine or the skin of his cuticles to pick away at.

For once, he allowed himself a fragment of hope, that maybe the world was calling to him to meet Toya again.

-

He was never meant to meet Toya again.

He could feel the heavy glare of Douglas' eyes as soon as he tried to sneak back to his apartment, his boss' phone in his hand displaying all the missed calls which were sent to Akito. Then, as some form of cruel chain of criminal events, he was dragged back and forth like a rag-doll for a majority of the afternoon. Tuning his vocal chords, attending meetings, followed by a warm up for his warm up; all of it was like some sort of humiliation ritual as punishment for believing Toya would ever want to see him again, that Toya would ever be happy with someone as useless as him back in his life. Each new task and new hand prodding at his messy hair and off-positioned arm had his mind spinning, paired with the constant ticking of the arrogant clock reminding him that Toya was only going to be on stage for so long. Perhaps Douglas knew, because Douglas always knew everything about what was happening in the New York music industry. Maybe he had spied over Akito's bank statements and saw the large set of pancakes, which was why his stomach was being scrutinised by staff who were determined to maintain his "appeal". Or maybe, Douglas had seen the tickets to Toya's show that night, which is why he had pulled every last little move to make sure Akito was leant over and dry-heaving from all the strain on his voice and limbs. By the time he truly had the chance for a break, it was out of the medic's concern that he could truly pass out, and that was only fifteen minutes before Toya's performance was meant to start. Akito's heart jolted erratically at every minute which counted down, every reminder that his one chance was slipping through his fingers like sand.

"I'm just doing what's best for you," Douglas had snidely commented, his voice laced with venom, "now take five minutes and have some water, I expect you back here for more if you're truly serious about pushing your limits."

It was why, now with eight minutes to go and his credit card he pick-pocketed from Douglas' bag of personal crap, he was shoving past people down the public street, jaywalking red lights and chasing after every taxi he could find in hopes that one of them would take him to the performance hall hosting the event. Yet, as if the world appeared to spit on him, there wasn't a single cab available to take him down, so next he tried the busses, where he informed them of his destination and pressed the card down to pay.

Card declined.

Of course it was never that easy. Douglas' would never leave his things unattended so casually unless if it was to pull some cheap trick like this. Scowling, he left the bus, borderline stomping off toward the performance hall by foot, which very quickly became a jog, then, a full fledged sprint. The location, on foot, was technically forty minutes away, which meant he would have missed the entire section of Toya's performance. So it was a good thing that Akito spent his minimal past time hiding in alleyways. Cutting through old buildings, he raced down streets and roads, only muttering in apology for the accidents he nearly caused along the way. His body ached from the practice, and that nauseating temptation to stop and throw up the pancakes from earlier was growing by the block. However, he had a mission to achieve, one which could change the rest of his miserable, stagnant life. He needed Toya like he needed to breathe; like he needed to eat and drink and sleep. Since Toya had disappeared to Japan, he had well and truly been dying. His body was eroding away by the day, as his mind grew rotten with the sorrow of absence. Yet now, maybe he could selfishly let Toya heal his heart again, and even if it meant he would lose the other for the rest of his life, he had to at least give it a try. Just once.

See, running at desperate speeds with nothing but his old singing partner in his mind made him reflect quite a significant amount. More notably, the time in which he had realised the feelings he felt for Toya went beyond that of friendship. No, rather, he had began to dream of the warm embraces and mindful gifts. He dreamt of the fun date ideas and the ways he would join Toya's lips with his own after. He even dreamt of days splurged in white, with floral arrangements down the isle where they could exchange those rings which represented forever. There was no telling when he had fallen in love with Toya, but he did know that not long after he had lost him, he had come to terms with the fact that he had been in love with Toya for a very long time. A love which had not faded, but rather, had increased excessively with time, and now was his chance to at least admire his lost love before he disappeared again. If not for himself, then for Toya, who deserved to feel the love of those from the audience for not just his music, but also himself.

It's why, even as people on the street tried to stop him to answer a survey on the current state of the city (as if he would care), he pushed on, his hair and workout clothes drenched in an unfathomable level of heavy sweat. He wasn't entirely aware of how much time had evaded him when he finally saw the playhouse on the horizon, causing him to almost leap towards it in joy, even with his quads relentlessly crying out for respite. He ignored them, and ignored the way he almost stumbled from the numbing static which replaced the feeling in his legs. He grit his teeth, his nails piercing his skin from how tight he was clenching his fists, as he meandered through the collection of furious roaring cars which beeped at his recklessness. He ignored it all, much more enamoured with the sight of the performing hall's wide open doors, inviting him into that beautiful golden light. He could still catch sight of Toya's performance, even if it was just the end.

When he finally entered the grand hall, after his ticket decided to not load for the scanner for what felt like hours, the first thing he was met with were people. An overwhelming amount of them, all chatting and standing around with drinks in a cramped corridor as if there was no rush to be getting places. As if one of the greatest musicians wasn't going to be blessing their ears through the doors of the main stage. Instantly, a scowl etched into his face, causing some of the many elderly folk around him to blatantly stare in abhorrence, as if Akito were some sort of fly which landed on their tea party cakes. Akito tried to ignore the way the stares caused his skin to crawl, or the way he had to lower his head to avoid making uncomfortable eye contact, but asking these people to move was like getting through to a brick wall, or worse, Douglas. He had to hold back from shoving past the old folks, less he wanted to be arrested for some sort of battery before he even caught a glimpse of Toya, so he just tried to awkwardly squeeze and manoeuvre his way around the crowds, muttering apologies every which way he could when his arm or leg went the wrong way. At this rate, the close squish of bodies surrounding him made his sweat start to drip, which was only enhancing the horrid stares he was getting shot his way. Squeezing the last ounces of air in his lungs and dignity in his system, he tried to search for the right path to the doors, to Toya, but there were too many people around him, too many people in his face and too many bodies cramped against his own. The endless chattering and laughter made his chest twist and constrict, which wasn't saved by the frantic tugging of his shirt for air. He needed to find Toya, he needed him now, which meant he had no time for this. But everything around him was blurry and a little out of order. Shit shit shit-

"Shit, you okay man?" An older guy around his height approached, also seemingly being pushed and shoved much like he was, only he didn't seem too bothered. Akito went to open his mouth, but the name Toya almost slipped put, causing him to clamp his mouth shut again. No, of course he wasn't okay, and he wouldn't be until he got to see that gorgeous man shining under the stage lights.

Yet the man, who Akito now noticed was dressed in a staff uniform, appeared to finally realise what Akito was looking for. Somehow. Maybe it was the frantic way he looked around the crowds. "It is rather hectic tonight, isn't it? I'll get you to your seat."

Thank fucking hallelujah, only Akito still felt as if his throat was blocked shut, so he just nodded in thanks, the man steadily guided him through the crowds, rambling on about some nonsense which Akito was only half-listening to. "It's so refreshing to finally see a selection of younger gentlemen like you appreciating our performers today! It's certainly rare nowadays to have the current generations take the time to value classical music, you know? But I truly think there's something so insightful we can all learn and appreciate about the classics." Akito only wordlessly hummed, fixing his eyes to the staff member's back and not letting himself fall astray. The crowds were steadily dissipating as they neared the sound of a harmonic melody echoing down the walls. Akito's heart leapt, because that was Toya, it had to be, making such beautiful music which was guiding him to see the light which was his eyes. Akito raised his head a little more.

"I truly hope you take something from our performances today-" the staff continued, though it did nothing to reach Akito's Toya-swarmed mind. "-I have a feeling you will especially appreciate the works of our current performer, he is an outstanding violinist from overseas!"

Akito's mind was wired purely on adrenaline now, the rest of his body practically shut down from the running before. Suddenly, he found himself breathing in too much air, his mind fuzzy with the thoughts that he was about to see his most dearest friend, and partner. The school nerd who packed extra Pochacco plasters in his school bag and always insisted on cleaning up litter, even if it wasn't his own. The singer who had the skill to captivate the world from a single magical note, rendering audiences uncontrollable. The friend who was there to ground Akito whenever the world began to disappear a little too much around him, even if it meant staying with Akito for hours on end, simply accompanying his side.

He was about to see that goddamn boy, his most dearest partner, his-

"Alain M. Helias"

What?

Akito felt the world stop around him, the distorted faces around him frozen in place. They were all smiling, but it was abnormal. Wrong. Everything was wrong actually, from the performer on stage to the music that was playing, because none of it was Toya. Where was Toya? Where did he go? Akito felt his chest rise and fall irregularly again, his heart pitter-pattering alongside the irregular rhythm of the applause which was now ringing in his ears. The random guy, who wasn't Toya, bowed in thanks to the ovation, waiting for it to simmer before he began his next piece with impressive ease. The sight made Akito want to throw up.

He was never going to see Toya again. He was never going to talk with him, to feel the plasters over his heart which Toya would have gently placed. He'd never be privy to Toya's touch: no more light arm bumps or hair ruffles and no chance to ever hope for something a little more. He would never because Toya was gone, and he was never going to see him again because he had blown his one and only chance. Who was he kidding? Toya hadn't wanted to see him, because why would he? He was rude and annoying and reckless. He pushed and shoved his way to his goals and hoped it would work out, and now he was acting shocked that it didn't.

Fuck, Toya was gone. His one fucking chance to truly see Toya in all his glory was gone, taken away by a mere few minutes.

He wanted to go. He wanted to go find Toya. He wanted to go, far away from here and there and everywhere. Away from Douglas and away from music and away from this goddamn boiling hot stuffy as shit room and where was the fucking exit?

"Mr Helias is one of our renowned French performers, and specialises in- ah, hey! Sir?"

Akito didn't even see an exit amidst the loaded crowds, he just knew he wasn't going to last without air for much longer. Around him, figures and their faces warped, their chatting even louder and more invasive now. He tried to run, tried to move, but his legs weren't responding to him anymore, too worn from exertion. Akito tried blinking, tried rubbing at his watery eyes, but nothing sufficed, so he just kept dragging himself forward, on and on. He had suspected days had passed by the time he saw a shadowed shape ahead, indicating a doorway to the outside world. His eyes were bloodshot from how much he was rubbing at them, and he felt the tacky taste of blood on his tongue from where he bit down on it a little too harshly. Yet just as he hoped to finally be free from his barred cage, the voices got louder, stranger, all jeering Toya's name over and over again like a taunting rhyme. Toya's name was all around him, as he stumbled through the doors and into the chill of the night; it was even swarming inside him. The thought of Toya upset his stomach until he was bent over a random bench and dry-heaving over it to regain some air and sanity. During times like these, Toya was usually there, resting a firm hand on his back and whispering sweet nothings in his ear to guide him back to reality. Something like one of the breathing techniques he had studied while on library duty, or even just some soft encouraging words which came from his overflowing, loving heart.

He had none of that. No heart nor love. No Toya, and none of his words to ground him. Nothing but his cigarettes and his lighter.

Resting his elbows on the bench, like some form of prayer, he grabbed at his hair and tugged, once, twice. Enough for the spikes of pain to shock him enough that his body kicked into overdrive. He forced his arms to move, using the bench as a support to hoist him up until he was actually sat down properly, rather than slumped over it like some damn drunkard. Then, with newfound determination to find sweet release, he buried his hands in his pockets for a cig and a fuse. He found the rolled up nicotine easily, and wasted no time shoving it in his mouth, feeling the dry paper against his lips. His cheap lighter showed up quickly after, as he fiddled around with settling it in his hands to flick on the flames. Again. And again. Only, it wasn't lighting, not even a weak little pathetic spark to light up his pathetic life. For a moment, he stared at the repeated way it flicked, like he was under a trance as he waited for the next attempt to surely gift him some grace. But it didn't, because it remained empty, worthless. Something you threw to the ground and left to die. Someone who you would never wish to associate with.

Akito laughed at its uselessness, laughed because if he didn't he would start crying and scratching and throwing, like some sort of deranged animal which couldn't be tamed. He was made to be abandoned, over and over again, and laughed at like some sort of freak for every time he believed that maybe this time, it'll be different. Akito kept flicking at the lighter, ignoring the way it was cramping his hands, because he had to hold onto something, at least until he was forced to cry himself to sleep for another night. Again. He tried to no avail, leaving him to bite at his lip and hold back his hysterical laughs. Of the many things he was incapable of, it seemed something as easy as getting a lighter to work was high upon the list. He watched lighter fail to catch those gorgeous flames. To fail, again and again and again and again and-

A gentle flame spurred to life from the darkness, only it wasn't his own.

Akito's eyes locked onto its light, watched the warm hues flicker, and reflect onto his face. The heat emanating from the light brushed his face like a tender kiss, and for a moment, his mind slowed down. He smelt the subtle whiff of cologne, but beneath it, was the bitter scent of coffee which held his heart in a tight embrace. Akito nearly choked on it, his olive eyes darting upward, where grey ones met his own in a shared glance Akito had been convinced was lost to his dreams.

He was taller now, naturally, and his hair had been tied back in a ponytail, his baby hairs curled and framing his face. The moles were still where he remembered them, alongside the natural glow he always appeared to carry with him. Only now, those eyes were squinted, tired. Any trace of shimmer he recalled seeing in his eyes had faded with time, but it didn't make them any less beautiful. His skin was still pale, porcelain, his face made of sharp angles which used to intimidate those who didn't know his soft gelatine heart. But Akito did, because he knew everything about him. He could retrace the moles across his arms and remember every single smile he had shown Akito when it was just the two of them; they were photographed vividly in his mind.

Akito knew he was staring, but in his defence, Toya was too.

There was no telling how long they looked at each other for, taking each others faces in for the first time in years. Akito was almost self-conscious enough to hide his face entirely, but something about Toya's stare, non-judgemental and curious, made him stay. Made him stare back, even as Toya's eyes slowly darted to the cigarette still perched in his lips. Neither of them said anything, perhaps in case the other spoke first, or in Akito's case, it was because he truly hadn't prepared what to say if he ever saw Toya again. Not like this, with Toya hovering above him, hiding him from the rest of the world as if they were back in their own little bubble. Back to being Bad Dogs.

When Toya slowly raised his hand, Akito jolted back, leaving them both frozen again. Dancing around each other never really was their forte, but having Toya before him like this was a new kind of overwhelming, which meant he was lost as to where to put his hands or his legs or his everything. Any of his words now would simply fall out of him like bundles of rubbish. Yet, he didn't want to scare Toya away now either, so with all the function still left in his mechanical body, he leaned his head forward, until Toya's mouth turned upward.

Oh.

When Toya smiled, the world finally became a little to clear again. Something in his brain clicked into place, and he noticed his thoughts subsided into quiet murmurs. Still there, always there, but manageable now he had someone to mute them. Toya's smile broke through it all, the expression soft, fragile, yet laced with the same warmth which coiled around Akito's hazy mind and throbbing heart. Toya had always been pretty when he smiled, and he knew Toya loved to smile too. Loved to grace the world with that curious joy toward what it had to offer him. If Akito was the one deciding, he would suggest giving the Toya the entire universe- it would be safe beneath his careful fingers. Just as Akito had felt safe then, as Toya's hand returned to tentatively remove the cigarette from Akito's lips.

Before his hand could part too quickly, Akito's instinct kicked in like a roaring engine. He quickly clasped Toyas wrist before he could back away, his eyes widening in panic. When his mind finally registered what he did, he opened his mouth to apologise, but Toya's shaking head beat him to it. The man before him used his free hand to take away the unlit cigarette, before he settled his hands on his next target: resting on Akito's face. And oh, Akito's hands were trembling now, and he knew Toya felt it, but neither of them said anything, the thread of tension thinning the longer they kept their eyes locked on each other. If it was anybody else before him, Akito probably wouldn't even give them the decency of looking them in the eyes, but it was always different with Toya, he learned, even after all this time.

What didn't help was the way Toya was also staring at him, with this alien expression of awe Akito hadn't seen in a long time. With the same admiration one would give a valuable gift, or worse, a baby puppy. "Oh Akito," Toya's smooth caramel voice finally hushed, leaving Akito's heart beat erratic, "look at you, you're…"

Toya's words trailed off with the remaining walls Akito had built, leaving him borderline melting into Toya's cool touch. It made him shiver, but he found he didn't care. After the suffocating warmth he had endured all day, Toya's touch was more than welcome. He was scared, for a moment, that if he closed his eyes and indulged a little too much, Toya would fade like an apparition stemmed from his desperate delusion. However, as his eyes flickered open and shut, Toya's touch and presence remained. Firm and assuring, like Toya already made the decision he would never leave Akito's side again. Of course, he didn't know if that was the case, but Akito closed his eyes and let himself imagine that was what was running through the others thoughts, especially as Toya brushed his thumb across his cheek in small circles.

Akito stifled a snort. “Busted?” He asked, his voice like gravel as he opened his eyes to Toya’s growing pout. Akito chuckled at that, the expression just so familiar, with his pretty pink lips and the way his blue brows furrowed. Colourful, that was what Toya was, with his glistening jewellery and the vivid patterns across his tailored suit. He looked like a diety, one which Akito would pray to like a devoted saint, in hope of just one simple chance of seeing his presence. He’d travel, like a disciple, wandering around the world to spread news of his miracles. He’d bow down to him, like a knight, or a butler, offering the entirety of his being to see the smile remain on his prince.

He thought that seeing Toya again would satiate his desires, but now, with that small pout on Toya's face, with the gorgeous way his eyes sparkled against the moonlight, Akito found himself only falling further, deeper until he was drowning in a sea of tranquil ecstasy. Toya squeezed Akito's face in retaliation to his words, letting his thumbs sink into those reddening round cheeks of his. Akito nearly choked on the air.

"Beautiful." Toya affirmed, chuckling as he watched Akito quickly try to look away, only to realise Toya was relentless in his hold. Toya's face leaned closer with a jubilant glow sparking in his eyes, like fire. "That's what I was going to say. You're still so beautiful, Akito."

With the rampant thump of his heart, Akito tried to pretend he wasn't affected by the alluring words. However, the giddy expression on his tired face gave everything away. "Geez. You and those words." Akito scoffed, finally being granted grace from Toya when those hands adjusted to cool his burning cheeks. They settled in their silence for a moment, their breaths steadily synchronising as if they were following a rhythm all over again. Just like old times. Akito slid his hand from Toya's wrist, down his ironed suit, and settled it atop Toyas hands where he quickly moved to intertwine them. Toya continued to stare into his soul, his grey eyes rarely even blinking as he occasionally squeezed the flesh of Akito's face in his hands. After the third time, however, Akito was convinced that anymore and he would surely begin to combust.

"Oi, cmon now," Akito mumbled, shuddering when Toya brought his face even closer to his own. Damn tease. "We can't stay out here forever, it's gettin' dark." In reality, Akito knew that any moment now, Douglas would be hunting his ass down for sneaking out, perhaps already looking with the staff in one of their cars. But he wasn't ready yet, not in the slightest, to leave Toya's presence. Akito just got him back, and he wasn't about to start letting go again.

Toya appeared to hold similar sentiment, as while he parted his hands from Akito's burning face, it was only to take Akito's hands, urgently pulling to help him up. Impatient, Akito thought, which was an odd sight with the considerate Toya Aoyagi he knew, yet it just made his heart race just that little extra. Akito quickly joined him to stand, Toya wasting no time to keep their hands interlocked. "Oh, I , yes," he responded, the cogs in his head turning as he glanced into the distance. Darkness had encompassed the streets, save for a few golden flickers of light from the street lamps, and there were only a few stray pedestrians lingering around. "Apologises, I know you're busy, I hadn't meant to interfere-"

"Eh? The hell you on about." Akito sighed fondly, his first instinct to ruffle Toya's hair quickly forced down his system. Sure, they used to be close, but would Toya even like him doing stuff like that now? "I can stick around. I want to. We can talk and stuff."

Toya smiled. "Talk. Yes, that sounds perfect. My place isn't far from here either?" He responded, squeezing Akito's hand in a reserved excitement that made Akito's heartbeat stutter. "I… could talk to you for hours, Akito. I want to learn about everything you've been doing."

Akito huffed nervously, his free hand finding the back of his hair. He mumbled quietly as they began to walk. "Your place is fine, I haven't really been up to anythin' interesting though." Their steps echoed against the cobblestone, falling into rhythm once again, like they had never truly parted from each other. Around them, the shops were closing and the trees along the pavements gently swayed, their leaves falling onto the ground where they walked. Above them, in the starless night, the moon shimmered like Toya's eyes, which spent more time staring at him than the path ahead. They almost missed the turning because of it, in which Toya quickly apologised and pulled Akito in the correct direction with a gentle squeeze to his hand. By the end of this, Akito wondered for a second if he should ever wash that hand again, before blinking back to the reality that he was a twenty-two year old man, and that would probably be more weird that anything romantic.

"You had a show on tonight." Akito attempted to make conversation, hands growing slightly clammy in Toya's firm grip. "I didn't get to see it in the end, but I'm sure it was good." Beyond good, Akito thought, because Toya always had a habit of excelling in everything he had put his mind to. Back in Vivid Bad Squad, Toya's work had always been the backbone to their success, with his compositions and his ability to keep them on track with any tempo thrown their way. He was talented like that, like the rest of their squad Akito dreamed of keeping up with. He wondered, if he had put more work into Rush Beats, would all of this had to happen? Would he have had to live everyday with the knowledge that he let them all down? That he let Toya down?

Toya's shoulders stiffened when he mentioned the show, albeit only slightly. Before he responded, he glanced up with a quiet 'oh'. "We're here, Akito." He smiled, as he pulled them to a smart complex of floral-covered apartments, not far unlike his own, except the plants were real, and the paint job wasn't blinding him with its natural stone patterns. Toya opened the door for him, like the gentleman he was, and Akito had to look down to hide the flush which dusted his face. Toya then guided them to the lift, which they had for themselves with the late hour of the night.

With the whimsical elevator music ringing through the small space, and Akito's hand still gripping onto Toya's for dear life, the two settled into a calm silence. Toya hadn't spoke about the performance yet, but Akito didn't really mind, he didn't care if Toya just wanted to spend the entire night in silence, so long as he got the chance to spend that night in his presence. They stood, nearly shoulder to shoulder, feeling the floor rise from beneath them, as they waited for the correct stop. There was space to move, and the the lift was growing rather warm, but regardless, when Akito pressed his arm against Toya's, Toya didn't budge, leaving them huddled like a pack of penguins.

Yet eventually, the elevator dinged, and Toya was already pulling him along to the correct apartment: '198'. He scrambled for the keycard with one hand, causing Akito to snicker until he located it in his back pocket. Toya swiped it, and lead them through into his temporary place. "Shit, man," Akito muttered, taking in the pristine conditions of the apartment Toya had clearly maintained. Polished marble counters and an empty rubbish bin which was settled by the small kitchen. He could see his reflection in the floors and not a single stray bottle, food packet or takeout box. In fact, the only trace of life within the space were the dishes drying on the rack, and the presence of a subtle smoke smell which caused Akito's brow to furrow. "You smoke or somethin' in here dude? Didn't put you as the type."

Toya blinked owlishly. "Ah," He mumbled, and slowly, a small blossom of pink bloomed on his face. "That's the uh. That was my dinner, it didn't entirely go to plan." He shyly admitted, as he led them to the soft navy couch which could accompany the two of them. Toya let Akito sit down first, before settling down right beside him, so they were snug against one another.

"'S that so?" Akito questioned, his brows still rigid as he stared a little too long at the pink on Toya's cheeks. "What 'bout the lighter? You just carry that for fun?"

Toya paused, staring at Akito as the cogs turned in his head. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. With a sigh, he parted his hand from Akito's, something which immensely disappointed the ginger, to wipe his sweaty palms on his smart pants. Huh, Akito thought, glancing at Toya's hands. He didn't realise he wasn't the only one that was nervous. Toya reached with an unsteady hand into his pocket, where he pulled out the lighter he had shown Akito before. Now he was getting a better look at it, the lighter was actually plastered with some sort of cheap fading fire print. It was so ridiculous and odd for someone as elegant as Aoyagi Toya, that Akito nearly snorted. He bit his lip to hold back, though Toya seemed to also see the ridiculousness of it, as a small smile crept onto his face.

"It's stupid, I know," Toya hushed, his voice low, "but they became sentimental to me, after a while. Something about them reminded me of…" his voice trailed, but Akito had understood enough. Toya had lowered his head down to mindlessly flick at the lighter in his hand, watching the flame burst before it faded away. It looked to be running on the last drops of fuel; Akito held his breath.

"It reminded me of you." Toya finally admitted, his words quick and his eyes darting to Akito as if to check he was still listening. Still there. "I'm sorry, is that strange of me to the say?" He awkwardly fiddled with the lighter in his hands watching the flame dance in quiet panic. Akito, on the other hand, was beginning to feel light-headed, whether that was the affects of the lack of oxygen, or the lack of having Toya beside him after all this time. He had no idea that Toya ever felt the same to him, that he was the only one who saw fragments of his old partner in every little boring thing. Akito saw him in every book, every coffee cup and flashy arcade poster. He saw him in the moonlight and the music stores he passed to the studios.

He saw Toya in everything.

"That's not strange." Akito quickly answered, his heart fluttering at the sight of Toya's hopeful glance. "I mean, uh, I've kept all those arcade toys you used to get me."

"The plushies?" Toya gleamed, his eyes wide and glistening like the stars Akito had been mourning over from the cloudy New York skies, "even Pancake Monster?" Akito wasn't sure whether the name embarrassed him more, or the fact that Toya remembered it. He quietly chuckled at the words, and tried to push down the butterflies which were exploding in his stomach and sending jolts of energy to his body. His fingers twitched against his lap with the urge to grab Toya's hand back; he wished he wasn't so damn obvious about it.

"Yeah, even that thing," Akito scoffed, though he couldn't deny the smile on his face. "Can't believe you remember the bloody name of it." He was also tempted to ask if Toya wanted to see it, but he bit his tongue when he remembered the state of his own place again. All those miscellaneous cans stacked anywhere but the actual rubbish bin, paired with the rancid smell of nicotine and junk food, he decided the last place he could ever take Toya was his own place for now, at the very least.

Toya, meanwhile, had a smile alike to an excited puppy. “Of course I remember, Akito, I remember everything.” He proudly admitted, his voice growing soft again like the gentle melodies of a flute, "I remember that you enjoyed buying all those jewellery sets too, so I got a few for myself to keep hold of." To show Akito an example, Toya shuffled his hands toward his smart layered clothes, shifting down his tie and unbuttoning the first couple buttons of his white collar shirt. Akito's eyes blew shamefully wide, his mouth spluttering to speak and his hands almost reaching to stop the other guy, when Toya presented him with a hidden silver chain beneath his shirt, linked onto a small rectangular charm. He brought it forward for Akito to see, and leaning his head forward, Akito could see the subtle engravings of letters within the charm: 'V.B.S'.

Akito gasped when he saw it, the small reminder of what they used to have back then. He was leaning closed to inspect it now, the charm kept in good condition, besides a few small scratches to indicate Toya had owned it for quite some time. "Dude…dude!" Akito grinned, his hand reaching to settle on Toya's shoulder, squeezing down firmly to balance himself as he stared. "That's fuckin' awesome! Shit, I gotta get one too." He was buzzing with excitement now, brushing his thumb gently across the mental plaque as he imagined getting one for himself, watching it get engraved, putting it on to match Toya. Maybe even bringing Toya with him, letting Toya clip it onto his neck so he would get a chance to admire that beautiful face all over again-

When Akito heard the warmth rumbles of Toya's laughter in his ears, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Their faces were close now, and Akito could see the small pores littered across Toya's skin. His heart was bounced against his ribs, the sight of Toya's long eyelashes, dark moles and subtle grin making him not only flustered, but unremarkably greedy. He wanted to witness Toya's face like this everyday.

"I'm glad you like it, Akito." Toya gleamed, dropping the lighter in his hands in favour of settling them atop of Akito's. "It's incredibly dear to me, just like our squad back then." At the confession, Akito's head swarmed with the idea that after all this time, he wasn't the only one who had been stuck with the need to go back to the past, grasping for the possibility of seeing them all again. That it was just him, left to wallow at the possibilities which kept him awake at night, because Toya was also out in Japan, wondering the exact same things. Wondering if Akito was out there, looking for him as much as he was.

Akito finally forced himself to face Toya then, lifting his head so their eyes met. Toya was still smiling, but his brows were turned: pained. He had never seen Toya cry a whole lot, to the point that he wondered if the other ever had, but this was one of those times, those incredibly scarce moments, where Akito wondered if he would. He was one impulsive decision away from settling himself on Toya's lap completely, the only thing holding him back being his last ounces of dignity.

"It was dear to me too, Toya, 'course it was." Akito responded, his voice coated in an alien warmth he had never believed he could muster again. "It was all dear to me, I mean, if I could go back to it now, I would-"

"You would?" Toya interrupted suddenly, his voice urgent, his eyes unsure of which part of Akito to stare into. "Apologies, only, I was convinced you were happier here, working with Douglas."

And Akito almost laughed at how so incredibly wrong that was, only, he held back in case Toya believed he was laughing at him. He could never make fun of Toya, fuck that, but there was always some new beautiful way to laugh at his pathetic life, lead by his own pathetic choices.

"With that jackass? I'd rather fuckin' eat both my shoes then see him right now." He scoffed, trying to ignore the frown which was forming on Toya's pretty face, but it was hard to ignore that he was making his favourite person upset. Akito cleared his throat awkwardly; Toya squeezed his hand to urge him on. "Biggest mistake of my life, man, five years of bullshit I can't get back."

When Akito finished, the room fell silent bar from the faint rumbling of the washing machines finishing its cycle. Toya was staring at him with his large silver eyes of his, his breath brushing against Akito's skin. Akito stared at him back, his chest rising and falling heavily now that the words were spilled between them. He never really planned to tell Toya about Douglas, about the struggles he was dealing with, as he didn't really want to acknowledge the world behind Toya's walls at that very moment. However, he could still feel the vibrations of his phone in his pocket, one he was sure Toya had noticed by now, and how could he help himself when he was running on the adrenaline of finding his old singing partner again? He wanted to tell Toya everything, just like the old times where they shared every last detail with each other. He wanted to talk with Toya about it all, until they lost their voices. But Toya was silent now, even when Akito pressed his thumb to run along the side of Toya's shoulder.

"Dude, what's- oi!"

Within moments, Toya's arms were locked around his waist, and pulling him down to lay on the sofa. Akito nearly let out a high pitch yelp, for Toya's arms were strong, way stronger than the lanky school nerd's he had gotten familiar with. All those violin concerts came to fruition in the way Toya's arms brought them close together, until Akito's head fell to Toya's chest, and their legs tangled in a comfortable embrace. The other released a relieved sigh, like he had been waiting for this since he asked Akito if he wanted to come over. Maybe even earlier than that, maybe he had been thinking about it when their eyes met for the first time in years, or maybe it was even earlier, across the time they had been searching for solace in each others company once again.

Toya was cozy, his chin resting atop Akito's hair and the rapid pace of his heart against Akito's ear. For a moment, he swore he could inhale whatever cheap shampoo scent was in his hair, but he decided that acknowledging that for too long would leave him a little too flustered to function.

"Akito," Toya whispered in his ear. Fragile. Desperate. "Akito, my Akito…" He repeated it over and over, like some melody he practised in his head. Toya's hands fell to his back and hair, where they gently held him in place, and well, who was Akito to complain? "Akito." Toya's hushed voice whispered, another broken sigh escaping the taller when Akito gave in, and wrapped his arms around Toya's sides too. He pushed past the blazer in favour of settling his hands onto Toya's shirt around his waist, allowing him access to feel the subtle squish of his skin. It was warm, soft, despite the way his bones protruded, and the feeling made him deflate into Toya's grasp.

"Shit, Toya, I missed y' too man," Akito muttered, half-muffled by the way his face was squished against Toya's chest. "You know I could never keep my mind of you."

Yet Toya only held him tighter, "And yet I doubted that, I doubted you, instead of coming to find you earlier." He spoke solemnly, as if he had committed some sort of deadly sin. "For that, I hope you can forgive me, Akito."

Stunned by the others words, Akito half-laughed, half-scoffed. "The hell are you on about, Toya?" He scolded fondly, nudging his nose into Toya's as he figured out his favourite position to hold the other. "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for. It was my own choices. 'M just glad you still like havin' me around."

"Always." Toya affirmed, "always, Akito, if I could bring you back to Japan right now, I would. I'd pack our bags right now." Toya's fingers began to card through his hair, his touch delicate when he untangled the knots. Akito shuddered at the relaxing feeling, and for a moment, he felt his eyes grew oddly heavy. At least, until Toya mentioned Japan.

"You could."

Toya's fingers stopped. "Huh?"

Hoisting himself up to meet Toya's gaze, he felt his own unrelenting heartbeat against Toya's now, alongside the way Toya's chest pressed against his own when he breathed. "Take me to Japan, Toya." Akito pleaded, their noses bumping. "I'll rip my contract in half if I have to. I can't be away from you again."

Between them, their breaths grew shallow, Akito's head dizzying from the growing heat. His fingers were digging into Toya's sides now, not enough to hurt, of course not, but enough to feel the way Toya's skin moved as he breathed. To feel the shift of his skin as a reminder that he was there, and not ready to fizzle away between his fingers. "Toya?" He inquired again, looking at those pretty shiny eyes glue to his face. "You okay man-"

Before he could push it further, Aoyagi was cupping his cheeks and drawing him forward until their foreheads joined. Toya was smiling now, the same way he used to when they went camping, or during the many occasions they used to go the arcade together. The small squint of his eyes, paired with the small wrinkles which formed when his mouth stretched, Akito was enamoured with it all. "Akito." Toya whispered, his thumb brushing against the ginger's flushing cheek. "I would like nothing more than to stand by your side again."

And what came crashing down was not just his body falling against Toya's, but also the heavy wave of relief he had been searching for across all his years of being alone. Each year which had passed, each time Akito lit himself a cheap candle on top of those shitty dollar store cakes and wished for ways to find merit in the misery he had marinated in. Now, he had found it, in the form of settling his face into the crook of Toya's neck and enjoying the scent of coffee beans which he always carried with him. Now this, was where he was supposed to belong this whole time, with Toya's arms squeezing around him, and the comfortable silence which fell when Akito's eyes began to slowly droop. Through the silence, Toya began to thread his hands into Akito's hair once again, finding contempt in the way the other sighed in satisfaction. But just when things couldn't feel more perfect, Akito felt the feathered weight of a kiss on his head. Maybe two.

"I missed you so much, Akito." Toya continue to hush under his breath, his words falling like shooting stars which Akito enjoyed gazing at in the night sky, "I promise I'll be here to give you the world this time."

He was going to respond, joking about the way they were going to compete over their appreciation for each other, or perhaps a line just as cheesy, sharing his own laments over how much he had been wanting Toya by his side every day. Perhaps he could've shared his dreams, about finding An and Kohane again, about forming a friendship which was once ripped from them unfairly, and about regrowing a new bond which was even stronger than before. But the years of exhaustion had caught up on him before he could say much else, resulting in an incoherent mumble which Toya chuckled at.

"I'll get you home, Akito." Toya promised, with another kiss to his head, before letting his own fall back onto the sofa armrest. Akito fell into a dreamless sleep, one not clouded by nightmares nor the memories of his mistakes. Rather, he fell asleep to the rhythm of Toya's breathing, soothing him like a lullaby. Tomorrow, their was plentiful to work through, including a thorough search through flights and an unhappy Douglas to overcome. But tomorrow was a new day. Until then, they could sleep, in what finally felt like home: bundled within each other's welcoming arms.