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Everyone’s sharp eyes are on him, harsh in their accusations, demanding their justice.
He jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder; he begins to turn, a snarl forming on his face, when the exact sensation of it registers. It’s Toya. They have to leave now or they’ll miss their flight.
Cruel calls of his name fill the street as Toya starts leading him away, as Elena and Slade try to protect them from the furious mob. The voices calling for his head don’t stop, they never do; it’s not the first time his name is spat out like a curse, like it doesn’t deserve respect. He flinches when something new joins the disdainful chorus he’s heard once before; Toya’s name, An's and Kohane’s, their team name. He nearly snaps back at them, barely stopping in time before he makes it worse. He’s innocent, he didn’t do it, but if they need a scapegoat to blame before the truth comes out he’ll play the part, for as long as they keep his team out of it. They don’t deserve this, the jeering crowd needs to keep their names out of their vicious mouths. He went through this before, he knows what it’s like to be treated like dirt. He’ll be fine.
He lets Toya’s fingers fist in his jacket, lets Toya lead him away. He doesn’t want to leave. If they leave now, it’ll only get worse. The voices agree with him, growing more agitated. More hands reach for him, even as Becky explains again that they need to catch their flight, and that the keyring could’ve been stolen. It doesn’t help. It has the opposite effect, really; an angry fist pulls him back with a death grip, livid English he can’t quite make out thrown at his face. He rips his arm away, barely keeping a growl at bay, eyes wide. Instinctively, he leans more into Toya, then pulls away once he realizes that’s what he did. He can’t bring any more attention to them.
This is worse than back then.
Back then, he didn’t know Vivid Street well, nor did he know anyone there; people’s demeanors towards him started out hostile, cruel and unaccepting. It slowly, painfully improved; eventually, his determination earned him some respect, fueled further by teaming up with Toya, then later on with Vivids. His darkest days were also his first, before it brightened and the community had no choice but to acknowledge him for his efforts and strive. He teamed up with Arata and EVER, and made amends with the owner of crawl green, and carved his name into the streets with pride. Now, his chest hurts, betrayal sharp like glass shards, digging into his heart. He thought this place was like Vivid Street, a gathering of musicians that push each other higher. How’d this turn into such a dangerous mess?
Leaving the street doesn’t help the pressure; eyes follow him, unfamiliar footsteps trail behind before a desperate plea stops them in their tracks. He remembers the warm welcome they received when they first came, bumping into Slade and Cedric again, meeting Elena and Becky. He remembers steadily warming up the crowd on his own, proving to Alan-san that the fire he once held can still burn bright. He had fun playing with the children, and when voices filled the hideout, meshing together into one wonderful song, it felt just like Weekend Garage did.
Anger boils even hotter inside him at the mere thought of him trashing a place so alike to his home.
No matter what he says, he can’t convince anyone of his innocence. They’re all looking at him, eyes sharp and bloodthirsty. They demand justice, even though their judgement is unfair, even though he didn’t do it. Screw school, he can’t come back to Japan when everything hinges on his innocence being proven. He needs to clear his name so they can take the world.
Even though the calls die down once they get further away, the violent noise replaced by the buzz of New York’s streets, sharp pinpricks still dig into his back. There’s still eyes on him. They still want to restrain him, hold him down and turn him in for something he didn’t do. His arm still burns with how tightly he’s been held. Shivers run down his spine at the feeling of being watched, monitored, tracked. He casts a quick glance back. No one seems to care, milling about their daily lives, no one's charging for him with a furious call of his name.
That pinpricking sensation doesn't relent.
His heart speeds up at the sight of the car Alan-san usually sends for them; he should be relieved, but are they going to be questioned about the delay? Does Alan-san already know what happened? What if they arrive not at the airport, but at the nearest police station?
Toya nudges him in first, while An rounds the car to the other door. They're considerate, silently offering to let him sit away from the windows. As he gets in, though, he catches sight of himself in the rearview mirror. Face pale and eyes wide, he’s a skittish animal that barely escaped getting eaten alive.
Once they start moving, he can't help but glance out of the windows. There's that colorful shop they passed on the way from the airport to their hotel, there's the restaurant he wanted to check out. They're on the way to the airport. They pass by that bookstore Toya pointed out on the way to, and the open-air photo gallery is still in the park they passed. They're on the way to the airport. They’re not gonna drop him off at a police station.
The car is silent. The No.9 employee doesn't try to start any conversations, and neither does Kohane, sat in the front of the car. He glances at An, her brows furrowed as she leans against the window. He ignores his own pathetic expression, reflected in the glass, to look at Toya instead.
Toya's tense, his eyes a stormy grey as he drills his sight into the seat in front; his hands fist in his pants with upset that has no outlet. Heartbreak hides underneath that, something viscerally personal. It's their matching keyrings that ended up as incriminating evidence, as proof of a crime he didn't commit.
Red hot fury bubbles up like molten lava; how dare the culprit use a precious item like that to ruin his reputation. It spoils their partnership, just a little; even once he gets it back, he's not sure how much he'd want to keep carrying the item that cost him this much. No matter how soon he clears his name, their team name, the reputation will drag behind them. That's if they even manage it; they have to go back now, which means it'll be easier to hide evidence pointing to the real criminal, easier to fabricate clues pointing to him.
He shivers, turning away from the concerned look Toya gives him, sharp grey softening just for a moment.
What if he's proven guilty?
He can't look for evidence showing otherwise, even if he knows he didn't do it. Will they drag him back to America to throw him into juvie? He'll get expelled, and so might the others if they get accused of being accomplices. They won't be able to finish their education, they won't find any jobs, and their contract with No.9 Records will be terminated.
They'll be ruined, and it'll be his fault.
He jolts when the car stops. They’re already at the airport. He hears the others exchange niceties with the employee, and offers a nod of his own before getting out.
He slings his backpack over a shoulder, then waits to take out his suitcase out from the trunk. Does he have everything? He packed his suitcase in the morning and checked it over then. With one hand, he opens his backpack to look inside. Phone, check. Wallet, check. Keys, minus the keyring, check. How hasn’t he realized earlier that it got stolen? He’s stupid, more naive than he considered himself to be. Charger, powerbank, earphones, check.
“Akito.” He flinches when Toya’s voice reaches his ears. “You packed it in the morning, and the room was empty when we left it.”
“Right,” he mutters. Passport case, check. What will Ena think of him when he’s charged with vandalism and destruction of property? How will she react to hearing that he’s being dragged to America to sit in juvie? Will she believe him when he says he didn’t do it? Will his parents? They don’t normally give a shit about what he does. Will they finally care once their son is declared a criminal?
“Akito.” It’s Toya again.
“Sorry.” He takes the suitcase handle Toya’s passing him. He needs to get a grip. They’re at the airport, and Toya’s scared of heights. He can’t cry over himself, not when Toya’s gonna have to deal with another twelve hour flight.
The hairs at his nape stand up as they walk into the airport. People are looking at him. Do they know already? Has the news spread? They have his name and face, it’d be stupidly easy to tell the police who to look out for. Is he even going to get past security?
He flinches as loud English blares from the speakers; his heart races, and he can barely make out some numbers and letters and what sounds like the word ‘Vienna’. It’s just a flight announcement. They’re not calling his name.
He does his best to relax as they queue up for security. Appearing nervous will only make things worse. Once he’s close, he hoists his suitcase up onto the conveyor belt, then takes a tray and drops his backpack in. He unzips it to take out his electronics, then waits behind Kohane for his turn. His skin itches. People are looking at him.
He jumps when the security turns to him, calling him forward. He steps up into the metal detector, relieved to see a nod from the person behind the screen. They’re not holding him back. He takes his luggage and joins Kohane and Toya in waiting for An.
“Let’s go to our gate already,” Kohane decides, tone mellower than usual. She leads the way to their gate, where people are starting to queue up. He stands behind An, relieved to feel Toya’s presence behind him. There’s an announcement, partially garbled, and his eyes flick up to the nearest speaker. There’s a mention of Tokyo, and his eyes widen, unwillingly drifting to Toya.
“They're opening our gate,” Toya announces, seemingly to himself. He tries to sound calm, though it's obvious that he's shaky underneath that.
“The flight'll be fine.” He nudges Toya's shoulder with his own. “If ya need to squeeze my hand again or shit, lemme know.”
“I'm okay.” Toya shakes his head. “It's nothing new. If anything, you tell me what you need.” Toya’s trembling hand briefly grazes his shoulder before dropping back down. He catches it mid-air and gives it a brief squeeze, then lets it hang loosely by Toya’s side.
He sighs, turning away from Toya’s stubborn expression to look at the queue. His turn is coming up, and he needs to get his pass. He takes his backpack and opens it, taking his phone out, alongside his passport case. His wallet, keys and other items are still there. He can see the cable for his earphones and charger, his sleeping mask is there, too. With a final glance over, he closes it and slings it back on.
He quickly finds his pass on his phone, then keeps it open on that screen, placing the passport case under it. His index follows the stitching atop the leather, periodically brushing against the band. His passport case is there. He hasn’t lost his passport. He doesn’t want to, but he can leave New York.
He watches as Kohane’s pass gets scanned, then An’s, then offers his own. He shows his passport right after, eyes anxiously flicking between the attendant and his passport. Is this it? Is she gonna call security over? His heart is pounding, blood rushing loudly enough to drown out the English announcement blaring from the speakers. Is he going to be held back? Are they calling his name right now?
The attendant nods. Barely holding back a sigh of relief, he nods back and joins An and Kohane. He throws his passport case back in, briefly glancing at his keys, wallet and other items in there before closing it back up, then slides his phone in his pocket. Toya joins them moments after, face pale, though his eyes still shine with a soft determination. He brushes up against Toya’s side as they head towards the plane, smiling when Toya relaxes slightly at the touch.
He takes Toya’s hand as they near the plane; it’s subtle, hidden well under a neutral mask, but he can see the fear lacing Toya’s expression. He shivers when eyes turn to him, almost dropping Toya’s hand. They’re staring because he’s holding Toya’s hand. They’re not going to call out to the attendants and security to force him back. He shifts, slightly covering Toya with his body. They shouldn’t stare, not at Toya, because Toya’s innocent. Toya doesn’t deserve to go through something like that. He’s done this once, he’ll be fine.
He lets go once they’re climbing the stairs to the plane, taking out his phone to show his boarding pass again before stepping in. Their seats are in the middle, and he’s eventually able to throw first his, then Toya’s suitcases up before taking his window seat.
Toya sits next to him, shaking like a leaf, even if his face is carefully pulled into neutrality. He opens his backpack and takes out his earphones, briefly looking over his wallet, passport case, keys and electronics, then closing it back up. He plugs the cord into his phone, then quickly turns on one of his playlists and passes Toya an earphone. Toya accepts it with trembling fingers, sinking into his seat a little once he puts it in. He puts in the other one and checks the time. They have twenty minutes until scheduled departure. The doors should close in five minutes. He leans against the window, pointedly ignoring his own reflection to follow an airport worker with his gaze instead. Once the song ends, he looks away to check his phone. Two minutes. He opens his bag again. He should probably try and get a nap in. He opens his bag and takes out his sleeping mask, then looks over his wallet, passport case, keys and electronics, before closing it again. He puts the sleeping mask around his neck for now, taking out his earphone for a moment to make sure it doesn’t tangle.
The song ends. He checks his phone, then glances to the front of the airplane. The doors are open, the attentands moving back and forth, whispering English between each other. They’re not closing the doors. Why aren’t they closing the doors? His heart speeds up, static ringing in his ears. He flinches at the loud English announcement that sounds out in the cabin, the words garbled beyond recognition. They’re not closing the doors. Did the authorities get notified of his escape? Are they holding back the plane to drag him out of it, cuff him and drive him to a police station?
He tries to take in a slow breath, but his chest is too tight. More distorted English fills the cabin, and he curls in on himself. They’re going to force him to stay in the USA. They’re going to convict him and they’re going to throw him in juvie and his record will forever be ruined. Their reputation as Vivid BAD SQUAD will tank. He’s going to screw over Toya, and An, and Kohane. He’s going to end up in the news and everyone will forever know him not as a musician, but as a vandal and a convict and a saboteur. When someone sees him, their first thought will be that he’s a criminal. No one will care about his music, not when his crime will overshadow it all. He won’t be able to keep singing. Without singing, he’ll be nothing.
A hand lands on his shoulder.
He turns, grabbing the offender’s wrist and wrenching it away, grip tight. He’s not going. He’s not guilty. He didn’t do it. They can’t convict him without a proper investigation. He didn’t do it. He’s not going.
“Akito?” Toya’s meek voice reaches his ears. He blinks past the fog clouding his vision to look at Toya’s face. He’s scared, face pale, and something odd shines in his eyes. “Akito, it’s me. There’s some issue with the luggage, and they’ll close the doors once it’s sorted.”
He blinks at Toya.
“Luggage?” he rasps out.
“Yes. I believe someone else’s bags got mixed up, which means they have to swap between aircrafts.” Toya’s voice steadies, just a little. “You’re safe, Akito. You can let go of my wrist.”
Huh?
He drags his eyes away from Toya’s face, only to see his wrist seized in his own hand, squeezing tightly. He lets go, trying to shift away from Toya. There’s an angry, red imprint on Toya’s skin from where he held him. He hurt Toya.
“Shit, Toya, sorry,” he mumbles out, trying to shift himself away even more. He hurt Toya. His breathing stays frantic, just like his heartbeat. He hurt Toya. He hurt Toya, who’s already stressed and panicked because of his fear of heights. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He panicked over nothing, and hurt Toya when he tried to offer comfort. What kinda partner is he? He should be the one comforting Toya, doing his best to make sure Toya’s as comfortable and relaxed as can be.
“Akito, it’s okay.” Toya’s comforting him instead. How fucking useless is he to get so worked up over nothing? Toya’s the one who needs comfort. “You’re allowed to be stressed out by what happened with the hideout. But I promise you, you’re safe.”
“You good?”
He flinches at the sound of An’s worried voice, her face squishing between the seats to look at them.
“Yeah,” he replies, trying to steer his voice into something more unaffected.
“It doesn’t sound like it, Shinonome-kun.” Great, now Kohane’s peering at them from above An’s head. He wants to shrink away from their gazes, but it’s An and Kohane, for fuck’s sake. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.” He’s fine. He just freaked out over nothing like an idiot. Toya’s the one shaking, face pale, Toya’s the one hurting. “Toya, if ya’d want to borrow my sleeping mask again, lemme know.” He raises a hand to pull at the mask where it hangs around his neck. On second thought, he doesn’t like the feeling of it, even though it’s on the looser side.
“Don’t change the topic.” Toya frowns, though before he can continue, there’s another announcement.
He does his best to focus, to make out the words, but most of it flies over his head.
“The issue has been dealt with, so we’re going to depart soon.” Toya explains. At his words, An and Kohane disappear to sit properly in their own seats.
He takes his mask off from around his neck and places it in his lap instead, quickly untangling the cord to put his earphone back in undisturbed. He feels Toya take his hand and give it a comforting squeeze, his grip loosening after. He lets his head hit against the window with a dull thud. He hasn’t realized it, but he’s exhausted.
Toya squeezes his hand twice, and he glances back at him in question. Toya’s holding up his phone to him. He squints to read the text written in what looks like the notes app.
I want to help you, however I can. What happened today is horrible, and you shouldn’t bottle it all up, so let me help you. Rely on me in this, okay?
His eyes flicker between Toya and the note. He’s already being considerate by giving him a note instead of speaking, which would draw attention to him. He takes Toya’s phone in his free hand to type back.
im fine if i need somethin ill lyk
After a moment of staring at the note, he adds,
thanks, partner
He hands Toya back his phone, watching for Toya’s reaction. When their eyes meet, he nods, relieved to see the corner of Toya’s mouth briefly travel up in response.
After that, the plane starts moving, which makes Toya’s hand tighten around his like a vice. He slumps in his seat, letting his hand drop onto his sleeping mask.
He watches the landscape move, accelerate, then shrink. His stomach lurches uncomfortably. He’s leaving New York behind, but is he leaving his chance at innocence behind, too?