#18 Theme 49: Time Goes By - Every Little Thing; Tora/Hiroto
Title: Separation Anxiety
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 049 Time Goes By (Every Little Thing)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU, angst, smut?
Comments: Nell's "Separation Anxiety" added a good kick of inspiration here.
Separation Anxiety
“I’m moving to the city.”
There was something increasingly unsettling about those five, well-thought out words; something Hiroto mulled over every night, found himself waking up to as he rolled off Tora’s chest in the mornings.
Summer was drawing to a close, possibly taking their last few months together with it. He needed to tell Tora. He was going to move and for his own selfish wants and needs, attachment, reluctance, he kept his mouth shut. It was bad enough he’d hidden away his ambitions, but instead of ending what they had, pushing Tora away so the other could hurry up and get over him - so they could both hurry up and get over each other - Hiroto pretended like nothing would ever change.
“Cookie for your thoughts?”
Hiroto’s hand jerked on the bottle of milk he’d been holding in the fridge. Tora stood behind the kitchen sink, haphazardly waving one of the strawberry crème cookies Hiroto was about to eat.
With a dull flop the milk fell to the ground, cap bursting off the jug’s top and spraying the floors and counters in white. Righting the upturned bottle and hastily reaching for a dishrag, Hiroto instantly slipped and fell onto the kitchen floor, face-first in milk and dust even as Tora hurried around to help him.
Without a word he allowed the older man to inspect his head for blood and sit him up against a cupboard. Milk puddled where he sat, trickling down Hiroto’s ankles as he watched Tora mop up an entire gallon of it. The soaked layers of his outfit clung in sticky, damp wrinkles to equally sticky skin - much like the frustrated mess clinging to his insides. Hiding the anticipation and fear, all of it got harder the faster the clocked ticked. He didn’t know how Tora would take it, didn’t know if this was a mistake; he could only hope for the best.
“You know,” Tora casually started, “if you need to talk I’m always here.” He didn’t look up at Hiroto as he spoke, instead wringing out the cloth and rinsing the empty milk jug. “You seem to have a lot on your mind lately.” It was more of a stated fact than anything. Turning around he finally forced their eyes to meet. Tora’s gaze was searching, questioning while Hiroto had to try not to look guilty.
These days he was distant. The open eyes and outspoken honesty had all toned down to a moody silence Tora didn’t quite get. Nothing was different. Maybe the summer had been hotter than usual, but Hiroto wasn’t one to begrudge that, on the contrary he treasured and cherished every swing of the wind, every turn of the cloud. Heat was an excuse to get fired up, the cold every reason to cuddle and huddle down.
Hiroto actually thought before he spoke and these days that was what worried Tora the most. Increasing amounts of pensive silence where he could tell Hiroto wanted to say something. But the other never did and that was different. His shining optimism was stutter-stumbling over something Tora could only watch and wait to be relinquished.
From the small kitchen window the setting sun bled orange-red light into the room, masking the couple’s idle stares in domestic charm. Hiroto needed to say it soon, but for now the unwitting acceptance was enough. With tepid feet he followed Tora quietly down the hall, skin making soft sticking sounds as he padded into their bathroom and peeled off soggy clothes.
He watched the tub fill with clear, warm water, ran his hands through the spirals of milky white powder Tora poured in after and felt liquid smoke blossom around his fingertips.
“There is something… I have to tell you,” Hiroto whispered amidst the baby blue tiles and gurgling water.
Tora gave a knowing nod and stripped in silence. Of course there was something; if there wasn’t he’d have reason to worry. Stepping into the tub and sitting against the far end, Tora held his arms out for Hiroto to follow suit.
Bare skin pressed comfortingly against bare skin, Hiroto found the strength to heave one last breath, contain one last doubt. Engulfed in warm reassurance he felt the last clings of soiled milk and deep-seated apprehensions dissolve into the bathwater and leave him feeling momentarily clean and free.
If this was going to happen sooner or later, he might as well get it out now.
“I’m… I’m moving to the city…”
Opaque waters lapped softly at their backs, echoing against the bathroom walls.
It was hard to gauge Tora’s reaction when all Hiroto could make out was the curved expanse of the other’s collarbone.
“When the month’s over… I didn’t know how to tell you.”
He pulled away from the elder’s grasp and sat back on sinewy thighs. Tora was staring into the murky water between them, thinking, maybe pretending this wasn’t real. Hiroto didn’t want to leave him, but before Tora, before the small town and settled house, there had been a dream. Sliding wet palms over cool skin and droplets of water, he cupped Tora’s face in his hands and tilted his chin up.
“Look at me?” he breathed. “Please?”
There was only angry hurt in Tora’s hazel-light eyes. Not much else.
“Please don’t hate me. You don’t have to love me… just... just don’t hate me,” Hiroto choked on his words, bare arms circling his own waist in a sad hug as Tora stiffened beneath him. His gaze spoke rage, burning and yet void depths that refused to show any mercy, that embodied everything he had hoped to avoid.
And it seemed like an abrupt decision on Hiroto’s part. As sudden as the way Tora pushed him off. As quick as the legs carrying him up and out of the tub. As loud as the slammed door and Hiroto’s own muffled sobs.
---
He went to the city to see if stars flew on reels, if their glitter-light-streak would hit him square in the chest, light up his face and make magic on shiny, new guitar strings.
“I’ll visit you when I can.”
It was one last embrace before the car pulled off the curb. One last tug forward so Tora could nip at harsh, already aching, bruised skin.
“And you have all my vacations.”
Starting over wasn’t as hard as it sounded.
Waiting for Tora to come around.
That was the worst part.
They lost a precious week in the aftermath of Hiroto’s confession. There was resentment, the fear and pain of abandonment, something akin to betrayal Tora felt because he never really knew. He suspected, but he never knew. A simple enthusiasm, maybe a lifelong hobby or creative release, but never a deal breaker, show stopper, party pooper. Tora never thought the polished guitars propped near their open window would ever be enough to pull them apart.
Hiroto plowed through that first week lonelier than he’d ever felt.
The days were filled with mindless machine work. The nights for staring after Tora’s rigid, cold back. The older man hated to lose and it suddenly felt like he was fighting a winless battle - he was losing to the other’s dreams.
But his anger could only last for so long.
One look.
It took one, forlorn look to break down all the jealous pride and bitter envy that had accumulated over the week. Hiroto curled up on the couch, tears dripping down his face in the middle of the night, to banish all his indignant thoughts. You don’t have to love me… just... just don’t hate me. Hiroto meant it, for Tora’s sake, for his own, he’d meant every word. It hurt more than he could describe knowing Tora was angry at him, but he still meant them.
“No more tears. Hiroto… Pon, please… no more tears.” And for the first time in a week strong arms were pulling him together, keeping him warm and only making him cry harder. After all it was a dream. Tora understood those, he’d had them himself; the exact same one in fact, something that had faded with the desire for stability.
“Go to the city,” he murmured in Hiroto’s hair. “Find what you’re looking for… then come back home… Okay? Promise me that?”
The finality in those first words was long-awaited relief. To be a star, to follow his dreams atop the undulating chords of a guitar, making a living out of something he loved, Hiroto went to the city with only one regret - and that was leaving Tora behind.
“I promise.”
A new life in the big city wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been - at least moneywise. He rented the tiny vacant room above a tofu shop. It smelled, but it was cheap. Getting a job went just as smoothly (what with summer over and the winds beginning to funnel). The convenience store down the street was hiring full and part-timers with school’s resumption.
It was easy, so easy.
Everything was easy with Tora in his office, funding Hiroto’s dreams, coming home to an empty bed at night.
Hiroto rang up milk and rummaged through old-new contacts, searching for just the right bassists, just the right drummer. He came home exhausted to a barely lit compartment with a barely there futon.
Migrating between bands and filling the shoes of absent guitarists became a nightly chore. His part-time job was for the late night clubs and stumbling, half-drunk mornings. The bands were never quite to his liking, the venues not as packed as he’d like, but they were enough to take half his afternoon paychecks, distract the lonely night. Hiroto found himself downing shots before he got onstage. Just to give the show a happy buzz. Just to make it seem worth performing. His footwork was sloppy, but his fingers seldom betrayed the beat.
Early in the morning he’d get home and leave all his things at the door. Making a small trail of booze-soaked t-shirts, boots and fray-hemmed jeans, Hiroto would finally tumble naked into bed, burrowing beneath the thick, grape-colored duvet Tora made sure he brought to the city.
Every disillusioned night bore another burning hole into an already crumbling ambition.
The drudgery of minimum wage and a fruitless search weighed heavy on his back no matter how easy it was to just call Tora for help - for companionship. There was no one Hiroto could really talk to in the city and his lifestyle pretty much guaranteed only the rare phone call between himself and Tora. Bands and people flitted through the bars and clubs like butterflies hastening for a way through the net, waves of newcomers simply passing through town. Far from the city, Tora lived a completely different life; where the nights were for sleeping and the sun his cue to get up.
Hiroto felt the loneliness creep up on him like the near invisible spider webs he walked straight into as a child.
The minute he let his guard down, the second his dream became a reality far harsher than he’d imagined - it was there.
For the weekends.
He lived for the weekends.
Fridays Hiroto skipped the late night scene. Even though those were the busiest nights with probably the most talented people. Even though all the opportunity in the world unfolded after rush hour and a round of free drinks. Fridays he pulled on a sweater and grabbed his keys, slipped on some sneakers and started the engine.
It took a whole night to get there. Flat stretches of highway and toll-boothed cement turned winding mountain paths that finally took Hiroto past open fields and back into the small town he once live. The lonely drives were always long, always sleepless, but worth every second for the mornings after.
Turning off the ignition, he rested his forehead on the leathered steering wheel and closed his eye.
He made it.
The long commutes got harder every time. Hiroto didn’t know what it was, what made him so tired lately. He got as much sleep as always, but somehow, every step, every breath was an effort. Pulling himself out from beneath warm sheets, forcing himself to eat, everyday things so easy to forget when he was alone.
Last week was close.
The sparse lights of the highway seemed like bright stars from the front seat. Grass painted midnight rolled into hills and ditches on either side while the painted yellow-white-yellow lines ran together into single streaks of color. Hiroto blinked and squinted into the dim glare of his headlights, pushing the dark frame of his glasses up an inch.
Concentrate.
Was he on the right road?
The moon.
Had he locked his apartment door?
Gravel shimmer.
Left or right?
Fuck.
Tires screeching, Hiroto slammed on the brakes, barely managing to swerve past an oncoming truck and back into his own lane.
“Fuck fuck fuck.” He pulled over and turned on his blinkers, gripping the steering wheel with sweaty shaken palms, heart pounding in his ears. A second too late and he would have died. An inch closer and he would have gone flying. Shuddery half-sobs filled the small compartment as Hiroto tried to calm himself enough to keep driving, to move his thumbs off the wheel and stop the blaring horns of his car.
He wanted a band, one that would make it big because Hiroto was a big dreamer and if his big dreams would only come true they would more than make up for the separate homes and sleepless nights.
But he was so tired.
Exhaling, Hiroto sat up in his seat and looked out the front window. Home. It looked so peaceful at night. Last week he’d nearly died. Last week he slept through dawn in the backseat, car doors locked, keys shoved in his back pockets. He didn’t have the heart to call Tora and ask for help. What good would it have done? Tora bumming a ride off a friend in the middle of the night so he could drive Hiroto back home? So he could twist and turn the wheel Hiroto was too sleepy to hold on to?
No, he wouldn’t be that sort of burden.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that he woke, a passing officer tapping on his window, while five missed calls and two unread messages burned across his phone’s screen. But it usually wasn’t so hard to drive. It was always worth it coming home. Always worth the warm embrace and soft kisses he woke up to after sleeping away the exhaustive drive in Tora’s lap.
Weekends were never rushed. They weren’t the fast-paced hubs and high-powered venues Hiroto lived by. On the weekends he and Tora were content enough to curl up in bed, take a break from the world and hold hands beneath the sheets.
Sundays were different. Sundays were about desperate kisses and harsh tugs. Tora would press Hiroto roughly against the mattress and make sure he was remembered. Lasting bruises and a telltale aches followed the younger man into the week, where every morning the splotches on his skin changed color, circles round his wrists faded and the kinks in his back burned less. Sunday nights were lingering goodbyes and tire-crushed pavement.
And he always came back. Never mind the mess between his thighs, when they were together he wanted to be closer. Hiroto would slide up, Tora would slide down and they’d fit their sticky-slick limbs together, the perfect puzzle for two.
The weekend was the boost that got them both through the week.
Getting out, Hiroto slammed the car door shut and leaned against its beaten hood.
The stars were so much clearer far from the bright city. The air was fresher.
Some nights Tora was awake at the door front, breathing in acrid smoke and waiting for the familiar engine thrum and rusted squeak.
Some nights he wasn’t.
It came like a sudden wave in an ocean of calm.
The sinking feelings.
Like an unfathomable hole in his chest gouging its place from his dreams.
He was at a party when it first happened, a room full of people with nowhere to go. Loneliness, anxiety, fear? Hiroto didn’t know what it was, only that it hurt and felt bad and he couldn’t handle the tightness in his chest - couldn’t breathe.
Gasping, face contorted in a semblance of regret, he huddled on his knees next to the cooling engine.
He hated it, the emptiness that washed over him sometimes. Like everything was wrong and he was forever inadequate and yet, how could he still be hopelessly trying? Tora’s large sweater on his shoulders did little to stave the burning unease in his gut. He didn’t want this anymore, this pressure to succeed in a world so vast, all alone in his own head.
In the background a screen door slammed and footsteps kicked up the gravel and sand.
Tora bent down and gathered Hiroto in his arms, cooing softly against chilly skin and rubbing up and down a tense back.
“It’s okay Pon. Everything’s fine now. Breathe.”
He coaxed the other up and back into the house, glad he’d stayed up and waited - watched.
Tora knew there was something wrong, knew he probably should have said something the second Hiroto’s steps began to falter. Every weekend the other came back a bit more perturbed, a bit more detached in scruffy clothes, sometimes smelling of alcohol and smoke.
Not that Hiroto was the only one affected. Tora increasingly found himself staring off through nearby windows, forgetting he’d left the stove on, remembering an appointment a day too late. He was distracted. They were distracted. Too far apart to focus one hundred percent. On the weekends everything seemed to come into focus. Passion came in vivid splashes of color, every moment was real, every feeling acute. He didn’t feel like the mindless nomad he usually was.
Back home, back in their familiar bed, stripped of physical barrier, life felt clean and real. Bare skin brushing, Hiroto could overcome his panic. Leaning, listening, feeling Tora’s heart pound beneath his cheek, Hiroto could think again. And for the first time, he saw things clearly.
“Why’d you let me leave?” he whispered, dragging his fingertips up flexing belly. If Tora really wanted him he would have fought for it, right?
Tora pondered that for a moment, pulling Hiroto’s face closer for examination. It wasn’t as if he wanted the other to go (hadn’t he put up a great deal of ruckus the week he found out?), but it wasn’t as if he could say no either. There were things you did for the people you loved only because you loved them.
“I would never ask you to give up your dreams for me,” he finally replied, sealing their lips in a decisive kiss.
That night Sunday came early. Hiroto moved with the fingers prepping him gently, stroking him deliciously. Tora groaned with every push and tug, clench and give, as the other slid and rocked atop his straining hips. And when the room seemed to fill with a blinding light and all the shining stars the city couldn’t give, Hiroto finally understood.
He leaned forward on trembling knees, pressed their moist bellies together as he kissed Tora a long-awaited goodnight. Ignoring the mess between slick thighs and heaving chests they drifted into a deep and sated sleep.
The superficials of a rock star and fame, Hiroto didn’t really want those. What he wanted was his own, pure, unadulterated music, something he could believe in without the strings of mainstream. He didn’t know when it happened, when the city had became his glorified ideal, his only way to an intangible goal.
But he was done with it now. Done pretending.
Reality was the warm legs tangled in his, the soft skin beneath his lips.
“I could never imagine a dream without you.”
Sunday night they didn’t have to worry about wistful goodbyes and reluctant kisses.
There was only one dream, one home, one person worth wishing for.
A/N:
Not much to say here, but I feel obligated to have one anyways XD
Comments are love~
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 049 Time Goes By (Every Little Thing)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: AU, angst, smut?
Comments: Nell's "Separation Anxiety" added a good kick of inspiration here.
Separation Anxiety
“I’m moving to the city.”
There was something increasingly unsettling about those five, well-thought out words; something Hiroto mulled over every night, found himself waking up to as he rolled off Tora’s chest in the mornings.
Summer was drawing to a close, possibly taking their last few months together with it. He needed to tell Tora. He was going to move and for his own selfish wants and needs, attachment, reluctance, he kept his mouth shut. It was bad enough he’d hidden away his ambitions, but instead of ending what they had, pushing Tora away so the other could hurry up and get over him - so they could both hurry up and get over each other - Hiroto pretended like nothing would ever change.
“Cookie for your thoughts?”
Hiroto’s hand jerked on the bottle of milk he’d been holding in the fridge. Tora stood behind the kitchen sink, haphazardly waving one of the strawberry crème cookies Hiroto was about to eat.
With a dull flop the milk fell to the ground, cap bursting off the jug’s top and spraying the floors and counters in white. Righting the upturned bottle and hastily reaching for a dishrag, Hiroto instantly slipped and fell onto the kitchen floor, face-first in milk and dust even as Tora hurried around to help him.
Without a word he allowed the older man to inspect his head for blood and sit him up against a cupboard. Milk puddled where he sat, trickling down Hiroto’s ankles as he watched Tora mop up an entire gallon of it. The soaked layers of his outfit clung in sticky, damp wrinkles to equally sticky skin - much like the frustrated mess clinging to his insides. Hiding the anticipation and fear, all of it got harder the faster the clocked ticked. He didn’t know how Tora would take it, didn’t know if this was a mistake; he could only hope for the best.
“You know,” Tora casually started, “if you need to talk I’m always here.” He didn’t look up at Hiroto as he spoke, instead wringing out the cloth and rinsing the empty milk jug. “You seem to have a lot on your mind lately.” It was more of a stated fact than anything. Turning around he finally forced their eyes to meet. Tora’s gaze was searching, questioning while Hiroto had to try not to look guilty.
These days he was distant. The open eyes and outspoken honesty had all toned down to a moody silence Tora didn’t quite get. Nothing was different. Maybe the summer had been hotter than usual, but Hiroto wasn’t one to begrudge that, on the contrary he treasured and cherished every swing of the wind, every turn of the cloud. Heat was an excuse to get fired up, the cold every reason to cuddle and huddle down.
Hiroto actually thought before he spoke and these days that was what worried Tora the most. Increasing amounts of pensive silence where he could tell Hiroto wanted to say something. But the other never did and that was different. His shining optimism was stutter-stumbling over something Tora could only watch and wait to be relinquished.
From the small kitchen window the setting sun bled orange-red light into the room, masking the couple’s idle stares in domestic charm. Hiroto needed to say it soon, but for now the unwitting acceptance was enough. With tepid feet he followed Tora quietly down the hall, skin making soft sticking sounds as he padded into their bathroom and peeled off soggy clothes.
He watched the tub fill with clear, warm water, ran his hands through the spirals of milky white powder Tora poured in after and felt liquid smoke blossom around his fingertips.
“There is something… I have to tell you,” Hiroto whispered amidst the baby blue tiles and gurgling water.
Tora gave a knowing nod and stripped in silence. Of course there was something; if there wasn’t he’d have reason to worry. Stepping into the tub and sitting against the far end, Tora held his arms out for Hiroto to follow suit.
Bare skin pressed comfortingly against bare skin, Hiroto found the strength to heave one last breath, contain one last doubt. Engulfed in warm reassurance he felt the last clings of soiled milk and deep-seated apprehensions dissolve into the bathwater and leave him feeling momentarily clean and free.
If this was going to happen sooner or later, he might as well get it out now.
“I’m… I’m moving to the city…”
Opaque waters lapped softly at their backs, echoing against the bathroom walls.
It was hard to gauge Tora’s reaction when all Hiroto could make out was the curved expanse of the other’s collarbone.
“When the month’s over… I didn’t know how to tell you.”
He pulled away from the elder’s grasp and sat back on sinewy thighs. Tora was staring into the murky water between them, thinking, maybe pretending this wasn’t real. Hiroto didn’t want to leave him, but before Tora, before the small town and settled house, there had been a dream. Sliding wet palms over cool skin and droplets of water, he cupped Tora’s face in his hands and tilted his chin up.
“Look at me?” he breathed. “Please?”
There was only angry hurt in Tora’s hazel-light eyes. Not much else.
“Please don’t hate me. You don’t have to love me… just... just don’t hate me,” Hiroto choked on his words, bare arms circling his own waist in a sad hug as Tora stiffened beneath him. His gaze spoke rage, burning and yet void depths that refused to show any mercy, that embodied everything he had hoped to avoid.
And it seemed like an abrupt decision on Hiroto’s part. As sudden as the way Tora pushed him off. As quick as the legs carrying him up and out of the tub. As loud as the slammed door and Hiroto’s own muffled sobs.
---
He went to the city to see if stars flew on reels, if their glitter-light-streak would hit him square in the chest, light up his face and make magic on shiny, new guitar strings.
“I’ll visit you when I can.”
It was one last embrace before the car pulled off the curb. One last tug forward so Tora could nip at harsh, already aching, bruised skin.
“And you have all my vacations.”
Starting over wasn’t as hard as it sounded.
Waiting for Tora to come around.
That was the worst part.
They lost a precious week in the aftermath of Hiroto’s confession. There was resentment, the fear and pain of abandonment, something akin to betrayal Tora felt because he never really knew. He suspected, but he never knew. A simple enthusiasm, maybe a lifelong hobby or creative release, but never a deal breaker, show stopper, party pooper. Tora never thought the polished guitars propped near their open window would ever be enough to pull them apart.
Hiroto plowed through that first week lonelier than he’d ever felt.
The days were filled with mindless machine work. The nights for staring after Tora’s rigid, cold back. The older man hated to lose and it suddenly felt like he was fighting a winless battle - he was losing to the other’s dreams.
But his anger could only last for so long.
One look.
It took one, forlorn look to break down all the jealous pride and bitter envy that had accumulated over the week. Hiroto curled up on the couch, tears dripping down his face in the middle of the night, to banish all his indignant thoughts. You don’t have to love me… just... just don’t hate me. Hiroto meant it, for Tora’s sake, for his own, he’d meant every word. It hurt more than he could describe knowing Tora was angry at him, but he still meant them.
“No more tears. Hiroto… Pon, please… no more tears.” And for the first time in a week strong arms were pulling him together, keeping him warm and only making him cry harder. After all it was a dream. Tora understood those, he’d had them himself; the exact same one in fact, something that had faded with the desire for stability.
“Go to the city,” he murmured in Hiroto’s hair. “Find what you’re looking for… then come back home… Okay? Promise me that?”
The finality in those first words was long-awaited relief. To be a star, to follow his dreams atop the undulating chords of a guitar, making a living out of something he loved, Hiroto went to the city with only one regret - and that was leaving Tora behind.
“I promise.”
A new life in the big city wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been - at least moneywise. He rented the tiny vacant room above a tofu shop. It smelled, but it was cheap. Getting a job went just as smoothly (what with summer over and the winds beginning to funnel). The convenience store down the street was hiring full and part-timers with school’s resumption.
It was easy, so easy.
Everything was easy with Tora in his office, funding Hiroto’s dreams, coming home to an empty bed at night.
Hiroto rang up milk and rummaged through old-new contacts, searching for just the right bassists, just the right drummer. He came home exhausted to a barely lit compartment with a barely there futon.
Migrating between bands and filling the shoes of absent guitarists became a nightly chore. His part-time job was for the late night clubs and stumbling, half-drunk mornings. The bands were never quite to his liking, the venues not as packed as he’d like, but they were enough to take half his afternoon paychecks, distract the lonely night. Hiroto found himself downing shots before he got onstage. Just to give the show a happy buzz. Just to make it seem worth performing. His footwork was sloppy, but his fingers seldom betrayed the beat.
Early in the morning he’d get home and leave all his things at the door. Making a small trail of booze-soaked t-shirts, boots and fray-hemmed jeans, Hiroto would finally tumble naked into bed, burrowing beneath the thick, grape-colored duvet Tora made sure he brought to the city.
Every disillusioned night bore another burning hole into an already crumbling ambition.
The drudgery of minimum wage and a fruitless search weighed heavy on his back no matter how easy it was to just call Tora for help - for companionship. There was no one Hiroto could really talk to in the city and his lifestyle pretty much guaranteed only the rare phone call between himself and Tora. Bands and people flitted through the bars and clubs like butterflies hastening for a way through the net, waves of newcomers simply passing through town. Far from the city, Tora lived a completely different life; where the nights were for sleeping and the sun his cue to get up.
Hiroto felt the loneliness creep up on him like the near invisible spider webs he walked straight into as a child.
The minute he let his guard down, the second his dream became a reality far harsher than he’d imagined - it was there.
For the weekends.
He lived for the weekends.
Fridays Hiroto skipped the late night scene. Even though those were the busiest nights with probably the most talented people. Even though all the opportunity in the world unfolded after rush hour and a round of free drinks. Fridays he pulled on a sweater and grabbed his keys, slipped on some sneakers and started the engine.
It took a whole night to get there. Flat stretches of highway and toll-boothed cement turned winding mountain paths that finally took Hiroto past open fields and back into the small town he once live. The lonely drives were always long, always sleepless, but worth every second for the mornings after.
Turning off the ignition, he rested his forehead on the leathered steering wheel and closed his eye.
He made it.
The long commutes got harder every time. Hiroto didn’t know what it was, what made him so tired lately. He got as much sleep as always, but somehow, every step, every breath was an effort. Pulling himself out from beneath warm sheets, forcing himself to eat, everyday things so easy to forget when he was alone.
Last week was close.
The sparse lights of the highway seemed like bright stars from the front seat. Grass painted midnight rolled into hills and ditches on either side while the painted yellow-white-yellow lines ran together into single streaks of color. Hiroto blinked and squinted into the dim glare of his headlights, pushing the dark frame of his glasses up an inch.
Concentrate.
Was he on the right road?
The moon.
Had he locked his apartment door?
Gravel shimmer.
Left or right?
Fuck.
Tires screeching, Hiroto slammed on the brakes, barely managing to swerve past an oncoming truck and back into his own lane.
“Fuck fuck fuck.” He pulled over and turned on his blinkers, gripping the steering wheel with sweaty shaken palms, heart pounding in his ears. A second too late and he would have died. An inch closer and he would have gone flying. Shuddery half-sobs filled the small compartment as Hiroto tried to calm himself enough to keep driving, to move his thumbs off the wheel and stop the blaring horns of his car.
He wanted a band, one that would make it big because Hiroto was a big dreamer and if his big dreams would only come true they would more than make up for the separate homes and sleepless nights.
But he was so tired.
Exhaling, Hiroto sat up in his seat and looked out the front window. Home. It looked so peaceful at night. Last week he’d nearly died. Last week he slept through dawn in the backseat, car doors locked, keys shoved in his back pockets. He didn’t have the heart to call Tora and ask for help. What good would it have done? Tora bumming a ride off a friend in the middle of the night so he could drive Hiroto back home? So he could twist and turn the wheel Hiroto was too sleepy to hold on to?
No, he wouldn’t be that sort of burden.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that he woke, a passing officer tapping on his window, while five missed calls and two unread messages burned across his phone’s screen. But it usually wasn’t so hard to drive. It was always worth it coming home. Always worth the warm embrace and soft kisses he woke up to after sleeping away the exhaustive drive in Tora’s lap.
Weekends were never rushed. They weren’t the fast-paced hubs and high-powered venues Hiroto lived by. On the weekends he and Tora were content enough to curl up in bed, take a break from the world and hold hands beneath the sheets.
Sundays were different. Sundays were about desperate kisses and harsh tugs. Tora would press Hiroto roughly against the mattress and make sure he was remembered. Lasting bruises and a telltale aches followed the younger man into the week, where every morning the splotches on his skin changed color, circles round his wrists faded and the kinks in his back burned less. Sunday nights were lingering goodbyes and tire-crushed pavement.
And he always came back. Never mind the mess between his thighs, when they were together he wanted to be closer. Hiroto would slide up, Tora would slide down and they’d fit their sticky-slick limbs together, the perfect puzzle for two.
The weekend was the boost that got them both through the week.
Getting out, Hiroto slammed the car door shut and leaned against its beaten hood.
The stars were so much clearer far from the bright city. The air was fresher.
Some nights Tora was awake at the door front, breathing in acrid smoke and waiting for the familiar engine thrum and rusted squeak.
Some nights he wasn’t.
It came like a sudden wave in an ocean of calm.
The sinking feelings.
Like an unfathomable hole in his chest gouging its place from his dreams.
He was at a party when it first happened, a room full of people with nowhere to go. Loneliness, anxiety, fear? Hiroto didn’t know what it was, only that it hurt and felt bad and he couldn’t handle the tightness in his chest - couldn’t breathe.
Gasping, face contorted in a semblance of regret, he huddled on his knees next to the cooling engine.
He hated it, the emptiness that washed over him sometimes. Like everything was wrong and he was forever inadequate and yet, how could he still be hopelessly trying? Tora’s large sweater on his shoulders did little to stave the burning unease in his gut. He didn’t want this anymore, this pressure to succeed in a world so vast, all alone in his own head.
In the background a screen door slammed and footsteps kicked up the gravel and sand.
Tora bent down and gathered Hiroto in his arms, cooing softly against chilly skin and rubbing up and down a tense back.
“It’s okay Pon. Everything’s fine now. Breathe.”
He coaxed the other up and back into the house, glad he’d stayed up and waited - watched.
Tora knew there was something wrong, knew he probably should have said something the second Hiroto’s steps began to falter. Every weekend the other came back a bit more perturbed, a bit more detached in scruffy clothes, sometimes smelling of alcohol and smoke.
Not that Hiroto was the only one affected. Tora increasingly found himself staring off through nearby windows, forgetting he’d left the stove on, remembering an appointment a day too late. He was distracted. They were distracted. Too far apart to focus one hundred percent. On the weekends everything seemed to come into focus. Passion came in vivid splashes of color, every moment was real, every feeling acute. He didn’t feel like the mindless nomad he usually was.
Back home, back in their familiar bed, stripped of physical barrier, life felt clean and real. Bare skin brushing, Hiroto could overcome his panic. Leaning, listening, feeling Tora’s heart pound beneath his cheek, Hiroto could think again. And for the first time, he saw things clearly.
“Why’d you let me leave?” he whispered, dragging his fingertips up flexing belly. If Tora really wanted him he would have fought for it, right?
Tora pondered that for a moment, pulling Hiroto’s face closer for examination. It wasn’t as if he wanted the other to go (hadn’t he put up a great deal of ruckus the week he found out?), but it wasn’t as if he could say no either. There were things you did for the people you loved only because you loved them.
“I would never ask you to give up your dreams for me,” he finally replied, sealing their lips in a decisive kiss.
That night Sunday came early. Hiroto moved with the fingers prepping him gently, stroking him deliciously. Tora groaned with every push and tug, clench and give, as the other slid and rocked atop his straining hips. And when the room seemed to fill with a blinding light and all the shining stars the city couldn’t give, Hiroto finally understood.
He leaned forward on trembling knees, pressed their moist bellies together as he kissed Tora a long-awaited goodnight. Ignoring the mess between slick thighs and heaving chests they drifted into a deep and sated sleep.
The superficials of a rock star and fame, Hiroto didn’t really want those. What he wanted was his own, pure, unadulterated music, something he could believe in without the strings of mainstream. He didn’t know when it happened, when the city had became his glorified ideal, his only way to an intangible goal.
But he was done with it now. Done pretending.
Reality was the warm legs tangled in his, the soft skin beneath his lips.
“I could never imagine a dream without you.”
Sunday night they didn’t have to worry about wistful goodbyes and reluctant kisses.
There was only one dream, one home, one person worth wishing for.
A/N:
Not much to say here, but I feel obligated to have one anyways XD
Comments are love~
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