'Lion' - [Reita/Uruha] 2/?
Oct. 24th, 2010 03:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
colberryTitle: Lion
Description: When Uruha said he'd like to experience the simpler, innocent feeling of childhood again in his now-hectic life, this wasn't what he had in mind.
Chapter: 2/?
Pairings: Reita/Uruha, Aoi/Ruki
Genre: Fluff, slight crack, romance, drama
Rating: PG-13
Comments: Yay, an update!
02
Hand slapping atop the phone, he didn't spare the caller ID a glance and merely greeted cheerfully, "What."
"This had better be a fucking joke."
Oh fuck. Aoi gripped the phone tighter, knuckles an inconceivable white, and felt his stomach sink to his toes. It was slightly garbled by static, but the telltale huff of Ruki's annoyed baritone still pierced through the receiver. Aoi felt himself gape, mouth suddenly full of cotton and sheets sticking uncomfortably to his legs. He must have woken up and remembered. Shit, shit, shit. Aoi quickly sat up, free hand burying anxiously in his tangled hair.
Damage control time. "W-what are you talking about?"
Temporary amnesia with a sprinkle of innocence -- his best playing card. Too bad it was slightly discredited by his stutter. The elder man's mind raced; Ruki was probably pissed, degraded, looking for some Mie-born blood to shed. Aoi fisted his hand tighter in his raven locks -- it was over. The band was over. The press was going to be all over this:
-- and the reason behind the unfortunate break-up of the GazettE was solely the fault of Shiroyama Yuu -- in-the-closet rhythm guitarist who just couldn't keep it in his pants --
A faint, strangled noise left Aoi's lips. No way was he going to be outed on national tele--
"I'm talking about me being fucking kidnapped over here!"
-- wait a second. Aoi loosened his death-grip from his hair, wincing slightly as the roots ached, and furrowed his brow, "What?"
There was a second of silence on the other end and Aoi unconsciously leaned forward and pressed the phone closer to his ear. He could hear the slight catches of breath from the younger man. A considerably softer voice hesitantly spoke up, "You mean... you guys didn't set me up?"
Aoi could feel himself gaining more wrinkles by the second from how deeply his eyebrows were knitted, "Ruki, what are you talking about?"
The vocalist didn't seem to hear him, "Oh fuck, what the hell is going on? This-this isn't my apartment and ... what the fuck is this dog doing here?"
Aoi blinked as he heard a scuffle occur on the other end of the phone -- Ruki's admonishing shoo's and Koron's infamous yapping. A weird, sinking feeling was beginning to clutch at his chest as he slowly began to untangle himself from the constricting sheets. He could still hear Koron's pitiful whining and a door firmly shut -- must have shoved the poor thing into the bathroom -- as he switched the phone into his dominant hand.
"That's Koron-chan, Ruki..."
"So you do have something to do with this!" The younger man's voice held a slight growl, but seemed more desperately hopeful than malicious.
Pushing his panic-stricken feelings of being harpooned by his bandmates for making a failed pass at their youngest member, Aoi slowly shook his head, "I have nothing to do with anything. That's Koron. Your dog. In your apartment -- "
" -- No, this isn't my apartment. I've never even been to this side of the city. I can't even remember what happened last night, but I woke up and I was here and you're acting like it's fucking normal to just wind up in a stranger's apartment! I could be killed when this guy gets back!"
Aoi held the phone slightly away from his pulsing ear, the increasingly high-pitched panic of Ruki’s usually melodious baritone rushing out like word-vomit. The guitarist’s head was already starting to pound and he could feel the birth of a headache against his temples, but the vague ‘off’ tone to Ruki’s mannerisms was unsettling him too much to disregard.
He stood up from his bed, ignoring the stray piece of sheet music on the floor that stuck to his foot, and determinedly walked to his closet to quickly pull on a pair of jeans and a random floral shirt, "Just stay where you are okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes."
"But how do you know where – "
Aoi snapped the phone shut and grabbed his keys. The feeling in his chest was spreading to his fingertips – an uneasy flutter that left a cold chill in its wake. Shrugging it off as best he could, Aoi reached for the doorknob.
He paused and took a split second to sigh in relief.
At least he doesn't remember last night.
&&
Within five minutes, it was awkward.
At least for Reita. Currently, he was scurrying around the kitchen, swinging open cabinets and poking his head in the fridge numerous times despite already knowing that the contraption held precisely five eggs, a carton of plum juice crap Uruha had bought last week, a bowl of withering grapes and a box of baking soda. His socked feet padded across the linoleum floor with dizzying haste.
"Pan, pan – I need a pan…" He chanced a glance at the young boy who was sitting contentedly at the table, dressed in pinned boxers and a ratty shirt reaching to his thighs that declared SEX PISTOLS (which was a crappy idea as the curious youngster wasted no time asking Reita what the words meant to which the frazzled bassist replied something along the lines of: "Well, um, yeah so there’s hoses and there’s gardens and when it’s time to plant flowers, the hose will… Do you want breakfast?"), thin legs swinging back and forth.
Kouyou caught his eye and perked up, lifting an arm to point helpfully towards the stove. Reita whirled around. A pan sat idle on the burner.
"Oh… I have a pan."
Kouyou nodded firmly and smiled with a hint of shyness, proud to have helped. Reita watched his pint-sized friend’s small grin in a daze, not quite believing what he was seeing at his kitchen table. Not quite believing he was playing house with a seven-year-old former-guitarist on a random fucking Thursday at 8:30 in the morning.
Kouyou’s smile slowly faded when he noticed the elder staring at him. Averting his eyes, he lifted a hand to fiddle with the fork the blond-haired man had placed in front of him earlier in a frenzied blur. A light blush dusted his plump cheeks as he poked his fingers on the tines.
Reita snapped out of his glossed over gaze, realizing he was getting weird and awkward again. Shaking his head, he wondered when that ‘creepy old man’ feeling would wear off. He opened the fridge for the eighth time, "Scrambled?"
He heard a soft "please" behind him as he grabbed three eggs.
He obviously had to call someone. This wasn’t one of those "oh crap, Uruha got the stomach flu so we can’t go to practice" moments he periodically relayed to an exasperated Kai. It was more of an "oh crap, Uruha is a fucking seven-year-old" moment and he wasn’t sure if that was in Kai’s area of expertise.
The sound of sizzling eggs and Kouyou’s legs whooshing back and forth beneath his chair filled the stagnant space of the kitchen.
Reita furrowed his brow, poking at the omelet with a dilapidated spatula. Well, it didn’t matter – he had to tell Kai. This was a kinda-sorta serious situation and they kinda-sorta had a tour coming up in three weeks. And then there was the matter of how this even happened in the first place and how to fix it – if they could fix it… A soft growl of frustration escaped his lips as he flipped his somewhat edible creation over.
"Are you okay, ‘kira?"
Kouyou’s quiet voice broke him out of his troubled thoughts; Reita turned around to see the boy’s concerned eyes and frown, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip in worry. His hands were clasped around his fork, that Reita vaguely remembered nearly throwing at the poor kid in his tornado of freak out, and his legs had stopped swinging.
Reita briefly turned back around to slide the omelet onto a plate, closing his eyes and breathing in deep to calm his jumping nerves, before letting a smile grace his face as he set the plate in front of a wary Kouyou. He made his own dish quickly and sat down across from the boy, chair scraping loudly in the silence that had fell upon them. Reita grimaced a fraction before finally shaking his head, "Yeah, I’m good."
You are so the opposite of good right now, you liar. You’re fucking freaked out, that’s what you are –
Kouyou furrowed his brow, poking absently at his omelet, "You look scared."
Reita’s eyes widened, forgetting how perceptive Uruha had been back then – he briefly wondered if he still possessed that uncanny sixth sense and merely decided to hide it in the form of acute obliviousness. The bassist watched as Kouyou refused to touch his food, apparently too worried over Reita’s well-being, so he puffed out his chest haughtily and proclaimed with a raised fist:
"Scared? No way! I’m Reita! World’s number one fearless man!" Kouyou looked unconvinced and a little confused.
"But aren’t you Akira?"
Reita dropped his fist and scratched the back of his head instead, ego efficiently deflated, "Ah, well I – "
Kouyou suddenly leaned in with a bright smile, food forgotten and his past jubilant self peeking through, "Is it ‘cause you’re a superhero now?"
Reita blinked and then laughed, resisting the tantalizing urge to ruffle the boy’s locks and pierced his omelet with a fork, elbow grounding into the table, "Something like that."
The younger seemed satisfied at that answer, a renewed spark in his eyes and his bowed lips curved in delight at his Akira saving the world. Because he had always saved Kouyou’s before, so it was only fair…
Despite the adorable scene of his best friend squirming with joy at the prospect that Reita was somebody who slew the bad guys, the bassist felt his smile falter a tad when he remembered that this wasn’t supposed to become normal. He needed to figure out what happened, why – how. Reita swirled his fork in the loose yolk that seeped across his plate. Sneaking a glance at Kouyou, it didn’t seem like the boy minded the might-as-well-have-just-cracked-the-egg-right-on-your-plate omelet. He was dutifully swishing it around and taking tiny bites.
Reita put his free hand to his temple, massaging the aching spot as he thought of the endless possibilities as to what was going on. Maybe ‘Uruha’ was still in there somewhere… Kinda like amnesia, but in a really, really weird way that Reita wasn’t sure even he – master of bullshit and all things fantastical – could back-up. He looked up from his egg again to ask, "What do you remember from yesterday?"
Kouyou hummed thoughtfully, legs starting to kick back and forth again. Reita was beginning to think it was a sign of the boy being comfortable. "We had soccer practice, but you weren’t there ‘cause you were sick," Kouyou paused to beam at him, "I’m happy you’re feeling better."
Pushing a soggy piece of egg over, he continued contentedly, "After soccer, me and my mom went to the shrines and I didn’t really want to go because it’s too quiet there. But then when we got home, she made me that thing called spa-ghetti and I wanted to bring some to you, but mom told me ‘no’ because you were all germy and diseased and I might die if I got too close." Kouyou whispered the last part ominously before leaning back into his chair with a cheeky smile.
Reita let out a breath of laughter, inwardly slapping a head to his forehead. What did you think he was going to say? “We hit the bar last night and got wasted, don’t you remember?”
Somehow, the severity of the situation just started to dig its claws into his chest. One minute he was laughing with the child version of his best friend over crappy omelets, the next his bones were frozen as his heart began to constrict. What was he thinking? Treating this rascal to breakfast when the fact was that he wasn’t supposed to even be here. He was supposed to be twenty-eight. He was supposed to remember everything – what they had dreamed for and worked for and accomplished together.
Fuck.
All at once, Reita leaped from his chair – the decrepit thing scraping harshly against the linoleum once more before crashing to the floor. The stark sound in what used to be a peaceful atmosphere startled Kouyou, making him clang his fork against his plate. The boy saw the severe look in Reita’s gaze and mistook it as a glare, “I’m-I’m sorry, ‘kira. I didn’t mean to hit it…”
Reita’s eyes softened, but his head was already spinning with plans and to-do’s and what’s-next’s. “It’s not your fault. I’m not angry.”
Kouyou merely nodded, still rattled by the crash, and only had time to blink once before Reita was beckoning him with a hurried hand, “C’mon, we need to get you dressed if we’re going out.”
The boy jumped off his chair with wide eyes, curiosity gleaming in his steps as he followed Reita’s quick descent into the hallway. The man stopped abruptly outside a door, causing Kouyou to bump into him slightly as he followed close behind. Seeming to come to a decision with a nod of his head, Reita hastily went into the room that began this morning.
Kouyou took the opportunity to glance around the space, not having had a chance before, and gazed at the cream colored walls, the numerous picture frames, the collection of gleaming things on the dresser. His bare toes felt cold on the hardwood floors; he wiggled them as he waited for Reita to reemerge from the depths of a messy-looking closet. He was tempted to go near those shiny things, touch them and hold them close to his chest, but was interrupted by an exclamation from the closet.
He turned to see Reita holding up a pair of maroon capris, goofy grin stretching across his face at his find. The blond-haired man motioned for Kouyou to sit on the bed – which he did with an enthusiastic flop – and proceeded to help him into the folds of fabric leg by leg.
Reita mumbled under his breath with a roll of his eyes, “I don’t even know why you have these…”
If Kouyou heard, he didn’t say anything – the man with the noseband was acting weird and looking weird anyways.
But then again, Akira had always been weird.
The capris were long enough to be pants on Kouyou’s small frame and Reita had to pin the pesky extra cloth together. Grabbing a cream long-sleeved shirt that he had placed next to himself, the bassist pulled it over the boy’s head as the latter eagerly raised his arms. Kouyou giggled as his hair burst into a static fluff once released from the woolly prison and Reita smirked. He stepped back to examine his handy work. The former guitarist looked like a poster-child for Incompetent Parenting. Perfect.
“It wasn’t me who picked out that maroon atrocity in the first place… Okay! Let’s get going. We’re gonna go visit Kai, alright?”
Kouyou hopped off the bed, stumbling slightly on the swimming pant cuffs and made to follow Reita. He took a last glance at the dresser, yearning to poke just one shiny thing. But the pull to tag alongside his best friend – who always shared his juice boxes with him, made him feel warm and always, always made sure there were never any olives in his food – was stronger.
Once in the kitchen, Reita grabbed his keys off the counter and turned to find Kouyou staring at him with an awed look in his gaze. “You can drive, ‘kira?”
Reita chuckled, opening the door for them to step outside, “Is it that shocking?”
Kouyou pouted, looking at Reita skeptically as the older man swung open the passenger door of the Cadillac and said in an eerily mature tone, “Well, you’re pretty clumsy, Uechan…”
Reita had the gall to look affronted, turning the key in the ignition and letting the purr of the car vibrate against their spines. Kouyou was all wide eyes and eager hands once he was strapped in, stroking the leather interior and glancing around at all the different buttons. Reita noticed how he kept his hands mostly to himself and the seat though – never daring to touch more than was necessary in case he upset his friend. As they waited for the car to warm up, their breaths billowing in front of them, Reita caught Kouyou’s curious glance at the mountain of CDs between them. He saw the boy’s fingers twitch at the sight of the brightly colored, intricate cover designs.
“You know you can look at them, Kou.”
The nickname from years ago slid into his speech too easily.
Kouyou whipped his head up, “Really?”
The pure, innocent question took Reita by surprise, nodding his consent dumbly as he started to pull out of the complex parking lot. His stomach was still a knot of nerves, but with every peek he stole at Kouyou from the corner of his eye, watching the boy enthusiastically study the covers of each CD, his breathing became a little easier.
The ride was pleasant and quiet – Kouyou too enveloped with tracing the patterns of the CDs (some of which, Reita noted, that were their own) to chatter idly. Then again, Uruha had always been a hushed child who was too easily pleased with simple things.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Kai. The whole thing was ludicrous and Reita’s reputation as the jokester of the band wasn’t going to help his case in convincing the drummer that the willowy being of Uruha had been shrunk down into a pint-size, amnesiac child. It sounded something out of that movie he had watched with Ruki two Saturdays ago – body snatchers, parallel universes and all that swank – rather than something out of random happenstance in their apartment.
As Reita sat contemplating, he began to notice Kouyou still, the CDs put neatly back into their places with care. He swiveled his head over and saw the boy had his eyes trained on his lap as he bit his bowed lip absently. Before Reita could even begin to ponder the suddenly solemn behavior, the raven-haired child spoke up quietly, “Is Kai-san nice?”
For all of his enthusiasm and compliance, Kouyou was obviously more anxious about the out-of-place situation than he let on. To wake up in a world where your best friend was suddenly an adult who towered over you, who drove – it had to be unsettling. And Reita knew that it was around this time in Kouyou’s life that the mean taunts and pushes of older boys had begun to occur. He had a right to be nervous of this ‘unknown’ Kai-san – another chance for a stranger to be hurtful. Reita could feel his heart pierce with empathy and reached over to ruffle Kouyou’s hair and give him a smile.
“He’s the best. I promise.”
&&
Had Ruki’s apartment always looked this daunting and creepy? Aoi tried to swallow the lump in his throat and refused to think about how his stomach seemed to be somewhere out in space. This could all be a cleverly devised trap – luring Aoi to his apartment to murder him for even trying to start something and then selling his organs on the black market. It was possible. Ruki knew weird shit.
Aoi winced with a grimace and subconsciously put a hand over his stomach as he stood upon the bedazzled welcome mat outside Ruki’s door. Maybe not a “welcome” mat per se – more like it proclaimed “ALL HAIL” in glitter. The shiny specks that rubbed off onto his black shoes would be stuck there for hours. He was going to have a hard time explaining to Reita that no, he wasn’t mugged by fairies and yes, he could totally win in a fight against one.
Shaking his head at the gargle of thoughts produced by his nerves, the guitarist sighed heavily, knowing his fate was sealed either way, and knocked twice on the emerald-painted door.
He wasn’t expecting it to fly open a millisecond later, almost whamming him in the face if he didn’t swing his head back quick enough. Unfortunately, the glitter-mat proved to be a poor source of friction and he proved to be a bigger source of momentum, as he momentarily slid on the mess of silver, red and black. He absently noted how this could have been part of the plan to slaughter him; making him slip and brain himself on the gleaming floor tiles. Ruki’s hands would be clean. It’d be the perfect crime.
Muttering a curse at how the silver sparkles now spread to the bottom fringes of his pants, Aoi glared at the mat before raising his head cautiously to greet the vocalist.
Prepared for a brazen – and perhaps slightly disgruntled – Ruki with his aureate locks and blue contacts, he instead saw a hesitant – and perhaps slightly fearful – someone with raven hair and a stark blond streak in his bangs clinging to the door frame in shock.
Wait a minute.
Aoi could feel himself gaping, words frozen on his lips, and he could see that this Ruki was starting to stare in disbelief as well. Maybe slightly shorter, the vocalist seemed to be an exact echo of seven years ago – his face was a tad more rounded with youth, features somehow more sharper and the jaded glint to his eyes mostly faded (just beginning). Aoi blinked. And then again. Nope, still there and still looking like they were meeting up to record for Cockayne Soup…
He felt his eyes tear themselves away from those endless chocolate irises to stare at the quivering hand upon the door frame. Those fingers he had seen grasping a cigarette, pointing at a guitar phrase, hiding a smile – seemed so thin, dainty, fragile. They weren’t yet worn from tobacco paper and pens and microphones. The hand tightened its grip on the wood.
“A-Aoi-san?”
Aoi-san.
He hadn’t been called that in years.
The slightly guarded, soft voice fell from those young lips and Aoi met his eyes again.
A hard swallow, a crinkling brow, “Where’s your lip ring, old man?”
Aoi felt his face fall – so not everything had changed.
He watched this younger version of Ruki raise a brow at his floral shirt, intense eyes scanning over his every feature. He studied the older man’s faint laugh lines, his longer hair, his lighter aura. And when he met Aoi’s eyes again, he seemed to find something there and his expression softened to something the guitarist couldn’t quite catch.
The look was gone in a split moment and Aoi tried to push his own ponderings of it to the back of his mind, blurting out instead, “How old are you?”
It was a stupid question. Why would Ruki be any age other than twenty-seven? That new facial-mask-crème-solution-whatever he just prattled on and on about to Aoi two days ago could have just been…really working.
He almost took it back, almost told Ruki to forget what he said and that he was just brain-dead from last night when the younger man furrowed his brow and replied hesitantly, “Twenty. I should be asking you that question…”
Ruki stared pointedly at where Aoi’s piercing used to hug his lip.
It was still for another minute – noir irises meeting sepia – until Ruki suddenly grabbed the roots of his hair in panic.
“Fuck, I go to bed last night all fine and dandy in my apartment and then I open my eyes and I’m here – some ritzy side of the city that I haven’t even dreamed of going to! And then this fucking dog starts yapping at me and I slip on the stupid fucking marble tiles – who has marble tiles anyway? Isn’t tatami normal? So I’ve got a mutt in the closet, a bruise on my hip and no fucking clue what’s going on! And now you’re all different too!”
Aoi absently listened to Ruki’s anxious babbling, watching how the younger’s face was so animate – so different from his current self’s more stoic countenance. He wondered minutely if he should tell the now black-haired-blond-streaked vocalist that he age-regressed, that he was the one who was different. However, Aoi was too absorbed with being awed by the past breathing right in front of him to even utter a word.
Ruki paused in his rant and began to whisper ominously, “Wait. Wait a second. What if this is some parallel universe? One where you’re old and I have a dog and – shit, I saw this in a movie with Reita once. …Oh, fuck. Does Reita even exist here?!”
Aoi rolled his eyes despite the uneasy feeling in his chest and muttered, “I forgot how melodramatic you used to be…”
This made Ruki stop chattering, stop pulling at his hair, and turn to stare at Aoi. The look of surprise gracing his wide eyes slowly ebbed to fear – fear of this unknown, fear of what was happening, fear of Aoi himself (who didn’t look like “himself”). A shiver passed through his small frame before he braced a hand against the door frame once again.
He whispered, “What-what do you mean by that?”
It was too early for this, Aoi concluded. The sun was piercing through the window behind him, warming his back and making his head ache. Last night he was drunkenly professing his love for this man, last night he was brushed off with flippant ease – last night everything collapsed, but was still the same in the way Fate toyed with lives. But now… It was too surreal.
Those wide eyes were too familiar, but at the same time so foreign. How many times had he stared into those sepia irises – always hidden by silver, blue, gold contacts? But now they were raw and young and frighteningly confused. And yet something lurked within them, something warmer that didn’t exist here in the present.
Aoi found himself whispering back, “Why did you call me?”
Because it was as weird as anything else in this royally what-the-fuck scenario. He and Ruki weren’t so close back then. The vocalist and the dynamic guitar-bass duo were more tightly knit and together – why hadn’t he called them in the flurry of fright and disorientation?
Ruki didn’t seem to think it was weird, however, as he simply said, “You’re the oldest and you’d never lie to me about stupid pranks. Reita and Uruha would just laugh. And I don’t know Kai that well yet.”
Aoi’s shoulders almost slumped – of course. He was big brother after all.
Ruki didn’t give the elder time to reflect and internally groan, suddenly urgent, “Aoi-san, what’s going on? Why… Why do you… Why are you like this?”
The small hand gestured up and down before subconsciously traveling to his own lip, rubbing the flesh in thought before continuing, “You’re not the same. You’re different – besides the lip ring and the hair and whatever.”
And then Aoi’s hands finally started to shake, the Twilight Zone feel of this morning finally clawing at his throat, and he spoke quietly, “That’s because it’s 2010.”
Ruki stopped talking and just stared.
Aoi bit his lip, right in the spot his piercing used to poke through, “I look older because I am. We all are.”
The vocalist started to lean heavily against the wood, eyes impossibly wide.
“This is your apartment. Your dog. Your success.”
Ruki touched a hand to his forehead. He began to shake his head slowly.
Aoi began to feel his own fear start to chill his bones and strangle his heart.
“You’re not supposed to be twenty. You haven’t been twenty for seven years.”
“No, no. We… We’re releasing Madara in a month and we’re touring with Kra and BIS in September. I live on the opposite side of the city. You have a lip ring. You wear stupid shit like fur coats and reindeer sweaters. You treat us and protect us and you have a fucking anger problem. You’re not…like this.”
Aoi stepped closer, “We did all that, Ruki. But you live here now and I took my lip ring out two years ago. And I’ve changed; I got older and I realized my problems and I fixed them. I know this is hard to believe, but you need to trust me.”
Ruki shrank back slightly as he saw Aoi move closer. This man wasn’t the Aoi he knew – his Aoi was flippant and brusque and tense. This Aoi was lighter somehow, had lips that seemed to smile more than scowl. It wasn’t the same. He may have been ‘big brother’ to them all, but he was a force that was hot to the touch and screamed to keep your distance lest you incinerate. This Aoi seemed to crave contact as he stepped closer. Ruki could see the same fear lingering in the elder’s eyes – eyes that were more chocolate than noir now.
Aoi watched Ruki study him and sighed heavily, “Do you trust me?”
Ruki met his gaze for a second before averting his eyes to the elder’s shoes, softly admitting, “I’ve always trusted you, Aoi-san.”
The guitarist felt a broad smile of victory grace his lips, restraining himself from fist-pumping the air with triumph.
“ – Even if you’re an old man now.”
Brat.
&&
Kai rose an eyebrow as he heard his doorbell ring. Sneaking a glance at his clock while he walked to the door – 8:45AM – he was sure that the whole world would still be sleeping until noon. And if he included his lovely bandmates in that ‘world’, then the Land of Nod would be occupied until at least two in the afternoon. His stomach was already unsettled with worry as he unlocked the door and peeked through.
If he was expecting anything, it would have been maybe Ruki with last-minute lyrics or their manager with last-minute preparations for the studio.
A stricken-looking Reita with a child in tow who was half-hidden behind him was way, way down on his expectations list.
Noting the pleading look glazing the bassist’s eyes, Kai immediately came to a conclusion.
“I know that I’m a babysitter to you four monsters, but this is stretching it a tad.”
Before Reita could vehemently shake his head ‘no’ and drivel about his whacked out morning (with a side of ‘who are you calling monster, you bastard; you know you love it’), Kai smiled anyway and got down on one knee to give the shy boy behind the blonde-haired man’s leg to give him a friendly grin. The boy regarded him hesitantly, hand buried in Reita’s shirttail in a white-knuckled grip.
Kai looked up at Reita briefly, “Wow, he looks like a mini carbon-copy of Uruha, doesn’t he?”
Reita groaned in frustration, “That’s because he is.”
The drummer scoffed with a roll of his eyes and returned a smile to the child. His voice was warm, “I’m Kai. What’s your name?”
The boy immediately looked up at Reita for confirmation that yes-it’s-okay-Kai’s-not-a-creeper, and shyly met the brunet’s eyes, “Kouyou, sir.”
Kai didn’t comment on the similarity, merely smiling wider, “Ah, that’s a nice name Kouyou-kun! Well, how about we go inside then? It’s cold out here.”
Kouyou nodded and crept outside of the safety zone of Reita leg and followed Kai inside, holding onto the hem of Reita’s shirt all the while.
Going deeper into the cozy apartment, sidestepping management memos and other haphazard items that the drummer would be complaining of losing in probably three days’ time, Reita couldn’t stop his heart from beating so loud and his right eye twitching from stress. Kai snuck a glance behind him and raised a brow at Reita’s shifty behavior.
It’s not like he stole this kid, right?
Trying to shake the disturbing thought from his head, he led the two into the kitchen, asking Kouyou amiably if he’d eaten yet. The small boy guiltily whispered, hand cupping his mouth so Reita wouldn’t hear, “The omelet wasn’t good. But don’t tell ‘kira. It’ll make him sad.”
But Reita did hear and harrumphed indignantly behind the two from the kitchen table. Kouyou didn’t appear to notice. Kai sent an amused glance at the bassist and returned to the honest, but sensitive youngster, “Well then how about I cook you something? I’m pretty good – promise.”
“Liar.” Reita whispered lowly. Kai ignored the jab and excitedly asked an equally jovial Kouyou whether he liked pancakes or waffles. Seeing that Kouyou was being left in capable hands, he wandered into the living room to put his head in his hands and think.
He didn’t know how long he sat there like that. Enough for the decadent scent of fluffy waffles to waft from the kitchen apparently. He lifted his head and was about to barge into the kitchen and demand his own plate when he heard laughter and the telltale lilt to Kouyou’s voice.
“ – Did you know ‘kira can drive? He’s really cool!”
His chest suddenly felt too small for his heart.
&
“So, what? Is he one of Uruha’s nephews or something?”
“I’m telling you, he’s Uruha.”
“But I’m Kouyou, ‘kira!”
The small protest brought a smile to Kai’s face as the three of them sat at the kitchen table, waffles stacked high and still smoking. “See? He knows who he is, Reita. This is a really bad, poorly crafted prank. I’m disappointed.”
Reita glared at Kai’s cheekiness and dug his hand into his jeans pocket, fingers finding the item he had hurriedly stuffed in there before he and Kouyou had dashed from the apartment. Gingerly unfolding the item, he nearly threw it at Kai.
“I know who he is.”
Kai regarded the piece of paper, noting it was a Polaroid. A quick snapshot of a much younger Reita – small and tanned with a large grin – slinging an arm around another boy, both covered in grass stains and standing beside a soccer ball. Kai wrinkled his brow at the second boy in the photograph. It was the same exact boy who was now gleefully eating waffles at his kitchen table.
But Kai wasn’t one to be easily swayed, “You edited this…”
Reita gave a bark of disbelieving laughter, “Jeez, Kai! Think for a second. It’s obviously an original. You can’t copy, let alone edit, a damn Polaroid.”
Slowly, Kai looked up from the picture to the child sitting next to him, playfully making shapes out of his waffles. “That’s totally impossible.”
“Believe me, I’ve been telling myself that all morning.”
Kai’s cell phone rattled loudly on the table as it suddenly vibrated – not allowing Kai a moment to even digest this bizarre situation and making him jump. Robotically reaching for it, eyes still wide with shock at how their lead guitarist was contentedly eating breakfast in the form of a seven-year-old, Kai flipped open the screen.
A headache instantly sprouted as he read Aoi’s text.
‘Little problem.’
&&&&
A/N: I think I'm going to have a lot of fun writing this :3
Another chapter dedicated to moving along the plot and revealing Ruki's little 'situation'. Don't worry, Ruki won't be so calm and all-trusting about this for long and will most assuredly give Aoi a hard time next chapter, haha. Anyhoo, this is the look of past-Ruki: i801.photobucket.com/albums/yy292/Scutter_03/Ruki/Disorder1fyc0m.jpg
Basically the "Disorder" era.
Hope you all enjoyed! <3
Description: When Uruha said he'd like to experience the simpler, innocent feeling of childhood again in his now-hectic life, this wasn't what he had in mind.
Chapter: 2/?
Pairings: Reita/Uruha, Aoi/Ruki
Genre: Fluff, slight crack, romance, drama
Rating: PG-13
Comments: Yay, an update!
02
Hand slapping atop the phone, he didn't spare the caller ID a glance and merely greeted cheerfully, "What."
"This had better be a fucking joke."
Oh fuck. Aoi gripped the phone tighter, knuckles an inconceivable white, and felt his stomach sink to his toes. It was slightly garbled by static, but the telltale huff of Ruki's annoyed baritone still pierced through the receiver. Aoi felt himself gape, mouth suddenly full of cotton and sheets sticking uncomfortably to his legs. He must have woken up and remembered. Shit, shit, shit. Aoi quickly sat up, free hand burying anxiously in his tangled hair.
Damage control time. "W-what are you talking about?"
Temporary amnesia with a sprinkle of innocence -- his best playing card. Too bad it was slightly discredited by his stutter. The elder man's mind raced; Ruki was probably pissed, degraded, looking for some Mie-born blood to shed. Aoi fisted his hand tighter in his raven locks -- it was over. The band was over. The press was going to be all over this:
-- and the reason behind the unfortunate break-up of the GazettE was solely the fault of Shiroyama Yuu -- in-the-closet rhythm guitarist who just couldn't keep it in his pants --
A faint, strangled noise left Aoi's lips. No way was he going to be outed on national tele--
"I'm talking about me being fucking kidnapped over here!"
-- wait a second. Aoi loosened his death-grip from his hair, wincing slightly as the roots ached, and furrowed his brow, "What?"
There was a second of silence on the other end and Aoi unconsciously leaned forward and pressed the phone closer to his ear. He could hear the slight catches of breath from the younger man. A considerably softer voice hesitantly spoke up, "You mean... you guys didn't set me up?"
Aoi could feel himself gaining more wrinkles by the second from how deeply his eyebrows were knitted, "Ruki, what are you talking about?"
The vocalist didn't seem to hear him, "Oh fuck, what the hell is going on? This-this isn't my apartment and ... what the fuck is this dog doing here?"
Aoi blinked as he heard a scuffle occur on the other end of the phone -- Ruki's admonishing shoo's and Koron's infamous yapping. A weird, sinking feeling was beginning to clutch at his chest as he slowly began to untangle himself from the constricting sheets. He could still hear Koron's pitiful whining and a door firmly shut -- must have shoved the poor thing into the bathroom -- as he switched the phone into his dominant hand.
"That's Koron-chan, Ruki..."
"So you do have something to do with this!" The younger man's voice held a slight growl, but seemed more desperately hopeful than malicious.
Pushing his panic-stricken feelings of being harpooned by his bandmates for making a failed pass at their youngest member, Aoi slowly shook his head, "I have nothing to do with anything. That's Koron. Your dog. In your apartment -- "
" -- No, this isn't my apartment. I've never even been to this side of the city. I can't even remember what happened last night, but I woke up and I was here and you're acting like it's fucking normal to just wind up in a stranger's apartment! I could be killed when this guy gets back!"
Aoi held the phone slightly away from his pulsing ear, the increasingly high-pitched panic of Ruki’s usually melodious baritone rushing out like word-vomit. The guitarist’s head was already starting to pound and he could feel the birth of a headache against his temples, but the vague ‘off’ tone to Ruki’s mannerisms was unsettling him too much to disregard.
He stood up from his bed, ignoring the stray piece of sheet music on the floor that stuck to his foot, and determinedly walked to his closet to quickly pull on a pair of jeans and a random floral shirt, "Just stay where you are okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes."
"But how do you know where – "
Aoi snapped the phone shut and grabbed his keys. The feeling in his chest was spreading to his fingertips – an uneasy flutter that left a cold chill in its wake. Shrugging it off as best he could, Aoi reached for the doorknob.
He paused and took a split second to sigh in relief.
At least he doesn't remember last night.
&&
Within five minutes, it was awkward.
At least for Reita. Currently, he was scurrying around the kitchen, swinging open cabinets and poking his head in the fridge numerous times despite already knowing that the contraption held precisely five eggs, a carton of plum juice crap Uruha had bought last week, a bowl of withering grapes and a box of baking soda. His socked feet padded across the linoleum floor with dizzying haste.
"Pan, pan – I need a pan…" He chanced a glance at the young boy who was sitting contentedly at the table, dressed in pinned boxers and a ratty shirt reaching to his thighs that declared SEX PISTOLS (which was a crappy idea as the curious youngster wasted no time asking Reita what the words meant to which the frazzled bassist replied something along the lines of: "Well, um, yeah so there’s hoses and there’s gardens and when it’s time to plant flowers, the hose will… Do you want breakfast?"), thin legs swinging back and forth.
Kouyou caught his eye and perked up, lifting an arm to point helpfully towards the stove. Reita whirled around. A pan sat idle on the burner.
"Oh… I have a pan."
Kouyou nodded firmly and smiled with a hint of shyness, proud to have helped. Reita watched his pint-sized friend’s small grin in a daze, not quite believing what he was seeing at his kitchen table. Not quite believing he was playing house with a seven-year-old former-guitarist on a random fucking Thursday at 8:30 in the morning.
Kouyou’s smile slowly faded when he noticed the elder staring at him. Averting his eyes, he lifted a hand to fiddle with the fork the blond-haired man had placed in front of him earlier in a frenzied blur. A light blush dusted his plump cheeks as he poked his fingers on the tines.
Reita snapped out of his glossed over gaze, realizing he was getting weird and awkward again. Shaking his head, he wondered when that ‘creepy old man’ feeling would wear off. He opened the fridge for the eighth time, "Scrambled?"
He heard a soft "please" behind him as he grabbed three eggs.
He obviously had to call someone. This wasn’t one of those "oh crap, Uruha got the stomach flu so we can’t go to practice" moments he periodically relayed to an exasperated Kai. It was more of an "oh crap, Uruha is a fucking seven-year-old" moment and he wasn’t sure if that was in Kai’s area of expertise.
The sound of sizzling eggs and Kouyou’s legs whooshing back and forth beneath his chair filled the stagnant space of the kitchen.
Reita furrowed his brow, poking at the omelet with a dilapidated spatula. Well, it didn’t matter – he had to tell Kai. This was a kinda-sorta serious situation and they kinda-sorta had a tour coming up in three weeks. And then there was the matter of how this even happened in the first place and how to fix it – if they could fix it… A soft growl of frustration escaped his lips as he flipped his somewhat edible creation over.
"Are you okay, ‘kira?"
Kouyou’s quiet voice broke him out of his troubled thoughts; Reita turned around to see the boy’s concerned eyes and frown, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip in worry. His hands were clasped around his fork, that Reita vaguely remembered nearly throwing at the poor kid in his tornado of freak out, and his legs had stopped swinging.
Reita briefly turned back around to slide the omelet onto a plate, closing his eyes and breathing in deep to calm his jumping nerves, before letting a smile grace his face as he set the plate in front of a wary Kouyou. He made his own dish quickly and sat down across from the boy, chair scraping loudly in the silence that had fell upon them. Reita grimaced a fraction before finally shaking his head, "Yeah, I’m good."
You are so the opposite of good right now, you liar. You’re fucking freaked out, that’s what you are –
Kouyou furrowed his brow, poking absently at his omelet, "You look scared."
Reita’s eyes widened, forgetting how perceptive Uruha had been back then – he briefly wondered if he still possessed that uncanny sixth sense and merely decided to hide it in the form of acute obliviousness. The bassist watched as Kouyou refused to touch his food, apparently too worried over Reita’s well-being, so he puffed out his chest haughtily and proclaimed with a raised fist:
"Scared? No way! I’m Reita! World’s number one fearless man!" Kouyou looked unconvinced and a little confused.
"But aren’t you Akira?"
Reita dropped his fist and scratched the back of his head instead, ego efficiently deflated, "Ah, well I – "
Kouyou suddenly leaned in with a bright smile, food forgotten and his past jubilant self peeking through, "Is it ‘cause you’re a superhero now?"
Reita blinked and then laughed, resisting the tantalizing urge to ruffle the boy’s locks and pierced his omelet with a fork, elbow grounding into the table, "Something like that."
The younger seemed satisfied at that answer, a renewed spark in his eyes and his bowed lips curved in delight at his Akira saving the world. Because he had always saved Kouyou’s before, so it was only fair…
Despite the adorable scene of his best friend squirming with joy at the prospect that Reita was somebody who slew the bad guys, the bassist felt his smile falter a tad when he remembered that this wasn’t supposed to become normal. He needed to figure out what happened, why – how. Reita swirled his fork in the loose yolk that seeped across his plate. Sneaking a glance at Kouyou, it didn’t seem like the boy minded the might-as-well-have-just-cracked-the-egg-right-on-your-plate omelet. He was dutifully swishing it around and taking tiny bites.
Reita put his free hand to his temple, massaging the aching spot as he thought of the endless possibilities as to what was going on. Maybe ‘Uruha’ was still in there somewhere… Kinda like amnesia, but in a really, really weird way that Reita wasn’t sure even he – master of bullshit and all things fantastical – could back-up. He looked up from his egg again to ask, "What do you remember from yesterday?"
Kouyou hummed thoughtfully, legs starting to kick back and forth again. Reita was beginning to think it was a sign of the boy being comfortable. "We had soccer practice, but you weren’t there ‘cause you were sick," Kouyou paused to beam at him, "I’m happy you’re feeling better."
Pushing a soggy piece of egg over, he continued contentedly, "After soccer, me and my mom went to the shrines and I didn’t really want to go because it’s too quiet there. But then when we got home, she made me that thing called spa-ghetti and I wanted to bring some to you, but mom told me ‘no’ because you were all germy and diseased and I might die if I got too close." Kouyou whispered the last part ominously before leaning back into his chair with a cheeky smile.
Reita let out a breath of laughter, inwardly slapping a head to his forehead. What did you think he was going to say? “We hit the bar last night and got wasted, don’t you remember?”
Somehow, the severity of the situation just started to dig its claws into his chest. One minute he was laughing with the child version of his best friend over crappy omelets, the next his bones were frozen as his heart began to constrict. What was he thinking? Treating this rascal to breakfast when the fact was that he wasn’t supposed to even be here. He was supposed to be twenty-eight. He was supposed to remember everything – what they had dreamed for and worked for and accomplished together.
Fuck.
All at once, Reita leaped from his chair – the decrepit thing scraping harshly against the linoleum once more before crashing to the floor. The stark sound in what used to be a peaceful atmosphere startled Kouyou, making him clang his fork against his plate. The boy saw the severe look in Reita’s gaze and mistook it as a glare, “I’m-I’m sorry, ‘kira. I didn’t mean to hit it…”
Reita’s eyes softened, but his head was already spinning with plans and to-do’s and what’s-next’s. “It’s not your fault. I’m not angry.”
Kouyou merely nodded, still rattled by the crash, and only had time to blink once before Reita was beckoning him with a hurried hand, “C’mon, we need to get you dressed if we’re going out.”
The boy jumped off his chair with wide eyes, curiosity gleaming in his steps as he followed Reita’s quick descent into the hallway. The man stopped abruptly outside a door, causing Kouyou to bump into him slightly as he followed close behind. Seeming to come to a decision with a nod of his head, Reita hastily went into the room that began this morning.
Kouyou took the opportunity to glance around the space, not having had a chance before, and gazed at the cream colored walls, the numerous picture frames, the collection of gleaming things on the dresser. His bare toes felt cold on the hardwood floors; he wiggled them as he waited for Reita to reemerge from the depths of a messy-looking closet. He was tempted to go near those shiny things, touch them and hold them close to his chest, but was interrupted by an exclamation from the closet.
He turned to see Reita holding up a pair of maroon capris, goofy grin stretching across his face at his find. The blond-haired man motioned for Kouyou to sit on the bed – which he did with an enthusiastic flop – and proceeded to help him into the folds of fabric leg by leg.
Reita mumbled under his breath with a roll of his eyes, “I don’t even know why you have these…”
If Kouyou heard, he didn’t say anything – the man with the noseband was acting weird and looking weird anyways.
But then again, Akira had always been weird.
The capris were long enough to be pants on Kouyou’s small frame and Reita had to pin the pesky extra cloth together. Grabbing a cream long-sleeved shirt that he had placed next to himself, the bassist pulled it over the boy’s head as the latter eagerly raised his arms. Kouyou giggled as his hair burst into a static fluff once released from the woolly prison and Reita smirked. He stepped back to examine his handy work. The former guitarist looked like a poster-child for Incompetent Parenting. Perfect.
“It wasn’t me who picked out that maroon atrocity in the first place… Okay! Let’s get going. We’re gonna go visit Kai, alright?”
Kouyou hopped off the bed, stumbling slightly on the swimming pant cuffs and made to follow Reita. He took a last glance at the dresser, yearning to poke just one shiny thing. But the pull to tag alongside his best friend – who always shared his juice boxes with him, made him feel warm and always, always made sure there were never any olives in his food – was stronger.
Once in the kitchen, Reita grabbed his keys off the counter and turned to find Kouyou staring at him with an awed look in his gaze. “You can drive, ‘kira?”
Reita chuckled, opening the door for them to step outside, “Is it that shocking?”
Kouyou pouted, looking at Reita skeptically as the older man swung open the passenger door of the Cadillac and said in an eerily mature tone, “Well, you’re pretty clumsy, Uechan…”
Reita had the gall to look affronted, turning the key in the ignition and letting the purr of the car vibrate against their spines. Kouyou was all wide eyes and eager hands once he was strapped in, stroking the leather interior and glancing around at all the different buttons. Reita noticed how he kept his hands mostly to himself and the seat though – never daring to touch more than was necessary in case he upset his friend. As they waited for the car to warm up, their breaths billowing in front of them, Reita caught Kouyou’s curious glance at the mountain of CDs between them. He saw the boy’s fingers twitch at the sight of the brightly colored, intricate cover designs.
“You know you can look at them, Kou.”
The nickname from years ago slid into his speech too easily.
Kouyou whipped his head up, “Really?”
The pure, innocent question took Reita by surprise, nodding his consent dumbly as he started to pull out of the complex parking lot. His stomach was still a knot of nerves, but with every peek he stole at Kouyou from the corner of his eye, watching the boy enthusiastically study the covers of each CD, his breathing became a little easier.
The ride was pleasant and quiet – Kouyou too enveloped with tracing the patterns of the CDs (some of which, Reita noted, that were their own) to chatter idly. Then again, Uruha had always been a hushed child who was too easily pleased with simple things.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Kai. The whole thing was ludicrous and Reita’s reputation as the jokester of the band wasn’t going to help his case in convincing the drummer that the willowy being of Uruha had been shrunk down into a pint-size, amnesiac child. It sounded something out of that movie he had watched with Ruki two Saturdays ago – body snatchers, parallel universes and all that swank – rather than something out of random happenstance in their apartment.
As Reita sat contemplating, he began to notice Kouyou still, the CDs put neatly back into their places with care. He swiveled his head over and saw the boy had his eyes trained on his lap as he bit his bowed lip absently. Before Reita could even begin to ponder the suddenly solemn behavior, the raven-haired child spoke up quietly, “Is Kai-san nice?”
For all of his enthusiasm and compliance, Kouyou was obviously more anxious about the out-of-place situation than he let on. To wake up in a world where your best friend was suddenly an adult who towered over you, who drove – it had to be unsettling. And Reita knew that it was around this time in Kouyou’s life that the mean taunts and pushes of older boys had begun to occur. He had a right to be nervous of this ‘unknown’ Kai-san – another chance for a stranger to be hurtful. Reita could feel his heart pierce with empathy and reached over to ruffle Kouyou’s hair and give him a smile.
“He’s the best. I promise.”
&&
Had Ruki’s apartment always looked this daunting and creepy? Aoi tried to swallow the lump in his throat and refused to think about how his stomach seemed to be somewhere out in space. This could all be a cleverly devised trap – luring Aoi to his apartment to murder him for even trying to start something and then selling his organs on the black market. It was possible. Ruki knew weird shit.
Aoi winced with a grimace and subconsciously put a hand over his stomach as he stood upon the bedazzled welcome mat outside Ruki’s door. Maybe not a “welcome” mat per se – more like it proclaimed “ALL HAIL” in glitter. The shiny specks that rubbed off onto his black shoes would be stuck there for hours. He was going to have a hard time explaining to Reita that no, he wasn’t mugged by fairies and yes, he could totally win in a fight against one.
Shaking his head at the gargle of thoughts produced by his nerves, the guitarist sighed heavily, knowing his fate was sealed either way, and knocked twice on the emerald-painted door.
He wasn’t expecting it to fly open a millisecond later, almost whamming him in the face if he didn’t swing his head back quick enough. Unfortunately, the glitter-mat proved to be a poor source of friction and he proved to be a bigger source of momentum, as he momentarily slid on the mess of silver, red and black. He absently noted how this could have been part of the plan to slaughter him; making him slip and brain himself on the gleaming floor tiles. Ruki’s hands would be clean. It’d be the perfect crime.
Muttering a curse at how the silver sparkles now spread to the bottom fringes of his pants, Aoi glared at the mat before raising his head cautiously to greet the vocalist.
Prepared for a brazen – and perhaps slightly disgruntled – Ruki with his aureate locks and blue contacts, he instead saw a hesitant – and perhaps slightly fearful – someone with raven hair and a stark blond streak in his bangs clinging to the door frame in shock.
Wait a minute.
Aoi could feel himself gaping, words frozen on his lips, and he could see that this Ruki was starting to stare in disbelief as well. Maybe slightly shorter, the vocalist seemed to be an exact echo of seven years ago – his face was a tad more rounded with youth, features somehow more sharper and the jaded glint to his eyes mostly faded (just beginning). Aoi blinked. And then again. Nope, still there and still looking like they were meeting up to record for Cockayne Soup…
He felt his eyes tear themselves away from those endless chocolate irises to stare at the quivering hand upon the door frame. Those fingers he had seen grasping a cigarette, pointing at a guitar phrase, hiding a smile – seemed so thin, dainty, fragile. They weren’t yet worn from tobacco paper and pens and microphones. The hand tightened its grip on the wood.
“A-Aoi-san?”
Aoi-san.
He hadn’t been called that in years.
The slightly guarded, soft voice fell from those young lips and Aoi met his eyes again.
A hard swallow, a crinkling brow, “Where’s your lip ring, old man?”
Aoi felt his face fall – so not everything had changed.
He watched this younger version of Ruki raise a brow at his floral shirt, intense eyes scanning over his every feature. He studied the older man’s faint laugh lines, his longer hair, his lighter aura. And when he met Aoi’s eyes again, he seemed to find something there and his expression softened to something the guitarist couldn’t quite catch.
The look was gone in a split moment and Aoi tried to push his own ponderings of it to the back of his mind, blurting out instead, “How old are you?”
It was a stupid question. Why would Ruki be any age other than twenty-seven? That new facial-mask-crème-solution-whatever he just prattled on and on about to Aoi two days ago could have just been…really working.
He almost took it back, almost told Ruki to forget what he said and that he was just brain-dead from last night when the younger man furrowed his brow and replied hesitantly, “Twenty. I should be asking you that question…”
Ruki stared pointedly at where Aoi’s piercing used to hug his lip.
It was still for another minute – noir irises meeting sepia – until Ruki suddenly grabbed the roots of his hair in panic.
“Fuck, I go to bed last night all fine and dandy in my apartment and then I open my eyes and I’m here – some ritzy side of the city that I haven’t even dreamed of going to! And then this fucking dog starts yapping at me and I slip on the stupid fucking marble tiles – who has marble tiles anyway? Isn’t tatami normal? So I’ve got a mutt in the closet, a bruise on my hip and no fucking clue what’s going on! And now you’re all different too!”
Aoi absently listened to Ruki’s anxious babbling, watching how the younger’s face was so animate – so different from his current self’s more stoic countenance. He wondered minutely if he should tell the now black-haired-blond-streaked vocalist that he age-regressed, that he was the one who was different. However, Aoi was too absorbed with being awed by the past breathing right in front of him to even utter a word.
Ruki paused in his rant and began to whisper ominously, “Wait. Wait a second. What if this is some parallel universe? One where you’re old and I have a dog and – shit, I saw this in a movie with Reita once. …Oh, fuck. Does Reita even exist here?!”
Aoi rolled his eyes despite the uneasy feeling in his chest and muttered, “I forgot how melodramatic you used to be…”
This made Ruki stop chattering, stop pulling at his hair, and turn to stare at Aoi. The look of surprise gracing his wide eyes slowly ebbed to fear – fear of this unknown, fear of what was happening, fear of Aoi himself (who didn’t look like “himself”). A shiver passed through his small frame before he braced a hand against the door frame once again.
He whispered, “What-what do you mean by that?”
It was too early for this, Aoi concluded. The sun was piercing through the window behind him, warming his back and making his head ache. Last night he was drunkenly professing his love for this man, last night he was brushed off with flippant ease – last night everything collapsed, but was still the same in the way Fate toyed with lives. But now… It was too surreal.
Those wide eyes were too familiar, but at the same time so foreign. How many times had he stared into those sepia irises – always hidden by silver, blue, gold contacts? But now they were raw and young and frighteningly confused. And yet something lurked within them, something warmer that didn’t exist here in the present.
Aoi found himself whispering back, “Why did you call me?”
Because it was as weird as anything else in this royally what-the-fuck scenario. He and Ruki weren’t so close back then. The vocalist and the dynamic guitar-bass duo were more tightly knit and together – why hadn’t he called them in the flurry of fright and disorientation?
Ruki didn’t seem to think it was weird, however, as he simply said, “You’re the oldest and you’d never lie to me about stupid pranks. Reita and Uruha would just laugh. And I don’t know Kai that well yet.”
Aoi’s shoulders almost slumped – of course. He was big brother after all.
Ruki didn’t give the elder time to reflect and internally groan, suddenly urgent, “Aoi-san, what’s going on? Why… Why do you… Why are you like this?”
The small hand gestured up and down before subconsciously traveling to his own lip, rubbing the flesh in thought before continuing, “You’re not the same. You’re different – besides the lip ring and the hair and whatever.”
And then Aoi’s hands finally started to shake, the Twilight Zone feel of this morning finally clawing at his throat, and he spoke quietly, “That’s because it’s 2010.”
Ruki stopped talking and just stared.
Aoi bit his lip, right in the spot his piercing used to poke through, “I look older because I am. We all are.”
The vocalist started to lean heavily against the wood, eyes impossibly wide.
“This is your apartment. Your dog. Your success.”
Ruki touched a hand to his forehead. He began to shake his head slowly.
Aoi began to feel his own fear start to chill his bones and strangle his heart.
“You’re not supposed to be twenty. You haven’t been twenty for seven years.”
“No, no. We… We’re releasing Madara in a month and we’re touring with Kra and BIS in September. I live on the opposite side of the city. You have a lip ring. You wear stupid shit like fur coats and reindeer sweaters. You treat us and protect us and you have a fucking anger problem. You’re not…like this.”
Aoi stepped closer, “We did all that, Ruki. But you live here now and I took my lip ring out two years ago. And I’ve changed; I got older and I realized my problems and I fixed them. I know this is hard to believe, but you need to trust me.”
Ruki shrank back slightly as he saw Aoi move closer. This man wasn’t the Aoi he knew – his Aoi was flippant and brusque and tense. This Aoi was lighter somehow, had lips that seemed to smile more than scowl. It wasn’t the same. He may have been ‘big brother’ to them all, but he was a force that was hot to the touch and screamed to keep your distance lest you incinerate. This Aoi seemed to crave contact as he stepped closer. Ruki could see the same fear lingering in the elder’s eyes – eyes that were more chocolate than noir now.
Aoi watched Ruki study him and sighed heavily, “Do you trust me?”
Ruki met his gaze for a second before averting his eyes to the elder’s shoes, softly admitting, “I’ve always trusted you, Aoi-san.”
The guitarist felt a broad smile of victory grace his lips, restraining himself from fist-pumping the air with triumph.
“ – Even if you’re an old man now.”
Brat.
&&
Kai rose an eyebrow as he heard his doorbell ring. Sneaking a glance at his clock while he walked to the door – 8:45AM – he was sure that the whole world would still be sleeping until noon. And if he included his lovely bandmates in that ‘world’, then the Land of Nod would be occupied until at least two in the afternoon. His stomach was already unsettled with worry as he unlocked the door and peeked through.
If he was expecting anything, it would have been maybe Ruki with last-minute lyrics or their manager with last-minute preparations for the studio.
A stricken-looking Reita with a child in tow who was half-hidden behind him was way, way down on his expectations list.
Noting the pleading look glazing the bassist’s eyes, Kai immediately came to a conclusion.
“I know that I’m a babysitter to you four monsters, but this is stretching it a tad.”
Before Reita could vehemently shake his head ‘no’ and drivel about his whacked out morning (with a side of ‘who are you calling monster, you bastard; you know you love it’), Kai smiled anyway and got down on one knee to give the shy boy behind the blonde-haired man’s leg to give him a friendly grin. The boy regarded him hesitantly, hand buried in Reita’s shirttail in a white-knuckled grip.
Kai looked up at Reita briefly, “Wow, he looks like a mini carbon-copy of Uruha, doesn’t he?”
Reita groaned in frustration, “That’s because he is.”
The drummer scoffed with a roll of his eyes and returned a smile to the child. His voice was warm, “I’m Kai. What’s your name?”
The boy immediately looked up at Reita for confirmation that yes-it’s-okay-Kai’s-not-a-creeper, and shyly met the brunet’s eyes, “Kouyou, sir.”
Kai didn’t comment on the similarity, merely smiling wider, “Ah, that’s a nice name Kouyou-kun! Well, how about we go inside then? It’s cold out here.”
Kouyou nodded and crept outside of the safety zone of Reita leg and followed Kai inside, holding onto the hem of Reita’s shirt all the while.
Going deeper into the cozy apartment, sidestepping management memos and other haphazard items that the drummer would be complaining of losing in probably three days’ time, Reita couldn’t stop his heart from beating so loud and his right eye twitching from stress. Kai snuck a glance behind him and raised a brow at Reita’s shifty behavior.
It’s not like he stole this kid, right?
Trying to shake the disturbing thought from his head, he led the two into the kitchen, asking Kouyou amiably if he’d eaten yet. The small boy guiltily whispered, hand cupping his mouth so Reita wouldn’t hear, “The omelet wasn’t good. But don’t tell ‘kira. It’ll make him sad.”
But Reita did hear and harrumphed indignantly behind the two from the kitchen table. Kouyou didn’t appear to notice. Kai sent an amused glance at the bassist and returned to the honest, but sensitive youngster, “Well then how about I cook you something? I’m pretty good – promise.”
“Liar.” Reita whispered lowly. Kai ignored the jab and excitedly asked an equally jovial Kouyou whether he liked pancakes or waffles. Seeing that Kouyou was being left in capable hands, he wandered into the living room to put his head in his hands and think.
He didn’t know how long he sat there like that. Enough for the decadent scent of fluffy waffles to waft from the kitchen apparently. He lifted his head and was about to barge into the kitchen and demand his own plate when he heard laughter and the telltale lilt to Kouyou’s voice.
“ – Did you know ‘kira can drive? He’s really cool!”
His chest suddenly felt too small for his heart.
&
“So, what? Is he one of Uruha’s nephews or something?”
“I’m telling you, he’s Uruha.”
“But I’m Kouyou, ‘kira!”
The small protest brought a smile to Kai’s face as the three of them sat at the kitchen table, waffles stacked high and still smoking. “See? He knows who he is, Reita. This is a really bad, poorly crafted prank. I’m disappointed.”
Reita glared at Kai’s cheekiness and dug his hand into his jeans pocket, fingers finding the item he had hurriedly stuffed in there before he and Kouyou had dashed from the apartment. Gingerly unfolding the item, he nearly threw it at Kai.
“I know who he is.”
Kai regarded the piece of paper, noting it was a Polaroid. A quick snapshot of a much younger Reita – small and tanned with a large grin – slinging an arm around another boy, both covered in grass stains and standing beside a soccer ball. Kai wrinkled his brow at the second boy in the photograph. It was the same exact boy who was now gleefully eating waffles at his kitchen table.
But Kai wasn’t one to be easily swayed, “You edited this…”
Reita gave a bark of disbelieving laughter, “Jeez, Kai! Think for a second. It’s obviously an original. You can’t copy, let alone edit, a damn Polaroid.”
Slowly, Kai looked up from the picture to the child sitting next to him, playfully making shapes out of his waffles. “That’s totally impossible.”
“Believe me, I’ve been telling myself that all morning.”
Kai’s cell phone rattled loudly on the table as it suddenly vibrated – not allowing Kai a moment to even digest this bizarre situation and making him jump. Robotically reaching for it, eyes still wide with shock at how their lead guitarist was contentedly eating breakfast in the form of a seven-year-old, Kai flipped open the screen.
A headache instantly sprouted as he read Aoi’s text.
‘Little problem.’
&&&&
A/N: I think I'm going to have a lot of fun writing this :3
Another chapter dedicated to moving along the plot and revealing Ruki's little 'situation'. Don't worry, Ruki won't be so calm and all-trusting about this for long and will most assuredly give Aoi a hard time next chapter, haha. Anyhoo, this is the look of past-Ruki: i801.photobucket.com/albums/yy292/Scutter_03/Ruki/Disorder1fyc0m.jpg
Basically the "Disorder" era.
Hope you all enjoyed! <3
