A snowflake for yurigumis!
Sep. 3rd, 2022 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snowmods09 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
snow_exchangeTitle: The Air He Breathes
Pairings: Watanabe Shota / Miyadate Ryota
Genres: Friends to lovers, Slow burn
Rating: R
Summary:
Ryota's familiar three, two, one starts them off, and the rhythmic beat of his drum set sets Shota at ease. Shota draws in a breath, lets his posture relax, and wraps his fingers around the microphone. He hits the first notes of the song with ease, letting the music pull him along.
or
To him, Ryota is the air he breathes.
Warnings:
Mentions of alcohol/drunkenness, allusions to sex
Author's notes:
Dear receiver, it was a pleasure to write for you. I hope I managed to make justice to Yurigumi and the bond they share.
The biggest thank you to my beta ♥
When Watanabe Shota was six years old, he told the pretty kindergarten teacher that in twenty years, he wanted to be married to her with six kids and a dog, work as a firefighter and live next door to his best friend, Miyadate Ryota.
On the eve of Shota's 26th birthday, he's recently broken up with his girlfriend of two years, living in a rundown apartment building five kilometres from the nearest train station, with no steady job and barely any prospects to speak of.
He's still friends with Ryota, though, and while they're not quite next-door neighbours, they are in a band together. Snow Man, Ryota and Shota's band of six years, has yet to find a record deal but does have a small but loyal fanbase and a semi-constant stream of paying gigs. It's not what Shota dreamed for them back when he was twenty and sure they'd conquer the world in mere months, but it's better than giving up his dreams completely.
The five of them are gathered at the practice room they've been renting since the band was formed. Everyone except Shota is excited about a local band competition they're planning to
take part in, talking setlists, and outfits, and about adding extra practice. Shota tries to join in, but somehow he can't make himself feel it.
It's not the first chance like this they've received, and while they have consistently placed well since their formation, they always seem to fall short. They've placed in the final three more times than he can count but have never actually managed to win first place and the bigger venues and possibilities that would bring.
"Has anyone called Sakkun?" Shota asks no one in particular. Ryota shakes his head, reaching over to grab Shota's hand and drag him down to the couch he's sitting on. Shota hates the couch; it smells, is lumpy and eats his phone at least twice a month. Maybe if they ever actually won one of these things they could afford a new one.
"Sakuma just got signed as a freelancer for Hana to Yume," Abe says, looking up from his laptop. He's the only one of them with a half-decent job, the rest of them not managing more than part-time with their useless music degrees. Abe is the perfect all-around genius in Shota's eyes, managing boring legal texts but also writing the most beautiful lyrics for the songs Iwamoto and Ryota come up with.
"Really?" Shota says, surprised he hadn’t heard of it before. Becoming a mangaka had been Sakuma's dream for as long as Shota had known him. Shota just never thought that would mean choosing between the band and his art one day.
Shota feels a slight nudge to his side, turning his head to Ryota. "What?" he mouths, frowning when Ryota just shakes his head and looks away.
"There’s just the bassist to think about," Shota hears Fukazawa say a moment later. He's been the manager of the band since their formation, and is as much a part of the band as anyone else. Shota's head snaps up from his phone. "We have a bassist," he says, a frown on his face. He can see Fukazawa glancing first at Iwamoto, then Abe, and then finally at Ryota. Everyone looks equally as uncomfortable, and Ryota is the only one not looking away when Shota turns to him.
"Shoppi, Sakuma won't have the time to commit to this," Iwamoto says, his voice soft. Shota knows Iwamoto is trying to placate him, and it's irritating. "Have you even asked him?" Shota asks, getting up to stare at everyone again. He can't believe he's the only one not accepting the ludicrous idea of Sakuma not being a part of the band anymore. Iwamoto sighs, and sits back down. Shota crosses his arms and stares at Abe next.
"You were there when we discussed this," Abe says, his voice calm as usual. It's hard to get mad at someone so reasonable, but Shota tries anyway. "He didn't know there was a competition coming up!" Shota argues, turning to stare at Fukazawa again, feeling tension rising inside him. They didn't get this far by letting each other quit just like that, and he doesn't understand why no one else is willing to fight for them.
"Shota," Ryota says, his warm hand pressing into Shota's shoulder. "It's okay.” Shota lets himself be guided back onto the horrible couch that smells like sweat and broken dreams.
"I don't want anyone new," Shota says, his eyes burning.
"I know," Ryota says, squeezing his hand, and somehow that makes everything feel a tiny bit better.
⁂
The competition is the third week of January, but by late December they're still without a bassist. Sakuma helps them out when he can but can barely manage one or two hours per week, his deadlines too strict to leave much free time.
Shota sees it as another bad sign, the universe telling them to just give up already. He can't bring himself to say as much to anyone, though, stubbornly practising the songs until his throat is raw and his voice almost gone.
Every candidate they interview is either too old, not committed enough, or asking for way too much money. The few that seem suitable at first are quickly dismissed after a practice session or two when it becomes clear that their style just doesn't suit the band.
In the end, they find their new bassist entirely by accident. They're playing a local venue, a gig that was booked months before Sakuma announced he was leaving. They've managed to get a bassist on loan from another band, a friend of Iwamoto's. He cancels at the last minute though, his train cancelled due to an accident on the tracks.
They're all gathered backstage, trying to figure out if they could manage without a bassist, if maybe they could play the songs from tape, or if maybe Fukazawa could learn the chords in the thirty minutes left. One of the guys in the band playing before them approaches Iwamoto and pulls him aside.
"Meguro," Shota says when Abe asks his name. Shota knows Meguro vaguely, as he used to work part-time at the music shop where Shota got his sheet music.
"He's offered to fill in," Iwamoto explains a few minutes later. "Says he knows most of our songs, and can keep up if we write down the chords."
It seems unlikely to work, but the only other chance is to cancel, and none of them want that. Their audience might be on the small side, but they're devoted, and none of them want to let any of their fans down.
"Maybe it's a Christmas miracle," Ryota says a few hours later when they're celebrating the successful gig at the bar down the road. "Maybe," Shota says, and can't help but smile. Meguro managed to keep up with barely a hitch, and the audience seemed excited about the new addition, too.
"I'll ask him to join us. If he's interested, of course," Iwamoto says. Shota's shoulders tense. "Is that okay with everyone?" he asks, looking at Shota. No, Shota wants to say, but that would be childish. They need a new bassist, and Meguro has proved himself more than capable.
"Yes," he says, and hopes Ryota really is right, and this is the miracle they've all been waiting for.
⁂
"I'm going to die alone," Shota whines into the phone the moment Juri picks up. He's at home, staring forlornly at the small fridge in the corner of the kitchenette. His ex used to come over every Sunday and Wednesday and cook several days' worth of dinner. Now, there’s only a bottle of soy sauce, three cans of cheap beer and a shrivelled radish, the fridge otherwise empty.
"Hello to you, too," Juri says. It sounds like Juri is at a party of some sort, happy laughter and chatter almost drowning out his words. It makes Shota feel even more alone than he did before. What good is a roommate if he isn't even there when Shota requires company?
"So I take it you saw the picture," Juri says. Shota hears the click of a door, and the noise from Juri's end of the line quietens.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Shota says, though he does. He did see the picture
she posted, one of her all smiley next to a handsome guy. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and they had matching phone cases. It felt like the picture was a big fuck you aimed at Shota.
"Right," Juri says. "You were the one who broke up with her, remember?"
Shota closes the fridge door with a slam. Who broke up with whom is beside the point.
"The point is, I'm going to die alone," he says and picks up an opened box of snacks two months past the expiration date. They taste stale, a fitting allegory for the state of Shota's life.
"You say that every single time, and then it takes you three weeks, tops, to find someone new to date," Juri says. Shota can tell he's trying to hold back his laughter. He's the worst friend.
"Dating sucks," Shota says, and Juri emphatically agrees.
"That's why I don't date," Juri says. Shota sighs into the phone.
"It would be so easy to just fall in love with your best friend, you know? None of the awkward getting to know you phase and no need to pretend you aren't cranky in the mornings or hate it when they mess up your stuff," Shota whines, flopping onto his bed dramatically. He's sad Juri isn't there in person to witness it. "You don't happen to secretly have feelings for me?" Shota asks hopefully. He's really feeling desperate.
"Sorry, but you have a distinct lack of boobs," Juri says. Shota can understand that. He's not much to look at in a bikini. Shota falls silent, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you want me to set up a goukon?" Juri asks. He's a good friend.
"Maybe a little later. I think maybe I should focus on the band for now," Shota says, glancing at the pile of notes on top of his dresser. He promised Iwamoto to pick their new song. It's a lot of pressure, so he's kept putting it off for a while now.
"Right. How's the new guy?" Juri asks. Shota falls silent for a moment.
"He fits," he says eventually. He hates to admit it, but after three weeks of practice with Meguro, they're starting to sound even better than before. Maybe they'd fallen into a rut, having performed together for so long.
"High praise from you," Juri says. It makes Shota smile, and he hums in confirmation. "Come see us next month?" he asks.
"Sure," Juri says, and then ends the call with an unceremonious “Food's here.” Shota almost wishes he'd called Ryota instead. He doesn't mind listening to Shota's issues for hours, even when he himself realizes he's talking in circles.
Juri's better with romantic advice, though, never afraid of being direct. Ryota has a more gentle approach, and he has a strange tendency to think none of the girls or guys Shota dates are good enough for him. It's nice, in a way, but too much of that and Shota might start believing it himself.
⁂
"Next up, Snow Man!" the host announces, and the excited cheers from the audience fill Shota's ears as he steps onto the stage, right after Iwamoto, Meguro on his side and Abe and Ryota behind them.
Ryota's familiar three, two, one starts them off, and the rhythmic beat of his drum set sets Shota at ease. Shota draws in a breath, lets his posture relax, and wraps his fingers around the microphone. He hits the first notes of the song with ease, letting the music pull him along.
The first two songs are fast-paced, with sweat running down Shota's temples as he moves around the stage, flashes a secret smile to Ryota or leans toward Abe over his keyboard to let him sing into the microphone. This is when he feels alive, most like himself, on stage, together with his friends, captivating the audience with a dazzling smile or a cocky wink.
Their set for the competition is a short one. They've played it safe, performing five songs they know best, ones that never leave the audience cold. Iwamoto thanks the audience, and announces their last song. It's a ballad written by Ryota, one that always leaves Shota with a sense of longing when he performs it.
"Good job, guys," Shota says the moment they get off the stage. "The audience ate it up," he continues, smiling smugly. He lets himself hope that this time will really be different, shaking with nerves as they gather onto the stage once again, a few hours later.
They come in second, two and a half points behind a band full of boys who look barely old enough to be out of school.
"Second place is good," Fukazawa says later, his eyes meeting Shota's through the rearview mirror of their van.
"It's not good enough," Iwamoto says, and Shota agrees. There are excuses to be made but in the end, they weren't good enough.
"We'll do better next time," Meguro says. Shota looks at him in surprise. He had been certain Meguro would jump ship the moment they lost.
"My roommate knows one of the judges," Ryota says. "Maybe he can find out where we were lacking." Shota wrinkles his nose at the mention of Mukai, the guy Ryota moved in with the previous month. It seemed like he was always there when Shota went to visit, intruding on their movie nights or songwriting sessions with bad puns spoken in a loud Kansai accent.
Ryota likes him, though, so Shota hides his dislike. Juri suggested Shota was jealous, which of course was ridiculous. There was no reason to be jealous. A few months of living together couldn't compete with a friendship that had started when they were barely out of their mothers' wombs.
⁂
Shota works part-time at a small souvenir shop near Yokohama station. It's a pain, the commute an hour both ways at best, and nearly three in total at worst. He sticks to the job, though, since the owner of the shop is lenient, letting Shota work around his band schedule.
On his days off Ryota sometimes comes over, waiting at a nearby coffee shop until Shota closes the store for the day. They usually walk along the seaside, eating the bento Ryota has picked for them on a park bench.
This night is no different, Shota and Ryota walking side-by-side in comfortable silence. It's a Saturday so the area is full of couples holding hands and groups of high schoolers enjoying a night of freedom. Shota picks a more secluded spot to eat their late dinner, a bench where they can see the harbour lights.
"You know, I can't bring girls here for a date anymore. They get jealous when I talk about us coming here all the time," Shota says. He can see a small smile on Ryota's face and reaches over to punch his arm gently.
"Hey, it's not funny. It's a serious issue," he says, but he can't help but smile, too. For a moment, Shota lets himself be happy. They've just received good news from Fukazawa: an invitation-only band competition has accepted them as one of the contenders. It's a much bigger deal than any of the local competitions they've done before, the first-place winner basically guaranteed a record deal.
"Have you looked through the songs yet?" Ryota asks after a moment. Shota grimaces and shakes his head. They need a new demo to send to the competition, the rules dictating that it must be a song they have not performed before. That means even more pressure for Shota.
"I'm sure they're all good, so why do I need to choose it? Can't we just choose one at random?" Shota whines, pushing the pickled daikon sprinkled on top of his bento to the side. Ryota leans over to carefully lift all of it to his own box.
"You said you wanted to choose this time," Ryota reminds him. Shota had said that, wanting to make sure the song suited his voice. It was even more important now that Meguro was taking up the backing vocals. Meguro wasn't half-bad, and Shota had dreams of adding harmonies to some of their refrains.
"It's hard," Shota says, a little disappointed Ryota isn't showing more compassion.
"You don't know that before you look through them. Maybe the right song is just waiting for you to look up and notice it," Ryota says, strangely serious.
Shota smiles at him, nudging his side. "You make it sound like I'll find my soulmate in that pile," he says.
"Maybe you will," Ryota says, making Shota burst out into laughter. Wouldn't that be great, he thinks.
⁂
Fukazawa finds them plenty of small clubs to play for the next few months. Meguro fits their band well, though it feels like a betrayal to Sakuma to even think that. Not that Sakuma himself thinks so. It's quite the opposite, really. He comes to their gigs or practice sessions when he has the time, always telling Shota how fresh and energetic they sound now, and how the change really made them better.
That had been the criticism Mukai had wheedled out of his judge friend, too, that while good, Snow Man was too comfortable with their regular set list, the routine killing the spark they could possess.
Still, Shota always wonders if Sakuma is just saying those things to make them feel better about leaving him behind. He isn't left behind. He's just taking his own route to success Ryota always says when they talk about it. Sometimes he's annoyingly perceptive. Or maybe it's just his ability to find the right words to ease Shota's worries.
It seems to Shota that Sakuma has found the time to visit their practices more often lately. He's always talking to Meguro, too, and has even taken up calling him Ren. Shota hears Meguro even visited Shota's studio recently, a privilege the rest of them have not been granted. In short, Sakuma is either over-compensating or he's genuinely fine with Meguro filling his spot in the band.
Shota can't blame him. Meguro is perhaps the easiest person to like that Shota has met since childhood. He's uncomplicated, friendly, and truly willing to work for his spot in their band. Yet there's still something that doesn't allow Shota to count him as a friend, a wall he's built between them. It hasn't gone unnoticed by the others, either.
Sometimes Shota wishes he could go back to high school so people would stop expecting him to act like an adult.
"Good crowd," Meguro says after a successful gig at a small venue in Roppongi, offering Shota a bottle of water that he accepts. It's a true statement. The crowds they pull in have started to get bigger week by week, some of the smaller venues even selling out a day or two before. They’ve added new songs to the set and tried to shake up their old routines, yet Shota suspects that’s only half of it.
"We didn't have this many teenagers in the audience before," Shota says. It's petty to be jealous over the new guy's visuals, even if they are good enough to draw in flocks of screaming high school girls. Shota knows it, but that doesn't stop him from feeling it. He hopes Meguro can't pick out the feeling behind his words. It's not like he can change his face.
"You know, I couldn't even dream about venues this big with my old band," Meguro says after a moment of awkward silence between them.
Shota feels instantly guilty. He vaguely knew Meguro had quit his old band to be with them, but he'd never really considered it before. He nods, a sorry on the tip of his tongue, but refusing to come out.
"Let's go for a beer?" he says instead.
Meguro agrees, and something about his smile tells Shota maybe he heard the apology anyway. He's a strange guy, needing help with high school level kanji in their lyrics but then so easily seeing through the people around him.
As the night passes on he finally lets go of the unfair resentment, letting himself genuinely enjoy Meguro's company. He's easy to talk to, he likes the same movies Shota does, and he lives only a few blocks away from Shota and Juri's apartment.
Ryota will be proud, Shota thinks, and then wonders why it even matters that much to him. It's not like he goes around wondering what the others in the band or Juri think of his actions or words. It's a mystery.
⁂
It's three weeks before the demo deadline that Shota finally gets around to picking out a song for them. He doesn't know if any of the melodies or lyrics are written by the members of his band, the anonymity a supposed guarantee of no favouritism. Not that Shota would favour one of his friends over the others, not on something as important as this song.
Four hours later he's finally read through the lyrics and sounded out the melodies on his old keyboard to figure out which of them would fit the sound of their band. Iwamoto has done a good job in narrowing the selection down, and he's quite confident that all of them would draw the audience's attention. So it's up to his personal preference, as frightening as that feels.
Shota is torn between two after careful deliberation, one a fast song that has a surprising punk vibe to it, and the other a slower one with such beautiful lyrics that it reads like poetry. In the end, he goes with the latter, too afraid of the ad-libs he'd have to perfect in three weeks to pick the faster tempo one.
Even though the anonymity of the songwriters is a supposed secret, he knows Ryota has written one. Ryota had dropped a few hints in the previous weeks, always bringing up the song choice. It felt like he had a bigger personal stake in it than usual.
That’s why Shota is surprised when he isn't able to pick Ryota's song out in the end. He has seen so many drafts, pages full of crossed-out words and half-formed refrains, melodies jotted down on bar napkins and an ever-growing pile of books on songwriting perched on top of Ryota's bedside table, that he had been quite confident in his ability to identify Ryota's song.
The emotion of the song Shota ends up choosing fits Ryota's style but the complexity of the words points more towards Abe. It doesn't matter, really. Shota is just happy he has such capable bandmates, possessing little songwriting skill himself.
⁂
The party Sakuma throws them when their demo is accepted as one of the final contenders for the band competition is an epic one. He's rented out a basement space near Shinjuku Station and invited all of their friends, along with his new coworkers from the magazine.
Shota is happier than he can remember being in a long while. It finally feels like his life is going somewhere. He gets bored after fifteen minutes of listening to Iwamoto and Fukazawa making long-time plans for the band, and so forces Meguro to join him for a karaoke rendition of an old enka song he secretly likes. A few beers in he even manages to drag Abe to the stage for a duet.
His friends always call Shota a clingy drunk, and he proves the accusation true by glueing himself to Juri's side by his fifth beer. "You're never home anymore," he yells over the loud music, making the saddest face he can muster at his friend. "You found a girlfriend, right?" he continues, following Juri's guilty gaze to a pretty girl standing in a group of Juri and Shota's college friends. "Can't believe you didn't tell me!"
"We're just friends," Juri mumbles, but the uncharacteristic blush on his face tells Shota everything he needs to know.
Shota loses track of time after the sixth beer, having a heated debate with Mukai about whether turquoise counts as green or blue until he's dragged off by Meguro. He finds himself in the middle of the dance floor next, pulled into an impromptu dance-off that Iwamoto wins.
He's feeling sweaty and gross, but he's happy regardless, surrounded by his loved ones, dancing with half-strangers until his feet hurt.
"Are you ready to go home?" Ryota's low voice asks, his arms wrapping around Shota's waist from behind.
"In a moment," Shota says, and presses back against Ryota's grounding presence. He closes his eyes as they move in a slow sway, Shota leaning his head onto Ryota's shoulder. It's strange how well they fit together.
He usually feels too self-conscious to let himself be close to Ryota like this for longer than a moment, especially in public. Something is different tonight, though, and he lets himself stay in Ryota's protective embrace. Maybe he just needs a break from the chaos of the party and the strangers around them. They dance slowly, like in a dream, the music fading into the background as Shota moves to the rhythm Ryota sets for them.
"Have you seen Sakkun? " Shota asks when he finally realizes the time and pulls away from Ryota's hold. He's slightly embarrassed. He loves Ryota, and isn't afraid to say it, but he's afraid the others around them might misunderstand the nature of their closeness. “I should thank him for the party.” Ryota nudges his head toward the back of the space.
"No, that's Meguro. I said Sakkun," Shota says, smiling at the mistake. Meguro is seated on one of the couches, and even if the lights are low, Shota can tell he's found some company he seems pretty into.
"Meguro, and Sakkun," Ryota says, taking Shota's hand and pulling him towards the exit. Shota's halfway up the stairs before his beer-hazy brain completes the math.
"No way!" he says, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances from the people smoking on the street in front of the exit.
"Are you saying they're–" Shota says, trying to wrap his head around the new information. "Meguro? With Sakkun? And you knew?" Shota asks, half wanting to go back to confirm the state of things with his own eyes but letting Ryota walk him towards the station instead.
"Yeah, it's been pretty obvious for a while," Ryota says, wrapping his arm around Shota's shoulders when he nearly stumbles off the sidewalk.
"It wasn't obvious to me," Shota pouts, shaking Ryota's arm off. He's just a little drunk; he's perfectly capable of walking by himself. Ryota shoots him a look that Shota can't decipher.
"What?" he asks accusingly. Ryota's smile is fond when he glances at Shota. "You're pretty oblivious when it comes to that stuff, you know.”
Shota wants to protest, but something in Ryota's rueful smile stops him. There's a thought that has been bugging him threatening to surface. Shota isn't sure he wants it to. He changes the topic, pushes any thoughts of love or romance or falling for your friends out of his head and demands Ryota feed him before they get home.
⁂
"What would you do if we win and become rich and famous?" Shota asks, flipping through a fashion magazine absent-mindedly. The final of the competition is only a few weeks away, but
Iwamoto has come down with a cold and they've had to cancel the day's practice. Shota doesn't mind too much, happy to spend time with Ryota.
"Play golf," Ryota says. Shota lifts his head and stares at him.
"Golf?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, "Isn't that exclusive for rich old people?"
Ryota smiles at him and shrugs. "Maybe, but I hear the paparazzi aren't allowed in." Shota laughs and goes back to his magazine, ripping out a page for his inspiration board.
"That would suit you," Ryota says, nodding at the sleek suit displayed on a haughty-looking model on the ripped-out page.
"Thanks," Shota says, and then sighs: "It's about ten times what I make in a month."
"So is that what you would do if you were rich and famous? Buy fashion?" Ryota asks. Shota ponders the question for a moment. He hasn't really thought about it. If he had the money, would he even then spend it on a ridiculously expensive suit like that?
"Sometimes, maybe. If there was a special occasion. Like a wedding or something," he muses. "Your own wedding?" Ryota asks. There's a strange pause before he speaks.
"Or your wedding. I'd be the best-looking man to walk that aisle," he says. Another suit catches his attention, one that he thinks would suit Ryota. The suits are quite different but fit together strangely well when Shota sets the pictures side-by-side on the floor.
"Is that a proposal?" Ryota asks, and Shota realizes his mistake.
"Best man. I meant best man!" he hurries to say, his whole face hot. Ryota is looking at him, and it makes Shota strangely nervous.
"Anyway, I'm taking a bath now," he says, getting up from the floor, and deciding to go for an aromatherapy one this evening. Clearly, all the stress about the band is making him act weird.
"I'll have dinner ready when you're done," Ryota says. Shota mumbles a thank you and flees to the bathroom.
⁂
Shota awakens to a strangely dark room, a too-comfortable pillow, and the warm weight of somebody else's arms stretched across his naked chest. It takes a moment for his foggy brain to reorient itself and the memories of the previous night to return.
We lost, he thinks, the feeling of defeat weighing heavy on him. They'd worked so hard, had been so confident that this finally was their moment, the crowd cheering them on and some even singing along to their new song. Yet, somehow, they'd been announced the first runner-up and not the winner.
Shota had managed some sort of smile through the public part of the evening, even looking enthusiastic for the few fans that had come to greet them after the show. One of them, taller than Meguro even though he looked barely old enough to be out of school, had insisted on a photograph with all of them and told them that in his heart they were the winners. It had soothed the disappointment somewhat, until it was just their little band, Fukazawa, Sakuma, and Ryota's roommate left in a back-alley bar a few blocks from the venue.
"It was your best performance yet," Fukazawa had said, patting Shota on the back. It seemed only he and Iwamoto truly felt the weight of the loss, the others talking and planning and celebrating a future Shota couldn't bring himself to see.
"What was the point of changing everything if the end result is the same?" Shota had asked Ryota later, the two of them tucked into a corner booth of the bar. The colourful drink in front of him made him feel sick.
"Can we go home?" he had asked, and five minutes later they were outside, walking towards the hotel they'd booked for the night. It wasn't home, but at least Ryota was there, his arm wrapped around Shota's shoulders as he flipped through the channels of the hotel room TV to distract himself. He barely remembers what he had ended up watching because it hadn't been enough of a distraction in the end.
There's a sleepy grunt coming from the person next to him, and the bed shifts. Shota's body freezes as he remembers staring at Ryota's face, and the overwhelming need to forget about the competition, the band, and even himself for even just a moment. So he'd leaned over, pressed his mouth to Ryota's, and kissed him.
He hadn't expected much, but his heart still picks up speed as he thinks about Ryota calling him pretty, his warm touch, the way he'd kissed Shota back so deeply, not hesitating even for a second.
Shota closes his eyes and tries to forget about what happened next, to not remember how Ryota had tasted, how he'd pinned Shota to the bed and taken him apart with his mouth and hands and endless compassion.
It's all too much, so he gets out of the bed, stumbles into his clothes, grabs his things and flees the room before Ryota wakes up. He doesn't want to face him, doesn't want this to be another disappointment or complication in his already messy life.
He tells Juri he's fine when he gets home, blinking away hot tears. He doesn't think he deserves the hug Juri envelops him in but he accepts it, regardless.
⁂
Ryota says nothing the next day when they meet at practice, but the vibe between them is off. It affects the band's performance, too. The drum beat is too sharp in Shota's ears, messing up his rhythm. Iwamoto ends the practice early, Shota apologising to him in private afterwards.
"I fucked up," Shota says.
"So? Aren't you going to fix it?" Iwamoto asks him. He's their leader for a reason, Shota thinks, grateful.
So a couple of days later Shota does just that. He goes over to Ryota's apartment unannounced, trusting his knowledge of Ryota's usual schedule. He uses the spare key to slip in, not really wanting Mukai to be the one opening the door for him.
He's toeing off his shoes when he catches the words carrying over from Mukai's room, stopping by the open door.
"He's never been great with mornings after," he hears Ryota say. It's obvious what he's talking about. It's probably true what Ryota is saying about him, too, though he doesn't want to think too deeply about it.
"Shouldn't it be different when it's your best friend?" Mukai says next. Guilt settles heavily in the pit of Shota's stomach. He doesn't want to be caught eavesdropping, so takes a step forward, clearing his throat. Mukai notices him first, a slightly guilty expression on his face.
"Hello, Shota," he says, but Shota ignores him, his eyes trained on Ryota. He looks stiff and guarded. It makes Shota feel small.
"Could we talk?" he asks Ryota. Mukai makes an excuse about needing groceries and leaves the apartment, leaving Ryota and Shota alone.
Shota follows Ryota to his bedroom, sitting on the bed before he can think better of it. Ryota takes his usual place next to him. All the excuses Shota meant to say, of being drunk, lonely, and feeling defeated feel like the lies they are.
He licks his lips. It is up to him to fix things.
"I'm sorry for making it weird," Shota says finally, turning to look at Ryota. "Can we just–" he pauses for a moment to think. "Can we just forget about it and go back to just being best friends?"
Ryota looks at him for a long moment before he nods. It feels like there is something he isn't saying.
"Juri sleeps with his friends all the time and it's fine! It's a normal thing to do these days. Actually, it's probably weird we didn't do it before, right?" Shota hurries to say, but the attempt at a joke falls flat when Ryota's brows knit together. Ryota rarely gets angry with Shota, and the thought of having made things even worse makes panic rise in Shota's throat.
For the first time ever Shota is glad when Mukai announces his presence, armed with snacks and drinks and wedging himself between Shota and Ryota on Ryota's bed. They watch a mediocre movie together, eat a simple dinner, and by the time Shota leaves he's gathered his courage once more.
"I really am sorry," he says quietly. He might be bad at noticing things but he knows there is something he said or did that genuinely upset Ryota. It's not the first time he's apologised without really knowing what for.
Ryota nods, and Shota knows he's forgiven. Ryota spoils him like that. Shota leans in for an impromptu hug, holding Ryota tight for a few seconds before fleeing, strangely embarrassed by the embrace.
The next time they meet everything is back to normal, and a weight lifts from Shota's shoulders. In time, he'll stop dreaming about Ryota's kisses, too.
⁂
Shota wakes up to his phone vibrating so hard it slips off the edge of his bed and drops to the floor with a loud clatter. It's too early for his tastes, but the phone keeps buzzing every time he's just about to fall back asleep, so he reaches for it with a groan. He has only one eye open as he thumbs open the screen and reads the little LINE bubble that tells him he has 100 new messages. He glances at the time, 8:04, and groans again. The band group chat is a mess of memes and long walls of text that make no sense to Shota's half-asleep brain.
Shut up it's early. he types, and drops the phone back on the mattress. He's woken up by his ringtone a few minutes later. It's Ryota, so he picks up, only a little annoyed.
"This better be good," he says, resting the phone on his ear and closing his eyes again.
"We got offered a record deal," Ryota says, in much the same tone that he used to say stuff like
we're out of milk or Rainbow Rose doesn't like swearing. It takes a second for Shota's brain to catch up with the actual message.
"What?" he asks, sitting up in his bed and nearly dropping his phone again. "Record deal?" Shota pinches himself. It hurts, but he still isn't convinced this isn't a dream.
The six of them gather at the practice room, an hour later. He's pretty sure Iwamoto and Fukazawa have been crying, their eyes red-rimmed when they pull the whole band into a tight hug.
"Can someone explain what's going on?" Shota says, impatient, tugging at Iwamoto's sleeve when he won't stop hugging them.
"There's a fan whose father works for a record company, it seems," Fukazawa says. "He's the tall kid, the one who asked for Meguro's autograph last time," Abe fills in. "Raul?" Meguro asks with surprise on his face.
"You know his name?" Shota asks while Ryota asks about the company. They're all talking on top of each other until Iwamoto pulls himself together, clapping his hands and ordering everyone to take a seat.
It's a smaller indie label that has made the offer to them, Fukazawa explains while he goes through the offered contract. The legal jargon goes over Shota's head for the most part, but he trusts Fukazawa to handle the details. He's been with the band since they all met in high school, always pushing them forward and finding them opportunities. Shota thinks that without him and Iwamoto, the band would have fallen apart years ago.
Shota tries to focus on the conversation Fukawaza is having with the others about the pros and cons of accepting the offer as is versus trying to negotiate a better one but gets bored again soon. He's not at all interested in the percentages and numbers they're talking about. Sure, Shota knows he should care, that the percentage might be the difference between living with a roommate in a dingy apartment at the end of a train line or finding a nice place in more central Tokyo, but he doesn't have much input to give here. So he leans his head on Ryota's shoulder and starts reading a manga on his phone.
There have been so many disappointments he doesn't let himself believe in this quite yet, but there is a small glow of hope bubbling in his chest. Maybe this time it will work out for them.
⁂
When Juri yells at him for five minutes straight after he trips on a pile of Shota's magazines at five-thirty in the morning Shota knows it's time to sort through them. It's his own fault, really, for trying to sneak home in the dark, but Juri is also somewhat scary when he's angry, so Shota acquiesces.
The magazines are the one splurge he lets himself have even if he can't afford any of the products advertised on the glossy pages. Instead, he makes do with discounted knock-offs of beauty products from the 100 yen store. Shota sits down on the floor the next afternoon, flipping through each magazine, carefully judging whether it's one he wants to keep or one he's willing to part with.
It's then when he finds two sheets of music stuck between the pages of a wedding magazine. He picks the papers up, glancing at the unfamiliar title. It's not unusual for him to misplace his notes, but this song doesn't seem like any they've practised, or even considered. It's a love song, Shota notices as he skims through the pages.
He's about to set the song aside to focus on the task at hand when his eyes catch a few lines on the second page. It's a beautiful description of a man in love watching his lover doing ordinary things like cleansing his makeup after a long day at work or pinning his dreams on a board made of blue cardboard.
Shota stills for a moment, then slowly turns his head and stares at the blue cardboard board on the wall, the one covered in magazine clippings and pictures of him and his friends.
He gets up, shuts himself in his room, and picks up the notes again.
On the second read, he can recognize that the song is written by Ryota, his style unmistakable. Ryota has always been skilled with describing complex emotions with simple words and seeing the beauty of ordinary things. What Shota can't fathom is why every little line in the song reminds him of a moment between him and Ryota from the fated meeting when they were young to the promise of staying together through thick and thin.
It could be a song about their friendship except that the raw emotion of unrequited love comes through so clearly that there's no chance of it being unintentional. Shota sits in the same spot, reading over the lyrics over and over until it's dark outside and his legs have fallen asleep.
Ryota can't be in love with him, yet the proof is written right there above a beautiful melody. It's a confession, plain and simple, and one that Ryota meant for Shota to see.
"Shoppi?" Juri's voice comes through the door. When Shota doesn't answer he sticks his head in.
"What's up?" Juri asks, and Shota hands him the notes silently. Juri reads through them, opens his mouth, then frowns and closes it, reading through the pages again. Then he nods, handing the song back to Shota.
"You feel the same?" he asks like it's that simple. Like this isn't the biggest curveball in Shota's life, something earth-shattering that Shota has no clue how to deal with.
Except, when he thinks about it, maybe it really is that simple.
There was a time, years ago, when Shota had fancied himself in love with Ryota. Neither of them had been single then, though, so Shota had sucked it up and decided to move on. Afterwards, to protect himself, he'd banned even the idea of it from his thoughts.
Now that he lets himself consider it, it's easy to see those feelings never really went anywhere. Ryota is his favourite person on the planet, the only one he's willing to see even on his worst days, the one Shota is drawn to, the one who makes him smile, the one who's always been a constant in the ups and downs of Shota's life.
It takes one call to Iwamoto to change the song they're planning on recording for their first single, and a text to Ryota to let him know the date and time Shota will be in the recording studio. Shota knows he'll be there even without a direct invite because he's always there during the important moments of Shota's life.
That night, he can't sleep, his thoughts racing, and his whole body trembling with anticipation.
⁂
Shota can see Ryota entering the recording studio out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't look up, instead focusing on the words on the sheet of music in front of him. The loud beats of his heart almost drown out the music starting to play from the headphones, and he misses his cue, muttering an apology as the technician restarts the track.
This time he's prepared, closing his eyes and singing the first few words. The notes come out breathy, his voice shaking, but he ignores it and carries on. There's no need to be perfect on the first take.
By the time he hits the first refrain, he's already lost in the song, living the words that Ryota wrote for him, singing the melody that is pensive but hopeful, breaking his heart and then healing it with such simple chords.
He's glad the technician lets him sing the whole song through on the first take. He blinks the tears from his eyes when the song finishes and the last note fades away. The technician and the kid, Raul who's somehow wheedled his way into the studio, are giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. It's not their reactions that he's looking for.
Ryota is looking at him through the glass. Shota thinks there's a question in his eyes. It's almost enough to make him want to flee, but he chooses to stay.
The next hour is anticlimactic, the producer joining them insisting Shota sing the song through a couple more times. After that he asks Shota to record the originally planned single, too, just to
be sure. He figures he needs to get used to being bossed around if they want to keep the record deal.
Still, he's feeling a little sour when he finally gets permission to go home. Shota is half-expecting Ryota to have left, but he's right there outside the studio door when Shota finally steps out. Shota waves hello, drawing a smile from Ryota.
"Should we go somewhere more private?" Ryota asks, and there's something in his tone that causes shivers to run down Shota's spine. He nods, and they walk out, both quiet. It's only on the subway that they realize both of their places are out of the question.
"Koji's mother is over," Ryota says apologetically, and Shota has just received a text from Juri giving him a heads up about his gaming buddies coming over. Knowing them, they won't leave or sleep until the first train the next morning.
They end up in that part of the town where Shota first kissed a boy, and where the love hotels are more lenient towards same-sex couples. Not that they are one, Shota thinks, until Ryota grabs his hand inside the elevator and doesn't let go until they're in the safety of the garishly decorated room.
"This is the worst," Shota whines, pushing a leopard-print pillow out of the way to sit down on the huge bed. Ryota smiles at him, and somehow that makes Shota feel better about the ridiculous surroundings.
"If anyone asks, I confessed on the top of the Tokyo Tower after a nice dinner and an evening walk," Shota says. He's talking too much, but he's nervous. He's never nervous around Ryota, and he isn't sure he likes the change.
"Are you going to confess?" Ryota asks, and his voice is so hopeful Shota feels he might explode. His heart is beating so fast again, and his palms are clammy. He wipes them surreptitiously on his jeans.
"Well, I was thinking about it," he says, shifting uncomfortably.
"But what?" Ryota asks. Sometimes Shota wishes he was a little worse at interpreting Shota's moods and unsaid words.
"What if we fuck it up?" Shota asks. He feels nauseous even thinking about losing Ryota as a friend. He's always there for Shota when he needed him. Even back in kindergarten, he'd been the first to offer a hand when Shota had fallen down and scraped his knee.
"Do you think I'd let us fuck it up?" Ryota asks. It's definitely not something Ryota can promise but Shota believes him anyway. Ryota has slipped his hand into Shota's again, his palm warm against Shota's. It feels nice. Shota thinks he could get used to it.
He procrastinates for a moment, letting his gaze travel around the room before he meets Ryota's eyes again.
"So," he says, and clears his throat. "I might be a little in love with you," he says, cheeks hot but his words coming out weirdly dispassionate. Luckily Ryota knows him and ignores his haughty tone, the smile on his face wide, and happy.
"I'm in love with you, too. But you already know that," he says, and Shota wants to argue a little
- the love song didn't even name Shota - but then Ryota is leaning in for a kiss. Shota falters for a second, thinking about their previous kisses that caused weird vibes between them for months after.
Ryota, maybe sensing Shota's thoughts, squeezes his hand. The kiss is slower than before, gentler, Ryota's hand cupping Shota's face to keep him close, to soothe him.
It's a good kiss. Possibly the best kiss Shota has ever experienced. He chases after Ryota's mouth when he pulls back, just to be sure. Ryota smells nice, and there's no annoying stubble scraping Shota's skin, no sticky lip gloss, and just a hint of tongue that leaves Shota dizzy and wanting more.
"I'm not having sex in here," Shota pants, half-hoping for Ryota to ignore his protest. He doesn't, however, because he is Shota's closest friend and most of the time he knows better what Shota needs than Shota does himself. "Yeah, okay," Ryota hums and presses a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away.
Neither of them really wants to go home alone, though, so they end up getting in bed anyway. Shota settles easily into Ryota's arms, nuzzling his shoulder.
"I'm happy," he says, receiving another kiss from Ryota. Everything is perfect like this, and he forgets about their surroundings, about his troubles, about having to explain to everyone that they're together despite the strict no-dating policy Fukazawa has set as the ground rule for their band.
Shota falls asleep listening to the steady beat of Ryota's heart, secure in the knowledge that whatever is thrown their way he'll have someone he loves to face it together with.
Pairings: Watanabe Shota / Miyadate Ryota
Genres: Friends to lovers, Slow burn
Rating: R
Summary:
Ryota's familiar three, two, one starts them off, and the rhythmic beat of his drum set sets Shota at ease. Shota draws in a breath, lets his posture relax, and wraps his fingers around the microphone. He hits the first notes of the song with ease, letting the music pull him along.
or
To him, Ryota is the air he breathes.
Warnings:
Mentions of alcohol/drunkenness, allusions to sex
Author's notes:
Dear receiver, it was a pleasure to write for you. I hope I managed to make justice to Yurigumi and the bond they share.
The biggest thank you to my beta ♥
When Watanabe Shota was six years old, he told the pretty kindergarten teacher that in twenty years, he wanted to be married to her with six kids and a dog, work as a firefighter and live next door to his best friend, Miyadate Ryota.
On the eve of Shota's 26th birthday, he's recently broken up with his girlfriend of two years, living in a rundown apartment building five kilometres from the nearest train station, with no steady job and barely any prospects to speak of.
He's still friends with Ryota, though, and while they're not quite next-door neighbours, they are in a band together. Snow Man, Ryota and Shota's band of six years, has yet to find a record deal but does have a small but loyal fanbase and a semi-constant stream of paying gigs. It's not what Shota dreamed for them back when he was twenty and sure they'd conquer the world in mere months, but it's better than giving up his dreams completely.
The five of them are gathered at the practice room they've been renting since the band was formed. Everyone except Shota is excited about a local band competition they're planning to
take part in, talking setlists, and outfits, and about adding extra practice. Shota tries to join in, but somehow he can't make himself feel it.
It's not the first chance like this they've received, and while they have consistently placed well since their formation, they always seem to fall short. They've placed in the final three more times than he can count but have never actually managed to win first place and the bigger venues and possibilities that would bring.
"Has anyone called Sakkun?" Shota asks no one in particular. Ryota shakes his head, reaching over to grab Shota's hand and drag him down to the couch he's sitting on. Shota hates the couch; it smells, is lumpy and eats his phone at least twice a month. Maybe if they ever actually won one of these things they could afford a new one.
"Sakuma just got signed as a freelancer for Hana to Yume," Abe says, looking up from his laptop. He's the only one of them with a half-decent job, the rest of them not managing more than part-time with their useless music degrees. Abe is the perfect all-around genius in Shota's eyes, managing boring legal texts but also writing the most beautiful lyrics for the songs Iwamoto and Ryota come up with.
"Really?" Shota says, surprised he hadn’t heard of it before. Becoming a mangaka had been Sakuma's dream for as long as Shota had known him. Shota just never thought that would mean choosing between the band and his art one day.
Shota feels a slight nudge to his side, turning his head to Ryota. "What?" he mouths, frowning when Ryota just shakes his head and looks away.
"There’s just the bassist to think about," Shota hears Fukazawa say a moment later. He's been the manager of the band since their formation, and is as much a part of the band as anyone else. Shota's head snaps up from his phone. "We have a bassist," he says, a frown on his face. He can see Fukazawa glancing first at Iwamoto, then Abe, and then finally at Ryota. Everyone looks equally as uncomfortable, and Ryota is the only one not looking away when Shota turns to him.
"Shoppi, Sakuma won't have the time to commit to this," Iwamoto says, his voice soft. Shota knows Iwamoto is trying to placate him, and it's irritating. "Have you even asked him?" Shota asks, getting up to stare at everyone again. He can't believe he's the only one not accepting the ludicrous idea of Sakuma not being a part of the band anymore. Iwamoto sighs, and sits back down. Shota crosses his arms and stares at Abe next.
"You were there when we discussed this," Abe says, his voice calm as usual. It's hard to get mad at someone so reasonable, but Shota tries anyway. "He didn't know there was a competition coming up!" Shota argues, turning to stare at Fukazawa again, feeling tension rising inside him. They didn't get this far by letting each other quit just like that, and he doesn't understand why no one else is willing to fight for them.
"Shota," Ryota says, his warm hand pressing into Shota's shoulder. "It's okay.” Shota lets himself be guided back onto the horrible couch that smells like sweat and broken dreams.
"I don't want anyone new," Shota says, his eyes burning.
"I know," Ryota says, squeezing his hand, and somehow that makes everything feel a tiny bit better.
The competition is the third week of January, but by late December they're still without a bassist. Sakuma helps them out when he can but can barely manage one or two hours per week, his deadlines too strict to leave much free time.
Shota sees it as another bad sign, the universe telling them to just give up already. He can't bring himself to say as much to anyone, though, stubbornly practising the songs until his throat is raw and his voice almost gone.
Every candidate they interview is either too old, not committed enough, or asking for way too much money. The few that seem suitable at first are quickly dismissed after a practice session or two when it becomes clear that their style just doesn't suit the band.
In the end, they find their new bassist entirely by accident. They're playing a local venue, a gig that was booked months before Sakuma announced he was leaving. They've managed to get a bassist on loan from another band, a friend of Iwamoto's. He cancels at the last minute though, his train cancelled due to an accident on the tracks.
They're all gathered backstage, trying to figure out if they could manage without a bassist, if maybe they could play the songs from tape, or if maybe Fukazawa could learn the chords in the thirty minutes left. One of the guys in the band playing before them approaches Iwamoto and pulls him aside.
"Meguro," Shota says when Abe asks his name. Shota knows Meguro vaguely, as he used to work part-time at the music shop where Shota got his sheet music.
"He's offered to fill in," Iwamoto explains a few minutes later. "Says he knows most of our songs, and can keep up if we write down the chords."
It seems unlikely to work, but the only other chance is to cancel, and none of them want that. Their audience might be on the small side, but they're devoted, and none of them want to let any of their fans down.
"Maybe it's a Christmas miracle," Ryota says a few hours later when they're celebrating the successful gig at the bar down the road. "Maybe," Shota says, and can't help but smile. Meguro managed to keep up with barely a hitch, and the audience seemed excited about the new addition, too.
"I'll ask him to join us. If he's interested, of course," Iwamoto says. Shota's shoulders tense. "Is that okay with everyone?" he asks, looking at Shota. No, Shota wants to say, but that would be childish. They need a new bassist, and Meguro has proved himself more than capable.
"Yes," he says, and hopes Ryota really is right, and this is the miracle they've all been waiting for.
"I'm going to die alone," Shota whines into the phone the moment Juri picks up. He's at home, staring forlornly at the small fridge in the corner of the kitchenette. His ex used to come over every Sunday and Wednesday and cook several days' worth of dinner. Now, there’s only a bottle of soy sauce, three cans of cheap beer and a shrivelled radish, the fridge otherwise empty.
"Hello to you, too," Juri says. It sounds like Juri is at a party of some sort, happy laughter and chatter almost drowning out his words. It makes Shota feel even more alone than he did before. What good is a roommate if he isn't even there when Shota requires company?
"So I take it you saw the picture," Juri says. Shota hears the click of a door, and the noise from Juri's end of the line quietens.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Shota says, though he does. He did see the picture
she posted, one of her all smiley next to a handsome guy. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and they had matching phone cases. It felt like the picture was a big fuck you aimed at Shota.
"Right," Juri says. "You were the one who broke up with her, remember?"
Shota closes the fridge door with a slam. Who broke up with whom is beside the point.
"The point is, I'm going to die alone," he says and picks up an opened box of snacks two months past the expiration date. They taste stale, a fitting allegory for the state of Shota's life.
"You say that every single time, and then it takes you three weeks, tops, to find someone new to date," Juri says. Shota can tell he's trying to hold back his laughter. He's the worst friend.
"Dating sucks," Shota says, and Juri emphatically agrees.
"That's why I don't date," Juri says. Shota sighs into the phone.
"It would be so easy to just fall in love with your best friend, you know? None of the awkward getting to know you phase and no need to pretend you aren't cranky in the mornings or hate it when they mess up your stuff," Shota whines, flopping onto his bed dramatically. He's sad Juri isn't there in person to witness it. "You don't happen to secretly have feelings for me?" Shota asks hopefully. He's really feeling desperate.
"Sorry, but you have a distinct lack of boobs," Juri says. Shota can understand that. He's not much to look at in a bikini. Shota falls silent, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you want me to set up a goukon?" Juri asks. He's a good friend.
"Maybe a little later. I think maybe I should focus on the band for now," Shota says, glancing at the pile of notes on top of his dresser. He promised Iwamoto to pick their new song. It's a lot of pressure, so he's kept putting it off for a while now.
"Right. How's the new guy?" Juri asks. Shota falls silent for a moment.
"He fits," he says eventually. He hates to admit it, but after three weeks of practice with Meguro, they're starting to sound even better than before. Maybe they'd fallen into a rut, having performed together for so long.
"High praise from you," Juri says. It makes Shota smile, and he hums in confirmation. "Come see us next month?" he asks.
"Sure," Juri says, and then ends the call with an unceremonious “Food's here.” Shota almost wishes he'd called Ryota instead. He doesn't mind listening to Shota's issues for hours, even when he himself realizes he's talking in circles.
Juri's better with romantic advice, though, never afraid of being direct. Ryota has a more gentle approach, and he has a strange tendency to think none of the girls or guys Shota dates are good enough for him. It's nice, in a way, but too much of that and Shota might start believing it himself.
"Next up, Snow Man!" the host announces, and the excited cheers from the audience fill Shota's ears as he steps onto the stage, right after Iwamoto, Meguro on his side and Abe and Ryota behind them.
Ryota's familiar three, two, one starts them off, and the rhythmic beat of his drum set sets Shota at ease. Shota draws in a breath, lets his posture relax, and wraps his fingers around the microphone. He hits the first notes of the song with ease, letting the music pull him along.
The first two songs are fast-paced, with sweat running down Shota's temples as he moves around the stage, flashes a secret smile to Ryota or leans toward Abe over his keyboard to let him sing into the microphone. This is when he feels alive, most like himself, on stage, together with his friends, captivating the audience with a dazzling smile or a cocky wink.
Their set for the competition is a short one. They've played it safe, performing five songs they know best, ones that never leave the audience cold. Iwamoto thanks the audience, and announces their last song. It's a ballad written by Ryota, one that always leaves Shota with a sense of longing when he performs it.
"Good job, guys," Shota says the moment they get off the stage. "The audience ate it up," he continues, smiling smugly. He lets himself hope that this time will really be different, shaking with nerves as they gather onto the stage once again, a few hours later.
They come in second, two and a half points behind a band full of boys who look barely old enough to be out of school.
"Second place is good," Fukazawa says later, his eyes meeting Shota's through the rearview mirror of their van.
"It's not good enough," Iwamoto says, and Shota agrees. There are excuses to be made but in the end, they weren't good enough.
"We'll do better next time," Meguro says. Shota looks at him in surprise. He had been certain Meguro would jump ship the moment they lost.
"My roommate knows one of the judges," Ryota says. "Maybe he can find out where we were lacking." Shota wrinkles his nose at the mention of Mukai, the guy Ryota moved in with the previous month. It seemed like he was always there when Shota went to visit, intruding on their movie nights or songwriting sessions with bad puns spoken in a loud Kansai accent.
Ryota likes him, though, so Shota hides his dislike. Juri suggested Shota was jealous, which of course was ridiculous. There was no reason to be jealous. A few months of living together couldn't compete with a friendship that had started when they were barely out of their mothers' wombs.
Shota works part-time at a small souvenir shop near Yokohama station. It's a pain, the commute an hour both ways at best, and nearly three in total at worst. He sticks to the job, though, since the owner of the shop is lenient, letting Shota work around his band schedule.
On his days off Ryota sometimes comes over, waiting at a nearby coffee shop until Shota closes the store for the day. They usually walk along the seaside, eating the bento Ryota has picked for them on a park bench.
This night is no different, Shota and Ryota walking side-by-side in comfortable silence. It's a Saturday so the area is full of couples holding hands and groups of high schoolers enjoying a night of freedom. Shota picks a more secluded spot to eat their late dinner, a bench where they can see the harbour lights.
"You know, I can't bring girls here for a date anymore. They get jealous when I talk about us coming here all the time," Shota says. He can see a small smile on Ryota's face and reaches over to punch his arm gently.
"Hey, it's not funny. It's a serious issue," he says, but he can't help but smile, too. For a moment, Shota lets himself be happy. They've just received good news from Fukazawa: an invitation-only band competition has accepted them as one of the contenders. It's a much bigger deal than any of the local competitions they've done before, the first-place winner basically guaranteed a record deal.
"Have you looked through the songs yet?" Ryota asks after a moment. Shota grimaces and shakes his head. They need a new demo to send to the competition, the rules dictating that it must be a song they have not performed before. That means even more pressure for Shota.
"I'm sure they're all good, so why do I need to choose it? Can't we just choose one at random?" Shota whines, pushing the pickled daikon sprinkled on top of his bento to the side. Ryota leans over to carefully lift all of it to his own box.
"You said you wanted to choose this time," Ryota reminds him. Shota had said that, wanting to make sure the song suited his voice. It was even more important now that Meguro was taking up the backing vocals. Meguro wasn't half-bad, and Shota had dreams of adding harmonies to some of their refrains.
"It's hard," Shota says, a little disappointed Ryota isn't showing more compassion.
"You don't know that before you look through them. Maybe the right song is just waiting for you to look up and notice it," Ryota says, strangely serious.
Shota smiles at him, nudging his side. "You make it sound like I'll find my soulmate in that pile," he says.
"Maybe you will," Ryota says, making Shota burst out into laughter. Wouldn't that be great, he thinks.
Fukazawa finds them plenty of small clubs to play for the next few months. Meguro fits their band well, though it feels like a betrayal to Sakuma to even think that. Not that Sakuma himself thinks so. It's quite the opposite, really. He comes to their gigs or practice sessions when he has the time, always telling Shota how fresh and energetic they sound now, and how the change really made them better.
That had been the criticism Mukai had wheedled out of his judge friend, too, that while good, Snow Man was too comfortable with their regular set list, the routine killing the spark they could possess.
Still, Shota always wonders if Sakuma is just saying those things to make them feel better about leaving him behind. He isn't left behind. He's just taking his own route to success Ryota always says when they talk about it. Sometimes he's annoyingly perceptive. Or maybe it's just his ability to find the right words to ease Shota's worries.
It seems to Shota that Sakuma has found the time to visit their practices more often lately. He's always talking to Meguro, too, and has even taken up calling him Ren. Shota hears Meguro even visited Shota's studio recently, a privilege the rest of them have not been granted. In short, Sakuma is either over-compensating or he's genuinely fine with Meguro filling his spot in the band.
Shota can't blame him. Meguro is perhaps the easiest person to like that Shota has met since childhood. He's uncomplicated, friendly, and truly willing to work for his spot in their band. Yet there's still something that doesn't allow Shota to count him as a friend, a wall he's built between them. It hasn't gone unnoticed by the others, either.
Sometimes Shota wishes he could go back to high school so people would stop expecting him to act like an adult.
"Good crowd," Meguro says after a successful gig at a small venue in Roppongi, offering Shota a bottle of water that he accepts. It's a true statement. The crowds they pull in have started to get bigger week by week, some of the smaller venues even selling out a day or two before. They’ve added new songs to the set and tried to shake up their old routines, yet Shota suspects that’s only half of it.
"We didn't have this many teenagers in the audience before," Shota says. It's petty to be jealous over the new guy's visuals, even if they are good enough to draw in flocks of screaming high school girls. Shota knows it, but that doesn't stop him from feeling it. He hopes Meguro can't pick out the feeling behind his words. It's not like he can change his face.
"You know, I couldn't even dream about venues this big with my old band," Meguro says after a moment of awkward silence between them.
Shota feels instantly guilty. He vaguely knew Meguro had quit his old band to be with them, but he'd never really considered it before. He nods, a sorry on the tip of his tongue, but refusing to come out.
"Let's go for a beer?" he says instead.
Meguro agrees, and something about his smile tells Shota maybe he heard the apology anyway. He's a strange guy, needing help with high school level kanji in their lyrics but then so easily seeing through the people around him.
As the night passes on he finally lets go of the unfair resentment, letting himself genuinely enjoy Meguro's company. He's easy to talk to, he likes the same movies Shota does, and he lives only a few blocks away from Shota and Juri's apartment.
Ryota will be proud, Shota thinks, and then wonders why it even matters that much to him. It's not like he goes around wondering what the others in the band or Juri think of his actions or words. It's a mystery.
It's three weeks before the demo deadline that Shota finally gets around to picking out a song for them. He doesn't know if any of the melodies or lyrics are written by the members of his band, the anonymity a supposed guarantee of no favouritism. Not that Shota would favour one of his friends over the others, not on something as important as this song.
Four hours later he's finally read through the lyrics and sounded out the melodies on his old keyboard to figure out which of them would fit the sound of their band. Iwamoto has done a good job in narrowing the selection down, and he's quite confident that all of them would draw the audience's attention. So it's up to his personal preference, as frightening as that feels.
Shota is torn between two after careful deliberation, one a fast song that has a surprising punk vibe to it, and the other a slower one with such beautiful lyrics that it reads like poetry. In the end, he goes with the latter, too afraid of the ad-libs he'd have to perfect in three weeks to pick the faster tempo one.
Even though the anonymity of the songwriters is a supposed secret, he knows Ryota has written one. Ryota had dropped a few hints in the previous weeks, always bringing up the song choice. It felt like he had a bigger personal stake in it than usual.
That’s why Shota is surprised when he isn't able to pick Ryota's song out in the end. He has seen so many drafts, pages full of crossed-out words and half-formed refrains, melodies jotted down on bar napkins and an ever-growing pile of books on songwriting perched on top of Ryota's bedside table, that he had been quite confident in his ability to identify Ryota's song.
The emotion of the song Shota ends up choosing fits Ryota's style but the complexity of the words points more towards Abe. It doesn't matter, really. Shota is just happy he has such capable bandmates, possessing little songwriting skill himself.
The party Sakuma throws them when their demo is accepted as one of the final contenders for the band competition is an epic one. He's rented out a basement space near Shinjuku Station and invited all of their friends, along with his new coworkers from the magazine.
Shota is happier than he can remember being in a long while. It finally feels like his life is going somewhere. He gets bored after fifteen minutes of listening to Iwamoto and Fukazawa making long-time plans for the band, and so forces Meguro to join him for a karaoke rendition of an old enka song he secretly likes. A few beers in he even manages to drag Abe to the stage for a duet.
His friends always call Shota a clingy drunk, and he proves the accusation true by glueing himself to Juri's side by his fifth beer. "You're never home anymore," he yells over the loud music, making the saddest face he can muster at his friend. "You found a girlfriend, right?" he continues, following Juri's guilty gaze to a pretty girl standing in a group of Juri and Shota's college friends. "Can't believe you didn't tell me!"
"We're just friends," Juri mumbles, but the uncharacteristic blush on his face tells Shota everything he needs to know.
Shota loses track of time after the sixth beer, having a heated debate with Mukai about whether turquoise counts as green or blue until he's dragged off by Meguro. He finds himself in the middle of the dance floor next, pulled into an impromptu dance-off that Iwamoto wins.
He's feeling sweaty and gross, but he's happy regardless, surrounded by his loved ones, dancing with half-strangers until his feet hurt.
"Are you ready to go home?" Ryota's low voice asks, his arms wrapping around Shota's waist from behind.
"In a moment," Shota says, and presses back against Ryota's grounding presence. He closes his eyes as they move in a slow sway, Shota leaning his head onto Ryota's shoulder. It's strange how well they fit together.
He usually feels too self-conscious to let himself be close to Ryota like this for longer than a moment, especially in public. Something is different tonight, though, and he lets himself stay in Ryota's protective embrace. Maybe he just needs a break from the chaos of the party and the strangers around them. They dance slowly, like in a dream, the music fading into the background as Shota moves to the rhythm Ryota sets for them.
"Have you seen Sakkun? " Shota asks when he finally realizes the time and pulls away from Ryota's hold. He's slightly embarrassed. He loves Ryota, and isn't afraid to say it, but he's afraid the others around them might misunderstand the nature of their closeness. “I should thank him for the party.” Ryota nudges his head toward the back of the space.
"No, that's Meguro. I said Sakkun," Shota says, smiling at the mistake. Meguro is seated on one of the couches, and even if the lights are low, Shota can tell he's found some company he seems pretty into.
"Meguro, and Sakkun," Ryota says, taking Shota's hand and pulling him towards the exit. Shota's halfway up the stairs before his beer-hazy brain completes the math.
"No way!" he says, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances from the people smoking on the street in front of the exit.
"Are you saying they're–" Shota says, trying to wrap his head around the new information. "Meguro? With Sakkun? And you knew?" Shota asks, half wanting to go back to confirm the state of things with his own eyes but letting Ryota walk him towards the station instead.
"Yeah, it's been pretty obvious for a while," Ryota says, wrapping his arm around Shota's shoulders when he nearly stumbles off the sidewalk.
"It wasn't obvious to me," Shota pouts, shaking Ryota's arm off. He's just a little drunk; he's perfectly capable of walking by himself. Ryota shoots him a look that Shota can't decipher.
"What?" he asks accusingly. Ryota's smile is fond when he glances at Shota. "You're pretty oblivious when it comes to that stuff, you know.”
Shota wants to protest, but something in Ryota's rueful smile stops him. There's a thought that has been bugging him threatening to surface. Shota isn't sure he wants it to. He changes the topic, pushes any thoughts of love or romance or falling for your friends out of his head and demands Ryota feed him before they get home.
"What would you do if we win and become rich and famous?" Shota asks, flipping through a fashion magazine absent-mindedly. The final of the competition is only a few weeks away, but
Iwamoto has come down with a cold and they've had to cancel the day's practice. Shota doesn't mind too much, happy to spend time with Ryota.
"Play golf," Ryota says. Shota lifts his head and stares at him.
"Golf?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, "Isn't that exclusive for rich old people?"
Ryota smiles at him and shrugs. "Maybe, but I hear the paparazzi aren't allowed in." Shota laughs and goes back to his magazine, ripping out a page for his inspiration board.
"That would suit you," Ryota says, nodding at the sleek suit displayed on a haughty-looking model on the ripped-out page.
"Thanks," Shota says, and then sighs: "It's about ten times what I make in a month."
"So is that what you would do if you were rich and famous? Buy fashion?" Ryota asks. Shota ponders the question for a moment. He hasn't really thought about it. If he had the money, would he even then spend it on a ridiculously expensive suit like that?
"Sometimes, maybe. If there was a special occasion. Like a wedding or something," he muses. "Your own wedding?" Ryota asks. There's a strange pause before he speaks.
"Or your wedding. I'd be the best-looking man to walk that aisle," he says. Another suit catches his attention, one that he thinks would suit Ryota. The suits are quite different but fit together strangely well when Shota sets the pictures side-by-side on the floor.
"Is that a proposal?" Ryota asks, and Shota realizes his mistake.
"Best man. I meant best man!" he hurries to say, his whole face hot. Ryota is looking at him, and it makes Shota strangely nervous.
"Anyway, I'm taking a bath now," he says, getting up from the floor, and deciding to go for an aromatherapy one this evening. Clearly, all the stress about the band is making him act weird.
"I'll have dinner ready when you're done," Ryota says. Shota mumbles a thank you and flees to the bathroom.
Shota awakens to a strangely dark room, a too-comfortable pillow, and the warm weight of somebody else's arms stretched across his naked chest. It takes a moment for his foggy brain to reorient itself and the memories of the previous night to return.
We lost, he thinks, the feeling of defeat weighing heavy on him. They'd worked so hard, had been so confident that this finally was their moment, the crowd cheering them on and some even singing along to their new song. Yet, somehow, they'd been announced the first runner-up and not the winner.
Shota had managed some sort of smile through the public part of the evening, even looking enthusiastic for the few fans that had come to greet them after the show. One of them, taller than Meguro even though he looked barely old enough to be out of school, had insisted on a photograph with all of them and told them that in his heart they were the winners. It had soothed the disappointment somewhat, until it was just their little band, Fukazawa, Sakuma, and Ryota's roommate left in a back-alley bar a few blocks from the venue.
"It was your best performance yet," Fukazawa had said, patting Shota on the back. It seemed only he and Iwamoto truly felt the weight of the loss, the others talking and planning and celebrating a future Shota couldn't bring himself to see.
"What was the point of changing everything if the end result is the same?" Shota had asked Ryota later, the two of them tucked into a corner booth of the bar. The colourful drink in front of him made him feel sick.
"Can we go home?" he had asked, and five minutes later they were outside, walking towards the hotel they'd booked for the night. It wasn't home, but at least Ryota was there, his arm wrapped around Shota's shoulders as he flipped through the channels of the hotel room TV to distract himself. He barely remembers what he had ended up watching because it hadn't been enough of a distraction in the end.
There's a sleepy grunt coming from the person next to him, and the bed shifts. Shota's body freezes as he remembers staring at Ryota's face, and the overwhelming need to forget about the competition, the band, and even himself for even just a moment. So he'd leaned over, pressed his mouth to Ryota's, and kissed him.
He hadn't expected much, but his heart still picks up speed as he thinks about Ryota calling him pretty, his warm touch, the way he'd kissed Shota back so deeply, not hesitating even for a second.
Shota closes his eyes and tries to forget about what happened next, to not remember how Ryota had tasted, how he'd pinned Shota to the bed and taken him apart with his mouth and hands and endless compassion.
It's all too much, so he gets out of the bed, stumbles into his clothes, grabs his things and flees the room before Ryota wakes up. He doesn't want to face him, doesn't want this to be another disappointment or complication in his already messy life.
He tells Juri he's fine when he gets home, blinking away hot tears. He doesn't think he deserves the hug Juri envelops him in but he accepts it, regardless.
Ryota says nothing the next day when they meet at practice, but the vibe between them is off. It affects the band's performance, too. The drum beat is too sharp in Shota's ears, messing up his rhythm. Iwamoto ends the practice early, Shota apologising to him in private afterwards.
"I fucked up," Shota says.
"So? Aren't you going to fix it?" Iwamoto asks him. He's their leader for a reason, Shota thinks, grateful.
So a couple of days later Shota does just that. He goes over to Ryota's apartment unannounced, trusting his knowledge of Ryota's usual schedule. He uses the spare key to slip in, not really wanting Mukai to be the one opening the door for him.
He's toeing off his shoes when he catches the words carrying over from Mukai's room, stopping by the open door.
"He's never been great with mornings after," he hears Ryota say. It's obvious what he's talking about. It's probably true what Ryota is saying about him, too, though he doesn't want to think too deeply about it.
"Shouldn't it be different when it's your best friend?" Mukai says next. Guilt settles heavily in the pit of Shota's stomach. He doesn't want to be caught eavesdropping, so takes a step forward, clearing his throat. Mukai notices him first, a slightly guilty expression on his face.
"Hello, Shota," he says, but Shota ignores him, his eyes trained on Ryota. He looks stiff and guarded. It makes Shota feel small.
"Could we talk?" he asks Ryota. Mukai makes an excuse about needing groceries and leaves the apartment, leaving Ryota and Shota alone.
Shota follows Ryota to his bedroom, sitting on the bed before he can think better of it. Ryota takes his usual place next to him. All the excuses Shota meant to say, of being drunk, lonely, and feeling defeated feel like the lies they are.
He licks his lips. It is up to him to fix things.
"I'm sorry for making it weird," Shota says finally, turning to look at Ryota. "Can we just–" he pauses for a moment to think. "Can we just forget about it and go back to just being best friends?"
Ryota looks at him for a long moment before he nods. It feels like there is something he isn't saying.
"Juri sleeps with his friends all the time and it's fine! It's a normal thing to do these days. Actually, it's probably weird we didn't do it before, right?" Shota hurries to say, but the attempt at a joke falls flat when Ryota's brows knit together. Ryota rarely gets angry with Shota, and the thought of having made things even worse makes panic rise in Shota's throat.
For the first time ever Shota is glad when Mukai announces his presence, armed with snacks and drinks and wedging himself between Shota and Ryota on Ryota's bed. They watch a mediocre movie together, eat a simple dinner, and by the time Shota leaves he's gathered his courage once more.
"I really am sorry," he says quietly. He might be bad at noticing things but he knows there is something he said or did that genuinely upset Ryota. It's not the first time he's apologised without really knowing what for.
Ryota nods, and Shota knows he's forgiven. Ryota spoils him like that. Shota leans in for an impromptu hug, holding Ryota tight for a few seconds before fleeing, strangely embarrassed by the embrace.
The next time they meet everything is back to normal, and a weight lifts from Shota's shoulders. In time, he'll stop dreaming about Ryota's kisses, too.
Shota wakes up to his phone vibrating so hard it slips off the edge of his bed and drops to the floor with a loud clatter. It's too early for his tastes, but the phone keeps buzzing every time he's just about to fall back asleep, so he reaches for it with a groan. He has only one eye open as he thumbs open the screen and reads the little LINE bubble that tells him he has 100 new messages. He glances at the time, 8:04, and groans again. The band group chat is a mess of memes and long walls of text that make no sense to Shota's half-asleep brain.
Shut up it's early. he types, and drops the phone back on the mattress. He's woken up by his ringtone a few minutes later. It's Ryota, so he picks up, only a little annoyed.
"This better be good," he says, resting the phone on his ear and closing his eyes again.
"We got offered a record deal," Ryota says, in much the same tone that he used to say stuff like
we're out of milk or Rainbow Rose doesn't like swearing. It takes a second for Shota's brain to catch up with the actual message.
"What?" he asks, sitting up in his bed and nearly dropping his phone again. "Record deal?" Shota pinches himself. It hurts, but he still isn't convinced this isn't a dream.
The six of them gather at the practice room, an hour later. He's pretty sure Iwamoto and Fukazawa have been crying, their eyes red-rimmed when they pull the whole band into a tight hug.
"Can someone explain what's going on?" Shota says, impatient, tugging at Iwamoto's sleeve when he won't stop hugging them.
"There's a fan whose father works for a record company, it seems," Fukazawa says. "He's the tall kid, the one who asked for Meguro's autograph last time," Abe fills in. "Raul?" Meguro asks with surprise on his face.
"You know his name?" Shota asks while Ryota asks about the company. They're all talking on top of each other until Iwamoto pulls himself together, clapping his hands and ordering everyone to take a seat.
It's a smaller indie label that has made the offer to them, Fukazawa explains while he goes through the offered contract. The legal jargon goes over Shota's head for the most part, but he trusts Fukazawa to handle the details. He's been with the band since they all met in high school, always pushing them forward and finding them opportunities. Shota thinks that without him and Iwamoto, the band would have fallen apart years ago.
Shota tries to focus on the conversation Fukawaza is having with the others about the pros and cons of accepting the offer as is versus trying to negotiate a better one but gets bored again soon. He's not at all interested in the percentages and numbers they're talking about. Sure, Shota knows he should care, that the percentage might be the difference between living with a roommate in a dingy apartment at the end of a train line or finding a nice place in more central Tokyo, but he doesn't have much input to give here. So he leans his head on Ryota's shoulder and starts reading a manga on his phone.
There have been so many disappointments he doesn't let himself believe in this quite yet, but there is a small glow of hope bubbling in his chest. Maybe this time it will work out for them.
When Juri yells at him for five minutes straight after he trips on a pile of Shota's magazines at five-thirty in the morning Shota knows it's time to sort through them. It's his own fault, really, for trying to sneak home in the dark, but Juri is also somewhat scary when he's angry, so Shota acquiesces.
The magazines are the one splurge he lets himself have even if he can't afford any of the products advertised on the glossy pages. Instead, he makes do with discounted knock-offs of beauty products from the 100 yen store. Shota sits down on the floor the next afternoon, flipping through each magazine, carefully judging whether it's one he wants to keep or one he's willing to part with.
It's then when he finds two sheets of music stuck between the pages of a wedding magazine. He picks the papers up, glancing at the unfamiliar title. It's not unusual for him to misplace his notes, but this song doesn't seem like any they've practised, or even considered. It's a love song, Shota notices as he skims through the pages.
He's about to set the song aside to focus on the task at hand when his eyes catch a few lines on the second page. It's a beautiful description of a man in love watching his lover doing ordinary things like cleansing his makeup after a long day at work or pinning his dreams on a board made of blue cardboard.
Shota stills for a moment, then slowly turns his head and stares at the blue cardboard board on the wall, the one covered in magazine clippings and pictures of him and his friends.
He gets up, shuts himself in his room, and picks up the notes again.
On the second read, he can recognize that the song is written by Ryota, his style unmistakable. Ryota has always been skilled with describing complex emotions with simple words and seeing the beauty of ordinary things. What Shota can't fathom is why every little line in the song reminds him of a moment between him and Ryota from the fated meeting when they were young to the promise of staying together through thick and thin.
It could be a song about their friendship except that the raw emotion of unrequited love comes through so clearly that there's no chance of it being unintentional. Shota sits in the same spot, reading over the lyrics over and over until it's dark outside and his legs have fallen asleep.
Ryota can't be in love with him, yet the proof is written right there above a beautiful melody. It's a confession, plain and simple, and one that Ryota meant for Shota to see.
"Shoppi?" Juri's voice comes through the door. When Shota doesn't answer he sticks his head in.
"What's up?" Juri asks, and Shota hands him the notes silently. Juri reads through them, opens his mouth, then frowns and closes it, reading through the pages again. Then he nods, handing the song back to Shota.
"You feel the same?" he asks like it's that simple. Like this isn't the biggest curveball in Shota's life, something earth-shattering that Shota has no clue how to deal with.
Except, when he thinks about it, maybe it really is that simple.
There was a time, years ago, when Shota had fancied himself in love with Ryota. Neither of them had been single then, though, so Shota had sucked it up and decided to move on. Afterwards, to protect himself, he'd banned even the idea of it from his thoughts.
Now that he lets himself consider it, it's easy to see those feelings never really went anywhere. Ryota is his favourite person on the planet, the only one he's willing to see even on his worst days, the one Shota is drawn to, the one who makes him smile, the one who's always been a constant in the ups and downs of Shota's life.
It takes one call to Iwamoto to change the song they're planning on recording for their first single, and a text to Ryota to let him know the date and time Shota will be in the recording studio. Shota knows he'll be there even without a direct invite because he's always there during the important moments of Shota's life.
That night, he can't sleep, his thoughts racing, and his whole body trembling with anticipation.
Shota can see Ryota entering the recording studio out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't look up, instead focusing on the words on the sheet of music in front of him. The loud beats of his heart almost drown out the music starting to play from the headphones, and he misses his cue, muttering an apology as the technician restarts the track.
This time he's prepared, closing his eyes and singing the first few words. The notes come out breathy, his voice shaking, but he ignores it and carries on. There's no need to be perfect on the first take.
By the time he hits the first refrain, he's already lost in the song, living the words that Ryota wrote for him, singing the melody that is pensive but hopeful, breaking his heart and then healing it with such simple chords.
He's glad the technician lets him sing the whole song through on the first take. He blinks the tears from his eyes when the song finishes and the last note fades away. The technician and the kid, Raul who's somehow wheedled his way into the studio, are giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. It's not their reactions that he's looking for.
Ryota is looking at him through the glass. Shota thinks there's a question in his eyes. It's almost enough to make him want to flee, but he chooses to stay.
The next hour is anticlimactic, the producer joining them insisting Shota sing the song through a couple more times. After that he asks Shota to record the originally planned single, too, just to
be sure. He figures he needs to get used to being bossed around if they want to keep the record deal.
Still, he's feeling a little sour when he finally gets permission to go home. Shota is half-expecting Ryota to have left, but he's right there outside the studio door when Shota finally steps out. Shota waves hello, drawing a smile from Ryota.
"Should we go somewhere more private?" Ryota asks, and there's something in his tone that causes shivers to run down Shota's spine. He nods, and they walk out, both quiet. It's only on the subway that they realize both of their places are out of the question.
"Koji's mother is over," Ryota says apologetically, and Shota has just received a text from Juri giving him a heads up about his gaming buddies coming over. Knowing them, they won't leave or sleep until the first train the next morning.
They end up in that part of the town where Shota first kissed a boy, and where the love hotels are more lenient towards same-sex couples. Not that they are one, Shota thinks, until Ryota grabs his hand inside the elevator and doesn't let go until they're in the safety of the garishly decorated room.
"This is the worst," Shota whines, pushing a leopard-print pillow out of the way to sit down on the huge bed. Ryota smiles at him, and somehow that makes Shota feel better about the ridiculous surroundings.
"If anyone asks, I confessed on the top of the Tokyo Tower after a nice dinner and an evening walk," Shota says. He's talking too much, but he's nervous. He's never nervous around Ryota, and he isn't sure he likes the change.
"Are you going to confess?" Ryota asks, and his voice is so hopeful Shota feels he might explode. His heart is beating so fast again, and his palms are clammy. He wipes them surreptitiously on his jeans.
"Well, I was thinking about it," he says, shifting uncomfortably.
"But what?" Ryota asks. Sometimes Shota wishes he was a little worse at interpreting Shota's moods and unsaid words.
"What if we fuck it up?" Shota asks. He feels nauseous even thinking about losing Ryota as a friend. He's always there for Shota when he needed him. Even back in kindergarten, he'd been the first to offer a hand when Shota had fallen down and scraped his knee.
"Do you think I'd let us fuck it up?" Ryota asks. It's definitely not something Ryota can promise but Shota believes him anyway. Ryota has slipped his hand into Shota's again, his palm warm against Shota's. It feels nice. Shota thinks he could get used to it.
He procrastinates for a moment, letting his gaze travel around the room before he meets Ryota's eyes again.
"So," he says, and clears his throat. "I might be a little in love with you," he says, cheeks hot but his words coming out weirdly dispassionate. Luckily Ryota knows him and ignores his haughty tone, the smile on his face wide, and happy.
"I'm in love with you, too. But you already know that," he says, and Shota wants to argue a little
- the love song didn't even name Shota - but then Ryota is leaning in for a kiss. Shota falters for a second, thinking about their previous kisses that caused weird vibes between them for months after.
Ryota, maybe sensing Shota's thoughts, squeezes his hand. The kiss is slower than before, gentler, Ryota's hand cupping Shota's face to keep him close, to soothe him.
It's a good kiss. Possibly the best kiss Shota has ever experienced. He chases after Ryota's mouth when he pulls back, just to be sure. Ryota smells nice, and there's no annoying stubble scraping Shota's skin, no sticky lip gloss, and just a hint of tongue that leaves Shota dizzy and wanting more.
"I'm not having sex in here," Shota pants, half-hoping for Ryota to ignore his protest. He doesn't, however, because he is Shota's closest friend and most of the time he knows better what Shota needs than Shota does himself. "Yeah, okay," Ryota hums and presses a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away.
Neither of them really wants to go home alone, though, so they end up getting in bed anyway. Shota settles easily into Ryota's arms, nuzzling his shoulder.
"I'm happy," he says, receiving another kiss from Ryota. Everything is perfect like this, and he forgets about their surroundings, about his troubles, about having to explain to everyone that they're together despite the strict no-dating policy Fukazawa has set as the ground rule for their band.
Shota falls asleep listening to the steady beat of Ryota's heart, secure in the knowledge that whatever is thrown their way he'll have someone he loves to face it together with.
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Date: 2022-09-03 11:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-09-05 08:20 am (UTC)