Acapella

He couldn't believe he was willingly subjecting himself to this. He gripped the tickets in his pocket. He had about two miles until they got to the arena, more than enough time to change plans.

Kyoko sat in the passenger seat, twisting happily as she looked eagerly out the window for a clue on where they were heading. He sighed internally, reaching over to take her hand in his. He wanted this for both of them. Fuwa may be an idiot, but he was a part of her life for better or worse and he wanted to show her that he was past his obsessive jealousy. Mostly. That he was the bigger man. At least height-wise. Kuon laughed at himself. Maybe tonight was more about convincing himself it was all over than anything for Kyoko.

She finally saw the billboard on front of the arena and gasped.

"Kuon! We're not going to…"

He nodded, squeezing her hand. "I thought it would be a good idea to support your childhood friend. He's about to lose a big bet when your movie premieres."

"Our movie," she reminded him. "And I love it! He'd lose his mind if he knew we were there, probably threaten to haul me back to Kyoto as his maid."

"That's an idiotic threat."

She beamed at him, her eyes glowing. "Can you believe that was what he tried to leverage me with? To keep me from falling for you?"

"What?" Kuon tried to hide the anger from his voice. He was failing miserably.

"I agreed, of course." He was thankful they were at a red light because keeping his eyes on the road was impossible at that second. "I was in total denial then. About you." She smiled at where their hands lay entwined. "He's moved on though!"

"What?" He was a broken record. She'd broken him.

"His newest video blog, did you see it?" Kuon shook his head. Why would he watch Fuwa's blog? "Ever since Fuwa-san showed me his ridiculous K-Pop one I've checked it now and again. The latest one has over a million hits."

"What? That many people are watching him rant?"

She laughed. "Not rant. Get ah…" she searched for the word. "Propositioned."

"What!" He actually veered a little out of his lane. "And you watched it?"

"I watched the comments more, it was hilarious to see who people were guessing it was. But no— I mean, it's nothing scandalous. There's just obviously someone there. In his hotel room." She paused. "I think it's probably the same person he imagined during the music video."

"Kyoko, I don't think this was appropriate for you to—"

She was blushing as she ran her fingers lightly up his arm, forestalling his rebuke. "It made me think of you. The way he looked at her. It's how you look at me." She bit her lip, her eyes shyly watching him. She was still talking about Sho, but the way she was looking at him made him want to turn the car around and drive her straight back to his apartment. "I think he's in love, Kuon."

"I hope whoever she is knows how to juvenile pricks," he said as he pulled into the parking lot to the sound of Kyoko's bell-like laughter.

The drumline pounded in his chest, strobes pulsing light and dark like heart beats, immersing him in the sound of music that he really, really didn't want to enjoy. And yet he kept catching himself swaying, his body a traitor to the cause with each time his foot tapped. He really didn't want to like it but it was just unavoidably good. There was a reason Fuwa had vaulted over the barrier to international exposure that held back so many other bands. His words sounded like he'd ripped his own soul out and left it hanging to bleed over them in the air. To put it nicely. Kuon would've loved this music when he was a teenager.

Kyoko was screaming next to him, shouting nonsense about her rival that got lost in the din immersing them. She was fierce tonight, glowing with the pride of a lion looking at the most delicious kill it had ever seen. If she would look like that at home too he was definitely buying the little terd's CD.

The song ended; he pulled Kyoko into a standing embrace as Fuwa cleared his throat, his voice booming through the sound system.

"This next song is acapella," he said, raking his hand through his hair and making front row fangirls scream. "Mostly because I haven't had time to teach it to the band yet." His grin broke out like the Cheshire Cat's, wide and slightly unhinged as he took the microphone off its stand.

The lead guitarist played a chord to set his pitch. One note, hanging in the air, the crowd waiting with a collective indrawn breath. Fuwa closed his eyes, letting the moment hang between them all— and then he sang. The words were crisp, a waterfall of hope pouring note by note from his mouth like he was running, chasing after someone and catching up step by step and then a breath. His eyes opened. He smiled.

Songs of brokenness and longing, of recreation and rising had drawn the people here but this— this was a song of his heart. His voice soared over them as he leaned back, throwing himself into the song with the full measure of his ability. He looked so alive Kuon could feel the hairs on his arms standing and he drew Kyoko closer, wrapping her tighter in his embrace.

I think he's in love.

The song was his finale, and while the last note still hung in the air he bowed and strode off the stage, leaving them all feeling strangely bereft. The light colors shifted, freeing them with the visual change and suddenly the arena exploded with life as people screamed, waving their phones and jumping in chaos, chanting his name. He didn't return— the end was chosen and he was probably being carted off by his manager to a VIP signing.

Kuon leaned around and kissed Kyoko on the forehead. "Do you mind staying for a little?"

She cocked her head in surprise but nodded, trailing after him toward the front stage. The audience had mostly left by now, milling about in the open area where stars would sometimes descend to sign autographs after shows. Kuon smiled at her, asking her to take a seat in the front row before vaulting on stage. She gasped, frantically waving for him to come back down but he just grinned, mouthing, "Just a moment."

He wanted to nick one of Fuwa's guitars. He'd been practicing his own ballad for her and couldn't resist the opportunity to steal back her limelight for himself. Call it childish. He didn't care. A man stood with his back to Kuon over by the rack of guitars, just far enough away he might not notice one temporarily go missing. He crept over quietly, armed with the excuse of being a fan looking for Fuwa.

"Did you like the song?"

It was Fuwa. There goes his excuse. He cursed under his breath and almost turned around, unwilling to actually be caught at the concert by the cocky bastard himself, but something in Fuwa's tone prevented him from leaving.

"I wrote it for you."

It was deeper, husky with desire. He was talking to Her. His Person. Then, before Kuon could turn and leave, Fuwa's head shifted down to land a kiss on the other's neck and Kuon could see—

Him.

And he knew him.