"Want some Goldfish?" Nowaki asked dully from above as he held onto the subway train's handlebars that swung over his head. Hiroki sat before him in the seat, squished between a brown-haired man with a strange curl that stuck out of the side of his head, and a black-haired girl who was typing away furiously at her laptop. The curl from the man beside him was tickling Hiroki's ear, much to his discomfort, and the girl's loud tack tacking on her keyboard was giving him a headache.
"No, I'm fine," Hiroki said, despite the agonizing roaring of his stomach. Hiroki hadn't eaten anything since Friday morning, and as he headed to his Saturday concert rehearsal on the crowded subway, he felt his energy quickly fading. He uncomfortably shifted in his seat, wishing his white dress shirt and beige khaki pants were a little more loose on his body.
"Um… I have some oatmeal raisin cookies, too," Nowaki offered, rummaging through the bag that was slung over his shoulder. Hiroki's stomach practically ripped out of his belly at the thought of oatmeal raisin cookies, but Hiroki only pursed his lips in irritation.
"No."
"You don't have to snap," Nowaki sighed, pinching his lips together and rolling his eyes. Hiroki glanced up at him, then looked back down. He didn't have the energy to yell.
"I wasn't trying to," Hiroki replied flatly. They remained silent, hardly looking at each other. At some point the man with the strange curl got off of the train with his blonde-haired companion, and Hiroki sighed in relief as Nowaki sat beside him. Nowaki kept his arms crossed, and Hiroki sulked. Usually, Nowaki would try to find a way to secretly hold Hiroki's hand. Now, Hiroki felt like he was the one who had to find a way to secretly hold Nowaki's hand.
"Our stop is up next," Nowaki said after a while. "Make sure you have your sheet mu-"
"Damn it!" the girl beside Hiroki suddenly barked, throwing her hands in the air and making both Nowaki and Hiroki jump. The girl hit the 'backspace' button with a flourish and pinched her lips together. She snapped her sharp, green glare to Hiroki and Nowaki. "What?"
Hiroki turned away immediately, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. A tiny, tiny smile appeared on Nowaki's lips.
"Don't worry about her," Nowaki said softly, the tone of his voice lifting ever so slightly. That was all the reassurance Hiroki needed, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like Nowaki was actually there with him. He raised his head to say something, but the female voice announced their destination over the train's intercom. With that interruption, the spark of kind Nowaki disappeared and the distant look returned to his face. Hiroki frowned as he sighed and grabbed the binder of sheet music he had stowed behind his back against his seat. The train came to a stop and Nowaki and Hiroki stood to begin their trek to rehearsal.
"Hiro-san? Are you okay?" Nowaki asked, his voice laced with concern as Hiroki panted to catch his breath. He had been halfway up the stairs to the second floor of the theater where rehearsal was being held when he had gotten dizzy and had slumped to his knees on the step.
"…Fine… I'm fine," Hiroki gasped breathlessly, shakily hauling himself to his feet with the aid of the handrail.
"Maybe you should skip rehearsal today, you look incredibly pale," Nowaki commented. Hiroki vehemently shook his head.
"No," he said firmly. "Kanagawa-sensei counts… on me being there… for the other… tenors."
"Hiro-san, you can hardly speak, let alone sing."
"I'm not skipping!" Hiroki barked. Nowaki's eyes darkened in anger.
"Fine," Nowaki huffed. He hardly waited for Hiroki before continuing up the staircase. Hiroki tried his best to follow him, and when he got to the top he stumbled and wavered, his vision becoming blurry. He put all of his concentration into walking in a straight line as he and Nowaki walked down the carpeted hallway. They approached a large double doorway and Nowaki pushed it open, holding the door for a very dizzy Hiroki.
The ornate, golden auditorium was huge. The balcony seats towered over Nowaki and Hiroki's heads. They made their way down the long aisle between the ground level seats towards the immense stage. There, a group of people was already milling about. Some sat on the risers drinking water, while others crowded around each other and practiced their voice parts. In the front row seats were several visitors, and Nowaki silently parted ways with Hiroki to sit down in the row. Hiroki slowly climbed up onto the stage via a small set of stairs. Almost immediately he was greeted by Kanagawa.
"Hello, Kamijou-kun! We're learning the Spanish piece this week. Are you ready?" Kanagawa asked excitedly, further irritating Hiroki's already splitting headache.
"Uh… yeah. I'm excited," Hiroki said tiredly. Kanagawa patted his back and he almost fell over.
"That's great! The Spaniards will gladly help you with pronunciation if you need it, so don't be afraid to ask."
"Okay," Hiroki said dazedly, trying to plaster a smile on his face. He looked up as an older woman who was standing nearby waved her hands and spoke something in English.
"Director Gales wants everyone to sit down with their individual quartets," Kanagawa said. Hiroki nodded and went to his assigned spot on the risers. The other three Japanese representatives, one man and two women, joined Hiroki, also sitting in their respective spots.
The American singers, who had come as an octet but only had seven people present, were appearing to be speaking heatedly to Director Gales, who was pinching the bridge of her nose. Hiroki watched curiously, momentarily forgetting that his stomach was making inhuman noises.
"What's going on?" the young, college-aged Japanese Alto asked, turning around to face Hiroki. He pursed his lips and shrugged. He watched as Director Gales shooed the American singers and walked to the front of the stage. She began speaking in English, and Kanagawa translated her words. The other directors from the different countries translated the English into their own languages, creating a strange mixture of sounds in the air.
Hiroki, however, didn't have much interest as the closeness of the people around him made him sweat profusely. His vision was doubling, the images dispersing and coming back together rapidly. He breathed heavily, wiping the cold perspiration from his forehead.
"Kamijou-san, are you alright?" asked the Japanese Soprano, shaking Hiroki's shoulder as he gurgled a little.
"I think he's going to puke," said the Japanese Bass. Hiroki felt his stomach lurch and he shot to his feet. He became lightheaded with the sudden movement, however, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His knees were the first to buckle, and the Japanese Alto screamed in surprise as Hiroki fell over her. He crashed to the floor, his eyelids half-closed as he lost consciousness.
"Hiro-san!"