Tatsuha made it to the studio a couple hours later, figuring it was enough of a delay that no one would assume any connection between him and Sakuma. He imagined Ryuichi wouldn't care to have his love life spread across Japan's morning news, and as for himself he would rather leave that fame to his brother. Someone, Ryuichi or Shuichi most likely, must have cleared his entry, because he encountered no interference when he walked in the front doors and gave his name to the cute young secretary, who kindly pointed him to the elevators.
He walked the length of the recording room hall before he found Ryuichi, in a small lounge kneeling on the plastic chair before the single table, trying to tie the ears of his pink bunny around a cola can. The ears weren't quite long enough and the can kept slipping from their knotted grip. Undeterred, he stretched the cloth appendages, mouth puckered in effort, humming tunelessly.
When Tatsuha's shadow fell over him, he gave the ears a final tug before looking up, smiling like a boy, like an elven changeling, unaging. His eyes were bright with trust, if not immediate recognition.
He was beautiful, and Tatsuha couldn't help himself, any more than he had been able to before. He leaned over the table, guided his chin with one hand and brought their lips together to complete the morning's opening.
But where last night there had been fire there was only a distant warmth, sunlight, not stirred flames. The mouth parted willingly, but there was no equal response, no probing tongue to match his own advance. Like kissing water, passive, so yielding there might have been nothing there at all.
He broke away, almost horrified, as if he had been trying to make love to a corpse, or a little child. But the blue eyes which met his were not innocent, only empty, older than the changeling face. "I'm sorry," Ryuichi said, a whisper.
"No." Tatsuha stooped, retrieved Kumagoro fallen on the floor and handed the toy back to its owner. "I didn't--I'm sorry, Sakuma-san." And he turned, walked out of the room, every step steady, not daring to look back, even when he heard the can clank and the faint careless humming resume.
There must be something wrong with him, Tatsuha decided. Something wrong with himself. He was a sixteen year old boy who had just had the best fuck of his admittedly short life, with a man he had worshipped for most of that life, with no complications, no strings, no cost to himself. Fantasies come true and all that. He should be on top of the world. Not sitting here under the harsh light of a bare bulb, feeling like he was bleeding internally, like someone had torn a huge hole inside him, where it didn't hurt but was killing him all the same.
There had been no promises, not even the promise of a hint of a promise. What had happened last night had been last night, just last night. They had both understood that, hadn't they; they were both men, after all. Not boyfriend and girlfriend, not fiances; it wasn't as if he was some pure delicate maiden, to be bedded and wedded. He had expected nothing except what he had gotten, and that had been equal to his wildest dreams.
And yet he was here, sitting on an overturned bucket and staring at the limp grimy head of the mop in front of him like it was a work of art. You're being an idiot, he told himself. A first-class moron. But that lump in his throat wouldn't dissolve.
"Oi, Tatsuha!" The storage closet door opened and Shuichi's pink-haired head poked inside. "What are you doing in here? I've been looking for you everywhere." He regarded the hanging mops and brooms with some suspicion. "Did someone lock you in here by mistake? K thought he saw you down this hall or I wouldn't have found you at all. Sakuma-san's going to do a recording, you can't miss that!"
"Oh," Tatsuha acknowledged listlessly. "Sure."
He rose from his bucket and followed Shuichi, bounding down the hall like a jackrabbit and taking two steps back for every three forward to keep pace with Tatsuha's dawdling. But they hadn't gotten halfway down the corridor when Shuichi paused, regarded him. "What's wrong?"
"Ah... Nothing." Tatsuha raised his head, made a concerted effort to walk faster.
He didn't fool Shuichi; the rock star snagged his arm, yanking him to a halt to study him more closely, concern in his eyes. "No, seriously."
"Shindou-san," and Shuichi blinked at the formal address, though he didn't interrupt. "How can you be so excited about seeing Sakuma-san sing? You know him personally--he's your rival, even..."
Shindou frowned, disappointment written clear over his face. "I thought you'd understand," he said, almost accusingly. "I know Sakuma-san, yeah. He even calls me a friend. But the man who sings--the man who inspired me to become what I am--he's beyond that. I can't know him. Besides," and his eyes sparked, "he's still a genius. Even if I'm making good songs, even if I sing as good as he does--even if someday I'm better--I'll always love his music."
"Even if he--" Tatsuha began. Then stopped himself, said instead, "Let's go, before we miss it," and took off down the hall, so Shuichi had to sprint to keep up.
A crowd had already gathered around the recording studio. Even if regular fans couldn't get into the building, Nittle Grasper had plenty of followers among NG's staff, and it was a given that everyone who worked there loved music. Shuichi elbowed his way through the knot of onlookers to secure the best view, right by the glass, pulling Tatsuha in beside him.
Sakuma was recording a track solo, with Tohma watching and Noriko's keyboard supplying the tempo. But even bound under headphones in such a constrained setting, Ryuichi still performed. His head flung back and his arms outstretched, he threw himself into the beat, whole body moving with the rhythm as he sang.
His flashing eyes were focused, not on the engineer before him, but an invisible point above, a center perceivable only to him. And his face was transfixed, that expression seen so many times before, caught in a place beyond ecstasy, possessed by a power greater than will or desire.
Tatsuha had seen that look in all the videos, seen that energy so great it pulsed from dead recordings and lifeless photographs. But last night, when it would have been only his--he knew now why he had accepted dark, why he had never tried to see his lover's face. Knew what he had missed in the pale light of this morning. It would have burned him alive, turned him to stone, if he had touched that force. He hadn't reached it at all.
The hall was suddenly too hot, the people around him too close. He fought his way free of the crowd, stumbled down the corridor until he reached the lounge and pushed inside. The door swung shut behind him, leaving him alone. He found a chair before his legs gave way entirely, collapsed in it shaking.
Sometime later the door opened. Tatsuha kept his eyes lowered, as if no eye contact would render him invisible. He could hear the music, different song but the same voice, that which he once would have shaved his head to hear. Now he was thankful when the door was closed again, muffling it. He waited for his solitude to be returned as well. But after crossing the room and collecting a soda from the machine, the intruder didn't leave, instead took a seat beside him.
He focused on the plastic table's fake wood grain as the can opened with a hiss and gurgled as she took a sip. She lowered it, let the silence rest a moment before saying, "It's Tatsuha-kun, isn't it?"
He couldn't deny a direct address, had to look over. "Yes, Noriko-san." He felt a twinge of surprise that someone so famous remembered him after only one introduction--but that had only been last evening, after all. It just felt like a lifetime ago. "I..." He didn't know what else to say.
She didn't press him. But after another moment passed, she remarked, "He sings differently. I bet you noticed. I can hear it; Tohma too. Shuichi might, but he probably wouldn't know what's changed."
Now he looked at her, unwilling, afraid. But there was no censorship in her eyes, no anger as she said, "I'm sorry, Tatsuha, that it couldn't be the way you wanted."
There was understanding in her face, and for an instant he thought he glimpsed a shimmer of grief--not just a reflection. The empathy was too strong. And he suddenly realized how she could understand. "Noriko-san, did you...?"
"Just one night," she answered. "Years ago. Before I was married. I won't forget, but he might have. I'm not sure. It's not something that comes up much."
"Only once..."
"I needed to know. And he was everything I imagined, gentle, conscientious, passionate...but it didn't happen. Not beyond that once."
"Your choice?" Tatsuha had to ask.
"I don't know, to be honest." She looked at him sharply. "Make no mistake. I love my husband and I adore my daughter. That...never could have happened."
"But it did." He was surprised at the bitterness in his own voice. "And now to me."
She sighed. "Don't get me wrong, Tatsuha-kun. What you had--that wasn't a common thing. Not in the least. And Ryu-chan--Ryuichi--he'd never want to hurt you; he never wants to hurt anyone. That's why it's over. Before you could hate him for what he takes."
"Hate him?" He stared at her. "I couldn't--he didn't hurt me, not at all. He didn't take anything from me, he only gave, he took nothing--"
She didn't say anything, only gazed at him steadily, and he heard what he was saying. Stopped, swallowed and said, "And he wouldn't, would he?"
"No," she agreed. "He wouldn't." She smiled softly. "Ryu-chan can be so selfish. And yet he's not. I never know if we're too kind to him, or he's too generous with us. He asks for plenty, and he gives plenty, but that...maybe he can't accept it. Maybe he just won't. For our sakes as well as his, I really do believe."
"But why did he let me..."
"I don't know. He might not know--I don't think he could tell us, even if he does. He's not like that. You understand, don't you, Tatsuha-kun? It's not possible, not being who he is. And it is safer for him this way. Better. He's never fallen prey to the things that get so many people with his kind of talent; the fame's never changed him. I don't know if I'm the same person I was, but he's always been Ryuichi."
She watched Tatsuha's face as he listened, and she said at last, kindly, "Ask. You want to, I can see it in your eyes. You won't offend me."
He ducked his head despite the assurance, gathered the last shreds of himself. "Do you--does he--do you regret it?"
She blinked, sat back with a startled look as if caught unawares. Then she shook her head, smiling. "No. I don't. I wouldn't repeat it now, of course, but then...it had nothing to do with Nittle Grasper's break-up, you know; it was long before that. I don't want him again--but if I could live that time over, I'd do everything the same. I'd never take that night back."
Tatsuha wondered if perhaps it was a good sign that at least half of that was true for him--he would never take back last night. "That's something, I guess," he mumbled.
Noriko was still studying him, looked him long and hard in the eyes, then shook her head. "You aren't going to," she said with a hint of astonishment. "You aren't even thinking it, are you?"
"Thinking what?"
"Everyone," she told him, "anyone who gets to know him eventually asks us--me, Tohma--everyone asks us what he's really like. They hear him sing and then they meet him offstage, and then they want to know who is the real Sakuma Ryuichi. But you aren't going to ask it. It hasn't even crossed your mind."
"What kind of question is that?" Tatsuha demanded. "Who he is--I know who he is. I've followed him for half my life. I don't know him, I don't know him at all, but I know he's Sakuma-sama. He's the one who sings, and plays with Kumagoro, and writes lyrics in English on his walls, and last night--" He had to cut himself off before it overwhelmed him. Though oddly the memory didn't hurt. Just left him breathless.
And Noriko's dark eyes hadn't left him, still reflecting that edge of surprise. "Tatsuha-kun," she said, quietly but with a world of meaning. "There is something. Not what you wanted--but maybe as much." She patted his hand, familiarly, almost like Mika might have. "It won't be easy, not at all. But you might be strong enough to try..."
He wasn't two steps out of the lounge when Shuichi came pelting up, his eyes sparkling, looking younger than Tatsuha by years. "Where'd you go?" he admonished. "You missed the last song--it was amazing! I don't think I've ever heard Sakuma-san sing like that before!"
"Sorry, I, uh, wasn't feeling well," Tatsuha covered. "Maybe I'm coming down with something."
There was a set to Shuichi's brow which indicated he wasn't convinced, but he let it go, nodding understanding. "You'll have to come back again when you're feeling better." He looked back over his shoulder at the people leaving the sound studio, waved energetically at the figure in the baseball cap. "Sakuma-san! You were great!"
Ryuichi shot over to him, beaming. "Thank you Shuichi!"
"Sorry I missed it," Tatsuha said. He didn't have to force the smile; Ryuichi's was more than contagious.
But it dimmed when their eyes happened to meet, darkened, only a little, but Tatsuha felt it, sun behind clouds. He wondered if Shuichi noticed, wondered how anyone could not, but he didn't let it break him. "Shuichi says maybe I could come to the studio again?" he asked. "I'd really like to see you sing like that."
"Really?" Ryuichi asked.
"Really," Tatsuha confirmed, and then he suddenly found himself with an armful of olive-haired superstar, hugging him for all he was worth.
"So Tatsuha's your friend now," Shuichi said, grinning.
He felt the grip around him loosen, felt the man stiffen. Before he could let go, Tatsuha wrapped his arms around him, squeezed and released. And was rewarded by the smile's return, brighter than before, indigo eyes glowing. "We're friends, right, Tatsuha?" Ryuichi asked. "You and me and Kumagoro, we'll be friends always?"
"Hai," Tatsuha said, "friends forever." And it wasn't quite as hard to say as he thought it would be.
