04 In Which Love Lives Are Shot to Hell


Ken liked to think of himself as a sensible person. A person who would consider all the possibilities, keep a calm and collected outlook in the face of danger, not come to immediate conclusions, avoid rushing into things without previous planning, and approach things fairly and logically when not knowing all the facts.

Thus, he thought it was completely justified when he opened the door and, upon seeing who was on the other side, promptly shut it in Miyako's face.

"Ken, you asshole."

Wincing, Ken slowly turned the knob, opening the door wide enough to see Miyako's unhappy look. Steeling himself for whatever was about to come, he put on an apologetic smile and greeted hesitantly, "Miyako... hello. Sorry, I thought you were a salesperson."

"Whatever." She paused, waiting for the boy to let her in, and when he made no move to do so, she rolled her eyes. "So," she said, leaning against the doorframe, "since I'm not, I'm sure you have no problem in letting me in."

"Of course not." Ken opened the door fully, closing it with a sigh once the girl bounded into the apartment with undisguised purpose. "Make yourself comfortable. Anything I can get for you?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks." Taking a seat on the couch, Miyako patted the small space next to her. "Sit down and let's talk."

Ken's eyes moved from the girl to the beckoning spot next to her. He didn't even pretend to consider. After all, he had known Miyako long enough to recognize the glint in her eyes. "Actually," he gestured to the kitchen, "I was going to go make myself some... tea. Maybe later?"

Miyako didn't miss a beat. "Right now would be best," she replied smoothly, rising from the couch, "I'll just help you out."

The boy winced again. Miyako had the tendency to do just what you were hoping she wouldn't. "Yeah, sure. That'd be nice."

He entered the kitchen with deliberate slowness, completely aware of the girl following close behind. Preparing himself for what was to come, he finally asked, "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Miyako jumped right to the point. "Ken, you've never had a girlfriend, right? Or a boyfriend?" She had never been fond of beating around the bush. Her tact rivaled that of Daisuke, which was saying something.

Ken paused. He reached for the box of tea packets in the cupboard. "No. Why do you ask?"

Miyako kept her tone cheerful. "Just thinking that maybe you should start looking for one. A little love might do you good."

Frowning, Ken grabbed a packet and dropped it into his mug stiffly. "I never knew you were so interested in my love life."

"Nonexistent love life," the girl added helpfully, and hardly batted an eyelid as Ken looked at her darkly. Leaning against the counter space next to him, she continued, "But really, think about it. I could set you up with someone, you know. I already have a person in mind. You two could go out after Yamato's gig on Saturday."

"I'm afraid I can't," Ken replied, reaching for the boiling water. "I have things to take care of after the concert."

Miyako pressed on, "What kind of things?"

"Things," the boy said, his frustrated voice betraying his poised movements as he poured the water fluidly, attention focused on the teakettle as if it was spouting off the secrets of the universe.

The girl wasn't impressed with his answer. "I'm sure you can put the things off until Sunday for this."

"Actually, I'm sure the things are more important than whatever you're planning." Ken set the kettle down, head bowed. Miyako just grinned, not bothering to hide the quirk of her mouth.

"What kind of things?"

"Things, Miyako," Ken gritted out.

"It's just a date, Ken. Maybe you'll have fun."

"To be honest, I'd have a lot more fun if you could just leave me alone."

Miyako frowned. "Be nice."

"I am being nice," the boy muttered between sips of tea. "You're stubborn. I'm not interested."

Rejection didn't register well with Miyako. "Don't be like that, Ken. Repression isn't cool."

There was no immediate response. Ken finished his tea and slammed his mug back onto the countertop.

"Miyako," he said acidly, "you're like a cockroach."

Miyako looked genuinely curious. "Why's that?"

"I step on you. I throw things at you. I poison you. I try to murder you in every way creatively possible to mankind," Ken's voice was a quiet, fierce whisper. "I plant a nuclear fucking bomb on you and I still can't get rid of you."

Silence was his only answer. Miyako stared, and Ken could only hope that the girl was, for once, listening to whatever was left of her common decency.

No such luck. Miyako clasped her hands together. "So is that a yes?"


When Takeru met up with Daisuke, his first words were, "How's it going with Yamato?"

Daisuke watched as Takeru made himself comfortable on his couch, complaining, "Why does everyone always want to talk to me about Yamato? Is my crush the only exciting thing happening in their lives?"

"It might help if you didn't always want to talk about Yamato too," Takeru suggested cheerfully. "How has your summer been?"

Daisuke interrupted before he could finish. "Actually, let's talk about Yamato."

The blonde looked mildly amused. "Okay. What about him?"

Daisuke bounced excitedly onto the couch, next to Takeru, hugging a cushion to his chest. "I'm going out with him after his gig!"

Takeru stared, surprised and relieved. "Wait, really? That's great! So you told him?" Maybe now he would be allowed a piece of overdue normality. It would be a refreshing change.

His hopes were short-lived. Daisuke shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. " Miyako set me up."

Takeru blinked. Once. Twice. Had to resist the urge to smack his forehead. Sighing, he repeated, "Miyako set you up." Daisuke nodded eagerly, which only caused the blonde to sigh again. Why couldn't anything good ever happen in his life?

"Did she say she was setting you up with Yamato?"

Daisuke gave him a weird look. "She said it was my crush. Who is Yamato." Clearly implying, duh. Takeru chose to ignore it, concentrating on the impending doom of his friend's nonexistent love life.

"Daisuke," Takeru chose his words carefully. "I think it'd be best if you didn't go along with it."

Daisuke sat up a little straighter, curious and looking a little worried. "Why's that?"

The blonde was unsure on how to explain the entire misunderstanding. " Miyako doesn't know you like Yamato."

Daisuke protested, "Yeah she does. She said she figured it out based on what I told her."

"Yes, but—"

Daisuke's eyes suddenly widened, and the blonde hoped what he had said had finally sunken in. But then they narrowed, and Takeru sighed as he braced himself. "Wait," Daisuke said, and jammed a finger at Takeru's chest, "Miyako told me this would happen. She said you kept trying to convince her not to help me out with Yamato."

Takeru briefly wondered whether he should bring up the fact that Daisuke hadn't wanted Miyako "helping" him in the first place either. Daisuke didn't give him the chance.

"What the hell, Takeru! I thought I could trust you! I thought I could depend on you to help me through this!"

Takeru stared, bemused. Daisuke had to be the first guy he knew to go through female hormones. "Look," he said, "I don't know what Miyako's been saying, but I know that going to this date Miyako's setting up will not end well."

Daisuke rubbed his face, obviously frustrated. He slouched back on the couch, staring at the TV. It was playing really bad soap operas. "Look, I know you're just looking out for me, but can we please talk about something else now?"

Takeru sighed and obliged. "So how's your summer been so far, Daisuke?"

"Good," was the sullen reply. "Yours?"

The blonde hesitated. "... good."

Silence reigned for the next few minutes (in which the soap opera's hero confessed his love, and his amnesiac ex-girlfriend fell sobbing into his arms) until Daisuke asked, "You know Yamato?"

Takeru blinked. "…Yeah."

"He has the greatest hair..."


"Shit, Ishida." Takashi banged on his cymbals in frustration, gaining the attention of everyone in the studio room and probably some outside. "The gig's in two days and you can't even remember your own lyrics!"

"Stop it," Yutaka muttered, ever the peacemaker, "We're all a little stressed."

Yamato shook his head, apologetic as he ran a hand through his hair. "No, he's right. I've been out of it lately."

"No worries, man." Akira fingered his guitar strings, going through his riff silently. "Take it from the top?"

Takashi groaned. "Again?" After playing the same drum line six times, you tended to get a little impatient. Or, in his case, impatient enough to consider throwing his drumsticks at their beloved vocalist.

Yutaka seemed to realize what he was thinking because he gracefully abandoned his position behind the keyboard in favor of stealing Takashi's drumsticks and placing them in the back pocket of his jeans. "Let's take a break," he suggested, and was met with unanimous agreement.

Once they had gotten situated and comfortable, Akira turned to Yamato curiously. "So who's Daisuke?"

Yamato started, jerking his head in the guitarist's direction. "What?"

"You kept singing Daisuke instead of daisuki."

The blonde tried his best not to flush. He looked down, muttering, "Just a guy."

There was an ominous silence as the band members considered the soft confession, then Takashi clapped his hands together, leering as he intoned, "Oh, a guy. That changes everything."

Akira tried to hide a laugh. "You should have told us earlier, Ishida. No one can blame you for being spacey if you're lovesick."

Much laughter, hilarity, and general mockery ensued before Yamato was given a chance to break in. Scowling, the vocalist folded his arms across his chest and protested, "I'm not lovesick."

"Of course not," Yutaka agreed amiably. "Have we met him?"

"Is he cute?" Takashi quipped, and Akira coughed loudly to disguise a snicker.

Yamato glared darkly, without any effect. Rolling his eyes, he said, "He's... shorter than me, really tan, he has this spiky sort of red-brown hair..."

"The Taichi look-alike?"

"He doesn't look like Taichi," the blonde protested as the others began cooing on cue. Sinking into his seat, he tried to drown them out.

"Really? That's so sweet!"

"The kid's adorable."

"You should send him chocolate," Akira suggested, and waited until all eyes were on him, even Yamato's, before reciting, "Dearest Daisuke, please enjoy the sweets. But know that you'll always be the sweetest in my heart. Yours always, Yama-chan."

Yamato, too busy trying not to blush, was having a hard time concentrating on ways to decapitate his guitarist.

"Lay off, guys," Yutaka interrupted, grinning broadly, and Yamato was in the process of sending him a grateful look before Yutaka continued, "After all, we shouldn't be making fun of him and his one true love."

More laughter. Yamato groaned and let his head hit the plastic table gently, unaware that somewhere else in Odaiba, his younger brother was doing the same. Must be genetics.

Yamato looked up irritably. "I'd appreciate it if you'd all leave me and my love life alone."

"You don't have a love life," Akira pointed out.

"You haven't had one since Takenouchi."

Takashi snickered. "Guess we know why."

Yamato growled and climbed out of his seat. "That's it. Practice. From the top."

With a collective groan, the rest of the band slowly stood up and started heading back to the equipment, assuming their positions with practiced ease. Akira passed the microphone stand on the way to his guitar and couldn't pass up the opportunity to murmur, "But Daisuke-chan will help out with that nonexistent love life of yours, right?"

The guitarist's arm was promptly introduced to Yamato's fist.