Archive of Our Own

(There's something inherently musical about Uenoyama - something Mafuyu's noticed from the start but doesn't have the words to describe. He's been trying, picking through music theory books now that they don't have finals to study for and paying more attention to the terms Akihiko and Haruki use in the studio, but he's still not there yet. 

But there's something, something there, right on the tip of his tongue. It sits, slightly sweet and slightly sour, the same way the lyrics to the song he sang at the concert did when the lights kicked on.)

Uenoyama laughs at the very last chord in the song they've been working on, the sound a soft, trembling huff of joy that nearly gets swallowed whole by the buzz-hum-roar of the amp he's plugged into. 

Mafuyu wants to kiss him, for a minute, wants to lean up and feel that trembling joyful huff against his own lips, but he bites back the desire by twisting his fingers over the fret of the guitar in his lap and beaming up at his boyfriend when he glances his way. 

"Well," Haruki says in response to the new song's debut, wry and fond and soft. He gives their drummer a look out of the corner of his eye, one of their silent split-second conversations that has the corner of Akihiko's mouth twitching in a smile. 

"Well," Akihiko answers back in kind, shrugging his broad shoulders fluidly, a drumstick rolling over his knuckles in that absent kind of way of his that Mafuyu kind of wants to learn, just ‘cause. "They don't call him a genius for nothing I guess."

"Hey," Uenoyama spits, throwing his current guitar pick at Akihiko's head. It soars through the air, its sleek glossy red finish catching the fluorescent lights overhead before it pings off Akihiko's shoulder. The other man doesn't even bother trying to dodge it, just arches his eyebrows and grins, just a little. "I didn't come up with this alone! Mafuyu, tell him!"

Uenoyama whirls on him, gesturing with one hand while slinging his guitar out of the way with the other. The way he moves with it is so natural, so easy - like the guitar is an extension of his own body even when it's not making a sound. Mafuyu doesn't know how he does it, finds the red guitar still awkward and heavy even after carrying it everywhere for a year, but-

But Uenoyama slings his guitar back behind him, sticks his elbow out to keep it there almost absently, natural and smooth, and  kind of casually, effortlessly attractive and Mafuyu feels his breath hitch like there's something lodged in his throat. 

"Oh come on," Haruki protests, gesturing beseechingly where Mafuyu's curled up on the ground, guitar unused in his lap. He doesn't say anything else, but Mafuyu thinks his own distracted silence is evidence enough against him.

"He's right," Akihiko says, his spinning drumstick coming to a smooth stop just in time for him to point it at Uenoyama. "Mafuyu's biased." 

Like you aren't, Mafuyu wants to protest, but instead he finally says, "the bit before where the chorus goes is based off the riffs Haruki was warming up with that last week." He watches surprise flicker across Haruki's face and presses his lips together to keep from smiling. 

"Hah," Uenoyama crows, jabbing a finger back at Akihiko while Haruki seems to try and mentally rewind the song he'd just heard to find the bit Mafuyu mentioned. "Told you!"

Akihiko rolls his eyes to the ceiling, mutters something under his breath, and then gives Mafuyu a flat look that doesn't quite cover the fondness in his eyes. 

In response Mafuyu adds, "he let me pick out the chords for the opening too. Does that count?"

"Congratulations," Akihiko says dryly, ignoring Mafuyu's statement completely, "you've made him even cockier than he already was."

"He has not," Uenoyama shouts, the pitch of his voice climbing an octave, loud enough to make Haruki wince.

Mafuyu gives Akihiko the same smile that always makes Hiiragi snarl about how he's a little shit and answers, "that's okay, I like it when he's cocky."

Uenoyama makes a noise that is only barely within the range of human hearing, carefully lifts his guitar from over his head to drop it in a guitar stand, and then drops on the ground to curl up in a ball. 

(Mafuyu loves him so much already that it's kind of blinding. 

Even if Uenoyama's terribly unprepared to deal with any emotion that isn't transcribed on a sheet of music or written shorthand in angry slants.

Sometimes Mafuyu's worried that the first time he calls him Ritsuka his head will pop clean off with the force of his blush.

But ah - he's so cute when he blushes.

Yuki never turned this pink, Mafuyu's sure of it. Not even when they kissed for the first time.)

"Is now a good time for a smoke break," Akihiko asks, low voice trembling with the force of a laugh Mafuyu thinks he's too afraid of Haruki's ire to let Uenoyama hear. Haruki's glare, the one that's keeping Akihiko from sputtering and pointing at the poor boy curled up on the ground, redoubles. 

"It's okay," Mafuyu murmurs, letting himself smile for a moment as he shifts the red guitar out of his lap and props it gently up next to Uenoyama's. "I can fix this."

Akihiko makes a gesture that Mafuyu translates loosely into be our guest, a flick of his drumstick bouncing back into the rhythm of it dancing over his knuckles. Haruki makes a noise that's pure exasperation in his throat and then throws up his hands as if to say do whatever you want!

Practice has only been going on for half an hour. Mafuyu really shouldn't have derailed them like this, especially when he knows how easy it is to fluster his poor boyfriend, but sometimes it feels too good to want to say these things that he doesn't think about if he should. 

(Sometimes Mafuyu looks at Uenoyama and wonders - how much of his connection to music is talent, how much of it is practice, and how much of it is passion?

How much of it is the Uenoyama Mafuyu met in that stairwell, with tired eyes and limp hands, no guitar in sight, and how much of it is the Uenoyama Mafuyu knows now, the one curling up like a pillbug on the floor with his hands clamped over his reddening cheeks, guitar carefully propped up in its stand, well-loved and black next to the just-starting-to-scuff red of the guitar Mafuyu uses. 

How much of Uenoyama has Mafuyu really shaped? How much of him does Mafuyu really know?

Mafuyu doesn't know the answer to either of those questions, but to be fair, he's not sure Uenoyama does either. 

The thought is kind of endearing, if Mafuyu's being honest. Endearing and uplifting. 

But then again that's how loving Uenoyama is coming to be - endearing and uplifting and terrifying and vibrant, like stepping outside on a day where you're expecting sleet and grey to find the sun has shed the last chill of winter to let summer out to play.

Mafuyu loves every new day that he gets to explore this feeling. Even when it hurts.)

His thoughts tug at his lips, for a moment, pulling them into a half-bitten frown. He swallows it back, nudges it away into the space in the back of his head where he knows it will haunt him when he tries to go to sleep that night, and then says, "Uenoyama, let's take a drink break."

Silence holds, one beat, two beat, three beat - four. And then-

"I'll go get them," Uenoyama mutters, his voice thick and sticking in his throat. He uncurls, just a little, lifting his head from the prison of his hands, to glance Mafuyu's way. The smile he shoots him is half embarrassed grimace and half rueful affection and Mafuyu feels a tidal wave rise through his chest, a sound-wave crash against his ribs like the first time he heard the other boy play guitar, and can't really help the way he grins back just before he darts forward to plant a quick kiss to the crest of Uenoyama's cheek. 

This time there's no sound as Uenoyama seizes up and then tumbles gracelessly back to the floor. Just the smack of his own palms crashing into his face and the drone-hum of the guitar still plugged into the amp. 

From in between the spaces of Uenoyama's fingers, Mafuyu can tell the tips of his ears have turned pink. It's so cute Mafuyu almost wants to take a picture. 

Loudly and with a great deal of disbelief, Haruki says, "are you shitting me?!"

Akihiko, unable to help himself, finally laughs. 

Standing over Uenoyama's twitching form Haruki gives them both an unamused glance before sighing in a somewhat dramatic fashion.

"Alright, lover-boy," Haruki mutters, rolling his eyes as he leans down and wraps both hands around Uenoyama's elbow. He heaves Uenoyama to his feet, or tries to, but Haruki isn't built like Akihiko and even though he's older than Uenoyama, Uenoyama spends one of his part-time jobs lifting and carrying heavy boxes around, making him a deadweight of teenaged muscles and dramatics as he rolls around on the ground. 

So he doesn't budge, not even a little. From his spot carefully propping his elbows up on the edge of one of his drums, Akihiko snorts, pressing his lips together like he's trying not to laugh again. The drumstick spins, motion unaffected by the slight trembling in his shoulders. 

Haruki transfers his flat, slightly irritated look to the other man, eyes narrowing for a second before something flits over his face, small and slight and- 

And sad, Mafuyu can't help but think as Haruki abruptly drops his gaze from Akihiko and goes back to pulling at Uenoyama's arm. 

Small and slight and rueful and sad. 

(He doesn't know what's going on with Haruki and Akihiko - he sees them together more than apart, knows them best as the guiding rhythm in their songs, always tucked into the other side of a restaurant booth as Uenoyama's shoulder brushes his. 

But sometimes he wonders - wonders if there wasn't something more to Haruki's speech on why band members shouldn't date. There's enough there between the two older members to wonder, he thinks - enough left unsaid in the way Akihiko smiles when Haruki's face scrunches with his emotions, enough left in between the lines of their bodies as Haruki leans into Akihiko as they smoke outside, body turned toward his even as he angles to blow the smoke away. 

Mafuyu wonders, but he hasn't asked. He hadn't at first to be polite, but now he thinks that even if he did ask his boyfriend if anything was going on between their other two bandmates, Uenoyama wouldn't have the faintest clue what he was talking about. 

Uenoyama, Mafuyu is beginning to suspect, is rather thick-skulled and short-sighted when it comes to relationships and people. 

It's the only explanation he's been able to come up with for the fact that Uenoyama yanked him into a kiss in the stairwell after their performance and then didn't mention it until Mafuyu confessed two days later.

Mafuyu could despair about his boyfriend's lack of relationship awareness or revel in the feeling of getting to fall in love again, learning each step anew with Uenoyama at his side. 

It's a no-brainer which one he's going to pick for that, thanks. A no-brainer at all.)

"Uenoyama," Mafuyu says, fighting back the urge to grin at the way Haruki's flinty eyed glare immediately drops to him, like the older man is beginning to suspect that Mafuyu's doing this on purpose, even though he's not. Uenoyama stills as Mafuyu crawls closer to sit beside him, twitches just a little when Mafuyu brushes against his other arm as he leans over Uenoyama's head. 

"I can get the drinks instead if you want," he offers as innocently as he can muster. 

Like a puppet yanked upright by inexperienced hands, Uenoyama slaps his hands against the floor and throws himself to his feet, nearly barreling over Haruki as he does so. 

"No," his boyfriend yelps, too loudly to hide the crack in his voice. His cheeks are red, red like Yuki's-Mafuyu's guitar, red like the glossy pick Uenoyama threw at Akihiko earlier, and with his cheeks so flushed it makes his eyes brighter under the mop of mused dark hair that falls across his forehead. 

(He's gorgeous, Mafuyu can't help but think, in a way that's both familiar and not. 

He wants to kiss him, to reach up and drag him down, plant their lips together and get his hands in the already-messy strands of hair curling around Uenoyama's ears.

He wants and sometimes the enormity of it threatens to swallow him whole. But he doesn't mind that feeling, doesn't mind the teetering-on-the-edge swooping sensation of his stomach as heat curls in the space just beneath his breast where winter once sunk its claws in to stay. 

It feels good, to want something that he can actually have again. Good enough that for a moment, looking up at Uenoyama's flushed pink cheeks, Mafuyu forgets all the things he wonders under the landslide of everything else.)

Uenoyama sucks in a breath, rallying visibly against his own flustered state, and then drags a hand through his mussed up hair in a way that makes Mafuyu stare just a little too intently at the pretty picture he makes. 

"No," the other boy grits out again, shaking his head before he turns neatly on his heel. "I got it- something without carbonation, right?"

Mafuyu smiles, helpless not to as he thinks of the hum-drum of the vending machine that night he'd sung for Uenoyama - the night he'd first started to slip sideways into love with the other boy, he thinks, caught up in the intensity of Uenoyama's bright eyes as adrenaline from their run had beat like a drum in his veins. 

Uenoyama shoots him a quick quirk-of-the-corner-of-his-mouth smile over his shoulder before ducking out of the room, not bothering to wait for an answer. Haruki follows at his heels, muttering loudly about I told you this would be trouble! you're a mess, what was that? akihiko's never gonna let you hear the end of it if this keeps up! that makes Akihiko huff that quiet, breathless laugh he saves just for things Haruki does or says, the sound of which is almost swallowed by the click of the door closing. 

And then it's just him and Akihiko and the slight buzz of the amp in the corner, still powered on and plugged into Uenoyama's guitar. 

"You know," Akihiko says, his voice low and barely there like the sound of the guitar-and-amp in the corner. "I'm beginning to think you do that on purpose."

Mafuyu thinks if he was anyone else his nose would wrinkle or his shoulders would hunch - Uenoyama's certainly would, if he'd been here. 

(Yuki's shoulders would have tightened with anger, his face twisting with the promise of a fight. He had always hated having his thoughts probed and picked apart, especially in such a low, knowing tone. 

Mafuyu had found that part of him amusing, once upon a time. And then Yuki had stopped offering his thoughts up to share, had started putting on the air of too-cool mystery for Mafuyu too instead of just everyone else, and it had stopped being amusing and started to hurt. 

Yuki must have been hurting too though, he thinks.

But he had never said anything. So Mafuyu had never known.)

But Mafuyu’s not his boyfriend (nor is he his late, dead ex-boyfriend) and he does neither.

"Not really," he answers, letting his head tip to the side a little like the implication that Mafuyu is doing this to play with Uenoyama's feelings doesn't hurt. He pauses then, considers saying something more in his own defense, considers throwing the implication back in Akihiko’s face with Haruki’s name at the forefront, and then discards both routes to ask instead, "has he always been so easy to fluster?"

Akihiko's laugh is sharp but not unkind, abrupt and low and loud for their otherwise quiet practice room. "Honestly," he says, as the drumstick finally, finally skitters out of his grip, pings off the edge of the drum, and tumbles with a muted crash to the ground, "I thought that kid had a rock solid poker face until you came along."

Mafuyu does make a face then, a twitch in the corner of his mouth that he can’t quite suppress in time that might be a laugh or might be a grimace, he’s not sure himself. Akihiko laughs again, this time with a duck of his head and a grin as he fishes his drumstick off the floor, and when he picks himself back up it’s with Uenoyama’s guitar pick in hand as well.

He flicks the guitar pick Mafuyu’s way before he has time to realize what’s happening and it bounces off the top of his head before he can manage to flinch. The little thing with its glossy red finish lands in his lap, right by his hands, and this close up Mafuyu can see that it’s new enough not to have a thumbprint worn into its surface yet from Uenoyama’s grip.

“Hah,” Akihiko breathes, grinning to himself as he taps the drumstick absently in a steady beat-beat-hitchbeat-beat rhythm against the rim of the smallest of his drums. Mafuyu wonders if that’s going to be a rhythm in their new song or if it’s just an absent back-of-the-mind kind of beat Akihiko lives with. “But for real, kid, Haruki and I barely got anything out of him when he wasn’t playing music. He wasn’t closed off exactly, but he’s always sort of kept his head down, even when he had a guitar at hand. Yayoi’s always said he’d been pretty easy to rile up as a kid, loud and mouthy was the way she put it, but the first time I’d seen his feathers get ruffled was when he dragged you in to have us play for you that day.”

Mafuyu blinks to himself for a moment, trying to absorb the information Akihiko’s offered him and fit it into the puzzle in his head titled Uenoyama Ritsuka. It does and it doesn’t line up with the boy he knows - fits well enough with the head-down attitude Uenoyama’s only just starting to shuck off at school, but not so well with the chasing-after-Mafuyu-in-the-street-and-yelling-at-him attitude that landed Mafuyu as the singer for their band. 

(But even if it doesn’t line up perfectly with any of the pieces Mafuyu has, he still thinks it feels familiar, this vague outline-shape of an image Akihiko’s planted in his mind. 

It feels like the weight of carrying around a dead boy’s guitar. It feels like the dead silence of the rest of the world as time passes but winter doesn’t seem to fade in the hollow of Mafuyu’s lonely bones.

It feels like Uenoyama Ritsuka didn’t just save Mafuyu. 

It feels like Mafuyu might’ve saved him too.)

Akihiko must be watching Mafuyu’s face for some kind of reaction, but Mafuyu isn’t sure what reaction he gives. Whatever it is, it must be enough for the older man, who’s shoulders bounce with a quiet snort of amusement as he shakes his head, free hand fishing out another drumstick from the pouch hanging from the side of his second largest drum.

“I wasn’t sure it’d be a good thing,” Akihiko tells him as the beat-beat-hitchbeat-beat rhythm turns into a beatbeat-hitchbeat-beatbeat-beat-hitchbeat that Mafuyu thinks might actually work with the pre-chorus bridge Uenoyama based off Haruki’s warm-up riffs from the week before. “But it’s nice, I guess, seeing little Uecchi give more than a hum and a nod when we say something to him. Even if it’s making Yayoi breathe down my neck twice as much as usual.”

The door chooses that moment to swing open, giving Mafuyu no chance to say anything back to that statement. It’s almost a relief, everything considered, because Mafuyu doesn’t know what he’d even say to that - thanks for changing your mind? what do you mean you didn’t think it’d be a good thing? how are you and uenoyama’s sister even friends?

In the end it doesn’t matter. The door swings open, Akihiko gives Mafuyu one last crooked smile before bending over his drum set, and then Uenoyama is there, brandishing a canned coffee at him with a look on his face that’s supposed to cover up his earlier embarrassment and doesn’t quite manage it.

“Here,” Uenoyama says, dropping the cold can into Mafuyu’s lap. He catches it, more reflex than thought, and can’t help but startle in surprise when the backs of Uenoyama’s knuckles brush against his cheek, a quick there-and-gone gesture of affection that has him ducking his head to hide his smile.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, looking up again through his lashes as Uenoyama drops down next to him. Uenoyama’s cheeks go pink again, but he stays upright, popping the tab on his can of soda and muttering something thick in his throat that might be you’re welcome or might be please don’t fucking mention it. 

Haruki steps over the pair of them without a word, though he does catch Mafuyu’s eyes with an expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement as Mafuyu pops the tab on his own coffee and takes a sip. He’s only holding one can himself, the same kind of cheap too-sweet coffee Uenoyama always buys for Mafuyu.

“Where’s mine,” Akihiko asks, as Haruki nudges Uenoyama’s head to the side as he steps past, a playful gesture that reminds Mafuyu of the way Yuki used to nudge Hiiragi out of the way as he picked his way across a room. 

“You had a coffee before you got here,” Haruki tells him, sounding waspishly teasing as he drops down on the stool next to Akihiko’s drum set, right beside where his bass is propped up and plugged into an amp that isn’t on yet. “Don’t lie to me, I saw you throw the can away as you came in.”

Mafuyu shares a glance with Uenoyama as Akihiko sputters in response, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch with a grin. Uenoyama looks much like Haruki had the moment before, half exasperated and half amused, and he lets the two men squabble for a moment as he drains half his can in one go, catching Mafuyu’s eye only to roll his dramatically as he leans over to put his can out of the way.

“Are you guys done,” Uenoyama calls after Akihiko gives two failed attempts to steal Haruki’s coffee, one of which nearly causes the man to spill it and the other which costs him a drumstick that Haruki immediately brandishes back at him like a sword. “Because I thought we were here for band practice.”

“Oh, so now he wants to be serious about band practice,” Akihiko says, snickering as Uenoyama drains the last of his drink and then lifts the empty can like he’ll throw it at the drummer’s head. At his side Haruki snorts, a startled laugh ripping out of him mid-drink in a way that sends him into a painful looking coughing fit. 

Akihiko is ruthless and godless and Mafuyu knows this because he takes the chance while Haruki is coughing to swipe the other’s canned coffee and drain the rest of his drink himself. 

Uenoyama looks to the ceiling as Haruki’s flailing arm nearly catches Akihiko in the head. He looks, very suddenly, like a put upon father whose children are acting up at the supermarket. Mafuyu can’t help but laugh quietly at that expression, setting aside his own half-drunk coffee to lean sideways into Uenoyama’s shoulder, reveling in the way Uenoyama leans into his touch even as the other boy’s cheeks stain pink once more. 

“Kids these days,” Mafuyu murmurs to Uenoyama, giving him a little grin as Haruki finally stops choking and instead starts shouting at Akihiko for stealing his drink instead of making sure that he wasn’t dying. “So noisy, so unfocused. What are we going to do with them, Uenoyama?”

Uenoyama grins, ducking his head down as if that will hide the way he snorts messily into the scant space between them. It doesn’t and if anything it only makes the gesture more adorable, but Mafuyu isn’t going to tell him that and embarrass him further if he can help it, especially considering he is genuinely looking forward to trying out their new song in full with both Akihiko and Haruki sometime tonight. 

“I dunno, Mafuyu,” Uenoyama murmurs back, warm and smooth and entirely too attractive as he casts a teasing glance toward the pair of older men who sound like they’ve just now realized they’re being mocked. “Time out maybe? No dessert after dinner?”

“Time out,” Haruki echoes, in a tone of voice reminiscent of the time a few weeks ago when Haruki snapped a string while the amp was still on - jarring and loud and offended down to his toes. “Are you-”

“We could always ground them,” Mafuyu offers, eyelashes fluttering in a movement that’s only half for show. Uenoyama sucks in a breath that shakes, his own eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, but even as his eyes go dark and his cheeks go from pink to glossy, vibrant red, he doesn’t lean out of Mafuyu’s space.

“Y’know,” Uenoyama mutters, voice thick and catching, hum-buzz-drum electric in the back of his throat in a way that makes static crawl along Mafuyu’s spine. “I like the way you think, babe.”

Mafuyu feels his heart lurch in his chest, his tongue dry out in his mouth. Silence hangs between them, as bright and blinding as the moment where the lights kick on for the concert to commence. 

(Babe, Uenoyama murmurs, with a voice made for explaining things quietly and clearly, with eyes made to pierce through the space underneath white-hot lights and sear through Mafuyu’s veins. 

Babe, Uenoyama murmurs, with a curl to the corner of his mouth that hooks in Mafuyu’s gut and a glance cast through his lashes that fills Mafuyu’s cheeks with a feeling not unlike steam.

Yuki never used pet names as a way to show affection, had only ever thrown them around to tease and taunt. He’d called them dumb, the one time Mafuyu had asked about it, had snorted into Mafuyu’s sweat-slicked hair and muttered if I want your attention, I’ll just call your damn name.

Babe, Uenoyama murmurs, and it carries the same soft, squishy-centered heat to it that his declaration of you did so good out there did in the stairwell several weeks ago.

Mafuyu has never had an opinion on pet names and terms of endearment before. But now, he thinks he might.)

“I would pay money to see you little shits try to ground us,” Akihiko says and then before Mafuyu can do much more than suck in a startled breath Uenoyama is rearing back from him and barking out a pained noise, his arm snapping out to snag the drumstick Akihiko has thrown at them to launch it straight back at their smirking drummer.

It sails over Akihiko’s head by a good foot. Mafuyu isn’t sure if that’s on purpose or not, but considering Uenoyama is passable at basketball when he wants to be, Mafuyu thinks it might be.

“Fuck off,” Uenoyama shouts, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he rocks himself to his feet, snagging his empty can on the way back up and accepting Mafuyu’s half drunken one when Mafuyu holds it wordlessly out to him. “Just for that, you’re absolutely grounded. And by grounded I mean I’m gonna tell Yayoi you knocked me in the head with a goddamn drumstick.”

“Poor little Uecchi,” Akihiko says and Mafuyu sees him shake his head to cover up his split-second grimace as Uenoyama drains the last of Mafuyu’s coffee before tossing it in the trash. “Still having to get his big sister to fight his battle, so sad.”

Haruki shakes his head and tries to cover up his snort of laughter with his hand, but he doesn’t quite manage it. “She’s going to kill you,” the bassist says, scooping up his instrument and slinging it over his shoulder with ease. It’s not the same ease Uenoyama uses to handle his guitar, but it’s still comfortable, still fluid. Akihiko makes a face at him, muttering something low under his breath that Mafuyu doesn’t catch over the hum-drum-buzz of the amp Haruki’s plugged into getting turned on, and then-

“Here,” Uenoyama says, reaching down with his free hand as he hooks the fingers of his other one around the strap of the red guitar, swinging it easily up from its place against the wall. Mafuyu blinks at him for a moment, struck again by the urge to plant his hands in the other boy’s messy dark hair and kiss him, and then quietly places his hand in Uenoyama’s.

Uenoyama hoists him to his feet, hands him the guitar, and, just like that, they fall back into band practice like nothing else has changed.

(But Mafuyu still feels it buzz against his skin, like electricity, like leaning against one of the speakers at work during a soundcheck, the thrum-buzz-tremble of it leaching into his bones.

It feels like being alive.

It feels like a chance to try again.

Mafuyu loves it, almost as much as he loves the way Uenoyama grins at him as Akihiko and Haruki both fall headfirst into the new song they wrote together.)

-

It’s late by the time they finally call it quits, late enough that Haruki snags Akihiko by the back of his jacket and wheels him down the hall to apologize for staying so long past their promised time. Akihiko lets himself be manhandled with an expression of deep-seated amusement, his eyebrows arching high on his head as he ducks a little to accomodate the fact that he’s taller than Haruki, and he concedes to grovel for forgiveness on their behalf if Haruki lets Akihiko drive him home.

Haruki hesitates, only for a second, before agreeing. Mafuyu wonders about that, about the flicker of a shadow across the other man’s eyes as he sighs his agreement, but doesn’t say anything. 

“C’mon,” Uenoyama says, tugging Mafuyu gently from his thoughts with his voice alone. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You walked me home last time,” Mafuyu points out, shifting the guitar case on his back a little. He’s glad that for now, at least, they don’t have their school bags to worry about as well, but even though the sun has long since fallen beneath the horizon and painted the world in hues of dark, dark blue the muggy heat of summer is already beginning to stick around. Soon, Mafuyu thinks, there’ll be sweat pooling in the space between their shoulder blades, trapped against their skin with the weight of their guitars. 

(Soon, he thinks, and almost smiles.

Summer is a balmy blessing, after so many months of chilly numbness. Uenoyama’s company even more so.)

Uenoyama turns pink at the remark, jaw clenching for a moment in an expression of bullheaded stubbornness before he huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes, stubbornness melting from him like an icecream cone in the sun - one second there and solid before Mafuyu’s eyes and then next nothing more than sticky residue against his knuckles. 

“You can walk me home if you want,” Uenoyama offers, giving Mafuyu a look that he can’t quite read, an echo of the cocky way he’d grinned at Akihiko when the drummer had grudgingly agreed that this new song they’d cooked up was entirely too fun to play and yet, somehow, still embarrassed. 

“But,” Mafuyu prods, sidestepping slightly to bump their shoulders together. Uenoyama snorts as Mafuyu leans his weight against him, lifts an arm almost automatically to keep Mafuyu from stumbling when his guitar case shifts on his back and throws him just enough off balance to start to trip. 

“But,” Uenoyama continues, his cheeks going rosy under the distant, hazy glow of the street-lamps they pass underneath, “Yayoi’s supposed to be home tonight and she’s nosy as all hell, so-”

He shrugs, shoulder bouncing against Mafuyu’s because he hasn’t bothered to step aside and separate them, and Mafuyu lets it jostle through him, heart suddenly lurching in his chest. He curls his hands around the straps of the guitar case like it’s a backpack just to give his hands something to do, turning his head to peer up at Uenoyama even as the other lifts his chin so that he doesn’t have to meet his eyes.

The pink tint across Uenoyama’s cheeks spreads, from one pool of lamp-light to the next. Mafuyu feels himself start to grin, feels himself bump closer and closer to Uenoyama’s shoulder until, finally-

“You can walk me home then,” Mafuyu murmurs, the words plucked against his tongue like guitar strings, until it leaves his teeth vibrating in his mouth, “so your nosy sister doesn’t catch us kissing at the front door.”

Uenoyama comes to such a sudden crashing halt that has Mafuyu genuinely tripping over his own feet in surprise, causing the other boy to lurch forward to catch him and haul him back up. Mafuyu pinwheels as he tries to get his footing once more, arms flailing out and latching onto Uenoyama’s shoulders to try and steady himself, and within one heartbeat to the next they’re suddenly nose-to-nose, one of Uenoyama’s arms curled around his waist while Mafuyu’s hands sit curled tight around the fabric of Uenoyama’s shirt.

“What- Uenoyama, what-” Mafuyu tries to ask, his breath hitching in his throat at the sudden lack of distance between their bodies, their faces. Uenoyama is so close that his breath is falling, warm and shiver-inducing against his jaw. 

He loses track of his own words, however, because Uenoyama ducks his head, glances up at Mafuyu through his lashes, eyes bright against the dark of his hair and the flush of his cheeks, and murmurs, “kiss?"

(Mafuyu is almost certain that someone, at some point, is going to tell him that he has a type.

It hasn’t happened yet, but to his knowledge the venn diagram of people who had known Yuki, who had known Yuki and Mafuyu were dating, and now know Uenoyama is a series of circles that do not touch. One day he’s sure they’ll overlap - Hiiragi is already aware that Mafuyu’s falling in love all over again and has probably only kept a lid on his questions for the sake of Shizusumi’s sanity and that doesn’t even cover all the kids who’d gone to middle school with him who now go to their high school, but- 

But he doesn’t think he has a type. He’s been formulating a response in his head for a conversation that hasn’t even begun to happen and it goes something like this:

hey, do you know you have a type? 

I don’t have a type, he’ll say. Yuki and Uenoyama are nothing alike.

And it’s true, he thinks, and he thinks he should know best out of everyone if it’s true or not - Uenoyama and Yuki both play-played guitar and both have-had a way of looking at him underneath their lashes that makes everything in Mafuyu’s head go white-noise, fuzzy-static with want.

But that’s where the similarities end. Uenoyama Ritsuka and Yoshida Yuki are-were two completely different people.

And Mafuyu loves them in two completely different ways.

Still, though - one glance from bright, bright eyes under the shadow-fall of long lashes and he feels his knees go weak.)

The hitch of Uenoyama’s breath before he speaks jars Mafuyu out of his own head, brings him crashing back down to earth like the way waves break against the rocks on the beach. He sucks in a hitching breath of his own, tightens his fingers around the worn-soft material of Uenoyama’s shirt, and finds his gaze ping-ponging between Uenoyama’s glitter-burning eyes and the way his lips part as he starts to speak.

“Can I kiss you,” Uenoyama asks lowly, his voice sticking in his throat again like flat, warm, tacky soda. His cheeks are starting to go from pink to red and this close up Mafuyu can tell his lips are chapped and bitten without having to touch them to find out, but above that-

Above that his eyebrows, thick and strong, furrow down in a slant above his eyes, the same way they do when he picks apart a tricky set of chords in a song. Determination is painted across every inch of his face, determination and a dazzling, burning kind of attraction.

Mafuyu feels seared by that gaze, by the weight and power of the other boy's attraction and attention.

You can't even hold my hand without nearly having a heart attack, Mafuyu thinks. But what he says is, "last time you didn't stop to ask."

Uenoyama shudders against him, breath hitching in a way that bounces warm damp air against Mafuyu’s lips, and he finds himself tugging at Uenoyama’s shirt even as the other boy drops his head to knock their temples together. He feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Uenoyama mumbles something unintelligible near his throat, something that sounds an awful lot like I didn’t mean to in a way that makes Mafuyu want to laugh.

Uenoyama sucks in a breath that almost doesn’t shake this time, drags his head back up until his lips are nearly ghosting over Mafuyu’s own. This close up all Mafuyu can see is blue, bright blue, blue like the sky over the ocean, blue like-

“Well I’m asking now,” Uenoyama mutters, voice still thick in his throat but now the hum-drum-buzz of electricity is back in a way that makes Mafuyu’s everything feel like he’s just been plugged into an amp. “Can I kiss you or what, goddammit-”

Mafuyu tips his head up, uses his hands fisted in Uenoyama’s shirt to tug him down the last little bit until their noses bump and brush together, until his words don’t even have to jump to fall against the other boy’s when he breathes, “if you’re gonna kiss me, Ritsuka, then kiss me-”

Uenoyama - Ritsuka makes a noise, one that crawls out of his throat only for a second before he’s surging forward that last little bit of distance and pressing his lips against Mafuyu’s.

The kiss feels a lot like that first chord Mafuyu learned how to play - simple, easy, and clear.

The other boy’s lips are as chapped and dry as they looked, but they’re warm and careful and gentle even after his near desperate surge forward, and Mafuyu melts into his touch like an ice cube cupped in the palm of a hand held glittering in the sun. He feels his knees tremble like they're going to give out as his boyfriend tentatively moves their lips together, the other boy's hand clenching against Mafuyu's side until Mafuyu can feel the taunt trembling of knuckles against his ribs. 

The street around them is quiet when the other boy lifts his head just a little and parts them from their kiss, though he doesn't go far at all, ducking his head back down to press against the juncture where Mafuyu's shoulder meets his neck. 

Mafuyu can feel the heat of the other's flushed cheek against his throat, can feel the way the other boy is panting like he's run a marathon. He flexes his fingers clenched around his boyfriend's shirt, feeling the way his knuckles brush against his own chest due to the way they're pressed so close together. 

"You're so cute," Mafuyu murmurs, unable to stop himself. He leans his head to the side a little bit, rubbing his cheek against messy dark hair as the hand around his waist squeezes him even tighter. "Uenoyama-"

"Don't," that drum-hum-buzz electric shock voice murmurs, chapped lips brushing his throat and sending little shocks through Mafuyu's system. "Don't, don't go back on that, please, just say my name, just-"

Heat flares and curls in Mafuyu's chest and nothing, he thinks, nothing can dampen this for him. Not the other pedestrians wandering down the street giving them askance glances as they pass. Not the way Akihiko's I'm beginning to think you do that on purpose still rings slightly sour in his thoughts. 

(Not even the scars on his heart, etched with gravestone letters that spell out his first love's name. 

Nothing can ruin this for him.

He won't let it.)

Mafuyu laughs, trying to gentle the sound so it it's happy instead of mean. "Okay Ritsuka," he murmurs, dropping a kiss to dark, messy hair, "okay."

Ritsuka shudders against him, seeming to burrow into Mafuyu's neck with a noise that makes Mafuyu kind of wish he was the one pinning the other boy against the wall he’s found himself crowded back against instead of the other way around. 

"Sorry," Ritsuka mutters eventually, squeezing Mafuyu's waist one more time before he starts to pull back. He lifts his head, bottom lip caught between his teeth and his eyes downcast, and Mafuyu-

God, Mafuyu loves him. But the look in his eyes is dulling with shame, which is souring the flush in his cheeks into something sad. 

(Mafuyu doesn't like this look so much, doesn't like the way it resonates in his chest like an echo to ice and cold and numbness. 

Mafuyu likes it better when Ritsuka's warm - the cold doesn't suit him, doesn't settle on his shoulders with dignity the way it had on Yuki, who had always looked like a prince crowned in frost. 

But Ritsuka is made of warmth, made for warmth - he's a warm cup of cocoa against your palms and a thick scarf around your neck, he's the sun beating through the windows on a cloudless day and the rolling tide of heat that spills out when you take brownies out of the stove. 

He's the bright intensity of the lights above the stage, the blistering feeling of his fingertips pressing against the vibrating guitar strings as the amp behind him whines with static. 

He’s good, Mafuyu thinks, heart pounding in his chest. So, so good. 

He saved Mafuyu with a furrow in his eyebrows and a glint in his eyes. He saved Mafuyu even though he was just some quiet goddamn stranger who didn’t even know how to change a goddamn guitar string. 

Uenoyama Ritsuka reached out and gave Mafuyu a chance. When everything else in his life was quiet and still, when Mafuyu was content to run from his problems and stagnate until he died, Ritsuka was there, loud and bright, telling Mafuyu to sing, telling Mafuyu to say what’s on his mind, to try.

Yuki had done something similar, once. But Yuki’s way of saving Mafuyu had always been to take the problem away, far out of reach, so it couldn’t touch Mafuyu any more.

Ritsuka saved Mafuyu by giving him a chance to save himself.

Mafuyu wants to return the favor, again and again and again, for as long as Ritsuka will let him.

Their whole lives, maybe. He doesn’t know what’s ahead of them, he just knows that he wants to keep trying.

So. 

He tries.)

“Hey,” Mafuyu breathes, letting Ritsuka pull back only far enough that he can slide his hands up his shoulders, palms finding their home on either side of Ritsuka’s jaw like puzzle pieces locking into place. Ritsuka leans back, eyes cut away from Mafuyu’s face, but Mafuyu is patient, is steady, is content to wait - he waited longer on the boardwalk by the beach that day, as Ritsuka stared at him with slack-jawed surprise instead of responding to his confession like a normal person.

I love him, Mafuyu thinks to himself. The thought pulls a smile into place at the corner of his lips, a smile that only grows as Ritsuka huffs out a breath and closes his eyes, leaning into Mafuyu’s touch bit by bit.

“Ritsuka,” Mafuyu murmurs, as the other boy in his grip stiffens at first and then seems to turn to putty in his hands. “Ritsuka, Ritsuka, Ritsuka-”

Mafuyu can’t help but laugh as Ritsuka groans, eyes screwing closed like he can block out the sound of Mafuyu’s voice that way. “I get it, I get it,” he mutters back, peeking one eye open rather dramatically to give Mafuyu a sour, embarrassed sort of glare. “I- I’m trying not to be so- embarrassing, I swear.”

“I don’t think you’re embarrassing,” Mafuyu says, immediate and easy. 

Ritsuka opens his other eye to give Mafuyu a flatly disbelieving look, the kind Haruki was saddling the pair of them with at the start of their band practice earlier that night. “I laid on the floor for, like, five minutes earlier,” he answers, dry voice sounding like it catches in his throat like callouses on a guitar string. “And all you did was kiss my cheek.”

Mafuyu’s got the best poker face of anyone they grew up with, so the corner of his mouth doesn’t even twitch like it wants to in a helplessly endeared kind of grin. Instead he just shrugs, squishing Ritsuka’s cheeks together a little as he slides his hands up from his jaw to his cheeks, and says, “it’s not your fault you’re not used to this. And anyway, I think it’s cute.”

Something flickers across Ritsuka’s face, something shadowed and a little sad, before he rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath that makes his bangs dance across his forehead. “I’m pretty sure Haruki was seconds away from tossing me outside on my head,” he mutters, but the sour twist of his lips is starting to soften, starting to curl back up in a smile, so Mafuyu counts it as a win.

“Maybe,” Mafuyu agrees, because Haruki had been annoyed with them. “But I wouldn’t let him.”

The corners of Ritsuka’s mouth twitch and tremble, a grin peeking out with a glimpse of slightly crooked teeth before the other boy gives a soft, amp-hum kind of laugh in the back of his throat.

“You’d fight Haruki for me,” Ritsuka asks, eyelashes fluttering as he dips his chin, just a little, just enough that Mafuyu is suddenly faced with his number one weakness once more - Ritsuka’s bright blue eyes shadowed by the fall of endlessly dark lashes. “Y’know, I think that’d be pretty worth the yelling to see.”

Mafuyu hums a little, rising on his tiptoes and tugging Ritsuka down just a bit so he can kiss the corner of his mouth gently. Ritsuka’s cheeks go pink and the other boy’s hands fly up to press against Mafuyu’s ribs, fingers twisting in his shirt, but he doesn’t back down and those bright blue eyes stay pinned to Mafuyu’s face.

(Just the way Mafuyu likes them, to be honest. 

God, sometimes he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to get a second chance at this. God.)

“Then next time he starts complaining I’ll tell him to square up,” Mafuyu murmurs, letting himself grin a bit at the end of the sentence. 

Ritsuka laughs, loud and unrestrained, like he's not able to stop himself, and the force of his laughter bucks him forward so that Mafuyu's hands slide up into his hair the way Mafuyu's been thinking about all night.

From there it's an easy feat to pull Ritsuka down into another kiss, but Mafuyu hesitates, breath catching against his teeth. He doesn't want to rush Ritsuka, doesn't mind taking everything one little step at a time if they're doing it together-

But it seems like this time, his worries are for nothing. Ritsuka taps his fingers against Mafuyu's ribcage in a rhythmic pattern Mafuyu thinks he recognizes and seals their mouths together once more. 

By the time they break apart Mafuyu has nearly forgotten their conversation entirely, his mind too full of static, his every sensation narrowed down to the way calloused fingertips tap against his sides and chapped lips drag against his own. 

He's forgotten it enough that it catches him off guard when Ritsuka breathes, "would you fight Aki for me too," against the line of his jaw, the words skittering down his skin to dance in a shiver down his throat. 

"Yeah," Mafuyu replies, dazed and grinning. He laughs, because he wants to, because Ritsuka is pressing his fingers against Mafuyu's ribs to mimic the opening chords of their new song, because he loves him, because-

(Because he's happy.)

"Yeah," Mafuyu promises, as Ritsuka pressing a humming kiss to the crest of Mafuyu's cheek as he pulls back. Definitely our new song, he thinks, warm coiling through his chest. "I'd even fight Yayoi for you, if you want."

Ritsuka laughs again, loud and bouncing, the sound the most musical thing Mafuyu thinks he's ever heard. The sound's vibrant enough that Mafuyu doesn't even notice the sweet, gentle way Ritsuka untangles their bodies and pulls him away from the wall until it's already happened. 

"I might take you up on the last one," Ritsuka murmurs, low and warm and gorgeous. He dips forward to press a kiss to Mafuyu's nose, the tips of his ears a burning red even as his eyes shine like the reflection of the sun off the sea. "Especially since we've probably missed a couple of trains like this. C'mon, let's get you home. Tama's probably wondering where his dad is."

Mafuyu laughs, feeling his face scrunch up a little as he reaches out and holds his hand open in a silent request for Ritsuka's own. "He's gotten better about that lately, actually. But I also made sure to feed him before I left too, which helps."

Ritsuka shakes his head, the red in the tips of his ears growing just a little darker even as he reaches out and tangles their fingers together, his warm palm pressing against Mafuyu's in a way that's sure to itch with sweat before they get to Mafuyu's apartment. 

Mafuyu doesn't care. He tightens his fingers around Ritsuka's and tugs him close, until their shoulders brush with every step, until Ritsuka's close enough that Mafuyu can tip forward and kiss Ritsuka's cheek.

"We should take him to the park this weekend," Mafuyu muses, as Ritsuka tightens his fingers around Mafuyu's, his free hand flying up to rub at the back of his neck absently. "The weather sounds like it'll be good for it and you don't work on Saturday, right?"

"Hm, I don't," Ritsuka agrees. "And there's a park near where Haruki works, we could go terrorize him on his shift that afternoon."

"That," Mafuyu says with delighted relish, "sounds like such a good idea." And then, with a hitched breath that he hopes Ritsuka doesn't take the wrong way, he tacks on, "babe."

Ritsuka squeaks, slapping his free hand over his face but-

But he stays, smiling slightly with the corner of his mouth as he holds Mafuyu's hand on their way home. 

Together. 

(Two days later at band practice Mafuyu murmurs, "Ritsuka, can I borrow a pick?"

"Sure thing, babe," Ritsuka mutters back, half-distracted as he digs into the inner pocket of his guitar case. He flicks out a pick from his latest batch, one that's white with flecks of gold and black, like the world's thinnest slice of marble, and Mafuyu plucks it from his hand with a quiet hum of thanks before dropping a quick kiss to his cheek as well. 

Ritsuka almost doesn't react to the kiss - he's too focused on trying to find that scrap of paper he's been looking for all day that Mafuyu asked him to hold onto with the chord options for the chorus, but his cheeks do go just a little pink and the corner of his mouth hikes in a smile as he casts a quick glance Mafuyu's way. 

"Oh," Haruki says, voice strangled in the back of his throat like he's holding all the strings wrong when the amp kicks on. "Oh no."

Mafuyu picks his head up, running his thumb absently along the edge of his borrowed pick, and gives Haruki his patented shit-starting-sweet smile before he says, "sorry, Haruki."

"You're not sorry," Haruki answers, but his lips twitch after a moment in a smile that gentles into something almost proud. He gives a lengthy sigh and rolls his eyes to the ceiling as if asking for patience. 

Akihiko, meanwhile, opens his mouth to say something and immediately gets pelted with a red, glossy guitar pick. 

"Hey," he protests, but Ritsuka just picks up his head, brandishing the located piece of crumpled notebook paper from their finals study session, and smirks. 

"Watch what you say or I'll sick my boyfriend on you," Ritsuka says, his voice steady even as he flushes to the tips of his ears at the word boyfriend. "And gimmie that pick back, it's my favorite."

Akihiko scoffs, even as Haruki sputters out a startled laugh when Mafuyu picks up his hands in a mock fighting stance and mimes throwing a punch Akihiko's way. 

"Man, Uecchi, you were way more fun when you were rolling around on the floor with your brain melting out your ears," Akihiko tells him, but he's smiling as he scoops the guitar pick off the floor and flicks it back Ritsuka's way. It bounces off Ritsuka's forehead, even when Ritsuka tries to flinch out of the way, and in retaliation Mafuyu sends his borrowed pick flying at their drummer. 

It catches him in the cheek, causing him to startle so badly he knocks his knee into a cymbal. 

Haruki laughs so hard he has to sit down and their fifth run through of the new song is delayed by another twenty minutes as Ritsuka gets distracted mid-tuning to argue with Akihiko about whether or not hiding behind his boyfriend is better or worse than hiding behind his sister in metaphorical arguments. 

Happy, Mafuyu thinks: I'm happy. 

It still feels like an apology, somehow, something he's not sure if he's allowed even as it curls up in his grip. But still, still he grabs it all the same, fisting greedy fingers around the meat of its wrist and holding on for dear life.

One day, he thinks, he won’t remember the exact way Ritsuka and Akihiko’s voices tremble and rise in this particular mock argument, nor will he remember the exact way Haruki hangs his head in his hands and gives a shallow, smothered laugh. This memory will fade, given time and other memories piled on top of it, until he forgets it save for the slivers he’ll hold onto with the calloused tips of his fingers.

Just like Yuki and all their memories, precious but fading, until Mafuyu can’t quite remember the pitch of his voice when it wasn’t raised in a pained death-promise declaration, can’t really recall the shade of clear eyes as he smiled.  

But you cannot spend your entire life looking over your shoulder and clinging onto memories, fingernails digging into the shreds of sound and light and emotion until they fracture and splinter into shards and drips of blood. You cannot. Mafuyu’s been learning this, a little every day, and a little every day-

He lets go. He looks forward instead

Happy, he thinks, even as grief twists and twines with the bubbly-warm emotion spreading throughout his chest, masking its sweetness in just enough bitterness to make it taste like a salted candy as he swallows. I’m happy. 

And then-

One day, maybe I’ll have the words, he thinks, watching the line of Ritsuka’s throat, the jut of his jaw as he gestures out at their drummer and shouts at Akihiko for throwing stones in glass houses, considering the man hides metaphorically behind Haruki all the time. The words on the tip of my tongue, the words for how you turn every little thing you do into a symphony trained professionals would be jealous of.

One day he’ll figure out those words, even if it’s likely that by that point he won’t remember this day at all amongst the others just like it, warm and bright and lively in spades.

I'm looking forward to what comes next, as long as we’re both there.)