Chapter Text
***
When you pack five twenty-something guys into a tour bus for weeks on end, a few inevitabilities are guaranteed.
For starters, Kyo is bound to catch an elbow in the eye at least once every tour leg. Toshiya's seen it enough to bet money on it. Socks, particularly those of Die's, seem to embrace a mysterious existential journey, vanishing one at a time. By week two, Shinya will stop talking to them, fed up with the lowbrow humor and finding Die's socks everywhere. And with one toilet for five, out of commission half the time, grown men turn into dogs, marking their territory on stretches of unassuming highways and backwater parking lots. It's a small miracle Kaoru hasn't been slapped with indecency charges yet.
Then, of course, there's always the distinct possibility of becoming an unwilling audience to a bandmate going to town on himself, which, as it happens, is Toshiya's current reality.
Swaddled in a blanket that smells like sweat, cigarettes, and cologne all rolled up into something damp, he expels a weary, inaudible breath. Kyo probably thinks he's still back at the venue with the others, when here he is in the bunk right above, battling what must surely be the plague. His nose is clogged and everything hurts.
Kyo isn't putting on a show — not a loud one, anyway. Actually, he's shockingly discreet for someone who's clearly unaware he's got company, like he doesn't even need the embarrassment of getting caught to feel sheepish about his business. Still, it's all too quiet in the bus for Toshiya to miss the rhythmic rustle of fabric and the occasional breath caught short.
Once certain of what he's hearing, he gives a soft cough and lobs a joke into the semi-darkness, "Need a hand with that, or you got it covered?"
He's ready for the expected commotion — a startled fumble, a few choice swear words, maybe an embarrassed laugh. Nope. Nothing. His light-hearted 'hey, I'm here, just so you know' announcement is met with silence so profound Kyo might as well have vanished.
Just as he's starting to wish he'd kept his trap shut and played possum, Kyo resurrects, recovering from whatever shock, mortification, or existential crisis rendered him momentarily speechless.
"Sorry," comes the small voice from below, barely audible over the sound of clothes being desperately tugged back into place. "Didn't know — thought you were out with the others…"
Not particularly thrilled about the idea of vacating his bunk but sympathetic to the blue-balled agony of unfinished business, Toshiya offers, "Should I go for a walk or something?"
"No, no," Kyo says quickly. "I'll… deal."
"Alright then."
Through the flimsy privacy curtain, Toshiya listens as Kyo clambers up from the bed and bangs into the doorframe on his way to the bathroom. Every faucet twist, spit splash, savage drag of a toothbrush, and the sound of piss hitting water is broadcast straight to his bunk in vivid detail. The concept of privacy on this bus really is nothing but a shared hallucination. A silent pact of mutual denial and endurance. Man, he misses his own bed.
With a restless twist, Toshiya rolls onto his back, the pathetic excuse for a blanket offering squat for comfort. His breath whistles loudly through his one semi-functional nostril as he listens to Kyo return. The singer settles back into his own bunk and starts flipping through a magazine, the picture of virginal tranquility no doubt, trying to scrape together his scattered cool after the little blunder.
Staring up at the dented plastic ceiling that hovers oppressively close, a trickle of worry starts to seep into Toshiya. He hopes this little episode hasn't tossed a weird wrench into their already lukewarm rapport.
It's not that there's any bad blood between him and Kyo. Well, not as far as Toshiya can tell. They're friendly enough, share a chuckle here and there when Kyo is feeling particularly sociable, but that's about as far as their brotherhood stretches.
Once upon a time, Toshiya had visions of a friendship. In those first new-guy days, he stuck to Kyo like a shadow, the way new kids do to that one familiar face in a sea of strangers. It was Kyo, after all, who'd seen something in him and brought him into the band. But the guy was a brick wall — awkward, standoffish, and pretty clearly not in the market for a new bestie.
Since then, it's been a sort of 'live and let live' situation between them. A peaceful coexistence with a healthy respect for personal space. Which is fine by Toshiya. He's long since made peace with the fact that Dir en grey is no Gosick; here, they're coworkers first, friends second, if at all.
Deep down, though, it does bother him a little how Kyo seems to click better with the others.
Take Kaoru and Kyo — they're close in that easy, old-married-couple-minus-the-bickering kind of way. There's a rhythm to their relationship, an understanding where even their most half-baked ideas make perfect sense to one another. Probably helps that they live together, too.
Die's the flipside of Kyo's coin. With him, Kyo seems to have something close to an actual friendship; Die gets him laughing, and in return, Kyo somehow brings a more serious, contemplative side out of Die. Toshiya sometimes catches himself watching them, lost in their conversational bubble, wondering what it is that makes their connection tick.
Then there's Shinya, wired up to a frequency all his own. His visions don't always align with the rest of them, which can cause upset, and it's almost always Kyo who steps up to smooth things out. He seems to get Shinya in ways that escape the rest of them.
In the bunk below, Kyo's done pretending to be engrossed in his magazine. It slaps to the floor, sheets are being fussed with, and the small click of a bed lamp ushers in the darkness.
But it's hardly bedtime. A whole lot of tossing and turning follows, Kyo wrestling with the blanket and sighing into the night while Toshiya up top is just begging for it to stop, so he can try to get some shut-eye. They've got a show tomorrow, and he needs to be on his game, not flattened by this bug.
After a few long minutes, a hushed voice sneaks up from the lower bunk.
"Toshiya?"
"Mmh?"
"Did I say something? Earlier."
It takes a second for Toshiya to catch up. "No," he says then. "You didn't say anything."
"Okay," comes the utterly neutral yet somehow unmistakably relieved response. "Thanks."
Not long after, the rustle of fabric ceases and Kyo's breathing evens out into the slow, heavy cadence of sleep. Toshiya's left in the dark, literally and figuratively, pondering what Kyo feared he might have blurted out in the heat of the moment.
—
Isn't life a hoot? Near the end of the tour, Toshiya was counting down days like he was serving time, but now they're back in the studio, he almost longs for the road again.
Out there, it's like Groundhog Day, so repetitive it could drive you mad, yet comforting in its predictability. In the studio, on the other hand, every new track is another chance to mess up. Fingers fumble and frustration simmers with every botched take, of which there are plenty because he can't seem to get anything right, ever.
A whole year into life with Dir en grey, and it still feels like he's sprinting just to stay in place. Die always groans about being in the same leaky boat, but Toshiya's seen him lay down his parts; the guitarist has it way more together than he claims. Still, even if the commiseration isn't entirely truthful, that little bit of brotherhood feels nice.
Because in this collective of the barely communicative, any sort of morale-boosting is gold dust. From Kaoru, their so-called leader, it's nearly impossible to get any feedback. Do something right? Crickets. Screw up? More crickets, but with a bonus eyebrow twitch.
Toshiya tells himself it's all about trust — that Kaoru figures he's got enough sense to know when he's aced or messed up something without needing to be told. Which he does, obviously, but a little nod now and then wouldn't hurt. The silence is unnerving.
Then there's Tommy, not much for handing out accolades either. Every so often, after a long session, he treats them to a meal, which would be nice if these weren't just bashing sessions disguised as generosity. The man's a grade-A grouch, and while they've all gotten pretty good at letting his jabs roll off, it's still exhausting to have to armor up for a dinner. Well, at least they wrap up with bellies full of free food and enough liquor to make you forget the day's blunders — so, cheers to that.
—
On one such evening in May, when Tommy steps out to take a phone call, Die seizes the moment to unspool. He plops down onto the tatami with his long arms spread, rusty red hair cascading like lava on the woven straw.
"I'm so ready to retire," he exhales dramatically, bright eyes staring up despondently. "Think we've clocked a lifetime's work this last year."
Toshiya feels that in every overworked cell in his body; he's almost certain he's never been this starved for a good, long holiday. But then again, he's never really had proper responsibilities before either. School was a breeze — mainly because he was spectacularly bad at it and equally unbothered by that fact — and while being a roadie was no picnic, at least there was a light at the end of the tunnel when each tour came to a close.
Maybe the bone-deep fatigue is just what adulthood is all about. Whether you're shuffling papers in a cubicle or shredding a bass guitar on stage, everyone's just beat.
"It'll get easier," says Kaoru with the authority of someone who might not actually know. He's sitting beside Die with his oversized t-shirt hanging on his delicate frame like a tent, one hand flat on the tatami, the other resting on a bent knee.
Die's head lolls in his direction. "And when would that be?"
One bony shoulder shrugs under the large shirt. "When we adjust to all this, I guess."
"That sounds less like it gets easier and more like we just get numb to the pain."
"Obviously, it's going to get better," says Shinya. Next to Toshiya, he sits with his legs tucked underneath him, stabbing at the ice in his drink with a chopstick to dilute the alcohol before Tommy comes back and mandates a chug. "No way we're still touring non-stop just to sign autographs ten years from now."
Die scoffs. "'Ten years,' he says. One down and nine to go, then. Real uplifting, Shinya."
"I didn't mean it literally."
"Think we'll ever actually get to retire?" Toshiya wonders out loud, partly to derail the brewing squabble, partly because he genuinely wonders.
They all probably had those big, shiny dreams early on, picturing money pouring in from left and right once they 'made it.' Fast forward through a few years and several reality checks, they've now gotten the memo: it takes a whole lot more than just popularity to pull a decent living, never mind a cushy retirement.
"I'll never retire," Kyo states flatly from his spot at the end of the table, knee hugged to his chest and propping his chin, brown eyes behind the bleached fringe calm in resolve. "You guys can shuffle off to the old people's home, but I'm gonna keep going until I drop dead. On stage if I can help it."
Toshiya doesn't doubt it for a second. While Kyo isn't particularly high energy off-stage, there's a constant hum of restlessness about him, like he's driven by some internal engine of dissatisfaction, a tireless desire for something perpetually out of reach. From his vantage point, Toshiya sometimes feels sorry for him, wondering what in the world could ever truly fulfill someone like Kyo.
"I'm with you there," Kaoru seconds him, lifting his beer in a half-salute before knocking back a hearty swig.
And there's Kaoru, another anomaly who coasts through grueling tours, long studio hours, PV shoots, and back-to-back promos like it's all just another day at the office. With him, it's not about chasing some elusive dream; he's just unflappable like that, always in the zone, solid as a rock. Why would a machine like that ever need to retire?
Then you've got Toshiya, Die, and Shinya, the mere mortals of the group. They're the ones who get weary on tour, who see family holidays as respites rather than interruptions, and who love what they do but aren't blind to the possibility that happiness could be found elsewhere if it ever comes to that.
Die hauls himself into a semi-upright position, propped up on his elbows, and looks solemnly between Toshiya and Shinya. "We're gonna rock that retirement home," he promises. "We'll be kings of bingo nights, hustling hard candies off the other old timers like nobody's business. Just a few more decades of this grind. Eyes on the prize, boys."
After the feast is all but devoured and Tommy is so hammered he practically needs a forklift to get into the taxi, the group disperses into the night. Die and Kaoru are off to find another bar, while Shinya slips away to meet some mysterious friend he refuses to name, leaving Toshiya and Kyo sharing a walk to the train station.
They kick around some thoughts on the new track for a bit, but the conversation runs dry soon. Toshiya doesn't bother trying to resurrect it; he's too caught up in his own good mood to care much. The earlier downpour has turned their walk into a riot of colors, with neon signs and shop lights reflecting off the wet pavement, warping and weaving on the puddle-strewn street.
Walking through this trippy watercolor wonderland surrounded by other revelers in high spirits, Toshiya has that familiar rush of I've made it swirling inside him. Here he is, living it up in the heart of Tokyo, his wild daydreams turned legit reality. The thought is enough to wash away the sour taste from Tommy's 'you're the deadweight slowing us down' glares from earlier today.
It's Kyo who eventually breaks the companionable silence. They're skirting the quiet perimeter of Shinjuku Gyoen and his shoulders have finally dropped from his ears now that they've left behind the drunk mobs. "Can I ask you a weird question?" he says.
Given who it's coming from, that opener alone is a weird question. Toshiya is instantly intrigued. "Go ahead," he encourages, glancing at the older boy, whose serious profile slides in, then out of the glow of the passing street lamps.
Bygones, like that awkward bus episode from two months back, have a way of fading into the background noise of Toshiya's tour-life blooper reel. So, it takes him a second to connect the dots when Kyo asks, "Remember that time on the bus in Osaka, when you asked if, um… if I needed a hand?"
The memory clicks with apprehension. "Uh-huh. What about it?" Toshiya says, bracing himself slightly; Kyo revisiting that incident can't be good news.
"So, I was just wondering," Kyo starts, pausing as his words almost get lost under the swoosh of a car zooming past on the rain-slick asphalt, "wondering if that was a joke, or if you were, like… you know…"
Toshiya keeps his eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead, his hands a bit clammy inside his track jacket pockets. Had this line of questioning come from anybody else, he might've assumed they were making a move. But this is Kyo, and Toshiya can't begin to guess what the angle might be here.
Before he can even stitch together a coherent thought for a response, Kyo bulldozes ahead with his next question. "You're gay, right?"
Toshiya's chest tightens, and he rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. Is his orientation common gossip now? Did Kyo take that lame joke as some sleazy advance — or worse, harassment? Is that what this is about? Is he about to get kicked out of the band?
"Well, yes," he admits tersely, so intent on not sounding terrified that he ends up sounding downright combative instead.
He's already prepping a defense in his head, assurances that the bus joke was just a poor attempt at humor, not an unsolicited invitation, and absolutely not a reflection of any inappropriate thoughts toward his bandmates — but then Kyo goes and flips the whole conversation entirely on its head.
"So, wanna hook up?"
Toshiya almost trips over his own feet. He comes to a grinding halt, and it feels as though time clocks out along with him. For a long, static second, he stares blankly ahead, his brain nothing but tumbleweed. When he turns to Kyo, he finds the singer staring back like he's just challenged him to a duel.
Are you serious? is the question teetering on the tip of Toshiya's tongue, but it dies there silently. The iron set of Kyo's jaw and the look in his eyes — go ahead, shoot me down, it almost seems to say — cancel the need for any such question. In this drawn-out moment, Toshiya becomes hyper-aware of every minor discomfort, like how chapped his lips are despite the muggy air, and the way his hair is clinging to his forehead and cheeks and neck.
Where to even begin to unpack this? Or maybe he won't even bother? Any sort of analysis feels almost cumbersome in the face of such directness. And yes — he knows hooking up with a bandmate is probably unadvisable from just about every rational standpoint. But for a twenty-one-year-old guy riding a buzz and in no short supply of libido, the idea of saying no to a sure thing seems almost nonsensical.
And then there's that undeniable spark of curiosity — what's Kyo like when the world isn't watching? In such an intimate setting?
So, there he goes, blurting out, "Yeah, why not?" after what he now recognizes must've been a pretty lengthy pause.
Kyo seems just as taken aback by the casual acceptance as Toshiya feels delivering it. His eyes skitter away, suddenly showing a whole lot more white, and for a half-second, Toshiya almost reads regret in the pause.
But then Kyo regroups. Coughing discreetly into his fist, he poses, "Should we go to yours?"
Right. Practicalities. Logistics. The real-world steps needed to actually make this happen. With all the bogus nonchalance he can muster, Toshiya agrees, "That works."
The train ride goes by in silence, the kind where both parties know exactly where the other's mind is at, and that the understanding is mutual.
The fact that Kyo isn't entirely sober isn't lost on Toshiya. And while there's no doubt that alcohol has a role to play in how the evening is unfolding, he quietly hopes the unexpected proposal wasn't wholly sponsored by yuzu sours. It's a thought that's wedged in his mind right next to the 'what the hell am I doing?'
Crossing the threshold of his dark apartment, a weird twist of nerves grips Toshiya's stomach. He's no stranger to hosting the occasional late-night guest, but with Kyo as that guest, the stakes feel oddly higher. It makes everything feel a bit off-kilter. And it's not weird in the same sense it might've been with Die, who used to cause some heart-skips in the past before Toshiya decided the guy was too much like a dumb big brother to think about in that kind of light. It's weird because Kyo has never been on Toshiya's radar, never been the one to flicker through his fantasies or stir any desires.
Plainly put, Toshiya isn't entirely sure if he's attracted to Kyo or if it's curiosity doing the heavy lifting here.
But if he is feeling a bit out of his depth, Kyo is practically drowning in those same depths, the tension plainly written across his body language as he moves about with an air of cautious respect. He takes his sneakers off, lining them up perfectly at the corner of the genkan before proceeding further inside down the narrow hallway.
Once Toshiya has bumbled his way across the dark room to turn on the corner lamp, more forgiving than the overhead light, Kyo's eyes do a quick sweep of the space. They inevitably land on the bed, which Toshiya had no idea would be subjected to this kind of spotlight and yet, in a rare spell of domestic discipline, actually made this morning.
He gestures toward it, and Kyo sits down on the edge like he's gingerly testing the ice on a frozen lake. His hands rest awkwardly on his knees as his eyes idly rove the room in a transparent effort to avoid eye contact. A bit self-consciously, Toshiya follows his line of sight.
The bed might be tidy, but the rest of the place is in its usual state of creative anarchy: clothes in limbo between clean and dirty are flung about without much thought, and cups, magazines, and an assortment of manga and makeup products colonize every flat surface from the kotatsu to the work desk.
Toshiya has never been to Kyo and Kaoru's place, but for whatever reason, he's always imagined it as immaculate. Now, seeing Kyo survey his less-than-orderly abode, he can't help but wonder if he's being silently judged as a slob.
"Nice place," Kyo finally says, no doubt more out of a need to break the squirmy silence than any real admiration for this clutterfest.
"Thanks. Sorry 'bout the mess." With a forced air of ease, Toshiya wedges his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "So, um, what'd you have in mind?"
Clunky question, yes, but usually by the time someone is on his bed, Toshiya has a fair idea of what the night will entail. Not today. There's been no flirty banter over drinks, no lead-up whatsoever, just straight from zero to Toshiya's bedroom. He's far from assuming he knows anything about Kyo's inclinations, so when he asks what's on the agenda, it's with genuine cluelessness.
Kyo doesn't leave him hanging for long. "Blowjobs?" he proposes, plain as day.
Toshiya nearly lets out a chuckle — not because it's particularly funny, but because it's so blunt. Kyo's not shy about dropping a crude joke now and then, so the word 'blowjob' coming out of his mouth is hardly newsworthy, but there's usually a punchline involved. Hearing it without a hint of humor makes it sound like something totally out of left field.
"Cool," Toshiya says, letting the acknowledgment sit for a second. "Well…" With hands that can't quite decide if they're ready for this, he begins to open his belt. This has got to be the most awkward hookup of his life. Here's to hoping he can perform.
Actions take over from there as Kyo, too, stirs to life, his fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt. They strip down without fanfare, each rustle of fabric and creaky joint excruciatingly loud in the quiet room while they both keep their eyes respectfully and rather ironically averted from each other.
When Kyo, left with nothing but the glint of some jewelry, scoots further on the bed, Toshiya finally lets himself look. He takes in the sight of his bandmate's naked figure, a familiar view until his gaze ventures below the equator. Seeing that Kyo is already growing hard, at last a flicker of arousal makes itself known low in Toshiya's belly; enthusiasm never fails to be a turn-on.
Kyo lays back as Toshiya joins him on the bed, pale and dramatic against the dark linens, blonde hair spilling across the pillow. His eyes flick over Toshiya, quick and timid, clearly embarrassed to linger on the obvious.
"Pent-up?" Toshiya can't help ribbing gently at Kyo's now fully hard state, instantly questioning if this — his knack for untimely jokes — is why Kyo doesn't like him. Ugh. The last thing he wants is to have the guy think he's poking fun at such a vulnerable moment.
Kyo doesn't take it that way, fortunately. "Yeah," he simply agrees, earnest to a fault. He parts his legs to make space for Toshiya and settles more comfortably. "Always," he adds with a quiet exhalation, almost more to himself than to Toshiya.
It doesn't surprise Toshiya to find that Kyo's bedroom behavior doesn't echo his larger-than-life stage presence. No showmanship here. Used to perhaps a bit more spectacle in these moments, Toshiya can still find the charm in the quiet intensity, sort of like how an unplugged song can be a welcome change even if his preferences usually skew louder.
Honest in his reactions, Kyo is easy to read. Every soft noise, each quickened breath and tightening muscle is genuine, and Toshiya takes notes. Kyo's hands are restless, yet hesitant to make contact, the metal of his rings catching the light as he grips and releases the bedsheets.
And when Toshiya pulls off his cock to mouth at his balls, Kyo jolts, making an aborted noise like he's about to object but then reconsiders. Toshiya glances up, catching Kyo's eyes for a split second before they roll skyward, his cheeks blazing and cock pulsing hotly in Toshiya's grip.
"Fuck," he lets out under his breath.
Yep — definitely an easy read.
It isn't long before Kyo issues a heads-up, more a strained exhalation than words, to which Toshiya responds by ramping up his efforts. That seems to break down the last of Kyo's reticence; his fingers finally find their way into Toshiya's hair, if only for a moment, as he arches his back. His legs tense, heel slipping in the sheets, until finally, he releases, warmth flooding Toshiya's awaiting mouth.
Breathing heavily, Kyo watches, dazed eyes tracking the motion of Toshiya's throat as he sits back and swallows with an easy tilt of the head.
"Wow," he lets out a single, awed syllable as he melts back into the mattress, one hand coming to rest over his heart. Toshiya has to fight back a laugh at the look of pure wonder and revelation on his face; you'd think this man has never gotten a blowjob before.
Easing up to Kyo's side, Toshiya is all set to dial it back for a bit, maybe transition into some lazy chatter before anything more goes down. But Kyo isn't in the mood for downtime. Excitement shimmers in his eyes as he says, "Let me…" and moves to switch positions with a newfound determination.
Hardly one to protest a good turn of events, Toshiya props his head up with a pillow, settling in while Kyo takes a moment to remove his rings, leaning over to set them on the nightstand.
There's a bit of a learning curve laid bare when Kyo gets down to business. His earnest efforts are a touch on the clumsy side, in fact, there's a real chance this is his first time giving head, or close to it. Not that it matters; Toshiya doesn't mind playing coach. He's generous with the feedback, and Kyo proves to be a fast learner.
The guy doesn't stick around for pillow talk; he's up and into his clothes faster than Toshiya can even think about offering him water. And while the new pep in his movements doesn't exactly spell regret, it leaves Toshiya feeling a bit off. He can't help but dread the possibility that the hasty exit is a precursor to some next-level weirdness at the rehearsal tomorrow.
Before he can air his concern, Kyo, now fully clothed and seated on the edge of the bed as he fits on his rings, looks over at him.
"Thank you," he says, his eyes tracing Toshiya's half-dressed state with a directness that was missing earlier.
Sitting cross-legged and raking his hair into a ponytail, Toshiya lets out a chuckle. "Don't make it out like I just did you a favor. Pleasure was all mine," he assures.
"Thanks for being cool about this, I guess is what I'm trying to say," Kyo amends, his hand absentmindedly smoothing his blond strands. "I don't trust randos not to blab, so I thought… I dunno, thought it'd be less risky with someone I actually know."
"I see," Toshiya says, though in truth, he doesn't see at all. He's had his share of faceless hookups, and, as far as he's aware, discretion is the name of the game. Guys getting down with guys don't run their mouths.
But, if Kyo thinks he's cracked the code by keeping it in-house, who is Toshiya to burst that bubble? The pleasure genuinely was his.
"Well, see you tomorrow," Kyo says, standing up and giving himself a quick pat-down before one last poker-faced glance at Toshiya.
"See ya," Toshiya echoes back, his gaze trailing the view of Kyo's departing backside. A few moments later, the front door clicks shut.
Now alone, he lets himself sink back onto the bed, eyes blankly meeting the ceiling which, shockingly, offers zero insights into the question marks in his head.
Had that lame joke been eating at Kyo this whole time? Is he actually into guys, or just experimenting? Into Toshiya, or just finding him conveniently gay and unlikely to blab?
It's a truckload to unpack, especially since Toshiya never detected so much as a blip on his gaydar around Kyo. He had the guy filed away as straight, strictly into his carefully curated harem of groupies, and probably all kinds of degenerate between the sheets.
Lying there, arm flung above his head and the faint taste of Kyo still lingering on his tongue, Toshiya concedes that he knew squat before, and is somehow even more in the dark after tonight.