It's a matter of knowing which hurts more.

✖

It’s not everyday that rock stars went out to take quiet strolls in the local park, clad in dark coats and hidden behind humongous sunglasses for fear of being recognized and tackled by strangers who call themselves fans. But it’s not unlikely for them to take that quiet stroll in the park either; after all, they still were normal people who need the caress of the 9AM sun’s warmth that pierced through the chilly air. A simple white shirt and a pair of denim pants underneath the coat that almost everybody wore, a bare, make-up-less face under the light sunglasses, and they’re ready to go.

Today he was just Takashima Kouyou. The others… well, he didn’t know who they were today; for all Uruha knew they might be at some street in Shibuya signing autographs for fans or something similar to that.

A bittersweet smile formed on his face as a (not-so-) familiar figure walked to his direction. Apparently, like him, he was just Shiroyama Yuu today.

Silently Uruha made his way towards the empty bench to the side, deciding to simply ignore the other man, telling himself that he didn’t see anybody that he knew. At days like these he preferred not to associate himself with anybody in the band — in fact, he didn’t associate himself with anybody at all, it was his ‘me’ time anyway. The blond guitarist settled himself on the wooden bench and set his eyes somewhere, anywhere so that he didn’t have to direct his face towards Aoi, and just maybe he won’t be recognized himself. What he laid his eyes upon was a sign that said ‘Don’t Pick On The Flowers.’ How exciting.

“Hey,” a familiar voice spoke the same time Uruha felt the bench shift a bit. Obviously he’s been found, but what else can he do but to turn around to find Aoi’s smiling face, and smile back?

“Uruha…”

“Hey yourself,” Uruha started as he pulled a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, “You know you look pretty normal having only those clothes on. Cigarette?”

“Uruha… stop it, you’re drunk.”

The smile that he wore never faded as he watched Uruha retreat his hand and serve himself instead. “No thanks, I try to refrain from smoking when I’m being normal like this,” obviously a lie.

“…so stop whining like a bitch.”

“Suit yourself,” the blond replied, shoving the box and the lighter back inside his coat’s pocket, eyes directing back to the rather ‘interesting’ sign. With a smile on his face, Aoi curiously moved forward to peer over Uruha’s shoulder, wanting to see whatever it was he found that interesting, he wouldn’t even meet Aoi’s eyes.

“What are you looking at anyway?”

A small, sad smile fell over Aoi’s lips, his body suddenly feeling weaker upon seeing the thing Uruha has been looking at. It hit ever so close to home. However, Uruha was no flower — no, he was far from it. He was more beautiful, more breathtaking, more divine than a flower could ever be. Whether he was as delicate as one, the brunet wasn’t sure. But just like what it says in the sign, he was something Aoi couldn’t have.

It hurts to know that the only thing you want to have is the only thing you can’t have.

Aoi shifted backwards, resting against the back of the wooden bench, fingers silently drumming on his crossed legs. Though the sky was a friendly shade of blue and the atmosphere was peaceful, the air certainly was heavy. He was pretty sure that what happened between the two of them a few nights prior was still fresh on both their minds. Up until now Aoi had been afraid of talking to the other man about it, but now he had to take his chance. He couldn’t possibly risk losing his friendship with Uruha; it was the only thing he had with him.

Dark eyes directed themselves on the gray pavement, Aoi choking on his words but at least he was able to start: “I…I’m so—”

“Please don’t apologize Aoi, I… I’m the one to apologize for…” Uruha stopped himself from saying anything more. Apologize for what? Apologize for letting Aoi fuck him? Apologize for letting Aoi take advantage of him? Apologize for driving Aoi to the brink of his self control because he couldn’t, wouldn’t resist anyway? All of those didn’t sound fair to the older guitarist. For a moment Uruha lifted his face to look at the other man, but the dark strands of the latter’s hair veiled whatever expression he had from the blond.

“Just… fuck,” he breathed, then raised his head upward. “I’m sorry.”

It also hurts being conscious to the fact that you don’t even know what is it you really want to do. He envied the reason why that sign was even put there; the simple fact that people wanted to pick flowers. Aoi was most definitely a delicate flower laying in between his hands, already offering his beauty, his perfection, his everything to him, who’s even unworthy in the sense that he didn’t even know what to do with such a flower.

Aoi had always been there to support him no matter what, he always rode along with whatever stupid thing he had in mind, and the other man never complained, at least not seriously. It was different from the friendship he had with Reita — while his friendship with the other blond was established with time, with Aoi’s it was with… well, it was something Uruha couldn’t even pinpoint.

He’s not even sure if it’s friendship, love, or even simply lust. Uruha didn’t want to concern himself of those things, being the happy-go-lucky person that he was, but at times even happy-go-lucky people contemplate deeply on how they feel, how others feel, and other cheesy shit every once in a while. The blond had to sigh. He thought this walk would clear his mind from things he didn’t want to concern himself of, but what’s happening is evidently the opposite. If only he didn’t make eye contact with that familiar stranger earlier…




“Uruha… stop it, you’re drunk.”

There was only an ominous smile on the blond’s plush lips.

“Uruha, what are you—”

“Aoi, I know you want this anyway, so stop whining like a bitch.”

“Uruha please sto—” But the older guitarist was silenced by the hand ghosting over his burning arousal, his protests now transformed into shameless sighs and guttural groans that seemed to tickle Uruha’s ears.

“Take me now, Aoi.”

Without even a second to spare, the dark haired guitarist slipped off the remaining garments that separated his body from Uruha’s naked own.

----------

His eye cracked open to the sight of messy and tangled sheet and the dim yellow light that filled the room. Grunting in distaste, Aoi grabbed hold of his tangled hair and pulled on it, as if doing that would clear his mind of the haze alcohol had brought to his system. The milky body flinched as Aoi moved, and at that the brunet realized that he was still inside the younger guitarist. His face started to flush and his body trembled feebly as he slipped out of Uruha. Aoi sighed in relief when Uruha didn’t move anymore.

But Uruha had been awake all those times, his glazed eyes directed nowhere in particular. He felt the other wrap a protective arm over his waist, but he didn’t move. Even when Aoi breathed against his neck and showered it with gentle kisses, he still didn’t flinch.

“I love you,” the older finally whispered, and that’s when he suddenly sat up, and without even looking back at the other he headed towards the bedroom bathroom.

“I’m going to use your shower.”

The brunet could only nod. And with the sound of the door slamming reverberating in his own home, he knew that he’d done something he can’t possibly undo.



“I suppose I should go.” Aoi said quietly as he got up from his seat and straightened his jacket, offering a friendly smile to the blond. The silence that had past was more than enough for the two of them to review their thoughts and their feelings over, after all.

“Alright,” he replied as quietly, tossing the remains of his cigarette behind the wooden bench. “See you around.”

As if on cue the heavens started to grow dim, warning the two of them of more storms to come.