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The Halcyon	By : Juuchan Category: J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop > X Japan Views: 1523 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of XJapan. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Halcyon
- 1
Notes: The least melodramatic piece I've written for this fandom, I think. Unfortunately, I am still made of fail. Feel free to concrit, since I abuse the English language.

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The Halcyon

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The soft, warm lull of fat raindrops against glass is what he remembers awaking to. It almost sends him back to dreamland, but it does not; his eyes are open and his mind swimming with the previous night’s happenings. Through the window he can see pasty clouds across the sky, like watercolors bled once too many. The view is lost in a maze of water drops and mist, the darkness of the city ever ubiquitous. If he listens carefully, he can hear the sound of tires treading their way through rain-slicked ground, a sound like the extended whistle of wind-rustled leaves.

The sheets are sateen, a pale pastel blue that is overpowered by the duvet dyed in colors too garish for his tastes. It is not his bed, he muses as he sits up, the covers pooling in his lap. His lower back aches, which lends some evidence to what he was doing here. The walls are stark white, so bright it almost hurts, but he is used to it; he has seen it many times before: the lava lamps, Andy Warhol prints, faux leopard-skin covered recliners in fantastic shapes, and a touch of lunacy he has grown to love.

Every time the wind shifts, the sound of the rain changes ever so slightly. It’s a familiar comfort to him, a rhythmic beating equivalent to the heartbeats of a million people. He closes his eyes and lets it soak in; sound becomes pitch, pitch becomes melody, and this is how it all starts.

“I hate rainy days, you know.”

When he opens his eyes, a freshly showered and very naked hide has crawled upon the bed, hovering over him. hide seems to radiate warmth, a glowing fire with the hum of an electric generator hiding beneath his skin. He wraps an arm around hide’s shoulders and pulls him down, toying with the pink hair: it smells of strawberries. hide would fit right in place with his room, but always as the centerpiece.

“You still want to sleep, Yo-chan?” hide laughs softly, and then rests his cheek against the juncture of Yoshiki’s neck and collarbone. “So lazy.”

Yoshiki acknowledges his words with an amused sigh, watching the patterns of water on the window. “Why do you hate rainy days?”

“They remind me of when I was young and lonely. I thought to myself, ‘It’s so dark, and no one is with me.’ Normal kids at the time didn’t go out walking in the rain by themselves. The harder the rain fell, the more depressed I got. It felt like the sky was angry with me, and I couldn’t even figure out what I’d done wrong.”

“Hn.” Yoshiki doesn’t assume to know how hide feels now. hide keeps his own share of secrets. Instead, he muses, “I always thought of it like countless people clapping, overlapping like waves unto a sea. I used to practice the piano at night with only a small lamp on and when it rained very hard, that’s what I had thought. People clapping after a performance—when those sudden storms come and the sound starts before I finish a piece, I would think that audience could not hold their applause.” He could feel hide smiling against his neck.

“Aha, so that’s how you do it,” hide murmurs. “To stand before the fans and make a fool of yourself, and they’ll call you elegant. Because you believe in it yourself, others see you like that.”

“Rainy days aren’t so bad now, are they?”

hide hoists himself up so he can face Yoshiki. “Who cares about rainy days when it means I get to sleep in afterglow with you? You’re even cute when you drool.” He reaches to pinch Yoshiki’s cheeks, but Yoshiki brushes his hands aside.

“And you don’t?” Yoshiki laughs. His eyes wander to the window and the rain again, as his mind tries to recall what hide was talking about. “What were we doing last night?”
hide laughs and rolls on his back to lie next to Yoshiki, staring at the white-washed ceiling. “You mean aside from fucking in the swimming pool?—Oh, don’t worry about that, no one else was there. I made sure, remember? Don’t look at me like that, just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I don’t know your reaction. Anyway, we were both fucking wasted. Lemme tell you, it’s damn hard to get a condom on when you’re already wet and halfway in the pool. In fact—”

Yoshiki leans over and kisses him silent. “Now, if you were so wasted, how do you remember? You always claim to have the weaker memory.” He moves to straddle the older man, running long fingers over pale skin and pictures how the two of them would look in the rain, naked as tiny droplets of water cascade over them, each a transparent pearl so that they glow; he gets a sense of déjà vu.

hide laces his fingers into Yoshiki’s hair, pulling him down so they can meet again. When they part, his eyes are distant, as if struggling to recall. “It’s all little bits and pieces, like dreams. Every time, it’s like that. It’s sort of frightening, sometimes—but when you here, at least I know it’s true and not just a dream. Sometimes, my whole life feels like a dream, as if I were stumbling my way through a fog of zero visibility.”

Yoshiki hums low in his throat. “Do you remember if it rained last night while we were in the pool?”

hide’s eyes return to match his, but his voice is still disconnected. “No, it wasn’t raining. I remember the backlit blue of the pool. I remember you— when you looked to the heavens, the light reflected off your neck.” Callused fingertips trace absentminded designs upon his back: quivers of a butterfly’s wings, flickered sustains of unexpected grace notes, and then trailing just above the buttocks, the whorl of an unfurling rose. “It was like…a blue starburst against the black sky.”

When they’re not drunk, it’s very easy for hide to take his time. Yoshiki’s eyes flutter shut as hide’s fingers migrate to his front, skirting about the flat stomach and moving to his chest, a slow sinuous dance around his nipples. Yoshiki falls forward, pressing his forearms on either side of hide’s head as he grinds his hips down to remind him which direction to go.

“I suppose,” hide goes for amused, but the need creeps into his voice, “now would be a good time to say good morning, huh?”

hide likes to hear Yoshiki laugh and gasp, the way he says, “oh,” and the heady sensation of being the focus of Yoshiki’s intensity. Yoshiki’s first love will always be music, but hide does not mind second place; to share a first love is more than anyone could ask for.

The sound of their coupling shifts to the background as he becomes aware of the soft thrum of raindrops against the glass slowly increasing as the storm nears. Then it occurs to him—it sounds like an eternal drumbeat, double bass drums picking up speed.

At last, when the heart of the storm is over them, he thinks he hears it, the cascading applause, a glittering city reflected as spiraling, pulsing fractals bordering the fringes of infinity. As they lie there, Yoshiki whispers to him, “Can you hear it? They’re there.”

He is no longer that child alone in the rain; he is the rockstar, the envy and idol of millions. He should not mind the rain.

“Yes, I can hear it.”
- 1
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The Halcyon