Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Over the following weeks, their impromptu little indiscretion evaporates into the past without so much as a ripple. 

They're on the road for endless promo events, sharing oxygen in cramped spaces day in and day out, and not once does Kyo acknowledge that anything out of the ordinary went down between them. His silence is so professional and dispassionate it leaves Toshiya feeling a little silly for thinking anything would change. Clearly, he'd added too much weight to what was probably just a spontaneous blip of curiosity for Kyo — a blip that's now been appeased, and it's back to business as usual. 

And honestly, to Toshiya, that's about the best outcome he could've hoped for. 

Except that's not where their story ends. 

A month later, right on cue as if he'd penned it on his calendar, Kyo approaches Toshiya after rehearsal. With an air of practiced indifference, he pops the question: any interest in round two? 

After weeks of pretending there wasn't a round one to begin with, Toshiya sure as hell wasn't expecting that. But when he scans his brain for any solid reason to decline and comes up empty, he figures, what the heck? Sometimes, the sequel is where the fun really starts. 

So, off they go, feeling every bit the part of two teenagers up to no good as they leave the studio together. 

This time around, Kyo seems more fired up than nervous, his excitement spilling over into a stream of chatter. As they cling to the overhead train handles, squished together in the rush hour crowd, he talks a storm about a jacket he stumbled upon in a thrift store in Shimokitazawa. An expensive one, apparently, but he's all about hopeful tomorrows, banking on it still being there once he's scraped the yen together. 

Toshiya, swept up in the excitement and thinking nothing of it, offers to lend him some cash — which gesture lands like a slap. Kyo's face twists in offense and embarrassment, and words get choked off right there as he retreats back into his shell of silence for the rest of the ride.

Toshiya can only marvel at the speed at which two people can botch a simple conversation. He genuinely thought Kyo was hinting at a friendly loan and wouldn't have minded assisting. Well, that's that. Lesson learned. 

Back at his place, words become obsolete. The earlier tension dissolves as quickly as their clothes hit the floor, and Kyo wastes no time getting his hands — and soon, mouth — on Toshiya, making it stone-cold clear that he's there for one thing only, and it isn't chit-chat.

The pattern repeats the following week. It's another drizzly evening in a seemingly endless sequence when Toshiya finds Kyo hanging back in the studio building's foyer, apparently waiting for him. 

"What you got planned for tonight?" the singer asks, very casually, as Toshiya saunters up. 

"You?" Toshiya shoots back with a grin, smooth as hell in his own humble opinion. It seems to hit the mark, too, because just for a second, Kyo's face lights up with such unguarded delight he's almost unrecognizable.

Their little private bubble pops when familiar snickers break out from behind, and Kyo's shoulders tense like he's been zapped. 

"Naughty boys," Die teases, his grin wide and obnoxious as he struts past them with his umbrella swinging around. Shouldering the door open, he disappears into the evening, leaving a blast of sticky heat rolling over Kyo and Toshiya as they turn to look at each other.

"You don't think..?" Kyo starts, his brow scrunched with worry. 

"Nah, he's just being an ass," Toshiya says. "Thinks he's being funny, making it weird." Die for sure wouldn't be cracking jokes if he were actually onto them. He'd be weirded the fuck out, and that's the best-case scenario.

Kyo's eyes wander off, his mouth twisting as if chewing over his next words, fingers picking at the plastic wrap still clinging to his umbrella handle. "Are we weird?" he asks the door.

A pause.

"What do you mean?"

"You know… For being like this."

For a beat, Toshiya doesn't know what to say. He had his own journey of self-acceptance, of course, having to come to terms with the fact that his attractions didn't align with the norm. So, he gets it. But he would've never expected Kyo, who usually carries himself with such blatant disregard for others' opinions, to be wrestling with such thoughts. 

"No, that's not what I… meant," he finally responds. Then, with more conviction, he adds, "Hell no, we're not weird. Not for this, anyway." 

"Then why do you hide it?"

Toshiya responds with a shrug, "Same reason Shinya ducks behind potted plants when he spots his old homeroom teacher. I don't have the patience to deal with every fool's opinion on how I should live my life." He glances out the glass doors, where the rain's picking up again, and adds, "Anyway, let's get moving before it starts pouring. I don't have an umbrella." 

"It's been raining for a week straight," Kyo points out. "How do you not have an umbrella?" 

"Because," Toshiya says, drawing it out like it should be obvious, "I left it on the train. And that was the third one this week, so yeah, I'm officially out of umbrella funds. We can share yours." 

With a sigh of exasperation that doesn't sound entirely genuine, Kyo hands Toshiya his flimsy convenience store umbrella as they step outside. 

It's weird, once they're back at Toshiya's place, how the atmosphere shifts. Kyo goes all mellow, like he just exhaled an entire week's worth of tension. And, who knows, maybe this is the one place where he can just exist without second-guessing himself.

If the guy weren't so allergic to new people, Toshiya would be yanking him by the wrist into his circle of friends in a heartbeat. He could show Kyo there's a world out there where their flavor of different isn't just accepted — it's the whole point.

A few days later, a single loaded glance from Kyo across the rehearsal room is enough to set their plans in motion; Toshiya returns it with a sly smirk, and the deal is silently struck.

Weeks fly by like this, their casual arrangement fitting into the cracks of their lives like it was always meant to be there. It's a dream setup, really, with Toshiya's easygoing, go-with-the-flow attitude meshing beautifully with Kyo's near-surgical ability to compartmentalize. Not a whisper of their off-the-record activities leaks into the day-to-day band life. 

Except, of course, on those special afternoons when Kyo drags Toshiya into the nearest bathroom in the studio. Leaning against the partition, watching the guy drop to his knees and start working him over like it's his favorite hobby, Toshiya silently berates himself for not throwing some dumb, flirty joke Kyo's way much sooner.

And then there's the night in Kyushu, when they sneak off to the tour bus while the others are still out raising hell. Kyo makes himself right at home on Toshiya's lap, his lotion-slicked fist gripping them both as he fucks into it, and Toshiya thinks, damn, he must've done something spectacular in a past life to earn this.

Mainly, though, they stick to Toshiya's place for their little meetups — less risk of literally being caught with their pants down, plus, the bathroom tile at the studio is rough on the knees. 

On the train rides over, their conversations begin to find a smoother rhythm, too. Toshiya's of course had hints of what sort of things rattle around in Kyo's head beyond music — having spotted him nose-deep in comics during downtime or overheard him dissecting video game tactics with Kaoru — but now he's getting the real lowdown. 

Good thing he's a master at rolling with just about any topic. Not because he's some know-it-all, but because he's just really good at riding the wave of someone else's enthusiasm. And so, once Kyo starts sharing his personal geek-outs, awkward silences between them become a thing of the past. 

But, easy as their banter gets and as hot as their hookups burn, Toshiya isn't fooling himself into thinking he's witnessing the dawn of a great friendship; Kyo's silence outside their intimate appointments is blatant in its indifference. And, honestly, that works for Toshiya just fine. No expectations means no complications.

— 

As July barges in, the drizzly pitter-patter of the rainy season finally taps out, leaving behind a heavy, stifling heat wave. Leaning against the balcony doorway, Toshiya feels every sticky inch of his shirt cling to him as he lights a cigarette, the kind that follows a good orgasm and tastes inexplicably better for it.

Inside, Kyo's in no rush, his movements unhurried as he tugs on his socks and works the buttons on his shorts. 

Toshiya's gaze idly tracks him to the desk, where he swipes a makeup mirror to fuss with his hair. His face is stoic in the reflection, and Toshiya finds himself thinking, not for the first time, just how strange he looks. It's not off-putting, just… unique. There's an ageless air about him, elements of then and now daisy-chained together; it's in his compact build, the roundness of his features, and the smile that's downright childlike, all paired with eyes that look like they belong to some old sage who's seen it all twice. 

Not that he's any less of a contradiction personality-wise. Onstage, he dominates, oozing this wild, unhinged energy and charisma that could incite a riot or silence a stadium with equal ease. Offstage, he morphs into an unassuming, mild-mannered guy who'd rather melt into the wallpaper than have people notice him.

And then there's the Kyo in the privacy of Toshiya's room, horny and eager and curious in a way that's almost embarrassingly human, savoring each touch like he's worried he might never feel it again.

By now, Toshiya has come to suspect that Kyo might have been a virgin before they got together. There's an energy to him, a sort of wide-eyed awe of discovery, a holy-crap-this-feels-good enthusiasm that you just don't see in someone who's been around the block. 

It's miles off from Toshiya's initial read on the guy, but not such a wild guess. Late bloomers are dime a dozen in the gay community — or rather, they tend to be late bloomers because they aren't part of the actual community, in a social sense. Many don't even know where to start looking for like-minded company, and some are wary about the risks of getting with a stranger, be it reputational or physical.

Toshiya wonders how far Kyo is willing to go. They don't exactly have heart-to-hearts about these things, no conversations about boundaries or what comes next. But earlier, his finger wandered a little further south than usual between Kyo's legs, resulting in a pretty enlightening gasp-and-twitch reaction that raised some intriguing possibilities. 

Figuring there's no time like the present, Toshiya clears his throat. "A question," he starts off, hoping to sound sufficiently unbothered in case the reaction isn't what he's hoping for. "You ever think about, you know, going all the way?"

Kyo doesn't miss a beat, like he's been queued up for that very question for ages. Stuffing his wallet into his back pocket, he pushes his hair back from his face and turns to Toshiya. He gives him an appraising sort of look, as if calculating the risk versus reward of the proposition. "I've thought about it," he admits.

Smoke streaming out between his lips, Toshiya leans over to knock his cigarette against the ashtray on the humming AC unit outside. "So, think you might wanna give it a go next time?" he asks, as casually as he knows how.

There's a pensive pause, then: "Seems like it would hurt."

Ugh. 'Cute' isn't a tag Toshiya would slap on Kyo, but something about the naive simplicity of that statement almost merits it. "It doesn't have to. Not if you're properly, you know, relaxed and prepped. And that's on me to make sure you are." He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

Kyo misses the gesture, his gaze trailing the smoke curling up from the tip of Toshiya's cigarette. But when their eyes finally connect, he nods. "Then I'll be ready for it next time," he declares, a bit stiffly, and there's a flush creeping up his neck. 

Toshiya has to catch the inside of his cheek between his teeth to stifle a chuckle at the grave delivery. "Cool," he manages to say with a straight face. "Can't wait."

"Yeah, sure. Night then." 

With that, Kyo picks up his phone and takes off with his usual lack of ceremony. Drawing in one last lungful, Toshiya kills the cigarette and lets the last of the smoke drift into the soupy night air. Stepping back into the relative cool of his apartment, he slides the door shut and flips the latch into place. 

Padding toward the bathroom, he ponders the implication of what they just agreed on. Virginity — honestly, he's never really understood the fixation, always seemed more like a straight-crowd hang-up than anything. But now, standing on the edge of being someone's first, he's got to admit there's a bit of a thrill to it. He is the guy laying down the experiences by which all future partners will be measured. 

And yeah, he admits, staring at his self-satisfied reflection in the bathroom mirror as he scrubs his teeth, maybe there's a little bit of that conqueror's pride mixed in there too. He doubts Kyo's the type to place much stock in the sentimentality of first times, but he can't help but feel a tad smug at being the chosen one. Trust is a rare currency in Kyo's world, and Toshiya's kind of rolling in it right now.

— 

The deeper summer digs its heels in, the more Toshiya finds his thoughts drifting to the mountain-kissed air of Nagano. 

Gone are the days when summer meant lazy evenings bumming by the river with a cold drink in hand. Now it's all about tracking sweat droplets as they slide down his back while fantasizing about the next chance to peel off his sticky clothes and throw himself into an ice-cold shower. Tokyo is a straight-up hell hole when the sun's got its mean face on, he is learning the hard, sweaty way.

Their show in Osaka — another sizzling cauldron of a city — wraps up with the obligatory party, after which everyone scatters to enjoy a week's break. Kyo, Kaoru, and Shinya are heading home, leaving just Toshiya and Die staying at the hotel for the night. Come tomorrow, they'll part ways too: Die off to Iga, and Toshiya, well, Tokyo-bound once again. Would've been Nagano if his dear family hadn't decided now's the perfect time to hula off to Hawaii, leaving him stranded and keyless. Bitter? Him? Never.

Flat on his back in the hotel bed, sprawled out like a heat-sapped starfish while reveling in the artificial chill of the AC against his shower-damp skin, Toshiya barely stirs when he hears the beep and click of the key card sliding into the door lock.

"Welcome back," he mumbles, not bothering to look. It's Die, of course, back from catching up with some old fling — probably more of a hit-and-run deal than anything heartfelt, considering the guy's barely been gone an hour.

"Yo," comes Die's fatigued voice. "Jesus, it's like Satan's sauna out there."

Toshiya cracks an eye open just in time to catch him bend over to twist his sweat-damp hair up and away from his neck. Knowing all too well that sweet, sweet liberation of hair off a clammy nape, he sympathizes.

Rolling over, he digs through the disarray in his suitcase by the bed, picking up a tank top. "So, how'd it go?" he asks, sitting up just enough to tug the shirt over his head — inside-out, he realizes, but whatever.

Die, true to his oversharing self, wastes no time. "You know how some chicks say skip the rubber 'cause they're on the pill?"

Toshiya relaxes back into the bed, hands laced behind his head. Girls, rubbers, pills — unfamiliar territory for the most part. His one foray into heteroland didn't involve condom negotiations. He remembers thinking any attempt to wrestle with one would torpedo the whole operation, so he stuck to the basics: get it in, keep it hard, and live to tell the tale.

Out loud, he says, "Haven't had the pleasure, but do tell."

Now stripped down to his boxer briefs, red hair haphazardly scooped up into a bun, Die collapses onto the other bed. "Well, I think I just dodged a baby trap," he says, arm hanging off the edge and gaze locked on the ceiling as if he can still see the scene play out there. "She claims she's on the pill, right? Then halfway through, she starts moaning—" He cranks his voice to a ridiculous, breathy falsetto, "—'oh, Die, gimme a baby! I want your babies!'"

Snorting, Toshiya adjusts his position for a better view of the unfolding melodrama. "You sure that wasn't just her brand of dirty talk?" 

Die fixes him with a stare. "No way was I sticking around to find out, man." They chuckle a little at that, but the humor fades from Die's face pretty fast. "But dude, what would you actually do if you accidentally knocked someone up?" 

They've bantered about all kinds of sex topics before, so kicking around the odd hypothetical that doesn't really apply to him is all in a day's work for Toshiya. Okay — suppose he's straight and gets someone pregnant, then what?

"Probably ask her to get an abortion?" he offers after some thought. "I'm not exactly dad material. Remember that cactus Shinya gave me? Dead." 

"You watered it too much, man. Means you wanna nurture and shit. Straight-up daddy material."

"Yeah, if being a dad means watering your kid every other day."

"But say she insists on keeping it?"

Humming, Toshiya rolls onto his back again, fingers twisting the laundry tag sticking from his shirt. "Well… I guess you'd find me working the streets in Kabukicho, to make those child support payments," he deadpans, coming up empty on any serious answer. "Honestly, no clue. What about you?"

"My old man would have my head on a platter if I didn't marry her pronto," Die sighs. "What a life. Just me and some lady I barely know, forever shackled to each other."

"With a mini-you to take care of."

Die makes a face. "That's probably my future, right there."

"Why risk it then? Wrap it up."

"Man, you'd think, right? I swear my brain evacuates the premises the second things get going." There's a short pause, then a rueful chuckle slips out. "Part of me was even like, 'screw it, let's have babies' when she got into it. Like, 'if it happens, it happens.'"

Toshiya's about to lay some more enlightened counsel on him — something along the lines of, get your shit together, man — when his phone buzzes on the nightstand, derailing his thoughts. He leans over to scoop it up, and is a little surprised to see Kyo's name on the screen.

Die, in the meantime, yawns with theatrical volume, cracks his knuckles so violently it makes Toshiya's skin crawl, and then heaves himself up from the bed. "Well, I'm gonna go finish what I started," he proclaims like it's a matter of national importance. "Minus the company and the complications."

Toshiya mutters a distracted, "Enjoy," eyes glued to the message. It's short, sweet, and packed with all kinds of potential: You free tomorrow night?

While Die pads to the bathroom with the carefree swagger of a man who's just weaseled out of a sticky situation, Toshiya thumbs his reply, Aren't you in Kyoto?

Going back to Tokyo tomorrow.

Hmm. Curious move, opting for Tokyo's chaos over the comforts of home, but Toshiya's not about to complain. A handful of days have passed since their last time where promises were made for more, and his mind's been a riot of illicit snapshots featuring Kyo ever since. Can't lie — he's kind of really been looking forward to it. 

Yup, free as a bird. Wanna share a shinkansen ride back? he texts.

I'm good. See you tomorrow.

…Alrighty. 

See ya, Toshiya types. Rejected for train company — that's a new one. Introverts, man… Still, Kyo should know him well enough by now to realize he'd be perfectly happy to just zone out to his music and let the kilometers slip by in mutual silence.

He places the phone back on the nightstand, hands coming to rest on his belly, fingers tapping out some absentminded beat. The sound of the running shower brings a brief image of Die in there, hair plastered to his scrunched-up face, furiously working himself in a scene so distinctly unexciting it's almost comical. 

Thinking back to their earlier talk, Toshiya feels a rush of gratitude. Being gay comes with its own brand of nonsense, but at least accidental pregnancies are a complication he's spared from. A perk not to be taken lightly. 

—

When Kyo turns up the next evening, the nervousness radiating off him is almost on par with their first night together. Not to worry, Toshiya figures. He's got a mental itinerary laid out, with a surefire crowd-pleaser as an opening act.

His well-laid plan, however, derails right off the bat.

Rimming. That was the opening act. Except, the second his tongue makes contact, Kyo reacts like he just sat on a porcupine, jerking away with a gasp and scrambling up the bed in panic. There's a shocked, wounded look on his beet-red face as he twists around to face Toshiya.

"What the hell?" he splutters, voice cracking, practically hugging the headboard.

A slightly heated back-and-forth follows, with Toshiya trying to convince Kyo it's nothing to freak out over, that he likes doing it and it'll feel great, and Kyo having none of it, making it abundantly clear he doesn't want Toshiya's tongue anywhere near that area — though he can't for the life of him articulate the reason for this sudden bout of conservatism.

Eventually, Toshiya throws in the towel, Kyo decompresses from his defensive coil, and things get back on track. The last of the tension bleeds out when Toshiya defaults to what he knows works, enveloping Kyo with a mouth so eager you'd think this was the game plan all along.

Meanwhile, his fingers receive a much warmer welcome where his tongue was rudely denied, no complaints to be heard whatsoever. Kyo's adjusting impressively despite the earlier fiasco, his breathing deep and purposeful, hands restless as always, clenching and unclenching around the sheets. 

The sheer heat of his insides is a serious test of Toshiya's self-control. But if there's one thing being somewhat anatomically blessed (or cursed, depending on the partner) has taught him, it's the art of patience. And so, with saintly restraint, he lets the two digits work their rhythm, a simple in-and-out tempo that's more about getting Kyo acclimated than anything else.

Once he's got him stretched around three fingers, everything feeling slick and pliant and so damn wet it should be outlawed, he pauses. He absorbs the sight of Kyo, the contours of his lean body against the contrast of the sheets, and the calm heave of his chest. He looks good like this — relaxed, open, ready. Hopefully ready, that is. 

Toshiya looks up to meet his eyes. "What do you think? You good to go further?" 

Lord knows Toshiya is good to go further. This slow burn stoked by weeks of what he considers foreplay has him wound so tight he's one wrong move away from humping the mattress just to take the edge off.

Kyo wets his lips. "Yeah. Let's try."

Toshiya works him just a fraction more, adding a teasing twist to the final thrust of his fingers, and Kyo flinches when he pulls out. It's a goodbye no one's happy about.

"How should I..?" Kyo starts, muscles tensing as if he's gearing up to roll over and offer himself up.

"Stay right where you are," Toshiya tells him, reaching for a pillow.

With a bit of teamwork, they stuff it under Kyo's hips to prop him up for a more accommodating angle. Toshiya shuffles closer, hands gliding up Kyo's legs as he positions himself between them. The simple touch makes Kyo visibly shudder, and Toshiya shoots him a little grin for it, but the singer looks away, his throat working a nervous swallow.

"No second thoughts?" Toshiya double-checks, but he's already slicking himself up.

"No. Do it."

Hells yea he'll do it. He lines up, teasing at Kyo's entrance, more a flirtation with what's coming than an actual attempt at first. Kyo, to his credit, seems as ready as a guy can be before having his world — and his very self — rocked. 

"Push out," Toshiya whispers, and when he feels a give, he presses against it, coaxing a soft, surprised ah wow from Kyo — the most noise he's got out of this guy all evening.

Toshiya holds still, barely a third of the way in, heart pounding in his chest as he takes in Kyo's reaction. The singer's eyes are squeezed shut, expression pinched with discomfort, but the unmistakable excitement elsewhere suggests he's also feeling something else entirely. 

After what seems like a silent pep talk with himself, he opens his eyes, fixing them slightly off to the side of Toshiya's face. Slowly, a bit awkwardly, he bends one leg, drawing it up to further open himself. Clearly, he's trying to be helpful. 

Toshiya readjusts his hold on Kyo's hips, then starts inching in with fractional little shoves. An involuntary, whispered cuss slips through his clenched teeth — the heat is obscene, tighter, more intense than he anticipated, and it's taking every bit of willpower not to just fuck this guy stupid right there, pound away merrily like he might with someone seasoned.

This whole cherry-popping business — exactly as overrated as he always imagined. He can't wait for the day when Kyo's a little more road-tested and they can skip the eggshell-walking and get straight to the good stuff. 

For now, though, it's slow going. Feeling his way through every minute contraction, every incremental give as Kyo's body starts to accommodate him more comfortably, Toshiya watches himself pull out, sink back in, caught in the hypnotic reality of it. If a couple of months ago anyone had told him that he'd have their stoic frontman spread open under him like this, he would've figured they had their tarot cards upside down. Yet, here it is happening.

He glances up, and finds Kyo studiously ignoring him, eyes glued to the ceiling.

"How is it?"

"Awkward. Stop staring," Kyo retorts, his tone a mix of embarrassment and irritation so quintessentially him that it drags an honest laugh from Toshiya.

"It's a fine view from here, actually," he assures, taking secret pleasure in watching the red on Kyo's face grow deeper. They've never really teased each other like this; feels good to prod those boundaries.

With the ice broken a bit, he starts leaning into his thrusts more, burrowing just a little deeper each time while their breaths grow heavier. When he finally bottoms out, he feels Kyo tense against him, a flash of discomfort that has him immediately easing off.

"Too much?" 

Kyo frowns, but it looks analytical more than pained, his hips tilting slightly as if recalibrating. "Felt like you hit a wall or something."

Toshiya hums. "There is kind of a wall, I guess. An angle. I'll keep it light," he offers.

For a moment, they just look at each other, Kyo's eyes clear and a tad bewildered. Then, out of nowhere, he mutters, "Nerd."

The accusation is so left-field, so perfectly deadpan, Toshiya can't help the laughter that bursts forth. He curls over to smother his face into the pillow by Kyo's head, but then Kyo's laughing too, and the way it tightens everything up down there turns Toshiya's breathless cackles into a sharp inhale of surprise. 

The laughter dies out, leaving them both suddenly hyper-aware of the position they're in — the quick thud of Kyo's heart against Toshiya's, the warm press of their semi-embrace. With a soft throat-clear, Toshiya shifts back onto his hands, creating some space before things get too weird.

His voice comes out huskier than intended when he asks, "Okay if I move now?" 

Kyo offers a wry half-smile, his leg gliding up Toshiya's side until his heel rests against his lower back. "Knock yourself out," he says, his bravado a tad overcooked to compensate for the awkward moment. They both chuckle a bit — and then Toshiya sets into motion, and those chuckles transform into something that's no joke at all.

He carefully tries for full depth once more, and this time the sound that escapes Kyo is definitely in the 'hell yeah' category. That's all Toshiya needs to hear. He lets the reins drop, moves with more intent, and from that point on, starts pulling some honest-to-god moans out of Kyo. 

And when Kyo's eyes slip shut and his hand reaches down to touch himself, Toshiya mentally pats himself on the back for successfully navigating past the bumpy start.

The real triumph, however, comes a bit later. 

They're in the swing of it — forget about those eggshells from earlier; Kyo's a damn natural. Toshiya's driving home like they've been at this for ages, one hand clamped onto the headboard for leverage, the other braced by Kyo's head, when Kyo locks eyes with him. Pupils blown wide, lips parted as he pants through each thrust, he manages to get out, "Next time — you can do that — thing, with your tongue."

The suggestion knocks Toshiya off his rhythm, and he pauses as heat flares low in his gut. "Could do that now," he replies quickly, seeing no reason to wait for 'next time.' 

Kyo lets out a displeased grunt when Toshiya pulls out abruptly, but the protest dies a swift death when Toshiya folds his legs to his chest and reacquaints himself with the site of their earlier contention. At the eager press of his tongue against the well-worked opening, Kyo's vocabulary turns technicolor with choice words, his palm thwacking against the mattress in what sounds to Toshiya like raucous applause. 

Determined to prove his point and then some, Toshiya puts in the work. He laps and sucks like it's his last night on earth until there's a growing splotch of drool on the mattress and Kyo's entire body is trembling under his hands, the tensing of his thighs and the white-knuckled ride of his hand working himself signaling imminent success. 

Soon enough, the build-up comes to a head when everything in him tightens up. A moan that straddles the line between pleasure and pure relief spills out as he comes, his release streaking across his fingers and stomach in warm, pulsing bursts.

Suppressing an inappropriate urge to fist pump, Toshiya quickly shifts up to his knees. Breathing hard, he wraps things up in record time with a few frantic strokes he's never needed this badly before.

He's left panting, staring down at the combined aftermath painted across Kyo's heaving torso. 

And when he finally drags his eyes upward, he finds the man of the hour nothing short of awestruck, clearly having a moment of intense realization about the depths of pleasure his body's capable of.

"I've been missing out," Kyo sighs as he some minutes later drags a cool, wet towel across his stomach, one foot flat on the bare mattress, the other leg carelessly flung aside. 

"D'uh," Toshiya retorts, laying on the mock conceit thick. "Everyone not getting a piece of me is losing in life." He takes the rag Kyo hands him and tosses it to the floor without a second thought.

Relaxing back against the pillows, Kyo reaches to feel between his own legs, fingers gingerly pressing as he stares blankly at the ceiling. "Will I still be sore tomorrow?"

"Ah, maybe."

"Whatever. I wanna do it again. Tomorrow night," Kyo states, then pauses, like the thought just occurred to him that this might not be entirely his decision. His eyes slide over to Toshiya. "If you're up for it, I mean."

Toshiya's grin is immediate and easy. "Of course I'm up for it," he says sweetly, and then, just to watch Kyo flush one more time, adds, "You felt insanely good, you know." 

Once this final frontier has been crossed, Kyo turns out to be quite the playground — a bit of a pervert, honestly. 

The same man who was scandalized by a little rimming is now game for just about anything. He's willing to test drive not only every position they can dream up, but whatever toys Toshiya brings home from boozy nighttime frolics at Donki. He likes sucking on Toshiya's fingers while getting railed, and finds unrivaled joy in receiving facials. And when Toshiya once groans about a full bladder mid-fuck, Kyo suggests, with a straight face, that Toshiya needn't hold back on his account. 

And truth be told, Toshiya is just as, if not more, turned on by this new liberated, relaxed version of Kyo as he is by the acts themselves. He gets off watching Kyo get off on his own newfound freedom.

But nothing lasts forever. 

September arrives, and with it a nasty bug that lays Kyo low, knocking him out with fatigue so severe he can barely keep his eyes open in the studio, much less keep up their nocturnal extracurriculars. Their meetings dwindle as he struggles to recover, the pauses between stretching longer than either would have liked.

It's during this quiet interlude that life, ever fond of shuffling the deck when you least expect it, introduces Toshiya to someone new.

Chapter Text

In another setting, Toshiya might have replayed this moment in his head later with a corny soundtrack swelling in the background. But as their eyes meet through the crowd, the mutual acknowledgment comes with an awkward, self-deprecating grin from both of them. A gay bar, of all places. Not the sort of venue either would've preferred to be recognized at. 

Toshiya knows the guy — or, well, knows of him. He saw that face plastered on a flyer at a local live house not too long ago, though the band's name escapes him. He was too busy staring at the poster boy himself to bother with minor details like what they were called. 

It's kind of exciting, actually. He's never met anyone from the scene who shares his orientation as openly as to risk the reputational roulette of a place like this. 

He knocks back the last of his gin and tonic, psyching himself up to break away from his group and go say hello. No big plans here, no expectations. He'll just saunter over there, say something breezy, and act like the dude isn't every crush he's ever had squeezed into one ridiculously tight pair of jeans. 

Except the guy beats him to it, already there when Toshiya turns. The smile that hits him is blinding. Broad, all teeth, and just this side of arrogant, it's like getting flashed by the sun. Toshiya would love to match that energy, but the sheer wattage of it makes him hesitate, self-conscious of his own smile in the face of such perfection. 

Resigning to the fact that 'cool' was never his strong suit, he opts for a safe, closed-lipped smile and a somewhat lame, "Hey, I was just about to head your way." 

Through the clamor of the bar, a voice much richer and more mature than he would've expected meets his ears. "Yeah, I move quick. Not so hot on the whole waiting game," the guy replies, with just enough of a playful lilt that leaves Toshiya parsing whether there was a flirty subtext in those words. 

They decide to grab drinks, squeezing through the sea of bodies to the bar. There's a bit of a weird split-second after placing their orders, both kind of hovering, subtly waiting for the other to make a move on the wallet — until Toshiya, predicated on his lifelong allergy to uncomfortable moments, quickly swoops in and takes care of it before any awkwardness can set in. 

As he does, the guy starts talking. A thick Kansai-like dialect rolls off his tongue as he introduces himself: he's Aoi, guitarist of a band called Melville, though he goes by Natsume on stage. He's a recent Tokyo import from Mie, a place that Toshiya figures must have some kind of assembly line churning out these head-turners, considering Die hails from there too. 

He learns that Aoi's currently crashing on a friend's couch in Meidaimae, which little fun fact rockets around his brain like a firework because, surprise surprise, that's just a couple of stops from his own station. How about that for serendipity?

Except he shouldn't get ahead of himself. But man, it's easier said than done when Aoi oozes the kind of charm and social grace that could've easily made him a top-tier salesman — or, you know, a con artist, but either way, Toshiya's sold. 

A good thirty minutes into swapping band woes and gossip from the visual kei grapevine, a buzz is starting to settle in Toshiya. And if his attention is wandering, Aoi is entirely to blame; the poster didn't do the man justice. Toshiya could get lost in those smoldering, subtly kohl-lined eyes for days, and the jet-black, impeccably styled hair makes no sense to him in its magazine perfection. Aoi's lips are full and artfully shaped and clearly built for activities that Toshiya is putting a lot of effort not to picture right now.

As those lips weave some wild tour story, his gaze drifts lower. He studies the casual roll-up of Aoi's sleeves exposing toned arms, and the elegantly lazy yet undeniably masculine hand flicking off cigarette ash, nails done in glossy black. Briefly, Toshiya imagines a more private use for that hand, and the thought alone makes his cock feel heavy and distractingly present in the confines of his jeans. 

And if his interest is transparent, Aoi is possibly even less subtle. He's letting his eyes linger on Toshiya's mouth way too long to be accidental, laughing in a way that has his hand finding Toshiya's arm or side, and dropping jokes loaded with innuendo. At this point, he might as well be holding a billboard reading 'please take me now,' and Toshiya isn't about to overlook such clear directions. And given he's the one with his own place, he figures it's on him to get this show on the road.

With a tilt of the head towards the now-empty glass in Aoi's hand, he offers, "Wanna have the next round at mine?" 

Aoi grins up at him while grinding out his last cigarette. "Thought I was gonna have to invite myself over," he jokes, and Toshiya is so taken, he's half-tempted to skip the formalities and just pin him to the bar and kiss him silly right here. 

On their way, they make a token pit stop at a Lawson, grabbing drinks that turn into a distant afterthought the second they step into Toshiya's apartment. 

The door has barely clicked shut when Aoi's on him, hands fisting into his shirt, yanking him down into a face-melting, gin-and-cigarettes-tasting kiss in the shadowy hallway. The clatter of beer cans against the genkan tiles barely registers when Toshiya frees his hands to finally get them on Aoi, mapping out the lean muscle of his back, the tightness of his waist, and, fuck, that masterpiece of a backside he's been trying so hard not to ogle all night. 

He's been off the casual scene for a while, what with Kyo monopolizing his after-hours; and honestly, he hadn't really missed it. But now, caught in the grip of someone who clearly knows what they're doing, it's like some dormant beast within him has been jolted awake. He feels alive, revived, electrified. 

Aoi — and Toshiya's hardly surprised at this point — is no coy lover. He's vocal, shamelessly so, moaning and cursing, his words spilling out in breathless, needy bursts as he lets Toshiya know exactly how good he feels. His hands are everywhere, tangled in Toshiya's hair, raking down his back, grabbing his ass to pull him in deeper. 

Somewhere in this feverish chaos, Toshiya has a mini-revelation. Thrusting into Aoi with an almost desperate intensity, lips grazing the pulse fluttering at Aoi's neck, a thought wades through his pleasure-addled brain: this, this is what has been missing with Kyo — passion. 

With Kyo, things are fun and adventurous, even comfortable; they've got the whole 'friends with benefits' thing down to a science. But the fire, that near-animalistic hunger to just consume each other isn't there. They don't kiss. Hell, they barely touch each other beyond the necessary logistics of getting the job done. 

And they certainly don't cling to each other like they're trying to fuse their atoms into one, which seems to be Aoi's current mission, and it turns out Toshiya might have been craving that more than he knew.

The aftermath unfolds very differently too. 

Unlike Kyo, who often gears up to leave shortly after they've caught their breaths — although that had begun to change before he fell ill — Aoi sticks around like the idea of leaving never even crossed his mind. He melts into Toshiya's arms with a permanence that suggests he's always belonged there, and they talk through the night until the first light of the day begins creeping through the gaps in the curtains.

It's during a brief lull in their conversation that a question pops into Toshiya's mind, one that probably should've come up way earlier but somehow didn't. 

"How old are you?" he wonders out loud, comfy with his bicep wedged under Aoi's neck, fingers absently playing with Aoi's hair. "Just realized I never asked."

His brain just about blows a fuse at the answer.

"Nineteen," Aoi says with a snicker. 

Nineteen. What? How in the world is this confident, deep-voiced, dirty-talking marvel with a physique that clearly missed the memo on awkward adolescence, still a teenager? Toshiya had him pegged as closer to mid-twenties. They did meet in a bar, and last he checked, you have to be twenty to swan into those. 

Well, clearly a megawatt smile and some smooth talking can skate past a lot of rules. 

"I'm twenty-one," Toshiya puts out there, not sure what else to say. 

"I know."

That earns a small, incredulous smile from him. He slides a look at Aoi. "What, you a groupie or something?" he teases.

Aoi flashes that cinematic smile of his, the kind that belongs in foreign movies (or Mie, probably), not in cramped Tokyo bars, and definitely not in Toshiya's bed. "I might've been to a few of your gigs," he admits, perfectly unrepentant. "Still half waiting to wake up and realize I just had another wild dream about you."

Toshiya laughs at that. He's never gotten with a fan before — or at least, not one who's openly admitted it — but he can't lie, the idea of Aoi having watched him from afar tickles his ego. "Well, I'm having a blast," he says, squeezing Aoi a bit tighter just to show he means business. "So let's keep dreaming if that's what this is."

"Feeling's mutual," Aoi agrees, relaxed and candid, and then proceeds to launch a flattery assault that could make anyone's head swell. "Seriously, though, you're actually better in real life than in my head. Taller, sexier, more skilled in bed. Bigger cock. Like, when does that ever happen? Reality beating out fantasy?"

Toshiya's heart does a giddy skip at that, like he's back in high school hearing his crush talk him up. "Uh-huh? Sounds like you've put some serious thought into my… stats."

"Sorry if that's weird." 

"No, you're good," Toshiya assures. In the spirit of honesty, even at the risk of denting whatever glorified version of himself Aoi's looking at through his fanboy goggles, he admits, "Actually, it's kind of cool to hear. I'm used to the screaming girls, but… you know."

"Strictly guys for you?"

"That's it."

Aoi's comeback is swift and sure, a verbal high-five to himself. "Good. Less competition for me."

Caught slightly off guard by the forwardness — and loving it — Toshiya finds words a little insufficient. So, he grabs Aoi by the back of the neck and pulls him into a kiss. And what was supposed to be just a cap-off to the conversation, a simple period at the end of a sentence, quickly escalates into a good justification for why the clock shouldn't tick on just yet.

It's only when the night has thoroughly overstayed its welcome that Aoi peels himself away to leave. Phone numbers are exchanged and promises to meet again are made, the kind that actually carry some weight.

Their goodbye is a drawn-out, clingy affair at the entrance. They keep pulling each other in for just one more kiss, hands greedy for one last touch, mapping shapes they've only just started memorizing, neither too keen on rejoining a reality that doesn't involve being glued to one another.

— 

Two days. Toshiya tells himself he'll wait a respectful two days before texting Aoi, figuring it's just long enough to strike a balance between coming off interested but not desperate. That neatly laid plan, however, goes out the window before he even has time to get comfortable with it. 

Barely past sunset on the very same day they parted, his phone buzzes with an incoming message from none other than Aoi.

Are you more of a Godzilla or American romcom type of guy? the text asks, and Toshiya catches himself donning a stupid, smitten grin that he can't for the life of him wipe off.

Lounging on the beat-up couch of the band's practice space, he feels his headache from too many drinks and too little sleep start to mysteriously recede. Sitting up straighter, he sets his cigarette down on the ashtray and taps out his reply.

Are you trying to ask me on a date?

Aoi doesn't keep him in suspense for long: Well, I've waited all day and you haven't, so what's a guy supposed to do?

Damn. Toshiya's no stranger to being pursued, but it's usually by types he'd rather not. Guys he's into tend to go for the older, more rugged sort, the very ones Toshiya often finds himself shooing away. It's an ongoing frustration, whatever bottom energy he's apparently giving off, but Aoi clearly isn't bothered. 

Romcom, then, Toshiya texts back, unless you think it's uncool, in which case I totally meant Godzilla.

You could watch exclusively My Little Pony and I'd still think you're the coolest guy around. How's tomorrow night?? 18:35 or 20:00 show?

By the time they've locked the time and place, Toshiya's face is starting to hurt from all the smiling. It's Kaoru's comment that pulls him out of his giddy bubble.

"Someone's in a good mood."

He glances up, catching Kaoru at the table, an elbow draped over the back of his chair. He seems to have swapped whatever drab paperwork he'd been slogging through to a bit of Toshiya-watching, and his slightly raised eyebrow that, to the untrained eye, might not look like much, tells Toshiya Kaoru's amused.

"Yep, scored a date," Toshiya admits, sliding his phone into his pocket and reaching for his crumpled pack of cigarettes, the one in the tray having smoked itself out. The rest of the band are out on a snack acquisition mission, and since Kaoru isn't one to dig too deep into personal matters, a little share seems harmless enough.

"That so? Good on you," Kaoru says. A pause, then he adds, more thinking aloud than asking, "Figured you were the committed type."

Toshiya takes a slow drag from his cigarette. He can see how it might read that way; he tends to opt out whenever Kaoru and Die continue the night with skirt-chasing plans. Flirting with girls is fun enough, but when it comes down to it, going home and getting a good night's sleep is usually a better investment. Die thinks he's a bore for it; Kaoru, apparently, thinks he's a closet romantic. Which is… kind of sweet?

"I guess," he exhales along with a stream of smoke, bending the truth a little. "But it's just the first date. Not picking out rings here yet." 

Kaoru gives a grunt that roughly translates to 'fair enough,' before tossing out a simple, "Well, good luck."

Toshiya pockets the words like a treasure. "Thanks!" he beams, ignoring the tiny suspicion that Kaoru offering such a sentiment must mean he thinks Toshiya desperately needs it. Not wanting to waste a rare bonding moment, he asks curiously, "How about you? Tell me about your love life."

"No."

Toshiya closes his eyes in a long, exaggerated blink. This band, seriously.

— 

The date is a smashing success, surpassing Toshiya's most optimistic expectations, and the movie they supposedly came to see isn't even part of the equation. As the theater lights go out, Aoi's head finds a spot on Toshiya's shoulder, just like that, without a second of hesitation. It's a bold move in public, dark though it is, and it gets Toshiya's pulse galloping with exhilaration and just a bit of nerves.

But the on-screen romance quickly turns into background noise to the far more gripping storyline unfolding in seat G-13. Aoi's fingers have begun a slow, provocative ascent along Toshiya's inner thigh, snapping his focus away from the corny romcom to the more immediate sensations in his own lap. 

His entire existence condenses to the throb of his own heartbeat and that skirting caress climbing up, up, dangerously close and yet, maddeningly not quite close enough. Every almost-there touch has him white-knuckling the armrest, his breath soon coming in short, quiet puffs.

And by the time the theater lights wake up and the audience starts stirring out of their stupor, he's got zero recall of the movie. He discreetly tugs at Aoi's sleeve as the guitarist moves to rise, holding him back. Aoi turns, catching Toshiya's pointed look, and his attention dips down to the complication pressing against Toshiya's fly. 

Smirking, he relaxes back into his seat. "My bad," he murmurs, sounding anything but sorry. "I'll take care of that later for you."

Toshiya closes his eyes, trying to think unsexy thoughts to calm things down, but Aoi's casual promise, coupled with the heady scent of his cologne, is doing him no favors.

It's a bit before they're ready to face the public, and by the time they do, the night has cooled into a weather that couldn't be better suited for a leisurely walk if it tried. 

So, they buy some cheap chu-hi and set off toward Sasazuka on foot, keeping themselves entertained by concocting scandalous backstories for every poor soul they pass. It's stupid, immature, and funny as hell, made all the sweeter by the disapproving looks they earn with their loud guffaws. 

At Toshiya's place, they quickly confirm that the chemistry from their first night wasn't just some lucky accident. Aoi ends up staying the night, and this time, they even indulge in the rare extravagance of actual sleep. There's an assurance in the air, a mutual understanding that this is just the beginning, and they've got all the time in the world to explore it.

The following day drags for Toshiya, sluggish and unremarkable after the high of the night before. 

Kaoru doesn't ask him how his date went, has probably forgotten all about their little heart-to-heart. So much for bonding. Die and Shinya are at each other's throats again, squabbling like siblings on a road trip, and Kyo, pale and sweaty, spends much of the day staring into the distance with the glassy-eyed focus of a man trying to will his breakfast to stay anchored. 

The banality of it all is almost surreal, a total contrast to the excitement of being with Aoi, and it leeches the energy right out of Toshiya.

The silence that greets him at home feels stifling, and for once, he finds himself actually missing someone's company — Aoi's company, to be exact. It's a strange feeling; he's always been perfectly content alone, and is hardly the type to sit around pining.

Riding the thrill of this weird new tickle of longing, and with a little hope that the feeling might be mutual, he shoots Aoi a message asking if he's interested in hanging out again. The reply pings back like it's been shot out of a cannon, eager as can be. 

YES! I'll be free in about an hour, I'll come straight to yours

Toshiya stares at the message, a little stunned by the simple, unchecked enthusiasm. It's a rare breed of man who splashes his feelings all over the place like this, completely bypassing the games and mysterious airs.

And so the calendar pages turn, three weeks flipping by during which their hangouts start painting a picture of something that looks an awful lot like dating — a concept somewhat foreign to Toshiya, whose past romantic ventures never quite structured into anything coherent. 

Now, he's waking up to cute morning texts, seeing Aoi regularly for both bedroom and non-bedroom related activities, and catching himself using the word 'we' far more than he ever has. And shocker of all shockers, he's not just getting used to it; he's kind of loving it.

— 

In the other lane of his life runs the undercurrent of concern for Kyo, whose illness just won't let up. While he's doing a commendable impersonation of an upright, alert human through the drill of interviews, meetings, photo shoots, and now rehearsals for the upcoming tour, anybody with half an eye can see he's having a rough go of it.

During a breather of a moment in the studio — with Kaoru and Die debating over a guitar arrangement of a track that frankly shouldn't even be on the agenda today, and Shinya lost in the ether — Toshiya sinks into the couch next to Kyo. Kyo's sprawled with his legs splayed, eyes glazed over the guitarists.

"Any clue yet what's going on with you?" Toshiya asks, crossing a leg over the other and pulling out his cigarettes. He spares Kyo the offer; the guy's ongoing bouts of nausea have kept him largely smoke-free recently.

Kyo shakes his head. "No. Doctor says it's stress, but the only thing stressing me is not knowing why I feel like garbage all the time, so yeah... you do the math." He stops, lips pressed together, then mutters under his breath, "The constipation's killing me."

Toshiya's mouth outruns his brain, as usual. "That why you've been avoiding me? Got a crisis at both ends so you think you're out of commission?" An instant nip of regret follows the joke — a bit too close to, well, everything hanging unspoken between them. He tucks a cigarette between his lips and flicks his lighter to life, the flame snapping the air before he touches it to the end of the stick.

"Well… yeah?" Kyo replies with a half-hearted shrug. "I'm not gonna come over, demand a blowjob, and take off."

Another time, Toshiya might have quipped that he'd welcome such audacity. Now, he lets out a slow stream of smoke and offers the next best thing, "Hope you get better soon, man." The sincerity is genuine, but so is the pretzel of conflicting emotions in his chest. His thing with Aoi is pulling him in a new direction, and the thought of juggling that with whatever remains of his connection with Kyo feels increasingly like a juggling act he's not sure he wants to perform.

"Me too," comes the soft reply, and the note of longing there doesn't go unnoticed.

Toshiya senses Kyo trying to catch his eye, maybe hoping for a bit more than well-wishes, maybe reassurance that their arrangement is still on the table. Not about to tumble into those expectant eyes and accidentally sign up for more than he's ready to commit to, he shifts his attention to Kaoru and Die. 

Feigning rapt interest in whatever point their leader is patiently trying to drive home against Die's increasingly short-fused counter-arguments, he sits there with his shoulders unconsciously tensed up until Kyo gives up and looks away.

—

"Can't you just, you know… not go on that tour?" Aoi's suggestion lands somewhere between overdone drama and genuine wishful thinking. 

With an elbow resting on the balcony railing and the other hand poised with a cigarette, he's artfully framed against the dying daylight and a jumble of power lines, looking like a magazine cover waiting to happen.

Perched on the AC unit with hands bracing him as he leans back, Toshiya marvels for the gazillionth time at his sheer dumb luck in scoring someone like this. He almost wishes he had a camera handy. 

"Just call in sick," Aoi continues. "Tell them you've caught an acute, incurable case of me." His smile is a brief supernova before the cigarette returns to his lips. 

Toshiya can't even pretend there's a joke in that; as far as he's concerned, he's damn well contracted something all-consuming when it comes to Aoi — terminal and blissfully so. "Or, I could try convincing the band to make room for a third guitarist," he jokes half-heartedly, then lets himself get lost in that thought for a moment.

He's so struck by Aoi, so gone for this guy, but the picture grinds like a mismatched cog into the machinery of his life with the band. Their hard-earned cohesion shaped by cumulative months of sweat, tears, and shared ambition feels a universe away from the warm, carefree excitement Aoi stirs in him.

Besides, he can barely picture Kyo and Aoi in the same room, let alone sharing a stage. He suspects Kyo wouldn't like Aoi. He'd find the easy, flirtatious demeanor irritating.

Aoi sighs, tilting his head with a slightly hammed-up expression of exasperated dejection. "You joke, but heads up, I'm actually gonna miss you. Hope you're ready to get bombarded by texts every other minute for the next two weeks."

Toshiya puts on a wounded expression. "Only every other minute? Do you even like me?"

"Ah, true," Aoi concedes gravely. "Make it every single minute. Would hate for you to doubt my heartfelt devotion." 

A bit punch-drunk with affection, Toshiya thinks to himself: yeah, whatever lukewarm thing he had with Kyo? Consider that chapter closed. This thing with Aoi — whatever it is, whatever it's turning into — it's pulling him in like he's under some sorcerer's spell, and guess what, he's not even remotely interested in breaking free.

Not wanting to wallow in any pre-tour blues just yet, he tries to channel some pep into his voice. "Well, we've still got a whole week to ourselves. Let's make the most of it, yeah?" 

Aoi seems to agree. "Curious…" he begins, flicking ash off his cigarette into the breeze without breaking eye contact. "What's the most you've ever come in one night?"

Toshiya arches an eyebrow. He extends his leg, hooking his ankle behind Aoi's shin to coax him closer. Greedy hands reach out, hauling Aoi forward by the belt loops as he tosses his cigarette and steps in, slotting himself between Toshiya's spread legs.

"Three times," Toshiya admits, his hands sliding up to Aoi's denim-clad ass, gripping hard with appreciation before sneaking under his shirt to trace the firm muscle along his spine.

Aoi gives a low hum, fingers threading through the hair at Toshiya's nape, hands cradling the back of his head while his leg presses firmly between Toshiya's. "Looks like we're aiming for four then."

Hours later, as dawn edges its way into the night, Toshiya finds himself breathlessly checking off a new personal best — one that he definitely won't be mentioning in any family newsletters.

A delirious half-moan, half-laugh bubbles out of him as he surrenders to his fourth climax of the night, whatever little is left in him spilling into Aoi's mouth that's become the epicenter of his sensory universe. He's basically melted into a puddle, a shaky, overstimulated puddle, and all he can think is — what's the catch? Nobody's this damn perfect. 

— 

The chance to set things straight with Kyo comes knocking sooner than Toshiya expected. 

At the last rehearsal before the tour, Kyo's having one of his better days, radiating more of his typical energy. Once the practice wraps up, he approaches Toshiya with that familiar, expectant look — a silent siren's call Toshiya hasn't seen in weeks. It used to get his blood pumping, but this time the feeling is bittersweet, knowing he's about to let him down for the first time.

"What are you up to later?" Kyo inquires, hands clasped behind his back. 

"Let's hang back a bit?" Toshiya suggests as he busies himself collecting weeks' worth of debris of coffee cups, bento boxes, and crumpled tissues into a trash bag.

He tried to keep his voice from dipping into that ominous 'we need to talk' register, but clearly, he failed; the smile drops from Kyo's face instantly, replaced by that well-practiced mask of guarded impassivity Toshiya thoroughly dislikes. The singer takes a seat, crossing his legs and plucking up a pen to fidget with while Toshiya drags his heels on cleanup duty, buying time as the rest of the band clears out.

Alone at last, in a quiet that feels pressurized, Toshiya exhales and turns to face Kyo. Band-aid approach, he reminds himself. Kyo likes things clear and upfront, and Toshiya's prepared to deliver just that. 

He sits down on the couch's armrest, hands in the pockets of his track jacket. "I've actually been seeing someone," he comes out with it. "So, I think it's best if we cool things off."

The tap-tap-tapping of Kyo's pen against the table's edge ceases as his face goes slack with surprise. Instant discomfort prickles up Toshiya's spine; Kyo looks blindsided. Clearly, whatever he was bracing for wasn't this. Fuck. Should he have put a softer spin on it after all?

It's an uncomfortably long few seconds before Kyo finally finds his voice. "I thought… I thought you said you weren't looking to date."

Toshiya winces inwardly. Right, he did say that, in one of their rare post-sex exchanges that went a bit deeper than that was fun or let's do that again next time. Kyo was curious about why he was single, and Toshiya meant it when he told him their lifestyle didn't exactly lend itself to romance or commitment. Dating felt like an afterthought at best, a liability at worst.

But then along came Aoi, fitting into Toshiya's life like he was custom-made for it. Aoi, who's in the same mad industry, who gets the chaotic schedules and knows what to expect. That kind of changes everything. 

"I wasn't," he explains. "It just… kinda happened when I least expected it." It sounds cliché even to his own ears, but it's also genuinely what happened so it'll have to do. 

Kyo processes this, his expression gradually rearranging into a sort of tepid acceptance. He clears his throat. "Okay," he begins, his voice unsure. "Well… Let me know if things don't work out with the new guy and you wanna…" His arms flail slightly, sketching the outline of starting over without the words to pin it down.

That throws Toshiya a bit; he would've thought Kyo more prideful than to volunteer as a backup. Guess it's back to the drawing board on understanding the inner workings of this guy. "Will do," he promises, tossing in a half-smile to ease the sting. But the pause that follows winds tight, pushing him to check, "We're cool though? No hard feelings?"

"No, of course not," Kyo assures quickly, forcing a smile as he stands up, the sudden scrape of the chair awfully loud. "Just gonna suck trying to find someone else," he says with a strained laugh, fingertips absently grazing the tabletop. "I'd never… Yeah."

Toshiya's gut twists. He'd never what? Been with anyone before him? Toshiya didn't imagine it mattered much to Kyo, but now he's not so sure. Ugh. He hopes to hell Kyo is just lamenting his lack of contacts, and not implying he's going through some sort of heartache because Toshiya was his first and is now moving on.

Words start tumbling out of him, a bit too fast and cheerful in his attempt to outrun the discomfort. "Come on, you'll be fine," he says, too loudly. "I mean, about the whole worrying about strangers babbling, honestly, if you just want a quick hookup, they're not gonna care about your life story — actually, odds are they won't even know who you are, you know? Just get in there, it'll be just fine, you'll see." 

Fuck, he's rambling. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, holding back any more unsolicited advice as Kyo meets his yammering with a blank look.

"Mmh. Alright. Well." Kyo pauses, stands there like he's got more to add but ends up defaulting to a simple, "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Thanks for… understanding." 

"No, thank you for... you know... everything." Kyo, who had regained a bit of composure, suddenly loses his grip on it again. He grabs his phone from the table, gives a weird little wave, and almost trips over a chair on his catastrophic beeline for the door.

Left to his own devices, Toshiya pulls his clammy hands from his pockets, wiping them on his thighs. He draws in a deep breath, holds it for a second, then lets it out slowly through his lips. 

Well… Could've gone worse, right?

Chapter Text

Under the intimate quarters of tour life, it becomes glaring just how rough Kyo's really having it.

Almost every morning, the whole bus gets an earful of him hurling his guts out in the tiny bathroom — the world's worst alarm clock no one ever set. By night, Kyo's the first one to call it, often right after dinner and, if they're lucky enough to have one, a shower. In between, he's unusually irritable, which has largely to do with his suddenly superhuman sense of smell that doesn't mix well with the visual kei requisite of heavy hairspray and the dubious culinary adventures of life on the road.

While Kyo grapples with what looks like an unending hangover from hell, Toshiya settles into a new, far more enjoyable routine. 

Every evening without fail, Aoi calls him — sometimes for marathon sessions that last hours, other times just quick hellos squeezed between commitments. Secretly, Toshiya loves the thought that Aoi might be a touch possessive, calling to make sure he isn't getting up to any shenanigans while they're apart. It's a bit high school, but since no crush ever bothered to keep tabs on him like this back in his actual high school days, he's soaking up the overdue thrill.

Thanks to these calls, Toshiya's usually the second to retreat to the bus each night, curling up in a chair in the lounge, phone pressed to his ear and voice hushed so as not to disturb Kyo. But during the quiet beats in the conversation, the background soundtrack of Kyo's restless shuffling and sighing in his bunk filters through, the guy evidently plagued by insomnia on top of everything else.

It makes for an awkward juxtaposition; Toshiya feels a pang of guilt sometimes, wrapped up in Aoi's warm, flirty banter while just a couple of meters away, Kyo is struggling. 

Onstage, however, their vocalist transforms. The moment his fingers wrap around a microphone, it's like he becomes possessed by some higher power driven by rage, adrenaline, and a savage resolve to give the crowd a good show. The ferocity with which he tears into the set is at bizarre odds with the drained figure Toshiya sometimes catches dozing on whatever spare horizontal surface the venue offers, often right up until showtime. But as soon as the last note rings out, that electric vitality drains from him like someone yanked the power cord.

They're all concerned, of course. But knowing that Kyo's own worry meter is quietly beeping (or so they assume, given that whenever he's not telling Die his cologne smells like shit or lashing out at Shinya for contaminating the bus with fried chicken smell, he seems outright depressed), they choose a collective front of nonchalance. No sense in adding to his stress and risk messing with his performance. And so, as far as the crew is concerned, morning sickness and pensioner bedtimes are merely the standard operating procedures for a twenty-two-year-old legend in the making.

But as the tour winds down and fall transforms the landscape into a sea of fiery reds and oranges, something shifts in Kyo, too. He's not the life of the party by any means — actually, he seems somehow more anxious and reclusive than ever — but his gag reflex has calmed down, no longer triggered by anything remotely fragrant, and he's overall notably less green in the face. He even manages to enjoy a cigarette, which promising development comes with a collective sigh of relief.

With the tour wrapped and Kyo sort of back to normal, Toshiya finds himself eagerly re-tuning his days to Aoi's frequency. It's a hectic frequency to match, these days, with Aoi swamped with not just band duties anymore but a new side hustle as a host. But they make it work, cramming in every scrap of time together they can before Dir jets off to the stateside. 

Two days before the flight, the band reconvenes for one last rehearsal to prep for the recording with Yoshiki. Toshiya, curious about Kyo's post-tour recovery, finds him… physically sound, it seems, but mentally pacing the cage. He keeps throwing loaded, anxious glances Toshiya's way, looking like he's on the verge of saying something but keeps chickening out. 

Toshiya doesn't want to find out what's on his mind. He has zero desire to revisit that trainwreck of a chat they had before the tour, and what else would Kyo want to hash out with him, especially looking so distraught? No thanks.

So, to avoid encouraging any unwanted heart-to-hearts, he makes a conscious effort to steer clear of eye contact. He tunes his bass with exaggerated focus, cackles way too hard at Die's idiotic jokes, and bolts the minute they're done. Whatever's eating at Kyo, he'll get over it.

— 

Toshiya and Aoi's last evening together before the flight is an indoor affair, the world outside their cozy bubble entirely switched off, could've vanished for all they care. 

In Toshiya's kitchen, they cook sukiyaki, elbow-bumping and maneuvering around each other in a space clearly not designed for two grown men (or, as Toshiya loves to remind Aoi, one grown man and one teenage boy). Despite the spatial acrobatics required, he finds little to complain about, when Aoi's using every opportunity to press up against him, fingertips sneaking under his shirt to graze his skin as he reaches for something overhead.

It has Toshiya entertaining the kind of domestic daydreams that make him want to slap himself — disgustingly sappy and embarrassingly premature thoughts about shacking up together. Like, full-on couple-level commitment, complete with joint toothpaste ownership and petty squabbles about who forgot to take out the trash on non-burnables day. 

Real talk, he'd probably hate it; he cherishes his personal space too much. But hypothetically, if anyone were to convert him, it would be this heartthrob right here, currently giving that rice a bath with a level of diligence that Toshiya finds both endearing and slightly unnerving. 

Romancing a guy isn't exactly Toshiya's forte. For him, it usually tops out at buying them a drink, doling out a few compliments, and hoping it pans out. Aoi, on the other hand, appears to be a born natural, the same way he's naturally good at just about everything else.

While Toshiya goes about setting up the kotatsu for dinner, Aoi decides it's atmosphere o'clock — off goes the main light, replaced by the soft, golden ambiance of the corner lamp. Toshiya's eyebrows climb as Aoi next produces a handful of candles from who-knows-where, dotting them around the room and lighting them one by one until the place looks primed for a séance. Then he flicks on the radio, just loud enough to fill the quiet moments but not take over, before joining Toshiya at the kotatsu. 

"Check out Mr. Romance over here," Toshiya teases, though he can't deny the warm fuzzies. With anyone else, this would've screamed a cheesy, try-hard setup, but now it just kind of fits. 

"You've seen nothing yet," Aoi responds with the same energy as he settles onto the floor cushion. He shoves his sleeves up his forearms in a way that has Toshiya unconsciously tracking the motion, then shifts his attention to the steaming sukiyaki spread between them and slaps his palms together. "Let's dig in."

Despite the candle-lit ambiance, their conversation flows as easy and unpretentious as ever. They touch on Toshiya's looming studio time with Yoshiki, then veer into the tragicomic world of Aoi's host gig. He reels off tales of blackout-drunk hostesses who need to be scraped off the floor at closing, trust fund princesses racing to financial ruin trying to keep up with their favorite hosts, and older corporate types who are either terminally single or unhappily married, but always throwing cash around like it might buy them back some lost youth. 

Toshiya doesn't know how Aoi can stomach all that vanity and underlying misery, but, well… the money's got to be good. Still, he's holding out hope that Aoi's band will catch their break and let him drop the grim nightlife grind sooner rather than later. 

After dinner is demolished, with Eagles crooning about paradisiacal dilemmas in the background, Aoi gives Toshiya a sly look before excusing himself with a mysterious air. Toshiya watches, a question mark practically floating above his head, as the guitarist slips into the hallway, only to reappear shortly with his hands tucked conspicuously behind his back. 

A neat little gift box is planted on the kotatsu before Toshiya, catching him so off guard he almost recoils. "Eh? What's this?" 

"Just a little something so you don't forget me while you're out conquering the world," Aoi says, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he settles on the floor next to Toshiya. He nods toward the box, "Go on, open it."

Apprehensive and a bit stunned, Toshiya does, unraveling the ribbon with a light tug and lifting the lid. Inside, curled regally on a small satin pillow, is a sleek silver cuff bracelet. Fucking hell, he thinks as he stares at it. That 'you've seen nothing yet' line wasn't just for giggles.

"Aoi…" he starts uncomfortably. There are no flashy brand logos in sight, but it's clear this isn't some dime-a-dozen trinket you'd find on Ameyoko-doori. "Why? It's not even my birthday or anything."

"I know that," Aoi scoffs, as if the very idea of him not knowing Toshiya's birthday is preposterous. "It's March thirty-first. Mine's January twentieth, in case you were wondering."

Toshiya looks at him, torn somewhere between impressed and concerned while the younger boy just smiles back like this isn't a big deal. "How much was this?" 

"Fret not, darling," Aoi says, reaching out to pick up the bracelet from its satin nest. "I've got a high-roller at the club. She loves her Moët, and stuffing fat tips down the pants of her favorite host — that's me, by the way."

Toshiya sighs. He could've done without the knowledge that Aoi's been letting some rich lady grope him for this gift. Still, he holds out his wrist for the guitarist to fit the bracelet around it, the metal cool and solid against his toasty skin. A damn diamond ring couldn't scream claimed any louder.

A prickle of self-awareness pokes at Toshiya. He's the older one here; shouldn't he be the one pulling off these grand romantic gestures? But then, their dynamic's never been by the book. Aoi's been running this show pretty much from the start, with the kind of easy self-assurance that sometimes leaves Toshiya feeling like he's just along for the ride. The best ride of his life, granted, but still.

So… does this mean they're officially a couple now?

Having never seriously dated anyone before, Toshiya has zero idea how this works. Are you supposed to have some big, serious sit-down chat about it, or do things just sort of evolve? One minute you're hanging out and having mind-blowing sex, the next there's a shiny bracelet on your wrist and you're suddenly off the market?

All these questions percolate quietly as he examines the gleaming metal encircling his wrist. It's tasteful, a piece that catches the eye without being obnoxious. Maybe not the kind of thing he would have picked out on his own, even if he had the cash, but it looks undeniably good on him.

"Do you like it?" Aoi's voice breaks through his pensive silence.

Toshiya tears his gaze away from the bracelet to meet Aoi's expectant eyes. "Yeah, I love it." And he means it — the bracelet, the thought behind it, the smug-looking bastard in front of him who put it there, even if it means Toshiya's now got a sky-high gift-giving standard to match. "Thanks, seriously." 

"Just take a look at it when some blue-eyed, golden-haired Adonis tries to charm your pants off," Aoi advises, half-joking but dead serious. He then scoots over, positioning himself comfortably in Toshiya's lap. "So you remember who's got dibs on you back here," he adds quietly, gathering Toshiya's loose hair into a makeshift ponytail.

Toshiya's fingertips trace the path up Aoi's spine. Watching the way the candlelight dances in those dark eyes that have fast become his favorite view, he wonders: how could he possibly need a reminder? Aoi is all he seems to think about these days. 

"I won't take my eyes off it," he promises, and that's it for talking because then Aoi's lips are on his.

Toshiya might not know much about romancing, but he damn well knows how to make a man feel wanted. With the dying flames of the candles throwing long, wild shadows up the walls, they make quick work of undressing each other right there on the floor. Toshiya pushes the kotatsu out of the way, clearing enough space before he guides Aoi down onto the rug. 

He had grand plans for a leisurely tour of Aoi's landscape, kissing and tasting his way down slowly. However, patience is not on the menu tonight, and by the looks of it, Aoi's on the same page, already half-hard by the time Toshiya's eyes settle on the evidence. 

Unable to help himself, he grabs Aoi's hips and dips down to shamelessly nuzzle against his rapidly swelling length. The musky, intoxicating scent goes to his head like a shot, and something primal tugs low in his belly. His mouth is literally watering. Trailing the tip of his nose up the shaft, he takes the flushed head into his mouth and gives a slow, teasing suck. The low moan it draws from Aoi has his own cock throbbing between his legs, and at this point, it's anyone's guess who's enjoying this more.

The gratitude isn't just for the bracelet, but for Aoi being an all-around gem of a human, when Toshiya channels what feels like overdue thanks into his actions. While his lips glide up and down Aoi's cock, his lube-slicked fingers slip inside him with ease, pumping and stretching for a good while before finally curling and finding the last piece missing in Aoi's impending release. And when the peak crashes, Toshiya's right there, feeling every pulse of pleasure as if it were his own, heart pounding in his chest as he swallows. 

Without a breath to spare, he sits up, hoists Aoi's hips, and drives into him while Aoi's still clenching from the orgasm. He sets a hard, relentless pace right off the bat, catering to the desire he knows to curl within this breathtaking vision of overstimulated beauty beneath him, half-moaning, half-sobbing in a way that used to make Toshiya second-guess before he understood that for Aoi, 'too much' is exactly the right amount.

Fingers weave through glossy strands, hips clashing with loud smacks, lips brushing but never quite meeting in anything more coordinated than feverish, shared breaths, and Toshiya's so close, right on the brink, ready to spill into the slick grip of Aoi's body— 

—and then his phone starts ringing. 

The piercing, obnoxious tone crashes into the moment like a wrecking ball, and Toshiya grinds to a reluctant stop, burying his face into the crook of Aoi's neck with a groan. He stays there for a moment to catch his breath, torn between a violent need to chuck the phone out the balcony and the nagging pull of duty. 

"Fuck's sake," he mutters, leveraging his weight off Aoi, looking down at him regretfully. Aoi, ever gracious and endlessly understanding, just gives him one of those benevolent smiles that says it's all good.

Fully prepared to slam the decline button and get back to business, Toshiya hauls Aoi's hips onto his lap to stay connected, then reaches out awkwardly to grab the buzzing phone from the kotatsu. He's ready to mentally curse out whoever is responsible for this heinous cockblock, but then he sees the caller ID and pauses. 

Kyo. 

Of all people. Fuck. Why? At this hour? He frowns, the phone vibrating relentlessly in his grip for a few more seconds until the ringing stops, and the room is dropped into a silence that feels downright sinister.

"Who was it?" Aoi's voice cuts through his thoughts, feather-light, all innocent curiosity. He has his arm flung overhead, fingers absentmindedly twirling strands of his hair. The other hand is up to no good, snuck between them, cool fingertips teasingly and very distractingly tracing the slick, sensitive skin where they're still intimately joined.

Phone suspended mid-air, Toshiya lets his eyes slide over Aoi's laid-out form — the cascade of dark hair against the stark white of the rug, like a photo negative of Kyo against his bedspread that first night; eyes intense whirlpools of desire against Kyo's often evasive ones; pristine skin almost glowing and abs pronounced in the low light, cock lying thick and heavy against that toned stomach. It's almost rude how stunning this guy is.

"Kyo," Toshiya hears himself say. The name sounds like a relic of another life, something that barely holds meaning here in their self-contained two-person universe. His hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, drifts to Aoi's hip, the bracelet glinting in the light like a reminder of where his priorities should lie.

"Oh? Would he like to join?" Aoi asks sweetly. Toshiya huffs a laugh, but before the ridiculous mental image can take root, a pair of strong thighs cinch around his waist, pulling him closer. "Come on," Aoi murmurs, hands boldly claiming his rear. "Finish with me, then deal with him."

Yes. Yes, it's a sound suggestion. If Kyo's got himself into some trouble, he's got a whole contact list to burn through. That sorted, Toshiya tosses the phone aside, returning his full attention to the immediate pleasure at hand.

And when Aoi, breathless and overwhelmed beneath him, gasps out what Toshiya hadn't dared to voice — "Be my boyfriend?" — 'yes' suddenly isn't just a word; it's a sacred mantra on Toshiya's lips, his thrusts just a little more insistent to make sure his affirmation is felt deep. 

It isn't until Aoi leaves around midnight — after a goodbye kiss so fierce Toshiya's lips are now feeling like they've been through a blender — that Kyo's missed call resurfaces in his mind. Raking fingers through his hair that's in desperate need of a wash, he pads back into the living room. With the post-sex high and rush of landing his first ever boyfriend ebbing out, he's feeling extraordinarily mundane. 

With a monstrous yawn, Toshiya grabs his phone and drops onto the couch. He pulls up the missed call notification and, with some reluctance, hits the callback button, bracing himself for whatever unpleasantness is waiting on the other end. 

The phone barely makes it to his ear before Kyo's voice already cracks through, a verbal stumble that doesn't wait for niceties. "Hey, um," he says. "Sorry, I know you probably don't want anything to do with me anymore—" 

Okay, that's a bit dramatic, Toshiya thinks, though a flicker of guilt sparks; maybe he did come off a bit cold at the rehearsal yesterday.

"—but there's something I really need to talk to you about. Is it okay if I come over for a bit?"

Toshiya glances at the clock mounted on the wall above the doorway. "Dude, it's midnight. How're you planning to get here, let alone back home after?"

"I'm actually just around the corner. I can be there in five minutes."

Toshiya's brow furrows. Kyo's place is a whole commute away in northern Tokyo. Why on earth is he loitering around here at this hour? Nobody just hangs out in this part of town unless they have a reason. Surely Kyo hasn't been waiting out there this whole time, hoping for a callback?

Unease at the thought coiling in his belly, Toshiya's gaze drifts to the warzone that is his living room — remnants of their sukiyaki feast on the kotatsu, which is still awkwardly shoved aside, a lube bottle shamelessly lounging next to a pile of crumpled tissues, and clothes flung every which way. Cleaning this mess in five minutes is a joke his tired, boneless body isn't laughing at.

But this is Kyo, a guy who'd rather sit on hot coals than ask for anything, and if he's making the effort to show up unannounced and sounding this rattled, it must be serious. And sucky, undoubtedly. Ugh. The man had all of yesterday to unload whatever catastrophic news or emotional baggage he's been sitting on, but no — he waits until the witching hour of the night before they're set to fly off to another continent.

"Yeah, alright," Toshiya says, rubbing a hand over his face. "See you in five, then." 

"Thanks. See you soon." And with that, the line goes dead, just as Toshiya's eyes land on Aoi's forgotten phone peeking out from the folds of the kotatsu blanket. Splendid. Nothing like a little extra layer of complication to round out the night.

Kyo looks a little wild-eyed when he shows up. He shucks off his jacket and shoes, and pads into the living room with a familiarity that pulls at old memories, dredging up a mess of nostalgia and discomfort in Toshiya.

Standing there in his pajama pants and a ratty t-shirt — the closest thing to 'dressed' he could manage on short notice — a sudden realization grips him: the room, though somewhat tidied, almost definitely reeks of sex. With agility he didn't know he had at this hour, he lunges for the balcony door, body and brain on autopilot as he hauls the glass open.

As the crisp night air sweeps through the space, he pivots back to Kyo. The singer looks a bit elf-like in his forest-green college sweater, with cold-reddened tips of his ears peeking out from the blond hair that hangs in straight, uneven strands around his face. His eyes are two shimmering pools of distress, and the anxiety rolling off him is thick enough to taste.

His voice wobbles as he makes his announcement. "Something weird is happening to me." 

Toshiya's pulse leaps. It's that mystery illness, he thinks instantly. Has to be. They all thought Kyo was on the mend, but clearly not, clearly what plagued him has come back to—

His train of thought hits a wall when Kyo unexpectedly bunches up his sweater and pulls it up to bare his midriff. Toshiya's eyes lock onto the exposed stretch of skin. It's... not quite the trim, flat belly he remembers best for spilling his load onto more times than he'd care to admit. Now it's…

"Look at my stomach," Kyo demands, his pitch starting to edge toward hysterical. "This is me trying to suck it in. Look at it!"

Toshiya is looking, alright, but isn't any closer to cracking the case. Constipation? Kyo complained about that last summer, yes, but who hasn't been backed up before? Bloating? Big deal. Toshiya's sported much worse after stuffing himself silly during holidays. Hardly a medical emergency in most cases. 

But Kyo spiraling like this over a little food baby doesn't add up.

"Okay, let's see…" Toshiya says, trying to mask his cluelessness with a tone of deep consideration while his mind — a wasteland of medical ignorance — races for something helpful to say next. "Any other symptoms? Pain, or maybe... dizziness?" Recent encounters with extraterrestrials, perhaps?

Kyo draws a breath, mouth opening to spill who knows what worries, when the shrill ring of the doorbell cuts him short. The sweater falls back into place as he twists around, looking at the entrance with such profound confusion that you'd think he's never heard a doorbell in his life.

Toshiya, meanwhile, scoops up Aoi's phone from the kotatsu and strides to the door.

On the other side stands his shiny new boyfriend, with a sheepish, apologetic smile on his face. His eyes do a quick once-over of Toshiya, as if making sure he hasn't pulled him out of bed, then land on the phone in his hand. "Oh, thank god," he exhales in relief, hand coming to rest over his chest. "I was afraid I dropped it somewhere."

"Step ahead of you," Toshiya says quietly, a soft tease in his otherwise strained voice as the phone changes hands.

Just as their eyes meet and smiles start to take shape, Aoi spots Kyo, standing frozen in the background. His surprise is palpable when a soft, almost reverent oh slips from his lips.

Oh, indeed. With a half-formed sigh trapped in his throat, Toshiya steps to the side, watching uncomfortably as Aoi offers a polite bow to Kyo. Kyo manages a curt dip of his head in return, all while death-gripping the hem of his sweater as if afraid a sudden gust might reveal his secrets to the world.

Aoi looks like he's about to explode with the urge to say something. He's star-struck, obviously itching to acknowledge the moment, probably with some fawning praise or an introduction, but Toshiya's in no mood to host a meet-and-greet tonight. Hysterical bandmates take precedence over social pleasantries.

"Did you walk back here?" he interjects, breaking Aoi's fanboy trance as he wedges his way casually into his line of sight, propping his shoulder against the doorframe and partially blocking the sight of Kyo. "No trains running, right?"

Aoi drags his gaze back to Toshiya. "From Daitabashi, yeah. Guess I could've waited till morning, but I was kinda freaking out." He sneaks one last, inquisitive peek back at Kyo before adding, "Sorry to interrupt." It's a polite enough apology, but Toshiya can read the why's he here? in it loud and clear.

"No worries. Just sorting out some pre-flight chaos. See you when I'm back?" He smiles, unsure why he's whispering.

"Twenty-seventh," Aoi confirms. His eyes take a detour to Toshiya's mouth, and a flash of dread twists in Toshiya's gut. Don't you dare, he thinks — not here, not in front of Kyo. Sure enough, Aoi behaves, offering a simple "Safe travels" and one last smile before he pivots to head to the staircase.

Toshiya closes the door and takes a second to collect himself. Then, he turns around and returns to the room.

"Sorry about that. Let's sit down, yeah?" he suggests, gesturing toward the kotatsu. 

Kyo's eyes, now a shade more sober, catch the bracelet then. Whatever thoughts cross his mind about the accessory go unsaid, however, as he quietly lowers himself onto the flat cushion on the floor at the kotatsu, legs tucked beneath him in seiza. 

Toshiya moves to shut the balcony door against the encroaching cold, then joins Kyo, folding himself onto the low couch adjacent to the singer.

Silence reigns briefly before Kyo blurts out, "He's hot," like the observation has been brewing in his brain and simply couldn't be contained any longer.

Tugging at his ankle, Toshiya agrees uncomfortably, "Yeah, I guess." Of all the possible conversational detours with Kyo, Aoi's attractiveness ranks low on his wish list. Eager to get them back to the original issue, though he'd rather not deal with that either, he prompts, "So, about your… situation…"

The earlier distress carves itself right back onto Kyo's features at the reminder of a situation, any stray thoughts of Aoi's genetic fortune and Toshiya's fancy wrist decor almost visibly vaporizing from his mind.

"Crazy fatigue," he starts off, hands gripping his thighs. "Morning sickness. Sensitivity to smells. And I'm… like, emotional," he says, like he's disgusted to even admit it. A hard swallow hollows his throat, his next words carrying a growing desperation. "And now my stomach is getting bigger. What — what do you make of that, Toshiya?"

Well… the textbook diagnosis would be pregnancy, but last Toshiya checked — and he's checked very thoroughly — Kyo is a male specimen. Wondering how much of an idiot he is for not recognizing this particular malady that mimics pregnancy's early chapters down to the letter, Toshiya is forced to admit, "I'm not sure."

Wrong answer, apparently. Kyo's frayed nerves finally rip apart, his next words erupting in a hysterical holler that leaves Toshiya's ears ringing. "I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant, you moron!"

A smile breaks across Toshiya's face — an involuntary spasm, really, because how does one even respond to that? And just as he realizes that it's a little bit funny, Kyo acting exactly like a pregnant, hormonal woman would, a palm lands on his cheek with a resounding slap, proving the point but making it a lot less funny.

"Ow, man!" Toshiya recoils, hand flying to his tingling cheek as his wounded eyes zero in on Kyo's furious ones. The singer looms over the kotatsu, one hand flat on it, the other balled up into a fist, his chest heaving with agitated breaths. 

"You think this is funny?!" he snarls. "You did this to me!"

"Kyo," Toshiya finally rallies, the sting on his cheek igniting a comeback with some backbone. "You can't just scream 'I'm pregnant' at me and not expect me to think you're off your rocker! Why on earth haven't you seen a doctor yet, with all this going on? And I mean a proper one, not some neighborhood clinic quack."

The rage drains out of Kyo just as quickly as it surged. He slumps back onto his haunches, and to Toshiya's horror, tears begin to well in his eyes. "'Cause I'm scared," he chokes out. "The nausea and stuff went away and I thought that was the end of it, but then this—" His hand hovers unsteadily over his midsection, "—started happening out of nowhere, and I just…"

Toshiya can guess the rest. "Closed your eyes, covered your ears, and went 'la la la,' hoping it'd go away."

Kyo nods, tears trickling down his cheeks, and the sight of it is so alien it's like reality has slipped a gear. Toshiya watches, heart twisting, as Kyo plucks a wad of tissues from the box with a trembling hand, scrubs at his tears with them, then blows his nose with a trumpet-worthy honk. 

"But it didn't go away," he continues thickly. "It just got worse. And with the trip coming up and everything… Couldn't ignore it anymore, and I started thinking… you know, male seahorses, they—" 

"Okay, timeout," Toshiya interrupts because it's time to bring this guy back to planet Earth. He can't believe he has to even utter these words, but… "You are not a seahorse, Kyo. And you're definitely not pregnant. I can guarantee that. But you do need to go to hospital, see some specialist." Like a psychiatrist, he thinks, but keeps that bit to himself.

"Okay," Kyo sniffs, dabbing at his eyes with a lump of soggy tissues.

Toshiya observes this tragic tableau for a moment, then offers, "Would you like me to come with you?" 

"No," comes the predictable answer. Then Kyo seems to reconsider, stubborn self-reliance and undeniable need battling behind his red-rimmed eyes. "But maybe keep your phone ready when I'm there, okay? I might call after." 

"You got it," Toshiya promises. "Phone's glued to my hand."

Silence settles for a moment as he watches Kyo bunch up the tissues in his hand into a sad, sodden ball that he deposits on the kotatsu. Kyo's voice, when he finds it again, is so small it might as well be coming from the bottom of a well. "I've been so stressed out about this, Toshiya. I just want it to go away. I wanna feel normal again."

The awkwardness of the situation blooms, spreading through Toshiya's body like an allergic reaction, and he's utterly clueless of the right words. Sympathy isn't exactly his prime service, but he gives it a shot. "Need a hug?" 

To his quiet astonishment, Kyo doesn't balk at the suggestion. Instead, he crawls into Toshiya's cautiously waiting arms with a desperation that suggests he's been starved for comfort — and the second Toshiya gives it, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing, the floodgates open again. Tears soak the thin fabric of Toshiya's t-shirt as Kyo breaks apart anew, sobbing like his heart is breaking. 

Convincing Kyo to stay the night turns out to be surprisingly easy, which says everything about how spent he is. He accepts the warm tea and the borrowed t-shirt for sleepwear, looking calm and sleepy as he sits on the floor in a tight ball, knees hugged to his chest, watching Toshiya unfold the low couch into something resembling a guest bed. 

When the lights are out and the stillness of the night wraps around them, Toshiya lies on his bed, eyes fixed on the invisible ceiling above. He doesn't know what to think. Witnessing Kyo's breakdown was a shock to the system, especially since Toshiya had never even heard him raise his voice unless it was into a microphone, let alone bawl like a kid. 

They're America-bound tomorrow — or rather, later today — meaning the hospital visit will have to wait until they're back. Toshiya crosses his fingers that the guy won't implode before then.

From the formless dark, Kyo's voice trickles out softly. "Toshiya," he whispers. "Thanks. I feel better now."

Toshiya's smile comes easily — if uselessly in the dark — in response. "Glad to hear, man," he replies quietly. Trying to keep the atmosphere from sinking back into the abyss, he quips, "Though I think Kaoru would've been more useful; bet he would've solved this mystery pronto." 

The room swallows his attempt at humor, leaving an uneasy pause before Kyo's voice reemerges, heavy and foreboding. "You know why I came to you."

Toshiya lies silent, letting the implication of the words sink in. It's not some feel-good sentiment about him being Kyo's go-to guy for support and advice, that much is clear. No, it's because this guy genuinely, inexplicably believes he's carrying Toshiya's child. 

If that isn't a cry for help, Toshiya doesn't know what is.

Chapter Text

The next ten days in the City of Angels come at them fast and fierce; they're in Yoshiki Hayashi's domain now, where 'good enough' is heresy and 'perfection' is just the starting point. Toshiya gets it: this is the big leagues. No room for amateurs. But despite the pressure that could turn their collective anxieties into diamonds, his mind is doing double duty between trying not to screw up his parts and keeping an eye on Kyo. 

Kyo, for his part, lays down the vocals for Akuro no Oka with stunning precision. There's something in his voice, a whole new level of depth and maturity that marries deep-seated sorrow with some kind of profound sense of peace, and Toshiya finds himself captivated. Through the glass of the recording booth, he stares at Kyo as he sings with his headphones on, eyes shut, brow furrowing and relaxing with the music as he pulls sound from the very core of his being. 

How this is the same frightened, snotty mess who sobbed himself dry in Toshiya's arms just days ago is beyond him. But then, the duality… or triality of this man shouldn't really come as a surprise anymore. 

For all intents and purposes, Kyo appears to be doing fine. He certainly has a good appetite, Toshiya can't help but notice as he side-eyes the singer going back for third helpings during dinner at Yoshiki's. And yet, it's pretty evident that whatever broke inside him back in Tokyo didn't get fixed just because they crossed the Pacific; Kyo remains conspicuously bundled up in sweaters and hoodies, even when the climate controlled indoors hardly warrants such insulation, and when Die once comments on it — "You cold or something?" — Kyo's first reaction is to shoot a distressed look at Toshiya. Not subtle, not normal.

By day six, Toshiya is ready to set something on fire just for the change of pace. Their world has shrunk to the hotel, the studio, and Yoshiki's grand estate, and the novelty of being where legends are forged has thoroughly worn off.

With Kaoru and Die off playing pool and risking tetanus in a dive bar so sketchy Toshiya noped out at the threshold, and Kyo on a self-imposed house arrest, emerging from the safety of his hotel room only when he absolutely has to, options are slim. Desperate times, desperate measures: Toshiya ropes Shinya into going out to scavenge the local malls with him. 

They're meandering through the aisles, Shinya dissecting some convoluted celebrity scandal involving a dog custody battle, and Toshiya is barely hanging on to the thread of the story. That's when something catches his eye — a cardigan, so decadently plush it's practically a wearable hug. Perfect for Kyo. Without second-guessing the impulse, he grabs the garment off the rack and makes for the checkout.

"Isn't it a bit small for you?" Shinya, who's holding no less than three shopping bags himself, comments as Toshiya steps away from the cashier. "Looks more my size."

"It's for Kyo," Toshiya explains, tucking his wallet away. It's obvious Kyo's running out of long-sleeves, and probably too afraid to test his (nonexistent, as far as Toshiya's aware) English on the hotel staff to ask about laundry services. 

Shinya looks mildly surprised, one of his sculpted eyebrows arching above the rim of his designer sunglasses — definitely a parental sponsorship, because it sure as hell isn't their salary footing that bill. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's been cycling the same few tops." 

"How considerate of you."

"Don't act so shocked," Toshiya laughs, elbowing Shinya — gently, of course, since the guy looks a gust of wind away from floating off like dandelion fluff. "I'm a nice guy, in case you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed," Shinya allows as they step into the sunlit world outside, the automatic doors swishing shut behind them. "You'd be really great if you weren't such a try-hard." 

Too used to Shinya's harsh assessments, Toshiya takes no offense. He's heard worse from this guy. "Sadly, we can't all be flawless like you."

Shinya agrees with a nod as they cross the parking lot. Eyeing the paper bag swinging in Toshiya's hand, he adds his stamp of approval, "I think Kyo will like it. I know I would."

"Fingers crossed." 

"And if he doesn't, I can take it off your hands. I noticed it was the last one."

"...Thanks."

Armed with a brand new cardigan and the best of intentions, Toshiya knocks a peppy rhythm on the door to Kyo and Kaoru's hotel room. 

When the door cracks open and Kyo's face pops into view, Toshiya's eyes instantly drop to his torso, now sporting nothing but a faded The Clash t-shirt. The shirt is certainly big and boxy enough to hide the slight swell Toshiya witnessed that night at his place, but the absence of any immediate abnormalities at least tells him the situation hasn't gotten worse.

He lifts his gaze back up to meet Kyo's questioning look. "How's the belly?" he asks now that they have some privacy.

Kyo's face darkens, fingers inching towards the hem of his shirt. "I don't wanna talk about it," he mutters.

Perfect, Toshiya thinks. Neither does he. He pulls the cardigan from the bag, the price tag still dangling from it in case Kyo's not feeling it and a return mission is on the cards. "Saw this and thought of you," he says, holding out the soft bundle.

Kyo's suspicion melts into confusion as he shifts to prop the door open with his shoulder, freeing up his hands to take the cardigan. He unfolds it, holds it up, and the silence balloons as he contemplates the knitwear like it's some ancient artifact. 

Toshiya can't help but pop the quiet before it solidifies. "Careful, your eyeballs will dry up," he jokes lamely. 

But Kyo's eyes aren't drying up — they're doing the opposite. They're starting to shimmer, an unsettling gloss forming that gives Toshiya a gut-twist feeling he's about to witness another teary breakdown. Except this time, Kyo doesn't look like he wants company for it; clutching the cardigan like it's a life preserver, he utters a choked-up "Thanks," and pushes the door shut in Toshiya's face.

Toshiya stands there for a good, long second, the empty shopping bag dangling from his fingers. What on earth? Tears over some wool? Holy hell. He's beyond ready for that doctor's visit. Whatever strain of crazy's brewing in Kyo, it's got to stop because Toshiya's not remotely equipped to handle this nonsense.

His musings are interrupted by a familiar voice calling out, "Yo."

Turning, he finds Kaoru ambling down the hallway, looking wholly untroubled by the world. Toshiya almost sighs in relief. The sight of their leader, ever steady and reliably dry-eyed, is grounding, a much-needed reminder that not everyone around here is unraveling at the seams.

"Hey. How was pool?"

Kaoru shrugs. "Didn't get to play. We got harassed out of there within like five minutes." 

"Well, that sucks." And also doesn't surprise Toshiya in the least. Figuring Kyo could use some time alone, he motions down the hall. "Beer? Got some stashed back in me and Die's room." 

Kaoru, thankfully, isn't one to need arm-twisting when beer is in the equation; he's already turned on his heel to head to Toshiya's room. 

The next few hours unwind comfortably, with the band (minus one emotionally unstable vocalist) kicking back, their mouths running on autopilot while the TV spits out what seems like an endless stream of ads and little else. It's a brief, sweet escape, and Toshiya's almost seduced into the illusion that all's right in the world, when his phone buzzes with Kyo's follow-up.

Sorry I was weird. And thanks, I'll pay you back

A soft snort shoots out of Toshiya's nose. Weird, sure. Uncontrollable sobbing fits are another classic pregnancy symptom, right? For a second, he decides to humor Kyo's inane self-diagnosis, leaning back against the creaky headboard and closing his eyes.

He thinks back: was there anything unusual or off about Kyo's intimate anatomy? Anything to indicate he's somehow secretly female or some sort of weird hybrid, a biological anomaly? But no. Not a thing. Unless you count the refractory period of a teenager, nothing looked, felt, or acted amiss down there, that's a fact. Another fact is that even contemplating this line of thought is a whole new level of bonkers.

Honestly, rather than suspect that Kyo's miraculously fathered a child with him, Toshiya could sooner buy into the notion that he's been abducted by aliens and returned incubating some sort of interplanetary parasite. 

These off-the-wall thoughts fade when Die's voice, oblivious to volume control, bulldozes into Toshiya's awareness.

"—so get this, it turns out the dude's been sneaking around with this high schooler. And the kid's like, the town fag. So—"

A loud tch, dripping with scorn, slams the brakes on the gossip train mid-sentence. Toshiya watches as Die, all regal sprawl and boxer-brief nonchalance on his bed, cranks his neck toward Shinya, who's curled up in a chair like a pissed-off cat. "What's your problem?" 

If Toshiya didn't know better, he'd swear these two were secretly sweet on each other, and equipped with the tools of a preschooler to express it. He gives his temple a rub.

"The slurs, stupid," says Shinya. "Get with the times."

Toshiya doubts the comment struck a personal nerve. Romance, sex, or any other forms of human intimacy don't exactly seem to be Shinya's area of interest. No, this is either about seizing a prime opportunity to criticize Die, or standing up for the colorful crowd the drummer is known to hang with back home. Toshiya's money's on the former. 

Die lets out a half-hearted chuckle that flatlines into a scoff. "Dude. Either get out of the closet already or quit playing the morality cop," he says blandly. "'Cause unless there's something you're not telling us, no one here has any reason to get all butt-hurt over 'fag.'" He pauses, eyes lighting up as he realizes his accidental pun. 

Before he can squeeze more mileage out of it, Shinya retorts, "The point, you neanderthal, is that it's rude. Try being decent for once in your life." 

"Rude? Shinya, you're the rudest asshole I've ever met in my life," Die points out, and Toshiya internally admits there's a nugget of truth there. "I bet you got all excited about some feel-good article preaching what's not cool to say anymore, and now you're just gobbling up every chance to try to make me look dumb." 

"You're doing a fine job on your own! As always!"

"Anyway—" Die asserts emphatically, turning his attention to Kaoru, who's giving him a glazed-over look that could mean anything from 'continue, please' to 'I've gone to my happy place,' and then to Toshiya, who's sipping his beer and doing his damnedest to look as un-butt-hurt as possible, "—this fag had been secretly recording their…"

Toshiya's attention drifts, and he picks up his phone. 

By now, Die's casual bigotry is practically part of the ambiance; no real malice behind it, just a deep, deep well of unchallenged ignorance and insensitivity. And yes, Toshiya's considered leveling with him, breaking down the complexities of not being a dickhead over a beer or two, maybe explaining that words actually mean things. But then what? That conversation would mean laying his own cards on the table, and while he doubts Die would outright turn on him, just having his friend look at him differently — or worse, start tiptoeing around him — is more than Toshiya's willing to risk. 

So he lets it slide, quietly hoping that life — or maybe an angry drag queen with a mean right hook — will eventually sort Die out, because Toshiya sure isn't feeling like the guy for the job.

He rereads Kyo's message. I'll pay you back — pfft, like money's the issue here. He just wants his friend whole and sane, or as close to it as Kyo's ever going to be.

Consider it an early push present, he types just to humor himself, then erases it because Kyo wouldn't get that it's a joke. Instead, he settles on a safer, It's a gift, don't worry about it. Get some rest.

The reply pings back swiftly: It's really nice. Thank you.

"Who're you texting?" Die butts in.

"Your mom," Toshiya retorts, putting the phone away and reaching for his beer. 

—

Predictably, no invite comes for Toshiya to tag along to the doctor's appointment. But once Kyo inadvertently — or perhaps as some underhanded cry for help? — lets slip the hospital's name, Toshiya's mind is made. He'll sooner deal with Kyo's wrath for showing up uninvited than sit on his hands while his friend faces potentially devastating news all by himself.

The appointment is on the very same day they return to Japan, and Toshiya is on a self-assigned stakeout. Two whole hours have slid by, and he's practically worn a groove lined with cigarette butts on the sidewalk, pacing like some chain-smoking, twitchy guardian angel. 

He plays out the possible outcomes in his head, and none seem to end in high spirits. Is it something so severe that Kyo has been admitted? Is he now lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and waiting for surgery? Or is it the psych ward he's been wheeled to? 

But the thing is, as much as Toshiya would love to chalk this all up to some sort of stress-induced mental breakdown, he knows better. Kyo has been visibly unwell for months, which means there's most likely something actually, physically wrong with him. Toshiya tries not to let his thoughts spiral out of control, but the radio silence from Kyo isn't helping.

Just as he starts to entertain the possibility that Kyo might have left using some back exit, the hospital door swings open and spits out his bandmate.

The sight isn't reassuring, and every alarm bell starts ringing in Toshiya's head. Clad in a surgical mask that goes worryingly well with his pallor, Kyo's eyes look like they've seen the end. Cancer, Toshiya thinks instantly. Terminal cancer. Three months left to live. Maybe less.

"Hey," he calls out, tossing his cigarette and hurrying over. 

Kyo seems neither surprised nor particularly thrilled to see him; he barely spares him a glance as he lumbers toward a nearby bench, looking a little wobbly, or maybe that's just Toshiya feeling wobbly and projecting. Nevertheless, Toshiya's gesture to reach out to offer support is met with a feeble swat.

Ignoring the brush-off, he plants himself on the bench beside Kyo. The metallic cold seeps through his jeans, making itself right at home alongside the cold knot of dread in his stomach. This is bad. He can feel it in his bones, which is messed up because who actually feels their bones? Hands wedged between his thighs to quell the nervous fidgeting, he angles himself toward Kyo.

"So?" he ventures, trying to keep his voice steady as Kyo takes the mask off and tucks it into his pocket. "What did they say?"

Kyo's first response is a long, shaky exhale. He leans forward, the heels of his hands grinding into his eye sockets as if trying to scrub away whatever news he's just been dealt. He mutters, "I'm four months pregnant."

Toshiya stares, unblinking, as the singer emerges from behind his hands and leans back against the bench. His voice is faint when he tries, "Come again?" 

"Pregnant," Kyo repeats, dead-eyed and monotone. "Just like I thought."

The word sits there, so preposterous, so divorced from any semblance of sense that Toshiya can only meet it with stunned silence at first. 

"...How?" he finally manages. A moment later, the dam in his mind breaks loose, letting marginally more coherent disbelief flood through. "No, you can't be. That's just, not possible. You don't have a uterus, or any of the… the parts for… you know…"

"Well… As it turns out, I do." 

Toshiya's eyes could bore holes through concrete as he scans Kyo's face, desperately searching for even the hint of a practical joke taken way, way too far. But all he sees is a vacant stare into the void, either flat acceptance of the unimaginable or just plain shock. This is no gag. Somehow, impossibly, their unquestionably male frontman is expecting. And unless Kyo's been getting more action than he's let on, that makes Toshiya…

"So am I, like… the father?" he rasps out. The question — right up there with the top ten sentences he never, ever expected to utter — sounds just as ludicrous coming out of his mouth as it felt forming in his head. 

"Well, you're the only one who's made a deposit," Kyo says dryly, "so I'm gonna hazard a yes. Congrats." 

Toshiya can't tell if he's floating or sinking. The concept of becoming a parent and the staggering impossibility of how it came about race in his mind like headless chickens in a burning corn maze.

"Okay, but, like..." He flounders, his vocabulary abandoning him as he grapples with the logistics, the biology, the everything of it all. "How did it happen? How did your body even...?"

Kyo frowns, rubbing his hands together with the unease of someone about to impart some very unwelcome biology. "So, there's this… micro-duct or whatever connecting things inside. It's closed off usually, but if you go, like, banging against it…" He makes a face. "I mean, friction can open it up. That's how the… swimmers got through. That's the current theory, anyway." 

Toshiya's eyes glaze over. He thinks back, memories slotting into place like pieces of a cursed puzzle: all those times they had to pause and try a different angle, because he kept hammering against some awkward spot and Kyo wasn't yet too far gone to ignore (or enjoy) the discomfort. He never thought much of it; Kyo's a petite guy and Toshiya's not, and it often made for some geometric challenges. Little did he know, with every spirited thrust, he was unwittingly applying for fatherhood.

Kyo doesn't quite look at Toshiya when he adds with a hint of desperation, "Gross, huh?" like he's fishing for agreement, waiting for that validation of shared disgust to justify his self-loathing.

But nothing about this even fits into categories like 'gross' or 'not gross.' They've cannonballed into a realm way beyond any standard descriptors.

Twice — that's all it took. Toshiya only ever finished inside Kyo twice. So, not only is this guy somehow capable of getting knocked up, he's also apparently the most fertile motherfucker alive. And leave it to Toshiya to land that astronomical long shot. He should buy a lottery ticket or something. 

Kyo shifts, sitting up straighter, and Toshiya catches the movement of his hand dipping into his pocket. What he pulls out makes Toshiya's insides start acting up all over again — a grainy, monochrome ultrasound print-out that spells out reality in no uncertain terms.

Kyo's gaze lingers on the sonogram briefly before he hands it over.

Toshiya takes the photo, the first tangible proof of this new world order. Numbly, he absorbs the nebulous shape. It seems completely alien and deeply personal all at once: a part of him, cocooned in the mystery of Kyo's body. An impossible conception.

His brain is fizzling at the edges. He's got to be the unluckiest gay man on the planet. 

In this state of impaired cognitive functions, he hears himself ask, "Is it too late to abort?" Instantly, guilty panic floods him and he curls his lips in, wishing he could scoop the words right back into his stupid mouth.

Kyo doesn't snap at him, which is somehow worse. His voice is flat, resigned, and lacking any edge of hurt or indignation. "Yeah… I'm gonna see it through. Then give it up for adoption."

A dizzying cocktail of emotions hits Toshiya. Relief, obviously, knowing he won't have to sacrifice his life to raise a kid he never wanted, or agonize over child support. But swirling underneath, there's something murkier, less comfortable. He looks back at the sonogram. 

…Are those fingers? 

But then another invasive question rears up in his head, one he wishes to hell had stayed buried while he's still grappling with the fact that this is happening at all. "So, uh…" he ventures, face contorting with the disturbing imagery his brain is serving up. "How's it… you know, going to… get out?"

Kyo shoots him a withering look, momentarily back to his old, unimpressed self untouched by this insanity. "I'm not gonna shit it out if that's what you're thinking," he snaps, snatching the photo back. Quieter, he adds, "They'll have to do surgery." Then, without further ado, he tears the evidence of their shared predicament in two and tosses the pieces to the breeze. 

As he watches the halves dance a morbid little ballet to the ground, Toshiya can't help but feel the full brunt of his role in this mess. The thought of Kyo strapped to an operating table, getting sliced open because of him, because he suggested they go all the way… It twists his stomach into an ever-tighter knot of guilt. 

On autopilot, he reaches for his pack of cigarettes. He taps one out, and is halfway to tucking it into his mouth when he feels eyes drilling into the side of his skull. Turning, he finds Kyo giving him a look that's disgust, disbelief, and judgment all wrapped into one concentrated, scary package.

Shit. Right, no smoking near the pregnant — especially when the pregnant is a smoker himself and has just been served a half-year ban. Shamefacedly, Toshiya shoves the stick away hastily, the pack disappearing back into his pocket. "Sorry," he mumbles under his breath.

With a heavy sigh, Kyo slumps back against the bench, running a hand down his face before it drops limply to his lap. "At least the kid will never know he's motherless," he says darkly. "That two dumbass idiots buttfucked him into existence."

Well, that's certainly one way to sum it up, Toshiya thinks. The blunt humor kind of softens the tension, and he finds himself pondering the word 'motherless.' "Aren't you technically the mother?" he wonders out loud before he can think better of it. "It was your egg that my—"

"Do I look like a fucking mother to you?" Kyo spits out. 

A sidelong glance confirms what Toshiya already knows: Kyo exudes all the maternal warmth of a rusty needle found in a back alley. He's a scrawny dude with bleach-damaged hair and a perpetual scowl, powered by thirst for fame, spite for most of humanity, and thoughts so sordid they get censored even from their own songs — not a particularly nurturing presence, in other words.

Toshiya slouches deeper into the bench, hands jammed into his jacket pockets as his mind starts churning through the practical fallout that's coming for them. Every shiny plan they had lined up is now circling the drain. Their TV performance scheduled for February is torched. And the recording sessions in LA in March? Not a chance Kyo's getting on a plane with a belly full of baby.

He eventually breaks the silence with a poke at the inevitable. "We'll probably have to clue in the band at some point, huh?" 

Just saying it out loud gives him a stomach ache. How the hell are the guys supposed to get their heads around this? That their bassist and frontman not only did the deed but also ended up making a baby in the process? Shinya will pretend it's the most boring thing he's ever heard, then quietly excuse himself and go faint in the bathroom. Kaoru will simply short-circuit in his attempt to make sense of it all. And Die... Toshiya honestly doesn't want to imagine what will come out of that guy's mouth. 

"Over my dead body," says Kyo heavily. 

"But what about when..." Toshiya flaps a hand in the direction of Kyo's stomach.

"Clothes. Big, baggy, layered clothes. And when that doesn't do it anymore, I'll think of some reason to take time off."

Toshiya studies him with rising exasperation. "Kyo, no offense but you're the height of about three stacked babies. With zero fat on you. It's going to show fast. What's the plan later, permanent parka life?"

"Yes," comes the bullheaded response.

"At home, too? Kaoru's not blind — he's gonna start wondering why you're dressed for a snowstorm in spring, indoors."

Kyo clams up, his lips a tight line. Toshiya watches as he tortures his brain for a workaround, the stress evident in how tightly wound he is. After a painful silence, Kyo grudgingly offers through clenched teeth, "My uterus is tilted back, alright? It's not showing like crazy yet."

And that, Toshiya supposes, may buy them a minute or two. But it's hardly a fix. This is a human being they're talking about, not a burrito swallowed whole, and Toshiya can't see any way for it to not look incredibly conspicuous on Kyo's tiny frame, no matter the tilt of his unusually present uterus.

But he doesn't say this. He says, "We'll work this out." Stress, after all, is the last thing an expecting mother… or father needs. He's about to build on that, to assure Kyo he isn't in this alone, when his phone erupts into life, buzzing against his thigh in a somewhat shocking reminder that the world still exists outside their predicament.

"Sorry… just a sec," he mutters as he sees Aoi's name on the screen. He pushes himself up from the bench and steps away for some sliver of privacy, tugging his collar up against the nippy air. 

"Hey there," he greets as he picks up the phone, channeling his best 'everything is awesome' voice, hopefully free of any 'my bandmate is having my baby' undertones.

Aoi's voice is warm and oblivious as it glides through the line. "Hey, practice wrapped up early. I can head over now if you want?"

Toshiya glances at his watch, calculating how fast he can swap his freak-out face for something resembling normal. "Okay, umm — I'm not home right now, how's seven?"

"Seven works, I'll see you then. Missed you."

"Missed you too," Toshiya echoes back. And he did, truly, but right now his heart's doing somersaults for all the wrong reasons.

Hanging up, he turns around, only to find himself staring at an abandoned bench. A quick scan of the area reveals Kyo halfway down the street, hands tucked in the pockets of that worn denim jacket he loves. The stiff, defensive set of his shoulders does little to mask the frailty of his stride as he walks singularly alone into the fading light of the day.

Exhaling a sigh, Toshiya pockets his phone. As he does, his eyes land on the torn pieces of the sonogram scattered on the concrete. He stoops to collect them and slips them into his pocket. They'll serve as proof later when his brain inevitably tries to convince him this whole thing was just a twisted dream. 

—

"You're distracted," Aoi notes, his voice a low murmur as his index finger sketches lazy, meandering paths across the cooling sheen of sweat on Toshiya's chest. 

Distracted, Toshiya thinks, staring at the ceiling. More like astonishingly split down the middle. He silently applauds himself for managing to find any pleasure in their reunion, what with half of his brain busy preemptively dreading the next half-year ahead. In fact, it's a small wonder he's functioning at all.

"Yeah, it's just been a long day," he says, and boy, has it been. This day has stretched and warped in ways days shouldn't. Fresh off an eleven-hour flight, jetlagged to hell, he walked face first into news that would make anyone question if reality's broken — surprise, you're going to be a dad! And the mom? That'd be your bandmate, who's got a Y chromosome and a very shaky plan to hide the miracle pregnancy like it's contraband. It's the kind of long day he'll remember for the rest of his life.

And he obviously can't share a word of it with Aoi. It's not his secret to tell, and come to think of it, even if it was, he'd probably still keep it under wraps. Whole pregnancy thing aside, Toshiya isn't eager to advertise to Aoi that he has a history with someone who's not just a fling but a veritable cornerstone of his daily existence. 

"Liar," Aoi accuses softly, his finger now drawing a slow line across the hollow of Toshiya's throat, over his Adam's apple and his chin, finally coming to rest at his lips in a delicate prompt for more transparency. "But as long as this 'long day' isn't something I need to worry about…"

"Nothing to do with you," Toshiya assures him, briefly trapping Aoi's finger between his teeth before letting it go. "Don't worry."

"Good," Aoi says, withdrawing his finger and draping his arm possessively across Toshiya's chest. "Because if there's someone else, I'll be forced to track him down. And I'm not above an international manhunt, just so you know."

"Trust me, there's no 'someone else,'" Toshiya sighs, running his hand up Aoi's back. Okay, technically, there are two 'someone else's, but not in the way Aoi is imagining. The current chaos in Toshiya's life isn't about romantic or sexual entanglements, it's about the very unexpected result of one. 

Catching Aoi's smile in his periphery, Toshiya shifts over to face him fully. For what feels like the first time since he got back, he allows himself a moment to really appreciate the view — the perfect symmetry of Aoi's features, the artful spill of ink-black hair on the pillow, and the generous curves of those lips that he fantasized about while trying to tune out the sound of Die's snoring in the next bed. 

It's a sight for sore eyes, and briefly, a stray thought wanders through Toshiya's mind: what if it were Aoi carrying his child instead of Kyo? Would he feel differently about it? Would he be… excited? 

Probably not. But it'd likely be a smoother ride dealing with it. He lifts his hand and traces his thumb across Aoi's bottom lip, and the words that come out feel weak in comparison to what he wants to say. "I like you," he murmurs, chickening out on the more loaded word he had in mind.

With an innocent smile, Aoi inquires, "How much?" 

"How much do I like you? Well… I've never officially dated anyone before, so maybe this doesn't hold much weight, but—"

"Wait, hold up." Aoi pulls back slightly, his playful edge momentarily derailed by genuine surprise. "Am I your first boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Toshiya admits sheepishly.

"Oh. Well, that makes me feel special."

"You are special."

Aoi opens his mouth, starts to say something, then stops, hesitating. It's rare to see him speechless, but he forges on with it. "You know, I'm always a bit paranoid about that," he confesses. "Like, part of me's always waiting for the guy I'm with to leave me for someone new, or to go running back to an ex… But you don't have exes, so that cuts the worry in half for me."

Toshiya huffs out a laugh. "Who on earth would I pick over you?" he says, amused. "There's absolutely nobody out there who could be considered an upgrade."

Aoi's grin is back in an instant, his confidence restored. "Damn right there's no one better," he says as he slips a leg between Toshiya's, pushing him onto his back.

And when he shifts atop Toshiya, the weight of his surf-sculpted body hot and solid against his, for a moment, Toshiya can forget about Kyo and the tiny, second heartbeat fluttering inside him.

Chapter Text

In the weeks that follow, Toshiya's world undergoes a quiet recalibration. Every morning he wakes up, rubs his eyes, and thinks, Kyo's having my baby. It's a crazy state of affairs, but he's somehow, slowly getting used to it; panic and disbelief start to erode, leaving behind a creeping sense of responsibility — a concept quite novel to him. 

With the band having some downtime, opportunities for a proper one-on-one with Kyo are in short supply. So when they're summoned to the office one sunny afternoon two weeks after the hospital bombshell, Toshiya seizes his moment.

Parking one asscheek on the edge of the table where Kyo is seated, he throws out, "Dinner later?" 

Kyo blinks slowly, his gaze drifting up from his phone. The look on his face has Toshiya mentally rewinding — what exactly did he just say? He's pretty sure he proposed dinner, not an armed heist or a joyride to Mars.

"Dinner, like…" Kyo begins, his questioning voice trailing off into the ether.

Toshiya's brows hike up a fraction as he waits for the rest.

"Like, why?" 

"Why?" Toshiya parrots, incredulous. "'Cause I reckon I'll be starving by the time we're outta here, and…" He casts a glance over his shoulder. Kaoru and Inoue are hunched over some paperwork, and Die and Shinya are doing what they do best: sniping at each other over nonsense, this time about who looks less like a wanted criminal in their passport photos. "And," he looks back at Kyo with intent, "I think we have some stuff to talk about." 

"Oh. Okay." 

Toshiya's grin spreads quick at the easy agreement. The tease practically launches itself off his tongue. "What're you in the mood for?" he inquires, keeping his voice low. "Having any particular… cravings? Pickles, perhaps?" 

Kyo doesn't rise to the bait. His expression stays locked in grim contemplation as he considers the question like this is going to be his last meal. "Indian," he finally decides.

"Gotcha," Toshiya nods, smacking the table as he stands. "I know a killer spot nearby. You're gonna love it. My treat, too."  

Their eyes connect, and Kyo's stern face unexpectedly eases into a faint, if not mildly confused smile. Toshiya barely gets a second to bask in the unearned sense of victory before Kyo's attention is snagged by Kaoru, who's giving him that get over here jerk of the head, and off he goes.

It's not until they settle into their booth in the restaurant, a cozy Indian joint near Midtown, that it hits Toshiya. He's broken bread with the others in some setting or another — countless yakiniku benders with Die, a few quick Sukiya runs with Kaoru, even a surprisingly pleasant sushi outing with Shinya in California — but dining out alone with Kyo? Never happened. Funny how they've shared more bodily fluids than meals.

And judging by Kyo's body language as they wait for their order, he's just as aware of it.

The man's napkin is going on the journey of a lifetime. First, it's draped on his lap. Then, second-guessing, he folds it neatly on the table. Not a moment later, he's twisting and mangling it into some tortured origami, until the limp cloth is stuck between 'depressed crane' and 'confused pyramid.' Giving up on that, Kyo's eyes start wandering the restaurant, slowly scanning every detail while meticulously avoiding Toshiya's gaze.

When the secondhand discomfort starts to transition from mildly amusing to suffocating, Toshiya steps in to lance the tension. "So," he starts, folding his arms on the edge of the table, "how's it all going? How are you feeling?"

"Huh?" Kyo says, his eyes flicking to Toshiya. Then his brain seems to catch up with the question and the meaning behind it, and his expression relaxes slightly. "Good. I mean… pretty normal, actually? Way better than, like, a month ago." 

"Have you been back to the hospital?" 

"Yeah. I got referred to the Tokyo University Hospital, so that's where I'm going now. Every week." 

Toshiya nods thoughtfully. Makes sense. His knowledge about pregnancy and childbirth is sketchy at best, but even he knows that it usually involves women. He can't imagine any regular doc would know how to deal with a case like Kyo's, so a university hospital sounds about right; Kyo must be in top-notch hands. 

Trying to strike a supportive note, Toshiya offers, "Would you like me to tag along for the checkups?" while mentally crossing his fingers for a 'no.' 

Kyo barks a laugh. "God no. Can you imagine?" Yeah, Toshiya can, and it looks a lot like the pinnacle of awkwardness.

Their conversation is conveniently interrupted when their food arrives, the table suddenly awash with smells so good Toshiya nearly forgets the reason for their outing. Once the dishes and drinks are set and the waiter has scuttled off to play Game Boy behind the counter, Kyo picks up the thread. 

"You don't need to get involved, you know," he says as he lays his napkin across his lap, surveying the spread between them. "Appreciate the offer and all, but it's not necessary." 

That's... unexpectedly gracious, considering Toshiya's at least half the reason Kyo's in this pickle. He doesn't press it, though. Count your blessings, etcetera.

"Well, I'll pay half of the costs at least," he says, trying to sound responsible though he wonders how the heck he's going to pull that off. Rent already has him contemplating a side gig that involves Okubo Park, fishnets, and trying to sweet-talk tipsy salarymen into parting with their yen for some questionable services. 

"There won't be any costs," Kyo replies. He tears off a chunk of honey naan and stuffs it into his mouth, eyes closing in rapture. 

Toshiya pauses, his beer bottle halting mid-air. "What do you mean?" 

Kyo finishes his bite. "I'm their case study," he explains, now spooning saffron rice onto his plate. "In return, they waive all my fees. They're even covering my travel back and forth." 

The beer bottle stays suspended as Toshiya processes that. Case study. That's a nice way of saying human guinea pig, isn't it? Damn. Kyo is just about the last person he would've expected to volunteer for such scrutiny, but then again, what choice does the guy have? It's not like he can ring up his mom and go, hey, I need a little loan for a C-section. No questions, please. 

While Kyo contentedly sips his mango lassi, Toshiya can't stop the mental image clawing its way into his brain: Kyo rocking one of those ass-baring hospital gowns, legs in stirrups, crowded by a team of clickpad-clutching medics debating his rogue internal architecture. It's dystopian, it's unnerving, and it's apparently saving them both a small fortune, so hallelujah for science. 

Toshiya takes a hearty gulp of beer. "You know," he says then, trying to inject some humor into the conversation, "you could've easily played me on this one. Told me you were paying out of pocket, charged me half, and made a nice little profit." 

Kyo snorts, popping a curry-stained finger into his mouth. "Please," he says. "I know exactly how much you earn. There's no profit to be made off you." Toshiya's about to protest, defend his ability to scrape together funds under duress, when Kyo adds a bit ruefully, "Should've hooked up with someone rich, not you." 

The sheer audacity of it sends Toshiya's eyebrows shooting up. "Wow, okay. I see how it is," he plays along, while inside, he's happy to see Kyo's sass is alive and kicking. In fact, the guy seems more upbeat than he has in forever, and Toshiya can only guess that having a concrete explanation for his misery — bizarre as it is — must've brought some peace of mind. "Well, by all means," he says, "go bag yourself a sugar daddy once this whole ordeal's over." 

Kyo doesn't laugh. He chews his mouthful with deliberate, maddening slowness, contemplating the unappetizing mess of saffron rice and seafood curry on his plate. After a sip of water and a throat-clearing, he ventures, "And how's your… thing with that guy going?" 

About to reach for the rice, Toshiya's attention instinctively zeroes in on the bracelet clamped around his wrist, suddenly glaring against his skin. "Yeah, it's... we're solid," he says, quickly grabbing the dish to pull the accessory out of the spotlight.

"That's good." 

"How's the naan?" Toshiya blurts.

Kyo grants him the out. "Best I've ever had," he declares with a deadpan sincerity. "Not that I've tried honey naan before, but—" he slides the basket toward Toshiya, "—I can tell." 

And so the tension deflates. They coast through the rest of the meal sticking to the conversational comfort zone: work, the upcoming trip, the eternal question of whether Die and Shinya might someday take their bickering to the bedroom. Topics of Toshiya's romantic entanglements and Kyo's potential benefactors stay buried.

Fast-forward to some godforsaken hour in the morning, and Toshiya wakes with a start. 

Groggy and disoriented, he lies there for a moment, trying to glue his wits back together, when the doorbell's infernal ring cuts through the space, leading him to astutely deduce that must be what woke him up.

"Coming," he grumbles to no one, peeling himself from the cozy warmth of the blankets. 

Barefoot, bleary-eyed, and dressed in his finest beat-up t-shirt and pajama bottoms, he schleps to the door and squints through the peephole. The fisheyed outline of Aoi — a drunk Aoi, if the slight lean and the fact that it's ass o'clock are anything to go by — confirms his suspicion. 

He barely gets the door open before Aoi practically falls into him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug that feels like equal parts affection and an attempt to stay vertical. He reeks — booze, cigarettes, and an overwhelmingly floral perfume that screams of a customer who had a bit too much fun pawing at him tonight.

Even so, Toshiya can't help but feel a pinch of affection as he hugs him back. "What're you doing here at this hour?" he chides gently, keeping his voice down to avoid giving the neighbors any more reasons to look at him funny, as he pulls Aoi in and nudges the door closed. 

"Missed you like crazy," Aoi slurs into his ear.

"We literally saw each other yesterday." 

Aoi pulls back just enough to fix Toshiya with a look loaded with what must feel like monumental significance to his tipsy brain. A single gelled strand of hair has broken free from his otherwise immaculate slick-back, and even in this state, he looks stupidly handsome, like a prince moonlighting as a rockstar. "Darling," he enunciates with the exaggerated precision of the inebriated, his icy hands condescendingly cupping Toshiya's face. "Yesterday was a thousand light-years ago."

"Yeah," Toshiya sighs, feeling fond despite himself. "It was, wasn't it?"

Extracting Aoi from his work attire — a sleek black blazer, pink shirt unbuttoned irresponsibly low, and slacks that leave little to the imagination — is a minor battle. Toshiya fights the good fight, however, until the glitzy host persona is reduced to a disheveled boyfriend in a pair of briefs and a borrowed tee. 

By the time he's gotten two glasses of water into Aoi — one guzzled down eagerly, the other sipped reluctantly between slurred protests — Aoi is docile and droopy-eyed. Satisfied, Toshiya rolls him into the bed and follows suit, pulling the thick comforter over them before wrapping himself snugly around the younger man. The room is like a walk-in freezer, but Aoi is warm and pliant in his arms, and Toshiya can't bring himself to be annoyed at the unexpected late-night visit.

His eyes closed and chin resting atop Aoi's head, he murmurs into the quiet, "Thought you were supposed to keep it somewhat together at work." He's seen Aoi after shifts before, usually a bit merry but never this far gone. Then again, those shifts didn't stretch into the wee hours of the morning either.

"Yeah, well," Aoi mumbles, his breath a warm puff against Toshiya's collarbone, "you can only stick your fingers down your throat so many times 'fore you jus' go, 'screw it, bottoms up.'" 

Toshiya sighs, his arms tightening around Aoi's smaller frame as if trying to squeeze the self-neglect out of him. "Wish you didn't have to do that."

"I know, 's gross. But I'm no good if I get too wasted. Hard to sell the fantasy if I'm fallin' over the furniture, you see." 

"I mean the whole host thing."

A moment of silence hangs before Aoi pulls back slightly, his too-pretty eyes peering up at Toshiya, a woozy but curious smile on his lips. "Do you worry 'bout me?" 

"Sometimes," Toshiya admits. What he doesn't mention is the jealousy that often accompanies that concern. He knows better, of course. He knows Aoi's not interested in women, knows he doesn't own him, boyfriend status or not. But the thought of strangers all over Aoi, touching him like he's some communal plaything, irks him. 

Aoi tucks his face back into the crook of Toshiya's neck. "I like that you worry about me." 

"I care about you a lot." 

"...Yeah?" Aoi says softly, and there's an expectant, hopeful lilt in his voice that has Toshiya's stomach doing a little flip. He can practically hear the implicit ‘And? What else?' in that one word.

And, well… no time like the present, right? Screw it. All too aware of the nervous flutter picking up under his ribs, Toshiya works some moisture into his parched mouth and says, "I love you, you know." 

Instantly, Aoi's arms cinch tighter around his waist. "I love you too," he says, fiercely and with such unwavering certainty that Toshiya swears his heart is expanding to cartoonish proportions. 

Relief rushes out of Toshiya in a breathy laugh. "Been meaning to tell you for a bit now," he admits.

Aoi chuckles. "You're in for it now, just so you know. I'll be sayin' it aaaall the time. You're gonna get sick of me." 

Toshiya buries his grin into Aoi's inky hair. "Bring it on, Romeo. I can take it if it's from you." 

"And that's why I looove you," Aoi croons.

Toshiya lets himself wonder, then, if this is what people mean when they talk about finding the one. He's always thought of it as sentimental nonsense, but now, swamped with all these mushy feelings, he might just be a convert.

—

Christmas rolls in with another stamp in the band's passports — this time, for a music video shoot in southern Italy: olive groves, cliffside views, and best of all, no Yoshiki breathing down their necks.

While they idle at Narita Airport, waiting for their boarding call, Toshiya eyes Kyo covertly. The singer is layered up with a bomber jacket left open over a sweatshirt, with the loosely wrapped scarf that's now a staple in his wardrobe hanging down his torso for extra coverage. Frankly, he's pulling the whole incognito expectant dad off better than Toshiya would've thought possible; nothing looks amiss to an untrained eye. Between that and the forgiving costumes planned for the shoot, Toshiya dares to hope. They might just actually pull this off. 

When they check into their hotel in Agrigento, he offers to room with Kyo. He sells it as a merry 'let's switch things up' holiday special, but really, it's to give Kyo a stress-free zone where he doesn't need to worry about prying eyes or unsolicited belly pats that would unleash the apocalypse. Die looks a shade offended, Kaoru grunts, and Shinya doesn't care one way or another, has probably already arranged to room with a crew member.

It turns out to be a good call. Because over the course of those three days, it becomes crystal clear to Toshiya: after Italy, it's time for Kyo to vanish from the public eye. The swell beneath his layers is still in the plausible range of the aftermath of too much pasta and pizza if someone were to pay attention, but it's getting much too close for comfort.  

On their last night before the flight back, Toshiya is stretched out in bed, semi-focused eyes fixed on some TV show that's as baffling as it is loud. The half of his brain not busy doing acrobatics trying to follow the plot drifts to Japan, and specifically the parties that are bound to follow their upcoming major debut.

His gaze shifts to Kyo, who's kneeling on the white tile floor. The guy's been locked in mortal combat with his overstuffed suitcase for a while now, and he seems to be losing. 

"You can't drink alcohol, right?" Toshiya asks, though it's more of a statement than a question because, d'uh.

"Correct," Kyo grunts, disciplining a pair of jeans that earlier had the audacity not to button over the newfound curve of his stomach. With a bit of brute force, he compacts them into the tightest roll conceivable. 

"So, what's the game plan for the parties next month?" Toshiya probes, bracing for whatever madcap workaround Kyo's cooked up.

Because, apparently, Kyo's planning to be there. Toshiya's sensible suggestion that he go underground after this trip was shot down fast, with Kyo insisting he's not stepping down until the next single is in the can. Never mind the fact that he'll be eight months along by then. Eight months. The guy's playing chicken with reality.

"I'll talk to my doctor," Kyo says. "Get a note about some health issue and medication that doesn't mix well with alcohol. Something like that." He jams the rolled-up jeans into a crevice of space in the suitcase that clearly doesn't want it, then flips the top closed, or as closed as it can get over the mountain of stuff in it.

"Or," Toshiya offers dryly, "just dunk your head in ice water, take a jog around the block, and catch the flu. Skip the parties, then recover just in time for album work and recording."

"Yeah, except I kinda need to stay in top form," Kyo retorts, and Toshiya's eyes are already rolling, lips parting for the 'I was just kidding' when he adds, "Miscarriage could be really bad news for me."

Toshiya closes his mouth. Miscarriage? The possibility hadn't even skimmed his parade of worries until now. The room seems to shrink, suddenly, choked with the rapid-fire Italian from the TV and the tortured groans of a zipper that's being asked to do the impossible against too many clothes and souvenirs. 

"How so?" he asks.

Kyo pauses his futile packing, slumping back on his haunches with a heavy sigh. He drags a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "Well, I'm not exactly equipped for complications. If anything goes wrong, there's no way for it to just come out on its own." He gives a half-shrug, eyeing ruefully the uncooperative suitcase like it's the bigger problem here. "Just gotta be extra careful, that's all."

Well, that makes the walking pneumonia ploy a lot less funny. Chewing on his thumbnail, Toshiya lets his eyes rake over Kyo's figure: lean waist, narrow hips, and the bump now unapologetically pressing against his flimsy sleep shirt as he stretches his back. It seems glaring, suddenly, that his body isn't remotely made for what it's currently going through. All this secrecy they've been sweating over — clearly, it's cursory details against a backdrop of bigger, scarier issues at hand.

The prolonged silence eventually prompts Kyo to glance over. Toshiya relaxes his worried frown and pulls his hand away from his mouth. "It's not super likely at this stage," Kyo assures.

Toshiya musters a tight smile, his gaze lingering on Kyo as he turns back to the clothing carnage. 

"How's the no-smoking thing been, by the way?" he asks after a moment, shifting gears to a less intense topic. "You don't look like you're craving." 

"Put it this way," Kyo says grimly, "the minute this parasite vacates the premises, I'm lighting up two at once." 

Parasite. Kind of a harsh way to refer to your unborn child, but Toshiya's not about to throw stones; Kyo's the one housing it, feeding it, contorting his life and body to accommodate it, and if calling it names is what gets him through the day, then that's his prerogative.

Figuring saying supportive stuff is the least he can do, Toshiya tosses out, "You're doing good. You're taking this whole thing surprisingly well." And he means it, too. For a guy whose life has just been thrown into a blender, Kyo's managing to keep it together in ways Toshiya honestly didn't expect.

"Well, yeah, now I am. They put me on some meds 'cause I kept freaking out." 

Toshiya blinks in surprise. That was not the answer he was expecting. "Meds? For… freaking out?"

"Mm-hm," Kyo hums, still not making eye contact. "Nothing heavy, obviously, just enough to help me, you know, function." He tries to tack on a laugh, but it's awkward and fizzles out halfway, like he's not sure if it's really funny.

Toshiya's gut twists. He had no idea Kyo was struggling that hard — though why that surprises him, he doesn't know. Any guy in Kyo's situation would be losing their mind. Hell, Toshiya's not the one growing a literal person inside him, and even he's a twitchy mess on the best of days. 

And thinking of it now, the miscarriage scare is likely just the tip of the iceberg; the docs must've laid out a whole horror show of risks and worst-case scenarios, and Kyo's been sitting with that, alone. No wonder the guy needed something to keep his head screwed on.

Toshiya wants to say something, but his brain is a barren wasteland. What do you say to that? 'Sorry the universe seems to have it out for you'? So, he watches in silence as Kyo starts to rearrange the insides of his suitcase anew, the bag practically bursting at the seams not unlike the man himself will be soon enough.

— 

The last Toshiya sees of Kyo before he drops off the map for a month and a half is at their raucous end-of-the-year blowout. Sake is pouring, cigarettes are burning down faster than the ashtrays can keep up, and the noise is nothing short of deafening. Normally, Toshiya would be deep in the thick of it, but not tonight. Tonight, his sake might as well be water for all he tastes it, his attention constantly drawn across the room to where Kyo sits.

Swaddled in the chunky cardigan Toshiya gifted him and his trusty scarf, Kyo's doing a shit job of pretending he's part of the fun. The lack of a backrest on the tatami is clearly a source of misery, as he shifts and winces, trying to find a position that agrees with his overburdened frame. All night, he's been popping in and out of the room, though whether it's to escape the cigarette smoke hanging thick in the room or to relieve the eternal squeeze on his bladder, Toshiya can't tell. What he can tell is that this is not what the doctor ordered for Kyo.

So, when the singer heaves himself up yet again, Toshiya's had it. He excuses himself from the insipid chitchat he's been ensnared, weaves his way to where Kyo's coat and cell phone sit abandoned on the tatami, and picks them up with an unceremonious "Think he's under the weather" to anyone glancing his way.

He finds Kyo in the narrow alcove between two single-occupancy toilets, leaning against the sink with his head bowed. He pauses in the doorway, propping himself against the frame, and watches for a moment before coughing a bit to announce himself.

"Hey. You okay?" 

Kyo lifts his head, their eyes meeting in the mirror. His brow is furrowed, his mouth set in that miserable line that makes him look like a cranky preteen. "It's just — my back's killing me, and the smoke…" he explains, hand waving limply and his voice petering out into a frustrated sigh. A second passes, then comes the low, almost ashamed concession, "I wanna go home."

No kidding. Toshiya's got half a mind to give the guy an earful — about how he shouldn't have come in the first place, how there are no tough-guy awards being handed out here. But he tamps it down, guessing Kyo's probably arriving at that very conclusion on his own right about now.

"Yeah, you should do that," he agrees instead.

Kyo turns around to face him, his hands instinctively reaching for the cardigan that's been tugged, adjusted, and fiddled with all evening like some makeshift security blanket. His eyes drop to the army green parka Toshiya's holding out, and after a beat of hesitation, he steps forward and pivots to let Toshiya help him into it.

"Save the 'I told you so's," he mutters, tugging the coat closed and zipping it. "I get it."

"Didn't even cross my mind," Toshiya deadpans. Then, unable to help the creeping sense of being extraordinarily useless, he adds, "Call me if you need anything, alright? Seriously."

"Thanks."

Toshiya steps aside, giving Kyo space to slip past him and shuffle down the hallway. He waits until Kyo's shadow vanishes around the corner, then squares his shoulders, exhales hard through his nose, and plunges back into the party. 

As soon as he re-enters the room, he's hit with a palpable shift in the air. The volume has dropped, the laughter has cooled, and the chatter has taken on a sharp, speculative tone that sets his teeth on edge. 

Settling back onto his cushion, he doesn't need to eavesdrop to catch what's happening. They're talking about Kyo. The vultures are circling, picking apart every little detail in Kyo's recent changes. 

Inoue's observation about Kyo's weight gain draws a frown from Toshiya — has he really put on that much? Maybe his wrists aren't quite the chopsticks they used to be. Kaoru adds fuel to the fire, remarking how Kyo's been a hermit at home, barely leaving his room except for frequent bathroom trips, while Die wonders aloud why Kyo's always bundled up like he's perpetually cold.

The roadies aren't about to sit out on the gossip goldmine. Gara recounts how he once teased Kyo for demolishing an entire shortcake by himself, cracked one little joke about eating for two and got straight-up bitch-slapped for it — and considering Kyo is generally pretty slap-happy with his kouhais, this one must've packed some heat to be worth mentioning. And then there's Takuma, lowering his voice like he's got top-secret intel when he tells them he once saw Kyo come out of the bathroom looking like he'd been crying, bloodshot eyes and all. The collective recoils. Kyo? Crying? 

Meanwhile, Toshiya sits there, the very picture of bored disinterest. He plays his part with defiant ignorance, adamant that he's noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Inside, he knows this is just a warmup, a prelude to the all-out rumor mill that's sure to start churning once Kyo's presence dwindles to nil.

"His skin looks amazing, though," Shinya muses, his long fingers skillfully teasing apart the flesh of the lychee. "It's almost glowing."

— 

Going back to Nagano thrusts Toshiya into a bizarre place, where he regresses to the kid he once was, yet now with the distinctly adult worry over someone currently expecting his kid.

He's there in body, doing what's expected of him. He stuffs his face with Mom's greatest hits, the ones he's fantasized about for months but now taste like cardboard. He survives the annual family board game massacre, where victory means everything and Dad inevitably flips the board while swearing he'll never play again. He expertly riles up his brother to the point where fists start flying, because what are siblings for if not to brawl with during the holidays? He even catches up with some high school friends, their anecdotes so aggressively dull it makes him feel like an alien infiltrating some backwater planet. He makes a quiet vow to skip that bit next year.

Late nights are better, spent buried under blankets and glued to the phone with Aoi. They talk about all the things you talk about when you're disgustingly in love: where they'd live if money weren't a problem (Tokyo penthouse? Beach house in Shonan for Aoi's surfing needs?), what vacations they'd take (sipping Mai Tais in Thailand or wandering through some medieval European town?), and how many sugar gliders they'd adopt (Three? Or would one get left out?). For those moments, the world feels manageable, like they can mold it into shape with sheer will and daydreams. 

But when the call ends and the house is silent, all he can think about is Kyo. Kyo, alone back in Tokyo, leaning on medication to stay sane as his body becomes a stranger to him, stretching and swelling in ways no man's should. 

Lying in his childhood bed on the first morning of 1999, in that window of time between waking up and being forced to get up by the call of nature, Toshiya figures he might as well spread a little New Year cheer. He reaches out from his blanket cocoon, groping around the nightstand until his fingers clamp down on his phone.

Eyes squinted against the disrespectful morning light streaming in, he thumbs to his contacts. With his brain still idling in low gear, what he types out isn't exactly Shakespeare, but it's well-meaning enough. Kyo should know he's on someone's mind. 

Happy new year!

The reply comes faster than expected, and it's a doozy. 

Stop coddling me just cause your pullout game sucks ass

Jesus Christ. Someone's feeling spicy this morning. Reading that, Toshiya can almost hear Kyo's bratty tone, dripping with indignation at the merest whiff of pity or obligatory kindness.

He huffs a breath and lets his phone flop onto the bed beside him. Fair enough. He typically wouldn't bother with such a nicety. They're utilitarian texters, the whole band, with only birthdays or maybe a drunken late-night whim warranting any extra effort. But it's kind of an unusual situation they've got here; they could stand to sprinkle some humanity into it. 

He's just starting to talk himself into getting out of bed when his phone buzzes with another message. Kyo, back for more. 

Happy new year

Well, there's a mood swing for you. 

Thanks, Toshiya types back, perfectly pointless. Kyo, apparently committed to matching his energy, responds in kind.

You're welcome

Sure am

Good

And guess what

What

You, too, are welcome

The idiotic ping-pong continues for a few more rounds until Kyo finally pulls the plug: Ok stop you're being a menace.

Toshiya snorts. Then, chucking the phone aside, he hauls himself out of bed to address the more pressing demands of his bladder, mood inexplicably buoyed.

But at the breakfast table, that brief flicker of mirth already feels like a scene from another day. Toshiya stares out the window, mechanically working through a piece of toast while snow tumbles down from a washed-out sky, blanketing the neighborhood like it's got something to hide. 

His mom's talking, droning on about neighbors, cousins, and assorted nobodies: this one shoveled snow at dawn, that one got hitched, someone's genius offspring made it to Harvard. Toshiya isn't listening. His mind is locked on a singular, monumental thought: this year, he's going to be a father.

Not the kind who beams proudly in kindergarten photos, or gets poorly spelled cards on Father's Day. Not the kind who does goofy voices for bedtime stories, or stays up late with a math workbook spread out before him, revisiting long-forgotten fractions just to make sure his kid doesn't feel alone in the struggle. Not one whose name will appear on any legal documents or family registers. But a father all the same. 

Because there's going to be a child out there — a little someone carrying traits of him and Kyo. A walking, breathing secret they'll pretend never happened once this is all over, a weight they'll take to their graves, all while somewhere, their kid walks through life never knowing the extraordinary circumstances that brought them into this world. 

The taste of the toast turns strange in Toshiya's mouth. He sets it down, swallowing hard while outside, the snowfall thickens, silent and smothering.

Chapter Text

Family holidays survived, the band's new year kicks off with a creative blitzkrieg. They throw themselves into album work, tinkering with fresh ideas and resurrecting dormant material with the kind of zeal Toshiya isn't sure they've ever mustered up before. 

Kyo, meanwhile, is becoming something of an urban legend. The early phase of album prep is giving him the excuse to lie low, and lie low he does, clocking in exactly zero studio appearances all January. 

It's good, Toshiya keeps telling himself. Kyo's resting, getting some much-needed downtime without having to worry about appearances. He's probably sprawled on his couch right now, in some horrendous stretchy pants, stuffing his face with fries and plowing through all the B-horror flicks he never had time to watch before. Rooting for the killer, naturally. 

Still, Toshiya wonders how he's really doing. If the belly has gotten bigger, rounder, harder to hide. If he's lonely. If he's losing his mind. 

On the day their trio of major debut singles drops, it's anticlimactically business as usual. They're deep in the trenches of an old demo, an unsettling monstrosity that opens with sitar ripped straight out of Lucifer's nightmares and only gets worse from there. The whole thing makes Toshiya's skin crawl, and he tries not to think too hard about what cursed vocals Kyo will dream up for this abomination. 

During a break, he makes a bit of a risky move, trying to squeeze some intel out of Kaoru. His own texts to Kyo have been coming back with replies that might as well be auto-generated — just endless variations of 'I'm fine,' which tell him precisely nothing about how Kyo is actually coping. 

"Haven't seen much of him, to be honest," Kaoru says, fingers absentmindedly strumming his unplugged guitar. "He's still holed up in his room a lot. Getting his ass handed to him by zombies, by the sound of it." 

Resident Evil, Toshiya assumes, though with Kyo's life being the horror show it currently is, it's hard to rule out the possibility of him battling hordes of actual zombies on top of everything else on his plate. 

"Will his majesty be gracing us with his presence anytime soon?" Die questions, manspreading on his seat like nobody's business, hands deep in his hoodie pockets. "Or is he planning to just fade out of the band? Hoping we won't notice?"

The delivery's casual, but it's clear there's some genuine concern behind the dumbass remark. Toshiya considers lobbing a bottle cap at Die's forehead, but doesn't. Because he gets it — while Kyo's no stranger to sitting out the early stages of songwriting, three weeks of complete no-show is unprecedented. And it's not like they're at square one anymore; there are songs taking shape that need Kyo's input.

"Nah," says Kaoru. "He's been swiping the demos I've been bringing home, so he's on it. He's just under the weather."

"He's bailing on the party tonight, then?" Die cuts to the crucial bit. 

"Yeah. Think he's caught the flu or something."

From behind his drum kit, where he's been updating his high score at Snake, Shinya finally looks up. "You think?" he repeats dubiously. His auburn hair frames his face in perfect waves, somehow never limp or dirty or goofy-looking when unstyled like everyone else's. "He's skipping a milestone celebration and you didn't ask why?"

Kaoru shrugs. "Man said he wasn't feeling well and was wrapped up in a blanket. Don't really need an itemized list of his symptoms to get the picture."

Shinya gives a disdainful sniff. "You are unbelievable, you know that?" His icy voice carries all the unsaid, Kyo could be dying, and you're acting like he's off on holiday.

Except Kaoru just blinks back. "Huh? Yeah? Thanks." Whether he's really that serenely detached from the emotional stakes, or he's fucking with Shinya, it's hard to tell.

Die jumps in before their leader can catch any more flak. "He was down with something at the end-of-year party too, wasn't he?" he says. He's started rocking his chair back on two legs, making Toshiya's spine tingle in secondhand anxiety. "Whatever he caught last fall must've knocked his immune system out of whack." 

"That was a stomach thing last fall, not a cold," Shinya corrects. 

"Yeah, and?" Die shoots back. "He got wrecked by a stomach bug back then, and now he's open season for every germ out there." 

"Except he was okay for a while in between. Just hungry all the time." 

Toshiya massages the bridge of his nose, feeling a monster sigh brewing in his lungs. These guys would absolutely piss themselves if they knew what's really going on. 

"Shinya, bud," Die sighs, like he's explaining one plus one to a kid who should already be studying division. "Having a weak immune system doesn't mean you're a Victorian orphan constantly coughing into a hanky. He had some good weeks. Now he's got the flu. Case closed." His chair drops back down onto all fours with a thud, a period at the end of his armchair diagnosis. "And hell, you'd be eating like a horse too if you'd just spent months tossing your cookies." 

"Yeah, or maybe it's not the flu at all," Shinya snaps back. "I think he's got something else entirely going on. Something serious." 

"Right, because your tinfoil hat theories are so much more likely than, oh, I don't know, the flu during flu season." 

Feeling like he threw out a boomerang and ten came back, Toshiya sinks further into the couch. What the hell is Kyo doing? What's the master plan here? Pretend he's riding out the world's longest bout of influenza? Meanwhile, Toshiya's stuck in the hot seat, each day spent listening to these fools speculate pushing him one step closer to a stress-induced aneurysm. 

Later that night — late enough that it's technically early — finds Toshiya hunkered down on the closed lid of a restaurant toilet, elbows on knees, squinting down at his phone. 

His fingers, mysteriously drunker than the rest of him, fumble and stumble over each other as they try to punch in a coherent text. The backlit letters dance in and out of focus, but finally, after what feels like several years of heroic typing and backspacing, he manages to dispatch his inquiry: 

How sit goign? Neeed antthng? 

To: Kyo. Toshiya might've just set himself up for getting clowned for his sudden loss of literacy, but at this point, any response beyond 'I'm fine' will be a win.

Task accomplished (somewhat), he levers himself off the toilet, tottering out the stall and over to the sinks. He splashes his face with cold water, because now, it's critical he calls Aoi. 

It's been two entire days since he last laid eyes on his smoking hot, sweet, finally-adult-as-of-today boyfriend. And as Aoi, the Einstein of love, previously pointed out, one day is roughly equivalent to a thousand light-years in boyfriend time. By that math, Toshiya's practically in a different solar system right now, missing him something fierce.

As he straightens up, water droplets sluicing down his neck and under the collar of his button-up, his phone rattles in his pocket. Kyo. 

Could you carry this thing for once? 

The dry humor brings an equally dry smile to Toshiya's face. Man, he wishes he could carry the damn thing for Kyo. He's bigger; he'd probably have an easier time with it. Nah, actually — had it been him, they wouldn't even be in this mess. He'd have hauled himself straight to a specialist the second shit got weird, and have it taken care of quicker than you can whisper 'zygote.'

He's about to type something really clever in response when another message comes through.

Got checkups every week, doc says everything's going smoothly. Stop worrying

Toshiya scoffs aloud. Stop worrying? How? His brain is a full-time, industrial-scale worry generator, churning out stress like it's got a quota to fill, and who can blame him? His friend is in mortal danger. There's no stop worrying happening until the baby has safely made its debut and Kyo's up and back to complaining about regular shit. 

And honestly? Maybe Kyo isn't the only one riding the hormone roller coaster. Who's to say there aren't dad hormones? Sneaky, biochemical bad boys swimming in Toshiya's bloodstream, making him double-check and fret, incapable of relaxation unless he has a notarized affidavit confirming that his offspring and its bearer are in tip-top shape. Seriously, in a world where dudes apparently get preggers, dad hormones sound pretty par for the course.

With that sobering thought, Toshiya slaps some more cold water onto his face, the shock waking him up just enough to register how thoroughly he's soaked his shirt. And as he picks up his phone off the counter, he catches a glimpse of his sorry state in the mirror — blotchy cheeks, red eyes, and bangs everywhere but where they should be. Whatever, he's not here to win any beauty pageants. 

He dials Aoi. 

"Hi, babe," he slurs the moment the line connects, leaning heavily against the counter. "Love ya." 

"Love you, too," Aoi chuckles back, sounding maybe, hopefully, just a little endeared. Probably walking home from his shift, judging by the faint rustling and the sound of footsteps on the other end. 

"How was your birthday?" Toshiya asks, though it comes out sounding more like 'barfday,' which actually isn't off the mark given the occupational hazards of Aoi's job. 

"Super fun!" Aoi beams over the line. "They made a huge deal out of it at the club. Haven't been fussed over like that ever. Total madness. I'm walking home covered in glitter right now, it's everywhere. It just won't come off." 

Toshiya grins stupidly into the phone, chest swelling with some warm, fuzzy ache. "Tha's awesome, babe. Sorry we couldn't be t'gether today. But listen. Listen. Im-a spoil you rotten tomorrow, 'kay?" 

Aoi snickers. "Man, I feel like a king or something. Oh, and congrats on the debut! Don't party too hard."

Grin morphing into a frown, Toshiya nods solemnly. "I would never," he says fiercely, as the world spins in silent agreement that he's probably going to party harder.

Nine hours later, Toshiya wakes up to a morning that seems to have it out for him. His mouth is parched, his head is pounding, and just to add insult to injury, Inou calls with a bummer of an update: their much-anticipated TV slot next month is off, Kyo's health, or current lack thereof, cited as the cause. 

Toshiya saw it coming, of course. Hell, it's good news compared to the alternative, which is Kyo deciding to tough it out and ending up announcing his pregnancy on live television. Still, knowing it's the right call doesn't make hearing it confirmed suck any less. The rest of the band had been so hyped about it.

The single, however, is still a go, per Inoue. The schedule has just been moved up, and Yoshiki's flying to Japan to produce it. It's a tossup which is a bigger head-spinner: the fact that Yoshiki is flying across the globe for them, or that Kyo's still planning to show up to work in March. 

Maybe the guy's had a change of heart, then? Maybe he's finally ready to adult up and come clean to those who need to know. Or maybe — and this feels painfully more likely — he's just stubbornly doubling down on his juggling act of being a pregnant man fronting a rock band, and telling literally no one what's going on. 

Hanging up, Toshiya twists and stretches on the bed before starfishing across it, forlorn. This TV gig was supposed to be their moment. Their first big on-air showcase since I'll, with a Yoshiki-produced song no less. A big step up in their visibility and an important part of their major debut. And now it's swirling down the cosmic toilet. 

He slings an arm over his eyes and heaves a sigh. Man. The blast radius of his and Kyo's now ancient-seeming hookups just keeps widening, and it's hard not to feel the weight. It's one thing for the two of them to deal with the fallout, quite another when it starts to chip away at the group's momentum, causing real, palpable damage to their career. 

For the first time, something shifts uncomfortably in Toshiya's chest: regret. Because despite everything, he was never able to bring himself to truly wish away what happened between him and Kyo all those months ago. It brought them closer in ways he couldn't articulate, made him feel less like the odd one out, and in some twisted, selfish way, he'd considered that worth it. But now, picturing Kaoru, Die, and Shinya's disheartened faces, he feels the first real twinge of what have we done?

He takes Aoi out that night. He's got a reservation locked down at an upscale Italian eatery in Ebisu that one of his more cultured friends swore by, and a gift-wrapped bottle of Tom Ford cologne he agonizingly picked out a week earlier. It was just about the most expensive thing he could justify buying, but even then, when he fiddled with the bow earlier and his eyes caught the bracelet circling his wrist, he felt a nagging pang of inadequacy. 

The restaurant, at least, doesn't disappoint. It's cozy as can be, quiet and dimly lit, something that Toshiya's still-pounding head appreciates more than words can say. Outside, meanwhile, it's cold and miserable. He can't help but feel a touch of schadenfreude as he watches from his warm, dry perch behind the window the sea of pedestrians soldier forward while the howling wind slings sludgy snow on them.

The night starts on a good note. Aoi's in high spirits, still riding the high of last night's celebration, little specks of glitter stubbornly clinging to his hair. Every time he moves, the sparkles catch the light, making Toshiya feel like he's dining with some enchanted storybook character. 

After regaling Toshiya with a blow-by-blow of how he became a human disco ball, Aoi starts talking shop about Melville. The sound of it has an almost sedative effect on Toshiya's nerves. Because sometimes, he worries. It feels like Aoi is teetering, like he's one poorly-attended gig or asshole bandmate comment away from giving up entirely, swapping the ungrateful grind of the music scene for the quick cash and easy adoration of the host club circuit. 

Toshiya can't imagine a bigger waste. He's been to Melville shows, has watched Aoi shred a solo on stage, and it's crystal clear where the guy belongs. 

And the problem isn't just his bandmates sucking ass, though they definitely do. (Yune's a pass, maybe.) It's Aoi himself. That bold, cocky confidence Toshiya was so drawn to when they first met has long since turned out to be more smoke and mirrors than substance, propped up by his good looks and not much else. 

Which is why, as he watches the glittering boy in front of him come alive talking about dates and cities and laughing at the atrocious state of their tour bus while twirling spaghetti with his fork, Toshiya feels an almost manic determination to be the best damn hype man the guy's ever had. Whatever it takes to keep that spark alive — praise, motivational speeches, a metaphorical kick in the ass — Toshiya's ready to deliver. 

But then things start to skid downhill. 

Normally, Toshiya probably would've left his phone at home on a night like this. Why risk letting reality intrude on an otherwise perfect date? But 'normal' is a luxury he can't afford anymore. Normal checked out the moment it was confirmed his bandmate — and let's not sugarcoat it, his ticket to fame — was with his child, and now, his phone isn't just a phone; it's a ticking time bomb of potential bad news. It stays within reach at all times. 

So, when he feels it vibrate in his pocket while Aoi pores over the dessert options, Toshiya discreetly slips it out to take a look. Speak of the devil.  

Sorry we had to cancel. I tried to make some changes to the costume but there's just no way

Toshiya swallows the sigh threatening to escape. Trust Kyo to try to fix the unfixable. He imagines the guy hunched over the costume, muttering curses under his breath as he tries to outsmart reality, and the image tugs at him because he knows no one's taking this harder than Kyo. 

Not your fault, he types back. Then, out of nosy necessity, he adds, Btw, what did you tell Inoue and others?  

"Who is it?" Aoi asks, peering over the menu propped against the side of the table.

"Kyo," Toshiya says, about to put the phone away when the reply comes in. 

That I have a health condition and was told to rest

Well, that's… vague. The sheer pull Kyo has is really quite something. One quiet confession of a 'health condition,' and suddenly titans of the music world like Yoshiki Hayashi and Dynamite Tommy are twisting themselves into pretzels to accommodate him. Of course, it's no breaking news that their band's success is largely dependent on Kyo — he's the main attraction, the voice, the unpredictable element that sets them apart — but this level of influence is telling. The label must be pulling in fat stacks off their golden boy. 

"Work stuff?" Aoi asks.

"Sorta." Toshiya quickly punches out a reply — Gotcha. Take care — before setting the phone aside and dragging his brain back to the candlelit here and now. He picks up his wine glass, giving the dark liquid a swirl like he knows what he's doing. "It's about the TV spot we lost because he's out sick. He's feeling pretty awful about it," he explains, taking a sip and trying not to look like he's tasting battery acid. The fact that people pretend to enjoy this crap blows his mind.

Aoi hums. "Didn't picture him as the 'sorry for being sick' type. Not like it's his fault. Unless he's out there licking train handles or something." 

The comment earns a chuckle from Toshiya, but Aoi's brow furrows, as if the idea of Kyo out there licking train handles isn't as absurd as it first felt in his head. 

"Wouldn't shock me," Toshiya says, leaning back in his chair. "He does let fans stuff their fingers in his mouth during gigs." He grins at Aoi's grimace, but then his expression softens into something more contemplative. Tracing a finger along the stem of his wine glass, he adds, "He's really not what you'd expect, if all you know is his public persona."

Aoi props his chin on his fist, sizing Toshiya up from across the table. "You're the same on and off stage," he points out. "I remember watching you play and thinking you seem like someone fun to hang out with. And look at that, I was right."

Toshiya cracks a half-smile. "Yeah, I guess dolling up and cranking the energy aside, I never saw the point in making up some alter ego for the crowd." 

"But Kyo did."

"Mmh… I guess he did," Toshiya agrees, the words pulling out slowly. But something about calling it an 'alter ego' doesn't quite fit. Kyo behind layers of makeup, half-blinded by the stage lights, with a sea of strangers beneath him screaming his name — it's not just some cheap disguise, is it? That growling, head-banging, finger-chomping demon up there is just as quintessentially and genuinely Kyo as his more reserved self outside that spotlight. 

Toshiya's phone vibrates on the table. He glances at the screen, expecting something benign, only to be greeted with: 

Fuck you, seriously 

He stares. 

What… the hell? What'd he do? He racks his brain for any possible offense he could've committed in the last minutes. Did he forget to say something? Did his 'Take care' somehow translate to 'Go fuck yourself'? Nothing adds up.  

After a moment of pure confusion, he types out a simple, baffled, ??? 

Back comes Kyo's response like a swarm of bats out of hell: I'm just glad this is all such a breeze for you. A 'take care' txt every other day and your job's done. Must be nice

Toshiya's eye twitches. Excuse me? This from the guy who explicitly told him he didn't need to get involved? Now, suddenly, he's the villain for not mind-reading that there was a problem? Oh, hell no. With all the righteous indignation of a man slandered, he hammers out:

Are you kidding me right now? How many times have I told you to let me know if you need something?

"Tiramisu," Aoi says suddenly. "I'll have the tiramisu. With a side of my boyfriend actually paying attention to me, if that's on the menu."

Toshiya's head jerks up. With an apologetic twist to his mouth, he mutters, "Sorry, sorry," and accepts the menu from Aoi. But then the phone buzzes in his other hand, and against all better judgment, he looks. His grip on it tightens, knuckles turning white as he reads what's essentially a verbal equivalent of a spit in the face. 

Spare me the concerned friend act. It's embarrassing

The audacity. The sheer, unfiltered nerve. Concerned act? How can this idiot think his worry is just for show? What kind of a sociopath does he take him for? 

Across the table, Aoi rises abruptly, his chair screeching loudly against the floor. "Bathroom," he announces flatly. Dumping his napkin on the table, he marches off while Toshiya's thumbs are practically smoking as he batters the keyboard. 

Understood. Won't be bothering you with my texts anymore

Kyo wastes no time in snapping back: Good.

Yeah. Good. With all the aggression he can cram into such an innocuous act, Toshiya powers the phone off, then twists in his chair to shove it into the pocket of his coat hanging on the wall. He grabs the menu, flips it open, and glares at the page. The printed words might as well be ancient ruins for all the sense they make right now, his mind too busy spinning imaginary arguments with Kyo.

Snatching up the waitress as soon as she looks his way, he orders two servings of tiramisu. He then props his elbows on the table, hands wrapped tightly around his biceps, and glowers at the window. Mother Nature's still throwing a tantrum, umbrellas getting turned inside out — a spectacle that might've normally coaxed a snicker from Toshiya but now feels all too symbolic of his foul mood.

Minutes pass. 

His fingers drum an impatient rhythm on the tabletop, leg bouncing restlessly. His glass is empty, the bottle just as dry, and the itch under his skin is getting worse. 

Where the hell is Aoi?

Toshiya cranes his neck to scan the restaurant. His gaze sweeps over the candlelit tables and other diners, all happily and annoyingly absorbed in their cozy little worlds. It doesn't take long to find his target. 

There's Aoi, leaning against the bar in his vacuum-sealed jeans like he's posing for a magazine. He's smiling that big heartbreaker smile of his, chatting with the bartender — a good-looking, clean-cut guy around their age, who's laughing and looking… flustered. 

Toshiya's brain stutters. Is Aoi flirting? 

For a moment, he just stares, unsure what's the protocol here. Cause a scene? Pretend he didn't see it? Crawl under the table and have a good scream? Eventually, he sucks in a breath, presses his napkin onto the table, and stands. He saunters toward the bar, hands casually shoved in his slack pockets, projecting a calm he absolutely does not feel.

When Aoi spots him, he doesn't even flinch. If anything, his smile grows wider. "Ah," he says pleasantly. "Completely lost track of time. Bathroom's probably free now." With one final megawatt grin at the bartender, he excuses himself and heads off to the restroom. 

Left in his wake, Toshiya stands there, feeling every inch the fool before he's even uttered a word. He gives a sidelong glance to the bartender, who quickly dodges eye contact and busies himself with a glass that doesn't need cleaning. Humiliation prickling at his skin, Toshiya turns and stalks after Aoi, fists clenching and unclenching as he contemplates which one is the bigger brat, Kyo or Aoi. Right now, it's neck and neck.

It's a restroom fit for a king, really. Soft, flattering mood lighting, tiny towels stacked neatly on the counter, and some ambient jazz wafting from invisible speakers — a perfect reminder of just how much cash Toshiya's bleeding on this dinner while his date's out here chatting up the local barkeep. Aoi is at the urinal, unzipping with a maddening lack of urgency while Toshiya plants himself against the wall, arms folded tight.

"You were hitting on that guy," he states bluntly. 

"Yeah? Did that get to you?" Aoi replies without so much as glancing over, utterly unfazed as he does his business.

"What'd you think?"

"Hmm. Kinda surprised you noticed, actually."

This absolute goddamn child. Toshiya lets out a big, exasperated sigh, his hand finding its way into his hair. "Come on. I sent a couple of texts. You're acting like I was glued to my phone all evening."

Aoi finishes up, tucks himself back in, and heads over to the sink, a tightness to his shoulders that wasn't there before. He pumps soap into his palm with a vigor that seems unnecessary.

"To be clear," he says after a moment, "it's not just about tonight. You've been acting weird for weeks."

Toshiya's hand falls from his hair, his face screwing up in thought. Has he been weird? Well, he's certainly been stressed to hell and back — worrying about Kyo, anxious about the band's future, and coming to terms with the fact that his own actual spawn is going to exist in this world with no clue who he is. He's kind of going through it right now, alright? But he thought he'd been doing a decent job keeping the mess compartmentalized. Guess not.

"Look…" he starts as Aoi chucks the used towel into a small basket and turns to face him squarely. "Kyo's been sick, stuff's getting canceled, rescheduled, everything's up in the air... It's been a lot. I thought you'd get it."

Aoi hugs himself tightly, frustration and hurt clear in his eyes. "How am I supposed to get it if I don't know about it?" he counters. Then his stern expression wavers, and he looks somewhere off to the side before adding, "When you're all distracted like that, and I don't know what's going on… I start imagining all sorts of things."

"Right. I see. I mean, that's actually super helpful to know," Toshiya says, with that 'great, we're making progress' pep in his voice, stopping just short of slapping his hands together. "I'll make sure to loop you in from now on. Problem solved." Aoi's silence and stiff posture tell him he didn't quite hit the mark. After a moment, he reaches out tentatively, fingers just grazing Aoi's side. "Let's head back, alright?" 

Aoi's gaze drops to the contact, lingering there like it's an anchor pulling him back from his head. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders sag. The tension in his frame unwinds, and he lets Toshiya draw him in, leaning into the touch without a word.

There's no talk as Toshiya steers them both out of the bathroom, his hand resting lightly on Aoi's back. The tiramisu is already waiting at the table, two picture-perfect servings sitting like some awkward, pre-ordered apology.

Once they've slid back into their seats, Toshiya leans in slightly, his voice low but pointed. "I'm sorry I was distracted earlier. I mean it." He lets that sink in for a second before going on, trying to sound as kind and non-confrontational as humanly possible, "But don't pull stunts like that to make me jealous, okay? Trust me, I'm jealous enough as it is."

Aoi starts picking at his tiramisu, dragging the tip of the tiny fork through the fluffy layers without any intent to indulge. He mumbles something that might be a weak attempt at a joke: "You're just saying that 'cause it's my birthday." 

Fuck. Right. His birthday — literally the whole point of this evening out. Toshiya mentally smacks himself. Then, like a divine intervention, he remembers the gift. It's not perfect, not the most sentimental or thoughtful thing he could've come up with, but it's a thing. A distraction, if nothing else.

"That reminds me…" He turns in his seat and reaches into his coat pocket, retrieving the small package. The wrapping is pristine, a masterpiece crafted by the clerk who clearly took pride in her minimum-wage artistry. Sliding it over the white tablecloth, he offers a cautious smile. "I guess the 'teen' jokes have gotta retire now," he says. "Happy birthday. Love you. Jealous of you. All the time. That's the truth."

Aoi tries. He really tries to hold onto his sulk, but it's a losing battle. A snort breaks free, followed by a fuller laugh, and then he gives in, that wide, bright trademark grin spreading across his face like sunlight after a storm. Watching him start to unwrap the gift with obvious delight, Toshiya feels so relieved and smitten he could burst on the spot.

The rest of the evening seems to fix itself effortlessly after that: the perfume is met with the kind of panic-laced appreciation you'd think Toshiya had just handed over keys to a Lamborghini, not a bottle of scented water, and the tiramisu is polished off with renewed appetite. 

By the time they're at Toshiya's place, all the friction of the night has been redirected into something far more productive.

They're slow about it, this time. Purposeful, because Toshiya has now come to the humbling realization that maybe engaging with Kyo's temper tantrum during his boyfriend's birthday dinner wasn't the move. So, he channels all of his 'my bad' and 'won't happen again' and 'I'm all yours now' into the roll of his hips and the press of his lips along Aoi's neck, making sure the guy feels nothing less than the center of his universe. 

And then Aoi speaks, and Toshiya's heartbeat trips mid-thrust.

"You don't wanna, slap me or anything?"

Toshiya's movements slow to a halt. He eases back slightly. "What?" 

Aoi gives a lazy roll of his shoulders. "Slap me," he repeats airily. "Or, like, pull my hair. Rough me up a little." His hands slide up Toshiya's chest invitingly. "I'm into it if you are."

Toshiya just stares for a second, his brain racing to update its files. Months. They've been at this for five months, and this is the first he's hearing of any such preferences.

"Come on," Aoi coaxes playfully. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"Not even once," Toshiya replies instantly, the words leaving his mouth like a reflex. They earn him a doubtful raise of Aoi's eyebrow, like it's hard to believe he hasn't thought about slapping his boyfriend. He throws out, "What, am I too vanilla for your taste?" aiming for teasing but landing somewhere closer to mildly offended.

Is he vanilla? Sure, he's not some whip-wielding, leather-clad dominator, but he's no prude either. He's dabbled in all sorts of unconventional, nonviolent, escapades. Ask Kyo. (Or, better yet, don't. Ever.) Bottom line is, as long as no one's hurting, Toshiya's up for it — since when does that qualify as vanilla?

"It's not that," Aoi says, his voice taking a contemplative turn. His hand slides upward, fingers skimming the column of Toshiya's neck before burying into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp and sparking goosebumps. "You're just so nice. Makes me wonder sometimes if I'm really doing it for you."

A disbelieving laugh slips out of Toshiya. "You're worried you're not doing it for me?"

Aoi's lips curl into a small, almost bashful smile. His hips shift under Toshiya's, grinding up in a way that makes his next inhale catch. "So, I'm doing alright then? No complaints?" 

Toshiya can't help but echo the motion with a firm push of his own. "Zero," he answers without even a second's breath between thought and speech, a twinge of 'what the hell?' threading through his amusement. "You're the hottest guy I've ever had the pleasure of banging, and, for the record, an excellent bangee, too."

Aoi's smile turns just a tad incredulous, but he doesn't argue. "Alright then," he concedes. "Just so we're clear, though, you don't get to break up with me because you think I'm boring to fuck. Everything's on the table." 

Toshiya chuckles again, though this time it's less humor and more mild horror at the backward logic. Lost for a response, he's saved by Aoi tugging him down by the back of his neck until their noses brush.

"Fuck me nice and slow then," Aoi orders, his breath warm against Toshiya's lips. "Make it sweet, you vanilla softie." 

Toshiya lets out a scoff, all in mock offense. "Vanilla softie," he repeats under his breath as he noses against Aoi's cheek. "You're gonna regret that one."

In a move of exquisite retaliation, he lets his hips pull back, then creep forward with such exaggerated slowness it makes Aoi groan and giggle and squirm as if trying to escape his own bad decisions. 

"Oh, you dick—" Aoi starts, but Toshiya cuts him off with a searing kiss, swallowing the insult whole.

From there, all bets are off. Tossed aside is any pretense of taking it slow, Toshiya's mouth greedily stifling Aoi's rhythmic, high-pitched moans as the pace between them grows frantic. 

Next morning, after sending Aoi off with a swat to the rear that resounds through the hallway way louder than intended, throwing them into a fit of cackles, Toshiya remembers — his phone. Still switched off. 

Dragging a hand down his face, he fishes it from his coat pocket on the way back to bed. He collapses onto the still-warm, slightly glittery sheets, dreading whatever fresh nonsense might be waiting for him. Three unread messages pop up. All from Kyo.

The first, sent barely an hour after their spat, reads: Sorry. The hormones are making me crazy.

Quick on its heels, the second one clarifies: That's not just an excuse, btw. Ask my doctor.

The last one, timestamped at five-thirty in the morning, offers a grudging olive branch: You can text me if you want, I don't care.

Toshiya lets the phone rest on his chest for a moment as he gazes skyward. He sighs. Dad hormones have got to be a thing, because even after yesterday's hissy fit, it's still there, this inexplicable urge to coddle Kyo's cranky, hormonal ass. 

He lifts the phone back up. Because he's petty, and because Kyo absolutely deserves it, he types out:

Take care baby mama

And hits send.

Chapter Text

In the wake of Inoue's buzzkill of a call, the band's creative momentum nosedives. With the album on ice till July and plenty of time to fine-tune the single before Yoshiki's grand arrival, any sense of urgency packs its bags.

Still, they keep showing up at the rehearsal space — already booked and paid for, might as well use it. Not much in the way of musical genius happens during these sessions. They mess around with their instruments a bit, for optics, interspersing the lackluster efforts with a disgraceful number of coffee-turned-beer breaks, and that's about it for the hard day's work. 

Too often, the topic of their absent frontman comes up during these breaks. Toshiya's so over it. He's so over having the coil of anxiety in his guts get another loop every time someone gets a little too insightful. The jokes are almost the worst. Because he remembers, with a cringing clarity, Die's running gag about Kyo being pregnant last fall when the morning sickness got a little too textbook to ignore. It was all laughs, back then. Now? Now Toshiya lives in mortal fear of someone dusting off that same joke, only for the room to go dead silent as gears start turning and pieces start falling into place. 

Then again — maybe the truth is just too out there to ever actually click for anyone? Toshiya tries to remember what it was like to exist in a world where male pregnancy was strictly sci-fi territory. Maybe it's the sort of thing that an average brain can't compute unless it's smacked upside the head with undeniable proof, like that awful, hollow look in Kyo's eyes when he broke the news, or the sonogram that obliterated any last hope of disbelief. But who's to say? It's hard to see this mess objectively anymore. 

Then, finally, and about two months later than Toshiya thinks is remotely acceptable, Kyo swoops in with an explanation. Not in person, of course. That would involve eye contact, accountability, and answering follow-up questions. No, he chooses the most detached method available: a goddamn letter. 

The message is formal to the point of parody, and packed with just enough detail to raise more questions than it answers. In it, Kyo claims he's been diagnosed with a 'rare autoimmune disease,' and has a 'specialized treatment' lined up for late April. He's supposed to take it easy but promises to be there for the single recording, though he might be 'a little out of breath' — so everyone please be patient. He signs off with a pledge to be back on his feet by late May, latest. 

Toshiya lets out a tiny snort at that. What, Kyo doesn't think he'll be ready to storm the studio the day after his 'specialized treatment'? Shocking. Maybe there's still a crumb of rational thought rattling around in his pregnancy brain. 

Unsurprisingly, the letter does nothing to curb the think tank. The only real payoff is for Shinya, who's now taking every opportunity to remind Die that he called it, knew all along that Kyo's condition was something graver than the flu. Die's quickly starting to look just about as fed up with the topic as Toshiya is.

Come one particularly brisk February morning, Kaoru barges into the studio with his face all scrunched up, looking uncharacteristically troubled. Cheeks and nose flushed a stinging pink from the cold, he plunks his Seven-Eleven coffee on the table and shrugs off his coat, flinging it onto the couch arm.

"The guy's fused to his parka," is his greeting as he drops into a chair, fingers clawing through faded purple hair that's starting to levitate from static. "Swear to god, he can't even take a piss without the damn thing on." 

Here we fucking go. 

Toshiya's thumb sneaks to his mouth, teeth starting to work on the nail as he wraps his other arm tightly around himself. He told Kyo this was going to happen, warned him in no uncertain terms that Kaoru would get suspicious. And Kyo's master plan? Apparently, to do absolutely nothing. 

"Does he look sick?" asks Die, hunched over the table and meticulously applying black nail polish. 

"He looks tired, I guess," Kaoru says, curling his cold-looking fingers around his coffee cup. "Says the autoimmune thing messes with his iron levels, so he's freezing all the time. But parka indoors freezing? With the heating on?" 

"Do you two chat much, then?" Shinya chimes in, looking at Kaoru from the zen side of the table where he's sipping green tea. "I can't get a text back from him for days." 

"Join the club," Die mutters. 

That perks Toshiya up, even as his teeth continue to maul his nail. Inside, a smirk starts growing. Not once has being the sole keeper of Kyo's secret felt like anything but a chronic migraine, but now there's a new flicker of smug satisfaction. Because guess what? Kyo always texts him back. No matter how pissy, clipped, or useless the responses, they come fast. Every. Single. Time.

Kaoru shakes his head. "Hardly see the guy, but when I do and try to chat, it's like…" He stalls, his face doing something weird, something unfamiliar, like an expression of human emotion. Concern? Hurt? It's jarring. "Like I'm bugging him," he admits. "Keep wondering if maybe I did something, without realizing. Sometimes he gets all offended over nothing, you know, but it's never dragged out this long." 

Having been on the business end of Kyo's unearned wrath himself, Toshiya offers a little reassurance. "I doubt it's got anything to do with you. He's probably just kicking himself for the cancellations and doesn't know how to deal without being a weirdo. You know how he is." 

Hums of agreement ripple through the group, and Kaoru's face relaxes back into its default neutral mode, like one little peep in support of him not being the issue was all he needed to reset. Good for him. 

"What kind of autoimmune crap makes you that cold, anyway?" Die wonders aloud, waving his hand in the air to dry the fresh polish. "What is he, turning into a lizard? Gonna start basking on rocks next." He snorts.

The mental image of Kyo, heavily pregnant and stretched out on a sun-warmed boulder, has Toshiya spacing out for a second before Shinya's dry voice reels him back in. 

"Like you could name even two autoimmune diseases." 

"Lupus," Die fires back instantly, victoriously, but the deafening silence that follows makes it clear his arsenal is spent. Not one to sit in his own failure for long, he redirects quickly, crossing his arms. "Alright, smartass, let's see you do better. Hit us with your list." 

Whatever cosmic force — or unresolved sexual tension — keeps Shinya poking and Die taking the bait every single time, Toshiya sends a weary shout-out to it. Within seconds, the conversation has devolved to who's the bigger know-it-all, and any lingering scrutiny about Kyo's autoimmune mystery is forgotten. 

Feeling wrung out, Toshiya leans back into the couch and lets his eyes fall shut. He's pretty sure he's aging in dog years with this whole ordeal. By the time Kyo's grand production reaches its conclusion, Toshiya's going to look every bit the dad. Or worse, the granddad, if Kyo keeps insisting on handling things in the most catastrophically stressful way possible. 

—

Forget the baby with two biological fathers; the real miracle arrives in mid-February, a couple of days before they are scheduled to start rehearsing with the whole band. 

It comes in the form of a text from Kyo, asking if he could drop by Toshiya's place. Oh, and he's got a favor to ask. 

Toshiya's thumbs can't type the affirmative fast enough. He doesn't care what the favor is, the answer is yes. Because finally, there's something he can actually do.

"Come in," he beckons, propping the door open for Kyo, who shuffles past him into the apartment. 

The parka he's wearing is the same bulky, army-green type he had at the end-of-year bash, except this one has got to be a size or five larger; Toshiya doesn't think it looked quite this comically all-encompassing last time. Comments about sentient sleeping bags and Trojan horses are clawing their way up his throat, but his mouth stays shut. Some jokes, he knows, are just too pricey to let fly. 

In the room, Kyo hovers indecisively for a moment before committing to the edge of the bed. The mattress sinks under his weight in a way it definitely didn't last summer, and instantly Toshiya's mind slides sideways to less decorous thoughts, memories of when that mattress bore witness to… Yeah, okay, moving on. 

Toshiya hooks his foot around the office chair, dragging it away from the desk and spinning it around to face Kyo directly before taking a seat. 

"I wanted to ask for a favor," Kyo reiterates his earlier text, sounding like he's still running through the script in his head.

"Ditch the coat," Toshiya urges, eyeing the wispy hairs sticking to the sheen of Kyo's forehead. It's toasty in the room, the AC doing a bang-up job keeping the winter outdoors. 

"Ah, no, I… I look gross."

"C'mon. You'll pass out in there and then I'll have to dig you out of it myself."

An impasse of several seconds hangs between them as Kyo wages an internal war with himself. Finally, with a reluctant touch, he reaches for the zipper. Slowly bringing it down, he sheds the parka with an economical shrug and a wiggle, dumping the mass of padded fabric in a heap beside him.

And Toshiya — despite understanding, intellectually, how the situation must've progressed in the month and a half they haven't seen each other — finds himself utterly unprepared.

Try as he might to look unaffected, his eyes betray him, zeroing in on the pronounced roundness pressing against Kyo's long-sleeved shirt. Holy— He knew, but he didn't know. The parka, for all its crimes against fashion, was truly doing its job. Too well. 

Caught somewhere between stunned disbelief and morbid fascination, Toshiya's eyes linger for a moment too long. When he finally wrenches his gaze upward, it's to find Kyo's face absolutely on fire. His blush burns crimson all the way to his hairline as he busies himself pushing back his sweaty hair, avoiding eye contact like it might kill him. The exposed forehead makes him look even more vulnerable if possible. 

"So," he says, his voice a cocktail of defensiveness and mortification, "I wanted to ask—"

"You don't look gross," Toshiya cuts him off, a little too forcefully in his eagerness to reassure. And it's true, the sight isn't revolting; it's just… wrong. Deeply, existentially wrong in ways Toshiya's brain is desperately trying to rewire itself around. Hoping to pull Kyo out of the self-loathing spiral he's clearly teetering into, he prods gently, "So, tell me. What's it like?" 

Kyo's gaze drops to his hands, his fingers now playing with the cuffs of his shirt, tugging and twisting the fabric. He draws a breath, and when he exhales, a small landslide of grievances spills out with it. 

"I feel like a bloated whale," he starts, the frustration lending a vigor to his voice that Toshiya honestly finds a little comforting. At least the guy hasn't completely lost his fight. "I'm tired, like, all the time. Everything feels like a workout. My back's shot to hell, and don't even get me started on how often I need to pee. And — well, I'll save you the rest. Just know that this whole thing's awful."

Toshiya feels a clueless pang of sympathy. His closest comparison to any such discomfort starts and ends with frequent bathroom trips between beers on a night out, and that's… not exactly the same. So, when he suggests, "Why don't you lie down?" it's part genuine concern, part I have no idea what else to do with you right now.

"I didn't come all the way here to nap," Kyo protests, finally locking eyes with Toshiya, but the fact that his brain immediately jumped to 'nap' when all Toshiya said was 'lie down' says enough. Not that the evidence wasn't already written all over him; the sleepy droop of his eyelids, the dark smudges underneath, and the limp posture all scream a need for a good shuteye. 

"You might as well," Toshiya says, throwing in a lazy shrug to show how much it's not a big deal. "I've got nowhere to be." True enough; he's not meeting Aoi until much later. 

Kyo needs no further convincing, though he makes sure to put on a show of being coerced into it. "Ugh, okay," he huffs out like he's bestowing a great kindness. Ironically, he sort of is. For all Toshiya was initially relieved to hear he wasn't expected to get involved in the whole pregnancy business, he's been feeling nothing if not useless in the past months, floating on the periphery of the problem with nothing to contribute. If he can offer up his bed for a snooze, then it's a win-win in his book. 

Kyo shoves the parka aside to clear some space, and then, with the clumsiness of someone who's learning to navigate a new center of gravity, eases himself sideways onto the bed. While one arm finds a pillow to hug under his head, the other instinctively comes to cradle the swell of his belly, which gesture nearly has Toshiya doing a double-take. It's so unexpectedly tender, protective, and out of sync with every single thing Kyo projects to the world, Toshiya wonders if the guy even realizes he's doing it. 

He watches as the tension in Kyo's features eases and his eyes fall shut — and once they do, they don't open for hours. 

Toshiya's first clue that he's slipped under that same spell of sleep is the distant sound of his name elbowing its way through the murk of unconsciousness.

He pries his eyes open to a room much darker than earlier. Finding himself stretched out on the floor, half tucked under the cozy heat of the kotatsu, he takes a moment to piece together his own backstory. Right — he was texting Aoi, who was stuck at some photo shoot, bored to tears and in need of company. Guess he conked out mid-conversation. 

He rolls his head to the side, and instantly locks eyes with Kyo. The singer is curled up on the edge of the bed as if on the precipice of something vast, gazing down at him with eyes that look big and dark in the low light, and as ancient as ever. There's a tranquility in his features Toshiya hasn't seen in months. The nap must've done him good. 

Toshiya rubs at his eyes. "Wow, caught the sleep bug from you," he mumbles with a gravelly chuckle.

Kyo's voice is quiet when he finally voices what must be the favor he came here for. "You think you could be there with me for the surgery?"

Toshiya's sleep-addled brain locks up for a second. He pulls his hands from his face and looks back at Kyo. 

"Yeah," he says, feeling more awake now than he's been all day. "Yeah, of course, I'll be there." The surgery. He hasn't thought about it much at all, preoccupied with the months leading up to it, but now that he does, the idea of letting Kyo go through it alone is unthinkable. For some levity, if only half-joking, he adds, "I will faint, though. Just so you know."

The corners of Kyo's mouth twitch into something that could generously be called a smile. "You don't have to see anything," he promises. "There'll be a curtain. I just — well, I'll be awake, and if something goes wrong, it'd suck to have no one there."

"Nothing's gonna go wrong," Toshiya says, firm in his conviction he hopes will be contagious. He shifts onto his side to face Kyo more directly, tugging the kotatsu's quilt up to his waist and resting his head on his bent arm. "They do C-sections all the time. It's routine stuff. You'll be out and whining about hospital food before you know it." 

He damn well better be. Because if something did go wrong — if Kyo didn't make it out of this — Toshiya's going to spend the rest of his miserable existence drowning in guilt. A friend and bandmate dying is bad enough, but dying because Toshiya had to get his rocks off and bang them without protection? That's straight to therapy for life.

Kyo's non-committal hum and the sad look in his eyes don't echo Toshiya's optimism. Deciding not to press the forced cheer too hard, Toshiya lets the conversation breathe for a moment, sorting through his own thoughts. There's a subject that needs addressing, and Kyo might not want to hear it, but avoiding it isn't doing either of them any favors. 

"The guys are talking, you know," he says. "Even Kaoru is wondering." 

Kyo doesn't seem particularly surprised. "Right," he mutters, pulling his knees closer. "I've tried to stay out of home as much as possible, but we run into each other sometimes. Can't really avoid it." 

Toshiya's brows knit a little at that. "What do you mean 'stay out of home'? Where have you been?" 

"Manga cafes, mostly."

The sheer bleakness of the admission seems to tank the room's temperature a few degrees. Manga cafes? Toshiya knows they serve as makeshift homes for some, but the image of Kyo, in his condition, huddled in one of those cramped, fluorescent-lit cubicles, strikes a particularly somber note.

"Or, I hang out at the hospital," Kyo hurries to add, clearly reading Toshiya's reaction and trying to brighten the narrative. "There's a nurse. She knows my situation, lets me crash in this consultation room when it's free. We chat a lot — she's got three kids, so she knows all about pregnancy stuff. Gives good advice."

Toshiya makes a noise of acknowledgment. Sure, it's nice that there's someone watching out for Kyo, but his arrangement is clearly a far cry from the warmth and support most soon-to-be parents take for granted. Bouncing between strained home life, dingy manga cafes, and borrowed hospital rooms — that's survival, not living. Barely a step up from camping in a cardboard box, and in no way sustainable, that much Kyo himself has to know. They definitely need to talk about this later.

As the conversation stalls, Toshiya's thoughts swerve down an entirely different, if unproductive, path. It's one he's meandered down before, idly entertained every so often when he's let himself wonder about the life they've accidentally put in motion.

His mouth quirks up in a half-smile. "Ever think about what the kid's gonna look like? A blend of you and me."

The answer comes without delay, void of intrigue. "No."

"Not even a little curious?"

"What for?"

"Well… isn't it a normal thing to wonder about?"

"Maybe for someone who actually planned this and wanted to keep it," Kyo retorts.

Toshiya recognizes a brick wall when he hits one. His smile fades. "Right," he concedes, letting the subject die a quick death in the growing graveyard of 'things we don't talk about.'

The ensuing silence threatens to stretch uncomfortably, until Kyo clears his throat. "You know," he mutters, his voice softer now, almost sheepish, like he's trying to make up for the conversation killer, "I can feel it move. Kicking and stuff."

This perks Toshiya up instantly. "Wait, for real?" He props himself up on one elbow, his eyes zeroing in on Kyo's midsection, suddenly acutely aware of the invisible activities beneath the shirt. "Like, often?" 

"Yeah. Especially when I'm lying still. Sometimes it wakes me up." 

Toshiya swallows. He wants to ask more, a million stupid questions bubbling up in his head, like what does it feel like? and can you poke it back? But one rises above the noise. 

"Can I…?" he starts, the words trailing off, but the intent should be clear — he wants to feel it too.

Kyo's lips pinch into a frown. "Don't be weird."

Toshiya's own brows knit in response, frustration sparking. He's tempted to play the 'it's my kid too' card, but he checks himself, knowing full well it would accomplish nothing except sending Kyo straight into a defensive lockdown.

"Why's it gotta be weird?" he questions instead, trying to sound reasonable. "I'm just curious."

Kyo looks like he's running the numbers in his head, searching for a reason to deny him. When he comes up short, he exhales sharply, "Fine. Just — it feels freaky, okay?"

Toshiya doesn't wait for a second invitation. Pushing the kotatsu blanket aside, he scoots his way closer to the bed where Kyo seems to be bracing himself, head remaining on the pillow but shoulders taut and eyes pinned to some invisible spot across the room. 

The tension rubs off, and for a moment, Toshiya falters. But curiosity is a powerful force, and his is piling up fast. He eases his hand up, edging under the hem of Kyo's shirt.

The sensation is nearly enough to make him jerk back.

It's… hard. There's a firmness there that no pillow-stuffing gag could ever replicate, something he hadn’t anticipated. And hot on the heels of that realization comes another: the intimacy of touching Kyo like this. There's nothing even remotely sexual about the moment, yet it feels more invasive than anything they've done before. He can't believe Kyo's letting him do this. 

After a hesitant second, Kyo reaches under his shirt. He takes Toshiya's hand into his own and steers it to a different spot, their fingers interlacing lightly as he presses it down, holding it in place. So, maybe this isn't as strange to Kyo as Toshiya assumed. He's had time to adapt, after all, to bond with the new reality, however begrudgingly, while Toshiya is just now catching up.

The room falls still in anticipation as Toshiya's universe condenses into one singular point: his hand, caught between Kyo's palm and the taut, warm curve of life. His eyes stay trained on the rise and fall of the black fabric before him, the steady rhythm of Kyo's breathing pulling him into some weird, hypnotic trance for what could be seconds, minutes, or hours. 

Then, there it is — a definite, unmistakable push against the side of his palm that steals the breath right out of his lungs.

His eyes rocket to Kyo's, who's already watching him. "Did you feel that?" he asks heatedly. 

"Yeah, I felt it," Kyo says — and then laughs at Toshiya's reaction. It's light and short, but the sound and sight of it are so unexpected it completely sideswipes Toshiya. 

Before he can fully even process the rare moment of joy, another movement comes, more of a rolling sort of sensation. It makes him dizzy with awe, the closeness to something so elemental, capturing the beginnings of another person's existence… Only this is not just some person, this is their child beneath his hand, alive, growing, and right there, so close he can feel it, and the enormity of that truth knocks something loose inside him he didn't even know was there. 

His throat tightens. "It's a miracle," he chokes out the cliché. "Like, literally."

As soon as the words slip out, the air in the room curdles. Kyo's reaction is immediate, shoving Toshiya's hand away like it's something filthy. 

"Yeah, a life-ruining miracle," he says bitterly as he yanks his shirt back into place and wrenches himself upright.

Dazed, Toshiya sits there, still feeling the ghost of that tiny push imprinted on his palm. Kyo, meanwhile, cocoons himself back in his parka with brutal efficiency, the zipper clicking up to his chin in rapid, angry succession, each one slamming the door shut on whatever strange, fleeting connection they just shared.

But then, just as quickly as the momentum builds, it halts. Kyo just stands there, armored against whatever it is he so fears as the anger leaks out of him. Even swaddled in his bulky outerwear, he suddenly looks shrunken, deflated. 

His gaze drifts downward to where Toshiya is still perched on the floor, one leg pulled up and hand gripping his ankle. "Well..." he begins, but the word doesn't go anywhere.

"Kyo," Toshiya says gently. "I think we both know you're gonna have to stay here eventually. And I want you to. I want you to be comfortable and safe."

Kyo holds his gaze, and Toshiya can see the layers of fatigue clearer than ever, way beyond just physical. Then, in a voice so small and worn out it's almost unrecognizable, he says the very last thing Toshiya expected. 

"Can I?" 

Toshiya's eyes widen despite himself, momentarily speechless because he fully expected a brush-off. "Yeah, man, of course," he rushes to assure, seized with a sudden and violent need to punch himself in the face for not having extended the invite sooner. He knows Kyo — he should've realized the guy was just gritting his teeth and powering through, too damn proud and stubborn to ask for help. 

"What about your boyfriend?" 

Toshiya waves a hand like this is a complete non-issue. "I'll tell him you're in a rough spot and need a place to crash for a bit. He's cool, he'll understand." Which is... mostly true, probably, if you ignore how Aoi acted the last time Kyo crashed their bubble of two. And that was just over texts, so... yeah. But whatever, that's a problem for Toshiya of the future to sort out. 

Kyo relaxes a fraction, though he still looks like he's half waiting for the 'just kidding, idiot' to drop. "Okay… Well, I can make myself scarce whenever you need space, just let me know," he offers, already laying out his exit strategy before he's even arrived. He rubs a hand over his hip, then ventures, a bit awkwardly, "So, um… when would be okay?"

Toshiya's chest tightens. The level of distress Kyo's been hiding must be off the charts for him to leap at the offer this readily.

"Anytime!" he replies, too fast and too cheerful, his mouth trying to keep ahead of the magnitude of what he's just committed to. "Come tomorrow if that works for you. Door's open."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes, Kyo, I'm not making jokes here." 

"Tomorrow, then," Kyo decides, and for the first time all night, there's a tiny flicker of life in his voice, his posture less slumped. 

"Do you need help hauling your stuff over?" 

"No, I'm not taking much," Kyo says. His gaze slides away for a moment, then back, a slight wrinkle of worry creasing his brow. "And, um… sorry I snapped. My moods are kinda all over the place lately."

Toshiya smiles at that. "No worries," he says as he pushes off the floor to stand, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "Guess I got a little sappy there for a moment. Would blame it on hormones if I could, but nope, just regular ol' me." 

Kyo levels an assessing look at him, head cocking slightly. "I'm actually kind of a wreck these days," he warns, his hand twitching toward his middle before halting and dropping to his side. "The hormones are crazy. Apparently, they're worse for me than for women 'cause my body has to work double time, or something." 

With a grin that's equal parts chaotic optimism and dawning terror, Toshiya says, "Bring it on. I'm prepared." 

Lies. All lies. He's not prepared for any of this. Inside, he's already tallying up the mental breakdowns he's about to witness firsthand, and the 'fuck you's that are bound to come flying his way in the coming months. The apartment, already snug on a good day, feels like it's shrinking by the second just thinking about it. 

Kyo, however, seems to take his answer at face value, offering a cautious, almost shy smile in return. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, Toshiya slumps back against it, his head thunking softly against the wood. Staring blankly into the room swathed in shadows, he wonders how exactly he's going to break the news to Aoi that their peaceful little setup is about to get turned on its head.

Chapter Text

When Toshiya later meets Aoi at the station, the younger boy looks tired, remnants of makeup still smudged around his eyes from the photo shoot. 

They pick up some drinks and food at FamilyMart, then amble over to their usual hangout spot by the narrow river running near the South exit. The cold February evening has chased off the usual loiterers, and it's just the two of them and the distant soundtrack of passing trains and station announcements.

Toshiya's bursting at the seams. He can feel the words pressing against his teeth, and not the ones about his new roommate, but words about how he felt his child kick — how his child has legs to kick with! Of course, a nanosecond of rational thinking reminds him that this is not the kind of news Aoi's going to find charming. 

Still, he has to say something. 

He drags his thumb through the thin layer of condensation on his beer can. "Had a crazy thing happen today," he starts, glancing sideways at Aoi. The guitarist is perched next to him on a bench, one leg slung over the other, carefully tearing open the plastic seal of his microwaved soup. "Ran into a friend who's pregnant. She let me feel her stomach. And get this — the baby kicked. I felt it." 

Aoi tosses him a mildly amused look. "Oh yeah?" He tucks the wrapper back into the plastic bag, runs his tongue over a stray drop of soup on the side of his finger, and picks up the plastic spoon resting on his thigh. "You like kids?"

Toshiya pauses at that. He's never really thought about kids, hasn't had much reason to. Does he even have an opinion? Hell, half the time he still feels like a kid himself. 

"I don't know," he admits, resting his beer on the bench between his spread thighs. "Never really hung out with any. Just thought it was wild, to feel a tiny human squirming inside another tiny human. Like those Russian nesting dolls."

Aoi hums, shifting the contents of his soup around to help it cool as wisps of steam curl up into the cold air. "Women are something else. Magical and kinda icky at the same time." 

Toshiya watches him bring the container to his lips, taking the world's tiniest, most cautious sip to test the temperature. He debates with himself briefly, then figures, what the hell. What's the worst that could happen? 

He says, "Did you know some guys can get pregnant, too?" He follows it up with a hefty swig of beer, bracing for whatever Aoi has to say to that. 

Aoi seems unperturbed. He takes another, slightly bolder sip of his soup and then digs in with the spoon. "Trans guys," he offers up matter-of-factly. 

Toshiya mulls over that for a second. Trans guys are biologically women, right? Doesn't apply to Kyo. Is there even a term for Kyo's condition? Has to be. No way he's the single only man in the world rocking a uterus.

"Well, those too, I guess," Toshiya agrees, "but I'm talking about actual dudes who are born with… you know, the usual male bits but also like, the internal female reproductive setup. Saw it in a documentary." 

Aoi doesn't give away much at first. He just sits back and chews thoughtfully, clearly digesting more than just his food as he stares out at the row of two-story houses on the other side of the stream. 

Finally, he swallows and offers his insight, deep and thoughtful as ever. "Well, that's pretty gross, huh?"

That he doesn't call bullshit is surprising; his blunt verdict, less so. 

Gross. 

Toshiya relaxes against the bench, tilting his head up and letting the cold bite at his neck. There was a time he might have nodded along to such a comment, agreed out of plain ignorance or just to avoid the discomfort of thinking too hard about it. But seeing Kyo's reality up close, having literally felt life kick from within him — something about that moment rewired him.

Or rather, it opened his eyes to an angle he hadn't considered before. Aren't there loads of gay couples out there who'd kill for the chance to have a child of their own? Couples with neither the law nor nature on their side, to whom this would be the answer to prayers they didn't even think were worth making. Someone might even call Kyo blessed. 

And others, apparently, would call him gross.

Life finds a way, said some genius in a lab coat once, and wasn't he spot on. To Toshiya, there's nothing gross about it. If anything, it's kind of wondrous.

It isn't until they are back at Toshiya's place, in bed wrapped up in each other and Aoi fast asleep, that it strikes Toshiya out of nowhere — today's February sixteenth. Shit. Kyo's birthday. 

Yanked at once from the fringes of sleep, he squirms to his side within Aoi's slack hold. Sneaking an arm over the side of the bed, he fumbles for the alarm clock on the floor, exiled in favor of more pressing bedside table occupants like lube and tissues. Fingers meet the small plastic box, and he lifts it to eye level, squinting at the red digits swimming accusingly into focus — 01:23. Birthday officially missed. 

"Fuck," he exhales. How did he space out on that? 

The clock hits the floor with a muted thump as he starts fishing around for his phone next. 

An uncomfortable suspicion pokes at him: is that why Kyo showed up today? Did he haul his pregnant, exhausted ass all the way from Nerima instead of just calling or texting because he didn't want to spend his birthday sitting alone in some dingy manga cafe or hospital room? And here was Toshiya, not even offering a lousy 'happy birthday.' Granted, he did offer up his apartment. But given the circumstances, that's about the bare minimum, and it's not like he was lightning-fast on that realization either. 

Ah, crap. He left his phone on the kotatsu. No can do.

Aoi's arm slips limply off his back as he executes a reluctant roll-and-slide out of bed, hitting the rug knees-first. In nothing but boxers and a tank top, his skin pricks in the freezing room as he crawls over to the low table.

Phone retrieved, he sits back onto his haunches to thumb out his guilty birthday greeting.

Happy bday, baby mama! Fashionably late, per usual (sorry)

He puts the phone down, ready to dive back into the cocoon of blankets and Aoi's unconscious body heat, when the reply already buzzes in. He turns around and grabs the phone. 

A 'fuck off' wouldn't have surprised him after that cheeky 'baby mama' bit (although last time he got away with it), but instead of a verbal middle finger, what stares at him from the screen is a simple, 

Thanks.

Chewing at his lip, he debates leaving it at that. But something about the subdued response bugs him, and before he can talk himself out of it, his thumbs are moving again. 

Can't sleep? 

Probably a dumb question, given it's almost two in the morning. Kyo is one of the more reasonable sleepers in the band, from what Toshiya remembers of pre-pregnancy tour life, and would normally be dead to the world by now.

No. Someone's practicing karate against my ribs

Toshiya smiles. Someone. That's a step up from 'parasite.' Practically parental affection, coming from Kyo. 

He rolls his neck, exhaling, then scoots back until his shoulder blades meet the bed frame. He pulls up his knees and rests his phone on them, then taps out, 

I sense athletic potential there.

Yeah right. The likelihood of him and Kyo's genes cooking up an athlete is about as good as Kyo cracking a smile in a band photo — not zero, but close. No, this kid is more likely to inherit attention span issues and a pathological need to go against the grain at every turn, topped off with one hell of a brooding face. Odds are, he'll find his calling in some artsy field. 

Toshiya lets his imagination take off. Wouldn't it be wild, though? A couple of decades down the line, there's a hot new artist on the scene, one with a mysterious resemblance to two members of a certain legendary rock band. A legacy hidden in plain sight.

A small, bittersweet smile crosses Toshiya's face at the thought, but it fades just as fast. He sighs. Ideal as it would be for the future parents to be the kind of people who'll champion a creative spirit instead of stomping it out, realistically… parents like that don't exactly grow on trees. Toshiya almost wishes he could write them a little heads-up.

Dear Future Mom and Dad, just so you know, you're not raising a soccer prodigy or a chess club president. You're getting a stubborn little shit who will barely pass classes but may dye his hair blue and start a band. Adjust expectations accordingly.

But that's not how this works. Or is it? The folks at the hospital have been all kinds of accommodating with Kyo, after all, letting him hang out in empty consultation rooms, even apparently allowing Toshiya in the OR when it's go-time. Case study perks, probably. Maybe they'd humor him one last time and slide a little advisory note along with the paperwork. 

His fanciful planning gets interrupted by Kyo's reply lighting up his screen. 

I sense a rib fracture

Toshiya snickers. A joke. That's good. If Kyo's still got the energy to be sardonic, things can't be too grim.

He's about to respond when— 

"Texting other guys behind my back?"

The groggy voice from behind him nearly gives him a heart attack. He fumbles to turn off the phone screen and tuck it out of sight, which, he realizes a second too late, is exactly how a guilty person would react. 

"Technically speaking, yes," he says, trying for a laugh as he twists around to climb back under the covers. The bed groans as Aoi makes room for him, and already Toshiya is wondering what the hell made him freak out like that. Fluffing his pillow, he adds, "Just wishing Kyo a happy birthday. Totally slipped my mind earlier." 

Aoi presses a thumb at his eye like he's trying to clear the sleep out with brute force. "Can I see?" he asks. "For my peace of mind."

Toshiya stills mid-adjustment. Huh?  

See... his texts? Is that a thing now? Toshiya's not the authority on relationship dos and don'ts, but being asked to hand over his phone for inspection feels kind of... invasive.

"What, you don't trust me?" he counters, his voice airy, because if he can just keep the mood playful, maybe it won't mutate into something bigger than it needs to be.

Aoi doesn't get defensive, doesn't argue, and honestly doesn't even seem awake enough to be having a conversation like this. He just lazily rolls over to face Toshiya, wedges a hand under his cheek, and says in a sleep-husky voice, "Just, you know, past stuff. Prove me wrong?" 

Toshiya's pulse is spiking. It's like he's back in that TSA line at LAX, when, for no goddamn reason, his brain convinced him he'd somehow accidentally packed an entire kilo of cocaine in his carry-on. Never mind that he's never even seen cocaine outside of movies. 

He knows he hasn't done anything wrong. He wasn't sexting under the covers or drafting love notes, he was swapping stupid jokes about athletic babies and busted ribs. But damn if he doesn't feel guilty all of a sudden, and it makes him question himself. 

Is he shady for this? Is regularly checking in with the not-quite-ex, who's carrying his kid, some sort of betrayal? It's not like Toshiya's harboring secret feelings. He's just trying to do the right thing in a batshit situation.

The sound of his dry swallow is loud and incriminating in the oppressive quiet. He needs to say something, preferably something indignant and self-righteous. But when he opens his mouth, what comes out reeks of defensiveness even to his own ears. 

"I don't know what reason I've given you to not trust me. I'm not a cheater." 

It doesn't seem like a promising development when Aoi, definitely more awake now, props himself up on a forearm. "Then what's the big deal? I don't need to read your whole text history, just show me it was Kyo." 

Right. Except for one tiny issue: message previews. Toshiya's almost certain that most of their texts are fully visible there, including 'baby mama' and 'karate against my ribs' — kind of tricky to explain, those. And the fact that he just hours earlier idiotically informed Aoi that men, too, can get knocked up doesn't help. 

"I can't," he says, tugging at the comforter in an attempt to shield himself from the interrogation lamp he feels glaring down from Aoi's gaze. "It's personal stuff. Stuff Kyo wouldn't want getting around. And you know how previews show a bit of the message."

"Didn't you just say you wished him a happy birthday?"

"I did! I mean, that's how it started. There was, like, some back-and-forth after that." Ugh, he's sounding so fucking suspect. 

"You were all giggly," Aoi points out flatly. "Didn't seem like a heavy talk."

Toshiya closes his eyes for a second, biting down the curse swelling in his throat. Why didn't he just send the damn birthday message and call it a night? He should've known better. Texting Kyo with Aoi nearby clearly isn't something that's ever going to end well. 

Well, good thing he won't have to text Kyo anymore, because the guy's about to move in. A little fun fact Toshiya still hasn't had the guts to tell Aoi and sure as hell isn't about to bring up now.

Okay, focus. Damage control. Time to act like the older one in this relationship for once. He takes a breath, and is glad to finally hear some mild frustration rather than fluster in his own voice once he speaks. 

"You're right," he admits. "It wasn't anything heavy. But look, it's still private, okay? I'm not gonna break a friend's trust just to prove a point." 

Aoi lets out a weary puff of breath and slumps back against the pillow. "Is he your best friend or something?" he mutters, sounding drained and done. "He's always texting or calling you. Or showing up at weird hours, like that one time." 

Toshiya feels the tension in his chest ease slightly at the mundanity of the question. "Yeah, you could say that," he murmurs, shifting onto his side. Aoi moves as if by instinct, adjusting so Toshiya can slide his arm under his neck and draw him in, chest to back. Because he hates having people upset with him, Toshiya adds, "Sorry for stressing you out all the time lately. I promise this will settle down soon." He could say more — could even give Aoi the exact date after which he might start expecting normalcy, but there's no explaining why he knows that. 

"I would've shown you my texts, just so you know," Aoi says quietly. "I wouldn't have cared about anyone's privacy if you told me you were worried." 

Toshiya isn't sure what to make of that at first. On the surface, it seems like a sweet enough sentiment, but the longer he sits with it, the more it starts to chafe.

Who, exactly, would Aoi be throwing under the bus in this hypothetical? He's never mentioned a best friend, or any close friends for that matter. No childhood buddies, no drinking crew, no ride-or-die confidants. As far as Toshiya's aware, Aoi was by himself in the bar the night they met, and since then, it's been a pretty sparse rotation: the band, the club, Toshiya. Occasionally Yune, but even that seems more a matter of proximity than an actual bond.

But even if Aoi did have close friends — friends who trusted him with their secrets — is Toshiya supposed to feel comforted knowing he's ready to sell them out at the first whiff of trouble in their not-even-a-year-old relationship? Loyalty and privacy aren't small things, and tossing them on the table in exchange for appeasing a passing insecurity isn't romantic. It's not reassuring, either. If anything, it raises questions about Aoi's integrity.

And if he's being honest with himself, Toshiya knows where his own priorities lie. He's head over heels for Aoi, no question about it, but their relationship doesn't come first; family and the band do. 

And Kyo… well, he's a two-for-one deal now, isn't he? Band and family all rolled into one complicated, stress-inducing package. Right now, his well-being eclipses everything else, and if that makes Toshiya an asshole, so be it. If it makes him some kind of emotional cheater, then fine. Aoi can't possibly understand what it's like to be tethered to someone by something as irrevocable as a child, even if that child won't stay in their lives. He wouldn't get how Toshiya's entire universe has tipped sideways, how everything's orbiting around this new, terrifying gravity that Kyo represents.

But, Toshiya reminds himself, this is all temporary. A season. And seasons change.

In just a few months, the band will be on stable ground again, Kyo won't be texting him about canceled shows or martial arts-inclined fetuses (or at all, most likely), and life will resume its usual, manageable level of dysfunction. Aoi will join a kickass band, no doubt, and be reminded that he's more than just Toshiya's other half or a part-time host. And all will be right in their little world.

— 

Toshiya wakes up to his boyfriend's mouth doing wicked, wonderful things between his legs. It's a hell of a way to come to — if you can even call it that, considering he's still barely conscious when the pleasure crests and crashes, his body tensing minutely as he spills into the wet heat of Aoi's throat. 

Relaxation floods through him like a warm tide, and he could easily ride that wave straight back to sleep, if it wasn't for Aoi being in one of his tell me I'm amazing moods.

Wriggling up the length of Toshiya's body under the comforter, Aoi nuzzles against his neck, his overnight stubble grazing the sensitive skin. "So," he purrs, "remind me. Why are you into me again?"

A tired chuckle slips out of Toshiya as he rubs at his eye. "Talk about taking advantage of a man while he's vulnerable."

"Humor me."

And, of course, Toshiya does. Rattling off the reasons isn't much of a challenge, after all; Aoi genuinely ticks every box on the 'ideal partner' checklist. But as Toshiya recites his praises, his mind drifts back to their chat last night, sparking a half-formed thought that maybe he should know more by now — like who Aoi truly is beyond their little bubble, what his life was like back in Mie. What shaped the guy Toshiya knows today. 

"Man, I sound like a catch," Aoi teases, obviously pleased by the rundown of his virtues as he props himself up to look down at Toshiya. "Just making sure you've got my highlights down, in case you get distracted while I'm out slaying it on tour." 

Toshiya snorts. "Oh yeah, valid concern, given my raging social calendar for the next ten days. Me, the band, and the grannies at My Basket. But yeah, I'll keep your resume handy." But even as he jokes, there's a nudge in his gut, a reminder of the overdue conversation regarding one particular bandmate.

But before he can even consider broaching it, Aoi mounts him in one smooth motion, straddling his hips and swooping down for a kiss that annihilates any and all will to dive into difficult talks. Or to talk at all. 

Toshiya's hand finds Aoi's trim waist, the other teasing the outline of his arousal through his briefs before slipping under the waistband. After the tour, he tells himself as he wraps his fingers around warm flesh, making Aoi moan into his mouth. He'll break the news about Kyo moving in after the tour. Because touring is brutal, and the last thing Aoi needs is added distraction.

Once Aoi has taken off, still wearing a sated flush and now disastrously late from his band meeting, Toshiya squares his shoulders and starts planning. There's a to-do list forming in his head, things that need to be handled before Kyo's arrival later today. 

First up: calling Kaoru.

As the line connects, Toshiya is greeted by the unmistakable sound of a man who was definitely not ready to start his day yet. He quickly apologizes for the rude awakening, then cuts to the chase.

"This is gonna sound a bit random, but did you and Kyo hit up any thrift stores in Shimokitazawa last year? Like, May or June-ish?"

He can almost hear the creak of Kaoru's brain as it sputters to life. A pause, then, "Nah, man."

"Okay," Toshiya says, undeterred. Phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, he rifles through his wallet, debating if he should swing by an ATM. "How about this — did Kyo ever mention a jacket he wanted to buy but couldn't afford? Something military-style?" 

Thankfully, and unsurprisingly, Kaoru doesn't seem remotely curious about why Toshiya's playing thrift store detective first thing in the morning. "I honestly can't remember," he says in a low, tired rumble. "Ask Gara? They're tight."

"Cool, cool. Thanks. Go back to— oh!" Toshiya nearly drops the phone as a sudden epiphany whacks him upside the head. "Happy birthday!" If only his memory had been this cooperative yesterday when it actually mattered. 

"Thanks." 

Toshiya doesn't waste any time dialing Gara. It's a short conversation — Gara's clueless about the jacket, though he does come through with a nugget of intel about Kyo's favorite secondhand shop in Shimokitazawa. One of Toshiya's go-tos as well, as it happens. That's a start, at least.

Like the glutton for punishment he is, he tries Shinya next. The drummer is as unhelpful as he is snarky, no doubt remembering the cardigan debacle from last year because he's quick to inquire if Toshiya's become Kyo's official shopper. Toshiya offers an airheaded laugh in response, then quickly wraps up the call.

Die proves to be the jackpot; he knows instantly what Toshiya's talking about. Turns out, he was there with Kyo when the jacket was first unearthed and remembers it perfectly: a vintage U.S. Navy piece in dark blue. He's even able to pinpoint where Kyo squirreled it away behind other items on the rack to keep it safe from rival shoppers.

"Thanks, man, you're a lifesaver," Toshiya exhales with genuine gratitude.

"So, what's the occa—"

"Alright, catch you at practice tomorrow, bye!"

The weather is crisp and clear, and Toshiya opts to walk the thirty minutes to Shimokitazawa. Wallet newly stocked with cash and a paper cup of convenience store coffee in hand, he starts off down Kamakura-dori, the low-rise buildings giving way to a sky so vast it makes his eyes water — but in a pleasant sort of way.

The thrift store is a veritable labyrinth of overstuffed racks, but there it is: The Jacket, still waiting for an owner after all these months, which is both surprising and not. Surprising, because it's gorgeous. Not, because it's buried behind a battalion of pea coats so dense it takes some serious wrestling to extract it. 

For about three seconds, Toshiya's victorious. Then he flips over the price tag and nearly falls on his ass: 22,000 yen. 

What in the month's grocery budget justifies this? Was this thing hand-sewn by cherubs? Did Elvis wear it? Did Kyo hide it back here because he couldn't afford it or because he knew this thing's a damn scam?

But, fuck it — Toshiya's already mentally and emotionally committed to the cause, not to mention trekked thirty minutes for it. So, he marches the garment to the register. 

This is his penance, he tells himself as he hands over the cash. This is him atoning for taking Kyo's virginity, knocking him up and then promptly bailing on their fuck-buddy arrangement, waiting until he's seven months along to offer him a place to stay, missing his birthday, and just generally ruining his life. If there was ever a moment to blow stupid money on a vintage jacket, this is that shining moment. Even if it means calling Mom later and begging for an emergency money transfer so he doesn't starve before his next paycheck.

But already on his way home, doubt starts creeping in. 

It's too much. Isn't it? 

He hasn't so much as treated Kyo to a canned coffee from a vending machine before, and now he's out here dropping 22,000 like it's no big deal? Toshiya's well aware he's got his own private flavor of sentimentality about this whole baby thing, but officially, they're just bandmates. Maybe friends. And bandmates-slash-friends do not, as a rule, buy each other pricey military couture unprovoked. 

This isn't thoughtful — it's psychotic.

By the time Toshiya gets home, his buyer's remorse has fully metastasized. The jacket goes straight to the back of his closet. Kyo would take it the wrong way, anyway. In fact, didn't he get all pissy last summer when Toshiya offered to lend him cash for this very jacket? Yeah, forget it. There's no version of reality where Kyo goes wow, thanks! and accepts this gift with a warm smile.

Feeling like the crowned prince of fools, Toshiya heads out again. First, he grabs some dirt-cheap Matsuya for lunch, then trudges to a net cafe by the station. There, with a sigh, he types into the search bar a string of words he never imagined he'd be needing: third trimester tips.

What follows is an eye-opening, soul-crushing education. Late pregnancy, it appears, isn't so much 'miracle of life' as it is a months-long torture session featuring just about every imaginable bodily pain, ache, and discomfort. Logging off, Toshiya sort of wishes he could unread some of it.

Still, he has a mission now. Armed with this cursed insight, he marches himself to Don Quijote, ready to stock up on things that might actually help Kyo.

In the baby aisle, he pauses in front of a row of baby oil. He thinks about what he just read about stretch marks. But no. Absolutely not. There's no way he's going to be the guy passive-aggressively insinuating Kyo should worry about skincare when his internal organs are playing musical chairs.

Instead, Toshiya loads up on the inoffensive and the practical: pillows designed to prop and support every conceivable angle, a floor chair with lumbar support, a shoe horn long enough for someone barely scraping 160 centimeters to use without bending, and a basketful of vaguely healthy snacks.

This is where he should've started all along: stuff that solves problems without making it weird. Solutions, not statements.

—

"Thanks for having me." 

Watching Kyo shuffle into the room, Toshiya silently marvels at the sheer contrast of the two men he's somehow found himself entangled with. Kyo's timid presence against Aoi's vibrant, commanding one makes it hard to believe they both fall under the same category of 'human male.' And that's not even touching on the fact that one's a sleek, enviable study in lean muscle, and the other… well, the other is seven months pregnant and shaped accordingly. 

Kyo's eyes sweep over the room with a muted curiosity, like he can sense the ghost of chaos that Toshiya has spent the entire evening exorcising. It's been hours of dusting, scrubbing, vacuuming, and finding homes for random crap he didn't even know he owned, and now, standing in the pristine aftermath, Toshiya's pretty damn proud of his effort. 

"You cleaned up," Kyo observes, his attention on the open space where piles of paperwork, concert memorabilia, and a lifetime supply of tangled headphones used to thrive. The sewing machine sitting on the desk is actually visible now. 

"Sure did," Toshiya replies breezily. "Only the best for my esteemed guests."

Kyo gives him an inscrutable side-eye. He lets his backpack slide off his shoulder and onto the low couch now masquerading as a bed, about to sit down when Toshiya jumps in. 

"Nope, that's not for you," he chirps, scooping up the backpack and depositing it beside the actual bed. "You're sleeping here." Seeing Kyo's lips part, no doubt some self-sacrificing pushback about to emerge, he interjects, "Don't even. There's no way I'm letting you sleep on a couch."

Kyo gives a doubtful look at the sad piece of furniture at his feet, then at Toshiya. "Those giraffe legs of yours aren't gonna fit on this."

"Giraffe legs? Aren't giraffes famous for their necks?" 

"Well, you've got the neck too. Point is, you're too long for this thing." 

"Yes," Toshiya agrees, "and guess what, I'll still be way more comfortable than you in the next months, so let's not argue. Plus, host privilege. I call the shots on sleeping arrangements."

"Fine," Kyo concedes. His tone says whatever, but his whole body practically sighs in relief when he sits down on the freshly made bed.

Parking his behind on the edge of the kotatsu table, Toshiya gestures toward the loot he hauled from Don Quijote earlier, now neatly arranged on the bed. "Got you some extra pillows. Trust me, it's a game changer to have one between your knees when you sleep," he informs Kyo knowingly. 

Kyo gives the pillows a cursory glance, then looks back at Toshiya with a smile tugging at his lips. "Oh yeah? Appreciate it," he replies, and Toshiya gets the sense the pillow trick is old news to him.

Toshiya's eyes slide over to the backpack by the bed. It's a decent size, but seeing as Kyo might be staying until the end of May, it seems a little insufficient. Granted, they haven't discussed the exact timeline, but there's no way the guy's going home after surgery. He'll need help. Probably. Toshiya has yet to Google 'C-section recovery tips,' but common sense says having a kid pulled out of your guts is not the kind of ordeal you walk off with a spring in your step. 

He tilts his chin toward the bag. "Will that be enough?"

"If I wash stuff often enough."

"There's a laundromat just a couple of blocks over. Let me know when you need to go and I'll take you there." 

"Okay. Cool."

The radio takes over the room until Toshiya decides to steer into something a tad more delicate than laundry logistics. "So… did you tell Kaoru anything about all this?"

"Mm-hm. Told him I'm staying with a relative for a bit."

"And tomorrow? You're really planning to come to the studio like nothing's up? Rocking the parka all through the rehearsals and recording?"

Kyo's head bobs in affirmation as he pretends not to hear the skepticism in Toshiya's voice. "Yep. Got the demo from Kaoru. Lyrics are finished and I've practiced some." After a beat, he adds offhandedly, "Nice solo, by the way."

"Thanks," Toshiya says on autopilot, the rare praise causing him to momentarily lose his thread. It takes him a second to circle back to what was said before that 'nice solo' part. "Wait, practiced where? You're not belting out lyrics in manga cafes, are you?"

Kyo snorts. "No. Karaoke boxes."

"Oh. That's… resourceful," Toshiya says, picturing it: Kyo, pregnant and impassioned, singing to the sound of his headphones in the disco ball glow of an empty karaoke room, a complimentary bowl of edamame as his sole audience. It's funny for a split second before the reality of their situation sets in: tomorrow won't be as forgiving. Toshiya has to ask, "You do realize there's gonna be questions, right?"

"My health condition comes with low iron levels. I'm extremely sensitive to cold."

"Yes, Kaoru mentioned," Toshiya says dryly. He's not sold. In February and March, the studio ACs are typically set to 'tropical hellfire,' meaning Kyo will be visibly baking while insisting he's a hair's breadth away from hypothermia. "And when someone pokes at that story, which they will, what's the name of this mysterious, iron-draining disease?"

"It's a rare and highly complicated condition called mind your own business." 

Toshiya releases one of those patented long-suffering sighs that have lately become a regular part of his respiratory function. "Wouldn't it be easier to just... tell them the truth?" he suggests, cautiously hopeful that Kyo might just consider it. "Staying all secretive is just gonna get them thinking you're hiding something way worse. Or, like, super embarrassing."

Kyo crosses his arms and sits a bit straighter, unintentionally highlighting the swell of his stomach as the fabric of his hoodie tightens across it. "Please," he says blandly. "Whatever theories they cook up won't be half as embarrassing as the actual freak show going on here."

Toshiya wants to argue. He wants to say that the situation is many things, but 'embarrassing' isn't one of them. That there's nothing shameful about bringing life into the world, no matter how unorthodox the means. 

But as his eyes inevitably gravitate to the curve pushing against Kyo's hoodie, he swallows back the feel-goodery. He'd probably feel the same if he was in Kyo's shoes. Mortified. Trapped. Maybe even angry. He wouldn't believe it if someone told him the sight wasn't actually bad at all. Or that it didn't stir any disgust, but rather something warm.

'Cause it's a bitter sweet symphony, this life, the radio supplies its unsolicited but spot-on commentary.  

They catch each other's eye, and can't help but crack small, wry smiles.

Chapter Text

Turns out, Toshiya's worries about Kyo's return to work were somewhat overblown. 

Questions do crop up, of course. But when pressed for the name of his condition, Kyo's excuse — "I honestly can't even pronounce it" — sails through unchallenged, everyone probably picturing some convoluted Latin monstrosity far beyond their pay grade. Whether for dramatics or credibility, Kyo even throws them a little bone, adding that his condition is so rare only two people in Japan have had it before. This nets a few get outta heres and a poorly-received joke from Die about how they could make bank by auctioning Kyo off to some black market medical research. Keeping it classy as always.

Toshiya, meanwhile, sits there chewing on that little detail, wondering if it's true. Is Kyo actually one of only three men in Japan to wind up pregnant? 

Whatever the case, the third-degree Toshiya braced himself for never comes; seeing their singer stroll into the studio on his own two feet and hearing him belt out lyrics with the same hellish volume as always, the band seems satisfied. No one even bothers questioning the ridiculous parka Kyo won't shed even when sweat drips off his nose, because what the hell do they know about obscure, unpronounceable autoimmune conditions? Zilch. 

But as the session wears on, it becomes obvious that Kyo isn't running at full capacity. He's huffing and puffing by the end of the first full run-through of the song, and Toshiya can see the telltale signs of fatigue setting in far quicker than normal. Even Kaoru, who's not exactly known for cutting anyone slack, seems to take pity on him (or he's just fed up with the lackluster performance), because he mercifully calls it a day ahead of schedule.

Which feels like a win for all of five minutes, right up until they reach Shinjuku-sanchome station and realize it's peak rush hour. 

Toshiya hovers close to Kyo, eyes peeled like a hawk as they weave through the mob. Kyo's subtle, protective arm over his midsection doesn't go unnoticed, and the fact that he has to do it makes Toshiya's blood simmer. Yes, it's not like these commuting zombies could possibly know they're elbowing past a pregnant man, but that rational thought offers little comfort. Every time someone clips Kyo with a bag or bumps him with a shoulder, Toshiya's fingers twitch with the urge to grab them by the collar and launch them straight into the nearest vending machine. 

By the time they cram onto the train, he's had it. With a firm grip on Kyo's arm, he bulldozes through the sea of bodies toward the doors, zeroing in on an office lady occupying the prime real estate by the doors. He gives her his best beat it or else look — which might not have been all that intimidating on its own, but when she catches the bleach-haired punk he's dragging along, shady oversized coat hiding who-knows-what, she decides she wants no part of this. 

The moment she shuffles aside, Toshiya ushers the punk in question into the newly freed nook. Sardine-can conditions notwithstanding, Kyo's at least got something solid to lean on, with Toshiya stationed in front as a barricade against the press of bodies. 

Oddly enough, Kyo doesn't utter a word through it all. No snark about Toshiya playing the white knight, no grumble about how he doesn't need babysitting, which lack of protest actually says more than any wisecrack would. 

Once the train jolts into motion, Toshiya finally quits scowling at the perfectly able-bodied crowd camped out in the priority seats, all expertly pretending to be deep in slumber to avoid having to give up their spots. With a disgusted exhale, he shifts his attention to Kyo, catching a brief upward flick of eyes before Kyo's gaze drops to somewhere south of Toshiya's collarbone.

"Hey, back at the studio," Toshiya starts, keeping his voice low. "Was it just the heat getting to you?" Because if so, he's fully prepared to battle it out with the building's HVAC system tomorrow. 

Kyo shakes his head and tugs down his scarf, revealing a mouth set in a slight frown. "It's more like… everything's cramped inside, you know? Not a lot of space left for lungs and stuff," he explains to Toshiya's coat zipper. A beat later, he adds, "Well, the heat doesn't help."

Toshiya must have read about that, but clearly, his brain tried to block it out for self-preservation because it seems he'd conveniently forgotten the squished lungs factoid. Sounds fucking awful. 

The grim math starts calculating itself. If breathing is this much of an issue now, what's it going to be like three weeks from now? Babies grow fast in the final stretch, that much Toshiya does remember, and that space has to come from somewhere — meaning, either the bump's going to hit a growth spurt, or Kyo's insides are about to get squeezed even tighter. Neither scenario sounds remotely ideal for a guy whose job right now is to sing at full lung capacity while keeping the expanding midsection hidden.

Toshiya is catapulted out of his bleak thoughts when the train gives a violent jerk, sending a ripple of sway through the packed compartment. His hand flies out to catch the seat partition behind Kyo — except Kyo's already holding him off, like this kind of crap happens so often it barely even registers anymore. 

"Sorry," Toshiya mutters as he rights himself. 

Kyo drops his hands, his head turned to the side toward the doors. "Just hold onto it."

Toshiya does as told, gripping the partition with one hand. Trying to ignore the whole 'kabedon in public transit' scenario they've now got going on, he lets his eyes drift over the crowd. Man, if only he had a car. And, well, a couple of minor essentials like a license and the actual ability to drive. 

He finds himself longing for Yoshiki, which is one hell of a new sensation. He knows Kyo lobbied hard for the earliest possible recording schedule and that early March was the best Yoshiki could do, but Toshiya would gladly trade a kidney to have that man show up tomorrow. The sooner they bang out this single, the sooner Kyo can focus on more pressing matters, like mainlining vitamins and taking naps.

After getting bodily ejected from Sasazuka station by the human stampede, they're both pretty much ready to call it a night. But hunger trumps fatigue, so they make a pit stop for groceries on the way home. 

In the condiments aisle, there's a stroller parked by the shelf, the mom nearby comparing labels. Toshiya watches as Kyo sneaks a peek into the stroller, then quickly glances over his shoulder, looking sheepish at having been caught. Toshiya bites his lip to keep from smiling.

Curious, he takes a look himself, but nothing much stirs in him. No newfound fascination with babies as a collective, then. Just a singular preoccupation with the one hitching a ride inside his bandmate. 

Being the selfless hero that he is, Toshiya takes charge of dinner — which is a fancy way of saying he slaps some frozen meals onto a pan and stares at them until they turn into something vaguely food-like. Kyo, meanwhile, gravitates toward the bed like a moth to a flame, and by the time the so-called meal is ready, he's out cold, face-first in the pillow. Toshiya feels like a monster shaking him awake.

Dinner proceeds uneventfully. With the radio serving as a placeholder for conversation, alternating between classic rock and a DJ who needs to lay off the coffee, Toshiya finds his thoughts drifting to Aoi. It's Melville's opening night, and the guy's probably shredding his heart out on stage right about now. Later, he'll be high on adrenaline, itching to talk Toshiya's ear off about the set over the phone. Toshiya's not sure he has the bandwidth for that tonight.

Truth be told, he's kind of hoping Aoi will be too busy to call much over the coming week and a half. Not because he doesn't care, but because he isn't particularly keen on freezing his balls off on the balcony for hours while trying to match Aoi's post-show energy — and balcony it would have to be, because heartfelt boyfriend debriefs aren't happening within Kyo's earshot. 

After dinner, Toshiya waves off Kyo's offer to handle the dishes and gets to work himself. Normally, this is a job he'd punt to Future Toshiya, that sucker who'd groan and tackle it sometime in the next fiscal quarter. But tonight, he diligently scrubs each dish with an attention to detail he seldom musters. Call it pride, call it shame, but there's no way he's letting Kyo discover some dried-up, crusty relic from a meal long past clinging to a plate. 

It's only been a day, but Toshiya's already clocked that Kyo is tidy. Not in any over-the-top, neurotic way, but just… organized. The kind of person who removes the cap and label from a PET bottle the second it's empty and actually recycles it properly, unlike a certain someone who may or may not just chuck the whole thing in the bin and call it a day. Could be Kyo's just trying to be a good guest, but Toshiya doubts it. The way he absently arranges his things and cleans up immediately after using something seems alarmingly habitual. And Toshiya, who operates best in a carefully curated mess, is feeling the pressure to be a little less… himself. 

Once the last plate is rinsed and propped up to dry, he wipes his hands on a dishtowel and leans back against the counter, feeling a little adrift. 

Now what? If he were alone, he'd probably crack open a beer and slowly waste away in front of TV. Or he might catch up with that book he's been half-assing for weeks. Grab a drink with a friend, if he had the energy. Laundry, if he felt particularly productive or was down to his last pair of underwear. Or, more realistically, he'd take a long bath, jerk off, and pass out. 

But now there's Kyo, quietly present like some enigmatic, pregnant housecat. He's not in the way, exactly, but he's just… there enough to throw off Toshiya's usual flow. And for some inexplicable reason, trying to kick back with TV or a book with Kyo in the room feels oddly performative, like he's putting on some kind of look at me casually living my life act.

Bath, he decides. He'll offer a bath.

Peeking into the living area, he finds Kyo curled up in the floor chair he picked up for him, knees tucked up under the kotatsu quilt, nose buried in a comic. He looks perfectly at home, like he's been here for months instead of just twenty-four hours. Good, Toshiya thinks. At least one of them feels like they belong here.

He rests his shoulder up against the doorframe and clears his throat. "Hey, wanna take a bath?"

Kyo looks up slowly, his expression vaguely suspicious.

Suddenly paranoid he's accidentally implied some shared bath scenario, Toshiya rushes to clarify, "I mean, do you want to go first? It's got that fancy thing that keeps the water hot. Very… luxurious…" His voice peters out uncertainly. 

Is he being weird? He's only ever had to navigate bath logistics in a family setting, and now he's wondering if reusing bathwater between roommates is even a thing. Is it gross? Does it make him sound cheap, or worse, like some perv secretly hoping to bask in Kyo-infused water?

God, he's a moron. They've done way nastier things to each other than share a damn tub, and the fact that that crosses his mind right now is not helpful. 

"No thanks," says Kyo. "I'll just shower later."

Toshiya exhales slowly through his nose. Alright then, doesn't look like Kyo's taken it the wrong way. "You sure?"

"Mm-hm," Kyo hums, already sinking back into his manga bubble.

"I read that hot baths are good for—"

"No, Toshiya," Kyo interrupts, his eyes snapping back up with sudden irritation. "I'm not taking a bath. You think I wanna just sit there with this stupid bump? Forget it."

And just like that, Toshiya wishes he could rewind time. Ten measly seconds. Enough to take the damn hint and avoid the sucker punch of learning that Kyo's so miserable in his own skin that the mere idea of sitting still and seeing himself is unbearable.

"Okay," he says, trying to sound unaffected even though his chest feels tight. Kyo's already pretending to be absorbed in his manga again, but the red creeping up his neck speaks of a shared cringe at how that went down. Trying to defuse the tension, Toshiya offers a light, "Well, I'll be camped out in there for the foreseeable future. Don't send a search party." 

Getting a terse nod in response, he gathers his essentials and escapes to the bathroom.

Inside, he flips on the ventilation, plugs the tub, cranks the tap to max, and dumps in an irresponsible amount of bath salts. Then he leans against the counter, arms crossed tight over his chest, and spends the eternity it takes for the tub to fill staring blankly into it, letting the roar of the water drown out his internal self-flagellation. 

When it's finally ready, he twists off the tap and strips down without bothering with a rinse. This is his private stewpot, and he'll marinate in his own filth if he damn well pleases. Stepping in gingerly, he lets out a series of tiny, pained moans as the heat sears straight to his bone marrow in that exquisite agony he wishes wouldn't end. Inch by inch, he submerges until the water crests the edge and he's settled, head tipped back against the cool plastic rim. He exhales a sigh, a real lung-emptying affair that, sadly, does nothing to dislodge the tension sitting in his chest.

Man. This is going to be one long, awkward spring.

Logically, he knows having a roommate doesn't mean he's got to overhaul his entire existence. He just needs to remember basic social graces, like keeping random nudity to a minimum and maybe putting some thought into what he says before opening his trap. Because, yeah, if he'd taken all of two seconds to use his brain earlier, he might've realized that asking someone whose body must feel like an alien invasion site if they want to relaxingly display it in a bathtub wasn't the move.

Still, apart from his talent for manufacturing uncomfortable situations, nothing's stopping him from going about life as usual. Kyo being here doesn't mean he's contractually obliged to hang out with the guy every waking second. He's got friends, for example. And with Aoi out of town, now would be a good chance to catch up with some of them. 

But of course, it's never that simple. Because Kyo won't be hanging out with friends, will he? He won't be having dinners with Gara or scouring thrift stores with Die, or doing whatever it is that he does socially. Kyo's going to be cooped up here for the majority of the time, and it's probably safe to say that once the single is wrapped, the only people he'll be interacting with are Toshiya and the hospital staff.

Toshiya contemplates the pruned state of his fingertips, but what he's really staring down at is the barrel of two brutal truths: one, there's the guilt he's already preloading over all the evenings he'll inevitably spend out with Aoi while Kyo's stuck here with nothing but his 'stupid bump' for company. And two, there's the sobering forecast that alone time is about to become a luxury he won't have for months.

…He's going to lose his mind, isn't he?

—

Except, shockingly, he doesn't.

A week in, and the Kyo-shaped wrench thrown into his living situation doesn't feel like the upheaval he dreaded. It's… kind of alright. Pleasant, even. So much so that Toshiya finds himself reconsidering his long-standing anti-flatmate stance.

At least, if the flatmate in question is this low-maintenance. And not just low-maintenance, but downright handy to have around. Kyo, to Toshiya's relief (and delight), is not the nagging type of tidy; he's the 'mom' type of tidy, quietly swooping in and cleaning up messes before Toshiya even registers them. Of course, Toshiya would rather eat glass than let the words 'mommy material' see the light of day, but, well… if the shoe fits.

Socially, it's smooth sailing too. They hang out a fair bit, but there's no pressure when they don't. Kyo is a self-contained entertainment unit, stocked with a solid arsenal of indoor hobbies to keep him occupied — particularly after he sweet-talks Kaoru into hauling his beloved gaming setup over to the studio, so he can bring it to 'his relative's place' (who just so happens to live on Toshiya's train line). Controller practically welded to his hands, he zones out for hours at a time, his only contributions to the real world being the occasional grunt or curse as he shifts, trying to find some semblance of comfort for his ever-aching, ever-expanding body. 

And speaking of that body — it stays well hidden under a uniform of baggy clothes. But when the lights go out, so do the hoodies, a fact Toshiya discovers thanks to Kyo's habit of kicking off the comforter in his sleep. Being the one who usually wakes up first, he often gets an unintentional eyeful. 

He tries not to gawk. Out of respect. But when Kyo's sprawled out on his side, with his t-shirt rucked up to expose a strip of skin stretched taut, sometimes Toshiya's gaze lingers a little longer than it should. Sometimes, it follows that faint dark line running down the middle of Kyo's belly, straight to where the morning situation in his joggers is pressed snug against the underside of his abdomen. 

It's… well, it's a strange sight. Weirdly compelling in a way that has Toshiya thinking there's definitely a niche market for this sort of thing. Not that he's shopping, but someone out there, almost certainly, is.

As for Kyo's earlier warning about being a hormonal disaster, it seems it might have been a bit dramatic. He's remarkably even-keeled, and not just baseline 'fine' but skirting the edge of 'in good spirits' on more days than not. That said, if there is one reliable way to nuke that good mood, it's bringing up anything baby-related. Kyo will humor a stray comment, maybe even throw out a dry joke if he's feeling particularly charitable, but test those waters one too many times and the hackles go up fast.

Which sucks, because Toshiya is dying to know more. Chiefly, he's curious about what the hell is going on inside Kyo's head. How does someone walk around with a human made of their own genetic material cooking inside them and not have big, messy, existential feelings about it? 

Toshiya is itching to ask if Kyo's mind ever goes to those 'what if we kept it' scenarios he sometimes entertains — not out of any real intent, but come on, it's impossible not to think about. What would their co-parenting look like? Would they do weekly handoffs? One week with Chill Dad Toshiya, followed by a week with Kyo, who… might actually also be pretty chill, come to think of it. Which means their kid would grow up to be an entitled little tyrant. 

And god, what if it was a girl? Forget it. They'd spoil her stupid. Absolutely no chance of raising a grounded human being.

Anyway. It's just a fun thought exercise. Fun, and sometimes a little sad if he thinks too hard about it.

But as much as he wants to unload all these musings, he also wants to keep breathing. So, in the interest of avoiding an untimely demise by roommate shanking, he puts a lid on it, hoping that maybe one day, when this is all behind them, he'll get some answers.

Mostly, however, it's not the prickly reactions to baby talk that clue Toshiya into Kyo's emotional pendulum — it's the tears. And holy hell, do they hit out of nowhere. Like coming home craving houjisha only to discover they've run out, or when a comic book panel hits a nerve just so. And every time it happens, Kyo retreats to the bathroom to ride it out in private: door shuts, faucet runs, and Toshiya sits there listening to muffled nose-blowing as a grown man falls apart over something that wouldn't faze a five-year-old.

One lazy afternoon, tired of the whole 'suffer in silence' routine, Toshiya decides to speak his mind. 

Sprawled on the perpetually unmade couch-bed with his feet kicked up on the kotatsu, socks rolled halfway down his feet, he watches Kyo return from another tearful retreat. This particular one was brought to you by an ill-advised choice of television programming: a nature documentary. Baby turtles, to be specific. It was a horde of them, barely out of their shells, flailing across the sand in a desperate bid for the ocean. Most didn't make it; cue a devastated little gasp from the bed, followed by an immediate beeline to the bathroom. 

"You know you don't have to hide in the bathroom to do that, right?" Toshiya says, keeping his tone nonchalant so it doesn't sound like a big deal. "I know you're not a crybaby normally. Hormones are wild. I get it." Well, he doesn't really get it. More like, he knows it's a thing and is not here to judge.

"Hands off my last bit of dignity," Kyo mutters, voice congested as he crawls onto the bed, one hand supporting his belly. He snuggles up to his trusty banana-shaped body pillow, draping a leg over it, arms clamped around possessively. 

At this point, Toshiya's fully convinced that if that pillow ever took a human form, Kyo would propose on the spot and declare it the true father of his child. He can't help but eye the cozy setup with mild envy. Meanwhile, he's stuck with this miserable excuse for a couch, waking up every morning feeling like he's been in a minor car accident.

"Dignity," he says, popping a wasabi pea into his mouth, "is overrated. I'd bawl my eyes out in front of you any day." That's about as far as he gets before the wasabi punches him right in the sinuses, his eyes immediately welling up. "Case in point," he sniffles while fumbling for a tissue. 

At least it gets a little chuckle out of Kyo, and honestly, Toshiya would gladly make an absolute ass of himself a million times over to keep that sound coming. "Yeah, well, easy for you to say. You wouldn't know dignity if it walked up and kicked you in the ass," Kyo retorts, but there's not a hint of malice in his tone, just the kind of friendly snark they've grown comfortable with.

"Keep that attitude up, and it's back to your vagabond days for you," Toshiya warns, and they both know the threat's toothless.

"Mm-hm."

He chucks the balled-up tissue onto the kotatsu and leans back, hands clasped in his lap. "For real though," he says, "I kinda thought you'd be lashing out a lot more. Was ready to get cussed out and have objects flying at me daily."

Kyo hums, his cheek squished against the pillow as he gazes thoughtfully down at Toshiya. "Maybe I was a mess back then because I was stressed out about stuff all the time," he muses. "Like, where to go before Kaoru got home, or how much grief the band was gonna give me. Now, I dunno. Feels like I can just be, you know?"

The unexpectedly candid response draws a smile from Toshiya. "Yeah? Well, I'm glad," he says, pleased to hear he's managed to provide some peace of mind, though the sentiment barely has time to settle before Kyo's smirk skewers the moment. 

"But good to know you were prepped for me to go full Godzilla on you," he jests. "I'm sure that'll happen when I get tired of looking at your dumb face every day."

Toshiya's mouth runs off before his brain can intervene. "Ha. Don't worry, Aoi's coming back tomorrow. You'll be spared from my unsightly presence most evenings."

The TV chooses that exact moment to serve up a dramatic pause, plunging the room into a painful two seconds of dead silence.

"Ah, okay," Kyo says. His fingers come up to sweep some hair out of his face, brown eyes shifting toward the TV. "Was wondering if he's still in the picture." 

Toshiya only notices how rigid he's gone when he feels his muscles uncoil, melting back into the rumpled bedding. "Still in the picture," he confirms, breezily as he can, his eyes also glued to the TV now. "Just out on tour right now." 

"I see." There's a pause. Onscreen, lots of yelling after whatever plot twist just unspooled. Offscreen, lots of uncomfortable nothing. Then: "So, you guys hang out every day?" 

"Mmh, no, I was exaggerating. Maybe every other day, depending on his work and stuff."

"And what do you do together?"

Surprised, Toshiya glances at Kyo. The guy isn't just tolerating the subject but straight-up curious about it? That's unexpected. Then again, maybe it shouldn't be. Maybe he's been overthinking this whole thing, assuming there's some unspoken sore spot left over from how their thing fizzled out. Maybe talking about Aoi doesn't have to be weird. What a concept.

Toshiya considers the question. What do he and Aoi do together? They eat, they talk, and they have sex. That's the gist of it, really. Half the time, Aoi shows up dead on his feet from a shift at the club, which leaves little time or energy for grand adventures.

"Not much, honestly. Eat, hang out, shoot the breeze." He omits the obvious, figuring Kyo's an adult and can fill in the blanks on his own.

And boy, does he ever. "So it's basically like friends with benefits," he concludes. 

Toshiya's hand pauses mid-reach for the wasabi peas as his eyes flick up to Kyo, who's staring back with intensity that seems a bit out of place. "Uh… no?" Peas all but forgotten, he sits up a bit more upright, ready to set the record straight. "We're, like, actually together. We're exclusive." 

"Casual things can be exclusive, too." 

A wrinkle forms between Toshiya's brows. Okay, well, if that's true, then what does make a relationship a relationship? Sharing stuff you don't share with anyone else? Yeah. Except the only significant thing happening in Toshiya's life currently is the one thing he can't talk to Aoi about. What else? Meeting each other's friends? Hasn't happened; the one time Toshiya asked if Aoi wanted to hang out with his crew, Aoi didn't seem all that keen. Shared experiences? Planning a future together? Well, that kind of stuff takes time, and they've only been at this for half a year. 

After a pause long enough to make him feel annoyingly self-conscious, Toshiya finally shrugs and says, "Well, we do date stuff, you know. Like, go out, celebrate birthdays together, that kind of thing." Not the most profound defense, but it's what he's got.

"What kind of dates?"

"Movies. Nice restaurants. The kind you have to book ahead."

Kyo props himself up on one elbow, chin resting in his hand as he scrutinizes Toshiya. "Okay, but what makes it a date?" he persists. "I do those things with friends, and we don't call them dates."

Toshiya stares at him. What is this cross-examination? Why is he suddenly having to defend the validity of his relationship like it's up for review?

"It's different," he asserts, irritation bleeding into his tone despite himself. "We're a couple. We have feelings for each other. That's what makes it a date. What's your point?" 

There it is. Feelings. That's the difference. Should've led with that, but apparently, his brain goes on strike the second someone puts him on the spot.

Kyo picks an invisible spec of lint off his sleeve like he's in a damn cartoon. "No point really. Just asking."

Toshiya can't resist. "What, you've never been in a relationship?" he fires back. It's a bit of a cheap shot — he's pretty sure Kyo's relationship history is a blank slate — but if they're playing twenty questions, he's not above tossing in one of his own. 

"'Course I have," Kyo says at once, briskly. After a beat, he backtracks with noticeably less bravado, "Well, okay, no. Not really." 

"Right."

Toshiya doesn't feel particularly smug about landing that blow. Not that there's anything inherently tragic about not having relationship experience at their age; most guys he knows are single and not sobbing into their beer over it, plus, he was in the same boat not too long ago. Monogamy isn't exactly all the rage in gay circles anyway.

Still, it gets him thinking. If Kyo did want that kind of experience, how would he even get there? It's not like the guy makes it easy on himself. He's cute enough, and more talented than he probably realizes, but his whole social strategy seems to boil down to 'everyone sucks until proven otherwise.' Not the ideal starting conditions for a thriving dating life, Toshiya imagines. 

Maybe, after they've put this whole baby chapter to bed, Toshiya could introduce him to someone. He's got a decent social circle; surely he could dig up someone who's not a total disaster, someone who might actually be a good fit…

But no sooner does the idea emerge than his gut seizes up in visceral hell no. Some primitive, territorial caveman rears up from the depths of his subconscious, and suddenly, he's gripped by this ludicrous notion that Kyo is, in some provisional way, his. For absolutely no rational reason, the idea of passing him off to someone else is, like, actually upsetting. 

Jesus. He drags a hand down his face, which feels uncomfortably warm. What a steaming pile of nonsense he just cooked up in his head. Just more evidence that there's some sort of 'pregnancy brain by proxy' situation going on with him. Give it a few months, and he'll look back on this moment and cringe so hard he'll invert himself. Seriously, thinking Kyo is his? Might as well claim ownership over the Pope while he's at it.

He only realizes he's mentally gallivanted all the way off to Vatican City when Kyo's voice yanks him back to the room. 

"So loud." 

Toshiya turns to him, confused for a heartbeat. "Huh?" 

"Your thoughts're loud," Kyo mumbles, his words half-eaten by the pillow he's gone back to cuddling up with. "And you look all constipated. What're you thinking about?" 

Toshiya hesitates, tracing back to the starting point of his mental detour. No way in hell he's confessing to the jealousy bullshit, but he supposes there's no reason to lie about the rest. 

"Future," he says. "You know, post-baby. Thought maybe I could, like… set you up with someone..." He trails off, because even that feels weird to say out loud. 

He waits for the inevitable snort, an eye roll, or some snide comment about not needing a damn matchmaking service. All of the above, possibly. But instead, Kyo just keeps watching him with those unreadable eyes of his for a moment. 

"I mean…" the singer says at length, voice easy but with an undercurrent of tiredness that doesn't quite fit the words, "sure. Why not, right? Might as well see what the fuss is about. Dates and all that." 

Toshiya stares back, gobsmacked. He didn't expect Kyo to even consider the idea, let alone say yes like it's no big deal. Well, shit. Guess that's what he gets for opening his mouth. 

"Must be something to it," Kyo adds a little absently, "if you're still into it after all these months." 

Toshiya finally remembers to blink. He tears his eyes from Kyo and directs them blankly toward the corner of the ceiling, where absolutely no helpful thoughts reside. "Yeah," he agrees, not having a clue what else to say. "I guess."

Chapter Text

When Melville's tour comes to an end, so too does Toshiya's ability to keep procrastinating on the inevitable.

Aoi, who's itching for some post-tour decompression (by which he means hanging out at Toshiya's place and definitely not talking about anything serious) wastes no time reaching out once back in town. Quick to maneuver, Toshiya responds by rerouting their meet-up to a cafe halfway between their places. Public setting. Neutral ground. Perfect spot for unpleasant disclosures. 

Over some leaf-infused hot water neither has a true taste for, he threads his news through the eye of a needle: Kyo is staying at his for the time being, and the details of the why are strictly on a need-to-not-know basis. Sorry. He makes sure to emphasize how much of a headache this whole arrangement is for him, in fact, he commits so hard to the bit that if Kyo by some horrific chance overheard this spiel, Toshiya would have no choice but to fall on his sword right there on the cafe floor. Because the guy's been a goddamn delight to have around, and honestly, Toshiya kind of wishes he was a bit of a pain just so he could at least bitch about it sincerely.

Surprisingly, Aoi takes it… fine? He's not thrilled, obviously, and doesn't offer to chip in when Toshiya later pays for their two hours at a love hotel, but he's also not flipping tables or making comments about how he would kick any freeloading friend to the curb if they dared get in the way of their private time. 

In the hotel, Toshiya makes it his mission to ensure Aoi's takeaway of the day is all about indulgent pleasure and zero about annoying living arrangements. The first step is a bubble bath, where Aoi gets to recount tour tales to his heart's content. Toshiya, for his part, turns into the most attentive, supportive partner to ever grace this undeserving planet, listening like a man bewitched, treating every word like it's the best thing he's heard all week despite having been texted every detail already.

The main event that follows is a tactical campaign in carnal overachievement, with the sole aim of Aoi getting his mind recklessly, marvelously blown — which after ten days of being deprived of even basic solo relief turns out to be a quick operation. 

They laze in bed afterward, with Toshiya shoveling on the affection and compliments by the bucketload. Any normal guy would roll his eyes and tell him to knock it off, but not Aoi. He drinks it in like a parched plant finally getting watered. 

And when the plant sheepishly confesses that he thought Toshiya dragged him out to break up or admit to cheating, Toshiya has to physically restrain himself from fist-pumping. If that was the expectation, then the actual news must've felt like a freaking gift basket in comparison. 

So yeah, Operation Keep the Peace is a smashing success — until, in classic storytelling fashion, it isn't.

Ten minutes before their time in the paid paradise is up, Aoi emerges all sleek and styled from the bathroom. This is when Toshiya, sitting on the edge of the bed and threading his arms through the sleeves of his college shirt, tosses out a request he'll soon wish he could take back.

"Hey, mind grabbing my smokes? They're in my coat pocket."

Aoi gives a salute, sauntering over to the coat rack. He rummages around in Toshiya's pockets and finds the pack soon enough — only, he unintentionally retrieves more than just that. A dark slip of paper flutters out and dances its way to the hideous patterned carpet.

He stoops to pick it up, and Toshiya doesn't think much of it, busy rolling on his socks and silently congratulating himself on how smoothly the whole thing's gone. But then the quiet pulls a little too taut. Looking up, he finds Aoi stone-still, eyes glued to the scrap in his hand. 

His heart begins a slow, steady plummet straight into hell when it dawns on him what his boyfriend has just unearthed. 

With bated breath, he watches as Aoi turns to the coats and reaches back into the pocket. Out comes the counterpart of the torn sonogram, the picture now complete and unmistakable.

Aoi's eyes lift to Toshiya's, disbelief etched all over his face. 

Toshiya sits frozen, his spine ramrod straight and heart beating like a hummingbird's. He might as well have been caught balls-deep in another guy for how absolutely busted he feels, his mind racing through a split-second eternity trying to cobble together the cover story he's going to need in, oh, about now. 

"Have you got someone pregnant?" Aoi says numbly. "When did this happen?"

"Before we met," Toshiya says quickly, his voice a shade too loud in the quiet room. "One huge, stupid mistake, and she's... well, she's not keeping it. The baby, I mean. She's putting it up for adoption. It's not — not a thing. There's nothing between me and her, in case you're wondering. Never was." 

Oh, man. The sheer, naked confusion in Aoi's eyes is so much worse than any anger Toshiya had braced for, so hard to look at he has to actively fight the urge to avert his eyes. 

Sounding uncertain, like he's now second-guessing his own memory, Aoi says, "But didn't you tell me you're not bi?"

Toshiya wrenches on a shaky smile. "I'm not. Last summer I, uh, experimented. To cross it off the list, you know? Turns out, not my scene." He coughs up a laugh. Technically, he's not lying. He did experiment plenty last summer… just not with any women.

Aoi isn't chuckling along. His gaze bounces between Toshiya and the evidence in his hand, and his brow is now starting to furrow. "Why do you have these on you?" 

Toshiya drags his teeth over his lower lip. "I guess I'm just… trying to be supportive?" he tries. "I mean, it's half my doing, right?" That hardly answers the question, but how do you explain, without sounding emotionally invested, that tossing a photo of your unborn child into the trash feels just plain wrong? "I'm not, like, involved," he adds for reassurance. "Just trying to do the right thing in a crappy situation."

The words don't quite stick the landing. "Crappy situation?" Aoi repeats, frustration finally cracking through the haze of disbelief. "Two weeks back when you told me you felt a baby kick — that was her, wasn't it? You were excited about it!"

Ugh. Toshiya would love nothing more than to rewind time, go slap some sense into his past self who thought that sharing that moment was a brilliant idea. "Not excited… More like, you know, curious… There's a difference," he says weakly.

He's sweating now. He's praying to every force out there that Aoi doesn't recall that little piece of biology trivia he let slip in the same conversation. Because if he puts 'men can get pregnant' together with 'Kyo has mysteriously moved in and Toshiya carries an ultrasound photo around,' it won't exactly require Sherlock Holmes-level deduction skills to crack the case.

By some cosmic mercy, Aoi doesn't go there. Instead, he hones in on a more immediate betrayal: "And you didn't think to mention this to me?" 

"I didn't want you to freak out, okay? Didn't want you thinking I've got something going on with her," Toshiya explains. He pauses for half a second, then takes a risky leap, "You can get kinda paranoid sometimes, you know." Yes, throwing Aoi's insecurities in his face is a dick move, but survival instincts are steering the ship now. It's deflect or die.

Aoi does not seize the opportunity to self-reflect. His expression hardens further as another memory clicks into focus. "You were texting her later that night, weren't you?" he shoots back accusingly. "When you got all secretive and weird and wouldn't show me your phone. That was her." 

"No! Fuck — no, Aoi, I wasn't texting her." Toshiya's on his feet now, though he doesn't even remember standing up. He drags a hand through his hair. "I swear that's all there is — an unexpected thing I need to see through. But after it's over, she's out of my life. For good."

"And what if she changes her mind? What if the moment she sees the baby she decides to keep it?" 

"She won't," Toshiya says, then almost laughs at the notion. Finally something he can say with genuine conviction. "She doesn't want to be a mom. She's miserable with the whole situation. We're both just waiting for this nightmare to be over so we can forget it even happened and move on." That's the official stance, anyway — but deep down, there's a squirmy feeling inside Toshiya, like maybe he's not quite as eager for all this to be over as he claims. Maybe he doesn't want to forget. God, he's such a mess. 

Aoi exhales sharply. "Nightmare. Right. Yet there you were, together, marveling at the baby's kicks like a happy little family."

And to that, Toshiya has no comeback. Not because the moment was the cozy domestic scene Aoi's painting it into, but because… it wasn't not like that either. 

Aoi lifts his hand to rub at his forehead. His shoulders sag with the sigh that pushes out of his lungs, and he flings the sonogram pieces to the carpet. 

Trying to ignore the tiny twinge of offense at the flippant gesture, Toshiya risks a step forward, half expecting to get decked or at least shoved away. But Aoi doesn't move, doesn't react at all, and it's an open enough invitation for Toshiya to close in. 

"Hey," he says, voice low and careful, as he skims his palms along Aoi's arms. He waits until those dark, hurt eyes rise to meet his own before continuing, "I get it. This is a lot, and god knows I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. But it has nothing to do with you and me. I'm not running off to play house. That's not what's in the cards for me, ever. Music is. You are." 

Aoi leans forward with another sigh, forehead softly bumping against Toshiya's shoulder. Toshiya, getting the non-verbal memo, wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. He inhales deeply, taking in the familiar scent of that cologne he picked out for Aoi, a scent Aoi has loyally worn every single day since. 

"Ten days," Aoi mutters into Toshiya's shirt, his fingers bunching in the fabric. "I'm gone for ten days, and I come back to you living with someone and a baby on the way. After my next tour, there'll be a wedding invitation in my mailbox." 

Living with someone and a baby on the way, Toshiya thinks. How does this guy not see the breadcrumbs? 

He decides not to touch the wedding barb, and in the ensuing silence, Aoi starts to slowly melt against him. His muscles relax, his grip on Toshiya's shirt slackens, and then, finally, his arms find their way around Toshiya's waist in a tentative embrace. Toshiya rolls his eyes heavenward in a silent, exasperated 'thank you' to whoever's running the show up there. Seems like they've made it out of the woods on this one.

"Well…" Aoi speaks up eventually, cheek now pressed comfortably against Toshiya's shoulder. "You tore up that photo… You must've been pretty pissed when you found out, huh?" 

Toshiya lets out a vague hum, adjusting slightly to prop his chin atop Aoi's shampoo-ad-worthy head, eyes slipping closed momentarily. 'Pissed' isn't exactly the word, but he murmurs, "That's one way to put it." 

God, couple's quarrels are exhausting. Never again, if he can help it.

The night has fallen hours ago and the streets are mostly deserted by the time he's making the walk back home. Which is why it's almost too easy to spot Kyo. Cast in sharp relief by the bright fluorescents of the twenty-four-hour laundromat, he's perched on a chair in there like some urban art installation. He's flipping through a magazine, bundled up in his usual armor of a parka and surgical mask, overgrown bangs spilling over his brow. He looks peaceful. 

From across the narrow shopping street, Toshiya watches him through the window. It's such a mundane moment, so stupidly unremarkable, and yet something about the sight makes his chest feel like it's caving in. Then, maybe it's not about Kyo browsing pages in a laundromat. Maybe it's about Toshiya, standing here on the outside, looking in at a slice of life that's somehow both his and not his at all. 

At first, Kyo doesn't pay him much mind, just offering a fleeting, disinterested glance when the door opens. A second later, his brain seems to catch up to who walked in, and his head whips back up.

"Hi," he greets, the surprise clear in his voice as he straightens up. He lays the magazine flat over his thighs and tugs his mask down, revealing a faintly quizzical expression. 

Street fashion, it looks like when Toshiya peeks at the magazine before settling a couple of chairs down. Figures. Kyo must be counting the days until he can shove the parka into the trash and start dressing like himself again.

Toshiya stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankles, then jerks his chin toward the one laundry machine making a racket like it's gearing up for takeoff. "How much time left on that thing?" 

"Twenty minutes, give or take. You can head home. I don't need help." 

"Nah, I'll wait. If you don't mind." 

Kyo gives a loose 'suit yourself' shrug. But rather than getting back to his magazine, he closes it and starts carefully rolling it into a neat little tube, seemingly mulling it over for a moment before he speaks up again. "Thought you'd be back, like, in the morning or something."

"Ah, no. We just had a little post-tour catch-up." Splurging on overnight hotel stays several times a week isn't exactly in the budget. But that's not Kyo's problem. 

Kyo nods, absently tapping the rolled-up magazine against his knee. There's a pause before he asks, "What does he play?" 

"Aoi? Guitar." 

"He any good?" 

"He's very good," Toshiya says. Feeling short on energy for social niceties, he adds, "You don't have to pretend to be interested, you know." 

"Not pretending." Kyo shrugs again. "Just curious what kinda guy you'd go for. Not like I've got a ton of riveting stuff to occupy my mind right now." 

It's a bit funny, coming from a man who's got a whole human doing cartwheels in his abdomen, but Toshiya gets it. With work on hold and basically zero social life, it really does leave one scraping the barrel for distractions. 

"Well, yeah," he says, indulging Kyo's momentary interest, "it doesn't hurt if they're really into what they do, and good at it." 

"And have a nice body." 

Now that's a clear bait. Not in the mood for another debate about whether or not his relationship is just a glorified hookup with a side of fancy dinners, Toshiya opts for a non-committal, "Sure."

The conversation ebbs, leaving the rhythmic tumbling of clothes to fill the space. Toshiya leans back against the cool plaster of the wall and sinks his hands in his coat pockets, where they no longer meet the torn sonogram scraps. He didn't dare pick them up off the hotel carpet in front of Aoi. Probably for the best. 

He thinks back to the argument, and to that one question that's been parked in the back of his mind since. It's the loaded kind that he would normally keep to himself, but right now, he's too mentally frayed to summon his usual care when navigating Kyo's sensitivities. So, he drops it into the open without much finesse. 

"Ever wonder how you're gonna feel when you see the baby?" 

Out of the blue though it is, Kyo's reaction is minimal in the window's reflection. Just a slight tilt of the head to catch Toshiya's eye in the glass, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the magazine against his knee coming to a slower beat.

"Why would you think I wanna see it?" 

Okay, that's a smack of reality Toshiya didn't quite anticipate. He simply assumed that anyone would have at least a spark of curiosity about their own offspring. Apparently not.

"Well… if it was me, I don't think I could resist. I'd like to say a quick hi, at least. See if it's got my nose or something." 

Kyo's reflection offers a smile, but it's a distant, disconnected kind. He clears his throat. "Respectfully and all that," he says, "I don't think you've got the first idea what you'd want if it was you."

Silence hangs, and in it, Toshiya has to concede the point. He doesn't have an idea, not really.

He doesn't know what it feels like to have his body hijacked by something he didn't ask for. He doesn't know what it's like to have this whole other heart beating alongside his, to feel every kick and squirm, and be constantly reminded of what's coming. And he definitely doesn't know what it's like to brace himself to say goodbye to something that, whether he wanted it or not, has been a part of his very being for months.

He watches their shadowed silhouettes in the window of the fluorescent-lit box they're camped out in. Maybe, he considers, Kyo's attitude isn't about indifference or callousness. Maybe it's self-preservation. A line in the sand he's drawing for himself, because meeting his child might make it real in a way he can't possibly deal with. 

—

The week ahead unfolds into a bit of a stress test for Toshiya.

First up is Yoshiki, who has arrived like a natural disaster in leather pants and tinted glasses. His presence is the kind that would make God himself stand a little straighter, leaving mortals like Toshiya feeling like talentless hacks just by existing nearby. And as if the pressure cooker needed any more steam, Tommy insists on tagging along for every agonizing second of it, flitting about like some misplaced court jester.

Then there's Aoi. Beautiful, dramatic Aoi who's become something of a recurring headache.

They're seeing each other almost daily, and since those hangouts now involve regular visits to rent-by-the-hour hotels — with Aoi's contributions remaining at a firm zero yen — Toshiya's wallet is taking an absolute beating. The unspoken understanding seems to be that Toshiya's misconduct, Toshiya's tab, and with Aoi's living situation still being a couch at Yune's place, well, they're kind of short on alternatives. 

Their time together oscillates. Sometimes it feels like they're a breath away from how things were B.S. (Before Sonogram) — brief snapshots where they can just joke around and be all kinds of stupid and sweet together like they've got no care in the world. But just as Toshiya starts to let his guard down, the storm clouds inevitably roll in, and Aoi transforms into the king of sulk and passive-aggressive remarks, just plain impossible to please. It's exhausting.

And it's not like they're ignoring the elephant in the room either. No, Aoi loves that elephant. He parades it around plenty — Where did you two meet? Why didn't you use protection? What is the plan if she does change her mind? — while Toshiya responds by offering a carefully curated mix of lies and truths, trying to be as transparent as the circumstances allow to gain some of that trust back. It kind of works; they usually end these talks on better terms, with the air a little clearer. It just never seems to last.

Ironically, life at home with his hormonal roommate is the more stable part of Toshiya's life right now. There's an understated comfort to having Kyo around without actually having to engage much, sort of like being back home in Nagano with the family, minus the nagging and unsolicited commentary on his life choices. Toshiya finds himself increasingly enjoying these low-demand evenings (or afternoons) in. 

That said, 'low-demand' doesn't mean 'no stress.' Because nothing keeps Toshiya on his toes quite like the slow-motion train wreck happening inside Kyo's body.

His troubles, unsurprisingly, boil down to a frame entirely ill-designed for childbirth. His pelvis is narrow even by male standards, which is causing a world of strain on his organs and especially that tiny duct that shouldn't exist, the anatomical whoopsie responsible for this entire unholy ordeal. Every time Toshiya dwells on it, he imagines some sadistic round of bodily Tetris, where the blocks are all wrong but keep getting rammed down anyway by nature's brutal, uncaring hand.

Yet, somehow, the medics are all thumbs-up about the whole deal, optimistic that Kyo will make it to full-term, or close enough. Just got to watch out for little things like sudden, excruciating abdominal pains, because those could be a sign that something has ruptured, and then it's straight to the operating table. No biggie, right?

Kyo, of course, treats the whole thing like it's just one more annoyance in a life full of them. But Toshiya isn't blind. He can see flickers of fear and anxiety through the tough-guy act, and it guts him. He hates how useless he feels. 

So, in a fit of rogue 'I'm gonna fix this' energy, he finds himself doing the unthinkable: he goes to the library. Now, he's under no illusion that he'll stumble upon some hidden cure missed by every medical professional; he barely passed high school biology, after all, he's no genius. But distrust of the medical world's intentions with Kyo has set in — it's really not hard to imagine the docs looking at him and seeing a walking, talking research jackpot instead of, you know, a person. So, yeah, a little knowledge couldn't hurt. 

Alas, the library offers not a lick of insight on men with wombs. There's nothing even remotely close, leaving Toshiya to wade through an ocean of generic pregnancy literature meant for people who actually planned on being parents. 

When he learns that the baby might survive if born prematurely at this point, rage lights up in him like a busted circuit. Why the hell aren't they scheduling Kyo for surgery like, yesterday? If the kid can live, what's the point of dragging this out? But not long after the anger barges in, reason comes tiptoeing behind it, whispering that 'might survive' isn't quite the same as 'healthy baby.'

Fine. Okay. He gets it. But if a tough call is on the horizon, those doctors better be crystal clear on one thing: Kyo comes first. The kid hasn't done squat yet — hasn't written a single lyric, hasn't brought in a yen of merch money. Kyo? Completely irreplaceable. 

On a less apocalyptic note, Toshiya picks up another fact: Kyo should not be subsisting on frozen meals and cup noodles. Sure, he's a grown adult and fully within his rights to eat like the broke musician he is, but there's a mini-Kyo (mini-Toshiya?) to consider now. Vitamins, even the hefty regime Kyo's on, can only pick up so much slack, and now that the guy's stomach is squished to the size of a walnut, every bite counts. 

Later that day, curious if Kyo's sad diet is the norm or if the dismal kitchen setup in this apartment is to blame, Toshiya decides to probe the mystery. 

"What do you usually eat at home?" he queries from the doorway.

Kyo, comfortably nestled in his elaborate pillow fortress like some laid-back deity of fertility, doesn't even glance up from his book. "For dinner? Whatever Kaoru cooked," comes the very unexpected answer. "Lunch depends." 

Toshiya's eyebrows take a trip to his hairline. "Kaoru cooks for you?" Well, that's a visual. He had the impression the two barely saw each other at home, and definitely didn't imagine them to be sharing home-cooked meals.

Kyo lifts his eyes to look at him, amused. "He's not cooking for me," he clarifies. "He just hates eating the same thing twice. Tells me to finish off the leftovers so they don't go to waste, and in return, I toss his laundry in with mine sometimes. It's a system." 

Toshiya stares at him. A system. That's one hell of a spin on what's obviously just Kaoru's emotionally constipated way of making sure his vocalist gets real food without having to say something vulnerable, like, 'hey, let's eat together.' No, no, it's all about offloading those pesky leftovers. 

Kyo's gaze drifts off, his fingers toying with the page corner. With a wistfulness in his voice that's enough to give Toshiya a permanent frown, he adds, "He's not a bad cook, actually." 

That does it for Toshiya. Something about the faintest hint of the possibility that Kaoru, of all people, might have unintentionally one-upped him in the caretaking department irks him enough to spark a petty fire under his ass. 

Thus begins his shaky foray into the world of actual cooking — and boy, is it hard without Aoi there telling him what to do. It's enlightening, to say the least. 

The game changes when Kyo, perhaps tired of having his life flash before his eyes every dinner, decides enough is enough. He stops heckling from the sidelines, rolls up his sleeves, and joins the fray. It doesn't take long to figure out that he's somehow even more inept in the kitchen than Toshiya, but that's hardly the point. The point is that it's way less miserable when they're both floundering together. Almost fun, dare he say. 

But it's not just that — it's also the closest Toshiya ever gets to be to the baby. The kitchen is tight, and there's no avoiding Kyo's increasingly present bump, a bump that is bizarrely warm, like it's radiating life itself. Each accidental-on-purpose nudge against it has Toshiya's stomach doing a stupid little swoop of something like excitement and nerves. Thankfully, Kyo either doesn't notice or is kind enough to pretend he doesn't. 

And speaking of the baby: apparently, sleep is optional when you're a fetus. From where Toshiya is standing, it seems like the kid is doing calisthenics at all hours. Every particularly feisty movement is telegraphed by a sharp inhale or a fleeting grimace from Kyo, and Toshiya catches himself cringing along in sympathy each time. 

Then there are those quieter times, when Kyo's gaze turns inward, distant, and his hand drifts to his middle like he's listening to some secret communication meant just for him. Toshiya longs to be part of it, to lay his hand alongside Kyo's and feel the improbable life they've created together. But he's not going to barge into what might be the closest thing to a bonding moment Kyo's ever going to allow himself. 

So, he stays where he is, watching from the sidelines, hands twitching with unspent want. But it's alright. There's a kind of beauty in it anyway, letting Kyo have these moments to himself, no matter how brief. Seeing it, Toshiya can almost convince himself that he isn't the only one holding onto this quiet awe for their accidental, extraordinary circumstance.

Chapter Text

Just a week into the new era — A.S., After Sonogram — and it's clear Aoi's had it up to the brim with their nomadic love life. His frustration is palpable the moment they rendezvous at Sasazuka station, under a sky that's decided to side with Aoi's mood on the misery scale. 

"I'm so over this hotel-hopping," he gripes as soon as Toshiya is within complaining range. He latches onto his arm like an overgrown, petulant child, and Toshiya has to seriously reevaluate how he ever thought this guy was older than him. "I miss just hanging at your place, not having to worry about checkout times. Don't you?"

Yeah. Toshiya especially misses the part where he doesn't have to bleed cash like he's splurging on some high-end escort instead of hanging out with his own boyfriend. But he doesn't say that, obviously. He pulls the younger boy into a one-armed hug that was supposed to be a greeting but feels now more like an apology for crimes he's still actively committing. 

"I know," he sighs out. "Believe me, I can't wait for things to get back to normal." Liar, some nasty little voice in the back of his head whispers.

Aoi leans back to glare up at him, arms locked around his waist. "You're letting him walk all over you," he accuses. "It's your place. You shouldn't have to pause your life just because someone's crashing on your couch. Why can't we just head over and watch a movie or something?"

"Because…" Toshiya kneads the back of his neck, his eyes sweeping the street for some inspiration. "Kyo's not really the 'let's hang and chill' type. Gets weird around new people. That, and my place is pretty snug for three—"

"It's perfectly fine," Aoi insists, "and I doubt he'll combust just because we're in the same room. Stop making excuses." His resolve catches fire, and he grabs Toshiya's arm and starts marching them toward his apartment. "Let's go. I'm gonna lose it if I have to see one more heart-shaped pillow or neon headboard."

There's a pit in Toshiya's stomach as he thinks back to the tableau he left at home just ten minutes ago: Kyo in his full prenatal splendor, draped across the bed-couch like a stranded seal in the middle of a gaming bender.

With an uncomfortable laugh, he twists his arm free from Aoi's iron clasp before they reach the crossing. "Look, no. We're not going there. Kyo doesn't—" 

"What the hell is with all this tiptoeing around him?" Aoi bursts out, loud enough for a few passersby to do a double-take. "Are you fucking him?" More heads swivel their way. 

"What?! No!" 

"Well, something is clearly going on!" 

Toshiya clamps down hard on the inside of his cheek as he absorbs the full force of Aoi's stormy expression. Truth is, Kyo did say he'd make himself scarce if needed, though Toshiya never actually intended to cash in on that. But here they are — desperate times, etcetera. Kyo can kill a couple of hours at a cafe or somewhere, surely? Aoi gets his movie night, Kyo gets mildly inconvenienced, and Toshiya gets to feel like a dick for a day. 

"Okay, fine, just…" he says, patting at his pockets. "Let me text him, will you? Give the guy a heads-up so he's at least wearing pants when we get there." Or a small circus tent.

Reluctantly, Aoi steps back, and Toshiya pulls out his phone, thumbs banging away at the bulky buttons.

SOS Aoi's coming over, I'm so sorry!! Will txt u when coast is clear again 

They make a pit stop at a video rental on the way, which Toshiya hoped would buy Kyo some prep time but is a blink-and-you-miss-it event; Aoi's locked onto a film before Toshiya can even feign interest in the new releases. 

When they round the corner to his street and there's still no word from Kyo, it starts to dawn on Toshiya: he has fucked up. Royally. 

Why the hell did he text instead of calling? What was he thinking? Is he really this obtuse? Kyo could have been halfway to safety by now if Toshiya wasn't such a colossal embodiment of incompetence.

Sweat starts beading on his forehead as they trudge up the stairs. His feet weigh a hundred kilos each and his imagination runs rampant with visions of Kyo, controller in hand and belly in full view, completely blindsided by their arrival. God, this is so messed up. They can't just barge in on him like some twisted reality TV surprise. 

Just as Toshiya's starting to consider the viability of throwing himself down the stairs to stage a last-minute cardiac emergency, his phone buzzes. Hope flares briefly — maybe it's Kyo, confirming he's successfully made his escape.

No dice. The message greeting him spells out in no uncertain terms how utterly unprepared the guy is:

Fuck. ETA? 

Toshiya's foot stumbles over the next step as he aggressively types back, NOW. 

Aoi is side-eyeing him something fierce when they reach Toshiya's floor. "Does he know we're a thing?" he probes. 

"Huh? Yeah, he knows," Toshiya answers, barely processing the question because his brain is on fire.

He's dragging his feet so hard he might as well be moonwalking, which puts Aoi a step in front. Inevitably, Toshiya's gaze drifts down to the curve of his denim-clad ass. A harebrained plan springs to mind. 

Without another nanosecond of conscious thought, he swings his arm, palm meeting Aoi's rear with a hearty smack that ricochets down the corridor like a gunshot.

Yelping, Aoi whirls around to shield his backside, though the giant grin splitting his face says he's far from upset. No surprise there; he lives for this shit. He barely has time to inhale before Toshiya grabs him by the hips and shoves him up against the wall, pinning him there with his body, his thigh jamming between Aoi's legs with enough pressure to knock a sharp gasp out of him. 

Leaning in, Toshiya summons every ounce of playful charm he can muster as he inquires, "New pair of jeans?" His hands slide down, grabbing two greedy handfuls of Aoi's ass. "Or you been working out?" 

Aoi swallows audibly, his fingers digging into Toshiya's shoulders. "Both," he manages, and it's all Toshiya can do not to roll his eyes to heaven. Of course it's fucking both. But whatever. Chit-chat time's over. His attention locks onto Aoi's lips, and then his mouth follows, crashing down in a kiss that's a wild mix of pretend passion and real desperation, designed to buy precious minutes. 

Aoi bites into the ruse like a man starved. His hands slide up into Toshiya's hair, tugging him down with an insistence that screams don't you dare stop. So Toshiya doesn't. He yanks Aoi's hips flushed against his own, grinding into him in a way that obliterates any last shred of decorum, until they're utterly lost in their inappropriate bubble of two, moaning shamelessly into each other's mouths. 

"Jesus," Aoi breathes when they finally break away for air, part surprised, part impressed, completely pleased. 

Fully committed to this public display of dubious decision-making, Toshiya is about to go back in for a second helping when a figure hovering at the corner of his vision pulls his attention. His thigh is still firmly pressed against Aoi's hard-on when he locks eyes with Kyo, who's standing stiffly just a couple of doors down the hallway.

Reality comes slamming down like a jail door. Hastily, Toshiya steps away from Aoi, hand flying up to smooth through his hair like that's going to fix anything.

Well, that went… differently than planned. Ugh. Mission kind of accomplished, though? 

"Hey," he says awkwardly. 

Kyo looks mortified. Red-cheeked and trying to shrink into his coat, he shuffles toward them, or rather, the escape route behind them. That's when Toshiya clocks the backpack slung over his shoulder, and a little alarm bell goes off in his head. Kyo's not thinking he's been kicked out for the entire night, is he? Because that was absolutely not the plan. 

Meanwhile, Aoi seems to be operating in some alternate reality where cringe-inducing hallway run-ins are just another tick on the fun checklist. Oblivious of the tension clogging up the hallway, he flips on the charm with a smile that says he's not at all ruffled. In fact, he looks downright delighted.

"Hi," he says to Kyo. "Nice to see you again, and sorry you had to catch that little show. No idea what came over Toshiya just now." He lets out an airy laugh, all innocent amusement, and Toshiya begs for the floor to kindly open up and end his misery. 

"Hi," Kyo mumbles into his mask, his embarrassed gaze flitting from Aoi to Toshiya and back before zeroing in on the staircase like it's the promised land. 

Aoi's smile dims a fraction. "Hope you're not heading out because of us? I was kinda hoping we could all hang out. Watch a movie." He lifts the bag containing the VHS and snacks in his hand. 

"No, I — uh, I've got stuff," Kyo says, gripping the strap of his backpack tighter as he sidesteps around them. 

"Oh, okay… catch you later then…" Aoi's voice fades out as he watches Kyo make his escape, his smile wiped clean off. When he turns back to Toshiya, he looks genuinely confused. "He's not leaving because of us, is he?" 

Toshiya gives him a sour look. The hell is this kid surprised for? He was duly warned. "Yes he is," he says bluntly as they pivot toward his door. "Tried to tell you. He's not up for company, ever." 

Aoi's forehead creases in thought. "Is he okay, though? He was walking kinda funny." 

The observation makes Toshiya's stomach tighten a bit. Kyo's gait isn't yet what he would call a 'waddle,' but there's definitely a slight back-lean developing. Trust Aoi to notice. Trust Aoi to comment. 

"He's got back pain," Toshiya says curtly. He yanks open the ever-unlocked door, waving Aoi through with a gesture that's more 'move your ass' than 'after you, my dear.'

Once inside, he excuses himself to the bathroom. The second the door clicks shut, he's on his phone, hammering out a text to Kyo: 

Shouldn't be more than 3 hours! Really sorry about this

Message on its way, he takes a leak for optics, flushes, washes his hands, and then presses his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, exhaling slow and deep.

Man… he sucks. Kyo moved in so he could have one place to exist without stress, and here Toshiya is, shoving him out like he's some unwelcome squatter. Real stand-up behavior. Friend of the year. Father of the year. 

He thunks his forehead against the mirror once, twice.

But self-loathing is a luxury he can't afford right now. He straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and tries to polish this turd of a situation. It's not the end of the world, he reasons while adjusting his hair to cover the red mark on his forehead. Fresh air, change of scenery — it might even do Kyo some good. And really, can he blame Aoi for feeling suspicious? Toshiya's been shifty as hell lately. Any boyfriend with trust issues would start asking questions. 

With that weak mental pep talk barely cushioning his conscience, he steps out. He finds Aoi standing in the middle of the room, hands nervously twisted together, looking like he's about to deliver the world's most awkward public address.

"Actually, Toshiya…" he starts.

Toshiya halts at the threshold of the living area. 

Aoi flexes his fingers. "Thing is, I kinda wondered if the whole 'Kyo's staying at my place' was just a cover. You know, for her. I thought maybe she's the one you're hiding here."

A stillness blankets the room for a moment as Toshiya absorbs the confession. 

"Sorry I tested you," Aoi adds, and he sounds like he means it. "I just couldn't stop wondering. The whole thing about Kyo moving in, and the ultrasound… The timing, just — I thought maybe I was being played." With a breathless, self-deprecating little laugh, he adds, "I'm a crazy person, aren't I?" 

Toshiya sighs. "No. You're not crazy." It's the easiest truth he's spoken in weeks, and it doesn't make him feel any better. Aoi's far from crazy; he's right. And Toshiya wishes he could just lay everything out in the open, but of course, Kyo's circumstances are just so much bigger than either of them. 

The space between them shrinks as Aoi steps forward, his arms coming up to loop around Toshiya's neck. Toshiya pulls him in, gripping just a little tighter than usual like that might make up for everything he can't say. 

"You know, finding out my boyfriend isn't lying to me? Kind of a kink of mine," Aoi jokes. "Real fringe stuff, I know. Not a lot of people are into it." 

Toshiya lets out a choked laugh. "Well, I'm glad I could... service that particular kink." 

They never get around to watching that movie.

Aoi, naturally assuming the couch is Kyo's domain, steers them straight to the bed, and Toshiya lets him. What's he supposed to do? Admit that, on top of everything else, he's also given up his own bed? Wouldn't exactly help his case when Aoi already thinks he's bending over backward for Kyo. So, he just silently adds it to the ever-expanding list of stuff he'll feel bad about later. 

But things take a weird turn when the clothes come off and Aoi goes down on him. Normally, this would be where Toshiya's brain checks out. Not tonight. Tonight, it latches like a leech onto something intensely uncomfortable: Kyo's scent, hanging heavy in the bedsheets. 

Deep in the more logical corners of his mind, a small, sensible voice tries to call him back from the edge. But it's no use. The scent wraps around him like a noose, and soon the past is consuming the present, memories that have no business being so alive in his mind flooding back.

It's that long, blistering summer all over again, sticky days that bled into even stickier nights, escapades that took place right where he's now lying. Mental snapshots of Kyo, panting and cursing into the pillow as Toshiya takes him from behind. Kyo with his hands braced on Toshiya's thighs as he rides him, lips parted and hair plastered to his flushed face with sweat. Kyo's body taut and then loose, resisting and then giving, a live-wire of reactions to every thrust. Breathy little noises he made when Toshiya got the angle right.

Toshiya's fingers find Aoi's hair. The texture is soft and silky where it should be coarse and thick, wrong for this half-hallucinated reenactment where Kyo is now taking him into his mouth, lips plush and wet, wrapped snug around his girth. Still, the fantasy persists.

And if those are the images that push Toshiya over the edge, well, it's just another proof that the human brain is a messed-up place, notorious for linking scents to moments past with zero regard for propriety or timing.

Toshiya doesn't waste a second after Aoi's out the door. He shoots a quick text to Kyo letting him know it's safe to come back, then gets to work. 

Off come the compromised bedsheets, stuffed into the wardrobe to be dealt with next time Kyo's out for a doctor's appointment. A fresh, identical set goes on. It takes some effort to track down the banana body pillow — which Kyo thankfully had the wherewithal to hide (try explaining that emotional support phallus to Aoi) — but it eventually turns up propped behind the curtain. 

Dumping it back to its rightful place on the bed, Toshiya can't suppress a cringe at the mental slip-up earlier. Awkward, yes, but such is life. 

Then, still running on that guilty adrenaline rush, Toshiya reroutes his energy to the kitchen. What begins as tackling a few stray dishes snowballs into an aggressive deep-cleaning of the entire kitchen until it damn near sparkles. 

He's contemplating his warped reflection in the polished chrome of the faucet, weighing the merits of chain-smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes against drowning himself in a sento, when the click of the door opening rouses him.

Kyo steps in, halting as they lock eyes. 

"I'm really sorry," Toshiya blurts before the guy can even get both feet inside. 

Wordlessly, Kyo pulls the door closed behind him. His backpack drops to the floor with an unceremonious thud, and he starts peeling off his outer layers. 

It's only as he's toeing off his sneakers that he mutters under his breath, "Too freaking pregnant to sleep in an armchair," making it clear that he's back purely out of physical necessity and not because he wants to.

"Yeah," Toshiya says weakly, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter for lack of a spine. 

Kyo pulls off his mask and stuffs it into the pocket of his coat now hanging from a hook. Turning to face Toshiya, he rests a hand on his pronounced stomach, a gesture he's only recently stopped feeling self-conscious about. Toshiya's throat feels all wonky and locked up just looking at him. 

Flatly, Kyo says, "You could've given me more of a heads-up."

"I know," Toshiya says, the words coming out rough. "I'm an idiot. Won't happen again."

"Well," Kyo sighs, his gaze wandering away as he shuffles into the room, "at least you're aware." It's not exactly forgiveness, but it's enough of an acknowledgment to let some air out of Toshiya's guilt-inflated chest.

He picks up the abandoned backpack and follows, setting it down by the kotatsu. He's on the cusp of broaching the topic of dinner when he notices Kyo standing stock-still, staring at the bed. 

Crap.

He was so sure the sheets were an exact match for the ones he stripped off earlier — same navy blue, same Nitori bargain-bin quality. But clearly, Kyo has a sixth sense when it comes to his little nest being tampered with, because his back has gone rigid, his entire posture screaming violation. 

"Ah, uhm…" Toshiya stammers.

"Shower," Kyo exhales, disgust rolling off him in waves as he collects his sleepwear. Without another word or backward glance, he locks himself in the bathroom. 

It's well before their regular lights-out when Kyo burrows under the covers, hair still damp from the shower. His face is a little red, his eyes a little puffy, and Toshiya doesn't dare to breathe wrong. He doesn't ask if Kyo has eaten, doesn't dare to fix himself anything either even though his stomach is starting to eat itself. He'll fast tonight. It nothing else, let it never be said he doesn't pay his dues for being a disrespectful ape. 

The room goes dark, and just as they're both pretending to settle in for the night, Kyo speaks. 

"I can find another place if I'm in the way here. Just be honest." 

Toshiya squeezes his eyes shut in self-reproach. "No, Kyo, you're not in the way. I want you here until you've recovered from the surgery. Okay?" 

A torturous pause stretches out, long enough for his stomach to start to cramp from more than just hunger. Then Kyo's voice emerges again, a helpless edge to it now. 

"Don't you think it's weird that I'm here?" he asks. "I mean… I don't know… Do you not feel weird about this whole setup?" 

Toshiya lets out a slow breath, grateful at least that Kyo isn't packing his bags yet. "Maybe because of all the sneaking around, yeah," he says, not wanting to pretend everything's perfect when it isn't. "But just between you and me, no, I don't think it's weird at all." 

And he means it. On paper, their arrangement should be the definition of awkward, but somehow it's been anything but. It's been easy. Comfortable in ways that nothing else is these days.

Clearly, he's alone in thinking this, because Kyo's response is a quiet, "I feel weird about it."

Toshiya's heart sinks a bit at that, and he tugs the comforter up to his chin, turning onto his side. Well, that sucks to hear. The last thing he ever wanted was for Kyo to feel out of place, to feel anything other than at home. He's supposed to be the getaway, the refuge, not another source of stress, and to learn that there has been an undercurrent of unease he's entirely missed… 

He's stewing in these miserable thoughts when the silence is shattered again by Kyo's voice, a little more pointed now. 

"He pisses me off."

That would be Aoi, though Toshiya's not sure why Kyo's casting him as the villain here. If anyone's to blame for today's fiasco, it's Toshiya and his spineless inability to set boundaries. Still, peace-keeping is his new full-time job, so he assures, "I hear you. Promise he's not setting foot here again while you're staying."

"It pisses me off that he even exists." 

Toshiya purses his lips in thought. Banning Aoi from the premises while Kyo's staying here? A no-brainer, really. Erasing him from existence because he irks Kyo? That's a little out of his jurisdiction. 

"Right," he ventures, hoping to steer this ship back to saner waters, "but maybe let's not get hung up on him, yeah? You've got enough going on, and getting worked up isn't good for you or the baby—"

"Baby, baby, baby," Kyo cuts in, frustrated, and Toshiya feels like he just walked face-first into a glass door. "You know there's a whole person around that baby? Me?" 

…Excuse me, what? 

The whole reason Kyo is here is the baby, and despite that, they've barely talked about it. Kyo prefers it shelved, ignored, tucked out of sight, and so it is. Never mind that the baby in question is as much Toshiya's as it is Kyo's, a fact he's bitten his tongue raw over several times out of respect for Kyo's complicated feelings.

"Look," he starts, the couch creaking as he shifts onto his back again, "I'm all ears if you've got feedback for me. But 'too much baby talk' is just not true at all, and you know it." 

"Forget it." 

"No, seriously, talk to me. If something's bugging you besides what happened today, let's hash it out." 

"Why? Why do you even care? Just 'cause I'm incubating your precious spawn?" 

"No," Toshiya says, appalled that Kyo would even suggest that. "I care because you're my friend. Because you're my bandmate. Is that not enough?" 

"When have we ever been friends?" Kyo challenges, his tone now bordering on hostile.

"Well, I've thought of us as friends since last summer," Toshiya retorts, doing his best to ignore the little pang of hurt. "My mistake, I guess." 

"Is fucking people your idea of friendship?" 

Oh, come the fuck on. Toshiya exhales hard, frustrated hands rubbing his face before pushing into his hair. "Here's a wild idea," he says, "how about you skip the dramatics and tell me what's actually bothering you, so I can fix it? Because this back-and-forth is going nowhere." 

"Excuse me for not being all smiles," Kyo sneers. "Had to watch the guy who ruined my life dry-hump his pretty boy toy in front of me, and now I get to sleep in the bed where they screwed just hours earlier. So yeah, it's been a great day. Living the dream here."

There's certainly some valid criticism buried in there, but what feels more pressing is the one glaring piece of bullshit Toshiya refuses to let slide. "Oh, I ruined your life?" he says, a bit louder than necessary. "Right, because you had no part in making that baby. It's not like it takes two or anything."

"Ever heard of condoms?"

"Have you?"

"Who was the supposed sexpert between the two of us? I trusted you."

"Well, sorry I didn't factor in male pregnancy into my risk assessment!" Toshiya exclaims, shoving himself to sit up, glowering at the vague, pissed-off lump that is Kyo's silhouette in bed. 

With effort, he forces himself to take a breath, to reel it back in before this turns into an actual shouting match. 

"Look, Kyo," he says, voice tight but steady, "I feel horrible about everything you're dealing with, and I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat if I could. But that's not how this works, okay? So I'm here, trying to do whatever I can to make things bearable for you, and I know I drop the ball a lot, but damn it, I'm trying. So unless you can tell me how to fix this, how to let you know I'm genuinely sorry about today, can we please just call it a night and try again tomorrow?"

Silence crashes in, but for once, it feels more like dust settling than a prelude to the next punch. It has Toshiya tentatively hoping that maybe they're rounding a corner.

A single, loaded demand from Kyo breaks the quiet. "Massage," he orders. "Tomorrow. My back's a wreck. My everything's a wreck."

Toshiya stares at the vague shape of him under the covers. That's it? All this drama, and a back rub is the price of peace? 

Something inside him untwists, and the end-tail of his sigh of relief comes out as a light chuckle. "Easy," he mutters, flopping back into his makeshift bed and pulling the comforter up. "I'll work those knots out every damn day till the B-word comes out. Hell, after, too. You'll have to pry me away." 

— 

The night before Kyo's return to the studio to lay down vocals for Cage, Toshiya finds himself in yet another tacky hotel room with Aoi. They're having a smoke at the window, elbows on the sill and shoulders pressed together, the clock ticking steadfastly toward the end of their borrowed time. 

Aoi's staring out into the night with that squinty, deep-in-thought expression — the one that usually means something's been gnawing at him, and he's about to stop pretending it hasn't. And sure enough:

"I worry about you and Kyo," he confesses. "I worry there's something between you two." 

The urge to sigh his soul out of his body is strong, but Toshiya can't exactly say he's surprised.

After realizing Toshiya wasn't secretly housing the mother of his accidental offspring, Aoi's relief lasted for about five minutes before his paranoia found a new target. The interrogation started the next day. Does Kyo have a girlfriend? Does he ever leave the apartment? What exactly do Toshiya and Kyo do when hanging out together? It didn't take a genius to see he was piecing together a conspiracy map in his head.

"At this point, I'm not even hung up on why he's staying at yours," Aoi goes on, tucking a windblown strand back behind his ear. "It's just, all those hours you guys are cooped up, just the two of you… I mean, it's natural to think something could happen, right? He's always there, and I bet he's pent-up as hell."

Toshiya flicks ash out the window, watching it scatter into the night air. Knowing he hasn't committed this particular crime, there's no urge to trip over himself with denials or defenses. Feels nice — being innocent for once. 

"You think he swings our way?" he asks.

Aoi shrugs, the cherry of his cigarette flaring bright as he takes a slow drag. "Lots of guys don't," he says, slow ribbons of blue-gray smoke streaming from between his lips. "Doesn't mean they won't go for it anyway. That's, like, the whole theme of all my exes." 

The mental gymnastics of Aoi calling some horny, bi-curious straight dudes 'exes' don't quite compute, but Toshiya's not about to touch that mess. "And you think I'm just jumping at the chance to be his stress outlet? Come on." He glances at Aoi with a smile that's supposed to convey when I've got someone like you without having to come off like he's slighting Kyo by saying it out loud. "Besides, you live with your bandmate, too. Should I be worried?" 

"Yeah, well," Aoi mutters, "at least Yune and I aren't crammed into one tiny room together." 

"I don't see how a few extra square meters makes such a huge difference." 

"I'm just saying, it's easy for things to happen when you're living on top of each other like that. Boundaries get blurred." 

Toshiya gives his profile a dry look. "Oh really?" he says. "And how's the tour bus life for you, then? Nightly orgies?"

Aoi doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish at being called out. He just lets out a tired sigh and leans over, resting his head on Toshiya's shoulder as he flicks his spent cigarette out to the alley below. Toshiya adjusts, his arm coming around to hold him.

Quiet takes over the space between them while they gaze at the breathtaking view of concrete and more concrete. As Toshiya's thumb idly caresses Aoi's hipbone, dipping slightly under the fabric of his jeans, his thoughts start to wander. He ponders if there's some truth to what Aoi's saying. 

Is Kyo pent-up? Mornings have provided enough evidence that pregnancy doesn't just nuke libido out of existence — or at least, it doesn't kill morning wood. So… does Kyo masturbate? Is it different now? Is it difficult with the—? 

Before his brain can chase that precarious line of thought any further, Aoi's gravelly voice pulls him back to the present.

"I love you like crazy, you know," he says, sounding almost burdened by it. His next words knock Toshiya's emerging smile clean out before it even has a chance to make it. "I think I'd kill myself if you screwed me over."

The cigarette suddenly tastes like ash in Toshiya's mouth, the weight of Aoi's head on his shoulder more than just a simple lean.

It's past midnight by the time Toshiya gets home. He finds Kyo still up, huddled over the kotatsu, doodling away in the amber light of the corner lamp. The radio plays in the background, some old tune winding its way through the quiet. 

"Hey," he greets, and god if coming home to someone doesn't feel better than it has any right to, even in this soap-opera nightmare of a situation. 

Kyo gives him a quick glance. "Hey."

He looks all cozy and domestic, bundled up in a baggy gray sweatshirt with his hair tied up, save for his bangs and some rebelling strands framing his face. Shinya wasn't kidding that one time — the guy's skin really is glowing. His hair, too, seems to be thriving, roots fiercely reclaiming their natural black against the blonde bleach job. Girly hormones at work, no doubt. 

"Tea?" Toshiya offers, more to keep his hands occupied than anything. He's still emotionally concussed from Aoi's verbal Molotov cocktail, too casually cruel for his liking. 

"Sure. Thanks."

He retreats back to the kitchen. Faucet runs, stove flares, and Toshiya zones out, gnawing at his thumbnail as he stares at the tiny bubbles trembling at the bottom of the pot. Will he still be drinking tea after Kyo moves out? Doubtful. He'll go back to chugging cheap beer in front of whatever mindless garbage is on TV, sinking into that solitary routine he used to think was peak living.

Tea done, he brings the mugs back to the kotatsu, setting them down with coasters — another habit he's picked up from Kyo. He sits down cross-legged across him, pulling the elastic from around his wrist to tie his hair back. 

Kyo finishes up whatever section he was working on, slides the notebook aside, and picks up his tea, fingers barely peeking out from the too-long sleeves. He reclines, and they lapse into relative silence, letting the radio take over the room for a moment as they blow on their teas. Loving you, I'm feeling midnight blue, croons the singer on the airwaves. 

Kyo studies Toshiya over the rim of his mug. "Did something happen?" 

Slouched over the kotatsu, cheek mashed against his fist, Toshiya keeps his gaze fixed on his hand, where his thumbnail is intently scraping at the flaking nail polish on his middle finger. "Why?" 

"You seem off." 

Toshiya finally lifts his eyes, meeting Kyo's steady, expectant stare. Alright, then. If Kyo wants candid, he can have it. 

"Aoi thinks I'm cheating on him with you." 

There's a momentary short-circuit in Kyo's expression. Then: "Wait — what? He knows we used to...?" 

"Nope." Toshiya snorts. "He'd lose his shit if he did." 

Kyo hums, his hand smoothing over the kotatsu quilt draped over his lap. "Well…" he says at length. "Sorry you're dating someone who thinks you're a cheating scumbag, I guess? But it's kinda hilarious he figures it'd be with me."

Toshiya shifts, stretching his back slightly before planting a hand behind him for support. "Apparently, sharing a room and breathing the same air is all it takes to blur the lines. That, and…" He hesitates, because even thinking about saying it feels dumb — but clearly, he's a glutton for the uncomfortable because he plows ahead anyway. "He figures you're pent-up. Stuck here without much… outlet."

Kyo's eyes widen a fraction before his expression twists into pure outrage. Knuckles whitening around his mug, he spits out in one torrential exhale, "I don't even know where to start with that level of stupidity. What gives him the right to speculate about my—? It's none of his business — or yours! The guy's a complete idiot. You're dating a moron. You're a moron!"

The sheer overreaction sends a ripple of unexpected joy through Toshiya, and before he knows it, he's grinning. "Interesting," he says with feigned curiosity, "because I distinctly recall you once saying you're always pe—" He grunts as Kyo's foot collides with his shin under the kotatsu, but though his grin gets a bit of a pained edge, it doesn't budge. 

"Shut up," Kyo mutters. "And tell your dumbass boyfriend to keep his dumbass theories to himself."

"Will absolutely pass that message along," Toshiya promises as he rubs his battered shin. He takes a moment to compose himself, to tuck the grin away for long enough to take a cautious sip of his tea. "Real talk, though," he starts again after a reflective pause.

He had one last killer jab lined up, something that would have sent Kyo straight into another righteous, sputtering fit. But seeing his expression soften, all vulnerable anticipation, fully braced for something profound, the joke withers on Toshiya's lips. He pivots quickly, voicing the first halfway decent thought in mind. 

"I'm glad you're here. I like having you around." 

Kyo quickly schools his features, lips pressing together in that way he does when he's trying not to smile. "Yeah?" he asks coolly. 

"Yeah. It's been cozy," Toshiya confirms. He lets the idea simmer in his head for a moment, then continues, more to the air than directly at Kyo, "Honestly, wouldn't be too bad making this a permanent thing. But, y'know, with a bigger place. Have our own rooms and all that." 

"Yeah," Kyo says dryly, "'cause I'm just dying to spend every night listening to you and that joker screwing in the next room. Pass." 

"Fair," says Toshiya, and leaves it at that because Kyo is absolutely right not wanting to listen to anyone screwing in the next room. 

An idle moment drifts by. 

"But, you know…" Kyo picks up again, voice casual to the point of indifferent, "if you guys ever break up, and Kaoru decides he wants his own place…" He lets the thought taper off with a strategic shrug, sipping his tea like he totally just said something meaningless.

Toshiya nods. "Deal." Then, because his brain is fundamentally wired for self-destruction, he tacks on, "And hey, if I do become single and you're still feeling pent-up—" 

He's quick on the draw this time, catching Kyo's leg mid-kick, his grip firm around the ankle. The indignation on Kyo's face is a sight to behold, and Toshiya has to bite back a laugh as he yanks the socked foot into his lap, earning a startled squawk as the guy nearly spills his tea. 

"Now, cool it," Toshiya orders, his thumbs already digging into the stiff arch of Kyo's foot. "Or I'll tickle you straight into early labor."

Kyo scoffs, but notably, he stops resisting. "Please. I'm tickle-resistant."

"Sounds like something a highly ticklish person would say in a desperate attempt to avoid death by giggles."

"It's true. Got shafted by the genetic lottery in a million ways but not that one."

"Alright, alright," Toshiya relents, continuing his ministrations. It's like trying to massage a block of cement, same as his shoulders the other night. "But seriously, try to loosen up," he murmurs. "The murder-scowl doesn't pair well with all that pregnancy glow you've got going on."

"Ha?"

"You heard me." Toshiya glances up from his task with a slight grin. "Hormones doing some good work over there."

Kyo's expression wobbles between suspicious and faintly embarrassed, but eventually he seems to decide against any scathing retorts or coy denials. His head tips back a little, and a long, defeated-yet-suspiciously-content sigh coasts through his lips. His eyes fall shut, lips twitching slightly before sealing up into a neutral line.

It sneaks up on Toshiya then — the preemptive tug of nostalgia for this strange little domestic life they've fallen into. Because these nights are numbered, and for all the stress and fear and headache their situation has brought into his life, Toshiya knows that when all is said and done, he's going to miss it. Every last odd, exasperating, unexpectedly sweet second of it.

Chapter Text

The amount of shit Tommy talks about Yoshiki behind his back is directly proportional to the amount of ass-kissing he performs when the man is in the room. 

He hasn't missed a single studio session since Yoshiki's arrival, unfailingly present like some demonic attachment that just so happens to be really friendly. It's remember when this and you were always the best at that, and anyone listening in without context would assume these two have been through wars side by side, not, say, allegedly tried to bash each other's skulls in with bar furniture once upon a time.

By some miracle of either time, booze, or perhaps a shared case of untreated brain damage, those more tumultuous days now appear to be water under the bridge. Magical, really.

That magic ends the moment Kyo waddles into the studio in his monstrous parka. The whole anemia routine worked well enough during rehearsals, letting him skate by without too many side-eyes. But now, in the crucible of the studio and with Yoshiki in the house, whatever free passes he's been collecting are about to get revoked in real-time.

"Lose the coat for one run-through," Tommy commands, arms crossed over his tree-trunk chest and all traces of bootlicking wiped from his face.

Kyo hasn't even stepped into the booth yet, and the atmosphere's already got the grim tension of those final, desperate hours of an all-night session. Lined up on the couch with the rest of the band like a bunch of hens on a roost, Toshiya sits with his hands tucked into his armpits, lower lip caught between his teeth as he watches the showdown unfold.

"We both know I'm not nailing this in one take," Kyo counters. "And it's not like the coat's messing with my vocals. Look." He unzips the parka just enough to bare his throat, as if to prove he's not actively being strangled by his own wardrobe. His gaze is sharp and unflinching on Tommy, much less so when it flickers over to Yoshiki.

Yoshiki, for his part, is a veritable black hole of reaction. Propped against the wall, hands elegantly clutching at the opposite arm, he's not letting a single muscle in his face betray his thoughts. Meanwhile, the studio tech at the mixing desk next to him seems to be trapped in a permanent cringe.

Tommy doesn't mince words. "You were sweating like a whore in church yesterday. Off with the coat. Yoshiki didn't fly across continents to watch you catch your breath."

"That had nothing to do with the coat," Kyo explains, his voice a perfect monotone, so calm and composed Toshiya is tempted to start a slow clap. "I was short on breath because I'm sick. It's the autoimmune—"

"Strip off that goddamn coat, you freak!" Tommy suddenly bellows, and every set of eyes in the room, apart from Yoshiki's, snaps wide, the tech flinching so hard he nearly knocks his coffee over the soundboard. Which, in hindsight, might've been a welcome interruption at this point. 

Because Tommy doesn't pause for a reply. In two aggressive, stomping strides, he closes the distance, Kyo's hasty backtrack doing nothing when a rough hand clamps onto the collar of his coat and hauls him forward. 

"HEY."

The word rips out of Toshiya in reflex, not quite a shout, but booming in the room with enough authority to halt the action.

All gazes pivot to him, except Kyo's, who's got his chin tucked down and eyes squeezed tight like he's bracing to get clocked. Tommy's still got a fistful of the parka, the other hand clutching at the zipper, but now his ugly glare is all for Toshiya.

Toshiya barely notices. He's too busy seeing red — a visceral, primal red that spells out protection and bloodshed in one breath. He wants to shout every profanity under the sun at Tommy, wants to grab him and pummel him until he understands, in no uncertain terms, that if he ever lays a finger on Kyo again, he'll be sipping his meals through a fucking straw for the next six months.

However, there's the pesky matter of his career to consider, which he'd rather not flush down the toilet for the fleeting pleasure of breaking Tommy's nose. So, clinging to the last frayed thread of restraint, Toshiya inhales, holds it tight for a second, then exhales a quivering laugh. He can't beat the bastard, but he can sure as hell make him feel real fucking stupid.

His voice rolls out slick with mockery. "What's the big fascination with the coat, Tommy?" He drapes an arm over the back of the couch. "Desperate for a little peep show? Jesus, man, at least take him to dinner before you ask him to strip for you." Shinya next to him sucks in a sharp breath, and Die makes some undignified noises trying to pass a laugh over as a cough. 

Bullseye. Tommy's face contorts as he turns to look at Kyo like he's something vile he found under his shoe. With a grunt of disgust, he shoves him away — hard. Kyo flails for a heartbeat, and Toshiya's body jerks, ready to leap, but Kyo regains his balance with a graceless clutch at the desk. 

He looks shaken but unharmed, so Toshiya, while mentally plotting a thousand painful paybacks for Tommy, stays put, his fingers digging into the couch's worn upholstery. 

"Watch your fucking mouth," Tommy spits out, jabbing a sausage finger at Toshiya. "My seven-year-old nephew could step in for you, and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. That's how expendable you are. Chew on that next time you wanna crack wise."

Keeping his focus on Kyo — who won't meet his eye — Toshiya absorbs the hit without outward reaction, though the words definitely land where they're meant to. 

Finding no juicy reaction to feed off of, Tommy turns his disdain on the rest of the couch crew. "The hell you losers ogling at? Got nothing better to do? Beat it!"

And this is when Yoshiki finally decides it's his time to step in.

"Calm down, Tommy," he chides, his voice a perfect blend of gentle reprimand and bored disappointment. "That fuse of yours—" he tuts, "—always was too short, wasn't it?"

It's like someone let the air out of Tommy. And now, with his veneer of authority siphoned away, what's left standing there is not a fearsome industry overlord, or even a washed-out rockstar, but a pudgy, red-faced man with unchecked cholesterol and fists clenched in impotent anger. 

Toshiya, in this moment, is crushing hard on Yoshiki. What an absolute king. 

And the king isn't done yet. He turns his attention to Kyo, and none of them can quite believe their ears when he speaks next. 

"Why don't you take the day off?" he suggests, voice as honeyed as the color of his hair, dripping with magnanimous compassion. "We'll give it another go tomorrow."

Of course, this is all one big power flex — a completely transparent maneuver to shine a light on Yoshiki's cool, graceful composure next to Tommy's toddler-tier meltdown. But Toshiya couldn't care less about the underlying politics. He has to actively restrain himself from vaulting across the room, dropping to his knees, and sucking the man's dick out of sheer gratitude. 

Tommy does not share in the sentiment. In fact, Tommy is so violently opposed to the concept of basic human decency that before Kyo can so much as blink at this once-in-a-lifetime act of kindness, he's out, the studio door slamming so hard behind him that the walls rattle.

Kyo exhales slow and long and audible. "Yeah," he says. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry for... all this." He gestures weakly to encompass the chaos that just unfolded, but his hand is shaking, so he quickly jams it into his pocket.

With one last distressed look around the room, he turns and heads for the door. Toshiya's halfway out of his seat like there's an invisible leash between them that just got yanked, all set to trail after, but he doesn't get far.

Without even turning around, maybe having felt that leash go slack, Kyo issues a clipped, "Don't." 

Every cell in Toshiya's body bucks against that order. The urge to go and whisk Kyo off for a private are you okay, how can I fix this, do you want me to commit a violent felony in your honor debrief, is almost unbearable. But if space is what Kyo needs, Toshiya won't be the idiot who makes things worse. So, he forces himself back down onto the couch, feeling every inch like he's leaving a wounded animal to limp off into the woods to die.

Yoshiki and the tech don't linger after Kyo's gone, but the rest make no move to get off the couch. They mutely watch as the two pack up, murmur some parting words, and make their exit. 

The moment the door clicks shut, a sinister sort of stillness swallows the room. Die's leather jacket squeaks as he shifts. Then his voice, low and unusually hesitant, breaks the silence with words that make Toshiya's stomach fold in on itself.

"Guys... did you see..?" 

One look at Shinya and Kaoru confirms it: they saw it. 

They all did, of course. It was impossible not to. Toshiya was too preoccupied with revengeful, legally inadvisable daydreams to process it in real-time, but now, in the clarity of hindsight, the scene replays in nauseating detail — the way Kyo's parka stretched taut over a swell that should not have been there when his usually careful movements were knocked out of sync by Tommy's manhandling.

They're lucky, in a way. Tommy was too up in Kyo's grill to notice, and Yoshiki and the sound guy were behind him, leaving just the four of them with front-row seats to the unintended reveal. And now the questions are coming.

"What the hell was that?" wonders Kaoru. Confusion is not exactly his brand, so Toshiya really feels the gravity of it. 

Before he can even start assembling his thoughts into something resembling a plan, Die, ever the fountain of horrific takes, gears up for a doozy. 

"You know those starving African kids who—" 

"Absolutely fucking not," Toshiya snaps, shooting Die a glare so caustic Shinya between them subtly leans back like he's dodging an actual projectile. "That is not what's going on, okay?"  

Kaoru, tuning out the sideshow happening to his left, now has his hawk eyes trained on Toshiya. He leans forward on the other end of the couch, forearms braced on his knees and hands loosely clasped. "So, what is it then?" he asks, with the full implication that Toshiya is expected to have answers. 

Both Shinya and Die twist around to face him.

And what can he do? What options are there? The dam has cracked, and the truth is leaking through whether he likes it or not, and, honestly, it's a truth that in his opinion should've been communicated to the band months ago. 

So, fuck it.

"He's pregnant."

The oxymoron is met with an anticipatory silence. Die's lips quirk into a confused grin, all poised for the laugh track cue, but Toshiya's not smiling. Kaoru just stares, dead-eyed and unamused, and Shinya… Shinya looks intrigued, which is somehow the worst reaction of the lot. 

Realizing just how batshit that sentence was with no additional context, Toshiya makes a valiant attempt at providing some. "Some guys have the equipment," he says, making a vague, all-encompassing gesture that does nothing to help. "It's rare but it happens. Nature's weird like that. I'm sure you all remember the morning sickness and how sensitive he got to smells last fall."

Kaoru's not buying. "Except that I've seen him naked," he says bluntly. "Plenty. Trust me, it's all normal down there." 

As if Toshiya doesn't know that. As if there's an inch on Kyo's body he hasn't rested his eyes on. As if he doesn't have muscle memory in forensic detail of exactly how things down there feel in his hands, under his tongue, around his—

"Could he be a hermaphrodite, then?" Shinya chimes in with his hypothesis. "With both reproductive organs?" It sparks a moment of enlightenment in Toshiya. Oh, so there is a word for it. Neat. But before he can fully sit with this new vocabulary, Shinya's theory starts to skid sideways. "Perhaps he's got the female genitalia hidden behind—" 

"Nope, no, he doesn't," Toshiya cuts in before the visual can take root in anyone's imagination. Then, sighing, he presses his fingers to his temples. Is this what parents go through when their kids start asking where babies come from? Because if so, moms and dads worldwide deserve way more credit. "Look, there's nothing weird externally, okay? He's just got the internal bits necessary for pregnancy. He's not, like, half woman or something."

Die, who's been soaking this in with a steadily deepening frown, opens his mouth. "Not that I was ever top of the class or anything," he says, looking like he's taking personal offense to the whole concept, "but I'm pretty sure the main show for baby-making is pussy. How the hell do you get knocked up without one? What is he, the second coming of the Virgin Mary?" 

The room lapses into a ponderous silence. 

Toshiya silently pleads, begs for them to piece this puzzle together without him having to paint a mural about how certain parts can fit into other parts. He watches them, sees the wheels turn, can practically smell the rubber burn, but the bafflement in their eyes only deepens. Funny, considering the sheer volume of butt humor that pollutes their tour bus whenever boredom hits critical mass, not to mention the slightly homophobic (but sort of legit) philosophical debates about whether nature intended for men to orgasm that way. This should not be a foreign concept to anyone here. 

Shinya — ever-curious, galaxy-brained Shinya, who looks way too into this conversation — eventually hazards a guess, one that's so wildly inaccurate it's almost impressive. 

"Did his… did his own… stuff… maybe somehow absorb in there? Internally?" 

Kaoru and Die make thoughtful noises, like they're actually entertaining this Lovecraftian horror show of an idea. Toshiya lets them. A self-fertilization theory is way out there, but at least it saves him from having to unpack Kyo's bedroom habits for the peanut gallery. 

Right as Kaoru begins to piece together a thought about Kyo as some sort of self-replicating entity akin to starfish, Die cuts in with something even worse, albeit logistically closer to the truth.

"Wait…" His big, troubled eyes flick between them, his expression signaling bad thought incoming. Toshiya braces himself. "You reckon he was... you know…" The sentence trails off briefly, like he's hoping someone else will finish it for him. No one does, so he whispers, because clearly saying it quieter makes it less awful: "raped."

Toshiya doesn't even let them blink. "No. He definitely wasn't," he asserts with finality. "But that's beside the point, okay? The deal is that Kyo's mortified about this whole situation, and the last thing he needs is you guys making it weirder than it already is." His eyes land squarely on Die. "Just be cool, support him, don't make it a whole thing. And definitely don't go asking if he's got any extra parts hidden somewhere." He's looking at Shinya now.

Kaoru, still sporting that unreadable, vaguely judgmental expression, lets out a terse exhale through his nose. His next words hit a nerve. "Why are you the one filling us in, anyway? You two aren't exactly best friends."

Toshiya sits up a little straighter. He's been bleeding out his sanity for months safeguarding Kyo's secret, spent the past three weeks cohabiting with him — watching his belly expand by the day, listening to him weep over tofu commercials — and, oh yeah, also happens to be the direct cause of his current 'blessed' condition. Kaoru can fuck the right off with his 'not exactly best friends' commentary. 

"Well, apparently he trusts me, given that he actually told me. That's why," he fires back. He lets that sit for a second before adding, perhaps more pointedly than necessary, "And for your information, he's been staying at my place. That's going to continue for the time being." 

"Huh," says Kaoru 'Formerly Relevant Flatmate' Niikura, face tight as his understanding of his place in Kyo's world gets forcibly recalibrated.

"He's scheduled for a C-section at the end of April," Toshiya carries on, his gaze sweeping across his bandmates as they visibly struggle to wrap their heads around the cascading insanity. "He'll need some time to recover, and then he'll be back in business. Baby will be given up for adoption, and this whole thing will be as if it never happened."

You could hear a dust particle land on a carpet in the wake of this little info bomb. It's Die who eventually scrambles past his disbelief, voicing what sounds like a last-ditch attempt to tether this conversation back to some kind of recognizable reality.

"Are you actually for real? This isn't some kind of... bizarre prank or a setup for some demented fanfic that Kyo's gonna stab you for later? You're actually serious? Our Kyo, who I'm pretty sure eats newborns for breakfast, has got a bun in the oven?" 

The looks on Kaoru and Shinya's faces say it all — they were all clinging to the hope of an eventual 'sike!' 

Grimly, Toshiya meets their gazes one by one. "Dead. Ass. Serious." 

No one has a damn thing left to say to that.

Chapter Text

"I'm home," Toshiya calls, pulling the front door closed behind him. 

He's not entirely sure if his presence is on the wishlist right now, but tough luck if it's not; he kind of needs to see that Kyo is intact and not currently undergoing an emergency C-section because Tommy's brute dumbassery triggered early labor.

He finds Kyo curled up in bed atop the covers, half-buried in one of his more absurdly oversized hoodies, a comic wedged in one hand. At a glance, he looks no worse for wear, but Toshiya's not stupid enough to think that's the whole story.

He tugs his slacks up a bit and perches himself on the edge of the kotatsu table. "Hey. You doing alright?" 

Kyo makes an affirmative noise, his unmoving eyes not budging from the comic, which Toshiya bets hasn't seen a page turn in a while. He looks frustrated as he mulls something over, chapped lips pursing and twisting before the words spill out with a little kick of defiance. 

"For the record, I would've punched him in his stupid face if I wasn't in this condition."

Ah. Wounded pride. He's embarrassed for not standing up for himself. 

"I know," Toshiya says smoothly. "Almost took the honors myself." Not that it would've done anything good; the last thing Kyo would want is to be seen as some damsel in distress needing rescue. Getting nothing back, Toshiya tries for a positive slant. "Anyway, rehearsals went good yesterday. You'll crush it tomorrow, easy, and then you can just focus on taking it easy until summer. Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Kyo echoes, but his tone carries little of the conviction Toshiya is trying to sow. He lets the book flop shut, a finger tucked in as a placeholder, and there's apprehension brewing in his eyes when he finally lifts them to Toshiya. His throat bobs as he swallows. "That thing... when he got all up in my face… Did it — I mean, could you tell...?"

Toshiya rubs his palms over his thighs, the fabric of his pants catching on the calluses of his fingers. "Yeah," he admits. "They saw."

Kyo closes his eyes. "Shit," he exhales. He brings a hand up, small fingers pressing against an eyelid as his brow tightens. With a bitter little huff, he mutters, "Guess my autoimmune thing now comes with some next-level bloating, too. What a mess." 

There's no elegant segue for what comes next. So, Toshiya steels himself and rips off the band-aid. "Kyo, about that…" He grips his thighs. "The band knows. I had to tell them what's going on." 

Kyo's fingers still, mid-rub, like someone hit the pause button on the room. His surprise is practically a living thing, and Toshiya's heart starts kicking against his ribs. He'd kind of hoped — stupidly, maybe — that Kyo would just get it, would understand that something this massive was never going to stay a secret. Maybe he even let himself imagine that, past the inevitable anger, Kyo might actually find some relief in not having to hide from the band anymore. 

Slowly, almost mechanically, the hand lifts from Kyo's face, and the raw shock in his eyes barely has time to make an impression before it curdles into something lethal. 

"No, you didn't," he says, voice pitched unnaturally low. The comic book slides off the bed and hits the floor with a soft thwap as he pushes himself upright. Now at eye level, Toshiya can see the dilation of his pupils, the overly controlled drag of his breaths, the white-knuckled grip on the edge of the mattress. "You're lying," he says tightly. "Tell me you're lying." 

Toshiya is kind of starting to wish he was. "I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" he argues, torn between wanting to stand by his decision and knowing it was possibly the worst call ever made. "And I thought… Listen, it's better for you that they know. No more sneaking around, no more weird looks… They can actually support you now. Like, for example, Die could—"

"Are you fucking brain-dead?" Kyo hisses, and a slap couldn't have silenced Toshiya more effectively. "How am I supposed to even look at them now? Do you seriously not get how fucking humiliating this is?! And now they all know! They know I'm a faggot, that I'm some freak of nature crossbreed with — with woman's parts in me, and that I got knocked up because I let someone fuck me up the ass. And you thought it'd be cool to broadcast all that to the band?! It wasn't your call to make!"

Toshiya's mouth is bone-dry, heart wedged so high in his throat it's a miracle he's not turning blue. Words are failing him completely for once. 

He knew, of course, that Kyo wasn't exactly celebrating the surreal trajectory his life had taken. But the guy never talks about it. Never really complains, either. Hell, he even kind of carries himself in a way that makes it easy to assume he's found a way to reconcile with his circumstances. Clearly a massive misread, if this is really how he sees himself, through a lens of such violent self-hatred. 

His eyes are burning, angry tears forming at the corners. "What else did you say? Did you tell them what I'm like in bed too? Did you tell them about all the—" He cuts off, whatever brutal honesty was about to come out getting sucked back behind a harsh inhale, though it doesn't lessen the impact when he chokes out, "I fucking hate you. I'm done living with you."

With a noise that's some horrible collision between a scoff and a sob, he shoves himself up from the bed, and Toshiya's stomach plummets. He springs up too, panic gripping him as he watches Kyo start to rampage through the room like a man on a mission to erase himself. Clothes and personal items get stuffed into his backpack with a carelessness that's all rage and no reason, more looting than packing. 

"Kyo, please wait—" Toshiya reaches out, only to have his hand swatted away so hard his fingers sting. 

"Don't touch me," Kyo spits out, his chest heaving with the force of it. "Haven't you done that enough? And this—" He gestures jerkily at his protruding stomach, "—this is what I get for letting you. And you? What do you get? A perfect little boyfriend to make out with right in my face. Just living your best life while I'm drowning in this nightmare. And you know what else? Tommy was right, you're just a spare part. So fuck you."

And then, abruptly, silence falls.

Because Kyo's temper, as Toshiya has come to know, is a flashover — hot and bright and gone before you know which way is up. Sure enough, the fury's already spent itself before Toshiya can even start to make sense of the barrage of accusations and insults that just rained down on him.

Motionless now except for the uneven lift and fall of his chest, Kyo stares blankly at some meaningless point below Toshiya's chin, like he's forgotten what he was even doing. The backpack hangs from his grip, gaping open like a suffocating fish, its innards — clothes, notebooks, a charger — looking ready to tumble out at any second. 

Toshiya waits, his breath held tight in his chest.

And then the stillness is pierced by Kyo's voice, low and hoarse and utterly unexpected.

"Touch me," he says with difficulty, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he still won't look at Toshiya. "Hold me."

Toshiya's brain is absolutely tripping over itself, but his body's already on it. He steps in, carefully pries the loaded pack from Kyo's limp grasp to toss it aside — and then Kyo all but melts into him, as if standing on his own was too ambitious all along. Afraid he might crumple like paper if they remain on their feet, Toshiya eases them both down, knees hitting the shaggy rug in their graceless landing.

Kyo's hands latch onto Toshiya's back, fingers clawing into his shoulder blades like he's trying to climb out of himself, and then come the tears — the harsh, heaving, full-body kind that Toshiya feels down to his bones. It's a painful flashback to that night four months ago when Kyo turned up at his door, eyes wild with fear, voice wobbling with the words, Something weird is happening to me. And here they are now, that 'something weird' an undeniable reality they can't outrun, with a countdown ticking down to less than two months.

"I can't do this," Kyo sobs into Toshiya's shoulder. "My body's ruined—" A gasping inhale cuts him off, sounding like it hurts on the way in, "and I — I can't even stand to look at myself — I don't even know what I am anymore — what I'm supposed to be — and you don't know the half of it—" He keeps choking on his own words, lungs spasming as he struggles with the sheer scale of his helplessness. Toshiya clenches his eyes shut. "I freaking hate this, I hate all of it. I knew this would be tough, but this — I didn't know… Ah…" 

Toshiya's heart is being wrung out like a dishrag, twisted tighter with every splintered word. His throat feels thick, his pulse heavy in his ears, but when he buries his nose into Kyo's hair and speaks, his voice holds steady. 

"You're gonna get through this," he asserts. "If anyone's tough enough to do it, it's you. And you're not ruined, you hear me? Not even close, you're…" You're stunning like this, he thinks fiercely, helplessly, but what he says is, "You'll recover. We'll get you through this, and you'll be back to your own self in no time."

"You don't know that," Kyo sniffles.

Well, no, he doesn't. And realistically? Kyo's not going to come out of this unchanged, not in body, not in mind. But Toshiya will keep lying through his teeth if it means getting the guy to see a sliver of hope. 

Uselessly, he tries to drag him in closer, seeking out that last bit of space that they just can't bridge right now, not with Kyo's pregnancy pushing back against Toshiya's midsection. It's a bitter little paradox, how the very thing that will bind them for life is also keeping them apart, physically and otherwise stranded in separate realities where neither quite understands the other.

So there they sit, huddled on the floor in an embrace that's as clumsy as it is vital, two mismatched puzzle pieces forced together by sheer necessity and a lack of better options.

It seems like an age passes, but slowly, Kyo's sobs start to run out of fuel, thinning out into shuddery breaths. His hands remain twisted in the yarn of Toshiya's sweater — probably stretched all to hell by now — and once the convulsions subside, he's left feeling startlingly small in Toshiya's arms, the slightness of his frame unaffected by pregnancy or baggy clothes.

The storm is officially over. And now, Toshiya finds himself hyperaware of every little thing: the hot, humid puffs of Kyo's exhales hitting the crook of his neck; the wet, borderline obscene sounds of his tearful swallowing right beside his ear; and the rhythm of his breathing pressing him close with every deep inhale. It's weirdly, unintentionally intimate, and Toshiya's skin is starting to prickle. 

Right as he's contemplating how to tactfully create some personal space, a sharp nudge against his stomach jolts him. His eyes pop open wide, and when Kyo's fingers tighten on his shirt in silent acknowledgment, Toshiya's arms too instinctively clamp down a little tighter. 

He holds still, heart thumping away, waiting — hoping — for another sign from the agent of chaos who's upended everything. But none comes, and it's just the two of them again, suddenly very aware of nothing but each other in a room that's altogether too quiet. 

Kyo shifts, and Toshiya forces himself to let go. Sitting back on his haunches, Kyo pulls his hand into his sleeve and scrubs at his swollen eyes, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

"Ugh, I'm so fed up with crying," he grouses, voice nasal and scratchy but carrying a weak shot at self-deprecating humor. "I get the worst headaches."

Unsticking tear-wet strands of hair from his neck, Toshiya watches Kyo try and cram his emotions back into whatever box they broke out of. "Hey," he starts, a bit awkward because heart-to-hearts aren't usually their thing. But this needs to be said. "You can talk to me about stuff, you know? I mean, I wouldn't trust me for great advice, but I can listen. Clearly, you're… going through it." 

"Think I got it all out," Kyo mumbles, already visibly regretting the outburst. Toshiya wishes he wouldn't be so hard on himself. 

"Okay, well, if things pile up," he says, giving Kyo's knee a friendly tap, "the offer stands. Like, forever. No appointment necessary."

Kyo sniffs, looking down at his knee. "Thanks." Time hangs for a beat, and then, with the kind of reluctance that says he's not sure he even wants the answer, he mutters, "Well… How'd they take it?" 

"Not badly," Toshiya assures, which is maybe an optimistic way of describing what happened, but technically not a lie. "Mostly just surprised. Confused." Entirely incomprehending. 

"Hmm." 

Now, with the topic back on the table, would be a great time for Toshiya to start tripping over himself with apologies. Sorry for the overshare. Sorry for that hallway make-out session with his 'perfect little boyfriend.' Sorry for being a blithering moron who somehow failed to notice just how deep in the trenches Kyo was. And a preemptive sorry for all the future blunders he's bound to commit. But before he can work up the nerve, Kyo is already switching channels.

"McDonald's? I'm starving."

It takes Toshiya a second to process the hop from soul-crushing despair to chicken nuggets, but then — heck, why not? There's something to be said for the curative properties of junk food. 

"Sure," he agrees with an airy laugh. Maybe his mountain of apologies can wait. Or maybe it's already felt without having to spell it out. "You get horizontal for a bit, and I'll handle the food run, okay?"

Kyo gives his neck a lazy roll and sighs. "Think I'll take a shower. Gotta scrub that ogre's touch off me." He makes a face that's half actual disgust, half intentional dramatics, and then, switching back to practical matters, he starts, "Get me a—"

"Dude," Toshiya cuts him off with a pointed look. "You think I don't pay attention? I've got your order tattooed on my brain at this point." 

Kyo hesitates, then offers one of those small grins that transforms his face into something almost cartoonishly sweet and young. It's not a rare sight, exactly, but after the emotional battlefield they just crawled through, it feels extra precious, and Toshiya catches himself staring just a little too long.

Kyo's still toweling his hair dry when they sit down for their nutritionally bankrupt lunch. It's barely past one in the afternoon, but he's already rocking pajama pants and, surprisingly, a t-shirt instead of his usual heavy-duty armor of hoodies or sweatshirts. Seeing him without his layers is new, and if that's a side effect of the earlier blow-up, Toshiya figures that's at least one positive takeaway.

They annihilate their food in content silence, both either lost in thought or enjoying the rare bliss of having none at all. Once they've successfully shaved a day or two off their life expectancy, Toshiya starts cramming the greasy wrappers, cartons, and crumpled paper napkins into a plastic bag. It's then that Kyo says something that yanks his full attention.

"Shinya texted me."

Toshiya looks up at him, and he has to concentrate a little too hard on tying off the trash bag. "Yeah? What'd he say?" he inquires, hoping his voice doesn't give away the undercurrent of oh boy. The band's reactions are still an unknown variable; anything could've come tumbling out of Shinya's unfathomable brain.

Kyo twists around to reach for his phone, a short contortion to manage it with his belly in the way, then settles back with an exaggerated huff. Clutching his phone, he tucks his knees up, and Toshiya watches the screen reflect in his eyes, casting his golden brown irises in a bluish hue as he searches for the message. 

Kyo clears his throat lightly, then recites in a deadpan voice, "'Very exciting news, Kyo. Don't feel self-conscious. We support you unconditionally.' And then in brackets — 'congratulations?' with a question mark." He exhales sharply through his nose. 

Toshiya closes his eyes for a beat, sending a fervent thank you, you strange, beautiful extraterrestrial through some invisible airwaves straight to Shinya. Opening them, he beams at Kyo. "See? They're behind you," he says, like he wasn't just sweating bullets a second ago. "Confused, yes, but who isn't?"

Kyo glances at him briefly before his eyes drop back to his phone. "Kaoru texted, too," he divulges, and the way he says it, it's clear that this one packed a much more layered punch. 

Toshiya's not exactly dying to know what Kaoru had to say, but it looks like the choice isn't his. Kyo leans in to hand over the device, and Toshiya reluctantly accepts it. The message is pretty much what he expected, but it still hits weirdly. Weirdly, like a brick to the face. 

Come home? 

That fucker. He manages a half-smile as he passes the phone back. "Guy's got the blues for you," he tries to joke.

Kyo just hums, his eyes locked on the message as if it might sprout more words if he looks hard enough. Meanwhile, Toshiya, doing his absolute best to pretend his stomach didn't just begin to digest itself with stress, becomes intensely interested in the split ends of the lock of hair he's holding between his fingers. 

And as the question festers between them, the implications start to sink their teeth in.

Because if Kyo decides to take Kaoru up on his offer, to pack up and go back home, where does it leave Toshiya? Would he even see Kyo again until after the surgery? Would Kaoru be the one taking him to the hospital? Probably. It'd make sense. They've known each other longer; no point pretending Kyo wouldn't be more at ease with him. 

No biggie. All good. Totally fine. 

Toshiya hates it. 

Actually, it would fucking devastate him to see Kyo go. But who's he to make this about his feelings? This is Kyo's life. Kyo needs to be wherever he feels most comfortable, and god knows Toshiya can't blame him if that place isn't here. 

When it becomes obvious that Kyo has no intention of addressing the giant elephant in the room, Toshiya accepts it's on him to do it.

Letting his hair slip from his fingers, he drops his hands into his lap and looks over at Kyo. He clears his throat to bridge the silence. "So, what are you thinking about doing?" 

Kyo's phone makes a small thunk against the wood of the table as he sets it down. "Well…" He leans back into the chair, the towel still draped around his neck, dampening his gray shirt. "Since he now knows… not much point in sticking around here, is there?"

Toshiya nods, putting on his best supportive-friend face, like those words aren't at all making him feel like he's being gutted from the inside out. "Right," he says. "You must be missing having your own space. Your own stuff and routine, and…" His words fizzle out, dying a pathetic death as he realizes he just can't fake it right now.

"Mmh. And you can have your guy over without me in the way."

For a second, Toshiya literally has no clue what Kyo's talking about. Aoi is so far from his mind right now it takes him a beat to even process who his 'guy' is supposed to be. A humorless laugh scrapes out of him. "No, that's... really not even a consideration," he says. They're having a baby, for fuck's sake — no matter how unplanned, how unwanted, what could possibly rank higher in importance? Certainly not his dating life.

Kyo shrugs, and the conversation wilts into an uncomfortable hush.

Toshiya draws his legs up and hugs them to his chest. Anxiety churns in him. Kaoru is not equipped for this. He won't have the first clue how to take care of Kyo. Sure, he might throw some soggy leftovers his way like he's feeding a park pigeon, but there's no way he'll be there giving Kyo back rubs and arranging pillows around him before he goes to sleep. Reminding him to take his vitamins and tracking his water intake. And let's not even picture Kaoru's reaction to hormone-triggered cryfests — one stray sniffle, and the man's liable to seize up like a malfunctioning android.

More to the point, Kaoru isn't the one with his genetic material all tangled up in this mess. He hasn't lost sleep over it, hasn't had to rearrange his routines around it, hasn't spent the last few months watching Kyo's body change while knowing it's his DNA in there, knitting itself into something irreversible. Kaoru, in fact, has fuck all to do with any of this.

Toshiya bites the inside of his lip. Is he really supposed to just step back and sit on the sidelines while another man plays house during Kyo's final stretch of pregnancy?

The word is out before his brain cells can vote on it.

"Stay," he blurts.

Kyo's head lifts, eyebrows raised in perfect reflection of Toshiya's own surprise. But crucially, he doesn't seem put off, and that's enough for Toshiya to double down.

"I mean it," he pushes on, leaning in slightly. "Don't go back yet. I wanna see this through with you. I mean… this concerns me too, doesn't it? I'm part of this." 

Kyo doesn't break eye contact, but there's a twitch of skepticism in his expression. "You don't have to be," he retorts softly, the implied 'this is your out' clear as day.

"Yeah, well, I want to," Toshiya shoots back, his voice gaining force. "I want to be there for you. Blame it on some paternal instincts or whatever, but right now, it's really hard for me to focus on anything else besides making sure you're taken care of."

Silence, and now Toshiya feels like he's at a poker table, all in with his chips. He watches the mental machinery work behind Kyo's eyes, processing and evaluating the weight of his commitment, and in his head, he chants, say yes, say yes, say yes, like maybe he can rig the outcome through sheer desperation alone.

Kyo's eyes wander to the phone resting on the kotatsu. He stares at it for a long, unreadable moment that has Toshiya teetering on the edge of insanity, then finally asks, "What should I reply to Kaoru, then?" 

And it's clear — he's staying. Holy shit, he's staying.

Relief seems too weak a word for what washes over Toshiya. He tries to play it cool, tries to hold onto some dignity, but nope, his dumbass grin immediately rats him out. Kyo's choosing this. Choosing him, choosing their accidental, completely unplanned, objectively cursed little family unit. Because that's what they are, right? Yeah, they totally are. So suck on that, Kaoru. 

"Tell him you're busy being pampered by someone way hotter," Toshiya jokes, stretching his arms skyward to dissipate some of the jittery energy buzzing in him, then leans back onto his hands with a smug little smirk.

Kyo gives him a deeply unimpressed stare. "Yeah, that relative he thinks I'm staying with? Not gonna help my case."

Toshiya's cocky grin falters, twisting into an awkward grimace. "Ah. Yeah. Funny story… I might've kinda let slip that you're crashing at my place. Oops?" 

Kyo straightens in surprise. "Oh? So they know...?" 

"What?" 

"That you're the other parent." 

"Oh. No, they don't know that." Huh, look at that — one detail he actually managed to keep a lid on.

But instead of the expected sigh of relief, Kyo serves back a scoff. "So you basically outed me while keeping your own ass covered." 

Toshiya opens his mouth, then closes it. Did he out Kyo? Or did the guys buy into the theory of Kyo as some kind of self-impregnating sea slug? Unclear. But rather than get into how that dumpster fire of a conversation unfolded, Toshiya ventures, "Would you like them to know…? About my involvement?" 

"Just come clean that you're gay, and we're even." Locked and loaded. 

Toshiya's eyebrows shoot up. Well, that's… an unexpected solution. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe having both of their lives up for public consumption instead of just Kyo's own is kind of like distributing the scrutiny so it's less concentrated.

"I can do that," he agrees, because compared to everything else going on, his sexual orientation is a non-event. However… "You do get that once they hear that, they're gonna do the math, right? I'm gay, you're preggers, we're roomies — kind of a short leap." 

Kyo shrugs. "Let them." 

The flippant attitude pokes at Toshiya in a way he wasn't prepared for. For all of Kyo's discomfort, all of the stress and secrecy and sheer mortification surrounding this situation — he doesn't care if the band knows it's Toshiya's kid? The knowledge sits funny in Toshiya's chest.

But before he can get too deep in his feels about it, Kyo's expression shifts, like something just occurred to him. "You don't gotta, though," he backtracks, scratching at his wrist. "Like, if it's embarrassing or whatever." 

"Nah, I'd be more embarrassed to be straight."

"No, I mean… being associated with all this." Kyo gestures vaguely around himself, like he's some colossal mess that nobody in their right mind would claim. "Or, you know. Me." 

Toshiya stares. 

It's a prime opportunity to boost Kyo's rock-bottom self-image, sure, but that's not even on Toshiya's mind when he demands with genuine affront, "Are you kidding me? I'd scream about all this from the rooftops if that's what you wanted. I'd make a damn press release, hire a skywriter. Zero shame, man." 

A wry smile tugs at Kyo's lips. He sinks lower into his seat behind his tucked-up legs, eyes flicking down as he fiddles with the towel atop his stomach. "Your boyfriend's gonna love that," he comments dryly.

"He can deal," Toshiya says with bravado that's sure to be nowhere to be seen the next time he's face-to-face with Aoi. "My point stands."

He watches as Kyo tries, and fails, to hide what's now turned into a full-blown grin into the towel. He turtles even lower into his chair until he's practically folded in two, looking like a chiropractor's worst nightmare with only his eyes peeking out from behind his knees.

"You're weird," he accuses, voice muffled but clearly entertained.

Toshiya snorts. "Pot, meet kettle."

Kyo hums in what sounds like agreement, and then, after a brief pause, drops nonchalantly, "Poor kid, huh?"

Kid.

Toshiya's bowled over. Kyo said kid, like it's nothing. But before he can even begin to form a coherent thought around it, Kyo's already rolling to his side, bracing against the kotatsu to haul himself upright, muttering about peanut-sized bladders as he shuffles off.

Left alone, Toshiya gives in to the melodramatic urge to collapse onto the floor, arms sprawled out. A short, incredulous laugh bubbles up. Poor kid? That 'poor kid' just sucker punched both his dads simultaneously without even being born yet. The kid's going to be just fine. 

It's Kyo he's worried about.

Today was an eye-opener, and yeah, the hormone hellstorm likely amplified things — given Kyo's already acting like his spontaneous emotional disembowelment never happened — but that doesn't change the fact that the guy's not okay. 

And not only that, but he seems to resent Toshiya a lot more than he ever guessed. Well, maybe not Toshiya as a person, he hopes, but his ability to move through life with some degree of normalcy. That kiss must have been a slap in the face — a reminder that Toshiya's life still has room for dating and sex and being wanted in a way that Kyo clearly isn't feeling right now.

He heaves a sigh and scrubs a hand down his face.

Then there's Die. Mr. Radio Silence while the rest have checked in, sent some sort of thumbs-up of continued brotherhood. Could be he's just slow on the uptake and needs a moment to get his act together. Could also be he's gearing up to be a massive, flaming dick about the whole thing.

A weird, stomach-gripping feeling of foreboding takes over Toshiya then. He can't tell if it's about Die, Aoi, Kyo, Tommy, or the shifts he's starting to notice within himself, but he can't shake the feeling that something, somewhere, is about to give before D-day.

Chapter Text

Tommy is a no-show at the studio the next day, and nobody's complaining. With the human aneurysm out of the equation, the atmosphere is downright pleasant, almost like a recording session rather than a violent hostage situation. They actually get stuff done. Well, Kyo, Yoshiki, and the sound guy get stuff done, while the rest spectate and lob in the occasional comment.

Throughout the day, Toshiya stays on high alert for even the faintest undercurrent of weirdness aimed at Kyo. But if any secret exchanges or sidelong glances across their frontman's bundled-up figure are taking place, the guys are government-grade spies about it, because he catches nothing. Kyo himself (who, despite Toshiya's best pep talk on their way over, slunk into the studio looking ready to face a firing squad) seems actively disoriented by how business-as-usual everything is, his eyes occasionally flicking to Toshiya as if to ask, Do they really know?

To which, Toshiya can only smile and shrug back. Internally, he's doling out mental high-fives all around to his bandmates. Whether it's actual tact or just crippling awkwardness about anything that's deeply personal but not in a funny way, he does not care; they're all handling this beautifully.

Yoshiki, too, is committed to his charade of being a class act. He throws an absolute cloak of silence over the parka-slash-autoimmune debacle, no matter how many bathroom trips Kyo racks up or how often he has to step off the mic to pant and mop off sweat. Nor does the man twitch an eyebrow when he treats them to a lavish Chinese lunch and Kyo's still dressed for the second Ice Age, while Kaoru sits next to him in a tee. 

The day wraps up like a minor miracle with the vocal track in the can — a straightforward melody, no gimmicks, likely crafted with this exact foresight by Kyo.

Before the gang can scatter, Toshiya coughs pointedly. Time for that fun little bombshell he's been planning to drop. Oh boy. 

"Hey, guys. Can you hang back a sec?" He locks eyes with each of his bandmates to ensure everyone here understands this is strictly an in-band affair.

Yoshiki and the tech get the hint and take their leave, and once the door clicks shut behind them, Toshiya lets it fly, nerves way too jacked to bother with buildup.

"I'm gay," he announces, the words leaping out like his mouth is a house on fire. In the beat of dead air that follows, he wonders if he should've workshopped the delivery after all, prep a speech or something. "Uh, surprise? ...Or maybe not so much?" 

His eyes flick to Kyo, who's camped out on the couch still mummified in his parka. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, and he somehow looks more nervous than Toshiya feels. 

Die, posted against the wall with his hands jammed in his pants pockets, is the first to weigh in. "Lost a bet?" he quips, but it sounds half-hearted, a formality, like maybe he had a hunch already. 

"Nope," Toshiya says, stepping to the couch and taking a seat a respectable distance from Kyo. The response so far is weirdly lukewarm, and so, feeling the need to push for some real engagement, he adds, "I like dudes. Actually got myself a boyfriend and all." 

"And why's this something you feel the need to share?" Kaoru asks curtly, his voice slightly stifled by the filter between his lips as he lights up a cigarette. "It's none of our business what you get up to in your spare time." Leaning back into the chair, he sucks in a lungful of smoke, his eyes lifting to Toshiya — and then sliding straight to Kyo. Nothing on his face betrays two and two coming together behind it, but that doesn't of course mean anything.

"Right. It isn't," Toshiya agrees, choosing to take that as the preferable type of reaction. 

While Die inspects his nails with questionable interest, Shinya's attention zeroes in on Kyo, who, under the sudden scrutiny, starts to slowly shrink down into his coat.

Shinya isn't here for bush-beating. "Kyo, are you the boyfriend?" 

Something in Toshiya wilts internally when he sees Die's expression curdle at the question. Sure as hell doesn't inspire confidence in his ability to be cool about this.

"We don't need to know—" Kaoru starts forcefully, but Kyo's already shutting down the speculation.

"No," he blurts, almost panicky. "I'm definitely not." 

You can practically hear the period at the end of his sentence, and for a moment Toshiya feels vaguely offended. But then — actually, this works in their favor. Those 'Toshiya's the daddy' theories that were undoubtedly starting to brew here were likely just kneecapped by the sheer force and speed of that denial. 

Because while they did agree it's not a big deal if the band figures it out, why invite that kind of mental image into their lives? Some things are better kept less... vivid, for the sake of everyone's mental well-being and group dynamics.

To give them something to chew on that's not so close to home, Toshiya elaborates, "It's a guy from another band. Melville." He leans back, crossing an ankle over a knee, hands sinking into the pockets of his track jacket. "He's the guitarist. Goes by Natsume." 

He's comfortable divulging this because, with all due love to Aoi, Melville isn't exactly a household name. They're working hard, sure, and gaining some traction, but so are a myriad of other small bands. Nobody here pays enough attention to the scene to care.

Or so he flippantly assumed.

Because that illusion of security and anonymity shatters the instant Die opens his mouth. "I know him," he says, frowning. "Shiroyama Yuu, right?" 

Toshiya's entire system skips a beat. 

Shiroyama. That's Aoi's family name, he knows that much, but Yuu? Aoi's never introduced himself as Yuu, never once mentioned it — though now that Toshiya actually thinks about it, yeah, of course Aoi isn't his real name.

And he knows Die? It never occurred to Toshiya that the two might have crossed paths. Mie's a big prefecture and they've got a four-year age gap; Die was already making waves in Osaka when Aoi would've still been wrestling with algebra in junior high. 

Why hasn't Aoi told him any of this?

Coughing a bit to shake off the off-balance feeling creeping in, Toshiya says, "Yeah? How do you know him?" 

"He's the kid brother of a guy I knew back in Mie," Die says, and that persistent frown doesn't make Toshiya feel any warmer about this unforeseen connection.

"You know him well then?" 

Die gives a little shake of the head. "No, not personally." He pauses, his expression turning a little unsure now as his eyes skate over the faces of their bandmates. "But… well, I guess most people in Mie's visual scene have at least heard of him. He tried to make it there like his brother, but there was, uh… a bit of a scandal involving him. He left the scene after that, went all-in trying to become a pro surfer. So, yeah, imagine my surprise when I saw him on a band flyer last summer." 

Finding himself suddenly very aware of his own thumping pulse, Toshiya repositions, uncrossing his legs with a rustle. The weight of everyone's attention makes his skin go tight, itchy. "What happened?" 

The look on Die's face now says he fully wishes he'd kept his big mouth shut. "I mean… I wasn't there for it, you know? Just got word from the grapevine…"

Toshiya isn't in the mood for grapevine disclaimers. "Word of what?" 

"...Tapes," Die lets out, and it's impressive how such an innocuous word can sound so doom-laden. He shifts his weight against the wall, looking distinctly uneasy as he wraps his arms around his midsection. "As in, audio. Of him and this dude from an X tribute band, Shun, getting it on. Shiroyama had been secretly recording their hookups, and when Shun wanted to break it off, he made it clear he had… well, insurance." 

Toshiya's stomach hurts.

"Short story short," Die rushes to conclude, "Shun thought it was a bluff, except it wasn't, and next thing, whole town's heard him spewing filth while doing the deed with your man. Like, real explicit stuff. Life-ruining, for a guy like Shun, whose family was about as traditional as it gets." 

Above, the fluorescents are whining at a pitch that drills straight into Toshiya's skull. He dropped eye contact with Die somewhere around spewing filth while doing the deed with your man, and now he's staring at Shinya's pristine white sneakers. He feels exposed, embarrassed, worried, and about twelve other flavors of bad, but for some reason, he finds himself thinking how Kyo must be enjoying this. 

It's Kaoru, the guy who didn't want to touch this soap opera with a ten-foot pole, who cuts through the static.

"What happened to him? This Shun guy?" 

Die shrugs. "Vanished, man. Bailed on the band, skipped town, the works. Some say he offed himself, but it's all hearsay. No solid intel." 

Toshiya sticks his hand into his hair and gives it an aggressive ruffle. "And Aoi?" he asks, forcing himself to look back up at Die.

"The whole stunt backfired on him. His band kicked him to the curb, the local scene exiled him for being — sorry — a grade-A scumbag. That's when he turned to surfing, tried to start fresh, I guess." 

"When was this?"

Die scratches his jaw. "Three years ago? He was still in high school. Dropped out not long after." 

Three years. That doesn't seem long enough for a total moral turnaround. Or is it? People do grow quite a bit between seventeen and twenty. But in what way? How much? Toshiya did dumb shit in high school that he wouldn't do now, but ultimately, he wasn't a whole different person back then. Certainly doesn't have premeditated extortion on his resume. No ruining a person's life under extracurriculars.

But the Aoi he knows, the sweet, witty, considerate guy who texts him cute messages on the daily, who's worn his heart on his sleeve from day one, slightly dramatic but ultimately harmless Aoi… How does that mesh with the one Die is describing?

Ugh. This was supposed to be simple: come out of the closet and get the spotlight momentarily off of Kyo's reproductive adventures. Not unearth a buried sex scandal featuring his boyfriend as the main villain. 

"Look, Toshiya…" Kaoru starts. 

Toshiya stares down the ashtray on the table, knowing nothing good ever comes from Kaoru addressing him directly.

"If there's some tapes of you two, and this guy decides to go public with them—" Kaoru cuts off abruptly, and Toshiya imagines someone must've shot him a 'shut it' glare. "I'm just saying," the guitarist asserts, and when Toshiya reluctantly lifts his eyes, Kaoru meets him dead-on, his face set, tone flat and resolute, "if you pull a Houdini over some bullshit like that, I'll personally hunt you down and drag you back by the ear if I have to. We clear?" 

Before Toshiya can fully digest this unexpected, aggressively phrased show of solidarity, Kyo decides to lob his own two cents into the ring. 

"Yeah, 'cause in case you haven't noticed, you're kinda important to this band."

Toshiya's throat tightens as he turns to look at Kyo, whose sideways peek is just about transparent enough to read some regret in it. Must've been for that 'spare part' slap-down yesterday. Not that Toshiya had been dwelling on it or anything, but still — nice to hear. 

And then, as if to tie the whole mess together with an utterly deranged little bow, Shinya decides to contribute. "We'll remix those tapes and turn it into a single, and then go kill your boyfriend," he offers with the kind of misplaced enthusiasm that would get a person institutionalized.

Die exhales a long-suffering sigh. "You're so fucking weird, man. Don't ever try to be funny again." 

The conversation has gone completely and utterly off the rails, but when Toshiya considers the room, he realizes that this must be their way of looping back to his coming-out, and, well — in their backward-ass manner, showing they're okay with him. Or, at the very least, as close to okay as this crew gets.

That weird, lumpy feeling seems to have set up a camp in his throat. "Thanks, guys," he croaks out. "I'll… I'll talk it over with Aoi. Double-check his version of things." 

He catches Die's eye across the room, and the guitarist offers him a complicated smile before looking away. 

When they arrive at Shinjuku-sanchome station, Toshiya's so far in his head about today's dramatic unfoldings that it takes him a moment to pick up the shift in the air. Here's where he and Kyo part ways with the band, and judging by the weird energy, it must have just hit the guys — this is it. They won't see Kyo again until on the other side of this baby-making saga.

They don't say anything about it, obviously. No, that would be far too normal. Instead, they just loiter awkwardly by the station entrance. Kaoru looks plain lost, staring at Kyo with the intensity of someone who's got a thousand things to say and zero tools to articulate them, and Shinya's chewing his lip off, probably sitting on a mountain of intrusive questions he's wise enough to keep to himself. Meanwhile Die, the guy who has never met a silence he couldn't fill with bullshit, just gazes off to the side, twisting a ring around his finger.

It's Kyo who cracks the standstill, voice wavering with a hopeful note. "Okay, so, uh… I guess I'll see everybody in May?" His cheeks are flushed red, his hair plastered to his neck and forehead from sweating in that ridiculous coat all day. It's clear he's itching to escape. 

"Yeah," says Kaoru, still with that unnerving stare. And what does Toshiya know? Maybe this is how these two communicate. He's long suspected they have some psychic hotline thing going on. 

Shinya is the first to acknowledge — sort of — that there's a human child gestating in their frontman's uterus. "Wishing you all the best," he intones, hands clasped behind his back, all ceremonial like he's anointing Kyo as the next monarch instead of sending him off on maternity leave. "You've got this."

"Uh, thanks."

The awkwardness balloons.

"Guys, I'm gonna be fine," Kyo tries again, this time with a touch of exasperation. "I'll… text you or whatever. Keep you in the loop. If you want."

"Yes," Shinya blurts before Kyo's even done talking, and Kaoru nods like his life depends on receiving those updates. Die exhales through his nose and shifts his weight from one foot to another.

Unable to take another second of this lest he sprains something from cringing so hard, Toshiya pulls the plug. "Alrighty," he announces with a clap of hands. "Got things to do, places to be, and Kyo's thumbs are fully operational for texting, so we're all set. I'll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? Bye!"

Before anyone can drag this nightmare of a farewell scene out any further, he plants a hand on Kyo's back and steers him firmly toward the stairs.

—

"So, Die's story. Wanna talk about it?" Kyo asks later that night.

If there are any 'knew your boyfriend's trash' comments swimming in his mind, his impassive face gives none of it away. His focus is entirely devoted to the spoonful of keema curry he shovels into his mouth, unbothered.

"Nope," Toshiya says.

Aoi promised to bring takeout to their hotel meetup later, so instead of sitting at the kotatsu with Kyo, stuffing his face with that obscenely good-smelling curry, Toshiya's on the couch, elbows-deep in laundered socks. Black socks. So many black socks it's nefarious. Do they breed when he's not looking? He's been pairing them for what feels like hours.

"Mmkay," Kyo says, washing down the curry with a swig of green tea. 

But silences, sort of like still bodies of water, are meant to be disturbed, and Toshiya's not one to leave that call unanswered.

"And you? Wanna talk about what a non-issue your baby news was for the band? Maybe admit you're just a little bit relieved now that it's all out there?" 'Non-issue' might be overstating things, but nobody showed up with pitchforks so it's all good, right? 

"Too soon," Kyo deadpans.

Their eyes meet when Toshiya glances up from the sock-sorting hell, and despite the clipped exchange, they both crack up a little. 

The big, dramatic 'sorry for blasting your deepest secrets to the band' apology already happened last night, and it was received with grace. No hard feelings left to brew. Honestly, for a guy who keeps his cards stapled to his chest, Kyo doesn't seem to hold grudges all that often. Toshiya likes that about him.

There's a lull, comfortable, until Kyo suddenly snorts like he's just remembered something truly stupid. "Can you believe Shinya actually thought I was the boyfriend?"

Toshiya hums, eyeing the two remaining socks: one a bluish black, long-ankled; the other a deeper black, short. "I think they all did for a sec," he mutters, then, thinking, eh, close enough, bundles them together and tosses them onto the pile. Life's too short for perfect matches.

Another snort from Kyo, softer this time. "Boyfriend. As if."

Slumping against the back of the couch, Toshiya lets his mind go there for a second. Him and Kyo. Dating. Exchanging casual kisses. Sitting at a candle-lit table at some intimate little bistro, talking about how much they mean to each other. It doesn't compute at all. 

But, in fairness, he never pegged himself as the starry-eyed romantic type either, until Aoi came along and somehow extracted it out of him. Who's to say there isn't a sweet, affectionate, hand-holding boyfriend-Kyo buried under all that misanthropy and pathological self-reliance? 

Actually, is it even that buried? Now that he really thinks about it, Kyo does have his odd little soft moments, plus, let's not forget how disturbingly attached he is to that goddamn body pillow. Maybe he'd enjoy all the cutesy relationship nonsense. 

…Anyway. 

Heaving a sigh, Toshiya pushes himself off the couch. Enough contemplating Kyo's potential for romance. He's got a current, actual, non-theoretical boyfriend to meet. Lucky, lucky him.

Dragging his feet down the quiet, lamp-lit street toward the station, Toshiya fantasizes about telling said boyfriend that he's got food poisoning. Or that he tripped into an open manhole. Because, god, he doesn't want to do this. He wants to turn around, head back, and stay in with Kyo. They could put on some dusty old western that'd send Kyo off on an hour-long tangent about the genius of its cinematography. Toshiya lives for those moments — watching Kyo get all riled up and nerdy over something. It's cute.

Instead, he's marching toward a conversation that has every potential to ruin his night, his relationship, and possibly his entire perception of Aoi as a person. 

How's he even supposed to start that discussion? Hey babe, how was your day? Cool, cool. Quick question, did you ever drive a guy to suicide?

He's not built for this kind of high-stakes confrontation. He hates conflict, hates making people upset. And no matter which way this conversation shakes out — whether Aoi actually did something unspeakable, or it was all just some small-town whispers gone wild — it's going to end in some brand of upset.

But letting it sit, fester, unquestioned, is worse. That's how things get gangrenous. So here goes.

Aoi is already waiting out front, takeout bag in hand, when he reaches the hotel. It's a mild evening for early March, and he's looking like a dream in a fluffy, pink sweater and black jeans, his hair unstyled and yet somehow still impeccable. 

The sight of him drums up a bittersweet pang in Toshiya's chest — some odd mashup of affection (as always), guilt (also a default setting as of late), and distrust (a fun new addition to the collection).

"Why you gotta be so damn good-looking," he grumbles as they come together in a hug. And as the words leave his mouth, a thought slithers in: has the fact that Aoi is indeed so damn good-looking been smoothing their path a little too much? Would they have made it this far if Toshiya wasn't so stupidly attracted to him?

Aoi breaks the embrace just enough to level a pointed, incredulous look at him. "Uh, hello, mister? Have you seen you?" 

Toshiya snorts, the corner of his mouth tugging up despite everything.

And when Aoi starts steering him toward the entrance with a shameless grab at his ass, Toshiya decides, yeah, they would have made it this far. This is the Aoi he fell for, this relaxed, playful guy with an easy smile and carefree air. The pretty face was always just a bonus. 

They fuck slowly that night. 

Not because Toshiya is feeling particularly romantic, but because if he lets himself get too caught up, his mouth might start running, and he can't bear to venture down that path right now. Not that he truly thinks there's a recorder running somewhere in the room — they've been in each other's line of sight this whole time; there's been no opportunity for Aoi to plant anything. 

And yet. When he takes Aoi from behind, his hands kneading the creamy, sculpted flesh, watching the easy glide of himself in and out, he thinks about Shun, a heartthrob no doubt, doing the same while spilling dirt so nasty he had to move cities (or worse) when it became the talk of the town. 

His gaze travels up Aoi's tight waist, to the flex and pull of muscle across his back as he strokes himself. It follows the curve of a shoulder, down the lean, toned arm bracing him, right to the wide hand splayed on the mattress, black nails striking against fair skin. To Aoi's face, flushed and slack with pleasure, lips parted, breath slipping out in quiet little moans. He looks like something Michelangelo might've sketched if he ever got really horny and needed to work some things out in charcoal.

Slap me, Aoi said once. Or, like, pull my hair. Rough me up a little. I'm into it if you are.

I'm into it if you are. What a strange thing to say. Like his own preferences are completely optional. Like he's some kind of blank slate, waiting for someone else to come along and splash their sexual fantasies onto him. Pair that with how he seemingly has zero issue letting strangers put their hands on him at the club, and it starts forming a picture of someone whose relationship with his own body feels uncomfortably negotiable. 

What if that's exactly what Shun zeroed in on? If Aoi's so cavalier with his boundaries, then maybe Shun wasn't some helpless victim, after all, maybe he was using Aoi, getting his kicks off that willingness to please. Maybe Shun deserved what he got. 

But then, where does that land Toshiya? He isn't using Aoi, not like that, but he is actively lying to him. If Aoi found that out, would Toshiya deserve to be exposed too? Honestly, maybe. 

The thought sits sour in his stomach. 

He slows to a stop. Pressing down on Aoi, he pins him to the mattress with his weight, rolling his hips down hard enough to drag a drawn-out groan from the younger man. Their lips find each other, the kiss clumsy and off-kilter from the awkward angle, Aoi whining into Toshiya's mouth, "You feel so good."

Toshiya parts his lips to return the sentiment, then catches himself. Swallows the words and hums against Aoi's temple instead. He starts pushing into his body with a little more force, listening to the ruined moans and half-slurred nonsense, all of it pouring out uninhibited. 

He wishes, fervently, that what Die said was nothing more than a big messed-up game of telephone. Not because having his sex noises broadcast to the scene would destroy him. (It wouldn't. That kind of embarrassment stopped mattering somewhere between Kyo telling him he's pregnant with his child and feeling a tiny kick against his palm.) No, it's because if Die's story holds any water, he might have to face the fact that he has no idea who he's been dating all these months.

"Tell me about your exes in Mie," he probes later. "Any long lost loves or heartbreaks back there?" He's propped on one elbow, peering down at Aoi who's stretched out on his back, arms folded under his head. 

Aoi huffs a quiet laugh, scratching his brow before tucking his hand back behind his head. "Just a bunch of jerks," he says, offhand and uninterested, eyes tracing the shifting lights on the ceiling seeping in from the frosted window. "Nobody who stuck around long enough to matter."

"Let's hear about the jerks, then." 

"Why? I left Mie for a reason, and that reason was to get away from all those small-town idiots."

"C'mon, humor me," Toshiya eggs on with a smile meant to soften the intrusion. His fingers trail down the lean plane of Aoi's stomach, giving the elastic of his briefs a playful snap. "I'd like to know who you used to be back then. What you were like in school. All that." 

A sardonic smile twists Aoi's lips, eyes sliding over to meet Toshiya's. "I was a little fairy," he says. "And got my daily dose of hell for it. Made school a nightmare."

Toshiya's hand pauses awkwardly, frozen mid-tease. "I didn't know," he says softly. "Sorry you had to deal with that."

"Mmh." 

The fact that Aoi was out and proud in school doesn't surprise him, but he wouldn't have thought of him as someone getting bullied. But then again, why not? Plenty of charming people were the odd ones out as kids. 

And honestly, Aoi still is the odd one out, isn't he? 

Toshiya has spent too much time trying to work out why someone this likable, this easy to be around, this objectively pleasant has no real friends. Best he's got: one, Aoi is the type who builds his entire world around his partner, leaving little room for others; and two, his social interactions are so saturated with charm and suggestion he might just be incapable of having normal, platonic relationships. He flirts like he physically cannot turn it off, like he never quite figured out how to exist around people without offering himself up as something to be wanted. It's a skill that serves well in the spotlight, but leaves you standing in some pretty dark, lonely shadows in private.

The conversation stalls for a moment before Toshiya nudges it forward. "So, I guess you dated older guys then? Ones who were already out of school?"

"Yeah," Aoi says, eyes fixed somewhere on the past that doesn't seem to hold much fondness or pride. "Joke was on me, though, 'cause they were no better than the assholes at school. You'd never believe how many guys out there will fuck men and then turn around and trash gays the next second."

Toshiya doesn't need to stretch his imagination for that one. He's seen the type firsthand — guys who'll suck a dick on Saturday and be back to calling people fags by Monday. 

"Right." It's all he can think to say. 

They hit another pocket of silence, in which it becomes clear this is as much as Aoi is willing to volunteer on his own. Which means if Toshiya wants answers, he's going to have to stop circling and just go for it. So that's what he does.

"Well," he starts off carefully, "the reason I'm asking is because Die mentioned something that happened back in Mie." Aoi's eyes snap to Toshiya's, visibly caught off guard. "Some scandal that supposedly got you kicked out of the local VK scene. I figured I should ask. I know how this kind of story can get twisted." 

Aoi's reaction after the initial surprise is slow to materialize, but gradually, his brow pulls tight, mouth twisting into something irritated. "Why didn't you say that from the start? Instead of trying to sneak it out of me through all this ex-talk?" 

"Is it not true, then?" 

"No!" Aoi snaps, shoving himself up on his elbow to meet Toshiya's gaze squarely. Toshiya pulls his hand back. "They couldn't stomach a queer guy in their precious circles, so they made up a rumor to kick me out. How was that not clear to you?"

Toshiya keeps his voice calm, nonconfrontational. "So, there are no tapes? Of you and—"

"No, and frankly, it's pretty insulting that you'd believe that. Like you don't know me at all. You let Die fill your head with crap — bet he's got issues with gays, too." 

Toshiya wishes he could argue that, but he knows well enough that championing Die's open-mindedness would be a stretch. Hell, he doesn't even know where he stands with Die anymore. 

Maybe Aoi's telling the truth. Die never claimed to have heard those tapes himself, did he? He made that clear — I wasn't there for it, you know? Just got word from the grapevine. Maybe that's all it ever was — a rumor that got passed around so many times it turned into fact.

"Is the guy real, though?" he asks. 

Aoi exhales harshly. "Yes, Toshiya," he says irritatedly. "Real piece of work, like all the other dirtbags who were only too happy to screw around with a high schooler. He left town under some shady circumstances — owed money to the wrong people, if I had to guess — and since some people knew he'd been with me, they had their perfect little opportunity to twist a story and get me out of the scene."

Toshiya feels a wave of queasiness at the blunt words. Was Shun a lot older? He hadn't considered that, but now the grim image paints itself too easily: Aoi, young, attractive, and defiantly out, caught in that gray zone where he was too young to be taken seriously but old enough to catch the eye of all the wrong people.

Then there's the whole 'raised by grandparents' factor. Toshiya never pried into the specifics of that situation, but he long ago slapped a private diagnosis of abandonment issues on Aoi. Kids like that, they'll cling to whatever attention they can get, and more often than not, it's not the wholesome, healthy kind. 

"I'm sorry," Toshiya says a little miserably. He rolls onto his back with a sigh, feeling every inch the jackass for how he just handled that. He gives his eye a rub and mutters, "I should've known." 

"You should've," Aoi agrees, a cold edge to his voice as he too reclines.

Toshiya watches him scowl at the ceiling for a beat, then reaches out, fingers hooking around Aoi's wrist before tugging him in for a conciliatory embrace. Aoi resists for a token second before he caves, sinking against Toshiya's side with a grudging exhale. Toshiya doubts there'll ever come a day when this guy's anger and ego outweigh his craving for reassurance.

They stay like that for a stretch, neither speaking, just sharing the space and slowly letting the rigid air thaw into something more relaxed and familiar.

"You know, all this made me realize how little I actually know about you," Toshiya admits eventually, his thumb stroking the back of Aoi's wrist between their chests. "Didn't even know your name. Yuu. I like it." And he does. It's such a regular-guy name, and it strips away a lot of the sheen from Aoi's persona. It brings to mind those rare sightings of Aoi lounging in sweats and a tee, a hint of stubble on his jaw, nothing perfect or curated for once.

"Yeah, well, that's a part of the past I was trying to leave behind," Aoi mumbles into his neck, freeing his trapped hand to drape it over Toshiya's waist. 

"Does that mean I'm not allowed to call you Yuu?" 

Aoi exhales a soft, amused huff through his nose. "How'd you feel if I started calling you Toshimasa?" 

Toshiya buries a grin in Aoi's hair. "I'd say have at it. But fair warning, I might end up calling you 'Mom' by accident. She's pretty much the only one who uses that name for me." 

That gets a hearty chuckle out of Aoi, and he pulls back just enough to glance up at Toshiya. "You can call me Mom," he jests, a wicked smirk creeping in. "Mommy, even. Might add an interesting twist next time we—" 

Toshiya slaps a palm over his mouth before he can complete the sentence and curse them both forever. "Nope," he says firmly, all while thinking he can name someone else better suited for that particular moniker. "Trust me, I'd sooner call you 'Your Highness' than ever let 'Mommy' slip out in the bedroom." 

He removes his hand to reveal Aoi's grin in all its shit-eating glory. Aoi doesn't waste a beat before repositioning himself, swinging a leg over to straddle him, then comfortably draping himself atop. 

"Funny you should say that," he muses, propping his chin on his arms where they fold across Toshiya's chest. "Because I'm actually royalty. A prince, in fact. Don't tell anyone."

"Oh yeah?" Toshiya's hands find their way to the warm, smooth expanse of Aoi's back, one sliding up to cradle the back of his neck, the other splayed between his shoulder blades. "Prince of what fabled land might this be?"

"Why, the kingdom of your wildest dreams, of course."

"And what about Your Highness's wildest dreams?"

"They're all about making yours come true."

Toshiya stills, struck by how eerily that line mirrors his earlier thoughts. It takes him a second to shake it off, and even then, his voice emerges thin as he tries to joke, "Starting to think you're more genie than prince." 

"Well, call me what you will, I love being it for you. You treat me right." 

Toshiya stares, completely useless in the face of that declaration. But Aoi's not waiting around for a response. He leans in, lips brushing slow and teasing before the kiss gains weight, his body pressing down with intent.

And for the life of him, Toshiya has no clue what's real anymore. He can't tell if Aoi's being his genuine self, if he's just this damn good, or if there's some third, in-between realm where performance and truth blur beyond recognition. But right now, he lets the questions slip through his fingers, lets himself bask in the weight of Aoi's body against his, and the insistent, comforting press of his mouth. Feels real enough. 

—

Kyo's in a fantastic mood the next morning — kind of a phenomenon considering he's not a morning person by any definition. While he stretches and twists luxuriously under the covers, making squealing noises of contentment only dogs can appreciate, Toshiya is dragging his sorry self through the morning routine, getting ready for his last stint at the studio before the hiatus.

Technically, he doesn't have to go in today; it's just mixing, and he highly doubts anyone is on the edge of their seat waiting for his earth-shattering input. But with the metaphorical dust still settling around the recent revelations, it seems like a good idea to pop in and gauge the temperature of the room. See where everyone stands. 

"Never been so thankful for a break," Kyo sighs happily, settling onto his side, one bare leg dangling off the bed's edge. He's looking relaxed in a way that says everything about how much stress he was holding in through the recording process. 

Toshiya watches him, absently working a brush through his hair as he leans against the desk. "I still can't believe you actually went through it," he says. "Thought you'd lost your marbles when you told me you were planning to record this single." He pauses, then adds, "I guess I thought you'd be more…" He makes a vague circular motion with the brush in Kyo's direction, "you know, bigger by now." 

If his math is right, Kyo's just entering month eight, and the images in those pregnancy books he flipped through depicted something a bit more prominent at this point. Though, to be fair, those same books kept harping on how 'everyone carries differently,' which was apparently a polite way of saying expect the unexpected, idiot.  

Kyo hums, cheek cradled in his hand. "The hormones help some, but male abs aren't naturally the stretchy kind," he offers by way of explanation. "Means the baby has to take up more room inside, and I get to feel like I'm dying." 

Toshiya's grip on the brush slips for a second, totally blindsided by the B-word dropping so casually into conversation. "Uh-huh?" he says stupidly. "That sounds…" Except he has no idea what it sounds like — uncomfortable? A lucky break because it means Kyo can still throw on a coat and look somewhat normal? — and so the thought trails off unfinished.

"Better than blowing up like a balloon," Kyo supplies, and yeah, that checks. No doubt he would rather feel like absolute garbage than look even a fraction more pregnant. 

"Good deal, then," Toshiya says, putting the brush down and tying his hair back into a ponytail. A once-over in the mirror confirms he looks like a functional human being, which is all he can really ask for at this point. He scoops up his wallet from the desk and makes for the entrance.

He's halfway out the room before he hesitates.

He pauses, glancing back at Kyo. That was twice now in three days that he's just casually mentioned the kid. This, from the same guy who's spent weeks avoiding the subject like it's an active biohazard. 

A muscle in Toshiya's jaw ticks as he debates an impulse. He wants to meet Kyo there — not make a big deal out of it and risk sending him scuttling back into his emotional bunker, but just… acknowledge it. Reinforce this new evolving normal.

So, he throws out with the best casual tone he can manage, "Alright, you two be good while I'm out. No wild parties." His heart quakes in nervous anticipation, hoping the joke lands well.

"Hah," says Kyo. "Talk to the womb squatter about that. I'm hardly in charge over here." Then, with a definitive little snuggle into the pillow, he hauls the comforter up to his nose and promptly shuts his eyes. 

Toshiya lingers for a second, something big and ridiculous pressing against his ribs, warm like a sunrise and just as unstoppable. Then, before his smile gets so obnoxiously bright that it radiates straight through Kyo's closed eyelids and snitches on him, he spins on his heel and books it. 

He's still grinning like a fool as he bounds down the stairs two at a time, light-footed and giddy like he's got no single shred of emotional self-preservation.

Chapter Text

Kyo is, once again, back to being the smoking hot topic of conversation within the band. Whenever Yoshiki steps out to take a call, uses the restroom, or even just wanders vaguely out of earshot, someone seizes the chance to grill Toshiya for intel. 

Mostly, it's Shinya, finally giving himself permission to unleash his personal backlog of burning questions. It's less gossip and more biological investigation, all relatively inoffensive, and so, Toshiya answers to the best of his ability. He figures as long as the actual mechanics of the conception stay off the table, Kyo won't mind.

Kaoru, for his part, is less concerned with the miracle of it, his line of questioning orbiting a single core concern: is Kyo going to make it through this in one piece? To these ones, Toshiya doesn't have all the answers, and it stings to be reminded of that. 

Still, he can't deny it's a relief to be able to talk about it openly. No more speculation and rumor-mongering, just curiosity, concern, and a collective effort to make sense of something that actively spits in the face of common logic. 

What is notably absent from the day's discourse is the fact that Toshiya likes dick, and that his current dick of choice happens to belong to a guy infamous in Mie for (allegedly) turning hookups into missing-person mysteries. Needless to say, the group's tactful silence on that particular subject is deeply appreciated. 

The only thing casting a shadow over his otherwise drama-free day is Die's continued and uncharacteristic lack of chatter. Actually, considering the sole reason Toshiya even bothered to show up today was to gauge where Die's head is at, it's more of a solar eclipse than a shadow.

That silence, however, eventually shatters during their smoke break out on the fire escape.

The air is cool, daylight dwindling, and Die's blunt comment interrupts the relative peace like a hammer to the skull.

Parked in the nook where metal meets concrete, he goes, "Shinya's got it in his head that you knocked up Kyo." Without giving Toshiya so much as half a second to take that in, he barrels on, "So color me freaking relieved when you said you're dating someone else. But dude… that guy?" He pauses long enough to suck a long, hard drag of his cigarette. Smoke snakes out through his nose, billowing around the frown that seems to have permanently installed itself on his face. "Just watch your back, alright?" 

Toshiya leans his side against the railing, unsure if he should be touched or annoyed. It's nice that Die's looking out for him. That counts for a lot. But the implication that he'd have an issue if he knew about Toshiya and Kyo grates. Sure, entanglements between colleagues can be a potential time bomb, and Die has every right to not want to see their band implode because two idiots couldn't keep it in their pants, but something tells Toshiya that's not what this is about.

"Appreciate it," he says diplomatically. What he doesn't say is that Aoi pleaded not guilty. He doesn't want to hear it right now if Die has some irrefutable proof that would confirm that Aoi isn't just someone who'd resort to blackmail to keep a guy around, but also a liar on top of it. It's nicer not knowing. Instead, he redirects, "And what did Kaoru think about Shinya's theory?" 

Die shrugs. "What does Kaoru think about anything? Who knows. He's just worried — doubt he cares much about how Kyo ended up with a fetus crammed in his guts." 

Yeah. That sounds like Kaoru. Toshiya draws on his cigarette, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a beat before exhaling slowly. "Alright," he says, deciding to cut to the chase. "And how do you feel about that fetus crammed in Kyo's guts? You've been awfully quiet about it."

"Glad you asked," Die shoots back, pushing hair behind his ear and inadvertently decorating his jacket with cigarette ash before the breeze snatches it away. "It's freaking me the fuck out. I love Kyo, he's my bro and I want him to be okay, but… come on… what the actual hell? Right? Am I the only one here whose brain is doing backflips trying to process this?" 

"It is weird," Toshiya agrees. He's committed to meeting Die halfway on this because, yeah, it is a lot to take in. "And if you're having a hard time digesting this, imagine how Kyo felt when he found out. He had no idea that was even possible, and suddenly it's happening to him and it's too late to terminate." 

"He got dicked down by a dude, didn't he? That's how it happened?" 

Yeah. Figures that would be the million-dollar question in Die's mind. "Does it matter?" Toshiya counters flatly. Because come on. The guy's got to know by now that that's the only halfway-logical conclusion. 

Die shrugs again, and for a moment, they stand there in awkward, tar-like silence. Across the street, the neon signs of izakayas and girls' bars brighten as the dusk deepens, streetlights starting to flicker on.

"Look," Die restarts. "I'm not anti-gay or anything." And if that's not the universal signal that something idiotic is about to follow, Toshiya doesn't know what is. Sure enough: "It's just… It's like I don't know him anymore. Like I lost a buddy." 

And that officially marks the end of Toshiya's willingness to keep coddling Die's fragile sensibilities. "Do you even hear yourself right now?" he snaps, rounding on Die. "Lost a buddy? How'd you feel if you were the one this happened to, and your so-called friends were backing off like, 'whoa, I don't know you anymore'?" 

"See, that's the thing. That would never happen to me." 

"Yeah, well, it might happen to one of your hookups soon enough, considering you're too dumb to wrap it up even though you know damn well women can, and will, get pregnant. Kyo, on the other hand, got totally blindsided. He had no reason to see it coming. So maybe take it down a notch with the holier-than-thou attitude." 

Die sniffs. He peels himself from the wall, stretches out the kinks in his neck, and grinds his cigarette on the metal of the fire escape before dropping it into the ashtray by their feet. "I hear you," he says with a tone of forced amiability. Tucking his hands in his jacket pockets, he turns back to Toshiya. "It's still freaking weird, alright? What'd you expect from me?"

Toshiya should just let it go. Should let Die marinate in his crisis on his own, let him sit with his discomfort and figure out why something that has fuck all to do with him is making him feel personally victimized. But as it happens, there's this switch inside him, one that's been on a hair trigger lately, a possessive, protective, don't you dare look at him sideways kind of switch — and Die's currently tap-dancing all over it. 

"Listen up," he commands, locking eyes with Die to drill his point home, "if I catch even a whiff of disrespect from you about Kyo or the baby, we're gonna have ourselves a polite little throwdown. Because guess what? Shinya's right, it's my kid, and I'm feeling all kinds of papa bear over them right now. So do me a favor and zip it with the weirdness, okay?" 

Die's eyelids flutter in a slow-mo blink. Then, his eyes wander away. He gazes peacefully out at the last sliver of twilight wedged neatly between two blocks, looking for all the world like he's contemplating the great mysteries of the universe rather than the fact that his friend just declared himself the father of their bandmate's miracle child. 

For a solid, stretched-out moment, Toshiya is convinced the guy has gone and hit some mental undo button on the entire conversation, but then Die speaks.

"Man," he says, still staring philosophically into the distance. "That kiddo, though... sure as hell's gonna inherit a wicked dental situation."

And that…

...is so spectacularly off-topic, so galactically unrelated to the tension of their conversation, that Toshiya momentarily forgets how language works. His spent cigarette slips from his lax fingers, plummeting soundlessly to the street below.

Then it hits, the sheer, ungodly stupidity of the comment. It detonates inside him like a grenade, and then he's laughing, loud and ugly and uncontainable, and it's like a spark that sets Die off too.

Before long, both of them are completely losing it, doubled over and clinging to the railing while down below innocent pedestrians are just trying to get home without witnessing two grown-ass men experience a synchronized psychotic break.

A baby. Toshiya's baby. Kyo's baby. And the first thing Die has to say about it is a wisecrack about its future orthodontic struggles.

Toshiya howls. Die wheezes.

And maybe there's a little hysteria mixed in there. A little fear, a little panic, and a whole lot of holy-shit-this-is-real energy bubbling up beneath that laughter. But as they finally pull it together and stagger back into the studio — wiping tears and coughing up the remnants of lingering laughter, shoulder-checking each other like nothing ever happened — Toshiya has a feeling they've made some progress here. 

— 

Something shifts in Kyo once his secret has gone public with the band. 

Beneath the tears that still ambush him at random, the endless bathroom trips, and the near-constant ache that's making even basic movement look like a chore, there's a new tenderness shining through. He's getting soft — Toshiya can't think of any other way to put it. It's like the moment Kyo realized he wasn't met with disgust, rejection, or pity from his bandmates, some internal security system of his just crumbled. 

The first tell is the fact that he's stopped pretending he's just inexplicably pregnant with nothing in particular. Now, when the topic comes up, he actually acknowledges the baby — and by 'acknowledge,' Toshiya means he's adopted a rotating roster of nicknames that range from vaguely affectionate ('Meatball') to the kind that makes Toshiya thank the stars no one else is hearing this, because otherwise child protective services would be preemptively kicking down the door ('Spilled Nut Special'). And yet, somehow, even the most heinous of them sound just a little bit fond, coming from Kyo.

The invite to feel the kicks is the second tell.

They're piled onto the couch one evening, halfway through a movie, when Kyo suddenly jolts. Toshiya, hyper-attuned to every twitch and shift these days, tenses, his mind rocketing straight to worst-case scenarios. Pain? Complications? Labor? Because apparently that's a thing now — Kyo's body, clueless about its own limitations, has been rehearsing for the impossible act of delivering the baby the old-fashioned way, meaning he's been having contractions. And no matter how much Kyo insists it doesn't mean his womb is currently attempting to eject a baby that has no viable exit strategy, Toshiya's anxiety has not found peace in that reassurance.

But Kyo just exhales, shifting slightly, pressing a palm to his stomach. A kick, then, Toshiya surmises, forcing himself to relax. 

The offer comes casually and out of nowhere.

"Wanna feel it?"

Toshiya's entire body unrelaxes so hard his heart nearly seizes up. Does he want to feel his actual unborn child kick? Like there's a single universe, alternate timeline, or parallel dimension nonsensical enough to contain a version of him who'd refuse. 

The movements are stronger, sharper than last time. And while every jab and nudge against his palm sends Toshiya's pulse spiking anew, Kyo remains unbothered, eyes fixed on the TV, cozy and at ease in his throne of cushions. They stay like that for a long spell, two men quietly absorbing the fact that this is just… their life now.

Toshiya keeps his emotions on a tight leash, and when he eventually pulls back and smooths Kyo's shirt back into place, he feels like he just passed a test. This, apparently, is the balance that Kyo can tolerate: recognition and curiosity without melodrama. Toshiya can do that. Easy peasy.

The next shock to Toshiya's system comes on a warm, rainy afternoon, when Kyo returns from a check-up and, without a word, flings a sonogram onto the kotatsu like it's a takeout menu.

The last one Toshiya saw and then lugged around for months was already unmistakably a baby — thin limbs, oversized head, curled up like a sleepy shrimp. But this one has a face, with actual features in it. A tiny nose that Toshiya swears is just like Kyo's.

It makes him feel a little weak in the knees. The thought that there's truly a person in there, growing, getting ready to come into the world and then gradually turn into a complex individual with their own likes and dislikes, opinions and aspirations — it's almost too massive to comprehend. 

Kyo, of course, plays it off like it's nothing. "A progress report for you," he says, taking support on the bed as he clumsily lowers himself to the floor. "Your sperm's almost done cooking." He shuffles forward, lifts the kotatsu blanket, and fishes out the sketchbook he stores under the table.

"It's a real human being," Toshiya says in a small voice. 

Kyo, in response, flips his hood up to shield himself from the radioactive levels of paternal reverence Toshiya's currently emitting. 

Undeterred, Toshiya tries, "Do you mind if I stick this on the fridge?"

"Do what you want," Kyo says, his focus now pinned on the drawing he's been laboring over for the past couple of days, filling in tiny, intricate swirls with painstaking precision. 

Taking that enthusiastic endorsement, Toshiya wanders into the kitchen. He plucks a magnet off the fridge and sticks the sonogram over a water bill that's definitely overdue, then steps back, arms folded and head tilting as he takes in the view. There it is. Evidence that he has indeed procreated. 

Horrifying. Incredible.

Satisfied, he moves on. Grabbing a pot, he fills it under the tap, flicks the gas stove on, and starts digging through the cupboard for instant noodles. He was holding off on eating, thinking he and Kyo would figure out lunch together, but apparently, someone already dined with their nurse friend at the hospital. Rude.

Outside, the rain is picking up again, pelting against the balcony railing as the smell of wet asphalt wafts in from the cracked door. While waiting for the water to heat, Toshiya props himself against the doorway. 

"Have you talked to Die lately?" 

Kyo doesn't look up, but Toshiya can see his forehead furrowing under the rim of his hood. "No." 

That oblivious ass. Does he seriously need to be told that Kyo's waiting for some sign of goodwill from him? Die's no doubt still feeling all sorts of uncomfortable over the whole situation, but he said it himself — I love Kyo, he's my bro and I want him to be okay. So fucking act like it.

The sound of boiling water snaps Toshiya out of his thoughts. He pours the water into the noodle cup, reseals the paper lid, and grabs a pair of chopsticks before making his way back into the living room. Spinning the desk chair around, he plants himself onto it, ready to demolish his sad lunch.

"Have you talked to him?" Kyo asks with studied indifference. He keeps his eyes glued to the drawing, his free hand aggressively twisting and tugging at the drawstrings of his hood.

Toshiya nods. "He's kind of in a weird place about it all, but he's not like — hostile or anything. He's cool with you." Which, in Toshiya's professional opinion, is a reasonable takeaway after their talk on the topic ended with them both nearly pissing themselves laughing. 

"Yeah?" Kyo mutters, unconvinced. "Not the impression I got."

Then, without a shred of hesitation, he rips the page from his notebook like he hasn't been slaving over it for days, crumples it with a sharp squeeze, and flips to a fresh sheet with the same deadpan efficiency. 

Toshiya leans back in his chair, observing the ruthless destruction of what looked to him like a perfectly decent drawing. "By the way," he says casually, "he knows I'm the baby daddy."

Kyo's head jerks up, eyes huge with surprise. "Oh? What'd he say?"

A wry smirk finds its way onto Toshiya's face. "He's already bullying our kid for his teeth, the bastard." Our kid. He's never said it like that before, neither has Kyo, and doing it sends a little thrill through him.

Kyo's mouth twitches, the barest hint of amusement slipping through. "'Course he is," he mutters. 

Toshiya pries the lid of the cup open, immediately getting blasted in the face with a scalding cloud of noodle vapor. He lets out a tiny, theatrical cough, and gives the contents a stir with his chopsticks. 

"You two are pretty close, huh?" he says, lifting a clump of noodles from the broth and blowing at it as he looks over at Kyo through the rising steam. 

"We get along."

Toshiya slurps up his noodles, the wet, drawn-out noise obnoxiously loud in the quiet room. He swallows, clears his throat, and continues conversationally, "You know, we weren't exactly chummy from the start. You and me."

Kyo hums in agreement, idly tapping the pen against his lower lip as he contemplates the blank page. "I guess I was kinda intimidated by you. At school guys like you were shitheads." 

"Eh?"

"Mmh. Just wasn't sure how to be around you."

Toshiya sits back, genuinely stumped. Intimidated? By him, the human welcome mat? He remembers bending over backward to be nice to everyone, making it stupidly easy for the whole band to warm up to him, and this guy didn't know how to be around him?

"Huh," he says, trying not to sound as irked as he feels. "Didn't know I was out here giving off shithead energy." 

"You weren't. That's why I couldn't get a read on you." 

Toshiya squints, then decides that logic is a bit too circular for his brain and resumes his violent noodle slurping. But now that one mystery has been solved, another one pops up.

"And how'd you figure out I'm gay?" 

Kyo gives a loose shrug. "Just guessed, really. Saw you checking out guys. Never girls." 

"So not true," Toshiya protests, half-serious, half-joking. "I check out girls all the time. Nothing like a nice rack, amirite?" 

He expected a snort or an eye-roll, but instead, Kyo hesitates, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face, leaving Toshiya to briefly wonder if he accidentally stumbled onto some unspoken girl-related landmine. "Yeah?" Kyo's voice is almost indifferent before he needles back, "Well, I never saw your eyes popping for any racks." 

"You're pretty observant." 

"We gotta be, right? Can't just go around asking people you think are hot if they swing your way." 

Oh? That perks Toshiya up, and with the most exaggerated look of innocent curiosity, he teases, "So… you're saying you thought I was hot?" only to earn himself an airborne crumpled doodle to the forehead.

"Quit fishing for compliments, idiot." 

"I'm dead serious," Toshiya insists, abandoning the half-eaten noodle cup on the desk behind him and crossing his arms across his chest, because this is a priority now. "Out with it." 

Kyo scoffs lightly. "You think I'd have made a move if I didn't find you hot?" 

"Sure. Plenty of guys don't care beyond what's between the legs." 

"Right," Kyo mutters. "Guess you're one of those guys." The second the words slip out, his eyes drop back to his sketch and his pen gets very busy.

Toshiya finds himself dreadfully unprepared for such an insinuation. "Uhm," is as far as he gets before Kyo interrupts, already shutting down the conversation like he can feel the awkwardness snowballing.

"Don't sweat it. It's whatever to me." Under his breath, he adds, "Was just happy to get laid." 

"I do think you're hot," Toshiya blurts out.

Kyo's pen stills, and he slowly lifts his eyes. There's a moment as they stare at each other, Toshiya taking in the absolute state of Kyo, and Kyo fully and visibly aware that he's far from anyone's idea of 'hot' right now. And what a sight he is: hoodie scrunched up comically tight around his face, a pitiful excuse for a mustache darkening his upper lip because he can't be bothered to shave these days, and, of course, the very obvious, very round evidence of his impending parenthood pressing against his shirt.

Kyo, to his credit, doesn't seem to take it the wrong way, his expression skewing toward amused disbelief. "Seek help," he advises dryly, but there's no bite to it. If anything, he almost looks like he's waiting to see if Toshiya is about to dig himself even deeper. 

And Toshiya, who's never been accused of knowing when to shut up, grins and digs himself deeper. "I mean it. I'd definitely still get it up for you." Only after the words have joyously exited his mouth does it dawn on him that maybe telling your ex-fling that you'd enthusiastically bang him while currently in a relationship might not be the pinnacle of tact. "I mean — if I wasn't, you know, off the market…" he adds very unnecessarily.

While he's mentally clobbering himself with a folding chair, Kyo takes the drawstrings of his hoodie between his fingers, lifts them up, and studies them. Eyes narrowing, he sizes their lengths up against each other, perhaps assessing whether he could realistically fashion them into a noose to absent himself from this conversation permanently.

Finally, he huffs out a snort. "So, what, you got a fetish for pregnant dudes now?" He glances up at Toshiya, and the tension breaks as they both snicker at that. He lets the strings drop and props his elbow on the kotatsu, chin in hand, looking thoughtful. "Think we would've kept doing it if you hadn't met Aoi?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

Kyo arches an eyebrow. "Are you seriously saying this—" he flaps a hand toward himself, "—makes no difference to you?"

Toshiya lets his gaze wander over Kyo while the steady, relentless rush of rain fills the space.

Okay, so yeah, Kyo's not rocking the same physique he had last summer. The abs have retired, the sharp angles have softened, and his feet no longer fit in anything but Toshiya's oversized slippers. But it's not like Toshiya was in it for the body or the looks to begin with. Not to say he doesn't like Kyo's looks — he does, and he's not about to say it out loud, but pregnancy kind of… works on him.

But really, when it comes down to it, Kyo was just a good time in the sack, to put it bluntly. It was never particularly steamy or passionate between them, but it was fun and exciting, and their arrangement was delightfully uncomplicated. A big part of the appeal was the sheer unlikelihood of it. Kyo was someone Toshiya wasn't even sure liked him much, and suddenly he was in Toshiya's bed, naked, interested, into it. Sharing something so intimate with him. That was hot. Still is, when he really thinks about it. 

So, really, there's only one answer to the question.

"Well, you're still you, right?" Toshiya shrugs, rocking his chair side to side with one foot hooked behind a desk leg. "Just a little rounder." And, because he's him, he flashes a grin and adds, "Think you'd have let me see you naked in this glorious state?"

Kyo's nose crinkles up. "No way. Nobody needs to see this." He huffs dramatically, then adds, "If we were still at it, we'd be doing it Winnie the Pooh style."

Toshiya promptly chokes on absolutely nothing. A beat later, they're both cracking up, right up until Kyo suddenly gasps, face twisting as he presses a hand to the side of his stomach. 

"Oh, no," he wheezes between laughs. "We woke up the baby." 

They laugh just a bit harder, then, because the idea that they just cackled so loud that it physically startled a fetus is so stupid that it just makes everything funnier.

Once the ridiculous little moment finally runs its course, Toshiya watches Kyo return to his drawing, watches the way the corners of his mouth twitch with lingering amusement. And as he does, something in his chest tugs. Something warm, reckless, and entirely unasked for, a quiet little spark behind his ribs.

It's nothing. Probably nothing.

But just in case, he looks away before it can become something. 

— 

"You never wear the bracelet anymore."

Aoi's comment jolts Toshiya, and his eyes dart to the naked wrist of the hand that's currently wrapped around a glass of gin and tonic. 

They're out in Shinjuku, supposedly celebrating what Aoi calls his 'graduation' from the host club — a nice way of saying the owner finally got sick of his half-assed attendance and fired him. Aoi wanted to go out with a bang, and here they are, in a bar that's got cocktails named after dead poets nobody's heard of and chandeliers made from repurposed martini glasses. Only, the mood has been increasingly non-celebratory. 

Aoi's drunk, and not the fun, flirty kind. It's that specific brand of inebriation that carries fatigue more than joy, and on top of that, he looks like he's swallowing back some lump in his throat. 

The bracelet. Toshiya's not entirely sure why he stopped wearing it. It wasn't a conscious decision; it probably just happened that one day he didn't put it back on after a shower, and then another day passed, and another...

"I guess I'm afraid I'll lose it," he offers up. Shit excuse — he wasn't afraid of losing it in the first four months of proudly wearing it, was he? His smile feels brittle as he adds, "Not really used to having nice things." 

Aoi doesn't look at him, just sits there, handsome as hell in his deep blue vest, staring at nothing in particular. The high stool looks too tall and precarious for his loose posture. "Yeah," he says, his voice thick, a little slurred, thumb dragging through the condensation on his glass. "Me neither. Always 'fraid I'll lose you."

Toshiya's insides twist up. Oh boy. Not this again. He slides his hand across the varnished wood of the tabletop to catch Aoi's. His fingers are cool, damp from the glass. "Hey," he says lowly, edging closer. "You're not losing me. I'll wear the bracelet, okay?"

Aoi shakes his head. "I don't care about the bracelet." A tear unexpectedly slips down his cheek, and he swipes at it hastily, almost angrily, as though ashamed. 

Toshiya's discomfort spikes. "Wanna get out of here? Find a hotel?" he asks softly, thinking maybe Aoi would prefer to come undone without a bar full of witnesses.

But Aoi isn't coming undone. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Somewhere far. Like Okinawa. Or even just Hakone. Just the two of us." 

Toshiya's first instinct is to object, to list a million reasons why he can't possibly just jet off on a whim, but then he actually stops to think about it. Catching his hesitation, Aoi's eyes clear, a glimmer of desperate hope lighting them up. 

"I'll pay," he adds, rushing his words like he's terrified Toshiya might speak first and shut it down. "Flights, hotel, everything. Think of it as an early birthday gift, yeah?"

They could do it, Toshiya figures. He doesn't have any real commitments holding him back, except Kyo, and surely Kyo can fend for himself for a couple of days. He's not helpless, and worst case scenario, he has the band as his personal emergency response team. Maybe a break would actually help. Maybe stepping away from all the noise, all the distractions, is exactly what they need to pull things back together and remember why they clicked in the first place. 

But before he can voice his tentative agreement, Aoi is already retreating into himself, misinterpreting the pause. "Right," he mutters. "You've gotta stay here for your ex. In case something happens." 

Toshiya's mouth opens — ready to point out that the baby isn't due anytime soon, that the mother is doing just fine — but Aoi's already rolling downhill at full speed. 

"Or for Kyo, I guess," he continues, bitterness seeping into his words. "So you can hold his hand through whatever the hell he's… got going…" His voice fades out mid-sentence, his attention drifting off to some faraway spot over Toshiya's shoulder.

"Aoi, we can go," Toshiya says, squeezing the hand he's still holding hostage. "I don't have to be here every moment, for either of them. Let's do it — two nights, pick a place."

Aoi reanimates slowly, his focus swimming sluggishly back from the void. Taking a moment, he looks at Toshiya as if remembering they were in the middle of something. "Umm, yeah," he says, but his voice is still lightyears away. "I'll think about it."

"Yeah. Do that. Could be fun." Toshiya manages a smile that actually feels half right for once. He'll definitely fret over Kyo — that's just his natural state of being at this point — but he owes Aoi this much.

Without warning, Aoi's hand slips out of Toshiya's. He wobbles off the stool, its legs screeching an ear-splitting protest against the floor. "I need to go home now," he states with a shaky certainty, grabbing his jacket off the hook and jamming his arms through the sleeves. 

Toshiya blinks. "Already?" 

While his brain is still sputtering at the abrupt shift, Aoi's already moving. So, Toshiya grabs his jacket and hurries after him, sidestepping chairs and squeezing past the other patrons, their half-finished, overpriced drinks left abandoned on the table. 

When they step outside into the circus that is Shinjuku after dark, Aoi comes to a halt on the sidewalk so abruptly Toshiya almost crashes into him. His eyes stare through the spectacle unfolding before them: hostesses in teetering high heels, weaving between groups of over-served salarymen while taxi cabs idle at the curb and luxury cars with tinted windows prowl past, slow and sinister. Off to the side, some poor bastard of an office drone is clutching a lamppost for dear life, donating his stomach's contents directly onto his own shoes.

Toshiya, briefly hypnotized by that last scene, forces his attention back to the real issue at hand, which is his mercurial boyfriend. Aoi's hot-and-cold act itself is nothing new, but pulling away right after getting what he wanted is a brand-new, extra-nonsensical level of erratic. 

He rubs a hand across his mouth. "Hey, um," he starts, uncertain. "Did I screw something up?" 

Aoi takes a long moment to respond. "I'm just…" he finally starts. A carefully measured breath. "I'm not feeling too well. Think I had too much to drink."

Oh. Oh, right.

Yeah, that would do it. He's definitely looking a little green around the edges. And if Toshiya had to guess, the whole getting fired thing probably stung more than Aoi's letting on, and, well, drowning that particular humiliation in booze was a recipe for exactly this outcome. 

Toshiya sighs, shrugging his coat on. "Alright, lightweight, let's get you home," he says, pulling Aoi closer as they start dodging the various forms of urban wildlife on their trek to the station. 

— 

It's official. Toshiya is a walking, breathing disaster who deserves no nice things in life. Someone please revoke his adult privileges immediately — he clearly cannot be trusted with anything of value. 

The bracelet is gone. Vanished into the ether. It's midnight, his apartment looks like it's been raided, and the nauseating inevitability is now sinking in: he must have lost it while out and about. Which means it could quite literally be anywhere between here and the rest of western Tokyo. Which means he is fucked. 

"I hate myself," he groans, face-planting onto what used to be his couch and is now just a pillowless, blanketless, thoroughly violated skeleton of furniture.

From the kitchen doorway, Kyo observes the carnage, a bag of chips in hand. "You're overreacting," he comments unhelpfully. "It was literally just some overpriced piece of wrist trinket." 

Toshiya turns his head to give him a dirty side-eye. "Yeah, and I couldn't even hold onto that," he retorts, voice tight with frustration. "Like I needed another reminder that I'm a garbage boyfriend."

Kyo pauses mid-crunch, his brows knitting together like he's actually processing that statement. But he says nothing, which is probably for the best, because Toshiya is not in the mood right now.

The following morning, Toshiya embarks on a desperate treasure hunt: lost and found at the train station, rounds at the nearby police boxes, a thorough backtrack to the grocery store, even a hopeful call into the studio. All of it amounts to precisely nothing. 

He returns home utterly defeated, already drafting his apology speech to Aoi in his head — only to find his previously ransacked apartment mysteriously tidied up. 

And right there, sitting innocently on the kotatsu, is his bracelet.

He's rooted to the spot for a solid moment.

"Found your bracelet," Kyo declares from the bed, tone bored as he flips a page in his book, not even bothering to look up. 

"Really?" Toshiya says, still too dumbfounded to feel proper relief. He steps closer, plucking the little traitor off the table. "Where was it?"

"Buried under all that junk on your desk. Behind the sewing machine."

Except that's a lie. Toshiya knows it, because he manically combed through that very spot multiple times. He turned that pile inside out, upside down, sideways. Excavated it. Considered setting it on fire just to sift through the ashes for answers.

His eyes drift to Kyo, whose attention remains pinholed on the pages before him. Toshiya stares. 

Kyo keeps reading. 

Toshiya keeps staring. 

And then, slowly, Kyo's ears start to turn pink. The color spreads, creeping up his cheeks until his entire face is an unmistakable siren of guilt. 

Toshiya turns the bracelet between his fingers, chewing the inside of his cheek. He should be pissed. That would be the expected reaction. Kyo overstepped, meddled with his personal belongings, stole and hid something important and then sat back and watched as he worked himself into a frenzy over it. That is, by all reasonable accounts, grounds for murder. 

But the anger doesn't come.

Because Kyo knows where the bracelet came from. And there's a small, dark, complicated part of Toshiya that doesn't entirely hate the idea that maybe Kyo didn't want to see him wearing it.

Chapter Text

"Your next checkup is on Wednesday, right?" Toshiya inquires, sprawled comfortably on the couch and feeling just a bit inappropriate for it, considering the person he's talking to has approximately zero comfort left to his name.

Kyo's been having a rough one. He swears the baby is about to fall out of him any second now, which, for once, is a complaint that doesn't send Toshiya into an internal spiral. Even with his limited grasp on obstetrics, he is reasonably sure that babies don't just tumble out like a soda can from a vending machine, especially not from a guy lacking the amenities for such an event.

Currently, Kyo's leaning his back flush against the cool glass of the balcony door, both hands supporting the weight of his bump like he's literally holding himself together. His face is the picture of stoic suffering, eyes closed, brow furrowed. 

"Yeah," he sighs in response to Toshiya's question. "They'll decide then if the surgery will be moved up. Might be looking at a couple of weeks sooner than expected." 

"Oh, nice," Toshiya offers helpfully. "That's good news."

Kyo's having none of that rosy outlook. "Good news," he corrects gruffly, "would be if they sliced this demon spawn out of me yesterday. I'm so over feeling like a whale carcass about to explode."

Which pleasant visual brings Toshiya to the original point of this conversation. "Right, about that," he begins, hands clasped on his stomach as he peers at Kyo over his feet, crossed at the ankles and propped on the armrest. "Your appointment. Die offered to drive you there."

Kyo's eyes pop open. 

"Must be a nightmare taking the train in your condition," Toshiya continues, and gets a quick, emphatic nod in confirmation. "Well, Die's gonna play chauffeur. He'll drive us to the hospital, I'll keep him company while you do your thing, then we'll drop you off and go return the car."

"Oh."

"But wait — there's more!" Toshiya grins, making jazz hands. "Order now, and you'll also get Die's exclusive chauffeur service for all your upcoming checkups, operation day, and... wait for it... your grand, triumphant homecoming."

Kyo's eyes narrow slightly. Slowly, like he's waiting for the catch, he says, "That's generous of him…" 

"Yep." 

There's no catch. It was Toshiya's idea, of course, but Die didn't need much arm-twisting; seemed the idea of actionable support sat better with him than drafting heartfelt text messages pledging his unconditional friendship. And yeah, technically, they're not supposed to be driving — some fussy company policy — but who's going to rat them out?

"Didn't expect I'd see him 'til after the surgery," Kyo admits, tilting his head back against the glass and letting his eyes slip shut again. "No way he's not picturing us having sex every time he looks at me now."

Toshiya laughs. "He definitely is." Then, watching Kyo roll his shoulders with a pained sigh, he figures he might as well provide some actionable support of his own. "Alright, get your aching carcass over here," he says, hoisting himself off the couch. "Massage time." 

"God, yes," Kyo practically moans in relief, pushing off the balcony door. "Shoulders, please."

Toshiya grabs a cushion and tosses it onto the floor beside the bed, motioning for Kyo to plant himself there while he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. It's a whole production, with lots of noise and effort, as Kyo lowers himself onto the cushion, adjusting awkwardly until he's wedged between Toshiya's legs.

First things first, Toshiya slides his hands into the dense wilderness of Kyo's hair to clear the terrain. Beneath his fingers, the fine hairs at Kyo's nape prickle up, goosebumps forming as the strands are raked up. Smug amusement tickles in Toshiya's chest. Still got it. Even in the most innocent, platonic context possible, his touch still pulls a reaction. 

He twists Kyo's hair into a loose bun, securing it with the elastic from around his wrist, and gets down to business. Thumbs to granite. Good lord. And considering this is just one item on Kyo's laundry list of bodily grievances, Toshiya cannot begin to fathom the sheer misery of existing in his body at this point.

They settle into a meditative quiet, only broken by the monotonous tick-tock of the wall clock and Kyo's sporadic noises of relief (or pain, it's hard to tell). While systematically dismantling what feels like centuries of tension piled up in one tiny body, Toshiya quietly marvels — as he does roughly fifteen times a day — at the madness of their current reality.

And since he's learned by now that Kyo is somewhat more receptive to potentially touchy commentary when he's actively being pampered, Toshiya sees no reason to keep those marvels to himself.

While digging into the mother of all knots between Kyo's shoulder blades, one that surely contains at least half of his unresolved childhood trauma, he remarks conversationally, "You're one hell of a curiosity, you know that?" 

Kyo's head tilts slightly. "Curiosity?" he echoes, and Toshiya doesn't need to see his face to know there's a frown forming.

"I mean, you're like a medical miracle, aren't you?" 

"It's not like I'm the only one," Kyo's quick to point out, a little defensively even though Toshiya meant no harm. "There's even a doctor in Switzerland who's pretty much specialized in people with my condition. My doctor consults with him all the time."

"So your doc has never actually dealt with this firsthand?"

"No, but he knows a lot about it," Kyo says. And maybe it's the massage loosening more than just his muscles, or maybe he's just in a chatty mood, because he keeps going, "He thinks it's more common than we realize, most people just don't know about it. Like, unless you get pregnant or something else goes sideways in there, you could go your whole life without finding out. Especially in cases like mine, with no periods or other obvious giveaways, not too much estrogen running the show…" He pauses, a little deadpan now as he adds, "For all we know, you could have the setup, too." 

Toshiya snorts out a laugh. "Well, let's not test that theory. We can't afford to miss any more work." 

The room goes silent for a moment before Kyo ventures, "Have you ever? You know. Bottomed?"

Toshiya nods, then realizes Kyo can't see him and follows up with an easy, "Yeah. When I was younger I was way too shy to make the first move. Only guys who topped would approach me, so that's how it played out." He gives Kyo a light nudge with his knee. "Never ended up with a bun in the oven, though, so I guess I'm working with the standard bits."

"How much younger?"

"Fifteen, sixteen."

"You were already hooking up with guys at fifteen?" Kyo sounds surprised. 

"It's not that early. Die lost his virginity at thirteen; now that's young, if you ask me."

Kyo makes a small, thoughtful noise, and for a second, Toshiya figures that's the end of the topic. But then, into the kind of quiet that creeps in when someone's hovering between 'should I say this' and 'ah, screw it,' Kyo adds his truth: "I lost mine at twelve."

That brings Toshiya to a full stop, his fingers stilling on Kyo's taut muscles. "Wait, what? Seriously?" 

Holy smokes. He was operating under the full belief that Kyo was a virgin when they started messing around, and it turns out he was a regular Casanova before even hitting his teens. This man is a never-ending series of increasingly baffling plot twists.

"Mmh. She was sixteen, a family friend," Kyo volunteers. "I thought I'd be bragging about it at school, but I just ended up feeling like crap about it. Never told anyone. Swore I'd never have sex again." 

Oh… Okay, definitely not a Casanova situation, then. 

Toshiya's mind spins helplessly around this new, uncomfortable information. With the flippant delivery, he can't tell if Kyo genuinely doesn't care or if he cares so much he has no choice but to act like he doesn't. "That's — I'm sorry?" he offers tentatively, a question mark sneaking in on its own. 

Kyo doesn't scoff, doesn't wave off the sentiment or make a joke to deflect the weight of it. He just says, "Yeah."

Toshiya blows out a breath, cheeks puffed. Man, this guy can't seem to catch a break; an introduction to sex so lousy it makes him swear off human touch for years, and when he finally gathers the courage to give it another shot, he winds up pregnant.

"And, well…" Kyo continues, clearly on some confessional roll, "with all this baby and parenting stuff on my mind lately, I'm thinking… if I were a dad I'd make sure the kid didn't even know what sex is until sixteen. Or, you know, thirty." He lets out a dry little laugh. "My child would probably hate me." 

"No chance," Toshiya mutters.

His hands move lower, and when Kyo shifts forward to grant him better access, his gaze lands on the exposed, vulnerable nape of his neck. A riot of feelings twists in his chest — loyalty, respect, ache for all that Kyo's been through. Life hasn't gone easy on him, but somehow he's still here, half-laughing his way through it. It's depressing and kind of badass all at once.

The kid would be lucky to have Kyo raise him, Toshiya's suddenly sure of it.

That thought opens a door to another, and he ventures, "The couple who will adopt him… Doesn't it bother you, not knowing what kind of people they might be?" 

"They seem fine, from what the agency's told me," Kyo says, arms folding a bit tighter around himself. There's a beat of silence, then he tosses out, like it's no big deal, "It's a girl, by the way." 

Toshiya's hands halt again. His heart does, too, for a second. A girl, he thinks to himself. They're having a little girl. Holy shit, he's going to have a daughter. He closes his eyes briefly, trying to tamp down the wave of emotion that shouldn't even be there. This isn't his moment. He doesn't get to feel this. 

He takes a breath, clears his throat, and despite the internal stumble, his voice is steady when he speaks again. "I thought you didn't want to know the gender." He remembers Kyo being pretty adamant about that the one time it came up. 

"Wasn't planning to," Kyo says. "But Nurse Sato, she blurted it out... She's on this whole campaign to get me to reconsider the adoption. Not, like, in a pushy way, but still. Kinda annoying."

Toshiya frowns. "She knows you're in a band, right? Not exactly a stable, family-friendly lifestyle." 

"Oh, yeah," Kyo says, exhaling like he's already had this conversation about nine too many times. "But she keeps saying couples make it work in less-than-ideal circumstances all the time. And I… I've talked about you — I mean, just in passing, you know, because she pried, she's nosy as hell — I've told her that you've been helpful—" Kyo's words buckle and trip over themselves, "so, she's like — she's kinda got this idea that together, we could…" The tips of his ears are blazing red as he races to backtrack, "Not that I'm suggesting — I've definitely made it clear we're not together or anything. Trust me, she knows that."

Toshiya doesn't quite know what to say to that, and maybe his silence says more than he means it to, because Kyo adds, "Obviously, I'm not changing my mind. Like I said, the agency already picked out the couple, they're ready to go, and they're... they're good."

And that's the right choice, of course. The sensible, responsible one. But all Toshiya can think about now is some faceless pair of strangers who'll be there for her first wobbly steps, her first scraped knee, her first heartache, while he and Kyo will never know any of it. He can already picture himself years from now, side-eyeing every little girl roughly the right age like some creep, searching for familiar cheekbones or eye shapes. Always wondering: is that her? Is she happy? Is she loved? 

"But you could still change your mind, right?" he asks. "Hypothetically speaking." 

"Well, yeah, legally I'm the parent until I sign away my rights."

"Do I need to sign something?"

"Nope."

Toshiya frowns again, watching his fingers work back up along Kyo's spine. "So you can just give her up without me having a say? That doesn't seem fair."

Kyo shrugs. "We're not married, so as far as the law's concerned, you're nobody to the kid. But if you wanna go through the paperwork to prove paternity just to immediately sign away your rights, knock yourself out."

Toshiya hums. He imagines a crash course in legal matters wasn't on Kyo's pre-pregnancy bingo card, but judging by the mechanical delivery, he's been briefed. Probably endured some agency counselor explaining every legal and emotional loophole while he sat there pretending not to care.

Still… That's it? Just hand her off to strangers, dust their hands, and move on like none of this ever happened?

"Ever think about asking your parents to step in?" Toshiya tries. He knows he's grasping at straws, but it's worth the try. "Or your sister? You have an older sister, right?" 

"Yeah, but Mika's got her hands full with her own kid. And my parents… ha. They're barely equipped to have dinner with me, no way I'm dropping this freakshow on their plate." Kyo snorts. "Can you imagine? 'Mom, Dad, Sis — I'm gay. Also, I'm pregnant. Also, can you raise it?'" 

Toshiya sighs. "Point taken." 

Kyo shifts, preparing to extricate himself from their little therapy session. "Thanks, Toshiya."

Toshiya draws back his hands, giving Kyo space as he hoists himself onto the bed, one hand bracing the bump like he's genuinely worried it might just detach and roll off otherwise. The mattress squeaks under the added weight as he wiggles, shuffles, and huffs his way into a curled-up position like a nesting animal, tucking a pillow tightly beneath his head.

Toshiya doesn't wait for an invite. He grabs the body pillow between them and tosses it onto the floor, then plunks himself down in its place with a noisy exhale. After weeks of sleeping on the couch, the bed feels like pure freaking heaven. 

For a while, they just lie there, both quietly wandering through their thoughts. Kyo's absent gaze rests on Toshiya while Toshiya looks up at the slice of blue sky visible through the window from his vantage point, wondering when exactly he signed up for this whole grown-up thing.

"Kinda surreal, isn't it?" he muses out loud. "Here we are, talking about adoption papers and legal custody and whatnot. Like we're real adults or something." 

Kyo gives a half-hearted snort. "Yeah, some adult," he says dryly. "I've never even kissed anyone."

There's a pause. A beat. Toshiya blinks, slow and stunned, at the ceiling. Come again? 

Kyo, virginity lost at twelve, now eight months pregnant, has never been kissed? 

Christ. The longer Toshiya sits with it, the worse it gets. This is objectively the most backward, inside-out, upside-down timeline imaginable. This is skipping tutorial mode and landing face-first in the final boss battle with no weapons, no pants, and no memory of how you even got there. It's satirical. 

And they — even the two of them never once…

Toshiya swallows. He keeps his eyes pinned to the dust motes floating through the sunbeam overhead, because right now, looking at the increasingly tragic character study curled up beside him feels impossible. But he can't stop the masochistic need to know. "Umm," he starts, his voice a little rough. "Back when we... were together. Did you... were you expecting me to kiss you?"

"Nah, didn't have any particular expectations," Kyo says at first. After a pause, he adds, "Well, I guess I thought you might. They always do in videos." 

Videos. Porn, he means. Which back then was probably the extent of Kyo's understanding of how adults were supposed to want each other. Scripted scenarios, manufactured desire, and still more affectionate than anything he got from Toshiya.

Something in Toshiya's chest winds tight and unpleasant. He thought about it, of course. To him, kissing is a no-brainer, a natural byproduct of heat and motion and hands on skin, hardly worth a conscious thought. But with Kyo, the mood just wasn't… that. It was awkward. Later, when that awkwardness faded and they found their groove, there were close calls — micro-movements, instinctive head-tilts, his gaze slipping to Kyo's mouth. But each time, he reeled it back, afraid it might send a weird signal. 

And now, reflecting on his own self-congratulatory smugness at being Kyo's first, he realizes he'd totally, undeniably botched it, completely blown the most basic, human part of the whole experience. 

Kyo shifts beside him, wrenching himself up onto an elbow. When Toshiya guiltily meets his gaze, he smiles a little, resting his cheek against his curled fist. "Kinda a relief you didn't, to be honest," he says, light, joking. "I'm probably terrible at it. Would've been a real mood killer." 

It's offered up as banter, like it doesn't matter, but what Toshiya hears is, don't worry, I've trained myself not to want too much. Maybe Kyo wasn't aching for it in some grand, romantic way, but there's no way he didn't, in some private, neglected part of himself, hope to check that box.

Then again, could be Toshiya's just being dramatic. Who's to say Kyo wanted that first kiss from him, anyway? Bit egotistical, really, assuming he should've been the one to deliver it. Maybe Kyo would prefer that moment to actually mean something. Or maybe he doesn't even care. He's the human embodiment of a shrug half the time — maybe the whole kissing deal just isn't that deep to him.

Well… it's deep enough to stir some feelings of missing out. Deep enough to bring it up. So it's not nothing. 

Toshiya sighs and rolls onto his side. He reaches out, lets his fingers skim lightly across Kyo's stomach. "I really do wish I could switch places with you," he says quietly.

He's expressed that before, wanting to take some of the physical toll off Kyo, but the reason is different this time. Because if he were the one carrying this weight, then Kyo wouldn't have to go through something as monumental as bringing a life into the world, only to give it up, all without having experienced that one simple first. 

His palm settles flat against the warm, firm swell of Kyo's belly, feeling the quiet thrum of new life beneath skin.

Kyo snorts softly, and when Toshiya glances up, the half-smile is still there. "I know," he says. "You're probably the only idiot in the universe who could say that and actually make me believe it."

Helplessly, Toshiya returns the smile, even as something bittersweet and complicated curls beneath his ribs. For all the ways he's fucked up, at least Kyo still sees him clearly enough to know he's sincere.

— 

Toshiya never really paused to appreciate just how stupidly lucky he and Kyo have been these past few months.

By all rights, they should've been exposed a dozen different ways by now. But even after he let it slip to Aoi that some men can bear children, even after Aoi found the sonogram, and even after Kyo stepped into the recording booth while seven months deep into his reproductive side quest — somehow, against all odds and logic and basic observational skills, they made it this far without anyone outside of their controlled inner circle catching on.

But good things, as everyone knows, are not meant to last. This golden streak of luck, too, is destined to meet its end, and it does so quite abruptly the following day.

Toshiya is halfway through scribbling down a grocery list onto a repurposed envelope slapped against the wall, when he hears footsteps clomping down the hall outside. He thinks nothing of it — people walk in hallways; that's kind of what they're for — until they come to a stop right outside their door. A second later, the doorbell chimes.

He glances at the door, then at Kyo, who's posted up against the kitchen counter beside him. He's holding a bowl of dashi rice on top of his bump, chopsticks poised in hand, and, by the looks of it, is just as thrown off by the interruption. 

NHK? Kyo mouths, voicelessly because the door's barely two meters away and may as well be made of single-ply toilet paper for all the soundproofing it offers. 

It's a solid guess. Those state-sponsored vampires have been hounding Toshiya for TV fees ever since he moved in. He's made an art form out of sidestepping their advances, absolutely committed to the principle of not paying for something he can have for free if he simply pretends not to be home.

They both jump when three sharp knocks follow. Kyo, closest to the door, clutches his bowl of rice and stares blankly into the ether, while Toshiya stands frozen with his half-finished grocery list still held against the wall. Neither dares breathe too loud, silently praying for the sweet sound of retreating footsteps.

But there are no footsteps. Instead, the bone-chilling click of the door latch splits the silence, a sound so casually violating it sends Toshiya's stomach into freefall. The door is yanked open.

Dumbly, Toshiya stares at his boyfriend in the doorway. 

For a second, his only coherent thought is, wow, I really should've locked the door.

In the year and a half he's lived here, not once has it occurred to him to do that. It's a quiet, almost dull slice of suburbia, the kind of place where the wildest thing to happen is someone putting their recycling on the wrong day. Nobody breaks in. Nobody just waltzes into someone else's apartment uninvited.

Except Aoi, apparently.

He looks flustered. His eyes are wild, body practically vibrating with preloaded anger, like he's been winding himself up long before this surprise visit. Toshiya watches, paralyzed, as his heated glare locks onto Kyo, instantly dropping to the swell of his stomach, which is accentuated in stunning high definition by the thin, slept-in t-shirt he didn't bother changing out of.

"I knew it," he spits out. 

Kyo doesn't blink. His eyes stay locked on Aoi as he, very slowly and carefully, places the bowl and the chopsticks down onto the kitchen counter, as if anticipating he'll need both hands free for a sudden fistfight.

Toshiya, meanwhile, is reeling. This is how their months-long covert operation crashes and burns? All it took was one unlocked door and a pissed-off, boundary-impaired boyfriend? He could laugh at the sheer stupidity of it, if not for the fact that this is actually a horrible turn of events.

His hands go slack, grocery list and pen hitting the countertop. "What are you doing here?" 

Aoi rounds on him like he's been waiting for that cue. "What am I doing?!" he yells, the spike in volume so sudden Kyo jumps. He steps over the threshold, letting the door swing shut behind him, hands flexing at his sides. "That's all you have to say right now? You lying piece of shit."

His blazing eyes cut back to Kyo, then past him, landing on the sonogram proudly displayed on the fridge. He makes a move for it, and Kyo twitches like he's about to intercept him, thinks better of it, and instead brings his hand protectively over his bump while the magnet hits the floor with a clatter. His uneasy eyes flick toward Toshiya.

The muscle in Aoi's jaw works as he stares down at the photo in his hand. He shoots another nasty glance at Kyo's midsection, then up to his face. "Cute," he says, voice so acidic it's a miracle his mouth isn't bleeding. "Really fucking thrilled for you both."

The look he gives Toshiya is raging mad and heartbroken all at once, a thin sheen of tears making his eyes unnaturally clear under the bright kitchen lights.

Toshiya feels his insides shrivel, nausea rising. "Can we not do this here?" he pleads. This does not need to play out in front of Kyo, who's exhausted, full of baby, and just trying to eat his rice in peace.

"What is there to talk about? You're in love with him, aren't you? You're keeping the baby—" Aoi punctuates this accusation by violently brandishing the sonogram, "—so what else is there?"

Toshiya's lips part, and the words are right there: no, I'm not in love with him. No, we're not keeping the baby. It's not like that. All that needs to come out, but it doesn't. It gets gridlocked somewhere between intention and execution, and in that tiny, stuttering second of silence, Aoi seems to hear exactly what he's already convinced himself of. His mouth twists like he's trying to keep himself from making a sound, and then the tears spill, quiet, angry, humiliated.

"Got it. Loud and clear," he says, voice shaking. "Have a nice fucking life with your freak of a boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever the fuck he is, and whatever mutant he's growing in there." 

He turns to leave, but stops cold when Toshiya speaks.

"Aoi." It lands louder and harsher than intended, and Aoi stiffens. Toshiya clenches his teeth, forcing himself to tone it down. "Please," he says again, quieter now, more controlled. "Let's talk outside."

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to talk to Aoi, doesn't want to breathe the same air as him right now. But he needs to make it crystal clear that Aoi cannot, under any circumstances, run his mouth about the nuclear-grade secret currently standing barefoot and pregnant in an old t-shirt, warily eyeing the two of them like they're about to detonate.

Aoi stands there for a moment, the stiff set of his shoulders slowly sinking. Whatever righteous fury was propelling him is leaking out, and his voice is dull, spent, when he speaks. "I have to go. I have a show tonight."

"Tomorrow, then?" Toshiya presses.

Another pause. Then: "Yeah. Okay."

Aoi casts one last resentful glance over his shoulder at Kyo — an ugly look so transparently jealous and wounded it has Kyo averting his eyes — but Toshiya's already stepping between them, hand on his back, ushering him forward.

"Break a leg," Toshiya offers as a parting gesture, putting his last drop of patience into sounding civil. "We'll deal with this tomorrow." He reaches over, calmly plucking the sonogram from Aoi's hand, and then pushes the door closed in his face, twisting the lock with a decisive click.

It takes a handful of seconds before he hears heavy, dragging boots retreat. Only once the sound has faded into nothing does he allow himself to exhale, forehead coming to rest against the door, eyes drifting closed as his heartbeat gradually steps down from the ledge.

Stupid. So fucking stupid. He should've known — the night in Shinjuku, the sudden switch in Aoi's demeanor after first bringing up the baby's 'mother,' then Kyo. That's when the pieces clicked into place for him. It's so fucking obvious, in hindsight.

"You okay?"

Kyo's voice, a touch concerned, jolts Toshiya back into the moment. He almost forgot Kyo was still there, oddly calm and quiet through the whole ordeal.

Toshiya turns around, and there he is: freshly branded a freak and a mutant incubator, insulted and exposed, casually dehumanized, and now asking if Toshiya is okay. It wrenches a weak, apologetic smile from Toshiya as he sags back against the door. With one shaky hand, he shoves hair out of his eyes.

"Sorry you had to see that," he starts, his mouth feeling dry. "He, uh… he figured it out a while back. That I'd gotten someone pregnant. And before that, I said something — stupid. Blurted out that… you know… men can…" He trails off with a grimace. "Fuck, Kyo, I'm so sorry. I'll talk to him. I'll make sure he doesn't tell anyone, okay? I'll fix this, I promise."

Kyo's face doesn't give away much. He hums in acknowledgment, looking down at his hands resting over the mound of his belly, fingers loosely intertwined.

"I'd be pissed, too," he says after a moment. "If I were him."

Toshiya doesn't know what to do with that. He busies himself picking up the magnet from the floor and quietly reattaching the sonogram to the fridge door.

With a strange, matter-of-fact softness, Kyo goes on, "So, if… I mean, if you really love him, you know… don't let me and my situation be in the way of that." He glances up at Toshiya briefly, and takes a little breath. "I know you feel responsible or protective or whatever about me, and that's nice and all. I appreciate it. But, like… what I'm saying is… if you wanna fix things with him, I get it. You should."

There's a lump in Toshiya's throat the size of a boulder. He wants to say a thousand things, wants to tear open his chest and dump out every confusing, contradictory emotion currently jamming up his ability to think, but he can't find the right words, or even decide if he should. 

So all that comes out, raw and threadbare and utterly inadequate, is: "I'll talk to him."

Kyo nods and looks away.

Chapter Text

Toshiya's eyes feel like sandpaper when he peels them open the next morning. For a long moment, he lies motionless, quietly resenting the tacky pattern of the kotatsu quilt — garish orange spirals and diseased-looking green paisleys — as he waits for his brain to defog. 

The emotional soup he was simmering in yesterday — anger over the words Aoi flung at Kyo and guilt over being exactly the lying piece of shit he was accused of — has burned itself out. He's overcooked, feelings-wise. Slightly hungover, too, from lack of sleep, having spent much of the night ruminating on the ethical impossibilities of his situation while listening to Kyo's shallow, definitely-not-sleeping breathing. Normally, synchronized bouts of insomnia would lead to chatting through it until unconsciousness took mercy,  but it seemed last night neither had anything to say to the other.

Toshiya still doesn't know what the right thing to do would've been. Break up with Aoi with no explanation the moment Kyo uttered, 'I'm pregnant,' just to avoid having to lie about it? Beg Kyo to let him bring Aoi in on the secret, knowing exactly how well that would've gone over? Say to hell with Kyo's privacy and tell Aoi anyway, because hey, honesty over everything, right? 

There was no moral high ground here. Just a sliding scale of being a dick.

So maybe it's not even the lies he should be beating himself up over, but the other thing. The thing where his heart, gradually, unstoppably, started slipping away from Aoi. But even that was never a choice. It just happened, like some sort of continental drift of affections that you don't notice until there's suddenly a whole-ass ocean between you and where you started.

He exhales hard through his nose and pushes himself upright on one elbow, reaching for his phone on the kotatsu. The screen lights up with a single text from Aoi.

Text me when you wake up 

Timestamped 5:03 a.m. Guess the post-show party went on until sunrise. 

Woke up, he types back without ceremony. 

Aoi responds within minutes, and they agree on a small playground situated halfway between their respective stations. 

Toshiya moves quietly, careful not to wake Kyo as he pulls himself together: joggers, hoodie, hair scraped into a sloppy ponytail, sunglasses on to hide his bleary eyes behind. 

Before heading out, he pauses in the doorway, gaze lingering on Kyo sprawled across the bed, dead to the world. The guy's running hot again, if the comforter kicked to a crumpled heap on the floor is anything to go by. He mumbles a string of dream gibberish into the pillow, then lets out a deep, world-weary sigh, like whatever dream he's having has already disappointed him. 

Affection wells up in Toshiya, thick and bittersweet and so intense it's almost sickening. Dense like a dying star, it blooms behind his sternum, and he already knows the outcome of the talk with Aoi. The ending's already written, has been for a while now — he's just finally been brave enough to flip to that last page and read the damn thing. 

Aoi's already there when Toshiya makes it to the playground. Decked in tight-fitting jeans, lavender cashmere sweater, and sleek sunglasses, he looks wildly out of place against the backdrop of sun-faded animal slides and rusted spring riders. 

He pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead when he spots Toshiya, twitching like he's about to stand from the bench he's sat on, then thinks better of it. 

"Morning," Toshiya mumbles as he closes the distance.

"Morning," Aoi echoes back.

The sun is out in full force, warm and golden and deeply inappropriate as Toshiya drops onto the bench, crossing one leg over the other and stuffing his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.

Neither of them makes a move to look at the other. Aoi leans back somewhat less gracefully than usual, hands laced together between his spread legs, one thumb relentlessly worrying the skin of its counterpart. "So, I've had some time to think," he starts, his tone artificially sensible. "And I think I get it now." 

"Get what?" 

"Well… all of it. Why you had to keep it a secret. Why you might pick Kyo over me if it came down to it. He's like family now, isn't he?" 

Family. That's a cute understatement. Toshiya doesn't correct him, just lets the silence stretch as he stares off at the drinking fountain in his line of sight, watching one stubborn droplet clinging for dear life. Next to him, Aoi fidgets.

"My point is," he says, voice still trying to project calm but already fraying at the seams. He inhales like he's about to make a grand speech… and then just doesn't. An uncomfortable moment passes before he blurts out, "Don't leave me." 

Toshiya blinks long and hard behind his shades.

"Don't be that guy," Aoi pleads quietly, and in his periphery, Toshiya sees him shift to face him, body language doing its own begging. "I mean… nothing's happened that can't be fixed, right? I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for what I said yesterday. I obviously didn't mean any of it, I was just... hurt, angry, I guess. I'll apologize to Kyo directly if you want."

Toshiya finally takes his sunglasses off, dragging the heel of his palm over one tired, aching eye. His skull feels like someone poured cement into it overnight. His whole body is operating at half a frame per second. "That aside," he mumbles, "you don't even trust me, do you?" He turns to Aoi, hooking the glasses onto the collar of his hoodie. "I mean, you've accused me of sleeping with Kyo behind your back. If that's what you think of me, then what's the point? Why even want to be with someone who'd do that?"

"I don't think that," Aoi rushes out. "It's just — sometimes — I just get these paranoid thoughts, and they mess with my head. I know you have been loyal, I do." He pauses, looking uncertain now. "But if you haven't… I mean, if something happened… that's okay. I can forgive you. Or, like — you don't even have to tell me. We can just move on." 

Desperation. He's reeking of desperation, and Toshiya realizes now it's not a new reek, but something he mistook for passion in the early days, then possessiveness, insecurity, later — always boiling down to the same root fear of being left behind. And even after months of being lied to, even suspecting he might've been cheated on, Aoi still can't fathom letting go. It's really fucking sad if anything. 

"The thing is…" Toshiya starts, though his voice doesn't quite have the resolve he hoped for. "The thing is, my world's kinda spinning a hundred miles an hour right now. And it's clearly affecting you—" 

"But it's not!" Aoi cuts in, panic cracking through his voice. "I'm telling you, I get it now. Don't worry about me. I've had time to think and I'm fine. We're fine. There's no reason why we can't put this behind us."

But of course there's a reason. Two, in fact, blindingly clear.

One: the words Aoi spat at Kyo. Toshiya can't scrub them out of his brain, can't un-feel the shame and disgust that flared in his chest when someone he loved looked at Kyo and saw a freak. He can't un-see the image of Kyo — who's already so full of self-loathing he can barely breathe through it some days — just standing there and taking it. Like part of him agreed with it. 

You don't get to come back from that by saying, sorry, I was angry.

Two: there's a distinct chance that Toshiya may have, quietly, inconveniently, irreversibly, fallen for Kyo. Not out of guilt or obligation. Not because of the baby or the proximity. Just… for him. Because somewhere along the way, between tears over doomed baby turtles and sex jokes about pantsless cartoon bears, caring turned into craving.

"I'm sorry, Aoi," he breathes out. "I don't think we can be together anymore." 

"Why?"  

"Because…" Toshiya shoves a hand into his hair, frowning down at his sneakers. "I'm tapped out. Emotionally. I've got nothing left to give right now. I — look, we're not keeping the baby, obviously, but I'm still… feeling things about it. And it's hard for me. So much harder than I expected." 

He leaves out the part about maybe being in love with the exact person Aoi accused him of being in love with. There's a difference between honesty and cruelty. 

"And you only just figured that out?" Aoi bites.

Toshiya looks up at him. "I didn't want to give up on us, okay? Not until yesterday. Yesterday was… a wake-up call." Truly. No better slap of clarity than watching the two halves of your poorly compartmentalized existence crash headfirst into each other. 

"I'll wait for you. I'll give you space, however long it takes."

Toshiya wants to tear his hair out. Of course Aoi will wait. Of course he'll martyr himself on the altar of this dying relationship like it's some grand romantic gesture instead of a blind refusal to accept reality. "I don't want you to wait," he says, harsher than intended. "I don't— I don't want that. It's over, okay?"

He braces himself for the inevitable begging, guilt-tripping, maybe even a revisit to that threat Aoi once let slip about killing himself if Toshiya ever hurts him. But there's a long silence instead, and somehow, it doesn't feel like a good development. Toshiya folds his arms tightly across his chest, studying Aoi's blank, shut-down profile. 

Aoi's lips part for a shallow inhale. "Except… except now I know about Kyo." 

…Right. 

That card. 

The implication isn't subtle, and beneath it, unspoken but screaming all the same, is the rest: I did it. I recorded Shun. I leaked the tape. I'm that guy. 

But now, as he sits on a playground bench at eight-something on a Wednesday morning and contemplates Aoi's words, Toshiya doesn't feel anger or dread. He feels clarity. It's like finally getting a diagnosis after months of mysterious, unsettling symptoms: yeah, it's bad, and it's incurable, but at least now you know. At least now the guessing game is over.

He says, "You can't tell anyone about this, Aoi. I'm sure you understand why." 

"Of course," Aoi replies quickly. "I get it. I do. But… But if you walk away now, it'll make me really upset. I do stupid things when I'm upset. I say stupid things when I'm upset, like yesterday." 

"Stupid things," Toshiya echoes mildly. "You mean like secretly recording someone fucking you and leaking it when they stop returning your calls?" 

Aoi's mouth opens. Closes. He blinks, and then his eyes drift off to some far-off point in the park. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Stupid things like that."

A humorless smile twists Toshiya's mouth. Aoi, with his sanctimonious outrage over Die's story — they made up a rumor to kick me out, he claimed, all wounded feelings. How was that not clear to you? Like you don't know me at all. 

What a performance.

"You're a good liar," Toshiya says at length. 

"You, not so much."

Fair enough. Toshiya never had the constitution for long-haul dishonesty, and he sure as hell isn't gunning for any Best Bullshitter awards.

He stretches out his legs, sneakers scuffing on the dirt as he reclines. "Blackmail as a relationship strategy's a little fucked up." He states the obvious almost conversationally, because he genuinely cannot find it in himself to worry. "You're better than that. You're not some pathetic loser who needs to stoop that low. Have some self-respect."

"What good is self‑respect if it means losing you?" Aoi says bitterly.

"You've already lost me. I told you, it's over. If you really think Kyo deserves to have his life torched, then go ahead. See what that gets you." 

He half-means it, too. Kyo could absolutely do without the spotlight, but realistically, who in their right mind would buy into a ludicrous gossip like that? Dir en grey's male vocalist is pregnant with a bandmate's love child? 

Aoi, it seems, reaches the same conclusion. He slumps forward, eyes scrunched shut, hand grinding into the space between his eyebrows. A frustrated little noise breaks out of him. 

"What is so awful about me that no one wants to stay?" He tilts his head to throw Toshiya a look so heartbreakingly naked it almost feels indecent to witness. Like watching someone crack their ribcage open and say, look inside, tell me what's wrong. "I genuinely want to know. Is it my face? My personality?" His voice shakes now. "The way I walk, talk, laugh, fucking breathe? I tried to fix it all. Tried to fix everything about myself. Tried to be perfect. But nothing's ever good enough." The last word catches, and he has to choke down a shaky inhale before it turns into something worse.

And, fuck. Toshiya was doing so well in his emotionally sterile little corner. He liked it there, in that clean, cold space where things are black and white and Aoi is a manipulative bastard unworthy of sympathy. But when has anything been that easy? The truth is that despite everything, he still very much cares. Still wants Aoi to find some measure of peace. So, he does what feels right, no matter how nonsensical or undeserved it might be.

"People get dumped, Aoi. Doesn't mean there's something wrong with you," he starts.

Aoi glances at him sideways with the air of a kicked dog. 

"It happens," Toshiya continues, watching a stray leaf skate across the gravel. "Especially when we're young, or lonely, or chasing the wrong type. Or mistaking sex for affection or whatever. And sometimes, believe it or not, it's not even about you at all. It's just bad timing. People with their own shit to sort through." He shrugs. "You don't need to be perfect just to keep someone around. No one's that demanding, and if they are, well, fuck them. But like, not literally." 

There's nothing profound or groundbreaking in his words. It's basic, bottom-shelf, fortune-cookie-level advice from one dumbass human to another. Yet Aoi listens like he's never heard something so important, like it's some priceless secret no one ever bothered to tell him before.

"And you don't need anyone's approval to matter, or a relationship to prove you're worth something. You exist. That's it. That's enough. Okay?"

"Okay," Aoi croaks, his voice high and thin and clearly on the verge of breaking. He looks up at the skies, holding his eyes wide against the film of tears threatening to spill.

Toshiya keeps going, because who knows if he'll ever get another chance to drill some sense into Aoi's skull. "You've got so much going for you," he says. "And you know exactly what I'm talking about, because your insecure ass made me list everything I like about you, like, three times a week. Like it was my damn homework or something." 

A wet half‑laugh, half‑hiccup escapes Aoi. 

"And guess what, I meant every single one. So there."

…And the laugh trips and falls. Aoi folds forward once again, elbows braced on his thighs and face buried in his shaky hands as he dissolves completely, crying like the world's ending. 

"I love you so fucking much," he sobs. 

Toshiya doesn't move a muscle. He knows that if he allows even a sliver of compassion to move him, he'll do something colossally stupid, like pull Aoi into his arms and un-break up with him just to make that awful, helpless sound stop. So he sits there like a statue, white-knuckling his own restraint while his chest feels like someone parked a truck on it.

To Aoi's credit, he scrapes himself together remarkably quickly. He straightens and takes a big breath. Dragging his sleeve across his face, his voice is rough and congested but holding when he speaks. 

"I won't tell anyone. I'm sorry I said that. I'm an idiot." 

And maybe he shouldn't — god knows common sense and self-preservation would advise against it — but Toshiya believes him. 

"I'm angry," Aoi continues thickly, "and heartbroken, and I don't have a clue how I'm supposed to function anymore. But I don't wanna see you hurt. So… yeah." He sniffs. "Don't worry."

"You'll be fine, Aoi. This isn't Mie. You're not sixteen." 

Aoi inspects the tear-damp cuff of his shirt.

"And honestly," Toshiya says, "maybe being on your own for a while wouldn't be the worst thing." Make some friends, he thinks privately. Figure out who you are when no one's looking.

"Yeah. Maybe," Aoi mutters, not enthusiastic, but not resisting either.

Silence settles for a while, not unfriendly. Across the playground, the neighborhood is rubbing the sleep from its eyes: blank-faced suits march toward the station, hunched grannies in windbreakers hustle to wherever it is that retirees think they need to be at the crack of dawn, and one grizzled old man takes a seat on a nearby bench, cracking open his first Strong Zero of the day. Nearby, a crow is going to town on a poorly secured trash bag, redecorating someone's pristine front gate with its contents.

Then there's the cherry tree by the fence, in full bloom, and looking at it, Toshiya feels a pang of ugh. They were supposed to do hanami together, talked about it what feels like lifetimes ago but must have only been weeks. He pictured them lying on a blanket, sipping cheap konbini wine from plastic cups, drunk and happy and stupid under a sky full of flowers.

He clears his throat, needing to shake off that wistful ache before it drags him any deeper. "So…" he tries, gingerly shifting the conversation, "how was the show yesterday?"

Aoi wipes the back of his hand under his nose. "Good. Played the cleanest solo of my life while thinking about setting your apartment on fire."

"Impressive multitasking."

"Thanks. I'm very talented."

Toshiya smiles. "Yeah, I know." 

Aoi tucks his hands into his sleeves and tilts his wrecked face toward the sun. A little more animated now, he says, "We're getting busier, working on some new material. So maybe I won't have much time left to wallow." He side-eyes Toshiya, tacking on dryly, "I hope you'll wallow at least a little bit."

It knocks a little chuckle out of Toshiya. When he glances over at Aoi, their eyes meet — both exhausted on every level, emotionally ransacked, and they smile through it anyway. Because while it's awful, and it's sad, it's still them, somehow, even now.

As they stand, brushing off clothes and piecing together some semblance of normal, it finally begins to sink in. That tomorrow, Aoi — this troubled, dramatic, fiercely loving fixture in his life — won't be part of the routine anymore. No more sweet text messages in the morning, no more late nights rolling in bed and giggling at horrible puns. No more comforting certainty in knowing someone out there genuinely cares how his day went, no matter how dull.

They turn to face one another. And looking at Aoi's tear-streaked mess of a face, for a brief second, Toshiya sees someone younger reflected back. A kid who tried to reverse-engineer love, kept reinventing himself over and over — look sexier, fuck better, be wittier, try harder. Because if he could just nail it, someone might finally stay.

Toshiya's chest goes tight. Suddenly it's unbearable, this moment. Wanting to sear Aoi's scent and the feel of him in his memory before they become strangers again, he asks, "Can I hug you?" 

Aoi offers him a miserable smile. "Would love to, but I don't think I can let go if we do." 

Oof. Toshiya swallows hard, nods once. It guts him, the refusal, but damn if he isn't also a little proud of Aoi for setting a boundary. For choosing himself over a fleeting comfort.

They linger for another long heartbeat before Aoi lifts his chin, rolls his shoulders back, and puts on a shaky grin. "Come see me at Budokan in a few years." 

Toshiya's answering smile comes a little easier than expected.

"Wouldn't miss it." 

Leaving the playground feels like walking through glue. Every step Toshiya takes is like something essential is tearing loose and getting left behind. 

By the time he hits the halfway mark, it all catches up hard — breath hitching, chest caving in, stomach coiling so tight he half-expects to hear something snap. He's forced to stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk just to breathe through the crushing sensation, and there he stands, the picture of a man in a silent crisis, immobilized by his first ever heartbreak. 

When the lump in his throat has shrunk enough to swallow around, he walks straight to MyBasket. Not because they're running low on anything in particular, but because the bruised feeling inside his chest doesn't know what to do with idle hands. 

It's barely past nine by the time he gets back, but Kyo — who usually stays in bed almost until noon — is already up. 

And nothing could possibly embody the concept of 'home' more powerfully to Toshiya than the sight of him right now: propped up against the living room entrance, barefoot, belly front and center under the flimsy t-shirt, arms casually crossed over it like he's about to ask Toshiya where the hell he's been. His hair is sleep-rumpled, eyes wary as he watches Toshiya start unloading the groceries onto the counter. 

"Did you go meet with Aoi?" 

"Yep."

A loaded, expectant pause, then: "Well… how did it go?" 

Toshiya flattens the grocery bag and ties it into a knot before tossing it into the larger bag hanging by the cabinet. "We broke up."

Kyo says nothing, but the surprise radiating from him is almost palpable.

Toshiya pulls out a cutting board and rinses some carrots under the tap. His hands are shaking as he starts cutting one of them, and he has to stare extra hard at what he's doing to avoid making this day any shittier by accidentally severing a finger. He sniffles once. Twice. Goddamnit. 

Behind him, there's a shuffle. An awkward throat-clear. "Uh… do you need something?" Kyo asks. "Like, you wanna be alone, or..." He pauses, faltering for a second. Then, almost shyly, "Do you want a hug?"

The knife clacks against the cutting board as Toshiya's hand flattens over the handle. He stares down at the blade, sinuses clogging up and vision blurring as hot, unwelcome tears well up. "Maybe just… just a little space, for now," he manages, voice thick but holding on by a thread. 

"Okay," Kyo says quickly, as though embarrassed at having offered. "No problem. I'll head out for the day. Just text me when—"

"No," Toshiya cuts him off, shaking his head without looking up, tears splattering onto the cutting board. "Don't leave. I just… Let me make some… carbonara."

Silence.

Then, with the faintest hint of tentative amusement: "Carrot carbonara?" 

"Uh-huh." Toshiya drags the back of his hand across his eyes. "Haven't you heard? It's all the rage now. Look it up."

He hears Kyo stifle a snort — a tiny pfft — and it makes him laugh too, though it only lasts for a second before the sound twists in his throat. It wrenches into a hiccuping sob, then another, eyes squeezing shut against the humiliating wave of grief. 

He doesn't hear Kyo approach — just feels the press of something warm and round against his lower back, followed by careful hands sliding around him, palms flattening against his chest. He lays a hand over Kyo's, bends his head, and ugly-cries over his mangled carrot slices.

"No space allowed when you're like this," Kyo murmurs into the fabric of Toshiya's hoodie.

And somewhere in the middle of his mucus-soaked spiral, Toshiya has a brainwave. He's spent so long slotting himself into the role of caretaker, convinced Kyo needed to be protected, saved, monitored, that he never thought to consider that maybe Kyo's perfectly capable of being someone else's rock, too. Maybe he's not just a responsibility. Maybe he's a partner. And maybe it's okay to lean into that sometimes. 

By the time Die shows up to cart Kyo off to his doctor's appointment, Toshiya's face is such a puffy, blotchy disaster that he doesn't even try to pretend he's fit for public viewing. So he stays planted on the couch and gives a limp wave as Kyo waddles out, camouflaged in a ridiculous combo of parka, ball cap, and surgical mask.

A couple hours later, Kyo has safely returned and collapsed over his body pillow. Toshiya gives him a pat, then shuffles downstairs in slippers and ratty pajama pants, hoodie pulled over his head, to hand Die some cash for the rental. 

Die, posted up against the car like he's got nowhere else to be, instantly launches into a gleeful recap of their hospital adventure. 

Apparently, while Kyo was off getting some medical apparatus crammed up somewhere uncomfortable, or whatever indignities happen at these appointments, Die set up camp in the waiting area. That's when a nurse — Sato, Toshiya assumes — strolled up. She took one look at his firetruck-red hair and Metallica tee and promptly mistook him for the proud father-to-be. Cue enthusiastic congratulations, cooing admiration, and several compliments about how stunningly handsome he is, and how incredibly lucky Kyo is to have someone so supportive and involved by his side during such a precious journey.

And what did Die — a man whose greatest parental qualification is knowing not to overwater a succulent — do? Did he politely clear things up and say, oh no, I'm just the ride? No. He sat there and shamelessly soaked in the praise and well-wishes, probably grinning like an absolute jackass and nodding like he's been building a crib with his bare hands in his spare time. Not a peep in the way of correction. 

The delusion train chugged right along until Kyo returned, realized what was happening, and put an end to the circus, hopefully telling Nurse Sato that Die still doesn't know how to boil an egg, let alone support someone through a high-risk pregnancy.

Toshiya listens in stony silence, hands shoved into his pant pockets, brows in a deep furrow. It's a conundrum. He doesn't know whether to thank Die for showing up for Kyo and being halfway competent, or punch him square in the jaw for stealing the credit for his unborn miracle baby.

Either way, one thing is for sure: Toshiya is not missing another appointment. No more letting Die straight-up absorb his identity and start collecting accolades that are decidedly not his to claim.

—

Breakups, as it becomes clear over the following days, fucking suck. Toshiya's never had the pleasure before, but now that he's neck-deep in one, Aoi's hysterics at the playground are starting to seem downright reasonable. Restrained, even.

It's relentless. Every stupid thing in the world suddenly reminds him of his ex. A trash TV theme song comes on, and he's back on the couch, harmonizing off-key with Aoi. A lightbulb flickers somewhere, and Toshiya's mind goes, remember when Aoi replaced that one for you without even being asked? God, wasn't that thoughtful? Wasn't that love? Huh?

His brain has morphed into a propaganda machine, filtering their entire relationship through a soft, glowy, sepia tone, like they were never anything but stupidly happy. Every shitty moment has been neatly deleted in favor of a mental montage of Aoi smiling like a sunrise, Aoi sautéing vegetables in his kitchen shirtless, Aoi shredding his guitar on stage with that cocky swagger, eyes scanning the crowd for Toshiya's adoring face. Aoi, dead serious at two in the morning, asking, would you still be into me if I got disfigured in a fire?

Toshiya can't stop wondering how Aoi's faring on the other side of their split. Is he eating properly? Is he drinking too much? Is he flat on his back on silk sheets in some Roppongi penthouse, getting railed by a hot, tan real-estate agent slash part-time personal trainer with arms like tree trunks? It's a special kind of masochism, and Toshiya's absolutely glued to it. 

On the flip side, Kyo has entered some sort of new era of serenity. It's like he's either matured ten years in the span of weeks, or finally fully dissociated and is now just politely waiting for the mothership to beam him the hell up from Earth. Then again, maybe it just seems like Kyo's got it together because Toshiya himself has regressed into a helpless, sniveling infant capable of little more than crying and napping.

Kyo's absurdly patient through it all. Not in a smug 'well well well, look who's the crybaby now' kind of way, more like a man who's been in hell so long that someone else's sad little campfire doesn't scare him. He doesn't try to fix anything, just listens to Toshiya's self-pitying monologues, nodding slowly and keeping his opinions to himself. And while Toshiya's devolved into a couch-bound lump who can't manage to pull on actual pants, Kyo has quietly assumed the role of household adult — doing grocery runs, cooking (or at least microwaving things), even paying that water bill Toshiya's been ignoring for weeks. All this while so blatantly pregnant even the monstrous parka can no longer fully hide it. 

Curiously enough, he's also rediscovered personal grooming — something he gave up on weeks ago because between the constant exhaustion and barely leaving the apartment, why bother? Now, that tragic little mustache is history, hair's being washed on a semi-regular schedule, and he's plucking his eyebrows and adjusting his bangs like he's expecting some hot date to knock on the door at any minute.

Day four post-breakup finds Toshiya lurking in the bathroom doorway, watching Kyo having a little standoff with the mirror, tugging fingers through his grown-out hair. 

"Wanna switch it up?" he asks. "I could dye it for you."

Kyo's lips purse into a pensive little frown. "I dunno," he mutters, fanning out a dry, uneven section. Then his eyes flick up to Toshiya through the mirror. "You know how to cut hair?"

"I've cut my friends' hair before. They still talk to me, so either I didn't botch it too bad or they're just really polite."

"Hmm. Okay, I'll take the odds." 

It turns out to be a good call. 

What ensues is an afternoon with the kind of hands-on distraction Toshiya didn't know he needed. It's not rocket science, exactly, but it demands enough attention to temporarily shut down his personal mental torture chamber of wistful flashbacks. Because this is Kyo, and despite the recent stretch of third trimester-induced indifference, the guy absolutely cares about his looks. Which means this is not a job you half-ass. 

Piece by painstaking piece, he shears away the excess while Kyo sits on the closed toilet seat like a bored little prince, a towel slung across his shoulders, staring blankly ahead. By the time Toshiya's calling it done, there's a pile of hair on the floor and a brand new respect in his heart for anyone who does this shit for a living. His arms are noodles and he's fairly certain he forgot to breathe for at least half the operation.

But with the hair now uniformly shorter, the two-tone effect between the inches of dark regrowth and the bleach job is glaring — veering less 'overgrown roots' and more 'frosted tips,' which they both agree is unacceptable. So, Toshiya finds himself grabbing his keys and marching himself to the drug store for a bleach kit.

When they're done — bleach rinsed, toner applied, toner rinsed, conditioner liberally slathered and washed out again — Kyo stands in front of the bathroom mirror, assessing his newly resurrected reflection. Toshiya hovers in the background, brushing stray clippings off Kyo's clothes, suddenly seized by the irrational fear that maybe he's absolutely fucked everything up beyond redemption.

"Well?" he prompts, unable to take the suspense. "What do you think?" 

Eons pass. Civilizations rise and fall. Glaciers melt. And finally, Kyo nods. "Not bad," he says, turning around to face him directly. "Thank you."

Relieved, Toshiya smiles. "Anytime." He takes in his handiwork: Kyo looking revitalized, fresh-faced, like he's halfway back to the version of himself from before the world turned upside down and inside out. "You look good," he adds.

Kyo dips his head slightly, and Toshiya watches, delighted, as an embarrassed smile slips out despite his best attempts to keep a straight face. "Really?" he asks, uncertain fingers reaching back to feel out the shorter strands. "Not too short?" 

"Not at all," Toshiya assures him, quietly patting himself on the back for the glow-up he just pulled off without further traumatizing Kyo's sense of self. He plucks another pale hair from the sleeve of Kyo's black hoodie, then squints at the fabric and gives it a tug. "Why are you wearing this? Aren't you boiling alive?"

Kyo makes a face, hand coming to brace the underside of his bump. "Because I'm a bloated toad, that's why."

"Hey now," Toshiya tuts. "That's my daughter in there causing all that. Keep the commentary respectful."

"Oh yeah? Well, since it's your daughter, how about you tell her to stop assaulting me from the inside out. Kid's unruly."

Toshiya doesn't need to be told twice. Without missing a beat, he sinks onto one knee in front of Kyo, hands cradling the curve of his stomach as he leans in.

In his best stern-but-loving-dad voice, he addresses the swell, "Alright, little miss—" 

That's as far as he gets before Kyo palms his forehead and shoves him away with a laugh — and not just a little nose-huff, but a bright, helpless giggle that bursts out of him like he forgot to hold it back. He ducks out of the room, presumably to flee before Toshiya can unleash the full brunt of his lame dad comedy.

Toshiya stays where he is, kneeling like some fool with a blessing on his hands and no idea what to do with it. Staring down at the floor, fingers threaded through his hair, he couldn't wipe the grin off his face if he tried.

Maybe this ache in his chest isn't fatal. Maybe, somewhere past this stupid breakup, things might turn out okay. Especially if he gets to hear that laugh again. Or often. Or, hell, every day. Ideally because of him.

Chapter Text

Just a week after ending things with Aoi, the gaping emotional wound in Toshiya's chest has already downgraded itself to a sort of wistful bruise. 

He figures this must be how grief works. At first, it digs its claws in so deep you think you'll never breathe right again. But then it starts to let go, little by little, until all you're left with is a tender spot you can sometimes poke without wincing. Granted, it probably takes longer when someone's actually gone forever — like dead-gone, or, say, given-up-for-adoption-gone — and not potentially a couple of train cars away getting his ass fondled by a new boyfriend. But the recovery arc has to be similar, right?

Having Kyo around helps to speed up the process. The guy's been a godsend, steady and present and sneakily nurturing in a way that he might not have been before the pregnancy. Then there's the tiny, barely significant detail that Toshiya is almost definitely in love with him. Which, unsurprisingly, makes heartbreak a little easier to bounce back from. 

And this isn't some watered-down 'I admire your inner strength and enjoy your domestic habits' kind of love. This is serious. 

Nothing else explains why, after weeks of watching Kyo lumber around on swollen ankles, sweaty and tired and shaped like no man reasonably should be, Toshiya has now developed flutters. Straight-up stomach butterflies. The kind he had in middle school when his crush asked to borrow his eraser and he thought about it for days. The kind Aoi never managed to summon, mostly because their thing started in fifth gear and never looked back, courtship entirely skipped, no flirty mystery or space to wonder about anything.

With Kyo, there's space. Too much space, if you ask Toshiya. They aren't a couple, which means there's no justifiable reason to take Kyo's hand into his and brush his thumb over his knuckles. No right to look at him the way he sometimes does when Kyo isn't paying attention, like staring at his mouth for far too long, wondering if it's as soft as it looks. Absolutely no socially acceptable excuse to reach out and respectfully cop a feel of his gloriously rounded, pregnancy-enhanced backside. 

And that's the thing, isn't it? It's the not knowing. The agony of being stuck in that stupid, sexy liminal space where nothing's happened, but something could, maybe, if the planets aligned, gods smiled down, and Toshiya grew a pair. That's where the butterflies thrive. 

Every so often, Toshiya watches Kyo sketching in that beat-up notebook with his forehead all crinkled in concentration, and thinks — what if he kissed him? What if he scooted over right now, tipped Kyo's chin up, and kissed the hell out of that focused, scowly little mouth? The fantasy alone — imagining Kyo's startled inhale, the way his lips would part in surprise before fumbling to catch up — is enough to make Toshiya's palms grow clammy and his breath lose its rhythm. 

Which is saying something, because he's not the type to get worked up over imaginary makeouts. But then, Kyo isn't the type Toshiya would normally go around making out with, either. Kyo's a whole category unto himself, and kissing him wouldn't be casual; it'd be an event, a decision with consequences. Consequences that Toshiya desperately wants, but still.

So, yeah, lots of unknowns. Intriguing, terrifying, potentially wonderful unknowns.

Meanwhile, Toshiya's been quietly helping himself to the perks of proximity. He's been taking liberties here and there, like laying a casual hand on the swell of Kyo's belly, no permission necessary, or giving an impromptu rub to whatever sore, innocuous body part happens to be within reach. Kyo lets him. Sometimes he leans into it, sometimes he doesn't react at all, but he never tells him to knock it off.

They've got a little routine now, too: lying side by side on the bed, either talking or just zoning out to whatever the radio's serving up. It's domestic and intimate, practically marital if you ignore the glaring lack of sex, titles, or literally any of the security. And Toshiya can't bear the thought that one day, this delicate, beautiful non-thing might end.

—

"So," Die starts, licking beer foam off his upper lip. "Tell me everything."

It's the last day of March, Toshiya's twenty-second birthday, and somehow this blessed occasion finds him crammed into a sticky little izakaya with Die. They've just returned the rental car after taking Kyo back home from yet another appointment, and decided a beer-fueled debrief was overdue.

Earlier, Toshiya lobbied hard to wait inside while Kyo saw the doctor (mostly for the off-chance that Nurse Sato might spot him and finally give the real father of the child his round of applause), but Kyo, tyrant that he is, banned them both from the premises altogether. So instead, they killed time at an arcade, getting absolutely decimated at a drum game by a gang of twelve-year-olds. Toshiya redeemed himself marginally by winning a hideous, one-eyed alien plushie from the UFO catcher, which he gave to Kyo, who actually smiled like it wasn't the ugliest thing he'd ever seen. 

Now, surrounded by the ambiance of sizzling yakitori, drunken hollering, and the omnipresent smell of cigarette smoke mixed with deep-fried everything, Toshiya lets out a massive sigh as he leans back in his rickety chair. "Man, where do I even start?" 

Because apart from their dramatic fire escape smoke break three weeks ago, he hasn't filled Die in on any of it. The guy knows nothing about the absolute tightrope act that's been Toshiya's life for the past months.

Die slugs back a good third of his Asahi in one go, then thunks the glass down loud enough to make it known he's ready to hear it all. "Start with how the hell you and Kyo, of all people, ended up banging. Because that pairing makes zero sense outside of a dare." 

Toshiya considers it. "Honestly… not much to say about that." He reaches for the edamames. "One day he just asked if I wanted to hook up. I said sure." He squeezes the peas into his mouth and drops the empty carcass into the designated pod graveyard cup.

Die leans in, elbows planted on the sticky tabletop. "How did he know?" he demands, a wrinkle of pure bewilderment creasing his forehead. "You gays have, like, pheromones? Secret hand signals? I don't get it." 

"Apparently, I don't check out girls enough."

"What? You do though."

"That's what I said! I like looking at girls. Boobs are my favorite."

Die looks briefly delighted, like this conversation just took a beautiful turn. Then he remembers he's on a mission and visibly reins it in. "Right. Anyway," he says sternly, clearly deeply invested if he's passing up the opportunity to talk about tits. "Did Kyo know about Shiroyama at the time?"

The question takes a lazy lap around Toshiya's brain before the meaning strikes home. "Oh, no," he says quickly, waving off the insinuation. "Aoi and I happened only after things with me and Kyo cooled off." He's many things, but let it be known that a cheater ain't one of them. 

"And things cooled off because...?"

Toshiya goes quiet. He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the table and taps one loose. "Well… 'cause I met Aoi, I guess," he says, tucks the stick between his lips, and lights up. He inhales deeply. Exhales slowly. "I mean, that was around when Kyo started getting morning sickness and all that. We weren't really, you know... getting it on much anymore…" God, he's making it sound like he dumped Kyo because the guy couldn't suck dick through the nausea. 

Which… yeah. That's more or less what happened.

Die doesn't say anything. He just stares with that maddeningly neutral expression that makes people start blurting out traumatic childhood memories and confessing to crimes they didn't commit just to fill the silence. 

"We were never together together," Toshiya clarifies, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray even though there's nothing to ash yet. "It was a casual thing. Unofficial. Never agreed not to mess around with others or anything." Just your run-of-the-mill, no-strings-attached impregnation between coworkers. Nothing to see here. 

"Right," Die says, and Toshiya gets the feeling there's stuff sitting on his tongue he's choosing not to say. Die takes a swig before he resumes his inquisition, like this is a court of law and Toshiya's the defendant who showed up hungover. "Okay. So, you two stop fooling around, and then what? A couple months later, he pops up to tell you he's got your bun in his oven?"

"Yes."

"But you've got a boyfriend now."

"Yes."

"And then you invite Kyo to move in."

"Yes."

"While still dating Shiroyama."

"Correct."

Again, Die stares. Toshiya stares back, daring him to point out what the fuck exactly he was supposed to do. Neither pays attention to the waitress who slides a plate of yakitori between them. 

Finally, Die blows out a long exhale and reclines, as if just hearing all that made him tired. He doesn't tell Toshiya he's a fuckup, he says, "Jesus. You've been having one hell of a plate spinning act going on."

"Tell me about it," Toshiya groans, rubbing his temple with the hand holding the cigarette. "It's been this constant rotating roster of someone being mad at me. I found a gray hair the other day. Right here." He points at his hairline. 

Die watches him, rolling his lower lip through his teeth. "By the way," he starts. "About what I told you went down in Mie… You ever bring that up with Shiroyama?"

"Yeah," Toshiya mutters, chin in palm. "We're not together anymore. Unrelated to that, though."

Die arches an eyebrow. "Unrelated? Okay, if that wasn't a reason enough to dump him then what the hell was?"

"He found out about Kyo."

"Oh, shit."

"And said some pretty messed up things. You know, about Kyo and the baby." 

Die looks at him like he just spoke in tongues. "Let me get this straight," he says. "You were fine with the shit he pulled in Mie, but once he went ugly about you having a baby on the way with another dude, that was too much? Man, you don't mess around, do you? I mean, I'm all for getting rid of that guy but damn."

He's right, of course. But whether it was justifiable or not doesn't matter. Aoi said it. He said out loud what Toshiya just knows some vile little voice in Kyo's head has been telling him: you're wrong. You're defective. You're not a man.

Toshiya could explain all that. Could try and unpack the gender anguish, the shame, the everything. But instead, what falls out of his mouth is the actual crux of the matter: "I think I have feelings for Kyo." 

Die makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort and signals the waitress for another round. "Yeah, no shit," he says. 

Toshiya rears a little. "You knew?" 

"Brother," Die says patiently, crossing his hands on the table as he leans in. "You dumped your hot boyfriend because he was mean to Kyo. Before that, you came at me all guns blazing like, disrespect him or our precious spawn and I'll end you. And before that, you got snarky at Tommy for grabbing Kyo. Not subtle, man."

"Okay but — isn't that, like… normal?" Toshiya counters, though he doesn't know why he's arguing. "To feel protective over your own child? And the person carrying that child? It's, I don't know, biology. Evolution. Instinct or whatever."

"Sure," Die shrugs, "and maybe it's also normal to fall ass-first into feelings with someone whose lower intestines you've crash-tested so hard it created a sentient third party."

"Dude…" 

Right on cue, the waitress appears with fresh beers, and they both politely pretend like they weren't just discussing the logistics of ass-based procreation. With the dead-eyed efficiency of someone who's heard much, much worse, she places the beers on the table, collects the empty ones, and books it to a table of salarymen flailing for attention like shipwreck survivors. 

Die lifts his glass and takes a slow, considering sip, eyes locked on Toshiya over the rim. "So," he says, "you think he feels the same?" 

Toshiya gazes down into the foam, the cigarette between his fingers smoking itself. The answer is yes, he's suspected for a while now that Kyo's feeling some type of way about him. But how is he supposed to take it seriously? It could very well be the hormones. Or the fact that he's the first and only man Kyo's been with and now pretty much the guy's entire social circle. Maybe Kyo's just Stockholm-syndromed himself into thinking he wants Toshiya, when really, the second the hormonal haze lifts, he'll look up, see Toshiya's hopeful, lovesick face, and gag.

"I dunno," he mumbles eventually, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray. He drinks. The beer tastes worse now. 

Die hums, tapping his fingers against the side of his glass. After a moment, he says, "You know when I took him to the hospital?" 

Toshiya's expression darkens. "Yes, asshole."

"The nurse was very friendly," Die plows on. "Kept saying Kyo talks about me all the time, about how supportive I've been, what a great guy I am, blah blah. Very glowing reviews. And she was giving me the look. You know, the one that says, 'this poor boy is in love with you, you beautiful bastard, so you better not break his delicate little heart or I will find you and shatter your kneecaps with a bedpan.' That look."

"That's… a lot to read from eye contact." 

Die shrugs. "All I'm saying is, Kyo clearly doesn't shut up about you. And Nurse Cupid over there didn't act like I was just a friendly sperm donor slash supportive roommate—"

"Can you not refer to yourself when speaking of me? I'm the sperm donor. I'm the supportive roommate. You are the guy who drives a car. Stay in your damn lane." 

Die's grin turns positively shit-eating. "You sure about that? Maybe Kyo ran straight into my arms after you left him high and dry last summer. Could be my kid in there." 

Toshiya groans loud enough to turn heads. "You're getting way too into this roleplay, man." But he's laughing, in spite of himself, because Die's irredeemable buffoonery is kind of a comfort. A few weeks ago, he looked ready to burn down the studio over the mere suggestion of Kyo and Toshiya being a thing, and now he's here making fake paternity claims. If that's not character development, what is?

Toshiya reaches for a yakitori skewer and starts sliding the chunks off the stick and onto his plate with chopsticks. Halfway through, he glances up. "You really don't mind me talking about this stuff, huh?" 

"Are you kidding? I'm loving it. We've got deception, surprise pregnancy, love triangles, forbidden feelings, unresolved sexual tension… So much delicious drama." 

"You do get that this drama's my actual life, right?" 

"Yeah, and it's fucking great. Keep it coming." Die's grin relaxes into something slightly less feral and more sincerely amused, maybe even fond. He raises his glass. "Happy birthday, baby daddy. Never thought I'd say those words to you, but here we are." 

Toshiya smiles and clinks his beer against Die's with a solid thonk, and they both drink like they're toasting the end of times.

Die smacks his lips. "Alright," he declares like he's ready to get into the real dirt now. "Now, tell me — how do two dudes decide who fucks who? You flip a coin? Rock-paper-scissors? Enlighten me."

Toshiya raises an eyebrow, mouth full of chicken. He chews slowly, swallows, wipes his mouth with a dried-up paper oshibori. "Why? Finally working up the courage to confess to Shinya?" 

Die chokes on his beer and nearly sprays the table. "What?! No! The hell is wrong with you?" 

Toshiya cackles and ducks as Die's hand swings across the table in half-hearted retribution. There's a flush on the guitarist's face, and it could be the booze, or it could be the thought of Shinya bent over a mixing board. That's between Die and whichever god has the misfortune of monitoring his internal monologue. 

Toshiya doesn't stay late, despite Die's blatantly disappointed face at his responsible early exit. The guy probably had the whole night mapped out: puke on a sidewalk, get yelled at by a cop, befriend a mysteriously wealthy stranger who insists on bankrolling their VIP experience at the nearest strip club before disappearing into the night. 

But no, Toshiya's got simpler priorities — like going home to his extremely pregnant not-boyfriend, who currently needs help turning over like a capsized tortoise and sighs aggressively every time he drops something on the floor, which is often.

They've got less than three weeks left before the surgery, fast-tracked thanks to Kyo's body screaming every possible variation of get this fucking thing out of me. Toshiya's not about to waste precious time knocking back shots with Die when he could be at home massaging someone's sciatic nerve and whispering sweet nothings to a belly under the guise of being silly and annoying.

He kicks his shoes off at the door and pokes his head into the bathroom, where he finds Kyo brushing his teeth. He looks tired and heartbreakingly domestic, and something in Toshiya's chest turns into goo. 

"Hi," Kyo garbles around the toothbrush and a mouthful of minty froth. He spits, rinses, squints over. "You're back early."

"Mm-hm," Toshiya hums, letting his head fall against the doorframe like he just wandered in from a lonely rain-slicked boulevard. "Wanted to chill with you." 

Kyo gives him a vague side-eye, but doesn't comment, just starts rummaging through his toiletry bag, which looks less like a grooming kit and more like a mobile pharmacy. Pills, creams, and mystery bottles. 

Toshiya leaves him to it and drifts into the living room. First order of business: exile the rival. The smug, lumpy body pillow has been monopolizing Kyo's affection for months now, and he's had enough. Let the homewrecker think about what it's done on the floor. 

He grabs the pillow, boots it from the bed, and throws himself down in its place with a long exhale. The radio's on, and he half-listens to the DJ running his mouth about tomorrow's sunny weather and pollen count like anyone asked.

Eventually, Kyo pads out of the bathroom, flipping off lights one by one until the room is awash in the dim amber of the lone corner lamp. The bed sinks as he eases onto it, facing Toshiya because side-lying is the only configuration his spine will tolerate at this point. He radiates heat and smells like tiger balm.

"You tired?" Toshiya asks, watching with mild jealousy as Kyo stuffs a pillow between his knees. He wants to be that pillow. 

"Body is. Brain isn't," Kyo replies with a sigh.

Toshiya tugs at the comforter between them. "Wanna get under?"

"Nah. This is fine."

"Okay."

Toshiya settles in, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. They fall quiet, the radio filling in the gaps like it's trying to be helpful, some moody crooner bleeding feelings all over the airwaves, I see you in midnight blue.

Kyo, apparently tuned in, pipes up with a nugget of trivia. "Did you know that 'blue' isn't just a color in English?" he says knowingly. "It means 'sad,' too."

I see you crying now
You've found a lot of pain 

"I'm thinking it's more about the color here," Toshiya says, casually ignoring the lyrical evidence just presented. "Like, she's wearing some slinky, dark blue dress or something." It's bullshit — his English comprehension may be dismal, but he's not that oblivious — but he's feeling contrarian. And maybe a little exposed. 

"I think it means sadness," Kyo maintains. "She's wearing it."

Toshiya smiles, tilting his head enough to get a better look at him. "Wearing her sadness?"

"Mm-hm."

Kyo's got his serious face on. Beneath lowered lashes, his eyes are trained on Toshiya's chest as he listens intently. The lamplight is kind to him, in the way it highlights the smooth slope of his cheekbone and the dip above his mouth. The glossy sheen of his lower lip says he must've just run a tongue over it.

I will love you tonight
And I will stay by your side 

God, this corny-ass song. Toshiya waits for the inevitable fake snore or some offhand quip to cut through the treacle. Instead, golden-brown eyes drift upward and catch his, and all Kyo does is offer an awkward, close-lipped smile in acknowledgment. Like this ridiculous song might actually have something worthwhile to say. 

The swallowtails, monarchs, and cabbage moths are all losing their collective shit inside Toshiya's ribcage. 

It's laughable. They've been all up in each other's business for weeks. They've seen each other naked, mid-orgasm, post-orgasm, and covered in bodily fluids. They have a kid on the way because of all that. And now Toshiya's nervous. Because Kyo smiled at him during a sappy ballad.

Loving you, I'm feeling midnight blue 

Feeling more like a flashing neon-red idiot, Toshiya yanks his attention back to the ceiling. The lamp throws warm, honeyed puddles onto it, and he lets his eyes methodically trace their perimeters like they're something important. He can sense Kyo looking at him. Or maybe he isn't, maybe he's just lost in the cheesy poetry. 

I see you standing there, far out along the way
I want to touch you, but the night becomes the day
I count the words that I am never gonna say
And I see you in midnight blue 

Kyo's voice breaks through, all thoughtful and earnest. "What's the song about? I can't keep up." 

Toshiya swallows some air. "Uhm," he croaks out. He clears his throat, works up some saliva, and tries again. "I think… unrequited love? The singer's got it bad for someone who's had her heart broken. He wants to be there for her." 

"Her? The 'you' is a woman?"

"Eh… doesn't say. Could be anyone. You know. Interpretive." 

Meanwhile, the radio keeps twisting the knife:

Can't you feel the love that I'm offering you?
Can't you see how it's meant to be?
Can't you hear the words that I'm saying to you? 

Toshiya stares at the ceiling like it's the Sistine Chapel.

The mattress shifts, springs creaking under Kyo's slow repositioning. His knuckles graze Toshiya's bare arm as he tugs at his shirt, just the tiniest accidental contact but it sends tingles skittering across Toshiya's skin. His fingers twitch uselessly on his stomach.

"I see," Kyo says, so delayed that Toshiya needs a full three seconds to remember what they were even talking about. Oh — right. The genderless 'you.' Wearing blue.

His thoughts wander to the jacket tucked away in the closet. The deep, moody blue one he bought for Kyo's birthday, then promptly chickened out of actually giving it to him. Too much, he thought. Too loaded. Now, it feels almost serendipitous.

Because isn't Kyo his midnight blue? The guy wouldn't admit it — and Toshiya would never press him — but there is no world in which having to hand away a living, breathing piece of himself wrapped in a hospital blanket doesn't break him. And when that day arrives, Toshiya wants to be there for him, help gather the shredded pieces of his heart.

But more than that, he wants to keep those pieces. Hoard every shard. Because just like the crooning bastard in the song, helplessly loving someone who's already got a heart full of bruises, Toshiya's in it. He's been in it. For longer than he cares to admit, just slapped the label 'biological imperative' on it so he didn't have to face what it really was. But really, from the moment Kyo stepped through his door with a packed bag and a belly full of consequences, all Toshiya's wanted was to be exactly here, home with him. 

The song dies out in a slow, dramatic fade, only to be immediately smashed to pieces by the obnoxiously perky DJ who clearly has no respect for the emotional concussion just inflicted upon his listeners. 

Kyo parrots the last line in his cursed English, "'I'm feeling midnight blue' — see? Totally not about some dress." 

Toshiya latches gratefully onto the mood shift. "Maybe it's both. Maybe she's heartbroken and rocking a scandalously tight, dark blue gown." 

"Or maybe he is," Kyo volleys back. 

Toshiya short-circuits. His brain conjures it up instantly: Kyo in a skin-tight velvet number, backless with a thigh-high slit, standing under a streetlight like a film noir femme fatale. Leg out. Stilettos. Smokey eyes. Cigarette. He blinks hard. Well, hot damn. 

"...Right."

"Anyway," Kyo says, oblivious to the cinematic fantasy he just triggered, "you think too literally." 

You don't say, Toshiya thinks, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He glances over, dry. "I'd be shit at writing lyrics, huh?" 

The agreement flies out too fast his liking. "Yeah, probably."

"Wow." He raises a brow. "Okay. Just so you know, I'd tackle you for that smartass comment right now if you weren't eight months pregnant." 

"Ha. You're all bark. Try me when I'm back to normal," Kyo throws back, but the cocky bravado quickly fades as the implication of his words seems to register — the suggestion of a future where they're still close after this ordeal is over. When there's no bump, no baby, just two brand-new parents with no child. "Or, you know," he mumbles, eyes sliding away, "whatever."

But Toshiya's already speaking. "Deal," he says. "You get two months to bounce back before I come collecting." 

For a split second, Kyo looks surprised. Then his lips twitch, and he immediately tries to hide the smile like it's contraband, face-planting into the pillow. 

Toshiya, naturally, jabs him right in the ribs, and is rewarded with a truly majestic squeal — though his laughter doesn't even have time to properly unfold before Kyo's already on the offensive. With agility that defies the logistics of his condition, he yanks the pillow from between his legs like he's drawing a sword in battle and rises — if five-foot-two of mock wrath counts as 'rising' — to his knees with deadly intent.

"Oh, you wanna go?" Toshiya laughs, just before he gets whacked square in the face.

He flails, breathless from laughter as he bats the pillow away. Kyo looms above him, yaeba grin blazing, pink-cheeked and fizzy-haired, the swell of his stomach rising and falling with his breaths and leftover chuckles.

He looks radiant. Wild. Alive. Divine. And Toshiya's struck stupid with the sight of him, the only thought in his head: mine.

Let him be mine. 

Before he knows it, his hand — piloted by a brain that's either tipsy or just done pretending it doesn't want what it wants — reaches out. His fingers wrap around Kyo's arm, light, careful, and instantly, the energy shifts. Noise drops out like someone dialed down the volume, and Toshiya's suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his own pulse.

Kyo watches, eyes downcast as Toshiya strokes his thumb over the pale, smooth skin of his inner arm. It follows the faint line of a vein like it's braille, down to the delicate architecture of his wrist. 

"Can I sleep here tonight?" Toshiya asks, voice low, a little hoarse. "With you."

There's no pause, no indecision in Kyo's eyes when he lifts them from their intertwined hands to meet Toshiya's gaze. Just an immediate, quiet, breathless, "Yes."

That night, they kiss.

And despite all the earlier butterflies and second-guessing, it comes so naturally and effortlessly it's almost like it's not even in Toshiya's hands — just a quiet moment unraveling like it was always meant to.

In the dark, his fingers find Kyo's jaw as if it's muscle memory from a life they haven't even lived yet. A calloused thumb skates along his cheek until it brushes the edge of his mouth, the same mouth that once confessed to never having been kissed. Kyo's lips part slightly as he wets them in nervous anticipation, swollen belly pressing firm against Toshiya's ribs with a deep, unsteady inhale.

Toshiya leans in until his lips touch Kyo's in the first, featherlight contact. He can feel the slightest prick of day's end stubble on Kyo's upper lip, the rush of shallow, short breaths that puff through his nose as he tries to match Toshiya's rhythm. He's a little shaky, a little uncertain, but Toshiya doesn't care. It's already, easily, the best kiss of his life, and the pounding of his heart is not nerves; it's, finally. It's, god, yes, this. It's, let this be the first of a thousand. The baby kicks between them.

Toshiya's hand slips to the back of Kyo's neck, threads into bleached strands. Gently coaxing his head back just so, he leans over, shifts closer. The angle changes, the kiss deepens, but he keeps it unhurried, a slow slide of his mouth against Kyo's.

Selfishly, he's glad it was him. Glad he got this first, too.

When they break apart, Kyo stays close, hands holding lightly onto the front of Toshiya's t-shirt. He swallows audibly and whispers, "That felt nice." 

"Mm, it did," Toshiya agrees. He lets their noses bump affectionately before nudging up to nuzzle Kyo's temple. He smells subtly different from the last time they were this close — sweeter, warmer. Could be a hormone thing. Toshiya wants to bottle it, inject it, get drunk on it until he forgets what sober ever felt like. "You're a good kisser," he murmurs.

"Really?" 

"Mm-hmm. Might need a bit more proof to be sure, though."

It's a transparent, shameless excuse, but Kyo takes it without hesitation. Kiss number two lands with a little less guesswork, a little more want.

Kiss number three comes with just the faintest scrape of teeth, barely there but enough to spark something hot low in Toshiya's spine. 

Kiss number four has tongue, and it makes Toshiya's toes curl. 

And when Kyo lets out a soft, contented little sigh into kiss number five, Toshiya has to physically restrain himself from pulling back to say something irresponsible like, let's raise this baby together and never stop making out ever again. 

Instead, he lets the thought bloom privately like the daydream it is as their mouths meet again. 

It doesn't feel like it, but if this moment turns out to be just a beautiful fluke, a mirage born of proximity and hormones, well, no problem, Toshiya figures. He'll just have to knock the guy up again. Gently. Passionately. Repeatedly. For the good of their kiss-dependent future.

Chapter Text

Dazed, he stares at the monitor. Black and gray shadows pulse and ripple like smoke in a jar, until the shape starts to make sense, until it doesn't. Until it does again. His brain can't keep up. His eyes forget how to blink.

The GP is saying something to the other doctor — an obstetrician, who was summoned halfway through the scan and has barely looked away from the screen since. Kyo lies there, midsection bared and slick with gel, halfway convinced he's dreaming. That ludicrous, impossible suspicion he started harboring a few weeks back is getting confirmed in real time, and it makes no sense.

Seventeen weeks, they estimate. Healthy. Strong heartbeat. Sucking its thumb, just like babies do, there on the monitor. Except not just on the monitor — inside him. Right this very second. 

Briefly, everything goes too bright and sharp and slightly sideways. Kyo closes his eyes, tries to work up some moisture into his desert-dry mouth.

Apparently, while extremely rare, this isn't totally unprecedented. Some men are born with fully functional internal female reproductive structures. Typically, conception occurs through a narrow passage between the upper rectum and uterus, normally sealed, but capable of opening under sustained friction. Translation: a whole lot of vigorous ass-fucking. 

Kyo vaguely registers that he should be mortified. Two middle-aged strangers now have a clearer picture of his sex life than anyone who hasn't literally been inside him. But shame doesn't even make the list right now; he's too busy trying to process the mind-splitting fact that this is real, that this is happening. To him. 

"Mr. Nishimura? Would you like to discuss your options?" 

The words rouse Kyo from his stupor. His eyes slide from the screen to the two doctors next to him, the older one with droopy eyes and soft voice having posed the question. 

"Options?" he echoes in a thin voice. 

"It might be possible to carry to term," the man clarifies. "In which case we'll refer you to another hospital. You'll need close monitoring and a scheduled abdominal delivery." 

It takes a second for the unspoken alternative to click. Abortion. That's what he's being offered — having the fetus scooped out of his insides like a tumor, presumably by surgery. The ultrasound wand has been set aside, yet he still finds himself drawn by the empty screen, the afterimage vivid in his mind's eye. Tiny fingers, skinny little frog legs tucked in tight. Completely unaware that its entire existence is currently up for debate.

Anger flares under the surface, quiet and pointless. Would he like to discuss his options? How can they ask after showing him that? They should've turned the screen away the second that thing stopped being an unidentifiable mass and started being a future person. They should've warned him. Told him there's a way to make this go away without specifying… without showing… 

"You don't have to decide now," the doctor adds. "You have roughly a month, until week twenty-two. After that, termination's no longer legally an option." 

"Okay," Kyo says quietly. 

Before he leaves, they ask him if he wants a print of the ultrasound. He nods.

To Toshiya, he keeps it simple. Says it's too late to abort. He doesn't want to hear it if Toshiya has an opinion about it, and of course he would; the choice to go through with this means big disruptions for the band. Kyo knows it. He also knows he'll do whatever it takes to make sure the fallout is minimal, to protect the collective dream they've worked so hard to build. 

For a brief, dreamlike period, the reality of it doesn't quite hit. He feels fine, physically. The nausea and fatigue have subsided, and the bump is still small enough to hide under loose clothes. If he doesn't think too hard about it, he can almost pretend nothing's changed.

That bubble pops without warning. He's in the middle of a round of Tekken when his mind, out of nowhere, serves him an image: his body, grotesquely ballooned out, with blue veins spidering like cracks in glass across shiny, over-stretched skin. A scalpel slicing through it like gutting a fish, gloved hands parting him open and digging into the red, wet gore of his abdominal cavity. 

Panic hits like a car crash, heart racing, vision tunneling, skin cold and clammy. On-screen, his character dies a stupid, anticlimactic death, but he doesn't notice because his reptilian hindbrain is screaming, you are not built for this, this is wrong, get rid of it, get rid of it NOW!

Little white pills are prescribed for him. They help, for the most part. 

The pregnancy is confirmed viable, and the deadline to end it comes and goes. He doesn't agonize over it. As far as he's concerned, the choice was already robbed from him when that blob on the monitor grew a side profile.

The physical bulletins start rolling in. It begins with little taps and nudges, like popcorn kernels popping behind his belly button, reminders that he's not alone in his skin anymore. Strange, but not awful. Doesn't bother him. 

That supposed to be a kick? Weak.

Then the chest stuff. At first, it's just a vague soreness, the kind of dull ache you'd chalk up to bumping into a doorknob or sleeping funny. Easy enough to dismiss, until one day, after a shower, he drags a towel across his nipples and yelps like he just got tasered. 

It escalates fast after that. Sensitivity turns into swelling, his once-flat pecs starting to round out, nipples growing darker, puffier. 

He brings it up at his next appointment and is told it's normal, as if that word has any meaning anymore. Estrogen and progesterone, his doctor tells him, stimulate mammary tissue. What he's experiencing is breast growth.  

He nods like he's fine, then goes home, strips off his shirt, and stands in front of the mirror. He touches his chest, feeling utterly defeated. This isn't his body anymore. What is he even? What man has breasts? 

The bathroom becomes his new primary residence. He's peeing more than he blinks, every sip of water a countdown to another emergency dash. And the bowel issues — Christ. Always feeling like he needs to go, and when he does, it's a slow, sweaty ordeal. Eternities spent squatting in agony, forehead pressed to fists, bargaining silently with God or the devil or whoever might listen.

I don't care if you want gyudon. You're getting okayu and that's final. 

Next in the queue is the all-you-can-suffer buffet of miscellaneous pains. Back pain. Hip pain. Tingling in his legs if he sits for too long. Sharp, stabbing sensations in his abdomen — ligaments stretching, nerves pinching, organs being elbowed out of the way, or any of the million other things going haywire in his body.

I swear, I will ground you in utero if you don't stop punching my liver.

Meanwhile, Toshiya won't stop texting. Lazy, stupid little check-ins. How's it going? Need anything?  

Kyo stares at his phone and debates between throwing it across the room and screaming into a pillow until his throat gives out. But both require energy, and he barely has enough to stay upright. 

He knows he doesn't get to be mad. Toshiya might be half the reason this started, but Kyo's the one who effectively said, bring it on. He even told Toshiya he can do this on his own. But god, he's mad at him. For getting him pregnant, for not putting his foot down and saying, like hell you're doing this alone. For being out there somewhere, living his normal life, probably playing house with his pretty little boyfriend.

And then the anger drains out of him, like it always does, and all that's left is this heavy, hollow apathy. He just wants someone. Someone who knows what's going on inside him and isn't a medical professional. Someone who gives a shit because they want to, not because his suffering is going to make their career. 

Hey, you've been awfully still in there. Still alive?

It's just really, really lonely.

Oof, there you are. Had a nice nap? I spent it crying on the toilet so you didn't miss out on anything exciting.

Nights are the worst. If it's not the pain or internal roundhouse kicks keeping him up, it's his bladder. And when he does finally pass out, the dreams swoop in like vultures — and lately, they're mean. 

He gives birth, over and over. In filthy public restrooms with broken locks, in loud, rattling metro cars, and in trash-clogged back alleys where rats skitter over his bare legs. Always in searing pain, always hemorrhaging rivers of blood, always too alone, no one there to say it's going to be okay. Sometimes the baby doesn't cry. It just lies there, a cold, silent weight in his arms, and the grief he feels in those dreams is something no language can describe.

Eventually, the isolation gets too thick to swallow. He showers, puts on real clothes, and takes the train to Toshiya's place. He's going to ask if he can be there at the surgery. Nurse Sato's got a conflict, and it's not like he can ask his mom, so who else? Mostly, though, he just can't stomach another day of talking to no one. It's his birthday.

Toshiya doesn't mention it. Doesn't remember, probably. That's fine. Whatever.

But then, out of nowhere, he's talking about Kyo moving in, like this was always the plan, and then it really, truly is fine. 

Kyo starts packing his things that same night. It feels good, to be invited. Makes him almost giddy, and it's been a long time since he's felt anything close to that. No more stressing out about Kaoru's comings and goings, or awkward encounters with his overnight guests. No more sweating in a winter coat indoors. No more entire days spent without speaking a single word aloud.

You got Toshiya all misty-eyed today, he thinks that night in bed, hand resting on the tight stretch of his rounded stomach. That's your other dad, by the way. Yep, you've got two. Sucks to be you.

When Toshiya's belated birthday text comes through, Kyo snorts into the pillow. Baby mama. Stupid. 

Living with Toshiya is surprisingly easy.

Even when Kyo learns that the boyfriend is still very much in the picture — which hits with an unwelcome little pinch of something like disappointment or annoyance — it's still nice. Just having another living, breathing idiot nearby makes all the difference.

Toshiya's alright. He helps Kyo haul laundry up and down the stairs, laughs at his own jokes, routinely undercooks rice, and loses every single round of Mario Kart. He forgets what he was saying mid-sentence, leaves cupboard doors open, and has the worst taste in movies known to man, but ultimately, he's a decent guy. 

Or so Kyo thinks, until the truth hits about two and a half weeks in: Toshiya's a fucking moron. A spineless, boundaryless, dick-led dumbfuck who apparently doesn't know how to say 'no' to his equally vapid boyfriend. 

The night he brings Aoi over — to fuck him on the bed Kyo sleeps on, dreams his blood-soaked dreams on, talks to his unborn kid on — Kyo seriously considers leaving. Packing his stuff, going home, sweating it out under the stupid coat until the stupid doctors carve this whole stupid mess out of him.

Instead, because he's a pathetic, hormonal mess, he cries. Bawls like a little bitch in the shower, one hand supporting the underside of his grotesquely distended stomach, the other clamped over his mouth to smother the hysterical noises tearing out of him. 

He doesn't even know what he's crying about. Just that he feels like trash. Invisible and ridiculed all at once. Ugly. Repulsive. Worthless. An anatomical error that never should've made it out of his mother's womb. 

And not only is he cursed enough to have been born with this grab-bag of extra parts, he's a fucking idiot on top of it, for choosing to voluntarily go through this hell. And here he is, sniveling and dripping tears into a shower drain like this isn't a direct result of his own choices.

Stupider yet, despite every humiliating sign that he's not wanted here, he doesn't want to go. He wants to stay in this cramped apartment that smells like Toshiya. Wants to wake up to the annoying slap-slap of bare feet against the linoleum, and keep seeing that eye-crinkling smile, the girly way Toshiya covers his mouth when he laughs, and the way he absently twists a long, ink-black strand of hair around his finger when he's lost in thought. 

Toshiya. Lanky, pretty, so fucking dumb it's a miracle he remembers to breathe, and somehow still the most grounding presence in Kyo's current reality.

Kyo's scared. He hurts in places he didn't even know had sensation. He hasn't seen his own dick in weeks. He's got breasts now. Can't tie his own shoes. Can't stop crying in bathrooms. 

And yet, this is the most at home he's ever felt. And he's not ready to give it up, no matter how much of a dumbfuck Toshiya is.

And god, is he ever a dumbfuck. Just days later, as if on some kind of self-appointed mission to ruin Kyo's life, he goes and pulls the worst move yet: tells the band.

At first, Kyo wants to die. Wants to curl up and vanish, to cease existing in any reality where Die or Shinya or Kaoru knows he's gotten fucked and is now carrying a baby inside him because he's got hidden girl parts in him. He can feel the phantom weight of their stares, the imagined disgust, the mental undressing as they try to figure out his freakish anatomy, the whispered, so where does the baby come out? He's so utterly humiliated and betrayed, it truly feels like the end of the world. 

But then… well, nothing really happens. No one looks at him like he's a freak show attraction. No one asks about his gender or sexuality. And unexpectedly, something inside him loosens. A knot he didn't even realize was constricting his chest starts to unravel like a ball of yarn, and he breathes a little easier, feels a little less like a mistake. He's a little less inclined to keep every part of himself locked behind triple-bolted doors.

From his next appointment, he brings a sonogram home for Toshiya. He charges him one bracelet for it. Seems only fair.

—

A week after The Exposé, he's parked in a hospital room, grinding his way through a game of Snake on his phone while waiting for his doctor. He's on a roll, too — snake's long, agile, unstoppable, a true digital apex predator. Until the phone buzzes. The snake eats its own tail. Game over. He glares at the screen. 

A text from Shinya.

Kyo. Hope you're managing under the circumstances. Quick question: are there other people out there with your condition? And if so, what is the statistical prevalence?

Kyo reads it twice, trying to figure out if this is just curiosity or an academic thesis in the making. With Shinya, you never quite know. Actually, he wouldn't put it past the guy to be secretly a little envious of the biological anomaly points. Not that he'd last a day in this body. 

He thumbs out a reply: Yeah. Not common though. Only 2 other known cases in Japan. 

What he doesn't mention is the fun little footnote that both of those cases chose to abort the moment the ultrasound confirmed things were off-script, making him the nation's pioneer idiot to knowingly ride this mess out to the end. He should get a medal. Or a lobotomy.

Just as he hits send, the door opens. He glances up to find Nurse Sato leaning in — ponytail frazzled, glasses riding low on her nose, something dark and suspicious smeared across the sleeve of her blue scrubs.

"Kyo-kun," she sing-songs.

"Hey." Kyo straightens from his slouch. "We having lunch today?"

"No, sorry, love." She wrinkles her nose apologetically. "I'm up to my elbows in it. Literally. Don't ask. I just came to drop this off for you." Stepping in, she sets a plain white paper bag on the tray table beside him. She flashes him a sympathetic smile. "Might make things a bit more comfortable." 

"Is it a gun?" 

She ignores him gracefully, already halfway out the door. "Good luck with the check-up! I'll bring those bentos you like next week, okay?"

"Cool. Later." 

As the door clicks shut behind her, Kyo reaches for the bag. It's light. He peers inside, sees black fabric. Curious, he tugs it halfway out — and then immediately stuffs it back in as he realizes what it is. Heat floods his cheeks. 

Quickly, before his doctor barges in and sees it, he crumples the top closed and crams the bag into the pocket of his parka hanging off the back of the chair. 

He sits there for a long, simmering moment, hands clenched in his lap, radiating resentment into the ether until he remembers: Shinya. He checks his phone. 

Wow! How rare! 

Kyo's eye twitches. Between Nurse Sato's little gift bag and Shinya's tone-deaf positivity, his entire nervous system is now crawling with sullen irritation. 

Nothing 'wow' about this body horror sideshow, Shinya, he fires back. 

Ping.

No? But you get to feel it move inside you

Kyo scowls at the screen. He wants to be mad at that too, dismiss it as the naive ramblings of someone who's never had their bladder stomped on. But Shinya's not entirely wrong. The wiggles, the rolls, the stretches and kicks that make his belly bulge visibly — they're the one part in this whole wretched ordeal that doesn't feel like punishment. He likes them. And when it goes quiet too long, he worries. 

Another message pops up:

Besides, you're an artist. What higher form of creation is there than crafting an entirely new HUMAN?

Kyo doesn't have time to unpack the weirdness of that sentiment before the door bangs open, nearly giving him a heart attack. In strides his doctor, muttering apologies. Kyo pockets the phone.

Soon after, he's stretched out on the exam bed, shirt rolled up and sensor bands strapped around his middle, left arm throbbing as a blood pressure cuff squeezes his bicep. 

The machine beeps out a heartbeat, quick, steady, not his own. As he listens to the soothing woosh-thump, woosh-thump, he thinks about it: the biggest, most demanding creation of his life. Bigger than any song, any performance. This is months of sweat, tears, and nausea, nightmares about blood and death and loss, constant scans, needles, and humiliating examinations, a catalog of indignities he never knew the body could suffer. And when this monumental, unwilling effort is finally over, he'll be quietly erased from the credits. No one will ever know who the real architect was. 

But he'll know. He'll carry the phantom aches, the scar, the memory of every miserable, terrifying, bewildering, and occasionally surprisingly tender moment. He'll know exactly what it took, what his body was forced to endure and accomplish, against its very nature.

And for just a second, something weird happens.

He feels proud. Proud of the body he's cursed more times than he can count. For its bizarre, unbelievable competence in growing and nurturing this little person inside its hostile male-shaped territory. For creating life.

Wow. 

—

Kaoru, too, keeps in touch. 

Unlike Shinya, who treats phone calls like they're an infectious disease, their leader has no such hang-ups. Which means that sometimes, when Kyo's alone in the apartment and the silence starts to buzz, he dials instead of texting back. 

Kaoru, historically about as chatty as a rock, suddenly can't shut up. He talks about the songs he's cooking up, documentaries he's watched, and how the cougar two doors down has upgraded to a newer, shinier boyfriend, and this one has a motorcycle. But no matter how far he wanders, the conversation always does a clumsy U-turn back to Kyo. His tone shifts to a gruff sort of concern as he inquires if Kyo's eating well, if Toshiya's driving him up the wall yet, if the surgery date still stands.

Kyo doesn't mind the awkward check-ins. He appreciates the friendship, especially because there was a time he was sure he'd ruined it.

It was years ago, in the La:Sadie's tour bus. Both drunk out of their minds, Kyo's hand down Kaoru's pants, staring drunkenly at the guitarist's mouth that was soft and slack with pleasure. He finished him off with the hazy thought that maybe it meant something, or maybe it could become something. The next day, hungover and a little desperate, he made a timid little move — touched Kaoru's hand, just to see — and got turned down on the spot. 

Kaoru was nice enough about it, though somehow that almost made it worse. He didn't freak out or shove him off, just gently pulled his hand away and mumbled a quiet, I don't swing that way. Burning with embarrassment, Kyo laughed it off, said, me neither. Said his hand slipped. Hangover tremors. Whether Kaoru bought it or not is anyone's guess, but if he didn't, he never made a thing of it, never treated him differently. Kept chuckling at Die's tired gay jokes, as did Kyo. They never talked about it again.

They're best friends, Kyo thinks. Just not the 'let's talk about our deepest fears and hopes' kind, more the 'we like the same things and hate the same people' variety. Their bond runs on common interests, synced energy levels, and being on the same page in most band matters. But lately, that distance has started to fray. Kyo finds himself talking to Kaoru about the surgery, and it's weirdly easy. Certainly easier than with Toshiya, whose coping mechanism is throwing relentless optimism at problems. You'll be fine! Don't even worry about it!

Kaoru doesn't shovel sunshine up his ass. He lets him vent without once bleating about the power of positive thinking, and when Kyo finally sputters to a temporary halt, he usually serves up some hard, reassuring, facts. 

"Least you'll be awake," he says one afternoon. Through the phone comes the distinct inhale-exhale of a cigarette, and Kyo pictures him, leaning against the balcony railing with his purple hair in disarray and body swallowed by clothes three sizes too big. "General anesthesia's no joke."

Kyo huffs from his sprawl on the bed. "Are you kidding? I begged them to put me under for it, but they refused."

"They're right. It's safer this way," Kaoru states matter-of-factly. "Plus, you won't be all doped up and spouting nonsense coming out of it. Trust me. Had my appendix out when I was a kid."

Kyo grins, hand drifting idly over the curve of his stomach. "Oh? Did you spout nonsense when you woke up?"

"Yeah. I sat up and screamed, 'my head is full of thoughts! So many thoughts!' and tried to leg it right out the fucking door."

A short, involuntary giggle bursts out of Kyo. A beat of dead silence follows, and then both of them absolutely lose it. Each one's guffaws bounce off the other's in a feedback loop of hysterics, which culminates in Kaoru hacking like a dying cat, Kyo peeing a little, and the baby kicking up a storm like it's moshing along to the chaos. 

After the call, Kyo feels fractionally less anxious about the looming surgery. The prospect of being conscious while someone roots around in his guts still ranks high on the nightmare scale, but now it feels slightly more doable. Like just another insane thing he'll live through. 

And at the very least, he reasons as he hauls himself off the bed to go deal with his damp underwear, he won't be screaming about the unbearable burden of thought at the end of it. 

—

Then it happens. The thing Kyo has occasionally, guiltily, fantasized about during sleepless nights and hormonal fits of spite: Toshiya and Aoi are done. Officially over.

He's still chewing on the implications when a dented rental Toyota Starlet pulls up to the curb outside the apartment building. Restlessly zipping and unzipping the neck of his parka, he watches it jerk to a sputtering halt. It's been a couple weeks since he last saw Die, and back then the guy acted like pregnancy could be caught through eye contact, so he's not holding his breath for any warm fuzzies.

But when Die shoots him a smile from behind the wheel, it looks about eighty percent sincere. That's a good sixty percent more than Kyo would've expected. 

"Yo."

"Hey," Kyo replies, wrangling his overstuffed, parka-swaddled self into the passenger seat of the car that smells like it's used primarily for transporting smokers and damp dogs. As they pull off, he grapples with the seatbelt, ending up jamming his thumb between the belt and his belly to keep it from trying to bisect him.

Neither says anything for a while, letting the stereo do the talking — hard rock playing just loud enough to make it past the noise of the engine. Kyo watches the gray cityscape smear by, his thoughts split clean down the middle between Toshiya's shiny new single status and the fidgety tension clogging up the car's cramped airspace.

Coming to a stop at a red light, Die finally cracks under the pressure. "So… how's everything going?"

Kyo shrugs. "It's going." Which is his concise way of saying that he hasn't experienced a full, uninterrupted night of sleep since November, and the concept of existing without some part of his body aching is a distant memory. To sound slightly less like an antisocial asshole, he tacks on, "Just ready for this to be over, you know." What he doesn't say is that he's also so catastrophically not ready he could puke on the crusty dashboard right now. That's a conundrum much too emotionally charged to unpack for Die's benefit. 

Die bobs his head like he gets it, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. "You know if it's a boy or a girl yet?"

"Girl."

"Oh, damn." There's a tone shift, and Kyo can hear the goofy grin without even looking. 

The light flips to green, and Die pulls forward with a noticeably gentler touch on the accelerator, like he's realized there's a delicate little princess riding shotgun who might shatter if they hit a stray pebble too hard. 

"So, what's it like?" he asks, evidently more relaxed now that the initial hurdle of acknowledging the pregnancy is cleared. 

"What, having a girl inside me and not the other way around?"

After the half-beat of confused buffering it takes for the joke to land, a surprised snort rockets out of Die, quickly followed by a real, honest-to-god laugh. The tension in the car thaws.

"Oh man," he sighs, the occasional chuckle still breaking out. "What a trip, this whole thing." 

"Tell me about it. I still sometimes wake up like wow, that was a wild dream, then try to roll over and… yeah." 

"Well, just a few more weeks, right? Homestretch." 

"Yeah." Kyo stares back out the window. Just a few more weeks. 

They coast along in a relatively comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Die's hands on the wheel start getting restless again, and Kyo can tell he's winding himself up to say something he's not sure he's allowed to. 

Sure enough, Die blurts out, just a little too casual, "And, uh, you're feeling okay about the whole adoption thing?"

The answer springs out of Kyo's mouth on its own, a pre-programmed, socially acceptable reflex. "Yeah, of course." A second later, he adds under his breath, mostly to himself, "Not like I've got a choice."

"Right," Die agrees, eyes locked on the road. "Hard to raise a kid when you're flat broke and living out of a bus half the year, eh?"

Kyo doesn't need Die to tell him. This is a topic he's rolled in his head a million times, examined from every conceivable angle, and always, inevitably crawled back to this same non-negotiable endpoint.

He loves her. That's just how it is — he loves the baby so much already it's nauseating. He knows the tiny, rhythmic jolts of her hiccups, and the way she squirms when he sings under his breath, as if trying to find his voice in the dark. She's not even here yet, and already he wants to take her into his arms and never let go, press her against his chest and tell her she's the best accident that ever happened to him. Some nights, he lies awake with both hands on his belly, and the want is so big it makes breathing feel like pulling shards of glass into his lungs.

But wanting, however all-consuming, isn't the same thing as being able. Love doesn't pay for diapers. It doesn't magically erase the glaring truth that he's in no shape to raise a child, can't give her anything resembling the life she deserves. 

Kyo knows himself. He's selfish and impatient, built for noise and chaos and the high of strangers screaming his name — not for nap schedules, baby bottles, or parent-teacher conferences. Keeping her wouldn't just be hard. It would inevitably boil down to a choice: her or the band. Her or the only thing that has ever made him feel like he had a place in this world.

And he knows, way down in the rotgut core of himself, that if he picked her, if he tried to hammer his square-peg self into the round hole of fatherhood, there would come a day. A day when he's exhausted, or broke, or frustrated, mourning the life he gave up, and he'd look at this innocent, perfect little person and think, you cost me everything. And that is the one thing he cannot, will not, inflict upon her. Better she never knows him at all than grows up with that look etched into her memory.

Again, not something Kyo would ever dream of trying to articulate to anyone. Well… maybe one day, Toshiya. Because Toshiya, he suspects, is wrestling his way through the exact same hell, just without the identity crisis and pelvic trauma.

But Die, out of the blue, veers right into the heart of the matter.

"Must be tough," he mutters, steering one-handed as they hit a smooth stretch of road somewhere between Budokan and the Imperial Palace. "Feeling her in there every day, and then just…" He pauses abruptly, shooting a quick, sheepish sideways glance at Kyo. "Sorry. Didn't mean to, like, poke at it. Just thinking out loud."

"No, you're good," Kyo says uncertainly. Poke at it. As if it's obvious this should be sensitive. As if it's perfectly normal to be twisted up about giving away a kid he hasn't even met yet.

Maybe it is, because Die clears his throat and adds with a sincerity so uncharacteristic it almost feels sarcastic, "If you ever wanna talk or, I dunno, throw shit against a wall or something… I'm here, alright?"

"...Thanks," Kyo manages. "Appreciate it."

They slip into silence again, but it barely lasts a full breath before Die blurts, "So, um, can I feel it?"

Kyo turns to look at him, caught mid-thought. "Feel what?" 

"Your stomach. The bump."

"What? Why?"

"I dunno, man, curiosity? Never been this close to one before." 

And somehow, Kyo can't think of a reason to say no. 

He tugs his parka zipper down, parting the heavy material to expose the off-putting reality beneath: t-shirt straining miserably over the protruding stomach, so out of place on his lean frame it looks fake. He braces himself — for a quickly averted gaze, an awkward laugh, something acknowledging the sheer anatomical wrongness of it all. But none of that comes. Without a comment, Die simply reaches across the center console.

The instant his broad, calloused palm makes contact, Kyo's breath catches a little in his throat. It shouldn't mean anything, and it doesn't. But something about having his friend's hand rest on the epicenter of his current universe, with such casual, unthinking normalcy, without the slightest hint of flinching or disgust, is… a lot. Swallowing hard, he turns away, fixing his stare on the cityscape blurring past.

Right on cue, as if sensing she's got an audience, the baby shoves a foot directly into Die's palm. 

"Ohh shit," Die breathes out. Kyo glances over to see wide eyes gawking at the cotton-covered mound. "That was her, wasn't it? She high-fived me! Dude. There's, like, a whole person in there. What the hell.”

Kyo bites back a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite the annoying sting behind his eyes. Attagirl.

To his surprise, Die's hand stays planted to his stomach for the rest of the ride. Only when he needs to shift gears does he pull away, and even then, the hand finds its way back like it's magnetized, warm and steady. Kyo doesn't mind.

When they finally pull into the hospital parking lot, the car lurching as Die cuts the engine, neither of them moves at first. The sudden silence rings loud. 

"You know, Kyo," Die finally says, still staring straight ahead through the dusty windshield, fingers absently gripping the steering wheel. "You're one badass motherfucker."

Kyo glances over, a sly, pleased grin cracking his poker face. "Yeah," he says, cool as hell. "I know." 

—

Here's a secret: somewhere in the recesses of the generally overcast landscape of Kyo's psyche, there lives a tiny optimist. Always has, though most people who know him wouldn't guess it. 

Its sole purpose is to whisper glass-half-full propaganda into his ear. Like last year, when he sat stewing over Toshiya's offhand quip on the tour bus — Need a hand with that, or you got it covered? — after overhearing Kyo dealing with some built-up tension in the bunk below. Just a throwaway line. Teasing, almost certainly. But the voice whispered: he wasn't joking, you know. He meant it. He's seen you looking. Take a chance. 

It took weeks of that insidious little voice chipping away at his defenses, but finally, Kyo heeded it. He got drunk and rolled the dice, asked Toshiya, flat out, if he wanted to fool around. And somehow, unbelievably, it worked. Toshiya said yes. Took him home and touched him like it wasn't a big deal.

And with the world suddenly upside-down, everything confusing and sweet and totally overwhelming, the optimist puffed up its chest. See? it gloated. Good things happen. The universe isn't out to get you.

For five whole months, Kyo believed it. Got drunk on skin and laughter and the absolute novelty of being wanted for him, not the persona. Everything felt impossible and too good to be true, which of course it was. Because then the rug got yanked out; Toshiya sat him down, tried to be casual about it as he announced he was seeing someone. Someone else. The whispering idiot took a punch to the ribs and shut up for a while, slinking back into whatever crawlspace it hibernates in between delusions of grandeur.

But it didn't die. It's part of him, after all.

And now, with Toshiya freshly dumped, it's back. He's available, it tells him. He stares at you sometimes, you know he does. It could mean something. 

Kyo sighs, because it's exhausting having a heart and a brain that live on separate planets. Still, he listens. He listens, and he starts doing stupid shit like caring about his looks. Checking himself out sideways in the mirror, tugging his loosest black t-shirt over his misshapen body, grimacing at the massive curve of his stomach but trying anyway. Trying, not to look good — he's not delusional — but to maybe just remind Toshiya that under the distorted silhouette, he's still him, the guy Toshiya once deemed worth sleeping with. 

It's laughable. As if anyone in their right mind would choose the stretch-marked science project when they can have someone like Prince Perfect Aoi. 

Oh, cry me a river, the optimist sneers. You're pregnant, not permanently disfigured. Get over yourself.

And… yeah. He listens. Because something is shifting in the space between him and Toshiya. He can feel it. They have grown closer than he ever thought possible, and Toshiya clearly, demonstrably cares about him. So who's to say? Maybe that care could stretch a little further, reach a little deeper. Maybe it could grow into something else. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Then comes Toshiya's birthday, and the optimist cashes in big time. 

Because Toshiya kisses him. And Kyo feels it everywhere — in the roots of his hair, the soles of his feet, in that one place in his chest that's been sitting empty and cold forever.

Toshiya's fingers thread into his hair, and he tilts Kyo's face up like he's claiming him, like this whole thing was inevitable. He deepens the kiss with the kind of confidence that has Kyo's stomach swooping.

Kyo thinks about that song. He thinks about the night they first met, the midnight blue shade of Toshiya's hair as it clung to his neck in the thick summer heat. Thinks about the newly bruised heart beating away in Toshiya's chest, and how badly he wants to wrap his hands around it, patch the damage, and not share.

It feels real, terrifyingly so. But even if it's not — if this turns out to be just some pity makeout, or he's a rebound — that's okay too. Toshiya's mouth on his might be the single most incredible thing he's ever felt in his entire life, and there's no part of him that could regret any of this.

Because in three short weeks, when he's left with nothing but a row of sutures and a silence where there used to be tiny feet kicking, he's going to need something to hang on to. A memory to prove that someone once wanted him bad enough to kiss the air right out of his lungs. That he felt something, and it felt like this.

Chapter Text

Toshiya stirs as Kyo clambers back into bed, likely from his twelfth bathroom trip of the night. Blindly, he flails an arm in his general direction, homing in on the warm lump resettling beside him. Must be some evil hour between four and five, judging by the gray pre-dawn light clawing at his eyelids. 

"Mmmrngh," he articulates.

Wiggling backward into the embrace, Kyo whispers, "Not morning yet. Go back to sleep."

Toshiya noses into his hair. His hand wanders onto the bump, slotting right back into the configuration they fell asleep in: big spoon, small spoon, and the very special extra scoop on the latter. "How we feelin' today?" he mumbles into the tousled strands.

"Not too bad. Stayed on my side all night, thanks to you keeping me beached like this."

"All part of the service," Toshiya hums, then adds sweetly: "Though for the record, you kept farting on my dick all night."

For one horrified second, Kyo freezes. "No," he croaks, twisting violently in Toshiya's hold. "You're lying!" 

Toshiya pries one, bleary eye open to witness the sheer devastation unfolding beside him. He chuckles, lifting his hand to scrub the heel of it over his face. 

"Okay, okay, just once. But, man, the look on your— ow!" He recoils, clutching his forehead where Kyo just thwacked him with surprising speed for someone who needs assistance getting up from the floor. "I'm not judging!" he protests through laughter, shielding his face from further abuse. "Let he who is without fart cast the first stone, or whatever that Jesus dude said at the Last Supper." 

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah, take a number. Now roll back over, Jabba." Toshiya gives him a nudge until Kyo grudgingly obeys, flopping onto his side again. "Before you pass out," he adds helpfully, because apparently lying flat on your back when nine months along is a medical hazard. Pregnancy, baby. Nature's greatest prank.

The next time Toshiya comes to, Kyo is conked out and the sun is riding high in the sky. With a satisfied hnggh, he stretches out under the covers until something in his spine makes a mildly concerning sound, then rolls onto his back with a sigh. He adjusts the morning situation tenting his briefs, then flings an arm above his head.

Blinking tiredly at the ceiling, brain still sticky with sleep, he thinks about last night. The kiss, the absolute ease and comfort of falling asleep holding Kyo, and the fact that it's the next morning and Kyo's seemingly still down to snuggle with him.

So, what happens now? Does he confess? Ask Kyo to be his boyfriend? Probably not the move. Timing is shit, to say the least, what with only sixteen days left until the baby arrives and exits their lives in one painful swoop. Better to hold the grand declarations for now and just… keep kissing him. And maybe casually, at regular intervals, remind him he's phenomenal. Get him used to being adored without realizing it's a setup. Trust-building by stealth, love by sneak attack. Ninja romance. 

His gaze drifts sideways to Kyo's sleeping form. Truthfully… a significant, somewhat problematic part of him — specifically, the part currently hollering its opinion south of his navel — is deeply interested in the idea of sex with Kyo like this. Pregnant as hell, full of their baby, worn down and achy in a strangely tempting way.

A hopeful twitch shoots through his groin, and he palms himself through his briefs, thumb dragging along the ridge. It's a terrible idea. Logistically, emotionally, karmically. Kyo's practically a strong sneeze away from his water breaking, and besides, Toshiya recalls reading that babies are head-down in the womb at this stage. The last thing he wants is to accidentally poke their fragile daughter square in the forehead and be the reason she comes out with a lifelong aversion to men. That's origin-story shit.

With a sigh of frustrated longing, he rolls over, careful not to jostle Kyo as he maneuvers over his sleeping bulk, and pads to the bathroom.

He takes a leak, brushes his teeth, then gives in to the inevitable and jacks off in the shower to a medley of inadvisable mental imagery. By the time it's over and he's watching the water carry away the evidence of his moral failings, he has a sneaking suspicion there's a special, extra-hot corner reserved just for him in whatever afterlife awaits degenerates.

Clean and relaxed, if not spiritually tarnished, he steps out of the bathroom, cinching a towel around his waist.  

Kyo's up. He's perched on the edge of the bed with his hair mussed up and eyes half-mast, attention on his phone, looking so soft and oblivious that Toshiya feels his heart straight-up collapse inward. He wants to bubble wrap this man, shield him from every mean word, unkind glance, and tiny inconvenience the world might dare throw his way. It's disgusting, how gone he is. 

Snapping out of his lovesick mooning, he heads for the dresser and pulls open the top drawer. "I have an idea," he announces as he rummages through it, said idea materializing precisely as the words stumble out of his mouth. "Why don't we invite the guys over tonight? To hang out." 

He readies himself for a litany of objections — I'm tired, my back's killing me, I look like a balloon — but instead, he gets an unbothered, "Sure."

He stops, a pair of underwear dangling from his fingers as he turns to look. "Wait, really?"

Kyo shrugs, tapping at his phone. "Yeah. Why not."

"...And, just to clarify, you're not gonna hide under that hideous parka all night, right?"

"No."

Well, okay then. That was easier than expected. Toshiya drags the briefs up, unwraps the towel, and whips it over the back of the chair to dry. He picks up a t-shirt and pulls it over his head. 

"So," he starts conversationally, wrangling damp hair free from the collar. "Does this sudden burst of social bravery mean you finally realized you don't actually look gross?"

Kyo snorts, unimpressed eyes flicking up. "I'm gross alright. Just don't care anymore."

Toshiya makes a thoughtful hum, leaning a hip against the dresser and crossing his arms. He gives Kyo an appreciative, borderline predatory once-over, from the wild hair to the way his legs are braced apart to accommodate the beach ball where his abs used to be. "'Gross' works for me," he says. "Kinda into it, actually." 

"Mmhm. So you've said," mutters Kyo, eyes laser-locked on his phone like the planet's future depends on him staring at it. 

But it's futile. His ears have gone sunset pink, and it's so fucking cute it takes everything in Toshiya not to just leap across the room, tackle him onto the mattress, and kiss every inch of that surly blush until they're both panting.

The gathering kicks off on a note of pure confusion, courtesy of one Shinya. Clearly, somewhere along the line, wires got crossed about the purpose of tonight's get-together, because he shows up with a tote bag full of goodies definitely not typically featured in a casual hangout between a bunch of guys.

Without a shred of irony, he begins unloading his haul onto the kotatsu, next to the cheap potato chips and cans of beer Kaoru and Die threw down earlier as their contribution. Out come bags of balloons in various shades of pink, a pristine bakery box full of strawberry-frosted cupcakes, and two sweating bottles of non-alcoholic sparkling rosé — complete with tiny plastic champagne flutes with gold foil rims. The only thing missing is a hardback copy of What to Expect When Your Bro is Expecting, which Toshiya's willing to bet cold hard yen Shinya owns but had the good grace to leave at home. 

All eyes shift to Kyo, who's parked on the lone kotatsu chair like a confused little king who's just been presented with a gift from a strange but well-meaning foreign land. They wait, a collective breath held in the tense silence, for the inevitable nervous breakdown or other catastrophic reaction.

But then— 

"Uh, thanks," Kyo says when Shinya hands him a dainty flute filled with pale pink fizz. He stares into the bubbly concoction, baffled, maybe slightly embarrassed, but — crucially — not upset. After a moment of contemplation, he takes a small sip.

Toshiya, Kaoru, and Die swap looks. Die shrugs and cracks open a beer. Shinya starts blowing up balloons. Kaoru takes a seat on the floor. And the radio goes, you got the peaches, I got the cream. 

And just like that, without fanfare or the faintest grip on how it happened, they find themselves having what must surely be the world's first, and quite possibly last, all-male baby shower. 

Despite the overwhelming evidence of impending childbirth now littering the space, no one mentions the obvious at first. They talk about all the things that could fit snugly into their typical tour bus discourse, such as the superiority of Takenoko no sato over Kinoko no yama and the crushing insignificance of human existence in the context of the ever-expanding known universe. 

"All I'm sayin' is, if we're all just specs of lint flying through the cosmic void, then like… who gives a shit if I do my taxes or not?" 

"Riddle me this, Die: would you rather be a free spec of flint flying through the cosmic void, or an incarcerated spec of lint flying through the cosmic void?"

"...Damn. That's a really good point." 

And this is the mood for the better part of an hour as the beer does what beer does, which is to loosen shoulders and sand down inhibitions. It's Kaoru, surprisingly, who finally breaks the unspoken moratorium on acknowledging the gestating elephant in the room. 

He shifts on the rug, eyes flicking toward Kyo's spherical midsection. "So, uh…" he starts, clearing his throat. "Would it be weird if I, like, felt it?" 

To Toshiya's surprise, permission is granted. A little dazed, he watches Kaoru scoot closer and gingerly place a hand on the stretch of cotton hugging Kyo's middle — the same Kyo, Toshiya can't help but recall with traumatic clarity, who just weeks ago nearly imploded with rage and humiliation when he found out the band had been clued in on his condition.

Nothing visibly happens for a while. Then Kyo goes, "Hmm," and they all watch, mesmerized, as he starts pressing his fingers here and there against his stomach, like, come on, do the thing. Dad's trying to show you off. 

Kaoru flinches, his hand jerking slightly as something unmistakably shifts beneath it. His eyes go wide, a look Toshiya hasn't seen on him since he fell off the stage during his solo that one time. 

"Holy crap," he breathes. 

Then, in a turn of events no one asked for and Toshiya certainly did not approve of, his awestruck gaze slides upward and locks with Kyo's. For one cursed eternity, it looks almost romantic, and Toshiya immediately wants to toss Kaoru out the window. 

It's ridiculous. He never got this way with Aoi, and that was a legit relationship. Kyo, meanwhile, straight-up shuts down his higher thought processes and flips on the animal brain. Kyo makes him want to gather twigs and build a nest. To hold him down in that nest, look him dead in the eye and declare, you're mine now, understand? and then carefully help him up because his sciatica is acting up again.

Toshiya sighs. Maybe he just needs to cool the hell off. Get hosed down or something. Neutered. 

"Feels trippy, right?" Die drawls from the couch next to him, one leg bouncing and an arm thrown over the backrest.

Toshiya unsticks his eyes from the nauseating display by the kotatsu to glance at Die. "Tell me you're not speaking from experience because you finally went and knocked someone up."

"I know because you did, genius." Die waves his beer at Kyo.

Toshiya stares at him, slow and suspicious, then turns to Kyo, who's looking right back at him with that unreadable Sphinx face of his. Toshiya breaks eye contact, grabs his beer from the kotatsu top, and finishes the rest in one long gulp. Drink first, process Die putting his greasy mitts on the baby bump later. 

Once Shinya has gotten his turn — two fingertips, like he's anointing a messiah — that particular rite of passage is officially completed by all interested parties. The evening devolves back into its natural entropy: Die now has one of the pink balloons stuffed inside his shirt, stroking it tenderly with one hand while the other funnels Kirin into his face; twice, Toshiya finds himself sprinting down the street to My Basket because the alcohol supply keeps running dry; Kaoru is sentenced to twenty full minutes of timeout on the balcony after refusing to reconsider his preference for Kinoko no yama; and Shinya is running an in-depth and clearly long-awaited interview with Kyo about his secret reproductive capabilities. 

"Is there a corpus luteum involved in your cycle?" 

"Uh… what?" 

"Ovulating — can you describe the sensation?" 

"I don't know, Shin… feels pretty much the same as not ovulating."

It's nudging eleven o'clock when Toshiya staggers back in from the balcony, lungs freshly tarred and veins buzzing with alcohol, nicotine, and more refined sugar than a grown man should ever consume. Die and Kaoru trail behind, passionately dissecting whether the entire genre of metal is currently circling the drain of cultural relevance or just 'shifting paradigms.' Toshiya doesn't care. Let them yell. He's feeling invincible.

Which is why, instead of reclaiming his well-worn dent in the couch, he sets his sights on a spot very pointedly, and very invitingly, occupied.

Kyo, who's been migrating around the room all evening in search of a pain-free configuration, is currently huddled on said couch. His attention is fixed on Shinya, who's perched by the kotatsu with his arms wrapped around his knees and very seriously discussing the nutritional benefits of eating one's own placenta. Cooked, Toshiya wonders, or raw, like some kind of fleshy sashimi?

He doesn't ask. Instead, and skipping any pointless formalities like ''scuse me,' he steps onto the couch, swings a leg over, and bodily inserts himself into the half-inch of non-space between Kyo and the backrest. His legs slide to either side of his seated form, effectively caging him in, arms coming to loop around. Kyo stiffens. 

"Lots of mammals… uh…" Shinya's voice tumbles mid-sentence, and even Kaoru and Die's arguing skids to a halt. The room flattens into silence.

Toshiya parks his chin on Kyo's tense shoulder and scans the room, making unrepentant eye contact with everyone in turn. Shinya looks mostly just inconvenienced, having his infomercial on mammalian afterbirth consumption rudely interrupted, while Die and Kaoru flounder somewhere between surprise and secondhand embarrassment. 

Chill out, Toshiya tries to telegraph to the room. Not like he's going to bend Kyo over right here on the couch. (Not tonight, anyway). This is simply a message. A territorial piss-post of affection, staked in full view of the tribe. 

Die is the first to recover.

"Anyway," he says, redirecting his attention back to Kaoru while resting his beer on the squeaky balloon crammed under his shirt. "The fact that you think grunge and heavy metal can't peacefully coexist is straight-up clown logic—"

"I literally never said—"

"So, there's actually a whole cookbook for placenta recipes—"

Toshiya stops hearing any of it. He tucks his face into the warm crook of Kyo's neck, grinning like a fool because Kyo hasn't scooted away, hasn't hissed at him to get lost even though the others are right there. The opposite, actually: Kyo leans in. The tension drains from his shoulders, body going slack and pliant against Toshiya's chest.

And then, quietly, his hand moves. It drifts over to where Toshiya's is resting against the side of the bump, and settles atop. Fingers twitch, pause. Then, they slide between Toshiya's, giving a quick, awkward little squeeze. 

Toshiya's drunk, sugar-addled brain processes this new input. It runs a brief diagnostic on emotional weight, physical context, surrounding witnesses, and overall impact, and results come back crystal clear:

Yep. This is it. They are, by every definition that matters, a couple now.  

—

Once the crew has stumbled out into the night — Kaoru tottering down the hallway like a sailboat in a storm, Die shrieking at Shinya's violent attempts to confiscate his balloon belly ("Let go, you monster! His name is Junior!") — Toshiya shuts the door, clicks the lock, and exhales a breath that's been squatting in his chest for the last hour.

It was fun, he admits to himself, and probably a net positive for Kyo to interact with sentient lifeforms who aren't Toshiya. Still. The whole time, he was just waiting for everyone to kindly piss off so he can have Kyo all to himself again. Which, he acknowledges, is pretty pathetic and unpleasantly clingy, especially considering that approximately ninety-seven percent of their lives is already just the two of them loafing around this apartment. 

Oh well. Maybe clingy's Kyo's type. Hell, after everything he's been through, maybe someone being a little too into him is exactly what the doctor ordered.

This time, Toshiya doesn't ask for permission to sleep in the bed. After brushing his teeth and chugging two big glasses of water, he simply slips under the covers and makes himself comfortable, casually fluffing pillows and arranging blankets as if they've been sharing the bed all along.

Kyo makes no comment on it when he comes back from the bathroom. But Toshiya sees something soft, almost like relief, in his eyes before he wipes his face clean of all discernible expression and flicks off the light.

He crawls in, turning onto his side facing the room. To the untrained eye, it might read as avoidance, but to Toshiya, who has been observing this man like a scientist for months, it's an open invitation: you may now hold me. He scoots forward, basically suction-cupping himself to Kyo's back.

"So…" he starts, petting the curve of Kyo's stomach through the soft stretch of his shirt. "We letting Die get his grubby paws all over the bump now, hmm? And I wasn't even there to supervise." 

"Oh," Kyo plays along. "Was that against protocol?"

"Just wondering about my clearance level here, you know," Toshiya says. The words are all banter, sugarcoated and light, but the message underneath is dead serious. "If I, as your dedicated, live-in… associate… get any perks that the general public doesn't."

There's a brief silence. Then: "What kind of perks?" 

Toshiya stares into the dark room. That… was not in the script. The script called for Kyo to scoff, maybe roll his eyes, and Toshiya to drift to sleep feeling accomplished and sexually frustrated. Instead, Kyo just kicked the door wide open and is now standing there like, well? You coming or what?

What kind of perks? He wants Kyo naked, squirming, laughing, moaning, letting him touch anywhere and everywhere, letting him mouth and bite and fuck and hold and claim every inch of him. That kind of perks. But he's not an animal; got to at least pretend he's got some semblance of decorum left. 

"Maybe like… touching you somewhere that isn't strictly baby real estate." 

In the loaded pause that follows, he can practically hear the internal debate inside Kyo, crippling self-consciousness warring with the universal, human craving for touch.

"Okay," comes the soft response eventually. "Yeah. You can. If you want."

If he wants? Oh, sweet merciful fuck, does he ever want. He wants so bad his teeth ache. 

Toshiya eases his hand out from under the covers and finds Kyo's mouth in the dark. His thumb brushes over that plush lower lip, and memories flicker through his mind. These are talented lips. Lips that have done some truly spectacular things in the past, both musically and... otherwise.

His hand shifts, cupping the shape of Kyo's jaw. It's not a sharp, angular jawline, but it's strong and masculine, sexier than he recalls ever consciously noticing before. His palm drifts downward. It skims down the thick column of Kyo's neck, over the Adam's apple just as it makes an anxious little bob, feeling the fast, uneven pulse fluttering just beneath the skin. Thanks to pregnancy, he recalls reading, there's almost fifty percent more blood than usual pumping through this small body. It feels like it, too. Everything in Kyo feels hotter, fuller, brimming, like he might overflow.

Kyo's collarbones aren't quite as defined as they used to be, cushioned by the subtle weight gain. Toshiya's fingers follow the slope of bone down to the shallow valley between, and then, as he ventures lower, Kyo's entire body tenses. 

Reaching his chest, Toshiya learns why. 

Oh. 

Ohh, buddy. 

It takes a near-superhuman effort, a miracle of desperate self-restraint, not to blurt out something idiotic — you've got BOOBS?! — but he somehow manages. Good thing, too, because judging by Kyo's body language and the fact that he's barely breathing, this particular change is a sensitive topic. 

Swallowing his surprise, along with any stupid comments, Toshiya approaches the situation with all the delicacy he can muster. His palm hovers, then settles over one unexpected swell, gently cupping it through the t-shirt. 

It's not much, really — barely a handful. A-cup, maybe? Small B? Hah. Like he'd know; he's touched exactly one pair of actual breasts in his life and all he remembers from that encounter is panic, sweat, and feeling vaguely grossed out.

Kyo's heart is absolutely thrashing under his hand. God, he must hate this. Toshiya tries to think of something to say, something reassuring that'll put him at ease, but Kyo beats him to it.

"They'll go back to normal after," he says stiffly. "It's temporary."

"Yeah, no, I figured," Toshiya replies, deliberately flippant. He strokes the side of the mound with his thumb. It's kind of nice to hold, actually. "Estrogen, right?" he adds, like he totally paid attention in biology class. 

"Mmh…"

He risks an experimental, very careful squeeze, just a whisper of pressure, and Kyo jolts, breath catching in his throat. Okay, definitely sensitive then. Duly noted. Information filed away for future reference.

No one's been smacked yet, which Toshiya takes as a good sign. He clears his throat. "If they get any bigger, you might actually have to, like… buy a bra or something." 

It was meant as a genuine observation, maybe a little teasing to show he isn't weirded out. But the second it leaves his mouth, his brain grabs the image and bolts. 

He sees it: Kyo, fierce and pretty in his stage makeup, donning a delicate lace bra. Maybe white. Definitely white. His belly, round and heavy, protrudes obscenely below the thin band, and his thighs are spread open in lazy invitation. And between them: a matching pair of panties straining to contain his cock, hard and incongruous against the dainty fabric. Virgin Mary with a hard-on. Pregnant pin-up boy, ready to be worshipped and then defiled. Feminine and masculine, pure and pornographic, sacrilegious and iconic. 

It should be ridiculous. Laugh-out-loud stupid, something out of a porno written by someone with a pregnancy fetish and a head injury. And yet, a decidedly un-funny sensation is stirring in Toshiya's lower regions.

What is this? Early-onset quarter-life crisis? He's always appreciated women just fine — nice to look at, lovely in theory — but hand-on-heart, he's never spent a single second of his life fantasizing about tits, lace, or anything remotely maternal until now.

He's so caught up in his twisted little reverie that he's almost forgotten he actually said the bra comment out loud. That is, until Kyo responds. 

"I have one," he mutters. 

Toshiya's brain hits a pothole. Oh boy. He can't even decide what wrecks him harder — the confirmation that a bra actually exists somewhere in Kyo's possession, or the fact that he told him. Trusted him with something so intensely personal, so obviously embarrassing. 

Gruffly, Kyo adds, "Nurse Sato got it for me. Just in case. Not that I wear it, obviously. I don't need it." 

God bless that perceptive, meddlesome woman. She must've known Kyo would rather light himself on fire than shuffle into a store and ask where they keep the A-cup maternity bras, even if the situation genuinely warranted it. So she just went ahead and handled it for him. 

And Kyo kept it, Toshiya realizes, his vision darkening. Didn't bury it at the bottom of the trash can or torch it in a fit of dysphoric rage. Which means, some part of him, no matter how minuscule, considered putting it on. For comfort? Support? 

Or perhaps… curiosity? 

Toshiya runs his tongue over his teeth like he's about to say something useful. He isn't. 

"What kind?" 

"I dunno, a sports type. Shut up," Kyo retorts, probably guessing exactly what kind of lacy confections Toshiya was just mentally dressing him in.

"Right, right," Toshiya nods as if that was totally the image he had in mind. There's a pause, just long enough for a new intrusive thought to wriggle its way to the surface. A smarter man would keep this one to himself, but, fuck, he has to know. "So, will you be, um… lactating?"

The answer is quick and affronted. "No. I'm not a woman."

Ah yes. Note to self: milk production is where the line is drawn between 'guy having a weird year' and 'officially female.' Pregnancy, boobs, and hormonal crying fits are all manly and good, but nipples doing their one actual job? Absolutely not.

But then, because Kyo's honesty often seems to operate on a time-delay system, he sullenly backpedals, "Well… actually, yeah, probably. But it's not a big deal. It'll pass fast." 

Toshiya hums like it's whatever, but inside, he's coming unglued all over again. Because wow. That means Kyo might, technically, be able to breastfeed. As in, full-on cradle an infant to his chest and feed her with his body. That's… yeah. He's not a woman, Toshiya gets that, respects that, prefers that, but holy shit if the lines haven't gone blurry. The only thing missing now is a vagina.

And, let's be real, if Kyo did one morning wake up with one, Toshiya would simply adapt. He'd learn. Watch videos, quiz lesbians, research positions and pressure points. He'd get down there like a scholar and make Kyo come ten times in a row before breakfast. He'd even put on his best straight-guy voice and whisper things like, yeah, you like that, baby girl? 

This whole thing has his cock so hard it's not even funny. He's a sick, broken man. 

Reluctantly, he lets go of Kyo's chest to continue mapping the rest of his altered topography. When his hand comes to rest on the much more familiar, comforting expanse of his stomach, he pauses, trying to feel for any tiny flutters or kicks from within. Nothing. Little Miss seems to be out for the count tonight. Good. She deserves rest after being forced to listen to her dads' idiot friends yell about whether or not Die would last a week in prison. 

Tracing the curve, over the crest toward the underside, Toshiya's touch slows down. A slight trepidation creeps into his movements as he waits for Kyo to flinch, to shift away, to say enough. This has to be pushing it, right?  

Except Kyo remains perfectly still under Toshiya's roaming hand — until the heel of said hand bumps into something firm, and that's when he flinches. Toshiya pauses, his own system jolting with surprise. Oh. He was not expecting that. Kyo's hard.

His lips twitch. It's got to be the boob-touching; there's no other logical explanation. Kyo likes having his little tits played with. Hah.

Feeling extremely validated in his perversion, Toshiya pokes at the stiff outline through the briefs. The cotton is already damp at the tip.

Kyo makes a noise. "It's just—" he starts, maybe ready to justify his body's reaction, but Toshiya cuts in.

"Can I?"

A pause. Then, so soft it's almost pitiful: "...Yeah." 

He runs his knuckles up and down the length, feeling it flex under his touch. "I wasn't sure what pregnancy does to sex drive. Been wondering."

"Uh… Mostly I'm just… not in the mood…" Kyo's already breathless.

"Really?" Toshiya wraps his hand around the evidence to the contrary. "You seem pretty in the mood right now."

Kyo tilts his face into the pillow. "Well, it's… it's you touching it…" 

A slight grin creeps across Toshiya's face in the dark. Now that's the kind of feedback you hang onto for a rainy day. 

Without a word, he dips a finger past the waistband and starts working the underwear down. Kyo shifts, hips lifting in an obedient, a little desperate way that makes Toshiya's blood sing.

With the briefs bunched somewhere at his knees, Toshiya finally gets a hold of something he actually knows how to handle. His palm slides down the weight of Kyo's cock — hot, rigid, and twitching like it missed him — and his own arousal throbs in response, wedged hard and aching right where Kyo can feel it. Kyo moans into the pillow, a soft, broken thing, like he's embarrassed he has a voice at all.

Slow and easy, Toshiya works the foreskin up, down, thumb gliding over the dripping head. The precum smears down the shaft and makes everything wetter, louder, music to his horny ears. It's unexpectedly grounding; although Kyo isn't packing anything outrageous in terms of size, down here, he's as unambiguously male as it gets. 

Mouth pressed into the pillow, his breathing is already a mess, noisy through his nose. Toshiya doesn't need to see his face to know the expression: eyes squeezed shut, dark brows drawn together like he's about to both come and cry about it. It's a good face. It's a fuckable face. 

"Tosh—" The name splinters on Kyo's tongue.

"Mmh?"

"I'm close…"

What? Already? 

No way. He barely even got started. That's fast. That's… hot, when he really thinks about it. All those jokes about being pent-up were not jokes after all, it seems. 

"Go for it," Toshiya encourages, his own anticipation ratcheting up in tandem as he adjusts his grip and starts pumping with intent. When he adds a twist to his next upward stroke, fingers tightening around the sensitive head, the payoff is sweet and immediate. A helpless little mmh breaks from Kyo's throat as his cock pulses, spilling across Toshiya's fingers.

It's not much at all — only a couple of weak, watery spurts, which makes Toshiya briefly wonder if the female hormones are draining his reservoirs. But the effect is undeniable, the orgasm ripping through Kyo hard enough to leave him panting and shivering in Toshiya's hold. 

Pleased with himself, Toshiya kicks the covers down with his feet and leans over Kyo to grab tissues from the nightstand. Cleanup is perfunctory at best — a few half-assed swipes, a pat on the belly for good measure, and the crumpled tissues go sailing to the floor like it's not Toshiya who's going to have to clean those up eventually. 

"Should I…?" Kyo starts, his tone hesitant as he clumsily pulls his briefs up and shoves himself in. 

Toshiya is already reattaching, spooning up close, hard-on nudging insistently into the plush give of Kyo's backside. "Hmm?"

"I can get you off." 

"Could I fuck you?" Toshiya wonders, then corrects, "Not saying I need to, I'm just… jus' curious if it would even be, like… possible right now…"

"Uh… no. Sorry. It's not comfortable down there." 

"S'okay." Toshiya rolls his hips forward, cock dragging up the cleft of Kyo's ass through the thin layers between them, and even that little bit of friction is almost enough to make his eyes roll back.

"I'll take care of you another way," Kyo offers again, but Toshiya's brain is no longer accepting new information. 

"Can I just…" he slurs as he slides a hand down, wedging it between their bodies, "like this…" 

His fingers curve around the swell of Kyo's ass, and, fuck — he's seen it, of course, felt even a little sleazy about how his eyes would sometimes linger on the way Kyo now fills clothes, but getting a full handful is a whole another experience. He noses into bleach-blonde hair, breath hot and shaky as his hips work mindlessly. If Kyo gave an answer, it's gone blissfully over his head. 

The same thought that used to come with a pang of guilt — I did this to him — now thrums through him with filthy, possessive pride.

Hell yeah, he did this. He put this burgeoning life inside Kyo, reprogrammed his body from the inside out without even meaning to. And god, the thought is intoxicating, this tangible proof of what he can do. They didn't just fuck. They made something. How fucking cool is that? 

"Kyo," he pants, the bed frame creaking as he pushes up onto his elbow. "Let me see you."

No time for objections; he's already on his knees, raiding the bed for every pillow in reach and manhandling Kyo onto his back. Stuffing the pillows behind him to prop him up against the headboard, he builds a throne for his masterpiece.

Kyo looks wary, eyes wide and dark in the dim light filtering in from the outside, but he drags himself a bit more upright, thighs falling open like instinct. Toshiya slips between them, then shoves his own briefs down with the patience of a starved animal. 

His cock slaps up hard, and while he's already gripping it with one hand, the other slides under the hem of Kyo's t-shirt — and with a ruthless shove, he pushes the fabric upward to expose the tight expanse of skin. Kyo tenses. His hands twitch as if wanting to yank the shirt right back down and hide himself, but he doesn't — just glares up, cheeks blazing with shame and defiance, daring Toshiya to look, to take it all in, to see him.

Toshiya does. Fuck, does he ever.

He pictures Kyo stripped down to nothing, every new contour exposed. Imagines being inside him when he's like this, rocking into him slow and deep and watching his body yield and tremble, filled to bursting with cock and their impossible legacy. A miracle made flesh, and he did this. 

His free hand moves higher, sliding up under the rucked-up shirt — and when he palms Kyo's chest, this time with much more confidence, the reaction is instantaneous.

"Ah — fuck!" Kyo jolts like he's been electrocuted, one leg kicking out against the sheets, hips grinding helplessly against nothing. His hand floats near where Toshiya's is massaging one of his tender, aching breasts, as if to stop him, but never quite doing it.

Toshiya's so turned on it hurts, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Christ, you're sensitive."

And then he's on Kyo before either of them can think, mouth crashing down, tongue forcing its way in, teeth scraping lip. When Kyo's hands come up to twist in his hair with a needy pull, Toshiya answers by dragging a thumb over a nipple, wringing a moan out of Kyo so loud it ought to have the neighbors worried. It's sloppy and greedy and just the right side of aggressive to make Toshiya feel like his skin is about to split open.

By the time he tears himself away for air, his head is swimming. He stares down at the man beneath him, at his red, shiny mouth, and the lust and disbelief swirling in those eyes like oil on water. 

It's that overwhelmed look that does it for Toshiya. Instinct takes the wheel as he grits his teeth and comes with a choked groan, aiming — for reasons unknown even to himself — at Kyo's stomach. With hazy satisfaction, mind blissfully empty of any and all coherent thought, he watches hot streaks of cum splatter across the stretched skin. 

Slowly, inevitably, his pulse levels and wits trickle back. He takes in his handiwork.

The mess is already sliding south, making a slow, sticky journey over the silvery-purple stretch marks toward the waistband — where, Toshiya notes with a detached part of his brain, Kyo is hard again, his clothed erection pressed snugly against the underside of his stomach.

"Uh…" he starts, wondering what's the appropriate commentary for this bizarre, possibly unprecedented, situation. "Well, that was weird," he offers, lifting his gaze. The flash of hurt on Kyo's face guts him, and he quickly amends, "Not you! Fuck, no. I mean— you know— she's in there, right? And I just— ah, fuck, I'm overthinking. Ignore me." He swallows, a dry, difficult sound. He's suddenly feeling a little pathetic and very young. Softer now, he says, "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

He watches Kyo grapple for a response. Lips part, close, then open again with nothing coming out, until finally, out of absolutely nowhere, he blurts, "Have you talked to Aoi lately?"

Toshiya flinches in surprise. Of all the possible things to bring up after being jizzed on while nine months pregnant…

"Aoi? No. Why would I?"

Kyo's eyes are glued to his shirt, fingers knotting the fabric tighter and tighter. "Just wondering," he mutters, brow creased. "Just figured… maybe you asked him to take you back and he said no and that's why… I dunno." 

The silence is so thick it hums. 

"You do know I was the one who broke it off, right? Not him."

Kyo lifts his face, and the naked surprise there says no, actually, he did not know that. "Really?"

"Yuh-huh."

"But you were, like… so mopey after." 

It's about then that Toshiya realizes he's still got his unimpressively deflated, cum-slicked dick in his hand. Not ideal. With a sigh, he reaches again for the long-suffering tissue box on the nightstand. 

"Endings are always a little sad, aren't they?" he says as he plucks out a thick wad of tissues and starts scrubbing them both down once again. "Doesn't mean you want to go back."

"Why'd you break up with him, then?"

After one last swipe, Toshiya balls up the used tissues, adding them to the growing pile of biohazard on the floor. He gently tugs Kyo's shirt back down before flopping down heavily beside him, rolling onto his back and staring up at the shadowed ceiling. 

"Well," he says. "The long and short of it is, there was someone else." 

It's such an obvious setup, could not be clearer who he's referring to, and yet — he can feel Kyo's brain start to spin, a mental slot machine lining up every worst-case scenario. Toshiya puts him out of his misery before he can blurt out the world's stupidest question. 

"You," he says flatly, a bit insulted. "It was you, dumbass. Keep up."

Kyo worms his way down from the mountain of pillows, rearranging himself into a comfortable heap, one hand tucked under his cheek. "Yeah?" he whispers.

Toshiya turns over to face him. "Yeah. I'd be with him and think about you. Then I'd hang out with you and feel like I was cheating on him." 

Kyo hums, his gaze clear, though a little bit of something like dumbstruck wonder has taken residence there. "You dumped your boyfriend for me," he summarises, as if testing the words out loud.

"Mm-hm." Toshiya's mouth tugs into a slight smile. "Took me long enough. Sorry about that."

For a while, they just study one another in silence. The air between them is weirdly electric, intimate in a way that's new for them, and Toshiya doesn't know what to do with it.

Kyo breaks the spell by exhaling a dry laugh through his nose. "Know what? I'm starting to think you're the real freak of nature here. What kinda gay guy gets off on…?" He gestures at himself. 

Toshiya grins, grateful for the mood shift. He isn't sure yet how to be properly, sincerely romantic with Kyo without one of them spontaneously combusting from sheer awkwardness. "Oi." He pokes him playfully in the arm. "Blame yourself. You made me like this."

"Funny, 'cause you made me like this." 

His grin softens. He glances down, lets his calloused fingertips drift idly across the firm swell of Kyo's stomach. "Guess that's what got me tonight," he admits. "Looking at you like this. Knowing I did this. Made me feel like I… I don't know, own you a little, or something." 

Kyo emits a strangled sound and buries his face into the pillow.

"I know!" Toshiya adds quickly. "Super fucked up, some primal caveman nonsense, I get it—" 

"No," comes the muffled interruption, quiet but somehow absolutely sure. "I like it." 

For a second, everything inside Toshiya goes perfectly still.

…Oh. 

Kyo likes it. Likes that Toshiya feels possessive over him. Likes being owned, being his. Toshiya's heart does a little pirouette in his chest, and it shouldn't be possible to fall in love with someone for the third time in the same week, but he definitely just did. 

Kyo can't see the fool-happy smile stretching across his face, but just in case, Toshiya hurls himself over and mashes his own face into the nearest pillow in a sudden burst of overwhelming joy. 

And there they lie. Two grown-ass men, rockstars with public reputations and tour dates and no discernible life skills, face-planted into their respective pillows like they're twelve and just learned their crush likes them back.

Chapter Text

The last two weeks before the C-section are one continuous emotional whiplash for Toshiya. One minute he's riding the high of a toe-curling orgasm with Kyo's pretty little fingers still slick around him, the next he's staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m., drowning in paternal anxiety. 

Things with Kyo are going swimmingly. They can hardly keep their hands off each other, and if Kyo isn't passed out, in pain, or actively timing contractions, odds are good there's a limb tangled somewhere, a thigh nestled just so, or a palm sneaking under fabric. 

But even paradise has rules. Kyo still draws a hard line at Toshiya getting an actual, shirtless eyeful of his chest, which unfortunately rules out Toshiya's ongoing fantasy of fucking between his sensitive little breasts. (Intellectually, Toshiya knows they're nowhere near substantial enough for that particular maneuver to achieve anything beyond mutual chafing, but his dick would absolutely die trying if given the chance.) 

By now, he's made peace with how completely, irrationally hot he finds Kyo's pregnant body. There's probably some hardwired evolutionary factor behind it, a prehistoric part of him that sees the bump and goes, yes. Good. My seed has prospered. We live another generation. Or maybe he's just a pervert, plain and simple. Either way, he's done questioning it. Some things aren't meant to be examined too closely, not unless you want to find out you've got a breeding kink and undiagnosed mommy issues.

But then there's the flipside: the massive, radioactive heartbreak bomb ticking down over their heads. They are going to meet their daughter, and then they are going to give her away.

Toshiya tries to keep his brain paddling in the shallow end, focus on the sweet, awkward, wonderful thing he and Kyo are building. Ignore the clock, pretend this is forever. 

But sometimes, when the city's gone still and all he can hear is Kyo's snuffling breaths next to him, the deep end comes for him: the sick, wrong feeling at the thought of willingly giving up their child to a pair of strangers, never to see her grow, never to hear her laugh. 

It's not about wanting to be a parent. He knows full well he'd be a flaming disaster at it; he loses his keys twice a week, forgets to eat sometimes, and has had utilities cut off for non-payment more than once. He can barely parent himself.

No, that's not where the pain sits. It's in the not knowing. He won't know if she sleeps clutching some ratty old stuffed animal named Momo. He won't know if she's a little weird. If she talks too much and colors the sky green and the trees purple. If she's safe, if she's happy, if someone kisses her forehead when she's got a fever. 

And under all that is a different fear entirely: how can he possibly be enough for Kyo in the aftermath? 

The way he already feels about this kid, this tiny, abstract being he's never even laid eyes on, is scary enough. He can't even begin to fathom the depth, the sheer biological force, of the bond Kyo must have forged with her, having literally shared his blood, his every breath with her for nine months. 

How do you move on from that? Isn't there a switch inside you that gets stuck on 'where's my baby' for the rest of your life? How do you not lie awake every single night, wondering if there was, after all, some other path, some impossible solution they missed? Toshiya feels out of his depth, totally unqualified, when he tries to imagine how he's supposed to show up for Kyo on the other side of something this colossal.

Kyo, for his part, isn't offering any clues, moving through the last days with a calmness that drives Toshiya quietly up the wall. He still has his moments, of course — those vacant stretches where he's clearly checked out, hand splayed on his stomach, staring off into nothing. But overall, there's no discernible panic or big emotions, no sign of him feeling the looming D-day in the same acute, suffocating way Toshiya is.

—

Two days to go. Early Wednesday evening, and the weather is pleasant, as it tends to be in that short pocket between spring and rainy season. The balcony door is slid wide open, curtains flapping in the breeze, and from the world outside drifts the noise of traffic and the distant bass beat of music.

Toshiya's on the bed, propped against the wall with Kyo's leg tossed across his lap. He's staring down at his phone, at a text that just buzzed in from Die, confirming hospital pickup logistics. It feels like someone else's appointment. Where did the week even go? He could swear he just closed his eyes for a second and the clock jumped forward without him.

In his head, he drafts a reply: Appreciate it, man, but change of plans — kid's staying put. No delivery. 

If only.

At the head of the bed, Kyo is sprawled against a mountain of pillows, nose buried in a manga. It's the one Toshiya picked up after catching him rereading the same tattered Dragon Ball volumes for the hundredth time. It's definitely meant for teenage girls, but Kyo seems invested. Nothing like the life-or-death stakes of high school melodrama to distract from your own shitshow, Toshiya supposes.

Kyo sniffs. It's pollen season. Page turns as suspense thickens: will the shy class representative confess her feelings to the broody, impossibly handsome captain of the track team before midterms? 

Toshiya can't take it anymore. He is done pacing circles inside his own skull like a dog chasing its tail. 

"How do you do it?" he blurts. 

Reluctantly, Kyo drags his eyes from the page, a questioning look on his face.

"How are you so calm?" Toshiya clarifies, struggling to scrape together words that don't sound either whiny or like a passive-aggressive accusation. "Aren't you… I don't know, freaked out? About how you're gonna feel after all this?" 

They've never actually said it out loud — the bit where both of them have miserably failed at remaining cool and detached about this baby — but the truth is practically furniture at this point. 

Kyo sets the manga down on his bump, impossibly handsome Track Captain now gazing skyward from the glossy cover. He lets his head tip back against the headboard. "Well," he starts slowly. "Sure, I guess? But I've had a lot of time to sit with it. I'm tired."

Toshiya sighs through his nose. Maybe that's it. Kyo's not immune or detached — he's burned out. He's been wrestling with these impossible choices for far longer than him. 

"Right," he says, one hand absently stroking up and down Kyo's leg, phone still held loosely in the other. He chews on his lip. "Will the adoptive parents be there? Like… to take her away right after?" He tries to keep his voice neutral, but it's hard.

"No. I don't want them there when I'm being wheeled around between the OR, recovery, and my room. The hospital promised full anonymity and all that. Plus," Kyo adds, fingers picking at the corner of the manga, "the doctors wanna keep her a few extra days anyway, run some tests or whatever."

Toshiya's brow furrows, hand stilling on Kyo's shin. "Tests? Why, is she okay?" 

"She's fine. Just small, and a bit early. I think it's mostly for their research."

Small. Early. The words sketch a depressing image in Toshiya's mind: their baby girl, in one of those plastic hospital bassinets, with tubes up her nose and wires taped to her chest, machines blinking and beeping all around her. All alone. God, he aches to hold her. Couldn't he? Surely, he has some fundamental right to hold his own daughter for two damn minutes before she's taken away, even if Kyo wants to look the other way and pretend it's not happening. 

He forces the thought down and pivots. "And you? How long are they keeping you there?"

Kyo lets out a theatrical sigh. "Ten days," he grumbles, giving Toshiya a look like he personally orchestrated this. "Ten. Whole. Days. I'm gonna lose my mind."

"Well, it's… you know. Major abdominal surgery. Makes sense they'd want to keep an eye on you."

"Mmh. And I'm getting all the extra parts removed, too, so that complicates things."

Ah. Right. Toshiya kind of suspected that was the plan. He tries for a light tone, a bit of a tease, even though his mood is about as far from playful as Pluto is from the sun: "So that's a definite no on future kids, then? We're one and done?"

"I will literally sooner chew my own arm off than go through this again."

Toshiya snorts softly. "Dramatic much?" 

A worn-out smile touches Kyo's lips in response. They sit there doing nothing for a while, Kyo making no move to pick up his manga, Toshiya feeling no urgency to deal with the logistics waiting on his phone. 

His eyes, as they so often do, drift to the swollen slope of Kyo's stomach. It's still surreal, still a little unbelievable, even now. He reaches out, runs his palm across it. "I'm gonna miss this," he murmurs. "This whole crazy setup. Kinda wish we had a little more time."

"Think you'll still be into me when it's gone?" Kyo jokes, though his eyes are a little uncertain. "When I got nothing but saggy skin, stretch marks, and a big, ugly scar? I'll look like those balloons that Shinya brought, a week after the party."

Toshiya's lips twitch at the bleak image. He chucks his phone onto the bedding and lifts Kyo's leg off his lap so he can move closer. 

"Please," he says casually as he swings a leg over and straddles Kyo's lap, knees caving the mattress on either side of his hips. Kyo's hands land on his thighs like magnets, and he tilts his head back slightly to look at him. "I've already been hot for two wildly different versions of you. What's a third? Keeps things interesting." 

"Hm." 

Toshiya's gaze dips from Kyo's skeptical eyes to his mouth, then lower still. "Although…" he drags out, "I am really gonna miss these."

Before Kyo can even begin to raise a defense, Toshiya's greedy hands are already there, grabbing his swollen chest. Reliably, it elicits a half shocked, half accidentally turned on, "Ah—! Toshiya!" 

"Just once," Toshiya pleads. "Please just let me try one time, I'm not even saying it'll work, I just wanna see if—"

"No! Argh, you disgusting, weird-ass, boob-obsessed—"

"Ow, fuck — not the balls! There are international conventions explicitly forbidding— fuck, okay, okay! I surrender! Truce!"

—

And then it's Friday. Countdown's over, and all that is left is a handful of frazzled hours between now and whatever comes after.

Even Die looks troubled when he rolls up to pick them up. His usual shit-stirring demeanor is nowhere to be seen as he grimly watches Kyo — calm, tired, and approximately one metric ton of pregnant — waddle from the front door to the waiting car. 

Toshiya, for his part, feels like a corpse that's been dug up from the dirt and slapped awake. He's running on pure cortisol and not much else, limbs somehow feeling both stiff and noodle-like at the same time. He helps Kyo into the passenger seat with unnecessary care, then hucks their go-bags into the back with zero care and slides in after. 

Sleep was a no-show last night. Instead, he spent the whole night clinging to Kyo, who seemed to drift in and out of a fitful sleep himself, and visualizing every possible way this day could go straight to hell.

Machines beeping, doctors shouting, we're losing him! as Kyo bleeds out on the table. The baby coming out blue and quiet. The baby coming out red and screaming but looking weird, or worse, looking like Die. Toshiya fainting at the first glimpse of blood and cracking his skull open on hospital tile while everyone rolls their eyes at his unconscious body like, get a load of this guy. 

Indeed, now that the day has come, he's newly, acutely aware of the whole surgical aspect of this — blood, innards, organs, someone's gloved hand up inside Kyo. He's always been squeamish, but up until this morning, his anxiety had been fixated on the larger, nobler catastrophes: the heartbreak, the loss, the moral collapse of giving your child away. Not anymore. Now, it's all just one big, swirling cesspool of terror.

Die isn't helping, either. His twitchy energy infects the entire car as they inch through the morning traffic, fingers tapping out an arrhythmic beat on the wheel. Somehow, even when not a word is being said, the man manages to be loud. 

"I was thinking," he pipes up eventually, eyes narrowed into slits against the glare of the early sun as they idle at a red light. "Wouldn't it be safer to just go natural? A little tactical fisting to loosen things up, and let the kiddo drop out on its own. No knives, no fuss, everyone's home for lunch. Just a thought."

Toshiya takes a long, harsh breath through his nose, and from the passenger seat, he can hear Kyo do the exact same thing.

"I'm just saying," Die continues with his characteristic absence of tact, "this whole open-you-up-like-a-wallet delivery situation doesn't sit right with me. That's not how babies are supposed to come out. You're supposed to scream a little, push 'em out, and maybe get a stitch or two. Not need a goddamn month to recover." 

"Die," Toshiya groans, head thunking miserably against the cool glass of the window, face feeling bloodless. "I swear to god, if you say the word 'wallet' one more time, I will hurl before we even get to the hospital." 

Die flicks him a look through the rearview mirror. "Don't you dare barf in my car!"

"You car? It's a damn rental. That I'm paying for." 

"I know, I just always wanted to say that. Sounded cool in my head."

Toshiya shuts his eyes and tightens his grip on the seatbelt, wishing Die would start talking about fisting again — anything to stop picturing Kyo's abdomen being unzipped and pried open like a living clutch purse full of viscera and screaming newborn.

"I'll be fine, Die," Kyo says, watching the row of storefronts sliding past the window. "And just for the record, if I were actually nervous, I'd have strangled you for those comments by now." 

Die nods, understanding, and grateful, it seems, for the lack of strangulation. "No nerves, then? Good for you. Gotta stay zen. Mind over matter." He taps his temple, as if he's ever managed a zen moment in his life. 

"Kaoru looked it up. Mortality rate in elective C-sections is, like, point-zero-zero-two percent."

The car swerves slightly just as Toshiya wonders what about any of this qualifies as 'elective.' "Mortality rate?" Die's voice cracks. "Wait, you can die from this?" 

The words vacuum all the air out of the car. In the side mirror, Toshiya can see Kyo's brow giving up a tiny, nervous tic, a hairline fracture in the wall of calm he's been clinging to for weeks.

"...Aaand moving on!" Die exclaims then, probably realizing that yelling 'you can die' to a heavily pregnant man on his way to major surgery might not be ideal. His eyes jump to Toshiya's pale reflection in the rearview mirror. "So! Totchi. Buddy. What's the plan? You want me to pick you up later? Kyo's gonna be staying there for a bit, yeah?"

"I'm staying with him," Toshiya mutters.

They haven't exactly discussed it, not even this morning when Kyo gave him the side-eye as he resolutely crammed half his closet into a backpack. But leaving him alone tonight, or any of the following nights, and just going home after Kyo's got cut open and de-babied? Not a chance in hell. 

"There's just one bed," Kyo points out. 

Toshiya's mouth curls. "Well," he says, "isn't that how all the best stories start?" 

—

Kyo's room is nicer than expected — less sterile prison cell and more slightly disappointing mid-range hotel. It's private, of course, with its own bathroom, a semi-respectable bed, and a TV with a built-in VCR. 

But what makes Toshiya's shriveled little heart skip is the reclining armchair stationed by the window. After silently bracing himself to curl up on the floor to sleep like some loyal mutt guarding his master, the sight of this glorious, padded, pleather throne is nothing short of divine intervention.

"Hell yes," he breathes. Feeling temporarily less like a walking anxiety attack and more like his usual idiot self, he flings their bags on the bed and beelines for his prize. 

He throws himself into the chair and immediately starts going to town on every lever and button he can find, all while Kyo quietly unpacks his bag and pretends not to know him. He whoops loudly in surprise when the leg rest rockets up unexpectedly, then lets out a little cackle.

Naturally, that's when the most devastatingly attractive doctor on earth walks in — a sight straight out of a primetime medical drama. And what does this chiseled man of medicine see upon entering the room? Toshiya, half-upside down with his legs in the air, giving off the unmistakable energy of a chimp let loose in a showroom.

It is, to put it mildly, an unfortunate first impression. And yet, they still trust him in the operating room later — which, in hindsight, is a massive lapse in judgment on the hospital's part.

Toshiya does not rise to the occasion. Let's just get that out of the way. He is, from start to finish, an absolute, unmitigated disgrace, and there's no sugarcoating it. 

The only triumph he can claim is not projectile vomiting when Doctor McDreamboat announces he's going to make an incision. Already queasy from accidentally catching a glimpse of the gigantic needle that was about to go into Kyo's spine, his knees buckle immediately. He has to ask for a chair, mumbling something about a sudden arthritis flare-up. 

Kyo, thankfully, doesn't seem to mind that his support system is severely failing. If anything, he's thriving. While his abdomen is sliced open layer by layer, he's chatting up the surgical team like they're old friends kicking back at a trendy coffee shop. 

"In that case you've got to try Ginza Kimuraya!" the anesthesiologist enthuses, eyes crinkling above her mask.

"Oh, yeah," nods Kyo. "They invented anpan, right?" 

"Yup! Try the sakura one, I think they might have it on the menu until the end of the month. Have your friend pick some up for you." 

Friend, of course, being Toshiya, the useless sack of terror hunched on a stool, hair inside the surgical cap slicked to his forehead with cold sweat. He stares with dead eyes at the blue curtain between himself and Kyo's disemboweled torso and wonders, sincerely, if he's already passed out and is dreaming the whole thing. Each matter-of-fact narration of the butchery happening behind the curtain sends a fresh tsunami of nausea rolling through him, turning his hand in Kyo's reassuring grip into a clammy, limp fish — held tightly, all the same.

Two thoughts, both equally paralyzing and useless, ping-pong in his head:

Kyo is literally getting dissected right now.

And—

Holy shit, we're about to have a baby. I'm gonna be a father.

Father. Baby. Dissection. Everything starts feeling thin and echoey. The voices around him fade into meaningless murmurs coming from somewhere far away, and his vision is beginning to do that fun tunnel thing that signals he's either about to pass out or meet his ancestors, who will definitely not be impressed. Either way, it's not great news. 

Then it happens.

A sharp, new cry of life pierces the air, yanking him right back into his corporeal form just in time to feel Kyo's hand spasm in his grip. He squeezes back, hard, and his pulse, which was threatening to abandon ship just seconds ago, roars back to life. 

That's her. That's their daughter. She has arrived, and she sounds pissed about it.

They decided beforehand: no gore-slathered infant presentations fresh on the scene. No Simba moment over the curtain, no matter how much the staff wants to make memories. Good thing, too, because Toshiya is pretty sure a direct, unedited visual would've sent him flat on the tiles.

No sooner does their child let out that first indignant wail than she's whisked away, hopefully straight to the nearest baby washer. And from that point on, the fuzzy black tunnel around Toshiya's vision begins to recede. He's a father now. He has a little daughter. And the sheer, staggering, tectonic importance of that notion fills him, crowds out the chaos, flattens every other thought into static. 

It takes approximately a million years, but by the time the doctor declares the whole gory ordeal a wrap, Toshiya's world begins to right itself. He straightens out of his slouch and rediscovers his legs — shaky, insubordinate things, but they do the job, he finds out as he rises. 

He strips out of the scrubs, hands them over, and, slightly offended, declines the nurse's offer of a wheelchair escort. He's not about to be rolled into Kyo's room like some fainting auntie. He is a man. He is a father. He will walk into that room on his own two feet if it kills him. 

Once there, he immediately collapses onto the empty bed like a sack of wet cement, limbs akimbo, eyes falling closed. He gets an hour of precious time to pull his shattered psyche back together before Kyo is brought in from post-op observation. 

—

By the time Kyo is safely tucked in — propped against two mountainous pillows, hooked to an IV drip, and looking pale but very much alive — Toshiya's internal organs have more or less slotted back into their assigned positions. 

"I'm trying to move my toes," Kyo reports, staring at the spot on the bedding where his toes presumably are, "but it's like the signal's getting lost on the way. Is this what being paralyzed feels like? It's so freaky."

Perched on a chair he dragged within petting range, Toshiya strokes the back of Kyo's needle-free hand with his thumb. "You were amazing in there," he coos.

Kyo's eyes flick up to him, one eyebrow cocked. "Oh yeah? Which part of my performance knocked your socks off?" 

"Shh…" Toshiya shushes him while a grin blooms helplessly across his face. He feels lightheaded, but it's the good kind now, pure relief. The worst is over, Kyo is here, breathing, talking shit, and soon… soon they're going to meet their daughter.

Earlier, once the nurse had finished fluffing pillows and checking vitals and generally doing everything short of tucking Kyo in with a bedtime story, she asked if they wanted to see her. Kyo's face held still through her well-meaning spiel about how it can 'help with closure before the adoption is finalized,' as if you can speedrun grief if you follow the right steps. He barely reacted. Probably would've said no if that was the end of it.

But then she added one more detail, almost as an afterthought. Something not about grief, or healing, or their feelings at all. Skin-to-skin contact, she said, stabilizes newborns. It regulates their temperature and heart rate, reduces the flood of stress hormones a child experiences after the shock of birth. Makes them feel safe.

At that, Kyo's face fell, and Toshiya knew exactly what thought had hit home: their little girl, brand new to this world and already cold, scared, and alone, denied even that most basic comfort of a parent's touch. A problem that only they could fix.

So, Kyo said okay. And Toshiya's pulse rabbit-kicked with surprise, nerves, joy, panic, all sloshed together. Honestly, he'd planned to do it alone. Sneak off to the nursery, make a memory Kyo would never have to know about. But this, all three of them together, however short, is so much better. And so much worse, too. For one cruel little moment, they're going to be a family.

"You ready to meet her?" he asks now, a little unsure because they both know what he's really asking: are you ready to rip open that wound you've spent months trying to cauterize shut before it ever bled?

Kyo drops his gaze to his hand resting on the blanket, the one with an IV needle taped into the back of it. He gives a vague approximation of a shrug just as a polite knock interrupts. 

There's no time to linger in the uncertainty. The door cracks open and in comes the nurse, pushing a bassinet. Toshiya's stomach clenches. 

He's on his feet before he even thinks to stand. Instantly, his heart flips and twists so fiercely he nearly loses his breath. 

There she is. 

Their baby. Swaddled tight into a burrito of cosmic importance, rocking a sad, lopsided hat that's about four sizes too big. She is so, so small. And no blood test, no DNA analysis could confirm it faster than the gut-level certainty that sucker-punches Toshiya: she's his. Undeniably. If someone lined up a dozen newborns and asked him to pick out his, he'd zero in on this one without a second's hesitation. It's incredible. She's incredible. 

With a monumental effort, Toshiya swallows the lump trying to claw its way up his throat and tears his eyes away from the baby. He watches, instead, Kyo's shell-shocked face as the nurse peels back the swaddle and lifts her from the bassinet. 

Without waiting for directions, and without a whisper of self-consciousness, Kyo unties the sash of his hospital yukata and pulls the fabric open. Months of insecurity about his altered body seem to evaporate in this moment, irrelevant in the face of such an important first meeting. Seeing it guts Toshiya a little. God, he loves this man. And god, he feels like a damn dog for ever letting that same miraculous, life-giving body become fuel for his filthy little brain cinema. He feels unworthy and lucky in the same breath. 

The nurse places the tiny, diapered creature onto Kyo's bare chest, hardly more than a handful of wrinkly limbs, silky tufts of jet-black hair, and a scrunched-up face. A living, breathing secret they made together. Toshiya's heart might just explode; he's never seen anything more precious.

Kyo's hands are shaking badly, but with a little help from the nurse, he folds the yukata back over the baby, covering her from the neck down. He then cups her as if she's spun from the most delicate glass, and she settles with a tiny, snuffling noise, nose rooting for warmth and heartbeat. It's as if her whole body goes, oh, here. I know this sound. 

Kyo rests his head back against the pillows, screws his eyes shut so tightly his whole face contorts, and sucks in a painful, convulsive breath. 

"Take your time," the nurse whispers. 

Toshiya barely registers the door clicking shut behind her. His entire world has shrunk to the devastating rightness of these two together. Sinking back into his seat, he reaches over, brushes a thumb across Kyo's cheek to catch the tear before it can spill all the way down. His heart is wrung out, squeezed dry by a grief and a love so immense they are one and the same.

Kyo doesn't speak, can't speak. Just lets out another gasping breath, and when Toshiya shifts closer, resting his head on the pillow, Kyo leans into him without hesitation, zero bravado left. 

Toshiya doesn't try to make it better. Doesn't say they're doing the right thing, or that it'll get easier, or offer that stupid line about love meaning letting go. He understands, with a profound ache, that what Kyo must be going through is beyond his comprehension. No words are going to fix it.

Gazing down at their daughter's miniature hand, half-curled on Kyo's chest that's heaving erratically with suppressed sobs, Toshiya lets himself wander into a fantasy: an impossible alternate path where they don't say goodbye. Where they keep her while staying in the band, become a real family, and it somehow miraculously works out. 

He sees himself pacing the living room in the dead of night, bouncing their crying baby while Kyo in the kitchen, half-asleep, measures formula. He sees laundry strung up on his balcony, cartoon-printed onesies fluttering in the wind between black band t-shirts and torn jeans. He sees himself pushing a stroller along the sun-dappled Tamagawa Greenway while Kyo fusses with the baby's sun hat.

He sees her a little older, out on a tour with them during her summer break. Sitting on an amp case, swinging her legs, learning how to swear from Die. Shinya painting her nails a tasteful champagne-gold before taking her out for a shopping spree. Kaoru's hands guiding hers on the neck of a guitar as he patiently teaches her the opening riff of Smoke on the Water.

It is so vivid he can almost smell her shampoo, feel her small, sticky hand in his.

Out of nowhere, a laugh rattles up from Toshiya's throat — a wet, choking sort that sounds suspiciously like crying. Hot tears start to prick at his eyes. "Look at us. Complete clichés," he says thickly as he pulls back and twists around to reach for the tissue box on the dresser behind him.

The first blow of his nose is so loud and dramatic it startles their delicate daughter. She jolts, blinks once, and pulls the most offended face he's ever seen on a living thing. Then — oh god — she opens her mouth, draws a breath, and unleashes a wail so shrill it nearly sings their eyebrows. It's clear who she got her pipes from. 

Toshiya freezes, tissue still clutched in his hand, and looks to Kyo, petrified. Wide, red-rimmed, equally stricken eyes meet his. 

And then, for no reason except frayed nerves and exhaustion, laughter erupts between them. A full-on, unhinged, can't-breathe howling. Tears start pouring out of Kyo's eyes again, though whether it's from joy, grief, or the pain of belly-laughing right after having said belly sliced open is anyone's guess. 

Their daughter, however, is having none of it. Apparently not finding the situation remotely funny, she cranks up the volume of her cries, her little face darkening to an alarming shade of plum. Their laughter putters, chokes, and dies. Panic sets in: what do you do with a crying newborn? They weren't supposed to get this far. Weren't supposed to parent her, not even for five minutes.

"Go get someone!" Kyo croaks, clumsily trying to soothe her but clearly in no condition to do anything that requires core muscles.

Toshiya scrambles to his feet, nearly taking himself out on the IV stand on his way to the door. He skids out in his slippers and returns not thirty seconds later, breathless, with a nurse in tow. 

With the mildly patronizing air of someone who has seen generations of useless fathers short-circuit in this exact situation, she takes one look at the scene and gets to work. She scoops the squalling infant from Kyo's chest, expertly re-swaddles her wriggling limbs into a tight bundle, and then pops a pacifier into her furious little mouth, holding it in place. 

A few more scandalized, hiccupy sobs — then silence. Toshiya stares in awe. This woman could've turned water into wine, walked on it, and then parted the whole damn thing on her way out, and he wouldn't be more impressed.

"She's got a strong latch," the nurse observes approvingly while rocking the quieted bundle in the crook of her arm.

Kyo perks up. There's a thin but unmistakable thread of pride in his voice as he informs her, "She was already sucking her thumb in the womb. At seventeen weeks. I saw it on the ultrasound."

"Is that so?" the nurse humors him.

Peace is restored. Toshiya swallows against a dry throat. This is his chance. The moment his whole nervous system has been begging for since the second that bassinet rolled in.

He gestures awkwardly. "Can I—? Could I hold her?" 

The nurse gives him a look, dry and just this side of amused. "It's your child. You don't need my permission." 

Oh. Yeah. Holy shit, it is his child.  

The hand-off is a comedy sketch. It takes a sweat-soaked eternity for Toshiya to stop yipping, "Whoa, okay, wait— okay, now, no, no—" every time the nurse even thinks about letting go. He's convinced he's going to drop her, or that some inexplicable, intrusive impulse will make him launch her across the room. Never in his life has he feared his own limbs so much.

But then, finally, after much patient maneuvering from the nurse and panicked whimpering from Toshiya, she's there. And as her weight settles in his hold, the entire cosmos pauses, processes, and reorients itself around this new center of gravity. 

He stares down at her, knocked flat by the sight of those dark, almond-shaped eyes blinking slowly up at him above the oversized pacifier. That weird, impossible sense of recognition blooms in his chest again, like he's been waiting to meet her his entire life and just forgot until now. Maybe she's thinking the same thing. 

He leans down, lips almost brushing her forehead, and whispers, "I made you."

"Cut the crap, Toshiya," Kyo mutters from the bed. "All you did was have an orgasm."

"The most important orgasm of my life," Toshiya says tenderly. He watches the pacifier bob in her tiny, determined mouth as she sucks on it like she's got a shift to finish and is already behind schedule. His heart can't stop rolling over for her. He'd fight a grizzly bear for this little thing. Eat a raw tomato. Anything.

But before long, his arms start to tremble. He shifts his grip, tries to look thoughtful, like he's just adjusting for her comfort and not because his biceps are on fire. But damn, she's like a little brick. Deceptively dense for someone that size. 

Eventually, he has to admit defeat. "Uh, nurse?" he calls out weakly. "I think… I think she wants you back."

Wrong. The second he hands her off, his sleepy little angel turns back into a shrieking, purple-faced banshee. Toshiya wilts. Great. He broke her, again. 

"She might be hungry," the nurse suggests. 

Okay, maybe not all his fault then.

As their wailing, beet-hued offspring is placed back into the bassinet, Toshiya wipes his palms on his pants, glancing over at the other dad in the room. His heart sinks. Watching Kyo's eyes quietly follow the baby as she disappears out the door, the look of utter pain in his face is impossible to miss.

Something inside Toshiya gives way, then, a tight, angry knot unspooling in his chest. Through the sorrow and pain and helplessness, frustration catches fire.

Is this really it? Is this really how this is going to play out? They just sit here and pretend that this quiet, dignified suffering is noble? That restraint is a virtue? That this is the only way?

Well, how about: fuck that. Fuck nobility. Fuck quiet dignity. And fuck the script they were supposed to follow. He can't do it.

Because this isn't right. 

The alternative, the one that's been quietly percolating like poison in the back of his mind for weeks now, isn't exactly right either. He's well aware of that. It's an irresponsible, definitely-not-his-call-to-make long shot that wasn't ever supposed to see the light of day. A gamble that has the potential to blow up everything good he's just built with Kyo. 

But. But. If it works, it could be a loophole. A third path. A way for her to, not be theirs, but maybe not be completely, irrevocably erased from their lives either. 

And seeing Kyo like this, stitched up, trying so hard to hold it together even when the heartbreak is written all over him, Toshiya knows: he's going to do it. He's going to pull the pin on this grenade. Because if he doesn't at least try, if he just lets this moment, and her, slip away without a fight... then what the hell was any of this for?