The phone rang again and again. Absolutely annoying.
Groggily he opened one eye to stare at the clock. Exactly 10:14am, shining blurry green letters, due to sleep laden sight.
Groaning he sat up and glared at the telephone, but couldn't scare it into stopping it's noise. After some more rings he got up and picked it up.
"Who?"
"Ryutarou, it's Tadashi."
"Why?"
"I know you forgot to set your alarm today, so I called to remind that today is Sweet Trance."
"When?"
"Come on, I know that you know that we all know that it's happening today. We'll meet at 11.30pm. So, please be punctual this one time, okay? No talking to the voice in your cupboard or waiting for the catbus. Wake up, sleepy boy."
"Understood."
"Good, see you later then. Remember to eat something, no whining about an empty stomach."
After that the he heard a soft click.
All his favorite excuses for not driving to Nippon Budoukan were circled out.
[I really liked the one with the catbus.]
And he also had fun talking to the voice in the cupboard, even though it never answered. Sighing the looked around to find his guitar standing next to the exit, so that he wouldn't forget it later.
Everything had been prepared, so had to do nothing but bathe, brush his teeth and shave very carefully, get dressed and end up an Nippon Budokan.
[Always so many annoying people there.]
Much to his distress it happened to be a Saturday.
[I always feel weak on Saturdays.], even though to his mirror he looked quite healthy and even well rested for once, in a less see-through way. More substantial, even a little happy.
[Hey, why that subtle smile?]
Maybe he was just thinking about something pleasant and he hadn't noticed?
[Should keep track of my thoughts.]
After doing what he had outlined to do, bathing, shaving, brushing his teeth with some abandon twice, he moved to his sparse kitchen and made some hot water for tea, while he pondered eating out.
[More cheerful and polite people. So many people!]
He felt some kind of unbidden paranoia stir.
[There will be more people later on the show. I better eat here.]
Pulling out some bread, an apple and yogurt, he began to improvise some kind of breakfast, feeling stuffed afterwards, but that only served to make him tired again. With soft, female voiced whispers, his bed called to him:
"Just for five minutes, come and join me... Enfolded in sweet dreams I will let you sleep with me..."
[Sounds good, but I can't... Tadashi will be very angry.]
"Sorry, I have to go now..."
He stood up, left his apartment to encounter a gray November day in Chiba next to Tokyo, Japan.

Arriving at the Budoukan, he was lead into the impressive building, finally meeting his already present band-mates.
It was exactly 11.37pm when he said: "Hello", in his apathetic way. On a black leather couch were seated two of his band-mates.
The one with the almost white hair was smoking. He liked to smoke, make jokes and being informed about everything. He hated when he had to scold Ryutarou, when it rained while he was without an umbrella and people who only talked about the weather.

The second played on an unplugged guitar, which he loved beyond sense.
He also liked the free food before concerts, drinking afterwards and playing the martyr at funny occasions.

Tadashi, white haired, looked up and grinned: "Almost on time, you're getting there, Ryu-chan. Calling you to get you out of your stupor helps."
Rolling his eyes, Ryutarou found an agreeing Akira grinning at him, showing of some nice teeth.
"What is the schedule?", he asked, painfully neutral, just to pretend he was a stupid little boy, but Tadashi didn't fall for it.
After all, he had been his oldest friend and knew him like no one else did.

So this banter was just part of an old ritual: Ryutarou would behave childishly and Tadashi would ignore his attitude. It had continually worked like that and was unlikely to be changed.
"Sound-check, Make-up...waiting for our turn.... Did I miss anything, Akira?"
A sip from the bottled coffee in front of him, before he answered: "Nope."

Sometimes Ryutarou hated the casual way Akira handled him.
As he just had.
[Don't take me seriously, no no...]
Intentionally he shook the curtain of fine black hair in front of his face, just to bother his band-mates and show them, that he wasn't willing to take such aloof treatment.
[At least I treat you better], he mentally told his guitar and set it on the floor, leaning it to a wall gently.

But both of them already found back into their conversation and paid no attention to a boyish looking young man wearing black leather shorts and somehow malformed platform-boots matching the shorts in their midnight color. Their somehow ugly appearance made him love these particular boots even more, they fitted him more than just in shoe-size.
Loud calls of "Good Morning" made him shy away regard the arrivals with a skeptical eye, even though they turned out to be very old friends indeed.

Listening to the friendly chatter of his band-mates with the two guitarists of La'cryma, he threw in questions like hooks with his soft voice serving as baits in the conversation.
"Why are you all in make-up already?"
"When is rehearsal?"
"Do you still like me?"
They didn't swallow.
"Drinking afterwards?", came from Hiro, hair a black needle-cushion, who looked dark enough to create a black hole just by willing to.
"Your shot?", Koji always tried to get the most out of his friends, making the others laugh with a "he never learns" expression, Ryutarou knew that one because mostly it this distinctive sentiment was directed at him.
He leant to the wall, noticing for the first time that there were Photos taken the whole time, spying on him and the other musicians in some supposed-to-be-more-private moments.
Sighing he searched his pockets for a cigarette, found an almost empty, crumpled pack, fumbling for some fire, which was finally offered to him by Takashi, who had joined the small group.
More people arrived, tall blondish Izam, greeting the lot wit a shy smile and huge sunglasses that did not reveal if that smile was fake.
[Maybe all smiles are fake and it's just his kindness to hide that fact from me.]
On Ryutarou's melancholic face spread a brilliant grin, alarming Tadashi.
"What's up now?", he asked, the maniacal grin on the otherwise unmoved face a little disturbing to the normal mind.
"I don't know. Tell me, please."
The members of Shazna laughed, before AOI leaned down to Ryutarou: "Still trying to stay cryptic?", serving only to make the black head sink down.
"Don't worry, You're still perfect at it."
"When we're through with rehearsal it's your turn, alright?, Koji reminded the members of Shazna, and they nodded, while Hiro spread news of the "drinking session" following the "music session".
Ryutarou felt displaced and ill at ease, but that didn't matter, since he liked to feel this way, setting himself apart from the rest of mankind in his imagination.
He left the happily chatting group, entered the small room reserved for them, where tons of stuff piled for which he couldn't think of any beneficial purpose.
He leaned against a wall and smoked in silence.
[They won't start without me, that is sure.]
"Ryutarou-san?", a soft female voice asked, so he had to turn and face the smaller woman facing him: "About your costume..."
"What about it?"
Had it disappeared? Burnt to a small pile of ashes?
"I can't find it. May it be that you have taken it already?"
A soft shake of his dark head denied that.
[I don't want this to happen. This shouldn't happen.]
"What should we do?", the small women, wearing glasses and a worried expression, asked. Ryutarou wondered if she liked to be submissive, as she was now.
"I wouldn't know. I never do."
He liked to annoy people by being cryptic at times. This was not one of those times.
He pondered where he had last seen it, while he realized the members of La'cryma had gone and Tadashi, Takashi and Akira returned, stragely mischievious smiles on their faces.
He hated them for a long moment, before it grew too fatiguing and he decided to concentrate at the problems at hand.
[What do I do when such problems arise?]
Despair was the easiest answer.
Tadashi was the next.
"Excuse me, Tadashi..." Choosing a more formal way to approach his friend.
"Well, what is it now?" Impatience.
"My costume is not available." Sleepy, laced with fear, stubbornness and dread.
"Maybe you ate it?"
[Thank you for mocking me.]
"Then I wouldn't be hungry now, would I?" Sarcasm, always a handy defense. It sends out needles into soft flesh. Ryutarou liked soft, warm, living flesh.
"I told you to eat something for breakfast, didn't ? And... there will be bentous later, I promise." A firm nod.
"Should I wear rice on stage then?", playing stupid was a hard weapon, it left the other puzzled.
"Ryutarou, please! Stop that right now."
The man in questions felt a bolt hit him; just what his mother had always said... the exact same words.
But other words followed: "Just wear what you're wearing now and you'll be perfectly fine."
"It looks cute enough on you, your fans will be swooning anyway", Akira added, a smirk encouragingly cheering his friend.
"No kidding!" Offering a cigarette to Ryutarou, the topic ended with that.
Mostly talking to an inanimate object was less humiliating, but it never smiled at him like Akira could.
With a thankful smile Ryutarou took the presented smoke and settled on one of those plastic chairs that seemed to be literally scattered everywhere down in the underground of Nippon Budoukan.
More photos were taken, he didn't care.
Him being hungry had been a lie, but it had made a good answer at that time. Now he would stay in this close even all through the concert.
"I'll be all sweaty and very cold afterwards, he mumbled, but the man he talked to was gone. He lowered his black head.
More and more this day more developed into a day on the "should have stayed in bed" side of life.
[The fans would have been disappointed.]
One of the most important thing in his mind were those who adored his band, and even him and the knowledge of how much they were waiting to see them made him somewhat more cheerful.
[Get out of this state of mind, there's nothing wrong here.]
Shrugging he got up and searched for his friends.

After La'cryma had returned from rehearsal and Shazna started theirs.
Enough time to wonder discuss the songs and show, all of Plastic Tree enormously relieved to see that their singer was acting more according to standard human behavior.
In a more peaceful state of mind, they entered the stage for rehearsal, after Cantenine had left. Ryutarou concentrated on singing, playing and finding a way to get into harmony with himself, the music and the others.
[A tiny little bit of medication could help]
Surrounded with a heavenly glow he could imagine the three little pills, stashed away in his kangaroo-pocket in the front, rolled in plastic-foil, secured with a rubber band.
Warm the were, heating him with their presence.
Only three, no time to get more before coming here. However they were accessible when he needed them, he only had to reach inside, draw them out and let them melt on his tongue.
Knowledge was bliss in this case.

The promised bentous were served after they had returned, Tadashi hadn't lied, much to Ruytarou's joy. Suddenly a female voice was getting his attention: "Ryutarou-san!"
Blinking he whispered: "Yes?"
What was it? Death? Destruction? His family had been eaten by an army of escaped fire-ants?
"Look!", the same voice was incredibly cheerful, so things weren't that bad. Much to his puzzlement she held up his missing costume.
Nearly kicking over his bentou, Ryutarou jumped to his feet and studied the black cloth. It was his costume indeed.
"Where did you find it?"
The women grinned and shrugged: "I checked the costumes again while you were rehearsing and it was just there."
Restrained laughter behind him, he turned. All three of his friends were trying hard, pressing their hands to their mouths, giggles in their throats.
"You did it? Why?"
All of them shrugged and continued laughing. With trembling fingers he felt towards the little wrapped-up plastic-foil package. He closed his hand around it and whispered: "Excuse me..."

Three little pills washed down with cool green tea later, he returned to his band.
Everything seemed to take a different rose-colored shade, the voices were warmer, so were the looks. He felt as if a warm golden light was shining from him, shielded, radiating strength and trust in himself and the world.

Dreamily he dressed, sat in front of the mirror, his eyes bright and shining like onyx pearls. Soft hands and tickling brushes applying make-up, styling his hair. Wonderful, glorious, homelike... all his senses heightened and yet like filters only letting in the good feelings and sensations.
The applause was deafening when he and the other three came out onto the stage. Ryutarou smiled like an angel, eyes open and deep, drowning the worries on the liquid depths, while he felt himself falling in love with this creature they all adored so deeply.
He fell in love with a blonde man with many a guitar around his shoulders, he was head over heels for a white-blond guy playing bass and the drummer made his heart go faster, but most of all, he loved every single spirit that was present on this day, in this place.
Dissolving into this being called Ryu, he detached from depression and floated towards music.
Words slipped from his lips so easily.
Time and existence slithered away, as the set was finished and they returned to the dressing room, getting cleaned a little, changing clothes for the grand finale, the session at the end, after Pierrot would have finished their set.
The drugs faded with every heartbeat then, and there were no more in his kangaroo-pocket. Sobering took the colors away, turning the world into a harsh black and white, making very angle sharper, ready to hurt.
He didn't like being wounded, mostly he bled dry.

There just wasn't enough time to feel it, people were around him, readjusting make-up, offering drinks, telling him where to go and what to do, when they would tell him to do it.
All he ever did was nod and mumble some agreement. He wanted to cling to the violent glory of the high just for a few seconds more.
[Stay with me, please. I can't take all this without some filters.]
His blood whispered to him, telling him that there was nothing left, he was all alone.

Without a proper warning, he was told to get back to the stage, sing together with Izam and Kirito, like they had rehearsed the day before.
[Was that ever anything good?]
[Probably not.]
But the session turned out to be much more noise from the hysterical fans than from the multi-colored visual-kei artists.
Burning most in his eyes were Kirito's extremely red hair
[This hurts. He looks unhappy. A lost soul burning...]
and the "Marilyn Manson" T-shirt which Hiro wore.
[I hadn't noticed that it was such an intense green.]
Meanwhile his body decided that he wanted to give in, his knees felt like jelly and his head grew into blinding white pain.
He was going to be sick, he just knew he was.
[Just like I'll always be, all my life. And no one will ever be able to heal me and I'm going to die, showing them that it isn't right to hide your band-mate's clothes.]

When the session and the showers were over, he felt to weak to resist when Tadashi dragged him along some with some other Sweet Trance participants to have a sweet row of alcoholic drinks.
He was content with staring into his drink, offering sarcastic remarks if anyone dared to talk to him.

"Great concert, ne?"
"Yes, indeed. It almost made me want to go amuck."

Are you feeling alright?"
"I certainly do, some poison could only make me feel better."

Everyone was ignoring him wisely and even Tadashi shook his head: "Ryutarou, your tongue is really sharp today. Want to go home?"
"I want to, yes."
"You certainly are the party-animal..." A hopeless smirk and afterwards he found himself in a van, the seats smelling softly of chemicals, so it had to be a new one, on his way home.

As he entered the dark rooms, he was about to scream, jogging into the bathroom, opening all doors of his medical cabinet at once, grabbing a package of pills, and gulped some of them down, how many he didn't care.

"I hate this day!", he growled, more emotions visible in his voice as had been the whole time.
The creature he fell in love with no longer reachable, he had turned into a not too young person with a love for chemicals rushing in his blood and numbing his brain.

No need to pretend anymore.

"I'm back," he told the voice in the cupboard and it still wouldn't answer, so he undressed, slid into a pair of soft pajamas, covering his boyish frame with even more innocence than it was actually fitting for his personality and he slumped on the bed.

For once the pills hadn't been discovered by Tadashi and replaced with placebos, so he fell into a thick slumber while the bed softly sang a lullaby for good children.