NIKA

Love Is Colder Than Ice Cream

"Have you seen Ryutaro?" Tadashi sniffed, having a bad cold. The man at the notebook shrugged and shook his head. "Haven't seen him lately." But he lied. He knew very well where the man was, they were talking about. And he was well aware that Tadashi knew too. The object of their conversation sat curled up under a table. Arms hugging his knees desperately, face hidden between the bony knees, sometimes a dark eye peeked up, plagued with fears so deep, none of the others could fathom them. They just hoped, if they give him the feeling that he is invisible, he will feel safe from whatever is hunting him. Sometimes this strategy helped. Mostly it failed. They simply didn't know what else to do. If their singer wanted not to be seen, then so be it. If he wanted to sit under that table, then so be it. They knew to well, they couldn't reach his common sense momentarily. The man at the notebook sighed. "You look really sick." he commented after a look at their band-leader, his red nose, the dark circles around his eyes and the hollow cheeks. "Thanks." a half smile graced the lips of the sick man. "I'd like to go home, but..." he cast an eye to the table where a certain man battled for his safety with the darkness of his own soul. "Don't worry. I take care of it." Akira immediately regretted saying that. Someone had to stay with him. Normally it would have been Tadashi, staying. Waiting for the return of Ryutarou, their vocalist. from wherever he went to each time. Akira had no idea and he considered it to be better not to go, where Ryutarou went. And he had just volunteered for watching the psycho-kid, against his better knowledge. The truly sick band-leader sighed relieved and patted the guitarist. "Thank you, Akira." Even though the guitarist shrugged he felt not very confident. Tadashi left visibly relieved. Akira just returned to his screen and wondered. /How does he get Ryutarou out of his states? Does he just wait for him to snap out of it?/ He peeked to the younger man , the curled up figure under the table, silent but present. Their eyes met for a second, the haunted deep orbs of the singer make Akira shiver. The attempt of a smile died the instant he had thought of it. Feeling rather strange he turned back to the screen and tried to concentrate. Half an hour passed. Still no change in the ball of misery under the desk, curled up and haunting himself in the twilight and pseudo-shelter provided there. What did Tadashi do? Wait for Ryutarou to snap out of it? Talk to him? Scream at him? He had never asked Tadashi about it since he never had thought he would get in the position to watch over Ryutarou all alone. Takashi and him. They had left all responsibility for Ryutarou to Tadashi. Never wanting to see the dark side of their singer. And he had to admit, he sometimes thinks Ryutarou extremely disturbing and frightening, despite his sweet and harmless appearance. There was a bottomless 'something' behind his sad smiles, eating him up, leaving him frail and hurt. Akira couldn't connect to that. He loved life, easy-going and taking whatever he could get. Making the best out of it, never looking into the abyss lurking there behind the obvious cover-up. You could ignore if you really wanted to. But Ryutarou was like an artist on the high rope, which was his sanity, surrounded by the dark and bottomless pit, that he loved to hate. And was strangely affective towards. He liked to walk through darkness deeper than black with dreamy eyes, a friendly smile and a polite bow. It was not Akira's world. And he most certainly didn't want to be drawn into it. But now and here he was bared to this desperation and senseless self-fights. Like in slow-motion he closed all programs and shut his note-book down. Then he closed it. Was he doing the right thing? What the hell was the right thing for that man under the table anyway? He was sitting under a table for heaven's sake. And who was he? Not even his best friend. Just a friend...at outmost. Hesitantly, plagued with doubts and contradictions he crawled towards the tight ball in his sheltered hiding-place. He kneeled beside the singer and hoped for some kind of inspiration or divine intervention to get the younger man out of this predicament. Ryutarou's eyes shot at him suddenly. Then he frowned slightly. "Death is really gone?" came a hushed voice. Akira backed a little, not knowing what answer was expected. He shrugged helplessly and shook his head then. "He is not?" the small voice was frightened beyond belief. "I thought he went out." "That was Tadashi..." Akira whispered. Ryutarou shook his head desperately. "No it was death. I saw it in his eyes. He was here to get me!" The voice faded into a small cry and the head vanished between the knees again. "He will get me. Catch me! I will be dead!" Akira rolled his eyes. "No you won't. You will be perfectly okay." "You lie." The voice coming from the ball was almost cold and analysing. A tense tranquillity spread from the singer seeping into Akira, making him uneasy. He felt spoilt, as getting sick slowly. He cleared his throat. "...Maybe we should go home, Ryutarou-kun... it's late..." A endless vast silence, making the desert seeming a comforting alternative was building up. Like a pall around them, fixing them into their roles and positions. Like setting up a stage for a silly senseless and mean comedy. But then it seemed to erase their identity, leaving them like blank papers in the verge of the moment. Suddenly Akira felt like crying since he had lost himself for a split second. "Who may you be?" came the polite question from curious lips, the face no longer buried. The guitarist eyes closed exhausted and full of despair. He couldn't deal with this. This was too much for him. He really admired Tadashi for his patience and indulgence now. Both were not counted among his most outstanding features. "You are pretty." The innocent boyish voice continued. Akira was torn between embarrassment and being fed up. "Am not." He retorted almost automatically with an aggressive undertone. "But death will get you too..." the dreamy voice let Goosebumps run up and down his spine. "It will turn your lovely skin into a puddle of rotting protein....Sad, isn't it?" The gaze of the singer was sad and dreamy, giving him an innocent look. Almost like an epiphany. Akira frowned. What should he do? He was so damned helpless. And he didn't like the thought of his skin rotting. And the idea of his own death was normally the farthest thing from his mind. He was alive. He was here, maybe acting like a fool. But he was living a life. Not sitting under a table and thinking his oldest and best friend was death. "But you don't have to be afraid." The made him nearly jump out of his skin. " Death will love you so dearly. He will be gentle with you..." Akira snorted, feeling the urge to choke that voice out of the throat of that guy before him. "Stop that!" he groaned frantic. The grip around the knees loosened up a bit. A smile to make the angels sing appeared, making Akira turn his eyes to the floor, because he couldn't take the promise made with it. The singer began to hum a sweet melody, lulling and hypnotising, the voice so clear and high... Like water cleansing the dirt off him with a steady gentle flow. He backed away from the figure before him He didn't need this. Wasn't there a way to make Ryutarou stop this for sure? Crawling away from the scary spaced-out singer, Akira manged to get a grip on himself. What was there to do? Tranqulizers? Haldol? That seemed like a brilliant idea, drugs of some kind. Pills. Anti-psychotics of any kind. Were there any without prescription? Wasn't Ryutarou the one nuts about pills? Maybe he had something to take against pychotic states and...whatever he was doing there. Akira scanned the room, looking out for Ryutarou's stuff. A bag, maybe or a jacket. He found a black jacket, searching through the pockets hoping for something to help him. And Ryutarou. There was nothing to be found. Nervously Akira rubbed over his eyes and tried to confront himself with his current situation. He was in charge of taking care for that man under that table. Yet he scared him like death himself even couldn't. "What are you looking for?" Akira froze when the well-known voice hit his ears. "Ryutarou-kun...are you..feeling...better?" he finally said in a flat tone. "Uh? Better?" Akira faced the singer at last. Big surprised eyes greeted him and a slight sweet smile, asking questions. "Right...." Ryutarou shrugged a little. "Don't know." Then he sighed. "What were you looking for?" Akira bit his lower lip. "I..." Should he say the truth? Just a few pills to make you normal. Easier to handle. Less scary. More in the way he liked people. "...was...searching for some cigarettes." Ryutarou giggled and pointed to a pack of cigarettes on the table. "There they are. Help yourself." Nervously Akira grabbed a cigarette. Was Ryutarou seeing right through his pathetic being? Did he have to smile this knowing and amused? With unsteady hands he lit the end of the cigarette under the steady gaze of two clear eyes. Silence took hold of time and made it into something palpable and heavy. The serene singer made no attempt to say something or move the least. He was like an expensive Japanese doll, so pretty and as unreal, Akira had some doubts that there was warm blood in Ryutarou's veins, seeing him so statuesque. But he surely blinked every now and then, didn't he? Akira gulped, finishing his cigarette in a haste. "Maybe it is time to go home..." Akira finally mumbled. He faked a smile at Ryutarou and packed hi things, namely his notebook and his jacket. Ryutarou seemed rather uninterested in Akira's actions, remaining unmoved, but keeping a dreamy gaze on the guitarist. What the hell is he doing? Stop that, sicko. It makes me feel like being made out of glass. Akira felt himself becoming clumsy under the steady stare. His palms were slightly damp and he bit his lower lip a few time trying to regain some countenance. "Yeah, it is time. Come on Ryutarou-kun. I'll drive you home." Akira offered a more real smile and nodded a little waiting for any reaction from the singer. When he looked at the boyish face he suddenly felt like his knees were knocked away from under him. He stumbled a little, Ryutarou was beside him in a flash. "What the hell...?" he cursed, feeling Ryutarou helping him keeping upright. It was over as soon as it had happened. He looked into the face of the singer. The face was slightly concerned and the eyes soft like velvet. Inviting to get a good days rest in them, stretching on the enfolding depth. Enough of that. "Thanks." He managed, feeling weak and angry about his weakness. Then he tore away from Ryutarou's gentle hands and stomped towards the door. Don't dare touch me again, weirdo... The fingerprints of Ryutarou's touch burnt like fire, even through the thick fabric of his shirt. He tried to ignore it. "We really should be going home." Akira mumbled. "I can't. I'm sorry." The vocalist steady voice made Akira nervous. The singer looked rightfully seriously. "Come on Ryutarou-kun, stop kidding. Practice is long over and I'm tired. Let's just leave." "I'm really very sorry." Akira finally felt his last crumb of patience fade away. "Why do have to be like this?" he asked bluntly, facing the younger man with a great amount of anger. The dark eyes returned his gaze with shyness. The hands made an excusing gesture. "It is not my fault, really. You made me what I am." Akira snorted out loudly. "I never made you into anything." "But you created me. I am here for you. Just for you." The voice was quiet and exceedingly gentle. Akira felt sudden tears stinging in his eyes. . Again. Angrily he wiped at them Why exactly was he crying? 'Just for you...' The man was crazy... truly insane. Akira blinked away the tears. Why did those words echo in his heart? Like a promise, a fairy-tale...or a lover's oath. "You are probably worn out, Ryutarou-kun. Damn. Don't say things like that." "You asked me." This pliant, haunting voice. He was scared again. Maybe he was going mad, not Ryutarou. That was it. He was going mad ands everything would be okay. They could share the spot under the table and follow scary ideas and making themselves afraid of life, love and their hearts. He was afraid of that, he had to admit to himself. Ryutarou evoked the strangest feelings in him. Most of them violently unpleasant and unwished for. Maybe he should try some of Ryutarou's beloved pills for once and get some peace. Drifting off to some warm nirvana, where nothing mattered and no fear could ever disturb him Hell, he was perfectly happy with his life, as long as Ryutarou stayed out of it. Pill-addicted creepy thing, that Ryutarou. He felt like tearing this soft and angel-like smile off the lovely face. Stop scaring me! But he knew Ryutarou would never stop. Why was he so touchy tonight? Strange wasn't it? Like waiting for something to reveal itself. Like a bow waiting to release it's arrow. He had been with Ryutarou before, alone also. Never had it been this unnerving. He went for the door, opening it. But the handle didn't move. He tried again. Still nothing. "Something's wrong with the door." Akira growled angrily. "No. Actually nothing's wrong with the door." Not? He couldn't open it. Why? "How do you know?" Ryutarou shrugged. "So you don't know!" "It is not time yet." Akira sighed to restrain himself from just killing that crazy band-member of his. Just break his slender neck. "You kill me, Ryu-kun." He mentioned sarcastically, still pulling the door. Maybe someone locked it without knowing they were still in here? Maybe this meant he had to stay with this dangerous creature for some time longer? The whole night maybe? No way. "Oh no..." he mumbled aloud and hit his palm against his forehead, feeling about to explode and dangerously light-headed. He went for his mobile. There had to be someone who could open the damn door. But every number he tried was either busy or unavailable. He had to be under a curse tonight. He was horrified deeply when he heard a very soft chuckle from the vocalist. Almost as if he had said something terribly funny but only Ryutarou could understand it. "What?" he barked, ready to strangle that man for real. "I am not killing you, Akira, it is not me. It is you yourself. I would only like to kiss you." Akira opened his mouth, closed it only to open it again. Yet no words fitting his emotion were to be found, he seemed a little like a fish out of the essential water. He was robbed of his basic self-confidence, seeing the soft and serious face of the singer, looking right into his eyes. Kiss me? What do you mean? "You fag!" he finally urged out, insecure and like a weak defence. Maybe protecting himself from considering? "I absolutely don't want you to touch me, much less kiss me! Do you understand?!" He shot a deadly glance at the fair impassive face. "Never! Never ever!" He repeated that a few times, over and over, but seemingly it didn't impress Ryutarou much. He studied the flustered guitarist and remained calm, serene and full of appreciation. Akira rattled at the door. Still nothing. Another sweep of weakness forced him to his knees, his head spinning. He panted and grabbed his head, hearing the soft footsteps nearing him and a soft voice next to him. "Here let me help you." Well-known hands gave him help in standing up. Akira tumbled away from the vocalist and against a table, just trying to get away from this creep. He was confused and the floor had a life of it's own. He tried to get a hold on the table but missed it, falling to the floor again. Ryutarou was with him, helping him up, leaving him no choice than to accept the help from this grotesque creature. He collapsed into Ryutarous supporting arms. "What..." he breathed heavily "What's going on?" "I think you actually don't want to know." Ryutarou stated, his voice a little unsure and questioning. "You can bet your ass on it. I want to know." Akira growled, after been seated back on the chair, where he had typed on his notebook. Ryutarou seemed very sad suddenly, glancing to his hideout under the table. "You must learn the truth, because it can't be denied." He mumbled, just above his breath, his fingers caressing Akira's blond straight hair. His touch soothing and so essential, that Akira forgot his grudge and leant into the comforting caress. "Ryu..." he began, but his voice trailed off, when he felt tired like death suddenly. Ryutarou leant down to him, smiling at him so freely, Akira felt his mouth go dry. "Akira-kun, please remember that Ryutarou loves you, always. You don't have to be afraid. You don't have to be scared, because it will be alright. Just a little longer." He gave the callused hand of the guitarist a little squeeze, his touch warm and comforting. "Please stop..." Akira mumbled. "Don't tease me." Too weak to be angry. Or shocked. Just don't say things like that. You don't love me. You are afraid of everything. Love too. Just a silly mislead fancy, probably. Don't say you love me, because you don't. Remembering meeting Tadashi and Ryutarou for the first time. Tadashi being all over self-confident, smiling, cracking a few jokes to lighten up the awkward situation of the tryouts for the position of guitarist. Akira grew to accept him within moments. And he was really delighted, when he was chosen. Beside Tadashi was the shy Ryutarou, face hidden a thick curtain of long shiny black hair, shooting a timid glance at him, every now and then. The first time he heard him speak, he spontaneously had thought, Ryutarou was unfitting for the position as outstanding as being singer. But he gained confidence when he saw the younger man getting into the music, loosing his shyness and awkwardness. But he never gained too much trust in Ryutarou. Then he came to know Ryutarou's personal disorders and complexes. He talked about it openly, much to Akira's discomfort. He didn't want to touch on such a world. He was far from depression, paranoia and self-hate, and he had always wanted it to stay like that. Save. Protected. Avoiding coming too close to that sick young man. But Ryutarou had called him a friend many times. Friends would look out for each other. Friends aren't afraid of each other. And now...? The singer had even said he loved him. Poor Ryutarou, with a torn heart and a fragile soul. "I'm sorry for calling you a fag." "It's alright. I knew you didn't mean it. You were just shocked and didn't expect it. But you know...I know you quite well." The voice was still gentle, but there was more to it. Such a overwhelming surge, drawing Akira into a deep well of black nothingness. He returned when he felt a soft hand on his upper arm. "Akira-kun?" He twitched under the sweet touch, backing away on his chair, as far as possible. "I'm gonna tell you now. If you really want to know, that is." Ryutarou said easily, but with a tinge of sadness. Akira nodded. He felt unsure if he did the right thing, if knowing would do him any good. But he had to know, didn't he? Keeping to reality, not ever striving away from it. "I know you feel strange. And you have every right to feel like that." Ryutarou assured him. Akira was surprised. Assuring was not like Ryutarou at all. "And I'm afraid there is no way that I can lift your worries." the singer mumbled full of pity and sorrow. Akira bit his lower lip. "What do you mean?" "I mean..." Suddenly Ryutarou's arms were around him and the delicate fragrance of the singer enfolded him like velvet. "I'm so sorry. Deeply sorry." The clear and sorrowful voice made the Goosebumps reappear. There is something horribly wrong here. I want to go home. Just away from here and him. Let him be crazy or in love with me or anything. I cannot stand this. "Stop it!" Akira found his strength again, after being in Ryutarou's arms as lifeless as a corpse. "Tell me what's up, right now." Ryutarou let go of him and sighed deeply. "Do you remember what I told you under that table?" Akira gulped. Of course. It hadn't been exactly very pleasing and friendly. Tadashi as death. Being told, that death would love him. These things that Ryutarou had said, they had scared him and made him angry. Very angry. And making him slowly letting go of control now. "It was all part of your made up scenario, until I saw how pretty you are." "Made up.... " Akira tried to comprehend the word 'made up'. It sounded too much like insanity. "Made up scenario?" He whispered out of breath, rapidly growing cold and paralysed. "Uh-huh." "W-w-what?" The guitarist felt like he wanted to hear no more. No more. Truth be banned? He wouldn't flee from the truth now, would he? "What made up scenario?" "Please try to remember this evening." "This evening? Tadashi was sick, he left and we stayed behind." You were freaked out... he added mentally. "Please try to remember what really happened." Akira felt his consciousness slip into a grey mush. Everything seemed unreal, never ever happened. He could remember clearly, couldn't he? The way Tadashi had looked like hell, the tiny ball of a vocalist under the table, far from the real world. The feelings, fragrances and impressions, they all were clear to him, real and absolutely trustworthy. They were simply real. Here he was. He could feel the chair under him. The cool air against his face, lips and neck. The low breaths emitting from his lungs. The presence of the dark haired singer just there before him, staring at him so strangely, full of pity and emotion. That was real. Reality. He could touch it, smell it and change it at his own will. It was his to determine and to live. "You really look sick..." he heard a soft voice, echoing from inside his head. But it was not his voice this time. It was someone else. Tadashi? It was clearly Tadashi's deep gentle concerned voice. Talking to him? Telling him he was sick? Why? He hadn't been sick, had he? Had he? The dazed feeling of fever appeared in the back of his head. How he had perceived his flushed and hot cheeks. No... NO!!! No no no! Disoriented he looked at his vocalist. "What does it all mean?" "It means...that I fell in love with you." "Argh! Enough of that!" Akira shouted, pressing his hands against his ears. Ryutarou sighed deeply. Akira stood up, rushed to the scared looking vocalist and yelled "Tell me! Tell me straight! No hiding and excuses!" He grabbed the white shirt of the fragile singer, pulling him to his body, glaring at him with all his might. The singer closed his eyes and his lips suddenly formed a thin line. Then he looked straight into the angrily slimmed eyes. After a while he nodded almost like a puppet. He said in a sad and hushed little voice, hitting Akira's ears like bullets, despite their softness. "Tadashi never was sick. He never left this room in reality. It was you. You were ill. You insisted on leaving on your own." Akira let go of Ryutarou almost automatically, like a robot. He fell to his knees in one soft, lifeless motion. "You really look sick. Better go home and take it easy." That was Tadashi's voice. Ryutarou was under the table alright. Afraid, paranoid...pretty as hell. Feverishly he had looked at his esteemed band-leader, blinking. "Maybe you're right, Tadashi..." "Shall I take you?" the white-blond man offered friendly, a smile, a sign of will to help gracing his lips. Akira had mirrored it, declining. "What does that mean? What?!?" Akira curled into a ball, his head between his knees. "I am not ill now, am I? Why am I still here in this room then?" He wanted to remember no more. He whimpered. For the first time in his life he was afraid of the whole reality. He didn't want to hear or see or taste it any longer. He didn't want to be exposed to it. Seeking for shelter between his knees, he couldn't escape the beautiful cruel voice of the other man. "You are not here, neither am I." Ryutarou explained softly, like it was a plainly obvious matter of fact. "This is no palpable place, just a temporary state of your consciousness." Akira screamed at the top of his lungs "SHUT UP!" Then he repeated softly over and over: "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up...." his voice getting lower and lower, fading into a cracked whisper. "You cannot stay here forever. But as long as you do, I will be here with you." This soft, soothing promise terrified Akira beyond words, leaving him wrecked and helpless. Then footsteps closed up to the shaking guitarist. And it had to be Ryutarou, hadn't it? He inched away from the vocalist, feeling shame even for acting like a coward. Ryutarou was much weaker than he was. But he sure knew how to scare you. And he was scared, terrified. His resistances fading away to reveal something, but he struggled to retain them. He had to stay strong and endure. This couldn't last forever. It would end. And everything would return to normal. He would be his own self again not so much like... like... like Ryutarou. How much he was like that paranoid singer now. Pathetic. But he couldn't help it. From his inside rolled a wave of nausea and weakness only to crush over him, making him sob in desperation. "Stop this!" he pleaded in whispers. "Please, please. Stop this." A comforting touch made him aware that he was still curled up. "We can stop this. It is time anyway. Will you really be strong enough? We could stay here until time is up, you know." He lifted his head to look weakly at the composed face of the singer. "Time is up?" he asked in a broken voice. "Uh-huh." "And now?" there was a little bit of hope shining in his voice. "Am I going to see what's going on?" "Uh-huh." Ryutarou squeezed the hand of the guitarist sympathetically and began to smile sadly. "You left the room, this room, remember? Going out into the chilly night air? You slopped into your car, turning on the heater. Had another cigarette while the car warmed up a little. Coughing all the time." Akira saw himself in the dark ally, the lights of the shops painting the steam on the windows in bright colours. He felt the hard coughing in his chest. The cramps of gasping for air afterwards. He knew very well, he shouldn't smoke while having a cold, but it distracted him from the constant shaking of his body, because of the raising fever. His the expression on his face turned into wonder. Why? Why hadn't he just gone back and let Tadashi bring him home? Ryutarou. Tadashi had to look out for Ryutarou. He let his head fall back, string at the ceiling which was slowly fading away, melting. He looked to the side, and found the rest of the room was becoming washed out too. Like it made out of fog, clearing up under the cruel rays of sunshine. "What's going on now?" he asked, his voice bare of any hearable emotion. The touch of the singer was still there. Suddenly he was thankful for the frail creature being there in this strange situation. "It's getting clearer for you now, isn't it?" the soft voice asked. "No. Not really." Suddenly strange noises were to be heard. High-pitched beeping, regular lower tones. Alarms. Like an army of mobile phones going mad, hitting his ears with threefold impact after the stillness of the room. Panicking a little he looked around, the walls still blurring the sight of what lay behind them. Voices were also there. Orders were barked and followed. Smells invaded him. They were connected to a feeling of repulse. Unwanted. "What is this?" "Just try to remember. It will come to you." In the warm car. Feeling sick and a little alone. He hated being ill. It made you weak and open for strange impressions and weird feelings. Beside the dull feeling he was having anyway, much like being wrapped up in cotton. Starting the motor, soft vibrations running through the car, the picture of his bed at home making him long for it. Just get there and it will be okay. He pulled his car out of the parking lot, entering the traffic on the dark streets, between the many lights and the many people being tired just like him. Snow began to fall, white points, glowing in his headlights. Hypnotising. Little snowflakes. Dancing, whirling in the strong wind. The coldest winter in Tokyo in 13 years. Hadn't Ryutarou said, this was a temporary thing? Then there was a little hope, wasn't there? This would come to an end. If only the walls would clear up. "Ryu..." he began, when the smells suddenly were dulling his senses. His whole body seemed to be covered with them. Making him shiver and struggling against them. "Please..." he whimpered. "I'll do anything. But please. Please..." He wasn't sure what he was pleading for. He stood up and without thinking he leaned his forehead against Ryutarou's chest. "Please." He repeated. Ryutarou simply had to understand. He would make everything good and simple. Ryutarou would? Could he? Akira suddenly believed that from the deepest fountain of his heart. He smelled so perfectly good, making him forget the horror inside him. It was right this way, somehow. Or at least it wouldn't get any worse. Ryutarou could hold him tight and together. All he needed now was right here. Within his grasp. All he had to do was reach out. The noises were getting clearer. Lights intruded his sight and confused him so much that he lifted his head from the safeness at Ryutarou's chest. He couldn't really understand what he was seeing. People, many of them, running around them in a hurry. His sight was blurry. But no longer were there fake walls. His sight was blurred with blinding tears. Weakly he held on to Ryutarou, who was gathering him against his chest, comforting, so soft and frail. "What...?" escaped his lips in a frightned whisper. Like a stab in the head memories pained him. So many blinding lights, coming towards him. The dancing, whirling snow-flakes, small and yet so very pretty. The general tiredness and the burning fever, surging in him like liquid lava. A growing desire to close the burning eyes, let everything pass by. His eyes shot open. You shouldn't close your eyes in moments like those. Event when the desire to do so became indeniable and pressing. People were around him, a crowded corridor. The only pool of calmness was the patient man by his side, the man he hadn't even trusted too much before. "Where are we?" "Where you are." came the senseless but sincere answer. The confused look was enough to make the lips of the dark haired man smile. "Look over there." Akira turned around and finally realised the oddness was blown away, as if a strong wind had cleared his thoughts. There he was. Bruised body bathed in neon-light and pain. It hurt him to see himself there. He screamed at the top of his lungs "NO!" Lights, so many lights. Snow. You really shouldn't close your eyes while driving a car. You REALLY shouldn't. Don't. Screeching tires, totally non-musical. An impact. Inability to see...just feelings within the shortest unit of time. What...? An accident? Confusion. Another impact. Scarlet pain. Unbearable, unliveable. A door opening. Upon entering, nothing. No pain. Just him and Tadashi and Ryutarou. Saved. "No...no." Akira cried hopeless tears. He saw blonde hair, his piercings, covered with dry blood. Gauze above his right eye. Blonde? Right, he had given up on the red hair... Sometimes he himself was confused when he looked into a mirror. The red-haired picture was stuck with him. Then he would smile. But not now. He felt his fists tighten, standing before himself. His broken shell lying there, so helpless. Someone had cut off his pants. He was naked. The tattoo on his chest made a harsh contrast to his rapidly pale skin and the only part of his body unbruised and not covered in blood or gauze. Now he noticed the people around his bed. Injecting things inside his veins, giving blood, taking some, talking in strange abbreviations and numbers. "Hematocrit down to 13!" (*) "Another type 0 transfusion." Akira turned to the pitiful face of the singer. He could sense the nervousness and stress in the medical team. Calmness washed over him. Suddenly it was very clear. None the less he had to gather all his courage to ask: "Am I...dying?" "Uh-huh." "Now?" "Uh-huh." "The whole time?" "Yes. The whole time." The answer was very soft, almost like a whisper. Akira couldn't tear his stare from the people trying to safe his life, while he was watching it, totally detached. He couldn't even cry anymore. Somewhere deep he had known, hadn't he? He still felt the presence of the man with the pretty face beside him. He felt the comforting scents tickling his nose. Everything of his 'temporary state of mind" had vanished, except him and....whoever that person was. "Why are you still here? You are not Ryutarou, are you?" Ryutarou shrugged his shoulders. "I am. And I am not." "Speak clearly, dammit! I'm gonna die! Are you making fun of me?!" "I'm sorry." the soft voice was sad and the eyes were glued to the white ground. "You created me this way." He cupped Akira's face within his long fingered hands and smiled so sweetly that it almost hurt the dying man to look at him. "I am your death." The touch was not cold or frightening. Akira didn't even realise it. He blinked slowly, trying to focus on something. "It really suits you..." he whispered, sad and bitter. "You created my form, when you realised you were dying and escaped into the state between life and death. You choose this body, face, voice, scent and...even the way I act." Tenderness radiated from the man, who claimed to be his death. Akira couldn't say anything. He remained stiff and seemed not willing to hear any of this, yet like he was forcing himself to. "There are only two ways to leave this state, either you can go alone, this way you will live. And if not...we will both go." "And that will mean...I am dead?" the cracked voice barely escaped his throat. "Un." A short silence. The magic voice spoke again, haunted. "And me too." Akira could hear no more. He tore away from beautiful death, running out on the corridor. Why? How can I die now? I don't want to! Don't.Want.To.Die! Sobs were to be heard. He knew the voice by hard. Ryutarou? He could see him. Tadashi too, cradling the younger man in his arms, crying himself. Takashi was hitting the wall behind a soft-drink automate. "Akira!" he hissed. Grief swept Akira off his feet and let him sink on his knees. He sensed emotions, touching him like the warm breeze of a summer day. Sorrow most. But faint traces of anger, stress and...guilt. "If only I had insisted on driving him home..." Tadashi mumbled, his voice hoarse, excusing and accusing at once. Ryutarou shook his dark head. "He just knew you had to take care of me...." dried his eyes. "I should be in his place. It is my fault. Everything ever is my fault." The self-disgust was almost visible in his remark. Takashi hit the wall once again. Then the drummer turned. "I'm going to call his parents again..." in a strangely weak way, contrasting to the hart hits aimed at the wall. Akira felt his eyes watering again. His parents... so many memories and so much love. His heart was breaking into little pieces. He was causing so much hurt to the people whom he had never wanted to cause any pain in his entire life. I simply cannot die now. I can't. NO way!! So much more to do. So much to say. Takashi rushed past him, leaving the waiting-room. Akira just sat there, all energy finally wasted and heard the voices of the two remaining men. "It wasn't your fault, Tarou-chan. It wasn't." Tadashi tried to clam the man in his arms. Ryutarou closed his eyes. "It was. I know it. Now, Akira is dying because of me. Real death." A pause. Ryutarou's was breath was full of yet unshed tears. "He will be gone because of me!" He finally said hard and bitter. "Maybe I should kill myself before I can do more harm." Those words hit Akira's ears. No. NO! "No Ryutarou!" he shouted, although Ryutarou couldn't hear him. "Don't!" "Don't Ryutarou!" he heard Tadashi mumble almost at the same time "It wouldn't help anything. Akira wouldn't want you to die." The band-leader hugged the younger man tighter and Akira could taste fear in the air. Tadashi was afraid that his friend could really take his life. "Akira..." Ryutarou sobbed again. "Why? Why him?" The lose hand clenched into a fist, while the eyes pressed together and new tears fell, darkening Tadashi's shirt. "I love him..." Ryutarou whined with a high pitched voice, nearing a mental break-down. "Shhht...me too." Tadashi tried to reassure his friend a little. "I don't want him to die either. They doing everything humanly possible to save him. We have to wait and hope for the best." The ever optimistic man sighed, giving reassurance, he himself couldn't even feel. Ryutarou cried in silence and couldn't stop his tears, just gripping tightly onto the poor bassist. "If only I could see him. Akira..." the guitarist heard the leader mumble "You aren't really dying, are you?" Akira's tears started again. I want to come back to you. I want to! "Akira-kun?" He knew the voice, but it was not really the pill-addicted sweet creature, he knew as Ryutarou. Just his distorted incarnation as death. The irresistible death-as-Ryutarou kneeled beside him and an arm sneaked around his shoulders. "I'm terribly sorry, but..." the black-haired illusion dropped his eyes shyly. Almost like Ryutarou. "You're are getting weaker. Your kidneys are generally failing. Your liver too. Time is running out now... " The thing paused. "Will you let me kiss you?" The question was sincere and very pleading. Akira's mind blanked out. He blanked out. Better being deaf, blind and_dead_ than hearing, you were about to die from death himself. "I hate you!" he growled dangerously in the back of his throat "Beat it! Don't come near me! I'm not gonna die, understand?!" "But you will. They are about to start CPR any moment. Your heartbeat is getting irregular. The oxygen concentration in your blood is constantly falling." He didn't know if one could kill death, but he jumped at the black-haired man and hit him hard and precisely on the chin. "Let me go back!" With ease death caught his wrists and held them firmly, giving him another very sad smile. "I can't. I'm not the one who can do that. I cannot do miracles or revive you. I'm here to take you. That's all I am able to do. I would if I could." He let go of Akira's wrists. "I love you, you know. It's clear as daylight that you are so lovely and full of life, attracting death like light does a moth." Akira bit his lips, anger, desperation and disbelief fighting in him. He looked to his band-mates, Takashi coming back. "They are coming to Tokyo." he informed the two others. Tadashi nodding in acknowledgement, Ryutarou just continuing to stare blankly while tears still rolled down his cheeks. My parents. He turned to death "Will I have the chance to see them?" The lovely man shook his head very slowly. Takashi sat down next to Tadashi and hid grief as deep as possible. Akira could feel it still. Their feelings were floating inside of him, as if a dam had broken, making him permeable for them. His physical body was dying, but this body was strengthened. All the love, friendship, memories of him and them were in him, filling him up with a white light, until he glowed. Concerts, jokes, disputes. Interviews, smiles. Closeness. Loneliness. Awkwardness. He also sensed his family. Their pride in him and deep loss. Deep felt love and fondness. Then there was endless trust and a bright flame. Ryutarou. It was overwhelming and for the first time in his life he was complete. Tears dried because they couldn't express the beauty he was experiencing. He stood up and closed up to them. "I will miss you. Live on for me." He thought about his life. It had been filled. Sex, love. Some kind of fame. And his friends and family. A melancholic smile spread on his lips. "Especially you, my Ryutarou." He reached out to stroke the silky-looking black hair, even when it would prove futile. He looked so sweet. The black head shot up, frantically. "A- Akira?" the singer called out loudly. "Shhh...calm down, Tarou-chan." Tadashi tired to soothe him. Ryutarou looked around, wide eyed. "He's here! I swear he's here! I felt his touch." Tadashi and Takashi looked at each other, worried. "He can't be here, Tarou-chan. He's over there on a bed." Tadashi explained patiently, while pain filled his eyes. "He's here." The singer said as-a-matter-of-factly. "For sure!" Tadashi felt goosebumps running up his spine. Ryutarou stood up and felt through the air. Takashi couldn't bear it. He hid his face in his hands and sobbed for the first time. "Stop it.." he cried. "Stop that!" "My poor Ryutarou." Akira looked at the younger man, feeling helpless and wanting to reach out to him. Then he got a grip on himself. "Live on, live! Don't talk to the dead." He told the singer right into the face. "Do what I can't do any longer!" Ryutarou halted. He heard the voice of Akira in his head, far away like a whisper from another time. The full lips dropped open, shaking. After a short while Ryutarou closed his mouth, then gave a firm nod. He whispered a very soft "I love you so very much." Then he turned and kneeled beside Takashi "I'm sorry. I don't know, what's got into me. Are you okay, Takashi-kun?" Enclosing the drummer in his arms. "He heard me?" Akira dropped his head and smiled like sunshine on a puddle. Far away he heard more panic. They probably found out my heart is stopping. I don't feel anything about that anymore. "What will happen to them?" he asked his personal death, who shrugged. "I'm just death. Not a fortune-teller." "It really suits Ryutarou being death." he said to death in Ryutarou-form. The reality was washed away, only to reveal that they were back in the room, where he had fled to, from pain and existence. He looked at the gracious face of his companion. "I can accept you now." he just said. Arms crept around him and held him safely. Then he heard a solid single lasting tone of a null-line. "Is that mine?" "Un." "They've given up?" "Un." He felt strangely peaceful. Anger and hate had simply vanished. Leaving him here in the arms of death with the lovely face. "Will our kiss mean the end of this?" "If you want to." Akira contemplated that a short second. "It would be a fitting end." He leaned forward an let his head rest on the small shoulder, inhaling the pacifying scent. I don't breathe nor smell nor hear anymore. How can that be? "In your head there are some possibilities left." Death said in a flat voice. "What's wrong?" "I'm dying." Akira faced his personal death, lips close to the ones of the man who had been there to end his life. Darkness was closing up on him. Extinguishing the room, the light and death. "Still wanna kiss me?" "I would die for it." came the curt reply. Both of them smiled in unison. "Me too." Their lips met between light and darkness, rejoicing, leaving nothing but the sorrow for the living. ~end~ (*Hematocrit is the proportion of blood-cells to the blood-fluid)

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