Hazuki isn't particularly noteworthy at sixteen years old, slouching in his desk throughout chemistry, lunch, Japanese. Tries to do his best even when his teachers strive to drag him down, and his mother comes to his defense on more than one occasion, whether for the length of his hair or his habits at lunch. He gets his determination from her, and he loves her fiercely for it. She helps pay for his first bass, and for the concert tickets he receives for not one but both Luna Sea concerts at the Rainbow Hall in nearby Nagoya. It's his birthday present, delayed for months at his insistence, and his grandparents chipped in too. They wave as he makes his way to the station, all nervous excitement as he takes the train into town that Wednesday after class.
The hall is large and round with a ring of windows halfway up, and as he steps through its doors the ceiling circles overhead like a space ship. It's huge, and his spot for this first show isn't great but it isn't terrible either—he's tall enough to see over most of the people in his way, and it comes as a relief to him. When the band finally starts to play he yells himself hoarse, and his fingers move along with the bass chords even as he's jumping to the music. His ears are still buzzing as he files out with the crowd after the second encore finishes, and he lingers outside a nearby Lawson in hopes of seeing one of the band members. It's wishful thinking, of course, and in the end he gives up and ducks into the store, buying a drink for the ride home.
Hazuki spends the next day thinking back to the concert, and wondering what changes to the set list they might make for tonight. He's twitchy, all anxious energy, and more than once someone snaps at him to stop tapping his desk with his pencil. When he returns to the Rainbow Hall that evening he's dressed a little nicer, with a leather jacket and black jeans that cling to his long, gangling legs. He combs his hair back but it's working free of the product not long after the concert begins, head bobbing enthusiastically during the harder songs he loves the most.
When he exits the concert hall that evening he shivers as his sweat dries in the chill October air, and he shrugs his jacket back on before making his way down the street. He stops at the Lawson again for another drink before making his way back to the station—but then he hesitates, and he turns down a different street and heads beneath an overpass. He's antsy, and the thought of sitting still on a train for nearly an hour gives him a trapped, almost claustrophobic feeling. Cars rush up above him and his surroundings are swallowed up by shadows as he walks beneath it, and faintly he can make out the silhouette of another person, leaning against the wall near the other side of the bridge.
He doesn't expect to recognize the figure coming into focus, but J's still wearing the same black crew-neck he wore onstage, soaked through with sweat and covered by an unzipped windbreaker, and Hazuki goes stock-still when he notices him. Something like a flight or fight response kicks in then, and for a long moment he goes still, wondering if he should turn around and hurry back to the train station. But then he notices the lighter in the other man's hand, sputtering as it tries to spark a flame, and he's reaching into his jacket pocket before he can stop himself, pulling out his own lighter and skittering up to light the cigarette between his lips. The bassist looks up in mild surprise, but seems amiable enough as he leans down to accept the light.
"J-san, s-sorry, allow me," he blusters as he holds the lighter up for J, kicking himself for already stuttering like a nervous chihuahua. J draws back with a small grin and a thanks, and Hazuki just shrugs it off with a shake of his head. "Thank you for the performances, they were really amazing," he says earnestly, and J's smile widens at that, eyebrow arching as he takes a drag of his cigarette.
"Ah," he replies in a low, soft voice, "you were at both concerts? Thanks for your dedication." J seems to be a man of few words, and Hazuki nearly turns to make his way back through the overpass—but then the older man is asking him questions about the shows, and he seems genuinely interested in his opinion. It's weird, but he answers truthfully, offering his thoughts on what worked and what didn't, and when he mentions he's been learning bass that only makes J interrogate him further. Alright, maybe interrogate isn't the right word, but... it's a lot of pressure, and while Hazuki manages to keep his responses fairly mature, he's definitely freaking out a little inside.
The freaking out only increases with J's continued engagement, because he manages to pepper their discussion with little comments laced with innuendo, and it isn't long before Hazuki starts feeling little too warm beneath the collar of his jacket. His own responses are fired back with equal measure, because if he's not speaking confidently there goes the illusion, right? He lets his nerves bolster him, and it keeps him from slipping into anxious babbling.
"I guess a new perspective helps, every now and then," Hazuki observes with a tentative grin, after they've spent a good fifteen minutes talking about this year's tour, and J almost grimaces for a moment before he laughs.
"You could say that, yeah," he replies, and Hazuki nods tactfully but doesn't respond. He's heard rumors, of course, reading about them online on the family PC, and it's disheartening to know there's at least some truth to them. "Hey," he adds, and there's a shift in tone as his voice lowers. Hazuki knows at once that they're no longer talking about music, and he swallows, anticipation building in his chest. "Come back to my hotel with me."
Hazuki is saying yes before he's finished processing J's words, and then he's being led to a nearby hotel, a towering silver monolith of a building that J smuggles him into discreetly. Once they're in his room—spacious and tidy apart from an open duffel bag with its contents spilling onto the floor—Hazuki finds himself with his back pressed against the door, looked over once by the bassist before being kissed by him. He melts into the kiss, parting his lips and urging closer to deepen it; and he barely has to tilt his head up to do so, which makes him grin. He's used to stooping for kisses, and this is a pleasant change of pace. So is the hint of stubble that scrapes at his cheek, a rough, tickling sensation he's never experienced before.
Soon enough J is drawing him into the room and working at their clothing, and both of their jackets and shirts are discarded on the floor before either touches down on the mattress. Hazuki sits down on the bed first, a bit clumsy in his eagerness as he unbuttons his jeans before reaching out to work at J's. J hovers above him, standing between Hazuki's splayed legs, and the younger man stares appreciatively before he gives an almost feral grin, leaning in to mouth at the nipple ring he's been fixated on since he first saw it. He catches it between his teeth and tugs experimentally, and when it draws a hiss from J he does it again, harder this time. One hand grasps at the bassist's hip while the other shifts forward to stroke him through his jeans, mouth laving attention to his chest and god, Hazuki can't believe how lucky he is, sitting here in front of someone so amazing and touching them like this.
He should probably be paying attention to the time but he doesn't have a wristwatch on him, and he wouldn't check it anyway with J here beneath his mouth. He murmurs as he nips and sucks at the skin, quiet words of reverence as well as his own encouragements when J's hands reach down to tug off his jeans and urge him down against the mattress. One glance is all it takes for Hazuki to convey his desire, long limbs curling around him and drawing him close. "You can do anything," he gasps as J grinds down onto him, as if it isn't clear enough already. "You can fuck me, god, please—"
The other man must've been waiting to hear something like that because he groans, pulling away momentarily to reach into the nightstand drawer before settling between Hazuki's thighs. "Ever done this before?" He asks, pressing his lips just above one knee and trailing upwards, and for a moment Hazuki is too light-headed to respond, breath catching in his throat as he reaches down to J's bleach-blond hair and grasps it between his fingers.
"Ah, well," he replies, hesitating because it's going to be embarrassing regardless of how he answers. But J's proven adept at drawing responses from him with his mouth, and when his tongue darts out to drag up the length of his cock he moans, stammering out the rest of his answer. "F—fuck—fingers, only my fingers," he manages, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch the older man. J hums his acknowledgement, head bobbing shallowly as he uncaps the bottle of lubricant he'd retrieved and starts to slick his fingers.
J opens him up with his lips wrapped around Hazuki's cock and Hazuki's fingers tugging at his hair, and it doesn't take long before the younger man is asking him for more. "I'm ready," he says as J withdraws and grabs a condom, "I'm ready, please, I want you."
"You got me," J murmurs, leaning down to steal a kiss as he positions himself and begins easing into him, holding him by the thighs to keep his hips angled up toward his. Hazuki cries out then, scrabbling at the sheets beneath him, and when J stills above him he exhales, slow and shaky. After giving him a moment to adjust J gradually begins to move, and they carve out a rhythm together effortlessly, rough and a bit hurried once Hazuki moans out faster.
He breathes out J's name with every thrust, knuckles bone-white as his fingers twist more tightly in the sheets. He groans with each kiss pressed against his lips, and eventually the hands buried in his sheets move to splay at his back, nails digging in near his shoulders before he drags them down. There are nails biting into his own skin too, against the undersides of his thighs where J's gripping him tight, and the dull, constant sting of it only makes him more responsive.
The older man stares down at him, gaze lidded as he murmurs words of praise, of encouragement. It's overwhelming, to have J's approval like this, to have himself held fast and pressed further against the pillows. It's unlike anything he's ever experienced, and he wishes it would never end. But between the maddening pace and the large, rough hand that wraps itself around his cock, Hazuki knows he won't last much longer. He's trembling in J's hands before long, shuddering through his orgasm with his back arched above the mattress.
"Shit," he groans once he comes to, finding himself being eased onto his side with his legs pressed together by the flat of J's hand. He watches first out of the corner of his eye, then in the reflection of the mirror above the bureau, as J pushes himself onto his knees to adjust his position before easing back into him, one hand on his ass as he fucks into him, unrelenting. The bassist hunches over him then, and Hazuki shifts up to capture his lips in an awkward kiss, and it's his name—his—on J's lips when he comes, breathed against his cheek low and hoarse.
J pulls back to toss his condom in the wastebasket but then he's back, curving against Hazuki with a contented noise against his shoulder. For a while they sink into a lull, and in the back of his mind Hazuki knows he should probably excuse himself and hurry back to the train station. It has to be getting late now, and he has school in the morning besides. But J's skin is soft and heated against his back and his pulse is still pounding hard, and he can't bring himself to move away, not yet.
The events of the night so far keep replaying on a loop in his mind, from the concert to the underpass to right now, and it astounds him, how lucky he is to be here. He huffs out a sigh, eyes slipping shut to savor the moment—but then he's pressing his thighs together, and the pressure kindles something low in his belly and oh, he's getting hard again, isn't he. He'll have to do something about that while he has the chance, and he glances up at their reflection with a look of intent.
J's fingers are skimming down his side lazily, and the feel of it sends shockwaves up his spine, goosebumps rising on his skin. He shifts, turning to face the older man and pressing his lips to his neck with a thoughtful hum. He works a trail up to his jaw and eventually his lips, and J groans when Hazuki pushes him onto his back and straddles him with a self-satisfied grin. His hands move to grasp the younger man's hips immediately, guiding him down each time Hazuki rolls against him.
"Again already?" J asks with a breathy laugh, sitting up to plant open-mouthed kisses to Hazuki's collarbone and the younger man's grin widens in response, reaching down to curl his fingers around him. J hisses, still sensitive from before, and Hazuki keeps his ministrations light and coaxing.
"You were touching me," Hazuki says by way of explanation, head tipping forward to kiss him in full. "How could I help it?"
"Is that all it takes?" J murmurs, grinning against his lips, and Hazuki can't even act ashamed as he shrugs, hand tightening in a way that has the bassist arching up into his palm with a low moan. It makes him flush, staggered by the sight of him, and he licks his lips needlessly as he watches his hand work between their hips.
"You're hot," he says simply, and it isn't eloquent but it's true—and there might be a number of factors contributing to exactly why he finds J hot, but he doesn't feel the need to give specifics, not now. "You're hot and you're you and it feels so good when your hands are on me—"
In a few quick movements J has them both shifting from the bed to the bureau across the room, low and wide and made of dark, rich wood. He's half hard now, bending Hazuki over the top of it and rocking shallowly against the curve of his ass before dropping to his knees. He strokes himself slowly as he works Hazuki back open with his lips and tongue, grasping shaky legs to keep him from losing his balance. When they fuck again it's hard and fast, eyes meeting in the mirror as Hazuki clings to the edge of the bureau. J's lips are worrying a mark to the back of his neck when he comes with a broken moan, and the older man follows not long after, hand fisted tight in his hair.
J sends him on his way after a hasty cleanup, with a quick exchange of words—I don't have my own telephone number right now, sorry and I wish I could stay—and a deep, lingering kiss that burns long after he's boarded the train back to Kasugai. His mother and grandparents are asleep by the time he gets home, almost four hours late, and there's a note on the counter telling him to at least call if he's going to stay out after the concert. He slips into his mother's bedroom to let her know he's home, and she lifts her head briefly, calling him a little shit for making her worry. It's fond, though, and she accepts his apology with a tired smile before closing her eyes with a muttered teenagers.
He only allows himself to start processing what happened once he's curled up in bed, and the adrenaline still coursing through him makes it difficult to sleep. It eludes him, in the end, and he goes to school the next day drained and sore and more than a little distracted. His friends ask him about the second concert, but it's hard for him to find the words, and all he can murmur is it was great as he settles down into his desk.
Hazuki is thirty-three and sure of himself at the best of times, proud of what he's accomplished in the past decade but always quick to pay his respects to colleagues and senior musicians alike. He enjoys spending time with other musicians and technicians in the business, who understand all the benefits and downsides of the tiring, rewarding lifestyle. Despite his image he maintains a fairly spotless reputation in his circles, a bit of a fanboy perhaps but of course he is—he wouldn't be here if not for his love of music and the musicians who inspired him, after all.
He's driven and devoted to his band, but he knows how to have fun too and even at his age some of his hobbies lean somewhat immature. He fishes, sure, but there are always a few capsule toys floating around in his shoulder bag and his childish eating habits haven't changed—no longer does he have cruel teachers breathing down his neck as they force him to eat every vegetable on his tray, so he eats what he wants even if he regrets it later on.
Even though he gets along with all sorts he still gets nervous when attending industry events, but the presence of his bandmates and friends steadies him. He laughs with them easily and with increasing frequency as the evening progresses, but his heart skips a beat when he sees J across the room, glancing at him from behind his sunglasses as he speaks with Kaoru from Dir en grey. Hazuki looks back at him, holding his gaze in the hopes that his appearance—barefaced, with his hair down and free of product, combed loosely behind his ears—will spark some realization in him, if it hasn't already.
Eventually he excuses himself from his group of friends and heads outside for an increasingly rare smoke. It's been awful on his throat, which, no shit—but he's finally making an effort to stop, and he's down from a pack a day to maybe three or four. He didn't look behind him to check but he can tell he's being trailed, and his suspicions prove correct when J appears beside him a few minutes later, quiet as he lights a cigarette of his own.
"Mm," Hazuki begins, folding his arms across his chest and casting a sideways glance at the older man, "I was wondering if you recognized me."
"I cannot," J begins, haltingly as he takes a drag and exhales tensely, "fucking believe—" Hazuki's laugh is instantaneous, starting low and sonorous but dissolving into a rasping cackle, and J looks somewhat harried as he removes his sunglasses and hangs them from his shirt collar. "You couldn't have been more than, what, eighteen?"
"Sixteen," Hazuki corrects, muffled by the hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "I was hoping to meet you again, but my schedule took its sweet time coinciding with yours."
"Sixteen," J mutters, paling somewhat as he rakes his fingers through his hair, "sixteen, shit."
"It was fun," Hazuki says, still grinning wide, "seeing the realization dawning while poor Kaoru-senpai kept chatting away. Serves him right for hogging you all evening, it's been so long and finally, finally I get the chance to say hey, J-san, remember me? It was a long time ago, seventeen slutty, slutty years, but—"
"God, shut up a minute," J half laughs, half grimaces, and Hazuki huffs out a laugh of his own. He drops his spent cigarette in the trash before shifting closer, turning against the autumn breeze.
"When did you realize it was me?" He asks after a moment, quiet and more sincere, and J hesitates before responding, voice steady but soft.
"Your eyes," he begins, reaching up to cup Hazuki's cheek with his free hand. "And these." Calloused fingers brush the right side of his face, where dark freckles stand out starkly against his skin. "I... I had a feeling, before: I'd seen pictures at the record store and in magazines, but makeup and lighting tend to warp things." Hazuki nods, eyes wide as he stares at him. "Seeing you in person took care of any remaining doubts, obviously."
"Ah," Hazuki breathes, and it catches in his throat. He wants to close the distance between them, to pull him in for a kiss he's been wanting for more than a decade, but he closes his eyes, stills himself. "And?" His voice is tentative then, not wanting to assume too much—but the hand on his cheek remains there, and he allows himself to lean into the touch. I'm still willing, he thinks, and peers up at J searchingly.
"And," he replies, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "I believe we have some catching up to do."
Hazuki is surging forward with a grin, pressing their foreheads together while his hand cups the back of J's head. It isn't a kiss, but it's a promise of things to come, and his voice is light when he responds, just as eager as it was the first time they met. "You're damn right we do," he says, fingers tangling briefly in hair that's longer now, brown and soft against his skin.
They trade numbers. J, Jun, doesn't appreciate Hazuki's assurance that his mom won't pick up at this number, but it earns the younger man a smile all the same, and while they do eventually back head inside for the party, they exchange texts that make each other laugh on opposite ends of the room. At one point Tatsurou cranes his neck to try and read one when Hazuki can't stifle a laugh, but Masaaki, hovering nearby, raps his knuckles on the vocalist's hip and he pulls back with an innocent smile. "I just wanted to uncover Hazuki-kun's latest liaison," he crows as the guitarist drags him off with a good-natured eye-roll, and Hazuki grins as he watches them depart.
He keeps close to his own band members for the remainder of the night, stealing glances as Jun talks time-keeping with the Higuchis, or later, when he pulls Inoran off to the side to speak with him in hushed tones. Hazuki turns away then, busying himself with his own increasingly drunk guitarist, but he can't help but be curious, and steals one glance behind him just as Inoran's ducking his head down.
They meet once more before going their separate ways, too-brief but at least it's something after so many years of nothing. Jun bids him goodnight, tells him to drive home safely, and it makes Hazuki smile as he shrugs on his jacket. "You too," he replies, and uses his jacket to obscure them both just long enough to brush their lips together, chaste but already so much more than he'd hoped for, and he smiles into it before breaking away. "I'll see you soon," he adds before turning in the direction of his car, and J nods as he fishes for his keys, grinning faintly despite himself.
"See you," he says like he can't quite believe it, and then they're heading in opposite directions toward their cars, and when Hazuki finally climbs into his and lets out a loud yell of yes. He can see someone in the car beside his staring with lofted (and nonexistent) eyebrows (he's from one of the more visual bands, he thinks), but he just grins and gives a thumbs-up before backing out of his parking space.
He gets home after the long ride home and sees a text from Jun waiting to be opened, and he kicks off his boots quickly before sinking in a chair to read it.
it was nice to see you again.
i'd always hoped i would.
Hazuki's grinning widely before he's finished reading them, because holy shit never in a million years did he think something like this would happen.
The next message appears almost instantly, and that makes him smile too.