Archive of Our Own ^beta

No matter how much time passes or how much things change
No matter how many hundred million years go by
Like the stars shining throughout the light-years
Our love won't disappear.
- 星のように by MISIA

He stands on Jun’s rear left, holding his sword in a way so that Jun wouldn’t see. To others, and to tradition, it would be courtesy that makes him hold back; in truth, he doesn’t want Jun to see how hard it is for him to keep his emotions at bay, to keep his hands steady. It’s not the first time he’s asked to act as kaishaku, but it’s the first time that he is reluctant to carry out his duty.

It isn’t fair.

Nobody ever said that life is fair, he reminds himself. His mother had always told him that, whenever something upsets him when he was little.

Satoshi looks at Jun’s bowed figure on the ground – he waits for a tremble of anger, of fear, of hatred, anything from Jun but this blind acceptance of his fate, but nothing comes. Jun must hate him, he supposes. Jun has been betrayed by his own master, but it had been Satoshi who had exposed his master’s betrayal to the lord they both served. It had been Satoshi who had been rivals with Hachisuka, Jun’s master, for almost a lifetime, and all that had resulted in is this.

Staring too long at the exposed nape, he imagines a line where it connects to Jun’s shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Satoshi watches, horrified, as Jun reaches for the sword, points it towards himself, and presses.

Satoshi strikes. His movement makes a perfect line cutting through air, through Jun. He doesn’t lose his composure.

It’s just a dream.

Ohno tells himself this, over and over, but his hand still shakes. It had felt so real; he had felt the weight of the sword in his hands. It must be memory of the swords he’d handled during numerous shoots and taping, he supposes, that makes the dream so real.

He glances over at the seat across his; Jun’s there, reading. In one piece. He breathes out, slowly.

“What’s wrong, Riida?”

Nino’s sitting further away from them, with Aiba, but somehow the gamer noticed how Ohno is more unsettled than he’s ever been. He takes his eyes away from Jun, turns to Nino, and shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “Weird dream, that’s all.”

“Must be really weird to put that look on your face,” Nino comments. Ohno opens his mouth to reply, but Jun beats him to it.

“It’s probably Sho-kun’s snoring that gave him nightmares.”

As if hearing his name, Sho, who’s sleeping next to Ohno, stirs. The caster stretches, and asks groggily, “did I miss something?”

Both Nino and Jun have already lost interest in the conversation, turning back to the things that were previously preoccupying them. Ohno offers Sho a smile and tells him a funny story that Aiba had told him earlier, except that he tells it wrong and it doesn’t make sense. Sho smiles, though, amused for reasons Ohno doesn’t understand.

“You don’t remember me, do you.”

Satoshi knows that Hachisuka had fled. He had thought that this boy, Matsudaira, would have followed his master, instead of sitting in the dark of the now abandoned residence. Waiting. He looks at the boy, puzzled.

“Should I?” he asks.

Even in the dark, Satoshi sees a hint of a bitter smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t remember. You only know of me as Matsudaira – perhaps, if I tell you that I didn’t always have a surname…?”

Jun.

Satoshi doesn’t know why the name came to his mind; he hasn’t seen Jun since he was a child, when he still snuck out the compound sometimes to play with the commoners’ children. He hadn’t thought of Jun in almost as long, at least a few years since he was told that Jun had been sold off.

But it is Jun before him. He’s certain of it.

“I thought…” he trails off, not knowing if it’s appropriate to mention it. But he never cared about propriety before, so why should he start now? “What happened?”

“After your family paid mine off to send me away, I went to live with my uncle. When I was fifteen, Hachisuka-dono found me. He had the Matsudairas adopt me into their family.” Jun’s reverence for Hachisuka is clear in his voice, as is his resentment towards Satoshi.

Satoshi wonders how Jun would take it, if he suggests that Hachisuka had probably sought him out just because he had been Satoshi’s childhood friend.

Another part of him thinks, so that’s what happened. He had always thought it was strange, because Jun’s parents didn’t seem like the kind who would sell off a child even when in the worst of financial burdens.

“Hachisuka betrayed the daimyo,” he says, simply. He isn’t taking pleasure in proving that the man Jun revered and loved was not as noble as Jun thought. He isn’t taking pleasure in the knowledge that even as they are talking, he had sent some of his men after Hachisuka. All of which would only make Jun hate him more. “He had been selling secrets, and –”

“I know,” Jun interrupts, his voice betraying only the slightest tremble. He’s already on his knees; his head bows, then, prostrating before Satoshi. “I will take responsibility for my master.”

“That’s not your place to decide,” Satoshi says, but he knows how the end result would be. “Jun, I –”

Jun straightens up to look at him in the eye. So defiant, Satoshi thinks, and so strong, even though he’s the one looking down, and Jun’s the one on his knees.

“I won’t forget,” Jun says, his voice hard, unforgiving.

“Jun’s so ticklish,” Aiba comments, when Nino’s fingers pinch into Jun’s side, and Jun lets out a startled yelp. Jun argues that anyone would cry out if Nino’s fat fingers had dug into them so hard, when he let out another sound, different than the one before.

Ohno turns, curious. Nino has definitely found Jun’s most ticklish spot. Nino’s hand is already retracting when he looks over, but he could guess where they had been, because Jun’s own hand is now over his nape. Jun is looking at Nino like it’s no longer a joke, and Nino’s laughing, but backing away slightly so that he’d be closer to Aiba.

He probably stares too long, because Sho’s saying something and Jun’s looking his way.

He says the first thing that comes to mind – something about ninjas that he heard about a long time ago. Sho still looks baffled, and Jun snorts ungracefully before turning away.

Later, though, when Nino had left with Aiba and Jun’s still in the dressing room, Ohno touches Sho’s arm lightly. Sho stops to look at him, and waits for him to speak. It takes awhile, because he still isn’t sure if he wants to talk about it.

“I think something’s wrong,” he says. “With me. These dreams.”

Sho looks concerned, but he knows Sho’s more worried that he isn’t getting the rest he needs than about the dreams. So he shakes his head, tells Sho he’s going to be fine, and that he’ll see a doctor about getting better sleep.

He had seen the youth before, during their procession through the countryside. A lot of the people who worked the land had lined up to take a look – in Edo, such processions were common, something one might see every day. There’s always a lord coming into or leaving the city. Here, it only happens once – or twice if one counted the return – a year. The youth, unable to see properly because of the crowd, had climbed one of the larger trees close to the road. As they passed through, Satoshi’s eyes met his, once, and he clambered down the tree as quickly as he had climbed it.

It surprises him to see the same youth later, preoccupied with something by the small stream. Satoshi had been serving Hosokawa-dono for three years, but he’s never noticed this person before. He opens his mouth to speak, but he forgets what he wants to say, and what comes out is a monosyllabic, “Ah.”

The boy looks up, and Satoshi sees mild panic registering in his eyes as he pushes away the things in his hands, and kneels down before him.

“Don’t do that,” Satoshi says quickly. “I’m not a soldier, today.”

He’s always a part of Hosokawa-dono’s small army, of course, but what he means is that he’s not on any particular duty that day. It’s supposed to be his rest day – he likes them best in the country, where he could find a peaceful place to just be.

The commoner, who suddenly seems a lot younger to Satoshi, doesn’t relax at all. He eyes the sword hanging loosely by Satoshi’s side. Satoshi’s eyes follow, and he shrugs. “I’m not working,” he repeats. “I’m not going to tell anyone that there’s a kid sneaking into the compound to…” he looks at the things the boy had tossed aside in a hurry, “play with leaves.”

The youth looks like he’s about to argue, but thinks better of it, and closes his mouth. He still stares at Satoshi, who soon grows tired of it.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“…Jun.”

“How old are you?”

“I will be turning sixteen soon.”

Not that much younger than him, Satoshi realises. He’s thinking of whether or not he should find a different spot to sit in peace, when the boy speaks again.

“I’m not – I didn’t sneak in.” Satoshi looks at him. “I’ve just started to work in the kitchens.”

“An apprentice?” Satoshi asks. Jun nods. Curious, Satoshi asks another question. “What were you doing with the leaves?”

Jun reddens, then. It’s an interesting sight, watching the face grow pinker and pinker. Satoshi bites back a smile. Jun turns to the leaves, picks a couple up, and holds them out to him.

He takes one – the leaf is large and wide, a little more than the span of his palm, and when he holds it out, he sees. Jun had been writing on them.

Practise.

Satoshi recognises the intent behind the repetition of words, the slow, careful strokes of the brush. “You’re learning to write?”

Jun nods, again.

Ohno hesitates. He doesn’t know if he should follow what impulse tells him – his mother had always advised him against following random impulses, but he rarely gets them. And when he does, he can’t stop thinking about where they may lead.

“Do you want me to teach you?” he asks.

Jun’s bent over, hands on his knees as he curses. Ohno could see the sweat trickling down his nape. “I’m never going to get this right,” Jun says, as he straightens up, and faces his reflection on the wall-to-wall mirror before him.

Everyone’s taking a break, but not Jun.

The choreography they’re learning that day is really hard, and no one expects to get it down perfectly on the first day. Aiba had made so many mistakes that they keep starting over, although Ohno suspects that some of the mistakes had been for their benefit. Because every time Nino seems like he’s too tired, or Sho’s about to trip over himself, or Jun’s patience is wearing thin, Aiba does something wrong. No one expects to get it perfectly right, but Jun wouldn’t be satisfied unless he really tried.

“Take it easy, Jun-kun,” Ohno calls out from the side, where he’s sitting and nursing a bottle of water. “Don’t overdo it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jun mutters. “You made it seem so effortless.”

“I was yelled at a lot, too.” Their choreographer had been kind of scary that day.

“Yeah, because you slouch and you shuffle. Not because you got anything wrong.” Distracted, Jun forgets the next movement, and stops. “I’m never going to get this right.”

He’s in one of those moods, Ohno realises. The one where everything’s going to seem wrong no matter what. He sighs, and puts aside his drink, before getting up and going to Jun.

He touches Jun’s right arm lightly, stepping right behind the younger man. “Here,” he says. “You’re too tense, too stressed about getting it right. You should just loosen up, let it come to you instead.” His hands go up to Jun’s shoulders, and rubs them gently, before falling to Jun’s arms again, guiding them through the music. When Jun seems to get it, he lets go and moves a little to the side, following the song. Jun’s feet follows his movements, their eyes meeting over the mirror instead of watching themselves dance. When the song ends, they’ve completed the full dance without a hitch.

Ohno smiles. “See? You can do it.”

It’s kind of funny, when he remembers that he had taught Jun to write in the first place. Jun’s writing is impeccable now, and he reads better than Satoshi, studying from the materials that Satoshi had given him – that Satoshi himself had been too lazy to go through. He had thought that it’s a passing fancy to Jun, but it’s been two years since, and nothing has changed. Jun still gets bright-eyed over the prospect of learning something new, and mastering it.

Satoshi doesn’t bother teaching Jun any longer, the younger man having surpassed him in most of the skills he had bothered to pass on. They still spend a lot of time together, though, at the same spot by the river. Satoshi would take a nap, or just sit quietly and trying to clear his head from all thoughts, while Jun would be writing, or reading, or practising his kata. Sometimes Jun gets tired, and rests, too.

When Satoshi is getting ready to join the procession that will be going back to Edo the next day, Jun dares to sneak into Satoshi’s living quarters, and gives him things to take back with him.

“What are these?” Satoshi asks, perplexed, as he fingers the beautiful hair comb, the exquisite doll. There is a man who lived at the edge of the village who makes these things – it was said that he used to live in the city, trading his wares, but when he lost his son he had packed up and left. Satoshi doesn’t know whether the story is true or not, but he supposes it doesn’t matter.

“For your wife,” Jun says. “And daughter.”

“Ah.” It isn’t that Satoshi forgets – one doesn’t forget such things. But it’s a difficult adjustment to make, to live half a year apart from one’s family, and then spending the rest getting to know them again, before being torn away once more. “Thank you,” he says, and the smile that Jun gives him warms his heart.

It is only when Jun had left that he realises – in the years they’ve known each other, he had never had to struggle in reconnecting with Jun.

It’s been a few days since the five of them had work together, so Aiba’s in a higher mood than usual. He can’t seem to choose between Nino and Sho – he wants to join Nino, who had brought in his Wii in anticipation of a long day of filming, but he also wants to catch up with Sho, who’s concentrating on catching up with the news. Ohno watches, vaguely amused as he wonders if Aiba would ever stop bouncing across the room from one of them to the other. He himself had just seen Aiba the previous night, when they went out for drinks – he had happened to be free and in the area where Aiba had finished recording something, so they had decided to go out.

“Riida,” Jun greets him solemnly as the younger man steps up beside him.

“Jun,” he says, mimicking Jun’s tone.

“You’re darker. Again.” Ohno just smiles at the censure in Jun’s voice. Would he enjoy fishing as much as he did, he wonders, if it doesn’t bother Jun so?

“No one else noticed,” he says.

Jun scowls – well, almost. His lips twist and his face takes on an expression that Ohno is sure is supposed to be intimidating, but he just finds kind of cute. “The rest of them,” Jun says, nodding towards the other three – Aiba had managed to pull Sho to sit on the sofa instead of at the dressing table chair, and had squeezed between Sho and Nino happily, “don’t know the difference between foundation and your actual skin colour. I do.”

Ohno hums in agreement, but doesn’t speak. It’s only when Aiba’s turning to them and asking what are they doing all the way over there, when Ohno moves forward, leaving Jun. He says, “It doesn’t matter, does it, if no one else notices?”

“Yeah, but.” Jun wants to argue, but Ohno is already going to join the other three. He knows what Jun wants to say, of course – it’s the principle of the thing. It’s common sense; he’s an idol, he should act like one. He should have found himself a new hobby, one that doesn’t take him away so much. Why couldn’t he stay home and make more art, instead. (Although if he does that, he knows that Jun’s only going to nag at him about getting dirt under his fingernails, again.)

So many versions of the same argument, all leading to the same thing. He knows where it’s coming from, and he thinks Jun knows, too. But, contrary to Jun’s words, he’s very much aware that he’s an idol, and that there are things that idols can’t have.

“You should stop needling him,” Nino says, his lead leaning back into Ohno’s hands, as he steps up behind the sofa to take a look at the game Nino and Aiba are playing. Ohno plays with Nino’s hair, more out of habit than anything else.

“I had another dream last night,” he says. It’s a random thing, and he doesn’t expect to elaborate, but Nino pauses the game, and the three of them look up at him, waiting. “It’s… kind of nice, this time,” he says. “But kind of sad, too.”

They’re late coming back from school that day. By the time they get home, their mother is already waiting with her arms crossed and her brows knitted in worry – or at least Satoshi knows it’s worry that makes her look like that, but really she looks like she’s ready to kill them.

“Satoshi. Jun.” She’s just saying their names, but it makes both of them stand straighter, like they’re preparing for something bad. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

“It’s not our fault!” Jun burst out, unable to stop himself. “There was an air raid, and-”

Satoshi doesn’t even get a chance to shush his brother up. His mother slaps Jun, hard. He winces, as if he could feel it – even though as twins they look nothing alike, they’ve always had a bond that’s stronger than the ones they have with their other siblings.

“I know there’s an air raid,” their mother is saying. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?” It’s true; Satoshi can see it. There’s a wildness in her eyes, and he knows that they shouldn’t have taken the long way home, but he had wanted to pass by the house with all the paintings hanging out over its entrance. How was he to know that the café on the way there is going to get hit? Before their mother could say anything more to Jun, he rushes to her, and wraps his arm around her.

She’s getting smaller, he realises, as his arms go all the way around her. Or is it him who is getting bigger?

The thought makes him sad, and he strengthens his hold.

“We’re sorry, Mama,” he says, and she cries. He’s the only one of the two who still calls her that – Jun has taken to calling her Mother.

The photographer wants a picture of the two of them, with Jun’s arm lightly resting on his shoulders. They play it up, as they usually would, giving each other gooey looks and even pretending that they were in a steamy embrace – they know the photos probably won’t be used, but it doesn’t stop it from being fun. This time, though, Ohno has flashes of the Jun from his new dream, the one who is his brother. It’s probably because of the interview the other day, he thinks, where one of them says that sometimes they’re like brothers, and his subconscious must have latched on to the idea.

He wonders why it’s always Jun in the dreams, though.

“Riida,” Jun is saying to him in a low murmur, as they both force smiles and try not to blink despite the glares of the spotlight and the camera flashing. “You’ve been kind of strange, lately.”

He knows this is Jun’s way of asking if he’s okay. He doesn’t know what to tell the younger man, though – that he’s been dreaming of Jun? That the dreams had seemed so vivid, like he’s having flashbacks instead? That unlike regular dreams that fade away as the day unfolds, these dreams remain in his head, as clear as any other memory? He shakes his head, earning him an admonishment from the photographer for moving at the wrong moment. “Just tired, maybe,” he says.

Jun gives him an incredulous look. “But you’re always switched off.”

Ohno shrugs. “Maybe not always.”

Jun frowns. “Is there anything that I should know about? Are you overexerting yourself with something, or someone? Because it’s not good if you’re always so unnaturally tired. I think I have something that will help you get more energy –” Jun only stops when Ohno gives him a small, quick peck on the cheek. The camera flashes, catching the smug look on Ohno’s face, and the dazed surprise in Jun’s.

“You’re sweet,” Ohno says, “but it’s okay. I can handle this.”

Jun doesn’t look like he believes Ohno at all, but at least he lets the subject drop.

He said that he wouldn’t take the long way again, but he can’t help it. It’s like the paintings call to him. He knows that he’s supposed to grow up to be a doctor, like his father, and his father’s father before him. Like Jun is studying hard to do. But school has never fascinated him the way the paintings do.

The old man who lives in the house sees him one morning, when he’s peering at the newest painting hanging out the front porch.

“What are you doing there, boy?”

He jumps, startled. But he doesn’t run. He knows who the man is, of course. He’s heard his mother talk about Takahashi-san before, a once-famous painter who now kept mostly to himself. He had also heard stories from the older kids in the neighbourhood, who said that Takahashi-san is either a user of dark magic or a vampire of some sort, who preys on innocent blood. The kids argue over which is the “correct” version, and as for Satoshi, he just doesn’t care. Takahashi-san’s paintings – at least the ones he’s seen hanging outside – are beautiful. That’s all that matters.

Still, he finds himself tongue-tied when standing before the painter.

“Are you dumb, boy?”

He shakes his head, so fast that he gets a bit dizzy. Then he forces himself to speak. “I was just looking at the paintings.”

“So you speak.” The man motions to the paintings. “You like these?”

He nods. “I try to draw them at home, but I never get them right.” He motions at the rough notebook in his hand, but suddenly feels shy. It isn’t even a proper sketchbook – that would be too much of a luxury for his family to spend on him. What it is, in fact, is a stack of papers torn out from old school notebooks – some lined, some checked, some blank – and bound together with needle and thread. He had watched his mother when she does her mending or sewing, and he had figured that he could do the same with paper to make a book.

Takahashi-san doesn’t laugh at him, like he expects the man to do. Instead, he stretches out a hand to Satoshi, and says, “let me see.”

If that surprises Satoshi, what’s more surprising is that Takahashi-san seems pleased with his work. He tells Satoshi what could be improved, and pointed out the parts that should have been erased and re-drawn. When the man was done, Satoshi is looking at him with hope in his eyes, and asks, “you’re that cartoonist, aren’t you? Sir.” He names the comic he and Jun reads all the time, the one about the boy who saves Japan. It isn’t written in Takahashi-san’s name, and it’s very different from the paintings he sees hanging in front all the time, but there’s something familiar about it, that he’s never been able to put a finger on until now.

Takahashi-san looks impressed. “You’re a smart boy.”

“I want to be one, too. A cartoonist.”

“Do your parents even know you’re here?”

“Um… yes.” He’s lying, but he has a feeling that Takahashi-san – Takahashi-sensei, he supposes – would send him away if he tells the truth. “I want to be your apprentice. Sir.”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me,” the man mumbled. “I get enough of that from the idiots in the city…” he mutters more things that Satoshi doesn’t really understand, but then he asks another question. “You’re not the oldest son, are you?”

He doesn’t lie this time. “I have an older sister, but I’m the oldest son,” he admits. “My brother is only a few minutes younger, though.”

“I’ve seen the two of you around,” Takahashi-sensei says. “Your brother, he’s taller – a bit on the reedy side?”

Satoshi thinks of Jun, and nods. He swallows. “May I be your apprentice, sir- Takahashi-sensei?” he asks again.

The man frowns at him. “What does your father do?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“And he expects you to take over after him,” Takahashi-sensei adds shrewdly.

Satoshi shrugs. “I don’t want to,” he says, defiant. “I want to draw.”

Takahashi-sensei sighs a little, and mumbles to himself again. Satoshi wonders if the man does that a lot, when he hears mutterings about ‘unfilial sons’. He stands as straight as he could, though, and keeps a determined expression on his face.

“What if your family – your father – tells you that you can’t? You shouldn’t disobey your parents, not when you’re living under their roof.”

“I’ll leave them if I have to,” he says.

“Even your brother?”

He feels a sharp pain in his chest as he realises – he can’t leave Jun. They’ve always been together. Always. He doesn’t know what life is like without Jun, and he isn’t sure that he wants to know. He’d miss Mama, and his sister, despite her constant teasings, and maybe he’d even miss his father’s harsh words – but Jun is more than that. Jun’s a part of him.

But he wants to draw. He wants to suggest that Takahashi-san take Jun as an apprentice, too – Jun is as good as he is, after all. But he knows it won’t work. Jun is good, but Jun had never wanted it the way Satoshi has. And someone needs to make their father proud. Someone needs to look after the family if anything happens to their father. Still, he wants to draw.

Satoshi bites his lips, hard, until he’s sure that he could speak without the slightest tremble. “Even my brother,” he says.

“So?” Sho asked. He and Nino are the first in the greenroom, waiting for Ohno’s arrival. Aiba would be running late because of a last-minute photo shoot that he needed to re-do, and Jun would probably be arriving exactly on time. Usually when Ohno enters the greenroom he would see Sho with his newspapers, and Nino absorbed in his games, but this time they’re both waiting, and looking at him expectantly.

“Um. What?”

“You went to a doctor, right?”

Ohno sighs. It had been an unusual experience, that’s for sure. He isn’t really fazed by it all – he’s seen ghosts and called down UFOs, after all – but he knows that at least Sho would think that his doctor is a quack. “My doctor thinks I’m dreaming of my past lives.”

Silence from the other two. Then, a full minute later, Sho asks, “you do know that that’s stupid, right?”

Nino nudges Sho sharply with one elbow, while his other hand motions for Ohno to sit next to him. Ohno does, and Nino’s hand immediately reaches to pat him on the head, like a puppy. “So, does he have any suggestions on how you could sleep better?”

“He says that if I’m having flashbacks from past lives, it probably means that there’s something about those lives that is connected to this one, that it’s a warning, or a message, or something.” Most of his words are mumbled, and Sho’s brows are knitted as he tries to understand, so Ohno takes out the book from his bag, and passes it to them.

Nino takes it from him, and hands it over to Sho. “Did he hypnotise you?” Nino asks, genuinely interested. Ohno nods, but doesn’t elaborate. This doesn’t deter Nino, who asks as many questions as is required to get the information he needs.

“Learning from Your Past Selves,” Sho said, reading the title out loud. He flips through the book, reading a bit here and there, before turning back to the two of them. “If this is to be believed – and I’m not saying that it is – then there should be a common thread between your flashbacks that will be a clue to what they’re trying to tell you.”

Ohno nods vigorously. “Jun –” he says, but stops. “Jun.” His voice takes on a different tone the second time he speaks, and he’s looking at the entrance. Sho and Nino turn, too, to see Jun standing there. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jun replies cautiously, looking at the three of them. “Aren’t we all… comfortable, today.”

“Oh! That reminds me. I need to level up before Aiba gets here,” Nino says, getting up suddenly. Ohno had been half-leaning on him, and almost falls over. He quickly rights himself, and looks at Sho, who’s already taking out his paper. Jun is hanging up his bag, and looks at them again when he’s done.

“Anything interesting happened, Riida?” Jun asks, sitting down where Nino had been. Ohno doesn’t answer, but takes Jun’s hand, and keeps it in his. Jun raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything, either. Ohno’s fingers trace over the lines on Jun’s palm, thinking about if it really was true, and they’ve known each other for what must have been centuries. Different lives, different selves – and yet he’s absolutely sure that it’s Jun. His Jun; the man he had killed, the man he had loved, and the boy that was his brother. It bothers him, though, that he only remembers bits and pieces.

He thinks of what the common thread must be in all the bits of life he’d remembered, and there’s only one thing, in the end.

“I love Jun.”

He blinks, realising that he’d said out loud when he hears Sho’s muffled laughter, and the rustle of paper as Sho puts it away. Jun pulls his hand away so that it’s free to knock him over the head.

“Stupid,” Jun chides. “Save that for when we’re on camera.”

He opens his mouth to explain that that isn’t what he means, but closes it as he tells himself that it’s too much of a bother to explain. It doesn’t matter; he’ll figure it out eventually. He always does.

Aiba’s timing is as perfect as ever, shoving the door to the greenroom open and asking loudly, “did I miss out on anything fun?”

Nino remarks on the loss of peace now that Aiba’s back in their midst, but Aiba pays no mind, launching himself at Nino – who has thankfully levelled up by then – as if he hasn’t seen them in weeks instead of only three days. Out of the corner of his eye, Ohno sees Sho getting up and walking towards the two to negotiate peace (presumably), and he bites back a grin. He looks at Jun with mischief in his eyes, about to suggest something – although he never knows what it is until it comes out of his mouth sometimes – when his hand reaches out, almost in defence, as if warding off any smacks from the younger man, but instead lands lightly on Jun’s chest.

Not an abnormal thing, really. The touch is innocent enough. But a flash of memory hits him, and it makes him pull back more abruptly than he otherwise would.

He’s old enough, and have ascended in rank enough that Hosokawa-dono is assigning him to remain in Edo, to watch over the family – families – left behind. It’s his last year outside the city.

Satoshi doesn’t tell Jun about it, wanting to taint the last days he would spend with the youth. Not really a “youth” anymore, he supposes – Jun has grown, as he had. Unlike him, however, Jun had never taken a wife. “What am I going to do with a wife?” Jun asks, when Satoshi asks him why, and he’d been struck dumb, unable to answer.

A lot of things, he would want to say. He’s sure that his mother could think of a million reasons why a man could never live without a wife. But he’s spent too long and too far apart from his own, and sometimes when he returns to Edo he thinks he’s going back to a stranger.

Jun seems to suspect something, though, because Jun is always trying to find more time to spare for Satoshi, and sometimes looks at him in an unsettling way, like he knows too much. Satoshi supposes this wouldn’t be too surprising; Jun may not be the natural that Satoshi is, but he works so hard that he always surpasses Satoshi in the end. It would only be right that Jun would know Satoshi’s mind more than he does himself, sometimes.

“You’ve become a wonderful cook,” he tells Jun, as they eat by the riverbank in the evening. “This is better than anything I’ve tasted.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not.” He’s telling the truth – it is the best, as far as he’s concerned.

Jun half-smiles, both pleased and amused. “Then it’s just because it was me who made it. If I took someone else’s dish and told you I made it, it would’ve been the best you’ve ever tasted.”

This, too, rings true. Satoshi is quiet as he contemplates Jun’s words – what makes Jun so special, he wonders. He’s pretty sure that they aren’t supposed to be friends. They aren’t supposed to be close, and Jun shouldn’t be talking to him so casually. But all of that seems stupid, because even though they don’t make sense, they actually do. He laughs to himself, thinking that he finds his own thoughts confusing. Jun doesn’t seem perturbed at all by his behaviour. Jun never does.

“You’re not coming back this time,” Jun suddenly says, and Satoshi stops laughing. Of course Jun knows, he thinks. What had made him think that he could hide it from Jun in the first place?

“No,” he says, sober. “I’m not.”

“Forgive me,” Jun says, and it doesn’t make sense – it isn’t a logical response to his words no matter how he thinks of it, but then he hears the rustle of fabric and all he could think of is, he’s fast, and Jun’s in front of him, and Jun’s hand is on his chest, only lightly touching at first, but then Jun’s fingers digs into his clothes and pulls him close, and their lips meet.

Oh, Satoshi thinks.

He understands now.

Ohno understands now.

Jun looks confused as he pulls away, stares at his hand. Just because he understands, it doesn’t mean he knows what he wants to do about it, or what he’s supposed to do. The memory of Jun – the one in his dreams, or flashbacks – is too clear, too vivid in his mind, and it’s hard to separate from the Jun he knows now.

“Riida?” Jun asks. “Ohno.”

He shakes his head, but he’s feeling a little dazed, so he stops. “I’m fine,” he says.

“Are you sure…?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Sho says, interrupting before Ohno could answer. “Jun, you texted me this morning saying that there’s something you want to talk to us about.”

Jun shifts, looking uncomfortable. Sho walks back toward them, pulls a stool, and sits facing Jun and Ohno, Even Aiba and Nino, who have settled down on the other side of the room, looked up at them. Listening. They’ve all gotten the same text, and had forgotten about it after a hectic morning schedule.

“That…” Jun glances at Ohno again. “Maybe now’s not the time.”

“If it’s something you’re telling all of us,” Sho reminds Jun, “it has to be now, or next week. We won’t be meeting each other ‘til then. You know that.”

“I know.” Ohno sees the flash of annoyance in Jun’s eyes. Sho doesn’t. This relaxes Ohno, though. It’s easier for Jun to talk when he’s uncomfortable, if he’s also in a temper. “Look, nothing’s set in stone yet, and I haven’t made a decision, but…” he trails off, and both Sho and Ohno lean a little closer. Aiba is standing, as if to head over to where they’re sitting, but Nino pulls him back down. “You know how Nino got that Hollywood gig last time? It’s something like that. But with me, this time. You know.”

Aiba’s the first to speak. “But that’s so cool! Why are you hesitating?”

“Because this isn’t something that will only take a couple of months.”

“Oh. How long?” Aiba, again. Nino’s still staring at Jun, and Sho looks like he might have known about it already.

“A year, at least. Maybe two. It’s a television series, about – my manager says I can’t talk about it yet.”

“What happens to Arashi, if you leave?” Trust Sho to ask the right questions, Ohno thinks.

“I asked. I even went to Johnny himself, and asked. He said that it’s up to me – I can stay or leave, and you could continue without me while I’m gone.” Jun looks down, suddenly interested in his hands, which are gripping and twisting at the edge of his shirt. “With Jin’s success abroad, he said that I could do solo concerts while I’m there.”

“But you can’t sing.” Nino finally speaks, his voice high and almost panicky, but only Ohno notices the last part. Aiba’s nudging Nino to quiet down or to be nicer, while Sho lets out a muffled snort. “And you can’t act. They only like you because you’re… us.”

Sho’s the one who looks pained, as he mutters something to Nino about it not being funny. Nino likes to joke in private that while their group might be popular because of Jun, Jun himself is only popular because of his looks, and his affiliation with the group. Jun, unoffended, just gives Nino a cool look and says, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

They continue talking, and Ohno let the noise go over his head, until he realises that they’ve stopped. He looks up, and sees that everyone’s looking at him.

“What do you think, Riida?” Jun asks.

He smiles. “I think Jun should do whatever makes Jun happy.”

Nino gripes that it’s such a stupid answer, but he doesn’t care – Nino’s going to complain no matter what he says, and anyway, he doesn’t want to be there anymore. He tells them that he needs air, and walks out.

He follows the corridor down to the farthest end, and turns into the door marking the emergency exit, and goes through. He sits on the staircase heading down, and closes his eyes. Peace at last.

He remembers the other-him, the one who once sat by a riverbank thinking the exact same thing, and he laughs.

A knock on the door, taking him away from the thought of dubious pasts.

“Riida?”

He sighs. “I’m here.”

Jun goes through the door, and sits next to him. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Jun. They’re quiet for a few moments before Jun says, “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”

There it is again, he thinks. That double-edged sword. If he tells Jun to go, then he doesn’t care enough to want Jun to stay. If he tells Jun to stay, then he doesn’t care enough to want Jun to be happy. And he doesn’t even know what he wants himself.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what’s the right thing to do.” Jun has probably made the decision already, he thinks, and just needs the support, without knowing how to ask for it without seeming selfish. He thinks about the other-hims. “We’ve known each other for a long time,” he says.

“I know, Riida. Over a decade.” Jun lets his shoulder bump into Ohno’s. “What, are you getting sentimental in your old age?”

“No. I mean, we’ve known each other for a long time. More than a decade, or decades. A century, maybe longer.”

Jun laughs, then. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He takes Jun’s hand, wiping away the smile on Jun’s face, as Jun realises that he’s being serious. “The first time we met – I think it’s the first time – I ended up killing you.”

“Look, if you’re mad about me talking about leaving –” Jun starts to extricate his hand, but Ohno holds on in persistance.

“I didn’t want to do it,” Ohno continues, ignoring Jun. “But there hadn’t been any choice. Not to the person I was back then, anyway. I can still feel it now,” he says, his voice dropping to barely a whisper, “the way it felt when I swung the sword.”

“Riida. That’s not funny.”

“The second time we met – that I remember, anyway; I have a feeling there’s more – we became friends. Maybe more than that.” His fingers draw a pattern on the back of Jun’s hand, and he’s pleased by the way Jun bites his lips, the way Jun’s fingers curl around his. “But I left you, in the end. I think. While relationships like ours may not have been too strange, they were never expected to last.”

“You’re really weird. You know that?”

“The last that I can remember – and I think it’s the last time we met before now – we were brothers. That only makes sense, I suppose, since we’re almost that now. All of us.” He waits for Jun to say something, but when Jun remains silent, he adds, “I left you, too. I loved you then, but there was something I wanted more than anything else, and I left you.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says absently. “It’s just me, you know. We’ve known each other forever. I guess –” he hesitates, as a part of him demands if this is what he really wants, “you should go. Why should I always be the one who leaves?” The last part, he speaks mostly to himself. “Yes, you should go.”

The night isn’t silent – it never had been, with the sounds of frogs, insects, cats, and the occasional bird outside. But these sounds don’t bother Satoshi, whose ears are concentrating on the sound of Jun’s even breathing, whose eyes watch as Jun’s chest rise and fall. His finger traces the outline of Jun’s face, thinking about how Jun had grown into his looks, how he would never forget that face, even if they should never meet again.

After awhile, he notices the change in Jun’s breathing, and asks, “you’re awake?”

Jun doesn’t reply, but shifts to bury his head in the crook of Satoshi’s neck. He breathes in deeply, and lets his breath go in a long sigh.

“Do you think we’ll meet again?” Jun asks, pulling back to look at Satoshi.

“Probably not.”

“I could move to Edo – find work there…”

“Don’t.” His voice comes out harsher than he intended, and Jun looks stricken. “I have a family there,” he reminds Jun, gentler this time, but no less firm.

“I don’t mean –” Jun looks distressed, as he tries to explain. “I wasn’t thinking of…”

“I know.” Jun just wants to be in his life – Jun isn’t asking to be his lover. “But I think this place suits you best. You won’t be happy there – it isn’t a kind place.” He braces for an argument, but Jun just backs off, subdued. Satoshi doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.

“So we’re never going to see each other again.”

“Yes, we are,” he says, surprising even himself at how sure he sounds. “Even if our paths will no longer cross in this lifetime, we’ll still have the next one. We’ll find each other – you’ll see.”

There are a lot of things that Ohno doesn’t understand – like why he’s the one who is getting the flashbacks, and not Jun. Like why they keep finding each other, time after time.

Maybe everything really is just in his head. Maybe Sho’s right, and he should be seeing a different kind of doctor.

His spacing out and lack of sleep is taking a backseat in Arashi’s list of worries, though – with Jun’s news, everyone’s getting frantic. They’re worrying about what to tell their fans, and how. They’re worrying about rumours, because there would surely be a tabloid or two that would take the opportunity to hint that there’s dissent within Arashi. They’re worrying about Jun being on his own for so long. They’re worrying about how they’re going to get through their next concert without Jun keeping everything together. They’re worrying that with one person short for too long a time, they’re going to fall apart.

“It’s just one year,” Jun promises. “Two, at the most. I’m definitely coming back.” He looks at Ohno when he says this; Ohno nods.

“Two years isn’t a long time,” he agrees. What’s two years, he thinks, when he’s been apart from Jun longer than that before?

“You know, Oh-chan,” Nino says, falling in step with him as they walk to where their cars are waiting. “A lot of things can happen in two years.”

“Nothing that would change us as a group so drastically.”

“You think?” Nino stops, reaching out and pulling Ohno to a stop, too. “What if he likes it there, and doesn’t want to come back?” he asks. “What if he meets some girl there, some foreigner, and wants to get married? What if – I don’t know, what if an accident happens, and he gets hurt?”

Ohno thinks about the possibilities. All of those are things that he’d rather not consider, though, because he doesn’t know what he would do if they happened. All he says is, “if it happens, then it happens.”

“Riida –”

“He’ll be back,” he tells Nino, and starts walking again. “Other things may happen, sure, but he’ll be back.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Because nothing could change what he has with me, Ohno wants to say, but bites back his words. Even Jun has yet to acknowledge the strange bond between them; he isn’t going to talk about it with Nino. “I just know,” he says.

Even if our paths will no longer cross in this lifetime, we’ll still have the next one.

Things aren’t even that grim, Ohno reminds himself. They’re still in the same company, even if the worst happens and Jun decides to leave Arashi. And it isn’t like they aren’t going to be busy enough coping without Jun – time would fly by, and Jun would be back before they knew it.

After they were done for the day, Jun asks if everyone had time for dinner together, but both Sho and Nino had plans, so the remaining three went instead. Ohno enjoys seeing Jun with Aiba, and he doesn’t say much throughout dinner, watching instead how Jun instantly relaxes as Aiba makes him laugh – sometimes on purpose, sometimes purely accidental.

He goes through dinner only adding a word or two, although he supposes that they count for a lot, since he makes Aiba laugh, too. He offers to pay the bill, but Jun says that he should do it since he’s the one who had asked them out, and while they’re talking about it Aiba slips away and pays.

They linger in front of the restaurant, and Jun suggests they go somewhere else. Aiba says that he needs to go, and leaves them. Ohno looks at Jun, who looks back thoughtfully.

“Hey,” Jun says. “Want to go for a drive?”

Ohno and Aiba aren’t the only ones who are hanging out with Jun as much as they could; Jun had gone out with Sho a couple of times, and had even gone over to Nino’s. Sho had taken Jun to one of his favourite places, which Jun now drives Ohno to. There’s nothing there – just a clearing and a view of the sea. It’s a private place, so Ohno understands the appeal of being somewhere where one doesn’t have to worry about fans, but still. It isn’t until they’re sitting on the ground, and Jun points above them, that he gets it.

The night sky is clear, and the starts above them shine brighter than any stage he knows.

“Pretty,” he comments, noticing that Jun is waiting for him to say something.

“Riida.” Jun sounds hesitant. “Are you really okay with me leaving?”

He smiles. “Wasn’t I the one who told you to go?”

“Yeah, but…” Jun sighs. “Never mind.”

Remembering how they have sat next to each other the same way once, and what the other-Jun had done, Ohno’s hand reaches out to pull Jun towards him. Even as their lips meet, he hears a muffled, “what the fuck –” from the other man, feels the resistance in the rigid way Jun is holding himself, like he’s just waiting for the right moment to push Ohno away. But then there’s a subtle shift, and he could feel Jun softening, could hear the catch of breath when his lips left Jun’s for air, Jun’s fingers tightening on his sleeves to pull him back in for an encore.

When they part for a second time, there is silence except for their breathing, and it takes a moment for Jun to realise that his fingers are still holding on to Ohno’s shirt, and he lets go.

“What was that about?” Jun asks.

“I’ll tell you when you come back.”

He isn’t very good at sneaking out, Satoshi discovers, as he knocks over the stack of records when he’s trying to get his shoes.

He stands still, waiting to see if he had woken anyone up. Nothing happens; it’s a good thing that his parents are heavy sleepers.

He bends over to get his shoes, when he hears Jun’s voice behind him.

“Where’re you going, Satoshi?”

He wavers, hovering between lie and truth, before settling on something in between. “Out. Go back to sleep.”

Jun looks at the shoes in his hand. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” he insists. “You can’t.”

This makes Jun hesitate, before asking tremulously, “you’re not coming back, are you?”

He swallows. “No.”

“I want to go with you.”

“No.”

“But why –”

“You have to look after Mama,” Satoshi interrupts, loud enough that they both turn to look in the direction of their parents’ bedroom. “I’m going,” he continues, in a softer voice.

“I hate you,” Jun says, but Satoshi just smiles back at Jun’s accusing glare. He’s on one side of the door and Jun is on the other. He knows that it isn’t that they can no longer see each other, but he also knows that the next step he takes away from Jun is going to change everything. He looks up, sees the blanket of stars over them, and a part of him marvels at how clear the night is, while another part thinks of how he is never going to forget that sight, and the hollowed guilt and loneliness that he feels but could not convey to Jun.

“We’ll always be connected,” he tells Jun. “You’ll see.”

He doesn’t really know, or believe in, what he’s saying, and he doesn’t even know what makes him say it, but at the moment, his words sounds truer than anything else he’d said.

“So that’s it?” Sho asks. “You’re just going to let him go.”

The two of them linger in Sho’s car, in the parking lot of Ohno’s apartment. Sho had offered to give him a ride back after recording that day, although now Ohno finds himself regretting that he took Sho up on the offer, and telling Sho the complete story in the first place.

He shrugs. It isn’t like he could think of anything else to do. And the decision had been made; even then, they’re seeing Jun less and less, as their youngest rush from meeting to meeting trying to finalise things, and figuring out how to tie up loose ends with Arashi before leaving. They haven’t yet made an official announcement, but rumours are already spreading, and as far as they’re concerned, they’ve started on something that’s irreversible. Nino keeps saying that it’s going to be the end of them, but Ohno doesn’t think he means it, and anyway, Sho and Aiba aren’t going to let that happen. Jun isn’t going to let that happen. Ohno, too – he would never let Arashi fall apart in Jun’s absence, because he knows the kind of guilt it would force Jun to carry around. So he smiles and cooperates when Jun talks about having one last concert with the five of them, even if he feels like he’s the one left carrying something heavy and unbearable inside him.

“You could tell him,” Sho says.

“I already did.”

“You could tell him how you really felt – what you really want.”

Ohno doesn’t have an answer to that.

“You don’t know that the dreams you’ve been having are real.” Sho speaks carefully, like he’s afraid of offending Ohno. “And even if they were real, then what? Does that mean you don’t have to try in this lifetime?”

“Try what, exactly?” Ohno asks. Sho shuts his mouth, unable to answer. “That’s the thing, Sho-kun. I don’t know what this means, either.” Liar, a voice in his head speaks up. But he pushes the thought away, and continues. “And I don’t know if it’s real, either. All I do know is I want Jun-kun to do what makes him happy, and if it means leaving us, then so be it.”

“Hey, stranger.”

Ohno takes his time turning from the window, and towards Jun. He smiles. “I thought you wouldn’t remember who I am,” he says, teasing.

“I should be the one saying that to you,” Jun replies. “I was gone for two weeks, and not once did you call or message me.”

“Was I supposed to?” Ohno asks innocently. Jun just laughs a little, shaking his head. Ohno takes the bag from Jun’s hand, and says, “The rest couldn’t come to pick you up, but Aiba wants us to go over to his family’s place for dinner in a few hours.”

Jun groans. “But it’s so far away,” he complains. “And what’s the point of designating you as the pick-up guy? You can’t drive.”

Ohno grins and tells Jun that he had procured one of the company drivers’ services for the night, and that Jun could sleep on the way to Chiba.

In the car, he asks about the meetings Jun had went overseas for, but Jun is surprisingly secretive about it. “You’ll see,” is all he says, seeming hesitant, nervous, and happy at the same time. Ohno finds himself resenting the fact that something that sends Jun away could make Jun seem so unsettled-in-a-good-way, but he tells himself that he should be happy for Jun.

“Did you get me any souvenirs, at least?”

Jun falls quiet for a moment, and just when Ohno is about to tell him that it’s alright if he forgot, Jun says, “the strangest thing happened when I was there.”

Jun had a couple of free days when he was away, which he had spent catching up with friends and looking for souvenirs. When he finds the small, overcrowded antique bookshop he goes in immediately, thinking that he’d be able to find something old and suitably impressive for Sho, something quirky for Nino and Aiba, and something with nice illustrations for Ohno. It would definitely be different than his usual gifts.

He spends an hour looking through books, finding a nice first edition that Sho might like, and a book from an old children’s non-fiction series with gorgeous animal illustrations that he thinks both Aiba and Ohno would like. It takes him longer to find something for Nino, but he settles on a book about creating war games by an author whose name he’s heard of, but can’t place. He’s pretty sure that Nino would know. He’s still trying to decide whether to give the picture book to Aiba or Ohno, when he knocks over a small stack of books.

When he piles them back up, apologising to the staff, alternating between Japanese and English, one of the books catches his attention. He picks it up, and wonders why he feels like something cold is running down his spine.

“Oh!” The staff exclaims. “Do you know that the writer of that book is Japanese?”

He blinks at her, only understanding the last part of her words. She repeats her words, more slowly the second time. When he understands, he looks at the name on the book, but it isn’t a Japanese name.

“Oh, that’s a pseudonym. A nickname? The author was the protégé of a famous artist from back then –” the staff rattles off a name that only sounds vaguely familiar, although he’s sure that Ohno has heard of it – “and they both emigrated here when the author was only fourteen. He wrote and drew this book when he was sixteen!” Her eyes are bright; Jun only catches a bit of what she’s saying, but he could see that she’s a big fan.

He looks back down at the book in his hand – he couldn’t deny that it pulls at him, somehow. Maybe he’s homesick, he thinks.

“I’ll take this,” he tells her. The pictures are pretty enough, and he still needs a present for Ohno.

He looks up the author/illustrator when he’s back at the hotel. He finds out that the author’s real name had been Uehara Satoshi. The author had died very young, and only published the one book, but it haunts him, because it’s about two brothers, whose names are Satoshi and Jun.

Ohno looks at the book Jun gives him in awe. “So I – the other-me – made it,” he murmurs. He looks at Jun. “This means that it was real.”

“What is?” Jun isn’t sure that he understands what’s going on, but he knows that he finds Ohno’s words troubling.

“This. Us.” Ohno flips through the book. “Did you realise that this book is about us?”

“Riida,” Jun speaks, in the most rational voice he could muster, “this book was published before we were even born. It just has characters with our names, that’s all.”

Ohno shakes his head, and looks like he’s about to argue, but then changes his mind. “Thank you for finding this,” he says. “I never even thought of looking them up to find if they’re real.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ohno’s smile is warm, but a little resigned, and a little sad. “That’s okay.”

Jun finds himself wishing that he understands.

We’ve known each other for a long time. More than a decade, or decades. A century, maybe longer.

Ohno’s words wouldn’t leave his mind, and he’s distracted throughout his meetings all day. His manager is starting to get impatient with him, but his thoughts keep going back to the book he had found, and the niggling feeling that he had forgotten something important.

It’s frustrating, like the answer is right there before him and he just can’t see it, a word at the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite grasp no matter what he does.

He thinks of the one night Ohno had kissed him, and said that they would talk about it after he came back. It would be months still before he even leaves, and he’s already terrified of the idea of never seeing any of them for such a long stretch of time. When he thinks of Ohno, a kind of bitterness wells up in him, a resentment that he can’t quite place, and he attributes it to Ohno always saying and doing things he doesn’t mean. Things like telling pretty stories that are improbable. Things like kissing Jun.

Even though he’d never admit it, he’s afraid of leaving Ohno the most, because he’s afraid of finding out how much Ohno really means to him.

He’s too old to be climbing trees like a child, so he leans against the tree trunk, his head raised to see above the crowd gathering to see the procession leave. He’s tired; he had hardly slept the night before and he had started work early, with only a short break that he’s spending pushing through crowds to get to the exact same tree he had been on the first time he had seen Satoshi.

That day is going to be the last day he’ll see Satoshi, so he supposes that it’s fitting. He stands still, and watches, as the procession leaves, and the crowd disperses, and he’s all alone. Only then he closes his eyes, and tries to imagine a future where he no longer waits for Satoshi.

“Matsumoto-kun!” His manager’s voice is impatient, and he sits up immediately, trying to clear the fog of sleep.

“I’m very sorry,” he murmurs, and he sounds sorry. “I know I’ve been out of it all day.” Usually he’d wait and listen through his manager’s lecture, but he feels jumpy and (suddenly) wide awake, and he can’t wait because he doesn’t want any part of his dream to disappear. “Do you know where Riida would be right now?”

“Ohno-kun?” His manager looks perplexed, but like all their managers, he keeps a copy of the others’ schedules. He checks it, and tells Jun that Ohno is at a photo shoot with Sho for Non-No, and Jun is out of the door before he could say anything else.

Years in the future, he would still say that he has no idea how he had got to the studio, especially without being stopped even once. Perhaps he had been; he wouldn’t know, because he has no memory of it. The next thing he knows, he’s bursting through the studio doors, and everyone looks bewildered to see him there. Sho and Ohno are in a fake indoor garden or a florist’s, Jun has no idea which, and Sho’s holding out a large bouquet to Ohno. His hand drops to his side at the interruption, but he doesn’t drop the flowers, to his credit.

“Jun,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

“Riida,” he manages. “I need to talk to Riida.”

Confused, Sho just looks at Ohno, who is staring at the bouquet for some reason. “We’re in the middle of a shoot, Jun-kun,” he says, gentle but reproachful. “We can talk later.”

“Then I’ll wait,” Jun insists, and Ohno lets out a long sigh, before apologising to Sho and the staff, and walking away from the set. He takes Jun’s elbow, and leads the younger man to the dressing room.

“What is it?” Ohno asks. He looks annoyed, but also worried. “What happened?”

“It’s real, isn’t it?” On his way to the studio he keeps getting flashes of the past – not full fragments of memories, the way the first flashback was like, but something akin to snapshots, except that he could feel everything. It had been terribly unsettling, to have a memory of them as young boys – brothers – playing with other children in one second, and a memory of a strangely beautiful Satoshi undressing him, the next. He reddens as he remembers; it’s definitely strange to remember something like that with Ohno when in real life – in this life, he corrects himself – all they’ve done is to share a kiss. It’s strange, because he had woken up that morning feeling nothing for Ohno but the love he’d always had, one reserved for brothers, for close friends, for crushes one hadn’t quite succeeded in killing off, and now, not even a full day later, he’s bombarded with a slew of new feelings, too much too fast. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ohno, realising that he must be remembering, softens. “I did tell you,” he reminds Jun.

Jun shakes his head. “No,” he amends. “I meant, why didn’t you tell me – why didn’t make me understand, make me believe you?”

“If you hadn’t remembered,” he says, “would you really have believed me?”

This gives Jun a pause. “I suppose not.”

Ohno nods; Jun already understands his point. He feels relief that he isn’t the only one who knows about their past, but he still isn’t sure what they’re supposed to do about it.

Jun apparently feels the same. He shifts uncomfortably, before asking, “Can I hold you?”

Ohno still looks puzzled when Jun engulfs him in a hug. “Jun-kun?”

“Sorry,” Jun says, not letting go. “I just had so many flashbacks on my way here, and they make me feel like I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Jun does pull back slightly after his words, however, and they look at each other wordlessly for a moment, before Jun leans in again. Ohno’s hand reaches out and stops Jun before their lips could meet.

“I have a shoot to finish,” he says. “And you’re leaving.”

Ohno doesn’t see Jun at all during the following week – even when the whole band are together, he never gets to talk to Jun, because the other three would be there between them during filming, and Jun always disappears right after. At first the fact doesn’t seem so important, because he’s busy, and he knows that Jun is even busier. But as the second week rolls around he realises that Jun could be avoiding him.

He thinks about simply letting Jun do so; perhaps it would make things simpler all around. But in the end he finds himself heading towards their greenroom when he knows that no one should be around but Jun, who would be preparing for another one of his meetings.

Jun, of course, is surprised to see him.

Ohno doesn’t say anything. He finds himself a seat, planting himself on the sofa, like he’s supposed to be there.

“Riida,” Jun says, slowly. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here today.”

“Is that so?”

“You don’t have work until four hours from now.”

Jun knows his schedule better than he does. He nods. “That doesn’t mean I’m not supposed to be here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have to be here, don’t I, if it’s the only way for me to see Jun-kun?”

Jun looks startled at this. He lets out a resigned sigh, and goes over to him. He turns when Jun sits next to him.

“Now you want to talk about this?”

Ohno doesn’t answer, holding out his hand instead. Automatically, like he doesn’t need to think about it at all, Jun takes it, threading his fingers with Ohno’s.

“This feels so natural,” he says. “Everything we do – talking, hugging – even kissing. It all comes so naturally, like it’s meant. It’s always been like that, but now we know why.”

“It’s kind of scary,” Ohno says, putting into words what Jun hadn’t.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Jun admits. “It’s almost like – we don’t even have a choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Ohno replies. “To stay or to leave. To let this happen, or to break the cycle.”

Jun’s isn’t convinced. “One of us always leaves,” he says. “One way or another.”

“Then perhaps it’s better if we don’t let this happen.” But Jun shakes his head.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean – one of us always leaves, but that doesn’t mean we have to. Don’t you see? Maybe breaking the cycle doesn’t mean not letting this happen. Maybe we don’t really have a choice about that – I’m already halfway in love with you. Maybe breaking the cycle means not leaving.”

“But you are leaving,” Ohno points out.

Jun looks like he just remembered the fact, himself. “Oh,” he says softly. “I suppose I am.” He looks so unhappy with the thought that Ohno pulls him closer, into a slow, lazy kiss. He feels something tighten in his chest, and he wonders if it’s the anticipation of pain from their separation, or the memory of it resurfacing. When they break apart, Jun doesn’t pull away, letting Ohno hold him, murmuring that he has twenty minutes before he absolutely has to leave for his meeting.

Ohno ignores the words, concentrating on the taste of Jun that still lingers, the feel of Jun in his arms.

It feels like coming home.

Jun leaves again, a few days after their conversation. This time Ohno doesn’t really know about it beforehand and finds it hard to swallow down the swell of panic caught in his throat. It’s just a couple of meetings, Jun tells him, and he’ll be back before the week is over. Still he insists on spending time together before Jun leaves, even though the last day they filmed two shows back to back, headed off to separate magazine interviews, and Jun had more meetings in Tokyo itself. By the time both of them are done, the day is over, and Jun takes Ohno to his place for a late night/early morning supper. Ohno helps Jun pack for the trip, and although he gets in the way more than helps – Jun has to re-fold shirts and rearrange everything after – Jun doesn’t seem to mind.

“Do you remember,” Ohno asks, “that you packed for me, every time I had to leave?” He’s speaking of the other life, when they only spent half of each year in each other’s company, before Ohno leaves for good.

Jun’s hand, holding a book he’s trying to find space for in his suitcase, hovers for a moment, before falling uselessly to his side. “I remember,” he says.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“Packing is easy,” Jun answers, and starts to explain, but Ohno stops him with a small shake of the head.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says.

“I know.” Jun’s reply is sober, and he continues packing. “But, you know, crying and making a scene isn’t helpful.”

Ohno laughs at that. “I don’t think I know how to do that, either.” He watches as Jun finally manages to put everything in, and closes the suitcase. He thinks about watching Jun leave, and all the times Jun had watched him leave. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Jun pauses at that. “You’re not them,” he says. “And it wasn’t like they thought they had any other choice.” He stands. “I’m done. There’s only a few hours before I have to leave for the airport, but you’ll stay, won’t you?”

“I’ll be with you all the way to the airport,” Ohno promises. “You should get some sleep, though.”

Both of them are too tired, and sleep comes easily, although Ohno gets restless and wakes up a lot. Sometimes when he wakes, it wakes Jun, who, getting impatient and wanting to get back to sleep, finally pulls Ohno in his arms and tells him to sleep, or else.

“But it’s hard,” Ohno murmurs, his voice low enough that Jun wouldn’t hear, but Jun shifts anyway, and speaks.

“Do you remember the stars?” he asks.

“When?”

“All of the times. They’re always there, aren’t they? We’re like that, too.”

“They aren’t the same stars, though,” Ohno reminds Jun. “Stars die.”

“And new ones appear. No matter how much time passes, or how much things change here, how many people we become, we’re always going to be able to look up, and see them.” Ohno makes a humming noise in assent, and Jun continues, “We’re like that. We’re not the same people from those other times, either. Stars die, stars get born – but they won’t disappear, and neither shall we.”

Ohno laughs, high and almost giggly, but short. “We’re not dying yet, Jun-kun.”

“Exactly. This is just one week. I’ll be back. There’s nothing to worry about, so go to sleep.”

One week, Ohno thinks. Perhaps one week would be manageable. He’s pretty sure that they’ve been separated for that long, and longer, before – in fact, he knows that they have – but he feels like he’s forgotten what it’s like. Separation takes on a different perspective when one remembers more permanent partings.

One week is manageable, he tells himself. Because if it isn’t, then how is he going to manage an entire year, or more?

The alarm that wakes him up in the morning sounds different, and when his arm reaches out to shut it up he finds that it isn’t there. He sits up, disoriented, and it takes him a few seconds to remember that he’s at Jun’s place. The alarm gets louder, and he’s relieved when Jun strides over to switch it off with one hand, the other holding a book.

“I don’t think you need yet another book, Jun-kun,” he says helpfully. “You’ve already squeezed in two in your suitcase, and you’re taking a manga and a novel in your carry on bag.”

“No, that’s not it,” Jun replies distractedly. “There’s something in here…” he flips through the book, looking for something. “I had a flashback this morning – you said that we’ll always be connected – and it reminded me of something… aha!” He looks triumphant as he finds what he’s looking for, and holds it out for Ohno to see.

Ohno tries to look impressed, but doesn’t really understand. “It’s a poem,” he says.

Nodding, Jun explains, “it’s about goodbyes and separation – the narrator is leaving the person he loves, and he’s telling them not to be sad, because they’re always connected. Read this part.” He points out the stanza, and Ohno obliges. The verse likens the connection between the lovers as something that can’t be broken, two stars that gravitate around each other, two arms that may be able to stretch and circle around each other, but never let go completely, and always finding their way back to each other.

“Do you think I might have written this?” Ohno asks, since it mirrors his thoughts about the thing that ties him to Jun.

Laughing, Jun shakes his head. “This was only published a couple of years ago, so unless you lead a double life as a writer, I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” He looks back at the book, thinking that it’s his time to say goodbye, and to wait. Saying it out loud would only upset Jun, though, so he changes the subject, asking if they’re having breakfast before they leave for the airport.

“One day,” Satoshi says, “I’m going to write my own comics.” He had just finished reading the latest instalment depicting the adventures of Ryusuke, or Ryu, the boy who travels around Japan, surviving on his wit and adventurous nature. Jun, uninterested, looks over from his homework.

“Father’s never going to let you. He thinks that artists are dirt-poor and unkempt. He’ll kick you out of the house before he lets you become one.”

“So I’ll leave the house before he gets a chance to do that,” Satoshi replies, unconcerned. When Jun frowns, he adds, “I’m just kidding. I’m not going to leave you, okay?”

Jun doesn’t say anything, and turns back to his work, but he finds himself unable to concentrate. He thinks that Satoshi is wrong, because Satoshi always leaves – then he asks himself why he thinks that, and comes up with nothing. So he tells himself that he’s just worrying too much and imagining things, and brushes off the unnamed dread that begins to coil in him.

To say that the week flies by would be an exaggeration, but Ohno finds it easier than he had expected. Sho always makes sure to be there with him at all times, talking his mouth off and not letting Ohno get a word in edgewise, which is a good thing because he never really knows how to respond to all the things Sho talks about. But he enjoys listening to Sho – he always had.

Nino is… well, Nino. He doesn’t hold back on any of his barbs or jabs, despite Aiba elbowing him when he hints on Ohno missing Jun. Ohno doesn’t really mind; it’s Nino’s way of showing concern, he thinks. And if any of the words had stung, then all is forgiven anyway when, at the end of the day, and in between takes, Nino clings to him whenever he gets the chance.

He appreciates Aiba the most, sometimes, because Aiba acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. It reminds him that he doesn’t have time to indulge in things like missing Jun, when they all have work to do. He also likes it best when Aiba makes everyone laugh, how Aiba seems to have more energy than he could possibly contain, and when they go out after work, just the two of them, how Aiba could sometimes seem like a different person, someone who understands that he just wants company, and silence.

It reminds him how much he loves them, all of them, and it makes him realise that this is the lifetime he wants to treasure the most. Because even if he does find Jun again in the next (and it isn’t as if there’s a guarantee that he would, he reminds himself) he isn’t so sure about the rest of them, and they are people whose existence he wanted to always have near him.

He also thinks about the poem Jun had shown him, how separation isn’t really separation when there’s something connecting them – they’re just two stars orbiting each other, and if they should go off-course, gravity will bring them back.

A week may not be as difficult as he had thought, but a year is a different thing. The lines of the poem runs in his head, over and over, until he thinks he knows the answer, even though he hadn’t known that there had been a riddle in the first place.

On the fifth day they have a meeting about their upcoming concert, and they all find themselves wishing for Jun. They knew that Jun does most of the planning, but they’d never really considered how much work it is until they had to start on it themselves. By the end of the day they’ve all accomplished little, and had only exhaustion and annoyance and frustration to show for it. Aiba asks him out for drinks, since they both needed it by then, but he’s more tired than anything else and just wants to get home.

He finds Jun waiting for him, leaning awkwardly against the lobby wall. His luggage – the same one that Ohno had helped to pack – is still with him, lying by his feet.

He stops, and takes a few moments to determine that he isn’t imagining things. Then, aware that the concierge is looking, he acts like he’s been expecting Jun, and motions for the younger man to follow him up. It’s only when they’re both alone in the elevator that he speaks.

“What are you doing here?”

“Breaking the cycle.” Jun answers calmly, but Ohno knows him well enough to see that Jun is nervous – perhaps even scared. “I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

“The drama –” Ohno stops when the elevator door stops, and one of his neighbours step in. She lives one floor below him, and while they hardly see each other he considers them in pretty friendly terms. But when he greets her, she just smiles politely and nods at him, and stares at the floor. He’s puzzled, until the elevator reaches her floor, and she glances at Jun before leaving.

“I think she’s a fan of yours,” he comments. Jun doesn’t answer, not in the mood to change the subject. When they finally reach his floor, Jun steps out first.

In his apartment, he heads straight to the kitchen, dropping his things at the nearest counter. Jun picks up his bag and hangs it up at the coat hanger behind his door.

“It’s funny,” Ohno says. “Once I thought that the reason I can’t tell you about how I felt was because of who we are. It would be too difficult, and anyway – I wasn’t supposed to like you, or to want you to like me. We’re idols. That’s not what we do.”

Jun smiles. “That’s exactly what we do, Riida.”

“Not in the way I mean,” he says, and Jun sighs; he understands. “But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” After missing out on each other in their previous lives, he had stopped caring about whether or not he was allowed to care for Jun – he already did, and his problem was what he was to do with how he felt. “You haven’t said why you’re here.”

“I did,” Jun tells him. “I said I’m breaking the cycle. Didn’t I?”

“That’s not really an answer.”

Ohno opens the fridge to get them drinks, but Jun asks another question that makes him forget what he’s doing. “Remember when I left, before last week? Well, after discussing things over, and doing their pilot episode, they decided that they wanted to keep me for at least two years.”

Ohno remembers saying that two years isn’t a long time, and wondered why he had a feeling even then that his words were going to come back to haunt him.

“A lot of things can happen in two years,” he says, thinking of what Nino had told him.

“I know.” The door to the fridge is still open, so Jun closes it. “That’s why I declined them.”

“So… that’s it? You’re just not going to do it? Can you even do that?”

“Not exactly.” Jun’s mouth twists into a grimace, as he admits, “I was completely chewed out by my manager, and just about everyone else involved on our side. And I already did the pilot with them, so they still want me to come back for a couple of episodes or so. I’ll just be a minor character, someone who’ll fade away early in the series.”

“How long would that take?”

“Not long. Just a few weeks, at most. Maybe not even that.”

Ohno looks at Jun, studying his face carefully. “And you’re okay with that.”

“Satoshi,” Jun starts, before stopping. Both of them are startled – Jun’s only called him that in their flashbacks. Jun hardly even calls him Oh-chan, the way Nino and Aiba do. Then Jun repeats himself. “Satoshi. Do you want me to leave?”

Honesty, Ohno reminds himself. Perhaps it’s the best way to go, at least in small doses. “No.” He sees the relief in the way Jun’s shoulders loosens, and relaxes, and he wonders – does Jun really think he wants him gone? “I just don’t want you to regret not chasing after something you want.”

“You did that,” Jun says, “in the other life. So tell me, did you think it was worth it?”

“I thought it was – at least, I think I thought it was; I don’t remember everything.” But the only thing that the other-him had published had been about Jun, so it’s obvious that the thought of his brother had never quite left his mind.

Jun nods. “You were so determined. I don’t think anything could have stopped you.” He leans against the kitchen counter, then, sighing a little. “When I remembered that, I realised that this is completely different. Sure, I wanted it – but I didn’t want it the way you had wanted your art, or the way I want other things, now. Things like Arashi, and like you. Us.”

“And what, exactly, is ‘us’?” Ohno turns to make himself busy with getting glasses out of cabinets, so that Jun wouldn’t see the smile on his face as he asked the question. It is a valid question, though – they had been many things in the past, but they’ve yet to decide what they are in the present, or what they want to be in the future.

He had already figured out his answer, while Jun was away, but he supposes that Jun needs to do it on his own, too.

Jun doesn’t disappoint, coming closer again, taking the glasses away from Ohno’s hands and putting them on the counter, before pulling Ohno into a loose hold. “We’re whatever we want us to be,” he says, bending over and dropping a light kiss at the hollow of Ohno’s throat. That part, Ohno hadn’t been expecting – he swallows, preparing to ask another question. Jun doesn’t let him, though, making him a little dazed by trailing more light kisses on his bare skin. It’s an invitation, Ohno realises, and he pushes at Jun’s chest gently, shifting their positions before taking charge, and kissing back.

It takes a long time before they’re reminded of their conversation again, and step away, a little more dishevelled and out of breath than before. He feels super-charged and electric, and he almost misses it when Jun says, “I take it that you feel the same.”

He laughs. He doesn’t know why, but the situation suddenly seems hilarious to him, and he laughs until he’s slightly hunched and holding his stomach, and Jun starts laughing along, more because it’s contagious than anything else.

Jun then says something about not being able to stay away, because isn’t that what the poem really meant – that he can’t stay away, and the answer is to break the cycle, and not leave.

Still chuckling – and still trying to figure out what is it that he finds funny – Ohno takes Jun’s hand, looks out the kitchen window into the night sky, and says, “I knew you’d figure it out, sooner or later.”

Stars die, and the ones that he’s looking at may not even exist any longer, but their light remains.

“Just like us,” he murmurs, his thought echoing the other-hims, and Jun looks up, too, and sees the stars, and understands.

“Just like us,” Jun agrees.