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When Space Twins played their first Summer Sonic, a fan approached Brian Bell, lead singer and guitarist, and told him that he must visit Kyoko’s Shop in Nagoya. Apparently, it was owned by the best witchcraft teacher in Japan, who custom-made trinkets that fulfilled the deepest desire in her customer’s hearts. This piqued Brian’s interest, not just because witchcraft had largely been repressed in the States, but also because he wanted to learn what his deepest desire was. After all, he was a rock star with a huge record deal, making the kind of music he wanted with his best friends, and could have any number of drugs and groupies with the click of a finger. What else could he possibly desire?
Apparently, a keychain. A palm-sized, plastic figurine keychain. A stick figure man with a cartoonishly large, cubed head adorned with glasses smiled and waved at Brian. He kept his mouth in a flat, unimpressed line. Kyoko smiled at him serenely.
Brian really should have known better. When he arrived back home, he picked up the keychain again—felt its smooth edges, brushed a thumb across the slightly raised curves of its face, and wondered what it could represent—when a man suddenly appeared in his living room.
Brian remembered screaming like the house had caught on fire. The poor man attempted to shush him, warm palms grasping his shoulders.
“I won’t hurt you, Brian-chan!” He exclaimed.
It was only the use of that peculiar suffix that made Brian pause and look at the man.
He was slightly shorter than Brian, with brown hair that brushed over his forehead messily. He wore thick glasses that did little to hide his intense, dark brown eyes, but they complemented his nerdy outfit—a white dress shirt, green sweater vest and unironed slacks.
He introduced himself as ‘Kawa’, but urged Brian to call him the English translation, ‘Rivers’, when Brian had butchered the pronunciation. Rivers apparently knew everything about Brian, because Kyoko had created him especially for Brian, as his executive snuggler.
“My what?” Brian raised his brows sky high.
“Executive Snuggler.” He repeated, matter-of-factly, “Whenever you’re sad or need a snuggle, I pop out with an electric blanket and hot chocolate.”
Brian blinked, too stunned to say anything.
“But I can only emerge for one hour, since I’m cursed. The curse can be broken, though I’m not sure how.” Rivers explained.
“O-okay,” Brian stammered.
Rivers frowned, “That’s all you’re gonna say?”
“Uh, um,” He was still trying to process the fact that a man had emerged from his keychain. Perhaps he was still jet-lagged, or maybe the air hostess had slipped LSD in his Pinot Grigio.
“Okay,” Rivers took a step closer, “What about a hug?”
Brian wasn’t usually a touchy-feely person, but something about Rivers’ doe-like eyes and soft, milky skin made Brian step closer. His feet moved of their own volition, as if he was a robot programmed to seek out this man and his embrace. Brian held his arms out, and melted into that warm, inviting body.
“There, doesn’t that feel good?” Rivers cooed, voice low and sweet.
From his place on Rivers’ chest, Brian nodded. It did feel good.
In the next coming months, Brian felt himself reaching for the figurine keychain almost daily. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to be touched—so intimately, a touch that was gentle and seeped in affection, nothing like the clinical, rushed grabbing with drunk girls he fucked in hotel rooms on tour—or because he felt sorry for the magical being. Spending your days trapped in plastic didn’t sound very fun.
Nevertheless, Rivers quickly became Brian’s best friend and confidante. Brian loved playing records for him, buying him soft serve at Santa Monica pier, and cooking him elaborate dinners, complete with wine pairings. Rivers loved listening to 80s hair metal, licking vanilla-chocolate swirl into a smooth sphere, and scarfing down seafood paella with white wine. But what they both loved best was cuddling up beside each other on the couch with Rivers’ electric blanket and two cups of steaming, sweet hot chocolate.
Brian pulled Rivers closer to him, palm against his upper arm. Rivers buried his face in Brian’s neck, and Brian leaned down, his cheek brushing against Rivers’ feathery soft hair. Rivers always smelled like cocoa and clean laundry. It was reassuring how consistent and familiar he was. There wasn’t much consistency in the life of a touring performer—hotels, managers, equipment, girls, set lists, sometimes even band members… they all changed with the tides. But Rivers remained the same.
Suddenly, Brian’s watch beeped.
“Time’s up.” Rivers sighed sadly.
Brian’s fingers caressed the side of Rivers’ face and lifted his chin, meeting that warm, syrupy gaze.
Rivers’ face bloomed pink as he smiled—a shy, reserved smile full of gratitude that made Brian’s heart flutter.
“Mata ne, Brian-chan.” He said, and pecked Brian’s cheek with his velvety lips.
Brian shut his eyes, basking in the warmth like a lazy cat in the sun. Bliss coursed through his body. When he opened his eyes, Rivers was gone, and only the cold plastic of the figurine remained.
After the release of Space Twins’ first full length studio album, the band set off for a whirlwind North American tour. Every day was spent on the road in their cramped tour bus, where personal space seemed a distant memory. Brian had never been on a tour that moved at this pace, and felt all the little self-care rituals he had treasured slipping away from him.
In Dallas, their tour manager announced that they were ahead of schedule for South by Southwest in Austin, so the band could finally have a day off. Tim and Glenn suggested they see the Reunion Tower, but Brian was so sleep-deprived that he slept through all his alarms and twenty missed calls from Tim, waking up just in time for dinner.
Brian rubbed his face, groggy and disoriented. He reached for his messenger bag, rummaging through it for his phone charger, when he saw the keychain. Brian stilled.
Rivers. He’d forgotten all about him.
Without another thought, he quickly swiped his thumb across the figurine’s face and prayed that he could be forgiven, that Rivers would still be there, that he wouldn’t forget Brian and all the sweet memories they had created together.
Brian glanced up and it seemed like a stranger stood in front of him. Rivers had longer, chin-length hair that fell into his eyes. He didn’t wear glasses anymore, and his clothing was similarly un-nerdy—he wore a maroon button down that accentuated his chest and hips, with loose, grey harem pants.
Brian bit his lip. This Rivers was delicious . And the murderous look he gave Brian—mouth flat and thin, dark circles around his thunderous eyes—simply added to his attractiveness.
“Rivers, I-” Brian began.
“Two. Weeks.” Rivers growled. Something in Brian’s stomach twisted. “You left me there for two. Weeks.”
“Rivers, I’m so sorry,” Brian pleaded, “Our manager booked us on this crazy tour, and I’ve been sleeping, like, three hours every night. Some mornings, I barely have time to shave!”
Rivers considered this, pursing his lips. “You’re gonna have to make it up to me, Brian.”
“Yes, anything, just name it.”
Rivers twisted his mouth and stared at the carpet.
“Rivers?” Brian was worried he might be too nervous to ask.
Rivers glanced up from his dark lashes and met Brian’s gaze, as alarming as a bright car in a dark highway, and Brian was merely a clueless deer caught in its glow.
“Take your pants off.”
Brian felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.
“Wh-what?!”
“I was thinking about you.” Rivers confessed, gaze downcast. “When I was trapped in the keychain. It’s a black room, you see, and I’m somewhere between waking and sleep, with nothing but my wandering mind to pass the time. And I could only think of you.”
Brian’s heart thumped violently, like it might burst out of his rib cage.
“I wondered what you would taste like, if I had reached over the electric blanket and kissed you. Would you be sweet, like the hot cocoa we drank?”
Brian exhaled shakily. It felt almost like Rivers had read his mind, because he thought of Rivers similarly—long nights after their snuggle sessions spent laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of nothing but those pink, pliable lips.
“I-I thought of you, too.” Brian confessed, “I mean, before the tour. I thought-”
“I know, Brian.” Rivers said, his eyes wistful and glassy. “So, take your pants off. Let me taste you.”
Brian's breath caught and he felt his legs lifting before he even knew what was going on, completely helpless to Rivers’ dark gaze. He petted Rivers’ face gently, and Rivers leaned into the touch he had yearned for.
Brian brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I like your long hair,” He murmured, voice low.
Rivers responded by grasping Brian’s soft cock with cold, smooth fingers. Rivers’ touch was sweet like soft serve on Santa Monica, but his mouth was hot like the Los Angeles sun, beating down on them as they lay on the sand, listening to the ocean tides push and pull.
Brian inhaled sharply as Rivers’ tongue slid along his length, sending waves of pleasure across his body. When was the last time it had been like this? Has it ever been like this? This reverent intimacy was so overwhelming it brought Brian to tears.
Knots untangled themselves in the base of Brian’s spine, coming undone as Rivers moved with fervor, pouring his longing into each messy maneuver—the scrapes of teeth and dribbles of saliva from his lips. Brian saw stars as he came.
In Rivers' arms again, he dissolved into stardust. Rivers stroked his back, kissing away salty tears that rolled over his face.
“I missed you so much," Rivers whispered. “Please never leave me."
Brian cupped Rivers’ face in his hands. “Never."
He leaned in and kissed Rivers’ lips, tasting his sweet, creamy mouth. It was hot, hotter than the hot chocolate that burned their tongues as they took eager sips on Brian’s couch.
In fact, Rivers’ skin seemed to burn up like a rocket hitting Earth. Brian pulled back, fingers stinging.
“Rivers?"
He opened his eyes, and a bright, white light glared in his face, blinding him. Brian shielded his eyes with his hands, hissing.
“Rivers?!" He exclaimed, panicked. He grasped the air for the other man, finding nothing.
A hand settled on his shoulder, warm and large. Brian opened his eyes and found the bright light had disappeared, replaced by Rivers’ angelic face.
He smiled, white teeth gleaming. “You did it," he breathed.
Brian reached out to touch him. “Did what? What just happened?"
“The curse, you broke it." Rivers touched his chest, wistful, as if to remind himself he was real. “I’m never going back there."
Brian grasped his shoulders. “Are you sure?"
Rivers nodded, moving to Brian’s messenger bag on the bed. He showed it to Brian, who noticed that the figurine keychain had disappeared.
Brian crushed their bodies together in a tight embrace. “You can stay, you can stay forever.” He pulled Rivers back, face somber. “Will you?"
“Yes, I will." Rivers said, and Brian squeezed him again.
Against the sweet mint scent of Brian’s neck, where he was truly home, Rivers murmured, “I do."
