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It’s 6am on this fine August day, and traffic on the 405 is looking better than usual...
Brian groaned, wondering why Rivers hadn’t turned off the alarm radio yet. He reached across his left side, over the body next to him, and hit snooze.
As Brian lifted the comforter, he noticed a smattering of long, brown-gold hair against the white pillow, like paint on a blank canvas. Brian furrowed his brows, perplexed, and gingerly pulled the comforter down.
A young man, in his early 20s, lay there—dark eyelashes resting against his pale, plump skin. His hair was draped messily over his face and the crook of his delicate neck.
Brian blinked, rubbed his eyes, and wondered if he was still dreaming. For this was not his husband’s receding hair, crow’s feet, and thick moustache.
Was this a prank? Brian looked around the room for any sign of his husband, but he was nowhere to be seen. His house slippers were still at the foot of the bed. Why would Rivers pull something like this today, of all days? Their flight to Japan for Weezer’s Troublemaker tour was in a few hours, Brian wouldn’t have thought Rivers would do this on such an important day. Or ever, actually.
Perhaps he was a figment of Brian’s imagination. He gently brushed the sleeping boy’s hair out of the way, revealing lips as pink and plump as a peach, and a cute, round button nose.
Brian screamed.
The stranger in his bed stirred, eyes shooting open. They were so dark brown they looked black, large, and doe-like. Brian recognized those eyes.
“What the fuck?" The boy cursed. His voice had a youthful, abrasive quality that Brian had not heard for years.
He narrowed his eyes at Brian. “I usually don’t go for older guys..."
“Who are you?” Brian snapped, “where’s Rivers?”
The boy ran a hand through his long, feathery hair that seemed to go on forever.
“I’m right here," he replied sassily, “who are you ?”
“You’re not Rivers Cuomo.” Brian said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than state a simple fact.
The boy pursed his lips in the same way that Rivers usually did when he had nothing more to say because his mind couldn’t be changed—Brian recognized it and wondered if this might actually be his husband, albeit a much younger version.
Then he began to wonder what happened to his Rivers. Shit, he realized—they were going on tour! Panic hit Brian like a ten ton truck. He felt his chest constrict and his breathing become belabored. He glanced at the much younger Rivers, who was staring at the silver band on Brian’s left hand.
“Okay...” He said, trying to reign control of the situation, “uh, I’m gonna make a call. Stay right there.”
“Why should I listen to you? I don’t even know you.” Rivers retorted.
“I’ll make pancakes if you stay."
His eyes widened with delight, “then I’ll stay." A devilish grin took over his face.
Brian bit his lip, and suddenly he knew this must be Rivers. Even though he had a much more unapologetic, rebellious attitude than the Rivers which Brian had come to know. It was an attractive contrast with his soft, boyish look—pin-straight hair framing his pale, baby face.
Brian stood and picked up his Blackberry—not without a tilted head and confused, intrigued look from Rivers—and dialed Karl.
“What do you remember doing last night?” Karl leaned forward on the dining table, eyes intently focused on Rivers, who devoured the stack of pancakes slathered in agave syrup and coconut oil that Brian had made for him while ignoring his complaints about there being ‘only sissy food in this lame-ass crib’.
“Uh, nothing,” Rivers said with his mouth full, “I went to bed around 4am.”
Karl had brought Pat along, too, but he wasn’t much help, perched on a stool at the breakfast island with mouth agape, completely stunned into silence.
Rivers didn’t even acknowledge him, or look up from his pancakes long enough to recognize Karl’s narrow, blue eyes—too distracted by what looked to be his first real meal since he landed in Los Angeles, judging by the vigor with which he ate.
“What were you doing up so late?” Karl asked, not unlike a stern but gentle father.
“Nunya,” Rivers murmured with a full mouth.
From behind the kitchen sink, Brian listened to their conversation, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He missed his husband immensely.
Karl sighed, “this could be important to figuring out how you got here, and how to get you back. And get our Rivers back.”
“Fine,” Rivers rolled his eyes, “I was jerking off.”
Pat let out a chuckle, which made Rivers finally look at him, an expression of concentration taking over his face for a second, before Brian rounded the kitchen island and stood in front of Rivers. He had a sudden idea.
“What were you thinking about?” He asked.
Rivers coughed, “what?”
“Rivers—our Rivers, that is—was telling me last night that he was looking at pictures of me in my 20s.” Brian explained, “We were joking about- I don’t know… How much time we’d wasted back then.”
“I knew it,” Rivers muttered. “You two are married .” He spat the word out like it was poisonous.
Brian shot him a dark, withering death glare. The boy shrugged it off, rolling his eyes as he dug his fork into the pancakes.
“That’s a good point, Bri,” Karl said, “If our Rivers was thinking about his past, and this Rivers was thinking about his future, perhaps the two Rivers could have experienced some intense emotional symbiosis and swapped places… As crazy as that sounds.”
“You read too many comics, dude.” Rivers commented.
“So,” Brian placed his hand on the table by Rivers’ plate, trying to be authoritative, flexing their 17-year age gap and saying in a low voice, “what were you thinking about when you were jerking off last night?”
“You kinda suck at playing bad cop. You should let the bald one do it.”
Nobody said anything. Pat placed his head in his hands.
“If you gotta know, it was an older woman. Like a cougar or whatever.” Rivers eventually admitted.
Brian frowned at Rivers’ downcast eyes. He wasn’t shameful about liking older women, Brian knew, seeing his own shame in the lines of Rivers’ guarded expression. He remembered how tough it was being closeted in the 90s, and felt a sudden pang of pity and protectiveness for the vulnerable boy in front of him.
Brian glanced over at Karl, “Looks like those comic books were good for something.”
“Now we just need to figure out how to get our Rivers back in time for the show,” Karl nodded, “in about forty-eight hours.”
Brian sighed, concerned for his husband—if Karl was right, he’d be in 1992, surrounded by a bunch of 20-something music school dropouts in the shitty part of LA… Now that he thought about it, he was kind of jealous. He stared at young Rivers, wondering if he was frightened by this new world where his future life was completely unrecognizable. But nothing in his expression gave this away, and he simply stuffed pancakes into his mouth like a starved man.
In Japan, Rivers slept. As far as Brian knew, Rivers only slept—that true, deep, sleep that left you refreshed and clear-headed—when he had been thoroughly fucked the night before, or whenever he was jet-lagged. This seemed to be true of Rivers at any age, Brian noticed, as he sat in the living room of the hotel suite and listened to Rivers’ soft snoring from the bedroom.
Brian let him sleep for 12 hours before waking him up. It was more challenging than he thought it would be, reminding him of early mornings spent wrestling his younger sister out of bed before school.
“We have to figure out how to get things back to normal, otherwise this tour will be fucked!” Brian yelled, tugging the sheets off of Rivers, who was laying curled up on his side.
Rivers pouted, folding his arms over himself as his brown hair fell across his face.
“You’re sending me away,” he said in a quiet voice.
“What?” Brian crouched to get a better view of Rivers’ face. “What are you talking about?”
“I come all the way to Japan and don’t even get to see it?” He whined.
Brian sighed. He reached out to tuck Rivers’ silky hair behind his ear, a small display of affection that he knew Rivers treasured.
“Let’s go out, then. We can figure something out tonight, alright?” Brian cooed.
A grin overtook Rivers’ face, and he jumped up wordlessly, running past Brian and into the bathroom.
“Okay…” Brian muttered to himself.
Summer in Tokyo was one of Rivers and Brian’s favorite vacations. They’d spent their honeymoon here, biking along narrow streets and getting drunk at karaoke bars, while the rising sun caressed their skin as they stole kisses, watching the sky shift colors like a chameleon. Rivers usually led them through the city with his working Japanese, planning an itinerary down to the minute. Though this never felt stifling because Brian would always talk Rivers’ ear off along the way, and Rivers liked the challenge of figuring out street directions and train lines while still listening to what Brian had to say. That’s what he told Brian, at least.
But being with a young Rivers, who had never been to Japan and knew no Japanese, was an entirely different experience. His mouth practically hung open as the pair strolled down Shibuya and Harajuku, taking in not only the advanced technology of Japan, but of the new millennium. Rivers still led Brian, but he had childlike wonder as his guide, instead of a planned itinerary. He ran—leaving a trail of striking copper hair in his wake—towards anything that might have piqued his interest. His unbridled joy was something Brian hadn’t seen in his middle-aged husband for quite some time.
One of the things that piqued his interest was a five-story arcade in Akihabara. Rivers’ beautiful brown eyes caught the midday sun as he batted his eyelashes at Brian, and suddenly Brian was 5,000 yen poorer.
Rivers raced around the arcade, trying nearly every machine, while Brian followed him around and basked in the glow of his face that lit up brighter than the flash of the arcade machines.
At one point, Brian’s forearm was caught in a hot, vice grip. Rivers pulled him towards the elevator.
“We have to do the rhythm games, they’re on the fifth floor.” He explained, “I was saving them for last.”
Brian smiled, “sure.”
“This place is radical,” Rivers commented as they rode the elevator, “I wish I lived in the future.”
Brian chuckled. Then he remembered Rivers’ favorite arcade game, one they used to play every time they were in Tokyo, even though lately they hadn’t even been visiting the arcade on their Japan trips.
“Hey, follow me.” Brian said, lightly touching Rivers’ shoulder, guiding him deeper into the arcade.
“Woah, is that a guitar?” Rivers said, running up to the machine.
“Yeah, this game is called GuitarFreaks. Rivers—uh, my Rivers—introduced it to me, actually.” Brian explained, “you play guitar using the controller and try to hit all the notes when they come on screen. I’ll show you.”
Brian played a round, scoring a modest 70%, while Rivers watched, eyes darting between the screen and Brian’s fingers hitting the plastic buttons on the guitar’s neck and body.
“That’s so sweet, man.” Rivers grinned, “I wanna try.”
Brian placed the controller over Rivers’ head, securing it at his torso with the strap. Rivers hit the buttons and shook the strum bar between index and thumb, testing out the controls.
“I wish actual guitar was this easy to play.”
Brian pursed his lips as he selected an easy song, “you might take that back after this.”
The high-tempo rock music blasting from the machine was quickly drowned out by Rivers’ frustrated grunts and flustered yelps as he frantically tapped on the plastic guitar, eyes fixed to the screen that moved faster than his hands. Brian couldn’t help the pitiful laughter that escaped his lips.
“Tilt the guitar! Tilt it!” Brian yelled, trying to help.
But Rivers was frustrated, face scrunched up in concentration and anger, “Shut up!”
Brian chuckled as Rivers miserably missed the Wailing Bonus. The song ended.
“Ooh,” Brian hissed, “thirty-five percent…”
“Play it again.” Rivers ordered, adjusting the guitar.
Brian shrugged, inserting more coins as the machine chirped its approval.
He played the same song again, this time, focusing more intently on the chords and colors on screen. His deft fingers were spread across the buttons, lips taken in between his teeth, standing stock still in concentration.
Brian cheered from the sidelines as the frequent ‘Miss’ scores turned to ‘OK’ and ‘Good’. He pumped his fist in the air when Rivers swayed his hips, taking the guitar up in the air and hitting the Wailing Bonus.
“Yeah!” He yelled, not caring if he was being another loud, obnoxious American in the arcade. All that mattered to Brian at that moment was Rivers’ gleaming, victorious smile and his own heart pounding in his chest—like falling in love all over again.
Rivers’ chest rose and fell gently with adrenaline, as he glanced over at Brian with a strange expression—his smile was still there, but his lips were slightly down turned, teeth exposed, animal-like. His eyes like dark clouds gathering before a storm, boring into Brian’s.
A noise on the machine caused Rivers to break away, glancing at the score. “Hey, sixty percent!” He cheered.
“You killed it!” Brian said, patting Rivers on the back, “wanna go again?”
“Nah, I think I redeemed myself.” He said, removing the guitar from his body. “I’m starving.”
“Well, I’ve still got about 20,000 yen left.” Brian said, “take your pick.”
Rivers raised his brows, “damn, I didn’t marry no scrub.”
Brian simply laughed, wrapped his arm around Rivers’ shoulder, and led them towards the elevator.
“Did it work?” Brian called from beyond the bedroom door. Outside, the sun was setting, casting a brilliant orange light throughout the hotel suite.
Rivers didn’t respond. He’d been in there for the past hour with Brian’s laptop and a bottle of Aveeno moisturizer.
Brian knocked again before entering, thinking Rivers might have disappeared, that their plan would have worked, but instead, Rivers was sitting on the bed, scrolling through Brian’s laptop with his boxers at his ankles.
Brian lifted his hands to cover his eyes, “why didn’t you say something?!”
“Huh? Oh,” Rivers said, “I was looking at your wedding pictures.”
“What?” Brian took a tentative step closer, “You were supposed to be looking at pictures of me from the 90s!”
“I don’t think this is gonna work,” Rivers sighed.
Brian dropped his hands and Rivers had shrugged his boxers back on. “What do you mean? This has to work.”
“I mean… I dunno,” Rivers tilted his head back against the headboard, exasperated. “I’m distracted.”
“Distracted?” Brian perched on the edge of the bed, just by Rivers’ bare feet. “By what?”
Rivers didn’t meet Brian’s gaze, instead looking up at the ceiling like someone trying to stop tears from falling. “I’ve been… fantasizing about older guys. And you’re… older. And you’re hot.”
“You think I’m hot?” Brian asked. Some part of his brain knew that was the wrong thing to say at that point, and he should know better, but the way Rivers’ pale, exposed throat worked nervously, overrode his usual protocols.
Rivers met Brian’s gaze. “Yes.”
“Do you want to fuck me?” Brian asked, voice hoarse, barely a whisper.
“Yes.”
He leapt up like a predator seizing its prey, slender limbs pouncing on Rivers’ small frame. Their lips smashed together in a dizzying, electric shock. Rivers let out a muffled cry from under Brian, his delicate hands finding Brian’s waist, pulling the older man closer.
Their bodies slotted perfectly, like puzzle pieces, as they slipped under a thick, luscious haze of pleasure. Brian pressed his lips on every inch of Rivers’ soft, plump skin—biting into that ripe, forbidden fruit. Rivers rubbed his cheek against Brian’s, the short, thick stubble leaving his flawless skin red and raw, deepening his blush.
Brian curled his wrist around Rivers’ lush hair and pulled. Rivers hissed, growing hard under his thin boxers.
Rivers was as mercurial as the ocean, hips grinding erratic and then not. Brian tried to follow his lead, playing counterpoints to his main melody as their bodies made sweet music together.
And when the sun had finally disappeared beyond the horizon, Brian and Rivers were left panting, laying next to each other in the delicious afterglow.
“Is this considered cheating?” Rivers wondered out loud.
“I don’t think so.” Brian responded.
“Good,” Rivers nodded, “I wouldn’t want my husband to turn out to be a cheater.”
Brian grinned, rolling his head to look at Rivers. Rivers turned his head minutely, eyes meeting Brian’s, a small smile playing on his lips.
The sun was always brighter in Japan, especially in late Summer. Even from behind his thick curtains, the sun’s heat beat down on Brian’s sleeping body. He kicked his sheets off and glanced over to the other bed in the room. It looked like Rivers had woken up before him.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair and wondering how he would get his husband back, when the door to the bathroom opened.
Rivers walked out, towel low on his waist, under his chubby waistline. Brian watched him rub his head with another towel, and when he was done, throwing it on the bed, his hair was no longer glowing and waist-length. It was short, dull, and thin. His upper lip had a thick mustache. Rivers stood before Brian with what looked like a blank stare, but Brian could see the softness around his eyes, the slight curve of his lips. This was the man he married, and his heart burst.
“Hey, babe.” Rivers said, simply.
Brian practically sprinted across the room and wrapped his arms around his husband, squeezing him with all his love. “God, I missed you so much.”
“Me too, Bri.” Rivers laughed.
He snaked his arms up to reciprocate the hug, and when Brian felt the cold metal of Rivers’ wedding band against his back, he sighed. He was home.