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The moonlight shone on his face, as beautiful as can be, and Kiku thanks whoever decided to use less artificial lighting for the concert, because damn.
His hair was all over his forehead, furiously messy, like he’d run his hands through it in frustration. And so, so blond. His eyes were nearly closed, the loud timbre of his voice cracking all over the place, and if Kiku believed in love at first sight, he thought this might be it. (But he didn’t believe in it, and the loud thump thump thump beating all over the place is enough for an almost.)
He looked at the man again, his dark blond hair catching the light, and Kiku felt a sense of déjà vu, as if he’d seen this man before-
From over here, Kiku couldn’t really see anyone else, because the blond vocalist was the centre of the spotlight (natural, under the moon. Mesmerizing) and his features (so focused and open) but still formidable and strong. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, white teeth. Clutching his shirt, he wished to see the colour of this man’s eyes. But the environment was too dark and he was so far away, though Kiku found he liked the bright twinkle on the other man’s eyes.
The guitar slung over his shoulders were mostly for show, but when he did play it, Kiku could feel his heart beat and hear his ears thump, like he’s back in middle school again, small and afraid. It made him feel vulnerable.
(Like he might break at the slightest pressure.)
His eyelashes casted light shadows across his cheeks, fluttering delicately. And then he's jumping around and about with a wide smile on his face, his voice harsh but steady, like sandpaper, and it pierced. (Not his heart, not his anything. But it’s something.)
Kiku didn't know what the show was about, not really. He didn't know why it was at night, he didn't know why or how he was watching it-
Then he stopped thinking all over again, because there was a loud strum of the guitar, a bang of the drums, and everything was silent.
Silent. Even though the air was humid and so crowded he could hear loud breathing all around him- Everything. Everything was silent.
The vocalist looked at the crowd (Kiku felt a sense of recognition, once again, but he couldn't place it) and the Japanese man realised that this might be the end. But it wasn't enough, he didn't think it would ever be, he needed more, he didn’t want this to end, it couldn’t be-
He saw the vocalist and his blond, blond hair and his pale, pale hands, now with a playful grin shining on his face. He felt a sense of relief, because- a tapping of feet and a 1-2-3- nothing was ending yet.
The air felt clearer now, less compressive, and he looked again (hands clapping, legs tapping) and the stars twinkled again and he dived in to feeling because he didn't know rock songs can make him feel. Didn’t know it could make him feel alive. Make him alive.
He knew every other audiences felt it too, there was a calm buzz in the air, like they all had a mutual understanding with each other. As if they’re all connected, one way or another.
And then he’s gone.
The concert wasn’t too big, just enough for all the members of the band and their instruments to stand and play, but it felt so much bigger. Like it was his whole world. Like there was no way anything could be bigger than this, and it hurt, kind of, because he had never felt this way before.
The vocalist's hands started tapping against the handle of his microphone. The sounds of loud music filled the air in a constant and Kiku stared and stared and he couldn't look at anything else. (Like it was his whole world.)
Kiku struggled to remember when he’d seen this man before- he’s usually not forgetful and he tends to remember everyone he’s met, even ones from, say, elementary school. And it was such a shame, really, because the vocalist was-
The student council president.
Because that’s not strange at all. The student council president. Handsome, yes. But prim and proper, not a hair out of place. He wouldn’t be the type to sing on a concert at night, in ripped jeans and chains and an electric guitar in hand and...
Maybe it was Kiku’s own subconscious, tricking him in one way or another, because he wanted it to be the student council president...
It could very well be him. There’s always a possibility. Maybe he had some kind of dark past? Like the rumours (Kiku tried not to listen to rumours, but he's the kind of person who listens. He tried not to believe) that he used to be in a gang because he got beaten by some other person who was also in a gang who was asked to by someone in another gang and it was all a train wreck, really, and Kiku does not know how he stands this.
And maybe he would like to meet him. Face to face. To make sure, so that he wouldn't just be making assumptions. Because with the distance between them right then, he couldn't really be sure of anything. Not really. He's just too far away.
Too far away.
And he heard the loud thumping in his ears again, unsteady, and he feels the rhythmic buzz of the music all over the place. It was kind of overwhelming. He didn't feel like he was there at all. He felt like he was pulled out of his home into a place he'd never been before. Feelings he's never felt.
The cold air jumped into his eyes, and he blinked. All around him, everything was warm. Like the edge of a fireplace, the burning tip of a candle. But everything is rough, and heavy and pressing, and the only thing that kept him sane was the voice on the stage. Loud. Clear. Thinning and softening by the moment.
---
Of course it wasn't going to be love at first sight. Those weren't real, weren’t even worth considering.
But seeing him once again, the exact replica of the student council president (though his eyes were brighter, his whole being emanating radiance instead of dominance) and it was still him, even with all the differences.
Kiku didn’t know how he got there, not really. He knew that he ran here, somehow.
“Honda?”
Kiku startled. It was the voice. The voice of the student council president, the voice of the vocalist. Both. Neither. At the same time.
“Arthur?”
“I didn’t think I’d see you here. Not you. What are-“ Then his expression shifted, just a little crease between his brows, like Kiku’d done something to offend him. (Which he probably did, maybe. But he swore he didn’t mean it.)
Kiku’s face must have reflected his inner turmoil, because then Arthur (Arthur. Kiku still couldn’t believe it was him. That he’s here. With him) said,“Oh. I didn’t mean it like that, just, I really didn’t mean to offend you, so I apologise if I did, but-“
“Don’t panic.”
“Yeah, sure,” Arthur huffed. "Why aren’t you panicking?”
Kiku blinked at him. His arms were sweaty, glistening under the glow of the dim lamp. He didn’t know where to- just-look. “I am.”
The blond rolled his eyes and pushed his hair back, and Kiku didn’t understand why it affected him so much. “Okay, of course. Look at your face. I believe you.”
“This is my panicking face.” His breathing was controlled, wasn’t it? He didn’t look like he was panicking? Good, then. Good. Better.
“Well, I think you’re eyebrows are raised a bit higher than usual...”
Kiku stared at him, and he felt the atmosphere of the concert come back to him in slow, easing motions. He felt like he belonged.
And they talked again. And again. And some more.
And it was honestly overwhelming, how a change of atmosphere can do so much to a person. He was bright when he led conferences, when he explained what everyone would do to help make any activities the best they could be, when he’s just laughing with his friends whilst sipping his tea...
But here, behind a stage, rolling his eyes with his sweat rolling through his eyes and face like tears, he shone bright-brighter than anything Kiku’d seen- like this is where he belonged- like it would burn to get closer to him-
Kiku took a step closer to him, and smiled.
He smiled back.
And then, right then, Kiku thought, ‘I’d be willing to burn for this. I’d be willing to combust. Over, and over again.’