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1
He starts chemotherapy two days after their concert.
The doctors say that it needs to happen as soon as possible if there is going to be any hope of shrinking the tumors enough that surgery will be both safe and successful. It’s the best option there is, really the only option, since Naoki’s gone without treatment for so long. He regrets that, a little, because now everything is only going to feel worse.
He throws up for the third time, so nauseous that he can hardly think straight. He’s long-since given up any hope of retaining his dignity and is essentially sprawled across the toilet seat to keep himself upright so that it’s easier every time his stomach decides it’s had enough.
Sho’s sitting next to him, his back against the wall of the tub-shower situation. He’s rubbing circles against Naoki’s spine, which is sort of helping and sort of making him dizzy. He wants to throw up again. He does.
“Good job,” Sho murmurs. His hand is cool against Naoki’s forehead as he brushes his sweaty and thinning bangs out of his eyes.
Naoki spits into the toilet and slumps his cheek against his arm, worn through. “Ugh.”
“Do you think you’re done?” Sho asks. “For the moment?”
“For the moment,” Naoki says, since the churning of his stomach has slowed, and based on experience he knows he has a bit of time for reprieve before he either manages to fall asleep or has to repeat the whole cycle.
Sho peels him away from the porcelain and draws him in so that Naoki can lay back against his chest, resting his head on Sho’s shoulder. It’s fluid and practiced and gentle, but the movement still makes Naoki’s head swim, and he has to close his eyes and regain his bearings for several seconds afterwards.
“I texted Sakamoto to bring water and ginger,” Sho says after a moment.
“Will that help?” Naoki asks.
“Maybe,” Sho says.
“Great,” Naoki murmurs. “Can he turn off the lights as well?”
“Do they hurt?”
“A little.” They’re not necessarily painful, as light sometimes is, but he feels disgusting and prickly and they’re overstimulating, so he would really prefer them to be off.
Sho shuffles underneath him for a moment, and then the lights dim, leaving a faint glow, enough to see the shapes of the room. It’s such a kind relief that Naoki blinks, shocked.
“How did you do that?”
“Sakamoto and Akane-chan installed them,” Sho explains. “They connect to an app. It’s on your phone, too.”
Naoki frowns. “I thought you didn’t believe in connecting household appliances to the internet.”
“I don’t,” Sho says. “But there are certain exceptions that can be made.” Somehow, imperceptibly, his chest softens, and Naoki feels warm. “I wanted it to be more convenient for you.”
“Thanks,” Naoki says.
“It was easy,” Sho says. “Sakamoto and Akane-chan did the real work, anyway.”
“I’ll thank them, too,” Naoki says.
The tile is cool underneath their legs. Naoki’s feet are bare, freezing. The hum of the bathroom fan whirs around his ears.
“Why—” Naoki swallows down a mouthful of bile, gagging on it slightly. “—are you here?”
“I’m here as long as you are,” Sho says. “Unless you’re asking me to go.”
“No,” Naoki says, “Not really. I’m just… it can’t be pleasant.”
“Is it pleasant for you?” Sho asks.
“No,” Naoki answers, “But it’s only happening to me. You don’t have to be here for it.”
“If it bothers you that I am, I can leave,” Sho says softly as though he’s trying for reassurance. “But I’d like to stay otherwise.”
Naoki closes his eyes, rests his head more solidly against Sho’s shoulder. “Why?”
Sho goes silent, as though he’s stopped breathing. Naoki doesn’t know how long it is before Sho says, “This is what we have.”
“What?”
“If… something goes wrong,” Sho says carefully, “If this doesn’t end in our favor, then this is all the time we have. I would rather spend it with you on the bathroom floor than assume that there’ll be something else in an unguaranteed future.”
“... but it’s gross.”
“I may have to live without you for a very long time,” Sho confesses. “I won’t start early. Not while you’re still here.”
Naoki stares up at the ceiling. “You would have been an excellent lyricist, Takaoka-kun.”
“Maybe in another life,” Sho says, and Naoki feels him press his nose to the top of Naoki’s head, hardly having to reach down. His arm wraps around Naoki’s skull, a little like a headlock, keeping the pressure firm, rough, as he turns Naoki’s face down, as though he’s trying to pull Naoki into his ribs and keep him there. A shuddery little exhale breaks free, puffing against Naoki’s unwashed, greasy hair.
Naoki feels his eyes sting, something welling in his throat that has nothing to do with nausea. He buries his face into the fabric of Sho’s shirt, which smells like their detergent and Sho’s cologne and Naoki’s shampoo, since they share a bathroom, and Sho must have run out of shampoo again, and it’s so touching that Naoki nearly keens, hardly able to contain everything that’s inside him.
Sho releases Naoki’s head and settles his arm against Naoki’s back again. “Let me know if you feel sick again, okay?” he whispers, so quiet that Naoki is hardly sure he’s heard it.
Naoki nods, feeling very small. He feels small very often, lately. He lays there for another moment and then sits up, stiffly, and kisses Sho’s shoulder, right over his collarbone.
“I think I’m done, for now,” he says. “Can we go lay down?”
“Your room or mine?” Sho asks.
Naoki makes a face. “My bed is disgusting.”
“Not anymore,” Sho says. “I had Sakamoto change the sheets before he went back downstairs.”
“You’re my favorite person on earth,” Naoki says.
“You’re mine,” Sho says, and drags them both off the floor.
2
Naoki is sitting at the kitchen table, a blank notebook in front of him. He’s been trying to come up with something good for hours now, but his head hurts and he feels floaty and everything is too insubstantial anyway, so he’s switched to deciding on what he should ask Sho to make for dinner and how much caffeine he might be able to get away with if he texts Akane before she leaves work and asks her to bring him dalgona coffee, and then there’s a thud and a scream and the sound of a door slamming, loud footsteps pounding down the hall, and Kazushi comes into the kitchen, his face red, muttering darkly under his breath. He goes to the sink and wrenches on the facet, sticking his hand underneath the flow of the water and continuing to whisper swears into the basin.
Naoki sits frozen, unsure if Kazushi has noticed him or not, unsure if announcing his presence will be helpful or more stressful. He doesn’t quite make the choice, however, because his eyes catch on Kazushi’s knuckles, which are red and bleeding under the tap water, and the choice is made for him.
“Ah!” he says, standing up and knocking his pencil onto the ground. “Sakamoto-kun! You’re—”
“I’m fine,” Kazushi says, so stiffly that Naoki believes him even less.
He clicks his tongue and hurries to the freezer, digging around to see if he can find any proper ice before he gives up and grabs a half-eaten pint of ice cream, because their freezer is mostly full of treats. He wraps the ice cream in a hand towel and goes to the sink.
“Come here,” he says, taking Kazushi’s wrist and dragging his hand out of the water, examining it carefully. Three of Kazushi’s knuckles are scraped, the indents in the skin raw and blood-tinged, and the rest of his hand looks like it’s swelling a bit.
Naoki hisses sympathetically and gently places the ice cream on Kazushi’s hand, using his own to keep it steady. “Oh. Not good.” He vaguely recalls Sho leaving earlier, something about recording backing tracks for an old colleague; that means Naoki will have to play doctor.
“I can do it,” Kazushi says roughly, but he doesn’t move to take the makeshift ice pack from Naoki. He’s staring to the side, eyes fixed resolutely on the floor, probably so that he doesn’t have to look at Naoki.
“Your poor hand,” Naoki says. “It’s hurt.” He clucks, a staccato. “Ah, Sakamoto-kun.”
“... are you going to ask me what happened?” Kazushi asks.
“No,” Naoki says. “Should I?”
“Other people would be curious,” Kazushi tells him, “If they heard shouting and banging and then someone came into the room clearly having punched a wall.”
Naoki’s eyes widen in horror. “You punched the wall?”
Kazushi bites his lip and huffs. “Here, just—” He tries to take the ice pack away from Naoki, but freezes when the corner of the towel falls away. “... you’re using ice cream?”
“Yes,” Naoki says.
“Why?”
“It’s cold.”
Kazushi stares at him, his expression half-angry and half-devastated. And then, terrifyingly, he starts crying.
Naoki looks around desperately for something that will help. He keeps one hand wrapped around Kazushi’s injured one and stretches out to grab some tissue from above the sink.
“Sakamoto-kun,” he says, “Does it hurt a lot?”
“You’re so stupid,” Kazushi half-sobs, bringing his free arm up to cover his eyes. “You’re so, so stupid.”
Naoki has been called many things before, but stupid is a new one. “Am I?”
Kazushi nods shudderingly. He gulps, trying to stop crying, and Naoki takes pity on him.
“Here,” he says, leading Kazushi to the kitchen table and pressing him gently into his recently abandoned chair. “I’ll go get band-aids. I’ll be right back.”
Kazushi nods smally. He takes the ice cream from Naoki and keeps it settled on top of his hand.
Naoki hurries to the bathroom, afraid that Kazushi will grow embarrassed and decide to escape into his room or something, so when he comes back, he’s only managed to collect a multi-sized pack of bandages, cotton swabs, and iodine. He doesn’t know whether or not that will be truly helpful, but it will do for now.
He dumps the supplies onto the table and drags another chair around so that he can sit directly in front of Kazushi and take his hand again, examining it as though anything will have changed since he last looked at it. It hasn’t, but that means it hasn’t inexplicably gotten worse, so Naoki will take it as a win.
He turns to the collection of first aid supplies and grabs a cotton swab, dipping it into the iodine and, after a moment of hesitation, dabbing at the cuts on Kazushi’s knuckles. Kazushi hisses, but lets Naoki continue tending to his hand.
“Are you alright?” Naoki asks after a while, after he’s finished with the first knuckle and moved on to the second.
“What do you think?” Kazushi snaps.
“I think no,” Naoki says. Kazushi’s prickliness has never really bothered him. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“No shit,” Kazushi mutters.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“With you?” Kazushi scoffs, but it’s watery, hardly any heat to it. “Not really.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Naoki asks.
“You can try not dying, for a start,” Kazushi says, and freezes. His fingers tremble in Naoki’s hand.
Naoki finds his bearings again and continues spreading iodine over the cuts. “Ah.”
“That’s not… I didn’t mean it like that,” Kazushi mumbles. “It’s not like you’re not trying.”
Naoki puts down the iodine and picks up a bandage. He picks at the edge of the wrapper, trying to peel it back from the sticky side of the bandage.
“I haven’t apologized to you yet,” he says.
“For what?” Kazushi scoffs. “It’s not like you wanted to get brain cancer—”
“For giving you something when I knew I was going to take it away again,” Naoki admits. He pulls the bandage from the wrapper and places the pad over the largest scrape on Kazushi’s hand, which has started bleeding again. He smoothes each side down with his thumbs, pressing them into the skin, making them stay in place. Kazushi hasn’t said anything, so he continues. “I knew that I was sick, and I started a band anyway. I didn’t…”
He stops. He’s thought about the things he regrets—overlooking Isagi’s fury at Naoki’s conscription of his music, ignoring Kai’s jealousy, allowing Yukino to fend for herself. Mostly ways that he’s erred, but also the fact that he made TENBLANK, sometimes.
He had been selfish; he wanted to be with them before he died. He didn’t know of any other way.
“We wouldn’t have done it,” Kazushi says, breaking the silence, his voice rough, “If we didn’t want to.”
Naoki nods consideringly, opening another bandage and plastering it atop the first, slightly askew so the gauze is over another scraped area.
“I think,” Kazushi says slowly, “That it’s worth it. For TENBLANK. For Saijo and you and Sho. It’s worth it. To me.” He coughs, as though embarrassed. “Don’t make yourself into a pariah for no reason.”
Naoki ducks his head to hide the smile he can’t keep from settling onto his lips.
“And don’t laugh at me,” Kazushi says grumpily.
“I would never,” Naoki says. He finishes with the bandages, checks to make sure that there are no other exposed wounds. He cups both of Kazushi’s hands in his own and gently leans down, pressing his lips just above the torn skin.
He stares at Kazushi, very seriously. “These are very precious to me,” he says, giving their combined hands a little shake to emphasize his point. “You have to keep them safe.”
Kazushi stares at him, his eyes startled and unblinking behind his glasses. He coughs uncomfortably and takes his hands from Naoki, pushing them up his nose.
“Don’t be weird,” he mutters.
Naoki nods solemnly and stands up, offering his hand to Kazushi, who stares at it.
“Sho will be home in…” Naoki glances at the clock. “Little less than an hour. Do we have time to patch the hole before then?”
Kazushi gapes. “You know how to patch drywall?”
“I am an adult, Sakamoto-kun,” Naoki says.
“So am I,” Kazushi says. “I just didn’t think that Naoki Fujitani would ever have had to patch his own drywall.”
“I don’t like losing security deposits,” Naoki says, and Kazushi snorts.
3
Akane comes to find him the night before the surgery. Naoki is sitting on their back porch after dinner. Sho had cooked, Akane had helped, and none of them had eaten much, far too aware of the occasion. Naoki had slipped out after the conversation had lulled, when Sho had started clearing the plates and packing up the leftovers. He wanted to look at the stars; he had forgotten that they were hardly visible here. The cabin had much better views.
A blanket settles around his shoulders, even though Naoki is wearing both a sweater and a jacket. Akane settles down beside him on the steps, pulling her feet in and wrapping her arms around her knees.
“Takaoka and Sakamoto are doing the dishes,” she says. “Takaoka says you shouldn’t stay out here too long.”
“I won’t,” Naoki says. “I just wanted to sit outside for a bit.”
Akane hums neutrally. She shuffles over until she’s pressed into Naoki’s side, offering both warmth and stability. Naoki gives it a second before he succumbs. Slowly, he tips over until his temple rests against Akane’s shoulder.
“Are you scared?” Akane asks in a whisper.
“Terrified,” Naoki admits.
“Me too,” Akane says. “I’m scared that… that something will happen to you.”
“It could,” Naoki says; they both already know this. “But the doctors are hopeful that it will go well.”
“It’ll still be difficult,” Akane says miserably. “And the recovery period will be long. You’ll be bored. It’ll hurt.”
“I know,” Naoki says. “But if it means that… that…”
“It will.” Akane’s voice is strong, like her drumming. “It’s the best option. It will work, and we’ll get through it, and TENBLANK can come back from hiatus in a year. Or two. Or however long it takes.”
Naoki bites his lip. He stares down at the grass, the shadow of it in the cool dark. They’ve talked about everything—the surgery, the hospital stay, the outpatient recovery, the physical therapy. Akane moved in officially a week ago so that Naoki will have them all together. Sho has stocked up on groceries so they don’t have to go out much. Kazushi has rearranged the furniture and cleaned everything to keep the walkways clear and manageable. The company has prepared statements and content, and has come up with innovative ways to keep the fans placated until TENBLANK can return to the stage.
The thing that underlies it all, the thing that no one has talked about, the thing that Naoki is too terrified to bring up, is that he’s getting brain surgery. His entire life is his mind; TENBLANK used to be all in his head. Their sound is inside him, and he can still access it, but tomorrow they’ll be taking a knife to his skull and carving away at it, and while they’ve said that the prognosis is good and he should recover with no issues, no one has talked about the what if yet, the question that Naoki has been running from ever since he had seen the first head scan, the little clouds that were dotted throughout his brain.
“Akane-chan,” he whispers, “What if it makes me normal?”
Akane is silent for a long while. Then she reaches up and, feather light, and strokes his hair.
“If it makes you normal,” she says, “I’ll love you anyway.”
Naoki presses his lips together, his throat constricting with grief, unable to say anything else. He hasn’t cried, really, partially because he doesn’t cry often, and partially because he knows that if he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Instead, he lifts his head and presses his lips to Akane’s, holding himself there for a moment. Akane stays still but kisses him back; she doesn’t try to grab him otherwise, to hold him there. They’re connected by their lips alone. It’s simultaneously too much contact and not enough.
Naoki shivers and breaks away. He ducks his head back towards Akane’s clavicle. His breath moistens the skin peeking out from underneath her shirt. He doesn’t know if there will be time for such gentleness later. He doesn’t know if there’s time for it now, but he’s cold and scared and he doesn’t want to go to sleep.
Akane’s chin taps against the top of his head, guiding Naoki to rest his temple against her shoulder again. She lays her cheek on top of his head and hums, a slow and clumsy melody, one that might be reminiscent of a lullaby if Naoki didn’t know any better.
“Don’t be scared of that,” she says. “All you need to do is live, Sensei.”
Naoki thinks, what if I can’t even do that?, which is enough to leave him breathless and choking, eyes stinging, heart churning.
Akane reaches up and places her hand on his cheek. She strokes her thumb underneath Naoki’s eye.
“How are the stars?” she asks.
Naoki sniffs. “I can’t see them.”
“Me neither,” Akane says. “Should we go inside?”
Naoki nods, but doesn’t move. Akane doesn’t either. Naoki can feel the light from inside fall against their backs. He hears Sho laugh brightly at something Kazushi says. The pitch of their voices tumble downwards, too low to register the words.
“Will they come looking for us?” Naoki asks finally.
“I’m sure they will,” Akane says. “Sakamoto seems to have a second sense for finding me. And Takaoka always knows where you are.”
Naoki sighs. He gives himself a moment longer, then pulls himself away from Akane. He reaches down and takes her hand.
“We shouldn’t keep them waiting, then,” he says.
“We shouldn’t,” Akane agrees. She stands, and Naoki lets her pull him to his feet.
+1
“Are you ready?” Kazushi asks as they follow Naoki down the hall.
Naoki doesn’t know if the answer is yes, really, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. They’ve already put the IV port into his arm, hooked him up to the monitors. He’s in the hospital gown, in the bed. They shaved away the remnants of his hair; the air conditioner is colder than he’s used to, without hair to protect the thin skin cresting his skull. They’re wheeling him to the operating room now, with Sho and Kazushi and Akane trailing along beside him.
“You’ll be back before you know it,” Sho says. He’s holding Naoki’s coat, even though there’s no reason for it, considering there’s a full coat rack in the hospital room.
Akane nods, her lips pressed together so hard that they’re white. “Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not,” Naoki reassures her, and is slightly surprised to find that he’s telling the truth. He’s been scared enough, and now there’s nothing for him to do about it. Either he’ll wake up, or he won’t.
The nurse at the head of the bed says, “This is as far as you can go.”
It’s as though they all freeze at the same time. Akane’s eyes are bright, her chin trembling. Kazushi isn’t looking at him. Sho won’t look away.
Naoki tries to smile, tries to convey something in it, something he’s never been able to communicate through words or facial expressions, only through music. “I’ll see you soon.”
Sho nods, his jaw stiff and small, and he runs a hand from Naoki’s forehead to the back, cupping just beneath the place where his skull meets his spine. He leans down and presses his lips to Naoki’s forehead. Naoki closes his eyes.
“We’ll be waiting,” Sho murmurs against his skin, and then pulls away. Naoki opens his eyes, but before he can say anything else. Akane is taking Sho’s place, pressing a flurry of little kisses at Naoki’s temple.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she says. “It’ll all be okay. You’ll be fine, Sensei, I promise.”
“Alright, Akane-chan,” Naoki says. Someone takes his hand, and he looks up to see Kazushi, lifting Naoki’s arm so he can kiss the inner side of his wrist, holding his hand for a brief moment before he returns it to Naoki’s side.
“Good luck,” is all he says.
Naoki nods, and then they’re wheeling the bed forward again, and he manages to sit up and look back far enough to see the three of them, huddled together in the hallway. Sho’s in the middle, Naoki’s empty coat still dangling from his arms.
And then they’re gone, the doors of the operating theatre swinging closed, and then it’s all voices and lights and teal scrubs, and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and someone asking him to count backwards from ten.
Naoki holds on to the imprints he can still feel on his skin. He holds on to the image of them, waiting for him.
He goes under.
When Naoki wakes up, the room is full of sunlight.
He blinks several times, lets his eyes adjust, and then turns his gaze to the room to see if anyone is there and if they know he's awake.
None of them have noticed Naoki yet, but all of them are there. Akane is curled up in a plastic hospital chair across from Naoki's bed. Her chin is tucked into her knees, resting her head while she stares at the floor morosely. Kazushi is standing by the door, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, like he's about to leave. Everytime someone passes the doorway, he starts. And Sho is standing at the window, gazing out and biting his thumbnail so short that he's started tearing up the skin around it. He's also wearing his coat, his other arm wrapped across his middle, as if he's cold.
Naoki doesn't announce himself. They'll find him soon enough.
Akane does first. She glances up, sees Naoki watching her, and bursts into tears.
Kazushi and Sho whip around, Kazushi already halfway to Akane's side to see what's wrong, and Sho seemingly torn between going to her as well or keeping himself rooted where he is, but then he spots Naoki too, and the choice is made for him.
"Fujitani," he says, almost in a sigh, like he's been holding his breath. Naoki sees his knees shake, and he grabs for the windowsill.
"Mm," Naoki says, hoping the smile he can feel drifting lazily across his cheeks is all the talking he needs to do. He doesn't know if he's up for much more than that.
Akane has rushed to the other side of the bed, dragging Kazushi with her, his eyes wide behind his glasses. She grabs Naoki's hand, still crying.
"Sensei," she sobs, "We were so worried. You were asleep for so long, and—"
"They said he'd sleep for a while," Kazushi says, more embarrassed than reassuring. He pushes his glasses higher on his nose, his nervous habit. "He's fine, Akane-chan."
"You're not a doctor!" Akane nearly shouts, then seems to regret both the loud noise and the comment, because she claps her hands over her mouth in shock, turns to Kazushi with the largest eyes Naoki's ever seen on her, and starts crying even harder, but silently this time.
"No," Kazushi says, "No, Akane-chan, please don't do that."
Akane nods, and then throws her arms around Kazushi's neck and cries, "I'm sorry!"
Kazushi freezes, then hugs her back. Good job, Naoki thinks. They've been working on Kazushi’s tendency to avoid.
The two of them will be busy for a moment, and Naoki's already seen all he needs to see of that, so he flicks his eyes back to Sho, who hasn't said a word, who is still holding himself up on the windowsill, who is staring at Naoki like he's seen a ghost.
Naoki blinks at him, slowly. He waits, blinks again. He's so tired, but he needs Sho to snap out of it, needs him to know that even if Naoki falls asleep, he'll come back.
Finally, Sho seems to get it, unsticking himself from the window and stumbling forward, nearly collapsing into the visitor's chair at the bedside—very appropriately placed, in Naoki's opinion—placing his hand lightly on Naoki's wrist, as though he's delicate. He opens his mouth, shuts it again.
Naoki understands. Painfully, he flips his hand over, so that their palms are touching. Sho looks as though Naoki has done something impossible, like set their kitchen sink on fire. Again.
And then his fingers encircle Naoki's wrist and hold it, gently but firmly, as Sho gazes at him in wonder.
“It worked,” he murmurs, “Thank God, it worked.”
Naoki nods, the barest hint of movement. The prickles of hair on his shaved skull grate against the pillowcase. It aches behind his eyes, but the sharper hurt is buried, which is nice. He’s warm, which is nice. There's sunlight ringing round all of them, blurring Naoki's vision and melting the room into a soft, pale gold.
Mostly, Naoki is alive, which is the nicest thing of all.