Fingers traced the outline of faces, the glossy surface of the photograph worn from touch. The faces in the photographs spread out on the table were so familiar, yet it had been years since he’d held a proper conversation with either of them.

With a heavy sigh, Shuuzo moved the old polaroids around, until he found that photo.

There he was, freshly styled in his new stage outfit, along with Rom sitting shirtless on top of a speaker. Rom was talking animatedly to Eve, not noticing how Shuu had been looking at him over his shoulder, red-faced and pretending like he wasn’t ogling him while he was tuning his guitar. He’d been so distracted looking at Rom’s back that he hadn’t even noticed the snap of the polaroid camera Adam had taken to using at the time until Adam snuck him the picture. The two of them were the only ones to ever see it, much to Shuu’s relief, and that’s how it was going to stay, thank you very much.

He remembered that day. They had gone out shopping for clothes for their first live show, Shuu having gone absolutely insane with how fast both Adam and Rom got bored of trying on the different outfits he picked out. At least Eve had humoured him long enough, and in the end they’d found clothes good enough for Shuu to be satisfied with their looks. Though in Rom’s case… well, maybe Shuu’s attraction to him was made a bit too obvious by how he chose to style him. How Rom hadn’t picked up on it was a mystery.

Feeling self-loathing grow into a lump burning heavy in his stomach, he shoved the photos back into their envelope, burying them at the bottom of the box of memorabilia from his days before becoming an idol.

He had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. Ultimately, he wouldn’t do anything differently if he got to do it all over again.

He ran a hand over the worn-out sweater he was wearing, a soft knitted thing he’d stolen from Rom once. It had stopped smelling like the leopard years ago, so now he just wore it when he was feeling wistful and had time to himself, which, frankly, wasn’t that often when it came to the latter. It was hard to get some time of your own when everyone knew who you were and your schedule was constantly packed. It was one of the downsides to the fame he had attained.

After putting the box back in its hidden spot in the back of the junk drawer, he wandered into the bedroom. The door to the walk-in closet stood wide open, the room full to the brim with sparkly costumes to the point where he could no longer close the door.

A corner in the back stood in stark contrast to the colourful frills and ribbons, the remnants of his days as a Visual Kei artist. He had gotten rid of most of it, but a handful of items still remained. His jacket had been too hard to let go of in the end, no matter how many times he had tried.

Shuuzo ran his fingers over the black material of it, nails gently clicking against the metal accents. Aside from his guitar it had been his most expensive purchase once upon a time, but at this point he hadn’t worn it in over a decade. He took it out to wash the dust out of it once in a while, but that was it.

Staring at the black fabric, shoulders slightly bleached by their time in the sun, he took the jacket off its hanger on a whim. He wasn’t planning on putting it on, not at all, but he’d been feeling the loneliness eat at his insides so often lately. He needed to do more than just brush a hand over the lapels, this one time.

He laid it down on his bed, where he had barely spent a night in months, and he briefly noted to himself to change the sheets before going to bed. The torn detailing on the bottom spread out like a fan across the bedspread, standing out against the soft bubblegum pink of the satin woven cotton underneath.

He hadn’t worn anything black in such a long time. The colour had been a comfort to him growing up amidst the chaos that was his home life, and he had found refuge in rock music, headphones blasting it any moment he could hear sounds outside his bedroom door. In black, he melded with the shadows, but stood out in the light of day, making him able to choose when he wanted people to notice him.

The clothes Judas picked for him however, made him shine, stand out no matter the time or place, and while he had always dreamt of being famous, privacy was hard to come by these days. He did like glitter, lace and colour too, but it didn’t bring him the same piece of mind as the black clothing did. Maybe part of it was because he’d had no hand in picking them out for himself, instead being told what to wear. Choosing your own wardrobe was something he hadn’t even thought about losing the right to when he signed the contract with Judas.

They even picked out everything in his home to make sure that everything was suitable for the image they had created for him, an image he needed to live and breathe at every second. Luckily he didn’t need to take selfies at home the way some of the other entertainers of Judas were supposed to, but just in case someone from the media ever found out where he lived, the image had to be perfect. He was supposed to be a mystery, a dazzling prince from the galaxy, popping out of nowhere. If they didn’t want anyone to know what type of myumon he was, they definitely wouldn’t want anyone knowing he was in a visual kei band or that he used to be a full-blown delinquent, and so, the furniture and decor he used to have in his previous life had to go.

So he hid those parts of his life away, pretending even to his bandmates. Yet another ring on the tree that grew with his guilt.

Once they found out that he knew Rom, it had been hard to tell whether the guilt had eased or gotten worse. On one hand, there was one less thing he had to hide; the fact that the two knew each other. On the other, not letting them know how and why they did made it all the heavier to bear, when he had to wave off their curiosities. He’d dared hint at it a little bit more than he knew he was allowed, once, when he’d let Rom and his bandmate know where to find their wayward lion, but even then he’d held the details close to his chest.

Somehow, despite the mess Adam had created a couple of months ago when he tried to reunite Amatelast, it had brought him relief. Kai and Riku knew just a tiny bit more about his past; it hadn’t been on Shuuzo’s terms, but with Judas breathing down his neck at every turn, it probably never would have been either way. Now, they knew he had been in a band called Amatelast, had met Adam and Eve, even though it had been a disaster, especially when Riku had been hit by their car. For a moment he had been worried that Adam had lost his mind and tried to kill his bandmate, but that part had been an accident.

In a moment of what Yudas-san might call weakness, he picked the jacket back off the bed, pulling his arms through the sleeves. He smoothed out the lapels against his chest, feeling the fabric against his fingers, the weight of the heavy material on his shoulders, the long jacket enveloping him. It felt comforting. Familiar. He knew he would never perform wearing this jacket again, but for a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes and think back to their performances. The lights, the rumble of Eve’s bass, the roar of Adam’s guitar, the sound of Rom’s voice when he sang along to certain parts, accentuating his own perfectly.

They had fitted together like they were meant to be together, once. Like two pieces completing a puzzle, completing their own picture.

But that feeling of home had crumbled when he realised that Rom was fine with being at the stage they were at; he no longer sought after the top, he was happy just to perform alongside him, Adam and Eve.

Their goals no longer alined.

The problem now was that once he did reach the top, it didn’t have the same charm as it once did. There was no one left to compete with, to keep a rivalry with. For a moment, he thought that Arcareafact could be that, until he found out that they had been cheating their way alongside him. They were doing better now, on their own, but they were not quite the competition he longed for. Not yet. They certainly had the potential for it, and he hoped that they would get there soon.

And now Rom had reentered his life.

The man he had thrown away with no remorse was back, somehow kept appearing in his life as if he had always been meant to return. He was still angry with Shuuzo, but it was melting, like stubborn snow trying to delay the arrival of spring.

He didn’t even have to make an effort; somehow Rom was always easy to pick out in a crowd, and it was like he had an innate feeling of knowing where Rom would show up.

At first, he had practically taunted his former drummer with his words, asking him to come to his stage, but these days he could feel the passion running hot in Rom’s blood, could see the resolution in his warm eyes. He was finally taking things seriously; he had found his ambition.

Looking into his full body mirror, the jacket didn’t really fit anymore. It clashed with everything about his persona, but that wasn’t all. It didn’t really fit him anymore. He’d walked away for a reason, and had found a different rout to his goals. He’d reached them, felt the loneliness at the top, and realised a different goal altogether. He just needed Rom to reach him.

And now, Rom finally had the drive to get there, and though they would no longer be there together, Shuuzo just knew that the fight to keep the throne away from Rom and his new bandmates hands would be all the more rewarding.

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