I'm gonna get your lips kissed again, and maybe we'll expose your little secret.
I wonder when it started? Nao often asked himself how it turned out that his attitude towards Sakamoto had turned into something so different from friendship. How did he let this happen at all? The more he asked himself, the harder it was to find answers. It seems that there were no answers.
If you're in such a close, almost family-like relationship for a long time, it starts to seem like you know all about this person. A wrong belief.
At first, maybe six months ago, or a year ago, it was like being in love: when every meeting and accidental touching was a holiday. Then it was enough. Now Nao felt obsessed: any little thing, any carelessly said word or insistent provocation from the bassist, excited him.
It reminds me of an attraction that cannot be stopped, this whirlwind of wild pleasures. And everything seems to imitate the inertia between us...
The situation hasn't changed at all in the short period after the shooting. Saga pretended that nothing had happened, Hiroto, that he hadn't seen anything. Nao couldn't follow their example, no matter how hard he tried. It was too hard to get that feeling of incompleteness out of my head.
And Saga continued to provoke, while at the same time not trying to get close.
Not a single hint, just looks and ambiguous phrases. Nao's ignorance was annoying and he couldn't understand why no one in the group had felt this tension between him and Sakamoto so far. Although, Tora was too strangely frowning, watching the rhythm section while working on a joint solo. Torah was always perceptive, but did not jump to conclusions.
Cold play to the public.
The rehearsal was over, and everyone hastily left. It didn't happen very often, but that day was the day everyone had an urgent matter to deal with. Today, Nao wanted to finally take a break from the thoughts that were overwhelming his head. At such moments, he preferred to relax with alcohol. Perhaps tomorrow, at the morning rehearsal, he will regret that he was drunk, but so far this was the only way out.
After the lights went out in the studio, Nao sat down for the installation. Behind the drums and alone, he felt much calmer than around people. The first of the prepared bottles was empty faster than Nao had planned, however, he did not feel intoxicated. On the contrary, it seemed that the mind was extremely clear. At night everything seemed simpler.
But Nao did not decide what to do with his obsession and overwhelming emotions. So, for reflection, the night passed, and Nao corked off the second bottle of excellent Cuban rum. When the phone was suddenly vibrated in his pocket, Nao was a little surprised: who would need it at such a late hour?
- Who was it? - He asked without even looking at the screen.
- Are you blind? - Saga said hello.
- No, - Nao answered, blurring his smile. - I'm drunk.
- Wow, - Saga mocked me, and then suddenly he got serious. - Where are you?
For a moment, Nao thought Sakamoto was worried, but that was too ridiculous.
- In the studio. And I'm going to stay here.
- My world is crumbling, - laughed Saga, - our right leader is pumping alcohol in the middle of the week, seemingly forgetting what to rehearse in the morning.
- That's why I'm going to stay - I didn't listen a little bit, but Nao tried very hard not to give himself away. He kept his mouth shut and added quietly. - Get used to change.
Saga hummed and then suddenly asked:
- Am I not far away from here to take you home?
Nao nodded, but realized that a nod on the phone was useless and expressed his consent aloud. Although he was interested in what Sakamoto was doing near the studio at this hour, Nao did not ask.
- Try not to wobble when you wait for me outside, - Saga said last.
When a car stopped under the studio windows twenty minutes later, Nao realized that Saga was completely serious about offering him help. The trip was badly remembered, only the dim light of the headlights, the bright lights of city advertising and the strong, but not the unpleasant smell of tobacco, which was soaked in the interior of the car.
It wasn't until after a while that Nao finally began to recover, when he was at the door of his apartment. He quickly appreciated the situation: yes, his doors, here's the sign with his last name, the keys in his pocket, but it was too difficult to raise his hand to pull them out. Saga is also here, close, very: hugging, holding carefully, helping to stay on his feet. And where does he come from with so much strength?
- The keys are in his pocket, - Nao mumbled with his nose in the bassist's warm neck.
