Jun 28, 2025
Dear Gravity - Eves [ambient atmospheric drone]
seen from Nepal
seen from Israel
seen from Australia
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
Dear Gravity - Eves [ambient atmospheric drone]
Dear Gravity - Backtogether (Async Ross Remix) [ambient cinematic inspiring]
Dear Gravity - The Wonders (Infralyd Remix) [ambient relaxing meditation]
Dear Gravity - Cast Riddance (Raphah Remix) [ambient classical cinematic]
Dear Gravity - the wonders (Domy Castellano Remix) [ambient classical cinematic]
for the fic title ask game - "Dear Gravity, You Held Me Down In This Starless City", small modification on 3/4 - what's your favorite line overall? and then 11 and 13
3/4: Favorite line
I heard it was a magpie, and it brought her Lilit's crown of gold
I just... this line is part of a larger triad set in the fic, around the concept of corvids and omens and the counting crows rhyme, and I love the way the line falls and the rhythm of it -- it sounds like poetry to me.
11: What do you like best about this fic?
I love love love the way it all folds together and feels like poetry -- I used a lot of the rule of three here, to emphasize that, and a very lyric voice in telling it, and on top of that the bird imagery running through the entire thing I think is just stunning.
I also worked in a Supernatural quote in the first section, and I love it.
13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?
Oh that's easy lmao. I listened to Tiffany Blews (that's where the title's from), [Coffee's for Closers], and Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year while I was writing this fic, all of which are by Fall Out Boy!
Read it here!
Ask me questions!
Dear Gravity (6/7)
Title: Dear Gravity (6/7) Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pairing: Akira Otoishi x Rohan Kishibe Rating: Teen+ Summary: It’s dangerous living among the stars. You might just find yourself caught in the gravitational pull of a black hole. * A spin-off of “Morioh Hi-Fi” where we get a peek at what unfolds between these two drama kings. AN: This is the last proper chapter! I'm working on a somewhat smutty epilogue, but the fluff stops here~
The journalist gave a well-practiced laugh. She was seated across the table from Akira at a private rooftop bar overlooking the city. Up until now the two of them had been pleasantly breaking the ice over beers, chattering away about mundane nonsense as if there wasn't a recorder sitting on the table between them.
Akira was perfectly comfortable, being quite used to interviews by now; He'd learned the bob-and-weave tactics of avoiding personal questions, how to stick to neutral topics so as not to become some misquoted martyr. And for this particular interview, he was riding the high that he'd been on for weeks, the sparkling confidence and ego-inflation that went along with--
“-- your first ever headlining tour. That's got to be exciting. And a maybe a little bit scary?”
Akira smirked and leaned back in his seat, arms slung over the back of the booth. He knew the journalist wanted to try to dig up some soft side to his normally cool and self-assured public persona, but he wouldn't take the bait. “Scary? Hardly. I've been ready for this since I first decided to pick up a guitar.”
“So it would seem.” The woman raised her glass to him. “Is there anything new you're trying out for your stage show? Anything from past tours that you're ditching? What can fans expect now that you're the main event?”
“I don't want to give anything away. But I think,” he said slowly, “That every time we put together a show, our goal is to make it bigger and badder than the last. This tour is 100% Akira, but I'm not the same guy audiences saw the last time around. The music's not the same either. I'm always evolving, y'know?”
“I'm glad you mentioned that, because it's my understanding that you'll actually be debuting a lot of material from your upcoming album on this tour. Can you talk a bit about that?”
“I could, but shouldn't I let the music speak for itself?”
The woman raised an eyebrow and gave him a forced smile. “Maybe, but my job is to write about music, Otoishi-san. Now... the name you've been teasing for the album is reportedly Threads of Fate. And early reviews say that it seems to tap into a more romantic vein than your previous work. Is that fair assessment?”
He shrugged. “You could say that. But I don't want to dictate what people get out of my music. It's all open to interpretation.”
“Hmmm.” She seemed impatient with his noncommittal answers. “Okay, sure, but can you at least tell us what inspired you?”
Akira actually paused to consider this one. If he had to do these interviews to generate buzz, he might as well be sincere...
“Well, a lot of this record was written in my hometown,” he started. “It's kind of funny... My first record was written while I was driving around Japan in a shitty car – oh, sorry, can I say shitty? – well anyway, it feels like up to this point, a lot of my writing has been about life on the road, and trying to find something out there.” He gestured vaguely over his head. “But yeah, this time I ended up scrapping a lot of the stuff I'd already written once I got back home. I guess I found something there that made me feel grounded, and that was kind of a new experience.”
“Hmm, mhmm...” The writer nodded, jotting something down in her notebook. “And what was it that you found, exactly? Was it related to this romantic narrative that we discussed?”
“Man, you're really into the romance angle, huh?”
“I'm just asking what the fans want to know. Is Akira Otoishi in love?”
He could practically see her composing the headline in her eyes.
Akira pushed back his hair and stared out at the skyline. “Listen, I'll tell you what happened when I went back home to Morioh. I fell in love with the music scene there. I fell in love with this local shop called Dark Pink Records, where all of the employees are as passionate about music as the artists they're selling. I fell in love with an artist named Rohan Kishibe who does these amazing gig posters for all of the upstart bands in the area.”
His heart suddenly caught in his throat. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He hadn't meant to say –-
"But not in love with a person?” The journalist sighed. “I'll level with you, Otoishi... I need some kind of hook for this story.”
He let out a tiny breath. Good. She hadn't caught his slip of the tongue; he hadn't accidentally confessed in front of the entire music industry.
“Do you just want a sound bite? Shit, I dunno, write that I fall in love all the time. That I'm a tortured soul who lets myself get lost in someone's eyes when I'm up on stage. I'll see a woman on the train and wonder, is this the person I'm meant to be with?”
“Oh, that's good!” The writer's eyes lit up and she began scribbling vehemently.
Akira rolled his eyes a little and checked his watch. “Did you have any other questions?”
“No, I think that will be enough. It's just a little column blurb after all. Not a cover story or anything.”
“So... has this been a waste of both of our time?”
The woman leaned over to turn off her recorder and place it carefully inside her bag. “Don't be such a pessimist. You know how these things work. My publisher wants to see if you generate any interest in our reader base. Really we just need to use a photo where you look super attractive. Then before you know it, you'll be all over the magazines overseas! Think big, Otoishi... Think North American tour.”
“Sounds like it would be an awfully long plane ride,” he quipped.
“You didn't seem to mind that when you were touring in the UK...” She paused, then met his gaze. “But... maybe back then you didn't have someone special waiting for you to return...?”
Akira chuckled and shook his head. “You are relentless.”
“Come on! Off the record?”
“Nope.” Akira stood from his seat. “You're not getting another word out of me. Not unless it's a cover story.”
“We'll see.” She stood as well, and offered her hand. “Until next time.”
-⚡-⚡-⚡-
“Wow. I can't tell if she hates you or wants to sleep with you.”
Akira tucked his phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled on a pair of fingerless gloves. “It's probably both. But why -- What did she write?”
Several weeks had passed since the interview. The magazine was hitting shelves in America and some-fucking-how Rohan had secured a shipment for his store. And he had called Akira from his office landline mere seconds after they arrived.
“It's not that bad... It's just... Okay, hang on. She calls you 'a man of few words. With striking, violet eyes.' ...They're more magenta, but I'll let it slide... And you're 'tall, confident, and mysterious.' ”
“These things are all true.”
A pause as Rohan continued to read to himself. “...Wait, do people actually think your scar is fake?”
“I dunno man, some nerds on internet forums do. But c'mon, what else does it say?”
“That you're 'moody.' And 'alluring'...” Another pause. “Oh my god, Akira. Did you really say all this?”
“I don't know, because you won't read it to me!”
“Okay, okay, hang on.” Rohan cleared his throat and put on a breathy falsetto. “ 'I press him for specifics regarding the inspiration behind his new album, but he only gets a faraway look in his eyes and starts reminiscing about his favorite record store in his home town of Morioh.' You did not. You idiot.”
Internally, Akira let out a sigh of relief that the writer hadn't seen fit to include the rest.
“...aw, man, she screwed me over. I dropped the store's name and everything, I can't believe she didn't include it! Next time I'm writing it into the contract: they can only publish an interview if they mention you guys by name.
“Christ, Akira, you can't... I mean, if you start putting Dark Pink out there...”
“Then your business will start improving and you might actually make the money you deserve for all your hard work...? Yeah, I know.”
There was a long silence and for a moment Akira thought the call had dropped. Just as he was about to hang up, Rohan's voice came through again: “Well, thank you, I suppose.”
Just then, a knock came at the door of Akira's green-room, but he ignored it. “Any time, man. You know I'm gonna support you however I can.”
“You're such a...” Rohan seemed to scramble for an insult to deflect his feelings of gratitude. Akira smiled at the hesitation. “...Anyway, listen, that reminds me... I wanted to extend an invitation to the CD release party at the store. It's been absolute chaos over here putting everything together, but... we actually did it, somehow.”
“Oh! Shit! You mean the CD from kids you've been mentoring? I'd love to come... if I can. When is it?”
“The thirteenth of this month.”
“The thirteenth...” Akira echoed, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to visualize his calendar. “That's... oh! I'll be back in time for that!”
“Yeah, I know.” Rohan's voice was noticeably quieter.
“Well, count me in.”
“You're not obligated--”
“Obviously. I want to go.” Akira looked over his shoulder as his drummer poked their head into the doorway and gestured for him to hurry up. Akira waved them off. “Um, hey, Rohan... I hate to do this but...”
“Oh, right! You probably have to go. Okay, um. Text me afterwards about how it went. If you want to, I mean.”
“Sure thing.”
The drummer stormed into the room and grabbed Akira by the arm, mouthing 'We have to go'. And with the door wide open, Akira could hear the crowd chanting his name.
...his name.
He suddenly felt like he was floating. And as he allowed himself to be dragged out of the room, he quickly remembered the phone call and barked out, “Shit... can you hear them, Ro?”
But that's when phone was forcibly taken from his hand.
“Fuck-- Goodnight!” he shouted over his shoulder as he was pushed towards the stage.
“...the fuck was he talking to?” murmured the bassist. The drummer just shook their head and shoved the phone into the hands of their stage manager before jogging out after Akira to meet the roaring crowd.
Moments later, a text message was delivered:
I heard them, Otoishi. I'm cheering for you over here, too.
-⚡-⚡-⚡-
The final days of Akira's tour came and went, as they always did, like a whirlwind. Afterparties, after-afterparties, too much booze and too many messy hook-ups with names and faces he couldn't remember. The main difference this time around was that, more often than not, Akira found himself retiring early and trying to catch Rohan via text before the artist went to bed.
The two of them were texting daily, even if it was just to wish the other a good day or a pleasant sleep, or to send a blurry selfie of whatever they were getting up to at any given moment. Akira dutifully saved each photo that he received of Rohan rolling his eyes at the shenanigans happening behind him in the store. He'd even gotten some pics with Rohan's pink-haired ex posing cutely for the camera – and though these pictures always struck him with hot pangs of jealousy, Akira begrudgingly appreciated that the two of them had been able to salvage their friendship.
Ultimately, he found that the conversations between himself and Rohan made him feel homesick in way that he really hadn't before. Every so often, staring up into the darkness of his bunk while the road traveled beneath him, he would think back to the leading question he'd been asked in his interview. "Maybe back then you didn't have someone special waiting for you to return...?”
In these moments, he would usually place his hands over his face and try to will away the question, its implications, and the instinct to grab his phone again and see if his friend was still awake.
By the time Akira finally returned home, he was more than ready for some time away from screaming crowds and tour bus naps. He happily welcomed the opportunity to squeeze back into the frame of Rohan's camera, to be a part of the Morioh snapshots for a couple of short months before it was time to do the touring thing all over again.
So on the night of the release party at Dark Pink Records, Akira found himself checking and re-checking himself in the mirror, trying to re-acquaint himself with the person he saw there: no makeup, no wild-eyed expression, just a twenty-four year old guy in a black button-up and jeans. He just wanted to go out to the party as a normal person... as himself. But who (or what) that was seemed to be eluding him lately.
The outfit did not work perfectly as a disguise, of course – a person as recognizable as Akira needed more than a wardrobe change to go incognito. Unsurprisingly, on the way to the record store he fielded several requests to stop and take photos with fans. He nodded and waved politely to the occasional shrieks. But somehow, eventually, he made it to the front door of the shop, where Okuyasu Nijimura was keeping watch.
“Hey, Okuyasu!” Akira said with a grin as the door swung open for him. The other kid, Hirose, was there too – Akira gave him a nod. “Are you guys feeling good about--”
All at once the two boys were pushed aside as Rohan barged through to meet him. “Come in, come in! I'm glad you could make it!” Rohan looked exhausted, but he was grinning genuinely, and Akira returned the favor.
“Wouldn't miss it for the world, man.” He threw an arm around Rohan's shoulder and let the shorter man guide him into the store, which was now beginning to look like a proper music venue. Akira felt the weight of nostalgia on his heart almost immediately. How many times over the years had he played in spaces like this? Places that were DIY nightmares, labors of love; places that could only fit 50 or 100 people, but where every inch was imbued with blood, sweat, and tears...
He turned back to Rohan – who was looking all kinds of adorable, beaming up at him with a potent mixture of pride, excitement, and admiration. God, the way he could stop Akira's heart with just a look...
“I'm really loving the transformation in here, Ro. You're gonna have to let me play a show here some time,” he said with a wink.
“Are you kidding? People would destroy my store trying to get in. There would be riots in the streets.”
“It could be a secret show. Only the coolest people in town would know about it.”
“Well, wouldn't it be a bit weird if it was just the two of us?” Rohan said without missing a beat. Akira snorted, and beside him Rohan chuckled as well, in his quiet way, like he didn't want anyone to know that he was pleased. The artist patted Akira on the back and let his hand rest there; privately, Akira swooned. “...Alright, so, we're going to hang out back here,” Rohan said, steering them behind a strategically placed shelf. “This is, for our purposes, the VIP area.”
“Am I a VIP?”
“No, I am. You're just my plus-one.”
Akira opened his mouth to argue with the green-haired minx, when a cheerful voice suddenly sounded from behind them: “Rohan! Hey! I've got your rockstars over here!”
Followed by a groan and: “Seriously, Reimi-san, you sound like my mom...”
The two men turned to see the bubbly young woman approaching them, flanked by three teenagers – evidently, Rohan's proteges.
Rohan puffed up a bit. “Ah, hello, boys. Nice of you to finally join us. Are you ready to--”
“Holy shit, you weren't kidding! Otoishi-sensei, hi!” One of the guys ran forward and bowed. “I'm Ken Oyanagi, sir! I'm a huge fan!”
“M-me too!” The second one approached a bit more timidly. “Shigekiyo Yangu. I'm, um... This is our show, sir. Thank you so much for coming!”
Rohan scowled at their rudeness but Akira just laughed and nodded to them. “Hey! Nice to finally meet you. This is pretty cool, what you're doing here tonight.” He looked up at Rohan and winked. “Don't forget to thank Kishibe for all his hard work too, eh?”
“Tch!” Ken cast a sidelong glance at Rohan. “Yeah, I guess so...”
“We did all the hard stuff, but yeah, thanks, Kishibe-sensei,” Shigechi muttered, more out of obligation than anything else.
Akira looked over at the third teen, a bit younger perhaps, who was watching them intently but hadn't introduced himself yet. “You must be...?”
“Hayato Kawajiri, sir... and I'm a big fan too.” He smiled softly. “I'm just here as their tech, though...”
“Just their tech? You know how many times having a good tech has saved my life? Us performers would be useless without guys like you.”
Hayato beamed.
“Alright, alright,” interjected Rohan, “We get it, you're all smart enough to appreciate Otoishi's work. But if you want to get anywhere close to his level someday, you better start taking this seriously.” Rohan put his hands on his hips and Akira had to bite back a laugh, letting his friend play Bad Cop. “Are you guys even close to ready, yet...? The doors are opening to the public in...” he glanced at his watch, “Seven minutes!”
“Yeah, yeah...” Ken sighed and leaned in towards Akira. “Are you really friends with senpai?”
“I'm afraid so.”
“So is he, like... cooler than he lets on? Or what? I just don't...” Ken looked back and forth between the two men. “I don't get it! Like, what the hell are you doin' here?!”
“Dude!” Shigekiyo hissed.
Reimi came up behind the two of them and placed a gentle hand on each one's shoulders. “Alright, boys, let's leave the rockstar alone and get to sound-checking before you give Kishibe an aneurysm, okay?”
“Yes, Reimi-san,” the two chanted, and she guided them away, with Hayato following close behind.
Akira looked back over to Rohan, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh my god, this whole thing was such a bad idea.” He sighed and looked up at Akira. “Can you... Are you okay here by yourself for a second? I gotta go find Nijimura and make sure his band is ready. They're going on first.” A beat, then he added under his breath: “...seriously, the worst idea I've ever had in my entire life.”
“Breathe, Kishibe.”
“I'm trying,” the other answered dramatically, before turning on his heel and stomping off to find his opening band.
Without him, Akira was promptly struck with the weight of being awkward and out of his element. He didn't really know anyone else here... not the same way that he knew Rohan. And mingling with the crowd wasn't exactly an option, lest he steal the attention away from the musicians who were actually performing. So he tucked his hands into his pockets and glanced around the “VIP area,” his eyes landing on the one person there who he hadn't yet spoken to.
The dark figure was leaned up against a wall and eyeing him with an unreadable expression. Akira had seen him before, skulking around the shop and in the background of Rohan's selfies. Akira nodded in his direction. “Hey. Fungami, right?”
“You got it,” the other growled, pushing off the wall and sauntering over. “I'm pretty much Kishibe's best friend.”
Akira raised a brow – that wasn't quite the picture Rohan had painted, but he played along nonetheless. “Yes, so I've heard... It's uh, nice to properly meet you.”
“Yeah, totally.” Fungami inspected his nails, a fairly obvious attempt at seeming nonchalant. “Cool of you to come out to this. You let the brats record their CD at your place, right?”
“That's right.”
“Cool, cool. Yeah, y'know, I don't play yet, but I'm saving up to get a guitar and learn.”
“Right on.”
“Mhmm. Yeah, so like, if you ever want to jam or throw ideas around with someone who's not a huge dweeb like Kishibe...” He shrugged. “I dunno. Could be cool.”
Akira broke into a wide grin. “Yeah, I might take you up on that some time, Fungami. Although... I get the feeling you know just how much I like huge dweebs like Kishibe.”
Yuya scoffed and looked away. “Heh heh... yeah. Y'know, if I hadn't seen the texts myself, I wouldn't believe it...” He snickered to himself, seemed to loosen up a bit. “Damn. Akira Otoishi flirting with fuckin' Rohan Kishibe...” Yuya shook his head.
Akira smiled softly at this, but before he could reply, Yuya glanced at something behind the musician's back and cleared his throat.
“Speak of the devil...” he murmured, raising his eyebrows pointedly and then turning away. "Good luck..."
Akira looked over his shoulder to see a thoroughly outraged-looking Rohan coming back towards him. And since Yuya had graciously taken his leave like a good wingman, Akira turned around to face his friend properly. “Hey! Umm, you okay?”
“There aren't words to describe the hell I've just witnessed.” “...huh. Well, you wanna try?”
“Let's just say I saw more of Nijimura than I ever wanted to.”
Akira choked through laughter. “Ffffuck, okay. So... I assume he was with his boyfriend, then?” Rohan simply let out a distressed groan in response. “Hey, hey, I get it, man! There's a lot of pent up energy before a show. They have to get rid of it somehow. I've been in that position before.”
“I hate all of this,” Rohan wailed, and Akira pulled him into a hug, cackling.
“I know, Kishibe... I know.”
-⚡-⚡-⚡-
As the evening grew long the record store pulsed with energy, a steady stream of raucous youths pouring in to see Idiot Doom Spiral, Bow & Arrow, and – as prevailing rumors alleged – Akira Otoishi.
The night swelled into something loud and hot, with screams and sweat filling the air and making the atmosphere thick with youthful energy. Akira was overwhelmed by reminders of a time in his life that frankly, wasn't all that long ago.
He remembered going to shows like this. Playing shows like this. Sneaking out of his parents’ house. Splitting up crumpled handfuls of money with whoever he’d convinced to play drums for him that night.
And, predictably, his mind drifted to heated makeout sessions after shows with attractive strangers, when he'd eagerly succumbed to the adrenaline rush of performing. The excitement of getting a sly smirk from the cutie in the second row. That one time he'd played at a bar that wouldn’t pay him, but the hot bartender had given him a handy in the restroom after, so he’d counted it as a win...
He looked now at Rohan, the orchestrator of tonight’s event, who was surveying his work, arms folded across his chest. Everyone here seemed to know him as the hardass. The Boss. But Akira knew of his facets: insecure and secretly lonely, curious and funny and passionate.
Right then, as if on cue, Rohan’s expression softened and he smiled to himself, a private moment of happiness that he surely hadn’t intended to be witnessed.
And Akira couldn’t help himself. Emerging from his shadowy corner, he stepped over to Rohan and brushed the fringe from his forehead, earning a tiny jump in surprise. “Thanks for letting me be a part of this,” he murmured into Rohan’s ear, just before leaning in to nuzzle into soft, green hair.
Rohan didn't reply, merely sucked in a breath. He was always so sensitive and shy about physical touch... It just made Akira want to get his hands all over him.
“This is so badass. Putting this all together… You’re a pretty impressive guy, Rohan Kishibe.”
“Well, I...” Rohan took a second to compose himself. “You're not wrong, but I certainly had some help along the way.” He turned then to meet Akira’s eyes and added, “Thanks again for letting us use your studio while you were away. You were vital to making this happen.”
“I dunno about that, but it was my pleasure. Seriously, any time... Anything you need.” Akira cast him a long, flirtatious look. And before he could stop himself, he punctuated the offer by sliding an arm round Rohan’s waist.
“Um…!” The artist tensed a bit. Akira could tell he had something to say.
“Hmmm?”
“I…”
Their eyes met, and the moment stretched on into infinity.
Rohan swallowed and took in a breath. “Akira! I… I think we should date!” he snapped, as if he were scolding one of his friends/employees. “...And if you don’t feel the same, then you’re completely dense! Frankly, it’s embarrassing that you would deny something so obvious!”
For a moment, Akira could do nothing but stare at him. Then he erupted into laughter.
“Shit, Rohan!” He slapped the other hard on the back. “You smug bastard! I was wondering if you were ever going to indulge me. Was starting to think you didn’t even realize that I was hitting on you.”
“I’m not stupid,” Rohan mumbled.
“No. You're definitely not.” Akira pulled him in a bit closer. “You're a lot of things, but not that.” He sighed, letting the reality of Rohan's words sink in. “So. Yeah. I'd be very into dating you.”
And, perhaps intending to seal the deal before Rohan could panic and back out, Akira promptly tipped the other’s chin up and brought their lips together.
He felt Rohan relax considerably into the embrace, fingers curling into the fabric of Akira’s shirt. It was truly amazing, so cozy and sweet that the noise all around them seemed to fade away. Akira thought he could stay like this for hours.
However, when he pulled back to catch his breath, reality came back into focus and he noticed that Yuya was staring at them intently, tugging at Reimi’s arm to get her in on the gawking as well.
“Ah…” Akira loosened his grip a bit. “You know what… Why don’t we move this conversation somewhere a bit more private...?”
Dazed by the kiss, Rohan simply nodded, and together they hurried for the back office, nervous and giddy like a couple of teenagers sneaking out past curfew. Akira ushered Rohan inside of the room and closed the door behind them, heart pounding against his ribcage.
He paused there for a moment, steadying his breathing. He'd wanted this for months, but with the opportunity finally in front of him, his brain had no idea what to do. “So…” he said at last, turning slowly to face Rohan. “You want to… date.”
Rohan crossed his arms and glowered down at his saddle shoes. “I do. Exclusively. Like... you know... partners.” He let out a sharp huff. “I think we get along quite well, and-”
Akira moved towards him. “Yeah, no, no, you don't need to convince me. I think it’s a great idea. I'm just…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, and took another step into Rohan’s space. He zeroed in on those pouty lips and reached up to cup Rohan’s chin, thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “Can we do that again…?”
Rohan swallowed and gave a curt nod; Akira didn’t wait for him to second guess. His strong arms curled around Rohan’s slight frame and pulled him forward, their lips crashing into another kiss, deeper this time, unconstrained by prying eyes.
“You have no idea how long I've wanted this,” he mumbled into the corner of Rohan's mouth.
Rohan made a tiny sound in agreement, his hands gripping hard at Akira’s hips, and the musician's brain all but short-circuited. Without hesitation, Akira pushed the artist backwards until he bumped up against his desk.
“Akira- Wait-” breathed Rohan, as his partner hoisted his ass up and onto the lip of the desk.
“Nnnn…?” Akira mumbled, favoring the other’s neck with sloppy kisses.
Rohan placed a hand on Akira's chest and pushed him back gently. “Hey - temper your expectations, Otoishi,” he warned, a serious look in his eyes. “You know I'm not exactly... Eh... That this is all still new to me...”
Akira bit his lip and placed his palms on the desk on either side of Rohan. Right. Rohan had once mentioned – after plenty of needling, of course – that he had some hangups about sex and physical intimacy. When they'd first discussed it, Akira had pompously thought to himself about the many ways which he could overcome his friend's aversion, and had gotten distracted with naughty thoughts. But now the truth of the situation sank in, and he backpedaled sheepishly.
“S-sure! Of course. We can take it slow, no problem. I just, uh...” He leaned in to press a chaste kiss just below Rohan's ear; the artist let out a breathless laugh. “I'm just fuckin' excited, okay? Can you blame me? You're mine.”
“The hell I am.” Rohan put his arms 'round Akira's neck and peered up at him. “You're mine.” “I'm yours,” Akira agreed. It seemed to him the most obvious truth in the universe.
-⚡-⚡-⚡-
People don't know what to think of you. They don't understand your point of view. But I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.
People say that you act so above. People think you don't know how to love. But I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.
And when you start to feel like they might be right, I roll my eyes and I just squeeze you tighter.
Dear Gravity (5/7)
Title: Dear Gravity (5/7) Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pairing: Akira Otoishi x Rohan Kishibe Rating: Teen (for now?) Summary: It’s dangerous living among the stars. You might just find yourself caught in the gravitational pull of a black hole. * A spin-off of “Morioh Hi-Fi” where we get a peek at what unfolds between these two drama kings. AN: For those keeping score at home, this takes place between Chapter 21 and Chapter 24 of Morioh Hi-Fi.
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“You’re going far too goth with these. That’s not really the audience you’re catering to, is it?”
“I dunno,” Akira replied from his walk-in closet, “You’re the one with the record store. You tell me. What kind of people buy my records?”
“Everyone does.” Rohan sighed and plopped down on the bed beside the assortment of all-black clothing that Akira had asked him here to critique. “My shop isn't a good control group. You’re a hometown hero after all.”
“Hometown Hero,” Akira echoed, “That’s a good album title.”
“No,” retorted Rohan, “It sounds too poppy. Too mainstream.”
Akira laughed as he re-entered the bedroom, several tops thrown over shoulder for Rohan's perusal. His lower half was clad in an asymmetrical skirt and fishnet stockings. “Well, Kishibe... if you ever need a career change, you have all the makings of a great art director. For starters, you hate all of my ideas.”
Rohan eyed him head to toe — a gesture that wasn’t lost on Akira — and then turned away. “I don’t! I just…” he hesitated, “A-anyway, what’s the thought behind this outfit?” Akira could practically hear him blushing.
“Oh, this?” He looked down and plucked at the skirt. “The thought is it might be less fuckin’ sweaty onstage. Trust me, man, my junk is always a wreck after a set. A breeze might be nice.”
Rohan busied himself with straightening out the clothes on the bed. “More than I needed to know,” he mumbled.
Akira shrugged. “You asked!” He crossed over to the bed and dumped his most recent selection of clothing in Rohan’s lap, before settling down next to him. “Alright, the winner is in here somewhere, I just know it. What d’ya think?”
Rohan seemed grateful for the distraction, and he promptly began thumbing through the tops, occasionally lifting one and holding it out towards Akira with one eye closed. “Hm. I have an idea,” he said slowly, “But you’re going to hate it.”
“Not a chance. Try me.”
“Well…” Rohan looked thoughtfully from his friend to the heap of clothes on the bed. “I think you should keep it simple.” He held up a hand to shush any protest and went on, “If… this is what you’re going with on bottom, you'll want to keep the attention there. You don’t want to distract with too much noise.” He rifled through the pile and eventually pulled out a small black tank-top, pressing it into Akira’s hands without meeting his eyes.
“Huh.” Akira raised a brow at the shirt. “Okay. I trust your judgment.” With that, he pulled his current t-shirt up over his head — Rohan quickly averted his eyes — and replaced it with the tank. He stood from the bed and crossed over to his mirror to inspect himself. “Yeah, okay... I get it,” he agreed, catching Rohan’s eyes in the reflection. “So I can show off my arms and legs all at once, eh?”
Rohan scoffed and turned away again. “I was thinking that it would help keep you cool, since apparently that’s an issue.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, it’s easy to accessorize… fingerless gloves, maybe something around your neck…” he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
But Akira suspected that he did know; that he had a very specific image that he couldn’t keep out of his mind. The musician struggled to conceal a smirk as he walked back to the other, one hand resting on his hip. “Well thank you, Kishibe. You’ve really helped a lot. Would you mind weighing in on my makeup options, too?”
Rohan frowned a bit. “I don’t know anything about makeup.”
“Mm. Well I’m sure you’ll be able to tell me what you don’t like, so we’ll go from there. C’mon.” He grabbed Rohan’s wrist and dragged the other into his bathroom, where there was a vanity counter stocked with hair and makeup products. Rohan gave a loud, performative sigh, which Akira pointedly ignored. “Here,” he said, pulling open a drawer that rattled with dozens of glass bottles. Rohan leaned over and peered inside, curiously. “While I get started on my look, you can choose a nail color for me, okay?”
Rohan nodded and hummed, his eyes eagerly jumping from one color to the next. Almost immediately he set to plucking some out to try.
“You good with that?”
Rohan just waved him away.
Akira shook his head and stepped aside, emptying his cabinets of a plethora eyeliners, eyeshadows, and lipsticks. He already had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to do — he didn’t change his look all that much between stints on the road. But lately a lot of his new music had been awfully sensual, imbued with a raw, sexual energy... for whatever reason.
He stole another glance in the mirror at Rohan, who had just seated himself on the tile floor and was poring over a few of his chosen bottles, holding them to the light and squinting, his lips pursed.
…In any case, Akira had wanted to make his stage presence just a little bit more mysterious and seductive this time around.
He picked up a lipstick of deep, dark plum and applied it carefully along his lips, trying to match the steadiness of hand that he'd seen his friend demonstrate while drawing... As if Rohan were watching, and as if he'd be impressed by such a thing. Akira pressed his lips together firmly to even out the makeup and then opened them again with a soft pop. He caught Rohan glancing up at him curiously before returning to the nail polish.
Akira paused to admire himself in the mirror for a moment; he always kind of relished the transformation into stage-Akira, the persona, the character, the version of himself that never faltered in his confidence. The makeup helped fool everyone, even himself.
And now, satisfied with the lipstick, it was time to apply clouds of black eyeshadow billowing up over his eyelids, and a slightly-shimmering purple blended into the lower portion of it. The process was slow and precise, and even though he'd done this a million times before, he took great care to make it look as camera-ready as possible. Once both of his eyes were sufficiently darkened, he added a long, sharp line of hot pink from his lash line up to his temple, and then a line of black along his bottom lid to mirror it. Finally - of course – came the task of trying to make everything symmetrical.
His tongue poked out and eyes focused, Akira worried away at the makeup for several moments before he noticed that Rohan was looking at him again, smiling slightly. And fuck if it wasn't contagious. As his own mouth twitched upwards, Akira set down the eyeliner pen and looked over his shoulder.
“What are you smilin' about, Kishibe?”
Rohan shook his head and stood, coming over to join Akira in the light of the vanity. He looked up at his friend's handiwork thoughtfully, and Akira glanced away.
“You're much better at this than you were at drawing me, that's all,” Rohan said after a while.
“Hey, man, I really tried with that drawing! It's the thought that counts, right?”
“Hardly.” Rohan gave him a smug look and then switched gears, leaning his hip against the counter. “Anyway, I'm... impressed. I guess I didn't realize you did your own makeup.”
“I mean, not always. Sometimes I've tried showin' up to photoshoots with my own look, and when I get there the makeup artist looks at me like a toddler who got into their cosmetics...” He shrugged. “But, thanks. Glad someone appreciates my taste.”
“Ah, not only appreciates, but is about to level it up.” Rohan took his hand – Akira tried to calm the familiar flutter in his chest – and brought his own hand up alongside it, with each fingernail now painted a different color. “Here's what I'm thinking,” he started, with a fire in his voice that he got only when talking about an illustration idea or a new record that had blown him away. “This as your base color. It matches your eye makeup, yeah?” He tapped his middle finger against Akira's; it was painted with a deep purple, almost black, that flickered with diamonds when it caught the light.
“Uh huh. I dig it.”
“Alright, good. But you'll want an accent nail, too. Probably your index finger, right? Best chance of it getting noticed while you're playing...?” He wiggled his pinky finger. A glossy, mirror-like surface of chrome.
“Totally.” By this point, Akira was mostly just watching Rohan's expressions while he talked.
“You can disagree with me, you know,” the other mumbled, though Akira knew that the unquestioning approval of his color choices was giving the artist's ego a good stroking. “Finally, because you're... you... I was thinking we could do those... lines across the top.”
“Like a French Tip?”
“Sure, whatever.” Rohan hurried past the absolute scandal of not knowing a term and went on, “I think this one.” His ring finger, colored with an iridescent goldenrod. “It's gaudy and too much. But again, it's you.”
“Such a charmer you are.” Akira roughly mussed the other's hair with his free hand, and Rohan pulled away, laughing. “Well, gaudy or not, I'm down for it. You wanna do the honors?” Akira wiggled all of his fingers to punctuate the question, and Rohan's face turned serious again.
“Yeah? Will you... keep it on? For the tour?”
“The nail polish?” Akira raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, why wouldn't I? Probably have to touch them up a bit on the road, but if I can get a pro like you to paint 'em for me, why not take advantage of that?”
Rohan scoffed, but before Akira could reconsider he had grabbed the musician's wrist and was tugging him back to where he had been sitting. Together they sat on the tile floor, legs crossed and intimately close, and without words Rohan carefully arranged his chosen colors and began to set to work.
Akira closed his eyes, his stomach feeling warm and happy at the innocent touch of Rohan holding his hands carefully, reverently, as he would with any of his artworks. It seemed a sacred moment; one artist creating his vision, the other being transformed. For a while, both of them were quiet.
Perhaps to break some perceived tension, or maybe as a subconscious tic, Rohan suddenly began to hum to himself. Akira recognized the song... it was something by The Arcade Fire, and he'd heard it enough to at least fumble his way through the lyrics. And so he began to sing along quietly, throwing in some Japanese to fill in the blanks of his memory, bending the words to be about an artist and his fashion-challenged friend.
Rohan snorted. “Don't make me laugh,” he warned, eyes staying fixed on his task, “I don't know how to fix this stuff if I fuck up.”
“Alright, alright.” Akira opened an eye to observe him. “Hey, you wanna do this full-time? Be my official nail technician?”
“You seem desperate to hire me today. First as an art director, now this. Are you trying to get me to come on tour with you?”
“So what if I am? It gets lonely on the road.”
“I'm sure. Traveling in a tight space with your bandmates. Hopping from one place to the next, full of people who are there just to see you. Lonely, indeed.”
“Hey, it is!” Akira argued.
Rohan swatted gently at his wrist. “Hold still.”
“Okay, sorry, sorry. But seriously, I'm not complaining about having fans, it's just... that's different from being with friends. You've gotta understand that.”
“I guess. But what about your bandmates?”
“I mean, they're cool, obviously. I'm the one who picked 'em. But they're kinda like... my employees, in a way.”
“And what's wrong with being friends with your employees?”
“Nothing! But... think of it this way. I can't picture you painting Yuya Fungami's nails. You know what I mean?”
“Hmmmm.”
Akira took that as agreement. “I dunno. It's hard to describe what I mean without sounding like a completely ungrateful ass.”
“Maybe you're just a completely ungrateful ass, then.”
“Probably.”
They lapsed into silence again, though it still felt comfortable, easy. And before long Akira was picking up where he'd left off in the song, more out of habit than anything else.
“Children, wake up... Um... Put on your friend's makeup...”
“Hold your mistakes up,” Rohan corrected, smirking. “Like... you know... mistakes? Those things you're constantly doing with your clothing choices?”
“Uh huh. Yeah, okay. You're lucky the nail polish isn't dry, or I'd kick your ass.”
Rohan stuck out his tongue and then said quite seriously, “Keep going.”
“Mm. Help me with the words?”
“Sure.”
Akira took in a breath and started again. “Children don't grow up, our bodies get bigger, but...” He faltered, and Rohan stepped in seamlessly:
“Our hearts get torn up. We're just a million little gods causin' rainstorms.”
And together: “Turning everything good to rust. I guess we'll just have to adjust.”
Rohan suddenly broke off. “There, all finished.”
Akira blinked down at his hands. “Oh!” He'd almost forgotten what they were doing. “Right on. Thank you, Kishibe.”
“Think nothing of it.” He carefully screwed the cap back onto the golden nail polish and set it aside with the others. As he looked over the bottles he said, “You... don't always have to use my family name, you know.”
“Hmm?”
Rohan turned back to him. “I've noticed you still almost always call me by Kishibe. I don't mind if you use Rohan. All of my other idiot friends do, anyway.” He seemed to catch himself being vulnerable and quickly added: “Not that it matters either way. Just thought I'd mention it.” He shrugged.
“Oh.” Akira smiled softly. “Fair enough. Guess I didn't want to seem too familiar.”
“Tch.” Rohan busied himself collecting the nail polish bottles into his hands. “You've already kissed me. I don't think we could get much more familiar at this point,” he grumbled, going a bit pink.
I could think of a few ways, Akira thought, biting his tongue.
But ah, yes, that kiss... They'd talked about it briefly after Akira's fumbled apology at the record store. He'd managed to save his dignity somewhat by saying that he'd kissed plenty of his friends, that it was just a casual sign of affection that didn't necessarily imply anything deeper than that. Which was technically true... He'd just strategically left out the part where he desperately wanted to sleep with Rohan and hold him close afterwards.
“Hey.” Rohan's voice brought him back. “Where'd you learn to do that, anyway?”
“Do what?” “The makeup.” He fanned his fingers out around his eyes. “It's... an unusual talent.”
“Oh, years of practice.” Akira smiled in the very corner of his mouth. “I went through a phase as a teenager where I was stealing looks from Alice Cooper, David Bowie... Plus for a while I was convinced I could cover up this sucker.” He ran his fingertips wistfully over his scar. “I knew more about foundation than any of the girls my age, heh. I actually got roped in to helping out the theatre club...” Akira broke off suddenly, struck by something. He met Rohan's eyes. “...huh.”
“...What?”
“No, it's just... You actually like my makeup. You're not making fun of me.”
“Uh huh...?” Rohan furrowed his brow and Akira laughed.
“You're a tough critic, that's all. I was expecting you to tell me I look like... I dunno... Like I was trying out for a gay KISS cover band.”
“Mm, I would have come up with a much better insult, but I take your point.” Rohan raised a brow, unable to hide the smile playing on his lips. “No, you look good. You'd look good no matter what makeup you're wearing.” There was a beat, and the sincerity in his voice must have surprised both of them, because he hurried to add: “So, I mean... maybe your makeup skills aren't that great, after all.”
Akira cackled and shot him a devious look. “Huh. Well, I think my nails might be dry enough now to give you that beat down I promised earlier...”
“Wait, wait. You can't beat me up, Otoishi.”
“And why's that?”
“Because you have to do my makeup now.” He said it as though it were obvious. “Come on, let's really test your skills, shall we? If you want me to join your posse so badly, let's see what the tour edition of Rohan Kishibe looks like.”
“Oh shit.” Akira softened. “Really?” Rohan folded his arms. “Okay, okay, umm, let me think. Hm...” He got to his feet and padded back to the vanity, where he spent some time picking out various cosmetics for his friend. He'd keep it pretty basic... Rohan would want to make a bold statement, something forceful, somewhat sinister...
Soon he happily returned to sit in front of Rohan, gently lying the makeup out on the floor beside them. “Okay, so, do you want a rundown of what I have in mind, or want to be surprised?”
“I trust you,” Rohan said with a nod. “And if it turns out awful, I'll just get to make fun of you more.”
“Ah. So really, you can't lose.”
“Mhmm.” Rohan closed his eyes and scooted in a bit closer. “So show me what you've got, Otoishi.”
“You can call me Akira, everyone else does,” the other teased, reaching for the eyeliner. He popped the cap off of it but paused momentarily before going to work – taking full advantage of the moment to gaze at the other man and pine away. Eventually, with a tiny sigh, he leaned in. He gently held Rohan's chin with one hand and said quietly, “Alright, here it comes. Stay still.” Rohan hummed his acknowledgement and Akira set to it.
It was a peaceful few moments, oddly tender and intimate, but Akira wasn't sure he trusted himself not to kiss Rohan again. And the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that his instincts were going to take over. Their proximity, the way he could feel Rohan's breath, it was tempting him to be reckless. He cleared his throat.
“So... joking aside. Do you think you'd ever want to go on tour with a band? In a role of your choosing.”
Rohan's lip twitched a little as he considered this. “Hard to say. I suppose I'd do it once, for the experience of it. But I'm sure I'd absolutely hate it.”
“That's fair. I can see that... Hey, open your eyes for a sec...? Okay, cool. Close 'em again.”
“How do I look so far?”
“Stunning,” Akira mumbled, adjusting his lines a bit. He expected Rohan to make a crack about how this was just his natural state of being. But instead –
“Hey.”
“Mm?”
“Can I ask you a favor? ...It's stupid.”
“Sure, I love stupid favors.”
“Great. So... I told you about those kids who we caught trying to shoplift, right?”
“Yeah, and instead of being a narc, you ended up offering to help them make an album. How could I forget something like that? It was very punk rock of you.” Akira turned and set down the eyeliner, reaching now for a shade of green.
“Yeah, yeah. Well, I was thinking... and you can absolutely say no to this... I just thought it might make sense... But I could understand if you're not comfortable with it. No obligation.”
Akira frowned. “Spit it out.”
Rohan puffed out a breath. “Could we maybe use your recording studio while you're away on this upcoming tour? I'd make sure they treat all the equipment with the utmost respect. And if anything were to happen, I'd pay for damages out of my pocket.”
“That--”
“We'll get all of it wrapped up before you return, I promise. The thing is, I know your set-up is way better than anything these kids would have access to. And I'm happy to pay for renting the space.”
“I'm--”
“Don't think you have to say yes because we're friends. Take some time to think it over, maybe. We can talk about--”
Akira squeezed the hand that was on Rohan's chin, squishing in his cheeks and causing the artist to open his eyes again in surprise. “Hey, dumbass, I'm trying to tell you that the studio's all yours. And don't even think about trying to pay for it.” He sat back a little and grinned. “As it is, you're already sinking way too much money into a couple of delinquent kids' music... And I fuckin' love it. I'm happy to help.”
Rohan relaxed visibly. “Yeah? Really?"
“Totally. Dude, you are so living up to your title as Party Dad with this little project of yours. I'd be honored to be the Party Uncle, or whatever.”
“Your contribution is duly noted.” Rohan snorted. “Look at us! Enriching the lives of the next generation...”
“Supporting the arts and shit...” Akira shook his head in faux disdain. “Pfft. What good ever came of the arts?”
Rohan chuckled, looking to the side for a moment before his expression turned serious again. “Um... thanks, Akira.”
“Don't mention it. Now close your eyes and hold still. I'm not done.”
“Oh, right...” Rohan was quick to comply. He folded his hands in his lap. “Will you keep singing?”
“Only if you sing with me.”
“Deal.”