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Since he woke up, Tsukasa knew today was going to be bad. It’s not hard to tell, when mere sunlight feels like knives in your skull and the fabric of your clothes is like sandpaper on your skin, and any sound above a whisper makes you feel like your ears are going to bleed. If he could do anything right now, he’d want to lock himself in a quiet, dark room and try to sleep until it’s gone.
But there’s a live today, because of course there is.
They’re only backstage, but the incessant chatter of the crowd makes his head feel heavy and the harsh stage lights and the rough fabric of the Knights uniform on his bare skin is too much.
“Suu-chan,” comes Ritsu’s voice from somewhere distant, and a gentle hand is placed on his shoulder in a way that’s probably meant to be comforting.
It isn’t.
Tsukasa can’t help flinching at the touch, because it’s warm, hot, burning, each pinprick of heat from Ritsu’s hands moving through that awful fabric to his skin underneath.
Ritsu’s eyes narrow, lips twisting into a frown. “You alright?” Ritsu’s voice is quiet, and he nearly can’t hear it over everything, but the concern on his face is clear as day.
“Yes, I’m alright,” Tsukasa forces out, and it’s a struggle to keep his voice at a normal volume, “don’t worry, Ritsu-senpai.”
Lie.
Lying about things like this has gotten harder as the people around him start to know when it’ll happen. Sometimes, Arashi will shoot him a glance during practice when everyone’s yelling, or Ritsu will tell everyone to shut up sometimes for his sake.
Ritsu looks skeptical, but shrugs anyway, throwing Tsukasa a bottle of water before walking off, probably to bother Izumi.
He doesn’t know how long it’ll be until they go onstage, just that he doesn’t want to. His hands shake as he opens the bottle of water, taking small sips just to make his mind focus on something.
Suddenly the noise is louder and there’s music playing and Izumi in his face telling him they need to get onstage soon. Tsukasa feels a little like passing out, even though he knows the chances of that happening are practically zero.
“Kasa-kun, hurry up,” Izumi yells, and Tsukasa tries hard not to flinch at the noise. Hands still trembling, he puts the water down and follows Izumi onstage.
Loud.
It’s Tsukasa’s first thought as the five of them step onto the stage, and even though the content of the crowds’ screaming is positive, it’s still so obnoxious. Arashi shoots him a look, and it’s all he can do to fake a composed smile.
The stage lights are not only bright, but hot, and the sweat on his skin only makes the fabric feel worse. Distantly, the intro to one of their songs starts playing, and his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it occurs to him that maybe he should have made an excuse to get out of this.
(He wouldn’t be able to, he knows. Letting their fans down would be out of the question.)
So he sings, even though his skin feels raw and his head feels light and his own voice is loud and terrifying and makes him feel like he’s going to collapse right then and there. He sings, because there’s nothing else he can do.
«•»
By some miracle, Tsukasa makes it through the live. The cheers are tremendous, but the usual satisfaction he would feel after a live is nowhere to be found. Instead, he feels lightheaded, exhausted, like he’s not really here. His body moves on autopilot, walking offstage as everyone thanks the audience, but Tsukasa can’t find it in himself to say a word to them.
Nearly, nearly—
As soon as he’s out of sight, Tsukasa slides down to the ground, back against the wall, heels of his hands pressing over his ears enough that it hurts and eyes squeezed tightly shut. Everything feels distant, and his body doesn’t feel like his own, and he tugs at his hair with trembling fingers, breaths coming out in short gasps.
He can hear voices, but they’re muffled and far away, and he can feel someone in front of him, but only vaguely, and he doesn’t feel like he’s the one being knelt down before.
“Tsukasa-chan, can you hear me?”
Arashi. Her voice is soft, soothing, and Tsukasa nods, but his hands stay over his ears and his eyes stay shut.
“Focus on the sound of my voice,” she continues, but he can’t, because he can still hear the crowd, the mindless chattering of all those hundreds, thousands of people. She doesn’t say anything, so patient, so kind.
There are more whispers around him, and it occurs to him that everyone’s probably here.
No, that’s not right, they can’t all see you like this—
Immature, inexperienced, problematic.
“Suu-chan, can I—”
Tsukasa cuts him off by leaning automatically towards the sound of Ritsu’s voice, landing in his chest and choking out a sharp breath as he’s pulled into a tight hug. He can feel every pinprick of Ritsu’s skin on his where there isn’t fabric between them: wrist, neck, face, and it burns, all too much and yet not enough at the same time.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Ritsu mumbles, and then he’s bringing his hand up to brush through the knots in Tsukasa’s hair that he created from pulling at it, easing his hands away from his ears as someone closes the door and turns off the lights. Tsukasa opens his eyes, and it’s dark and quiet and he pulls away from Ritsu to see four pairs of eyes staring at him with concern.
“Suo,” Leo says, voice barely above a whisper; a level of quietness he didn’t think was possible from the composer. His eyes are bright, sharp, and Tsukasa rarely sees him this serious. “Suo, why did you perform when you felt like that?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Tsukasa says — or tries to say, because even as he opens his mouth and forms the words, no sound comes out. He tries again, frustrated for some reason even though talking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the moment.
“Take your time,” Arashi says kindly, even as Tsukasa stumbles over words and sounds like a small child might.
Finally, finally, he gets the words out, and the others frown, probably because they know he’s right. They can’t afford to just not have him there because of this, or to reschedule the live, or anything like that. If he can perform, he should, and nothing his unitmates could say can change that; he knows they follow similar rules themselves.
(It’s obvious, when some days Leo’s hands tremble as they walk onstage, and Izumi gives him concerned glances. When some days the shadows under Ritsu’s eyes are darker than usual, and he looks more exhausted than ever. When Izumi’s remarks aren’t as sharp, and he lets Leo hold him — it’s never obvious, with him, but Tsukasa’s learned. When Arashi’s smiles are a little bit faker and her usual self confidence is gone and she spends more time looking in the mirror, arranging her hair in a way that doesn’t quite suit her but makes her look just a bit more feminine.)
(They all have bad days, so why should he let his get in the way of their fans?)
“Idiot,” Izumi mumbles, crossing his arms, “at least tell us, we could try to help.” There’s barely concealed worry in his tone, and he glances away, a little embarrassed. “Everyone was worried.”
“Yup, especially Secchan,” Ritsu teases, “he started bossing us all around as soon as you collapsed like that, you should have seen it.”
That... does sound a lot like Izumi, actually, and Tsukasa finds himself smiling.
“Really, though!” There’s a dramatic pout on Leo’s face as he clings to Izumi’s arm. “I thought the aliens were in your head, Suo!”
“There are no aliens, Leo-san,” Tsukasa sighs, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.
“Yeah, because they erased your memories! Sena, why didn’t the aliens come to me instead? I could write a song for them!”
“I don’t know, Leo-kun.” Izumi rubs his temples with a long suffering sigh.
“Your genius is too great for them, maybe,” Ritsu suggests, and Leo pouts again, frowning.
“Not true, Rittsu, they have advanced technology! That’s how they got into Suo’s head!” The composer crosses his arms and pokes his tongue out, and Tsukasa has to remind himself that Leo is actually the oldest of them.
“Leo-san, there were no aliens in my head,” Tsukasa stresses, and the bright laugh that gets from Leo still stabs into his head a little, but it’s not so bad anymore.
“Anyway,” Arashi interrupts, “Tsukasa-chan, please tell us next time you feel that bad.”
Tsukasa nods a little sheepishly, yelping as a cannonball of Tsukinaga Leo jumps into him for a hug. Arashi laughs, and then she’s joining in on the group hug, dragging Izumi in too by the hand. He feigns reluctance, but the warm smile on his face is hard to conceal.
And, Tsukasa realises, squashed in between four of his favourite people in the world in an awkward group hug, he’s never felt this warm.
So this is family, then.