Status: Complete!
Lacrimo Crystallinus
15 Somnium Crystallinus
Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait. It’s always been like that in the music industry, though, for performing artists, I promise myself, brushing at the custom-tailored suit and messing with its cuffs. No matter how often I wear these things, I always feel different when I’m in them. They make me feel self-conscious, constantly assessing my stride and posture, neither of which has ever been perfect, exactly. If you ask the fans or Bao, though, it’s always that of a confident, wealthy man, regardless of what I wear. Still, I think while smoothing the front, one cannot be too careful, especially after making public everything I had. My new, temporary manager leaps out suddenly from behind a wall of bodyguards only trained half as well as I am, his PDA dangling on at wrist and a cigarette clamped between his lips.
“You ready for this?” he asks gruffly, giving me the look-over. The cigarette wags in his mouth like an angry cat’s tail as he speaks. A half sleeve of tattoos, all only half finished, curls down his bicep. They are all original designs, I know, without having to ask. I had already seen them in his sketchbook a long time ago. For a minute, I close my eyes and go back to that restaurant in Shanghai with him and Suzumura. He snaps his fingers, bringing me back to the moment. “You’ve got this, right, GACKT?”
“Too late to back out now,” I say with a grin. “I thought you quit smoking?”
“No man is perfect,” he says dismissively. “Reila is just going to have to settle for the next best thing.” He leans back against the wall where electrical equipment feeds into a heavy-duty outlet. “But we aren’t talking about me, Satoru, we’re talking about you. It might not be a happy reception waiting for you out there. Are you sure you’ve got what it takes to deal with that?”
I adjust my tie, feeling his eyes on me. At first, I think that he must know that I have my doubts, but I realize that even my friends seem to find me invincible at times. I just nod solemnly and tuck my hands into my pockets, letting myself slouch a little. It feels better already, I think with a hint of something like bitterness.
“You always did have everything under control,” he admits fondly despite his unchanging expression. He lets out a puff of smoke, tossing the stub of his cigarette into an ashtray.
“It helps having a better manager in place,” Suzumura says, suddenly appearing from the backstage. I bow a little in greeting, and try not to smile. The three of us living the way we want, without secrets, without anyone holding back our potential… it feels right. Suzumura shakes my hand, a lock of dyed electric blue hair flopping into his face despite his best efforts to keep it from doing so.
“Don’t get used to it,” Takanori warns, glancing at the unfinished string of tattoos on his arm, the skin around the ink an angry red. His eyes soften a little as he looks down at them. “I’ve got other things to do.” Then he looks up and meets my eyes. “But I can spare a week or so for my friends.”
“Good thing, too,” Suzumura mutters, flopping down into a nearby chair. “Here I thought Takanori-sensei, the Tattoo Guru and super kawaii singer of GAZEROCK, was ultra-super-mega supreme. Too good for mere mortals like Satoru and myself.”
Takanori glances up at me, raising an eyebrow. “I take back what I said back in Shanghai. How do you deal with him at all?” I laugh, but his eyebrows pull together as if in thought.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask Suzumura. “Last I heard, you were headed back to Osaka-shi to visit your nephew or something like that.”
He shrugs. “Close enough, I guess. Turns out the kid’s been here in Nagoya.” He clips the stray lock out of his face. “He didn’t think to tell me until right before the 6 o’ clock train arrived at Kyuukou station to take me out there.” Before I can do more than give him the nod of sympathy, he sighs. “It can’t be helped.”
Takanori flags down one of the roadies as they move to pass us by. “Could you get us some sake or beer?” The roadie looks hesitantly at us and rushes off.
“I am going to crush that poor man’s soul,” Suzumura says mildly, reclining, “if he is that surprised that I want a drink.”
“Could be Catholic, for all I know,” Takanori says, shrugging. He turns back to me. “It’s almost time for you to get on stage. Are you sure you can do this?” I nod and force my hands not to shake as the lights dim and he shoves me onto the darkened stage.
************************************************************************************
I was told never to start with a gentle song for a performance, but I start this live with Saikai Story because of what it means to me. For the first 10 seconds of the song, I can’t open my eyes for fear of what I would see. But eventually, I have to. I open my eyes.
The crowd is perfectly still. It wasn’t uncommon for Asian audiences to remain utterly and completely motionless during a particularly emotional song, but many have their arms crossed or have expressions that are completely unreadable and unreachable. I find myself almost faltering on notes because my heart is beating quickly with the expectation that I will be viewed poorly. Eventually, the song ends and the last note falls into silence. They stare at me expectantly. I put the microphone to my lips.
“Konban wa,” I say awkwardly, not pretending to smile. I cannot lie to these people, these fans, who watch and wait for me to make this right. Their stares feel like a thousand guns held aimed at me. I swallow the lump in my throat and continue. “Many of you, if not all of you, watched the video that I originally posted on the Dears website, revealing certain aspects of my personal life.” I wait for their reactions. There are none. I feel my stomach tighten and knot with discomfort. “I appreciate you coming here tonight despite what you learned about me. I’m sure that what I did conflicted directly with your moral principles, and even though I have learned from my mistake, I know that I have lost many of my fans, my friends, to my old ways.” I pause again, seeing no give, and expecting none. “I want to tell you, tonight, that your trust is not in vain.”
I hold up my hand, showing the bright band on my finger. “This is an engagement ring.” At that, ripples of sound erupt in the venue. I smile, watching their faces suddenly become very animated. I wait for them to calm down enough so that I can talk. “During a previous concert, which was streamed live on the Dears website, I revealed a song called ‘Saikai Story’, the same song that I just sang for you tonight.
“It was the song that earned me this ring. I wrote the song for my fiancée after we separated, and performed it the following week at the concert. Then I became very sick, and was hospitalized. She came to see me, and I recovered quickly.” I pause, smiling easily now. “We aren’t perfect, but we’re so near it, I can hardly tell the difference.”
I let my eyes slowly rove over the group. “You are my fans. You are important to me in many ways, and I want to continue being a person that you can admire. I want to be a person that—“
Suddenly the lights aren’t on me anymore. I glance around in surprise and notice that they are focused on something at my left. I look over and see a large cart being wheeled in with a blue sheet thrown over it. Suzumura is leading the procession and smiles hugely. Someone with a vague resemblance to him steps up, one hand balled up in the sheet. The youth has a microphone and puts it up to his lips as I stare in shock.
“A present, Gakuto-sama,” he says with a deep voice despite his youth. “From your fans.” He turns to remove the sheet.
“Who are you?” I ask, moving the microphone away so that it can’t pick up my words. The kid just smiles and looks almost exactly like my friend.
The sheet is peeled away and tossed into the wings of the stage, away from the electrical equipment. There, on the cart, are four tall candles, a small cake, and a giant card. As the crowd suddenly cheers loudly, noise filling the auditorium, my eyes tear up and I am trembling by the time I have the ability to move. Suzumura nods in understanding in pushes the cart toward me, handing me the card first. I wipe away tears, bringing the mic up to my mouth again after the crowd has finished their screaming and cries of adulation. “T—Thank you,” I choke out, smiling like an idiot. I open the card. It is written in a rainbow assortment of pen and marker colors, but the writing is cramped and scrawled elegantly all over the card. Fans from all over the world have contributed to this one card, writing their thoughts, their wishes, their prayers all over its surface. A tear falls onto a blank spot on the card. I clear my throat and try to read it aloud.
“’We still love you,
your Dears’.”
I read aloud every one of the 470 messages. One for every one of my “vampire years”.
“You ready for this?” he asks gruffly, giving me the look-over. The cigarette wags in his mouth like an angry cat’s tail as he speaks. A half sleeve of tattoos, all only half finished, curls down his bicep. They are all original designs, I know, without having to ask. I had already seen them in his sketchbook a long time ago. For a minute, I close my eyes and go back to that restaurant in Shanghai with him and Suzumura. He snaps his fingers, bringing me back to the moment. “You’ve got this, right, GACKT?”
“Too late to back out now,” I say with a grin. “I thought you quit smoking?”
“No man is perfect,” he says dismissively. “Reila is just going to have to settle for the next best thing.” He leans back against the wall where electrical equipment feeds into a heavy-duty outlet. “But we aren’t talking about me, Satoru, we’re talking about you. It might not be a happy reception waiting for you out there. Are you sure you’ve got what it takes to deal with that?”
I adjust my tie, feeling his eyes on me. At first, I think that he must know that I have my doubts, but I realize that even my friends seem to find me invincible at times. I just nod solemnly and tuck my hands into my pockets, letting myself slouch a little. It feels better already, I think with a hint of something like bitterness.
“You always did have everything under control,” he admits fondly despite his unchanging expression. He lets out a puff of smoke, tossing the stub of his cigarette into an ashtray.
“It helps having a better manager in place,” Suzumura says, suddenly appearing from the backstage. I bow a little in greeting, and try not to smile. The three of us living the way we want, without secrets, without anyone holding back our potential… it feels right. Suzumura shakes my hand, a lock of dyed electric blue hair flopping into his face despite his best efforts to keep it from doing so.
“Don’t get used to it,” Takanori warns, glancing at the unfinished string of tattoos on his arm, the skin around the ink an angry red. His eyes soften a little as he looks down at them. “I’ve got other things to do.” Then he looks up and meets my eyes. “But I can spare a week or so for my friends.”
“Good thing, too,” Suzumura mutters, flopping down into a nearby chair. “Here I thought Takanori-sensei, the Tattoo Guru and super kawaii singer of GAZEROCK, was ultra-super-mega supreme. Too good for mere mortals like Satoru and myself.”
Takanori glances up at me, raising an eyebrow. “I take back what I said back in Shanghai. How do you deal with him at all?” I laugh, but his eyebrows pull together as if in thought.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask Suzumura. “Last I heard, you were headed back to Osaka-shi to visit your nephew or something like that.”
He shrugs. “Close enough, I guess. Turns out the kid’s been here in Nagoya.” He clips the stray lock out of his face. “He didn’t think to tell me until right before the 6 o’ clock train arrived at Kyuukou station to take me out there.” Before I can do more than give him the nod of sympathy, he sighs. “It can’t be helped.”
Takanori flags down one of the roadies as they move to pass us by. “Could you get us some sake or beer?” The roadie looks hesitantly at us and rushes off.
“I am going to crush that poor man’s soul,” Suzumura says mildly, reclining, “if he is that surprised that I want a drink.”
“Could be Catholic, for all I know,” Takanori says, shrugging. He turns back to me. “It’s almost time for you to get on stage. Are you sure you can do this?” I nod and force my hands not to shake as the lights dim and he shoves me onto the darkened stage.
************************************************************************************
I was told never to start with a gentle song for a performance, but I start this live with Saikai Story because of what it means to me. For the first 10 seconds of the song, I can’t open my eyes for fear of what I would see. But eventually, I have to. I open my eyes.
The crowd is perfectly still. It wasn’t uncommon for Asian audiences to remain utterly and completely motionless during a particularly emotional song, but many have their arms crossed or have expressions that are completely unreadable and unreachable. I find myself almost faltering on notes because my heart is beating quickly with the expectation that I will be viewed poorly. Eventually, the song ends and the last note falls into silence. They stare at me expectantly. I put the microphone to my lips.
“Konban wa,” I say awkwardly, not pretending to smile. I cannot lie to these people, these fans, who watch and wait for me to make this right. Their stares feel like a thousand guns held aimed at me. I swallow the lump in my throat and continue. “Many of you, if not all of you, watched the video that I originally posted on the Dears website, revealing certain aspects of my personal life.” I wait for their reactions. There are none. I feel my stomach tighten and knot with discomfort. “I appreciate you coming here tonight despite what you learned about me. I’m sure that what I did conflicted directly with your moral principles, and even though I have learned from my mistake, I know that I have lost many of my fans, my friends, to my old ways.” I pause again, seeing no give, and expecting none. “I want to tell you, tonight, that your trust is not in vain.”
I hold up my hand, showing the bright band on my finger. “This is an engagement ring.” At that, ripples of sound erupt in the venue. I smile, watching their faces suddenly become very animated. I wait for them to calm down enough so that I can talk. “During a previous concert, which was streamed live on the Dears website, I revealed a song called ‘Saikai Story’, the same song that I just sang for you tonight.
“It was the song that earned me this ring. I wrote the song for my fiancée after we separated, and performed it the following week at the concert. Then I became very sick, and was hospitalized. She came to see me, and I recovered quickly.” I pause, smiling easily now. “We aren’t perfect, but we’re so near it, I can hardly tell the difference.”
I let my eyes slowly rove over the group. “You are my fans. You are important to me in many ways, and I want to continue being a person that you can admire. I want to be a person that—“
Suddenly the lights aren’t on me anymore. I glance around in surprise and notice that they are focused on something at my left. I look over and see a large cart being wheeled in with a blue sheet thrown over it. Suzumura is leading the procession and smiles hugely. Someone with a vague resemblance to him steps up, one hand balled up in the sheet. The youth has a microphone and puts it up to his lips as I stare in shock.
“A present, Gakuto-sama,” he says with a deep voice despite his youth. “From your fans.” He turns to remove the sheet.
“Who are you?” I ask, moving the microphone away so that it can’t pick up my words. The kid just smiles and looks almost exactly like my friend.
The sheet is peeled away and tossed into the wings of the stage, away from the electrical equipment. There, on the cart, are four tall candles, a small cake, and a giant card. As the crowd suddenly cheers loudly, noise filling the auditorium, my eyes tear up and I am trembling by the time I have the ability to move. Suzumura nods in understanding in pushes the cart toward me, handing me the card first. I wipe away tears, bringing the mic up to my mouth again after the crowd has finished their screaming and cries of adulation. “T—Thank you,” I choke out, smiling like an idiot. I open the card. It is written in a rainbow assortment of pen and marker colors, but the writing is cramped and scrawled elegantly all over the card. Fans from all over the world have contributed to this one card, writing their thoughts, their wishes, their prayers all over its surface. A tear falls onto a blank spot on the card. I clear my throat and try to read it aloud.
“’We still love you,
your Dears’.”
I read aloud every one of the 470 messages. One for every one of my “vampire years”.