Title: Coconut Pie
Author: Umi-chii
Fandom: Rave
Disclaimer: Umi still can’t make Hiro Mashima sell Rave to her.
Author’s Note: I believe that this certain fic, the story about the Ars Arcanum’s reason for going international and why the town’s local monastery’s head monk became a… well, a monk, is very late. So, if the first four one-shots have been all about two kids doing their damnedest to stay together, then this one-shot in the series is about two adult men being very mature and stupid.

Summary: It’s been ten years since they last saw each other, and it’s been ten years since they pretend there’s nothing between them—except for a local pie.

Coconut Pie

They all decided to make their hometown the last stop in their tour, as some sort of tribute. They all grew up there, even the band itself. All thanks to Old Haja’s coconut pie.

To Sieg, it’s been three years since he last visit the town, the last being a local gig in a local club. It was their last local performance too before they hit the international waves, where he went back home to his real home up in the north together with his cousin, Niebel. Yet despite the band’s numerous visits to their old town, he never tagged along, and no one asked him why. They all have their dark secrets, and Sieg intends to keep his to the grave. And maybe Niebel’s too, but then he never told his sixteen year old cousin. The kid had just figured it out one rainy night, when the kid caught him tearful over a worn picture.

Yes, one more step, and you’re there, but I won’t be

He propped his guitar next to Hilda’s synthesizer, relieving a sigh. He’s tired, so bloody tired. His fingers had begun cramping minutes ago, but they’re just three songs away before end of rehearsal and he just—damn it.

“Niebel! Pass me my splint!” He yelled over his shoulder, bony fingers clutching his left wrist hard. This is the last one. He can’t trip over it now. After this, they’ll have their well-deserved break, and he can go back to therapy or maybe even an operation to get rid of his damn wrist disorder.

The boy ran to his side with the splint on hand, slipping the glove-like material over his hand, making sure not to tighten the belt too much.

“You should take a break,” the boy muttered to him. But Sieg ignored him, fingers already began itching from the glove’s course texture around knuckles, wrist unable to bend to relieve the tension accumulated. “Tomorrow’s our last performance, you know. After tomorrow, I promised Uncle Mildeus we’re gonna go back home, all of us.”

“With some of Haja’s pie?”

Niebel grinned. Yeah, with some of his pie.

But I never go back, will never go back

“By the way,” Sieg looked up. Niebel had already stood up, bottled water on one hand. “Iulius wants to go out tonight, with the band. He wants you guys to catch up.”

He frowned. Catch up is the least he wanted to do when he arrived here.

“For once, please go. This may be our really last stop here. I’m going solo once Ars Arcanum disbands and I know you’re going to accept Fairy Tail’s proposal. You don’t have to do it for yourself. You can do it for us, as a parting gift.”

“Alright,” he finally relented. Niebel smiled at him, that young, boyish and innocent smile of his, that no matter how cold he tries to make himself be, he can’t deny any wish that smile demands. So he just smiled back as well, although it was his own sad and morose kind of smile. It was the most he could give now, after so many years of living alone yet sharing the roof with his bandmates.

But you know wherever you go, I’ll be around you

They all headed straight to Club Sion after dinner. It was where Iulius worked as a barista in daytime, bartender in nighttime.

“Oi, Chibini. Are you sure you’re invited, too?”

“Felicia’s in, so I’m in too!”

“I’m eighteen and legal. You’re just a kid.”

“Chibini!”

Three of the band’s four members looked up and greeted their host’s warm smile, Niebel pouncing on him over the counter with an affectionate hug.

“Haha, I can’t believe Mr. Grouch actually let you to be his vocalist.”

“That’s ‘cause no one can say no to Chibini!”

And he pretended there was no calculating gaze on him, even when he pulled a high stool and asked for his old college friend to make him a dry martini.

“Isn’t that too bitter for you?”

“I’m not paying you to be my therapist.” He bit back, glaring at those dark mahogany eyes watching him amusedly.

“And you’re still so grouchy. Here I though seeing the outside world will make you… gayer.”

He growled, intensifying his glare. Iulius only gave him a cryptic smile before sliding the cocktail over the counter.

Then round and round we’ll always be like this

“And look who’s here…” He heard Iulius muttered. Soon, he heard the high-pitched cry of Iulius’ name, that richly sophisticated El Nadian accent still wrung around the voice despite so many years in foreign lands.

“Reina-chan! Here, here!”

“Uwa! Iulius-chan! Look at you! Bowtie and tux and apron!”

“And you’re still so sexy in your everyday red dress!”

And when he felt Reina’s smirk on him, he opted to take his drink, closing his eyes as he drowned away the image of the green-haired woman’s quirked red-painted lips.

“I’m surprised, Sieg,” she suddenly said, her accented voice dropping an octave. “You usually avoid our reunions.”

“Niebel insisted. I would be glad to stay at our hotel and do my job.” He answered back.

“We all know you’ll be leaving Ars Arcanum for Fairy Tail soon, Sieg. No need to pretend…”

“And I won’t be playing any major role in that amateur band at all.” He suddenly snapped, glaring at the woman sitting next to him. But Reina kept her smirk, eyes narrowing slightly as the smug mirth remained.

“So why are you leaving your band for a bunch of amateurs? Ars Arcanum is at its peak right now, and you’re all friends and families from your motherland.”

“I wonder how you managed to know my band’s matter when you have your stocks to worry about.”

Reina shrugged, biting the olive skewered in its pick.

“I watch The Insider, Sieg. You guys are always in the news.”

“Hey, Sieg,” both looked up from their conversation, Sieg more likely to be glaring. Iulius pointed at the door with a frown. “You might wanna move to Chibini’s table.”

“Why…”

“Aiya! Shuda-kun!”

Round and round, we’ll always be like this

“Hey, snakebitch.”

“I should’ve called you damn monk.”

“Already one, babe,” Then a deep chuckle that sent his nonexistent broken heart breaking. Ten years ago, he would’ve melted at the sound of his voice. Now, it was nothing. Nothing, and only nothing. “By the way, Jegan is outside waiting for Belial to finish his cig…”

And he moved away from the bar, leaving a skewered olive on an empty cocktail glass.

Until one of us stops, until one of us breaks

He didn’t know which part of him told him to just leave the place and get the hell away from everything. He hadn’t even recalled stopping by his band’s table to grab his coat and leave the damned bar without a single word to any of his bandmates. He must’ve said something like ‘Leaving’ when Hilda suddenly asked him in surprise, but he honestly doesn’t have much memory of it, nor anything else that follows after. He’s not even certain of those hazy memories of screaming arguments, of tears and angry red eyes or even a slap that made his palm sting a little.

All he could remember was that his head is in pain, and that the sun was worse more than anything else, and he knew he couldn’t ignore that throbbing pain on his lower back forever. Something must’ve happened after he left the bar, but he couldn’t remember what exactly had happened. He couldn’t, for the better of him, and he wouldn’t for the sake of his mental health. He had come this far already, and he’s not that willing at all to lose everything he had build for those ten years, everything he had forsaken and forgotten and ignored and pretended didn’t exist at all—

“When are you going to stop living in denial?”

And then we’ll see who’s the better fuck

He groaned at the sudden searing pain in his head. God damned voice and one night stands. He buried his head deeper under the pillows, drowning out whatever sound his previous fuck (they had fucked, right, or his ass wouldn’t be stinging and his back wouldn’t be sore) was making.

Then suddenly his phone rang and he couldn’t help but growled and screamed ‘Fuck’ loudly, wincing at the sudden pain that shot up to his neck. They must’ve skipped preparation and contraceptives for his body to hurt this much after a night.

“Still eloquent, I see.”

“And you’re still a god damned bastard.” He gritted out, glaring as hard as he could at Shuda.

“Painkillers?” The other asked, throwing a bottle of Advil at him. But he flung the battle away, scowling darkly at the redhead. No way in hell he’s going to accept something from him, not after ten years of successfully ignoring his existence.

“Fuck off.” He simply said, before gathering the sheets around his naked and sore body. But he could barely stand, could barely make himself stand, not when every move he made had his back screaming in pain, had his head reeling nausea. Suddenly, he wanted to throw up, to puke his intestines out and maybe even his heart and see if he could die that way and not from embarrassment.

He ignored the approaching footsteps and the looming shadow over him. There’s no way he’ll take that outstretched hand and throw himself onto the other’s open arms, and there’s totally no way he’ll let himself succumb to the other’s warm embrace and his sandalwood scent no matter how hard he tried to forget that smell, because he left him, and he’s not going back to people who left him for other people only to end up crawling back to him asking for forgiveness. No, no, no, no, no, no…

And who has the better luck

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy,” He growled, slapping the hand away. He didn’t need it, doesn’t need and will never need it, not even after a thousand years. “I don’t fucking need you.”

“Why are you so god damned difficult? I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your fucking help!”

He never needed help, never asked for it. He wanted it, but he never cried for it.

“You’re such a bastard and god damn it—DON’T TOUCH ME!” He screamed and dimly, on the back of his mind, he remembered he had a concert today, the very last one. He could barely stand, and his wrist was still in pain. And now… and now, he has to deal with the biggest monster in his life, his worst nightmare. What had happened to all those years of avoidance?

“Funny,” He heard a snort, as if someone wanted to spit at him for being so ludicrous. “You were asking for it last night, crying out in that wanton voice—”

“Shut up.”

“Begging me to take you and—”

“Shut up!”

“Fuck you harder and harder—”

“SHUT UP!”

And just like that, he stopped and choked on his own breath as his mind shut down, everything exploding before his eyelids as bile rose out of him. This sucks, he told himself. Nothing is better than ending up in your ex-boyfriend’s apartment with the worst hangover, crippled by the ass and then throwing up on his floor after being reminded of how bad he wanted it.

“Painkillers?”

He glared at the redhead and at the bottle of Advil he caught.

“I’ve called Hilda to pick you up. If I were you, I would hide from that kid cousin of yours, and wear something that’ll hide…” the redhead trailed off as he pointed at him, and instantly, his hand flew to the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

Without another word, Shuda turned away, leaving him alone in the bedroom. He stared at the door, and when his eyes fell to the painkillers on his hand, he idly wandered if he could kill himself with painkillers.

‘Cause I know somewhere in between

“Shuda,”

He heard his own voice resonating loudly around the room and out of it. His throat was scratchy; he shouldn’t be calling out to anyone, especially not to his ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah?” He heard the echo. Forget it, he told himself. And that’s what he did. He forgot about it, about everything.

“Let’s go out to Haja’s.”

And maybe somewhere in between, they’ll finally have that chance to fulfill at least one tiny promise from ten years ago.

We’ll see each other again

END