It was incredible how much of a difference a massive sound system made. 

Their songs were lifted to the heavens, to soar among the angels as wind between their wings as they played in the gathering dark, thickened by the excitement of a new year as midnight approached. 

And thank God for that, because it somewhat hid the fact that there was something off with them or, rather, something was off between Hashirama and Tobirama on stage.

I blushed as I watched them through my camera, taking the opportunity to capture them both in the same frame, which didn't happened a lot this concert seeing they shunned one another like the plague. Tobirama's avoidance had an anger to it, whereas Hashirama's was full of shame.

What should I feel in all of this? What should they feel regarding to me? Would Tobirama's avoidance of me be angry as well? Would Hashirama's avoidance of  me be shameful?

Stop it! Focus on your job!

I did, working hard to get the best pictures of my life. I couldn't deny they were marvellous despite the  dissonance between the two brother's. But soon, even John and Damien started to look annoyed, clearly noticing something was off. 

Thankfully, though, nobody but us would notice. The crowd was wild, screaming and crying. To my great glee, I saw as I took pictures of the ones pressing against the front row, I saw some wore their merch and sang along with the songs. The setlist took us through a rollercoaster of emotions, letting us taste caffeine and sorrow. 

And then came the final song.

Tobirama turned his bass over so it hung from his back, and I saw his beautiful fucking face and was suddenly ashamed for what I had done. I had been careless with Tobirama's feelings, not even thinking of the possibility that he actually liked me, believing he had only wanted to fuck me. Not that that was an excuse, of course; the reasonable thing had been to ask him, to talk about him before going to kiss his brother to enable him to explore his sexuality.

People screamed as he approached the microphone, and I suddenly realised that a greater audience would entail a greater fan-base and thus greater competition for me. I was not sure I wanted that, selfishly enough. 

"Hi", he said shyly into the mic, and the crowd screamed and I understood them; his dark voice, oiled by honey, was equally hot if not hotter when he used it for something as down-to-earth as saying hello to his fans. 

I, however, had no idea what was going on. I looked at Hashirama, who was frowning, and the other two, who looked equally confused. It cemented my belief that Tobirama had never done anything similar before. 

"Umm, I wasn't sure I was going to do this. I mean, I had planned it, but then stuff happened and..." He scratched the back of his neck and smiled while looking away. The crowd screamed. I wanted to scream, too. "Sorry, I'm blabbering. We made this song for someone and I just... I just wanted to sing it." He looked behind him on his band members.  "Just me and my bass and... And well, the someone we wrote it to."

No... Surely not.

Damien reached his hands up and applauded with his drumsticks, and John beamed, clearly happy for Tobirama. Tobirama put his lips so close to the mic it made me jealous, and then he began to sing.

He sang that song they had played for me in the studio, the one they had made for me. Hearing it in an arena multiplied its power exponentially, and Tobirama's voice. God, Tobirama's voice! It was as if the song had been made for him, for his bass voice and for his ability to almost hang his voice as he sang.

People took their phones out, lit the flashlights and waved them in the air, creating a sea of light. I turned to watch it. If I had been any more professional, I would have taken pictures, but I couldn't. Tears were streaming down my face as I turned forwards, capturing Tobirama's gaze for just the fraction of a second.

When he finished, the crowd went wild, the applauds going on and on, but Tobirama only had eyes for me.

I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing a reasonable, mature adult would do at that point.

I turned and ran backstage.

I stopped in the backstage lounge, panting, running my hand through my hair and grabbing it, ruining my braid.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

What had just happened?

What the fuck had just happened?!

I was trembling, and when I felt my knees buckle underneath me, I went to a couch and sat down. 

But I sat down on something. It was the notebook. The little notebook I had given Tobirama for Christmas. He must have dropped it here.

I started flicking through the pages, being so far off in my mind I couldn't understand notebooks were private belongings and that one should under no circumstances look into anyone else's, but here we were.

My first feeling was happiness. He is using it! He is using my present! And frequently, it seemed, seeing it was already half full. 

My second feeling was fear that I was flickering through something as private as a diary. At this point, I had gotten a fairly good idea about what I was doing, and that it was immoral. 

But then, before I could put the book down, there was that third sensation, that sensation of recognition.

And I realised what he had written down were song lyrics.

Of course! They told me! They told me Tobirama writes the songs.

I read through some snippets that I recognised from my song.

If you were an astronaut and 

Your spaceship broke

You would be one of those people who

Wouldn't hesitate to go

Space walking so you could 

Return home

Even if you would rather just

Drift into space

Because you had a friend on board that did not want to die 

Tears filled my eyes as I realised that this part, that I had considered a joke, was actually beautiful and thoughtful and represented everything I desired to be. 

I captured other parts.

You are the sort of man who

Captures each and every

One of your friends

By the tears hanging on the tips of their lashes

You take them dancing in the rain

Or just sitting

So that they can replace their water droplets

To some without salt 

Tears were streaming down my face at this point. Of course the song had sounded as if it had been made for him. Of course the song sounded as if it had been made for him because it had been made for him.

He had written the song himself, for him to sing for me.