Fic for misao_duo
Fic for misao_duo
Title: Al dente
Pairing: KamePi
Word count: 3680
Rating: PG
Genre/Warnings: romance, future fic
Notes: for misao_duo with all the love ♥
Summary: Ten years later, Yamapi owns a bistro.
Yamapi is up to his elbows in soapy water and scrubbing at a particularly vicious piece of burnt zucchini in the pan when the doorbell jingles.
"Welcome," he calls and rinses his hands. Bubbles swirl down the drain as he walks to the counter and he smiles, because there's a face he hasn't seen in ages.
"You are pretty much the last person I imagined ever leaving the spotlight," Kame says, his hair permed, his teeth shiny, his skin rosy from the cold, looking like the idol Yamapi always knew Kame could be.
"Shuuji-kun," Yamapi says, just for old time's sake. He sees most of his friends only on TV these days and it's good to know they exist past the thin screen.
"Jin finally spilt," Kame says, "I would've come earlier if I'd known."
There's a quiet complaint in his voice, but Yamapi didn't want his bistro to become famous because of who he was but rather because of how good the food was.
"Do you want to eat?" he asks.
Kame hesitates for a moment before his lips relax into a smile. "I'm starving."
Yamapi remembers skinny, skinny Kamenashi on the set for Nobuta and marvels at time changing them so much. Back then, he'd never expected Kame to admit to being hungry.
Kame leans on the counter and unravels his meter-long scarf. Yamapi cooks spaghetti, heats olive oil, onions, tomatoes and meat in a pan. One of his less fancy meals, but Yamapi thinks Kame might appreciate something simple for once.
"Itadakimasu," Kame says politely ten minutes later and Yamapi smiles as Kame eats the whole portion without once looking pained. Age has treated Kame well, and not only on the outside.
"Did you like it?" Yamapi asks.
Kame smirks. "My pasta is better."
Yamapi gapes.
"Maybe I should show you sometime," Kame continues, laying down way too much money and a business card on the counter. "I'll be looking forward to it, Yamashita."
"Please come again," Yamapi calls reflexively, but Kame's already out of the door.
Some things never change.
Kame lives in a high-rise apartment building on the edge of Roppongi, fancy and expensive, just like the soft cashmere sweater and artfully ripped jeans heís wearing when he opens the door .
"Hey there," Kame says softly, smiling brightly at Yamapi and his muddy boots.
"I am almost done cooking," Kame explains, hanging up Yamapi's coat and placing slippers in front of his feet, the perfect host as always. "Sit down on the table, I'll just be a minute."
Kame's rooms are decorated in bright but neutral tones. There's a worn leather couch in front of the television and a soft rug that's barely visible through the open door to the bedroom. Other than that, everything looks too carefully coordinated, too perfect to feel homely.
"You're my first guest," Kame shouts from the kitchen. "Not even my dogs have been here yet, they're still at my parents' house."
He comes in with two plates, steam curling invitingly over the hot sauce.
"I haven't really had time to check on the work here while I was touring," Kame continues, setting one of the plates in front of Yamapi and sitting down opposite from him. "I didn't want Boo and Naga here if there was still work to do."
"Of course," Yamapi answers, but he only has eyes for the steaming farfalle in front of him, drowning in what Yamapi thinks might be Carbonara sauce, and looking delicious.
"Dig in," Kame says self-deprecatingly, as if he didn't know he was a good cook.
Turns out it tastes as great as it looks, cream and eggs and heavenly bacon, pasta that's not too soft but not hard either.
"So good," Yamapi moans.
Kame grins, obviously pleased at Yamapi's approval. "There's a secret ingredient," he says. "Do you know what it is?"
Yamapi takes another bite, tries to focus past the obvious taste. He thinks there might be nutmeg, or maybe parsley? He's pretty sure it's nutmeg.
Kame is eating with his right hand. His left hand keeps poking playfully at Yamapi's fingers as if trying to animate him to make a guess. Yamapi traps Kame's curious fingers under his palm, rubs Kame's knuckles with his thumb.
He thinks about how small Kame's hands still feel, how easy it was for them to lose sight of each other when Yamapi decided to leave the show biz five years ago.
"I have no idea," Yamapi lies.
"Well," Kame smiles, "then you're just going to have to work for it, arenít you?"
Luckily, Kame's definition of working for something seems to largely include Kame eating at Yamapi's bistro almost every day.
The company is nice. Kame sits at the counter quietly and studies scripts while Yamapi makes plates and plates of pasta and generally takes care of his customers. Kame is content to wait until almost everyone is gone to demand food for himself; sometimes he drops in late after a filming of some variety show or another and shovels spoonfuls of rigatoni Amatriciana or tagliatelle Fungi into his mouth before he even says hi.
He makes friends with Ria, the high schooler that waits tables on weekends, helps to close up when he's still around.
At the same time, Yamapi learns what heís missed in his years as a normal person.
"Koki's girlfriend is pregnant," Kame tells him. "He hopes the baby will be best friends with Nakamaru's little girl. It's kind of cute."
For Yamapi, whose main sources of gossip are Jin and Ryo, it's nice to hear about all the people he barely sees nowadays. Sometimes, a member or two of Arashi drops by, mostly Aiba and Nino who never get tired of hugging Yamapi drunkenly. Other times, Ryo brings Subaru or Ohkura, or Murakami forces Yoko to finally get over himself and try Amatriciana. Takki makes a point to drop by once in a while and leaves obscene tips like he thinks Yamapi needs them.
It's a normal bistro, though, just Yamapi and his kitchen and the rough dozen of tables prettily decorated with fresh flowers. Kame is starting to become part of the package, too, and Yamapi isn't sure what to think of that.
Kame still holds other people's hands when he talks passionately about something, still smiles flirtatiously and laughs with his whole body.
It starts to feel like they're friends again, back to sharing bentos during breaks in filming and taking naps in the van. But Kame keeps teasing Yamapi about still not having found out the secret ingredient (nutmeg, Yamapi thinks, nutmeg) and his smile starts as a shiver down Yamapi's back and ends in a languorous tingling in his stomach.
He's old enough to know what it means.
Business is slow on a rainy Tuesday a few weeks later. Kame comes in with his hood pulled far over his face, the ends of his hair sticking wetly to his neck.
"Yamashita," Kame says gravely, sitting down at the counter and getting water all over the seat, "I can't come anymore, I need to keep my image."
"You know," Yamapi says, easily, "we also serve salads."
"I knew you would understand my predicament," Kame chuckles and takes his coat off. Without the hood, his face is bright as always.
Outside, the rain slows to a drizzle.
These days, Yamapi barely uses his TV anymore. He reads books about supply and demand and all the things he's always liked, things that made him want to go to university back then. He catches the odd drama, mostly so he can mock Ryo over the phone, but it feels odd to see the people he used to go out to drink with up on the screen. NEWS shines in four distinct shades and Yamapi is proud of them, but it's not his life anymore so he tries not to spend too much thought on it.
It's only when he's tired after a long day but not tired enough to sleep that he finds himself channel surfing, skipping what looks too much like work and indulging in sappy dramas.
He finds KAT-TUN when he's already half decided to just go to sleep after all. They look good; sleek hair and dark clothing, hidden smirks while the program shows footage of poor Nakamaru on yet another rollercoaster.
"Our new show starts this Thursday at 11pm," Koki announces.
"Just in time for your anniversary!" one of the hosts says.
"Yes, it's been 15 years since KAT-TUN debuted," Kame says.
Shuuji and Akira didn't even make it to a year, Yamapi thinks.
"Yo," Yamapi's answering-machine says a week later in Jin's familiar drawl, "so I heard you are getting cozy with Kamenashi. Call me when you get this!"
He calls back, even though he can't ever be sure what time it is wherever Jin is right now: "What do you mean, cozy?"
"Exactly what I said," Jin responds, sounding awake and chipper. It must be afternoon, then. "Cozy with Kame. I'm not sure who to give the talk to."
"There's nothing between me and Kame," Yamapi insists, "and I think we both know that thing about the birds and the bees."
"But what about the birds and the other birds," Jin says.
"Why are you doing this to me," Yamapi moans.
"Kame is a delicate little flower and you need to treat him nice," Jin says, "and he will hit you if you don't, so there's actually no need for me to threaten you."
"Your priorities are all screwed-up," Yamapi says. "You do remember that you're my friend, right?"
"Kame is special," Jin says cryptically. "You'll see that soon enough if you haven't already."
Yamapi's stomach flops pleasantly at the sound of Kameís name. He thinks it's impossible to notice much more about Kame.
It's rare that Kame stays long enough to wait for Yamapi to close up and actually make food for himself, but it happens. The moon is high in the sky already, and the street is quiet, so far away from the nightlife districts.
"I'm having solo concerts this summer," Kame says when Yamapi finally sits down to eat.
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmh," Kame says, "just me and a guitar. And a band. I think people would be disappointed if I didn't dance."
"Sounds good," Yamapi says, more focused on his linguine.
"Actually," Kame says, "I have a favour to ask. I've been meaning to ask for a while already."
Yamapi swallows his mouthful and raises an eyebrow.
"I want to do Seishun Amigo," Kame admits, "with you."
"I'm not an idol anymore, Kame," Yamapi says.
"But maybe, for meÖ" Kame starts. His hand reaches to grasp Yamapi's, his smile in a way that's supposed to look alluring, enticing.
"Look, Kame," Yamapi says, "I don't think it's a good idea to get back on stage."
He thinks he should shake off Kame's hand but the contact feels good and Yamapi has long since admitted to himself that he wants to touch Kame forever.
"He would love take you back, you know," Kame says.
Yamapi stiffens under Kame's fingers but Kame ignores it: "You've always been Johnny's Golden Boy, you've never stopped shining."
"Is that what this is about?" Yamapi asks quietly. "The Jimusho wants me back? So you chatting me up all this time was just an order from the higher-ups?"
He draws his hand back even though he immediately starts craving the contact again. He's disappointed and hurt and Kame isn't smiling anymore, but he doesn't deny it either, he just murmurs "Yamapi", softly, like it's the solution to everything.
Yamapi wants to spew hateful words and cry about heartbreak, but he just feels empty.
"Take your agenda elsewhere," Yamapi says and tries not to think about how much more it hurts when the door falls shut behind Kame.
Yamapi spends the rest of the week feeling off. He makes the wrong order thrice and by Thursday, he's managed to shatter two plates.
He wonders if he was too hard on Kame and the guilt only adds to the hurt of being used. He feels awful.
Sometimes he thinks he should go and apologize, but he remembers every single reason he has for leaving his old job: weeks without a day for himself, hours in the recording studio with producers who don't understand that his voice just isn't perfect, crazy diets and finally feeling as dead as the antis claim his eyes are.
He still doesn't feel the urge to go back. His life is quiet but it's good like that. Or was, with Kame's chatter filling the silence.
On Saturday, Ria brings a full plate into the kitchen.
"Yamashita-san," she says, gnawing on her lower lip, "are you alright? This is really salty, the customer made me try it, too."
The penne look fine but they taste awful. Yamapi rubs his temples and takes a deep breath.
"Tell them they're getting a new plate, I'll come apologize in a minute."
The bistro can't afford to lose customers just because Yamapi keeps thinking about Kame and Shuuji and Akira and offers he wishes he'd never gotten so he could cook Kame pasta late in the evening and hear him gossip about the Jimusho instead of going home alone.
"Just a minute," he repeats and pushes Ria gently out the door. He's sure she's already picked up on Kame's sudden disappearance and he isn't ready for her questions, not when he isn't even sure about his answers yet.
"So," Jin says on Wednesday, when Yamapi has crossed all dishes with nutmeg from the menu, "I think it's my duty to inform you that you're being stupid."
"I don't even care," Yamapi murmurs. It's late and he's tired but closing his eyes means dreaming of Kame's soft curls and his softer hands. Yamapi feels pretty stupid even without Jin telling him so.
"You should know that Kame is a professional and that he values his work over everything else," Jin says. "So he's an asshole for starting to talk to you because of an order, but even he doesn't spend months on something like that.î
"What do you mean," Yamapi asks because things have stopped making sense a long time ago where Kame is concerned.
"I mean that you wouldn't be so ridiculously in love with him if there wasn't more to this," Jin says.
"Not in love," Yamapi whispers. He can feel his eyes falling shut without his consent.
Jin sighs. "Sleep well, Tomo. Just remember that Kame never wanted to hurt you."
The phone beeps as Jin hangs up but Yamapi is already asleep, his hand lax around the device. He dreams about Kame's smile and his pink, pink lips.
He wakes up in the morning and can't remember more than the butterflies in his belly whenever Kame held his hand. It's the best sleep he's had in days.
Yamapi comes in on Sunday morning when it's already almost time for lunch. Ria opens the shop on weekends so he can sleep a bit more; he only needs to come when customers do.
When he steps in, all the tables are taken and everybody's already eaten. Ria points to the kitchen.
Kame's arranging spaghetti in artful curls on a plate.
"Hi," he says shyly when Yamapi comes in.
"What are you doing here?" Yamapi asks. He's not sure if he isn't still dreaming.
"I thought maybe you could use me, this time," Kame says, "so we could talk again."
He pours green sauce over the pasta. "I kind of missed you," he adds.
Kame's hair is tied up in a tiny ponytail, a few curls slipping out to hang into his eyes. He looks domestic and warm and Yamapi kind of missed him, too.
"I'll never ask again if you don't want to," Kame says quickly. "I was supposed to come just once and ask then, but then we got to really talk andÖ I came back because I wanted to. I told my manager that you're not going to do it."
Yamapi goes to wash the dirty dishes that are already piled in the sink.
"Just don't forget that I'm your boss now," he says.
"Yes, sir," Kame whispers.
They both grin.
It becomes routine to go in on weekends and find Kame already frying mushrooms and chopping garlic. Kame calls him "Yamashita-san" on those days but he also makes a point to brush against Yamapi's hand when they walk past each other and throw saucy winks his way.
In a way, everything is exactly like it was.
The temperature rises as summer comes along and Kame takes to wearing tight wife beaters in the kitchen. It's distracting enough for Yamapi to smash another plate or two. They don't talk about it but Kame's grin says everything.
One Sunday, when Kame has just finished with the lunch-rush and is sitting on the counter to watch Yamapi wash the dishes, the door opens with a chime.
"Hi," someone says with a lazy Californian drawl.
They both turn around to stare at the newcomer with wide eyes.
"You suck!" Yamapi yells.
Jin leers. "I was in the area, thought I'd drop by."
"Weren't you in South America just now?" Kame asks.
"Would you believe me if I told you I got homesick?"
"You?" Yamapi says. "Never."
"I'm only here for a day or two, my manager forwarded me some tracks and I'm recording with a new group on Wednesday."
"I can't believe you're honestly earning money as a producer these days," Kame says. "Not as surprising as Yamapi the cook, but still hilarious when you think about it."
"Oh Kame," Jin teases, "I saw you and your sequined pants on TV yesterday. Looking good, huh?"
"You've always been envious of my natural talent with sequins," Kame says easily.
They both giggle like it's an argument they've had time and time again.
"Food?" Yamapi offers, feeling very left out.
"I'll help you," Kame says, jumping up to search for ingredients already.
"Looking cozy, you two," Jin murmurs when Kame can't possibly hear them over the sizzling of the pan.
"Meddlesome idiot," Yamapi groans but he makes a point to hug Jin tightly when they all split up to go home a few hours later. He knows there's help whenever he needs it. It's comforting, just like Kame's hand taking his before the other disappears into the night.
A long and tiring evening finds Yamapi spread out on his couch with half his mind on a special about the most successful Japanese songs of the past twenty years and the other half contemplating whether to call it a night or not.
He's close to falling asleep on the soft cushions when a familiar tune starts playing.
"Seishun Amigo of the temporary group Shuuji and Akira sold over 1,627,000 copies since it came out in 2005," the disembodied voice of the host is saying. "The group was specifically formed for the drama, Nobuta wo Produce, and was made up of Yamashita Tomohisa and Kamenashi Kazuya."
They don't show the PV but a mash-up of their live performances, both of them in blue uniforms and dancing with even younger juniors. Yamapi taps his foot to the familiar beat. It was fun, back then, when they were young and too serious for their age. They've both become more relaxed over the years.
"Today, Kamenashi Kazuya is member of the group KAT-TUN that has just completed an Asia tour this winter. Yamashita Tomohisa left his agency five years ago and hasn't drawn attention to himself since then."
Their smiles back then were sometimes so very fake when they were tired and hungry and trying not to show it. It's different from nowadays, when they can both smile honestly at each other.
Shuuji and Akira was fun. There's no reason why it couldn't be fun again.
He closes the bistro for the evening and invites Kame to his house. It's quite the contrast to Kame's model-apartment; Yamapi bought all his furniture himself, set each trinket exactly where it stands now. The neighborhood is almost boring, only happy families around him but Yamapi likes it like that; enough space to hold BBQs in the garden with his mother and sister, enough rooms for his friends to stay over when they need a break from the louder streets in Tokyo.
Kame looks adorably out of place in nice slacks and a designer t-shirt, but Yamapi thinks he looks good on Yamapi's old couch between the dozen of pillows, too.
He serves gnocchi in a white wine sauce and watches in satisfaction as Kame chews.
"I don't want to go back to the spotlight," Yamapi says when Kame can't possibly talk back or apologize again, "but I don't mind shining for you."
He sips on his drink and watches Kame swallow carefully.
Their hands tangle on the table cloth, palms turned towards each other, fingertips caressing what skin they can reach.
When they kiss, they taste the wine on each other's lips.
It's intoxicating.
"There's a special guest today," Kame says, his fingers still strumming mindless melodies on the guitar. All spotlights are focused on him, the audience is dark, the band quiet.
"You all know him but you might have forgotten about him," he continues. "I forgot him for a long time but we were both very happy when I finally remembered."
Someone cries AkaKame in the audience. Kame smirks. "We were young back when we met and now we really aren't young at all anymore."
He plucks a few strings, lets the notes fade out. He puts the guitar on the ground and stands up.
"Even though it's like that," Kame finally says, "we will always be Seishun Amigo."
The lights switch back on, the band starts the song, the audience screams.
Yamapi runs up the stairs to the stage and tackles Kame in a hug before the lyrics set in.
"Si," they sing in the chorus, "the two of us were always as one."
It's never been as true as it is at that moment.
Title: Al dente
Pairing: KamePi
Word count: 3680
Rating: PG
Genre/Warnings: romance, future fic
Notes: for misao_duo with all the love ♥
Summary: Ten years later, Yamapi owns a bistro.
Yamapi is up to his elbows in soapy water and scrubbing at a particularly vicious piece of burnt zucchini in the pan when the doorbell jingles.
"Welcome," he calls and rinses his hands. Bubbles swirl down the drain as he walks to the counter and he smiles, because there's a face he hasn't seen in ages.
"You are pretty much the last person I imagined ever leaving the spotlight," Kame says, his hair permed, his teeth shiny, his skin rosy from the cold, looking like the idol Yamapi always knew Kame could be.
"Shuuji-kun," Yamapi says, just for old time's sake. He sees most of his friends only on TV these days and it's good to know they exist past the thin screen.
"Jin finally spilt," Kame says, "I would've come earlier if I'd known."
There's a quiet complaint in his voice, but Yamapi didn't want his bistro to become famous because of who he was but rather because of how good the food was.
"Do you want to eat?" he asks.
Kame hesitates for a moment before his lips relax into a smile. "I'm starving."
Yamapi remembers skinny, skinny Kamenashi on the set for Nobuta and marvels at time changing them so much. Back then, he'd never expected Kame to admit to being hungry.
Kame leans on the counter and unravels his meter-long scarf. Yamapi cooks spaghetti, heats olive oil, onions, tomatoes and meat in a pan. One of his less fancy meals, but Yamapi thinks Kame might appreciate something simple for once.
"Itadakimasu," Kame says politely ten minutes later and Yamapi smiles as Kame eats the whole portion without once looking pained. Age has treated Kame well, and not only on the outside.
"Did you like it?" Yamapi asks.
Kame smirks. "My pasta is better."
Yamapi gapes.
"Maybe I should show you sometime," Kame continues, laying down way too much money and a business card on the counter. "I'll be looking forward to it, Yamashita."
"Please come again," Yamapi calls reflexively, but Kame's already out of the door.
Some things never change.
Kame lives in a high-rise apartment building on the edge of Roppongi, fancy and expensive, just like the soft cashmere sweater and artfully ripped jeans heís wearing when he opens the door .
"Hey there," Kame says softly, smiling brightly at Yamapi and his muddy boots.
"I am almost done cooking," Kame explains, hanging up Yamapi's coat and placing slippers in front of his feet, the perfect host as always. "Sit down on the table, I'll just be a minute."
Kame's rooms are decorated in bright but neutral tones. There's a worn leather couch in front of the television and a soft rug that's barely visible through the open door to the bedroom. Other than that, everything looks too carefully coordinated, too perfect to feel homely.
"You're my first guest," Kame shouts from the kitchen. "Not even my dogs have been here yet, they're still at my parents' house."
He comes in with two plates, steam curling invitingly over the hot sauce.
"I haven't really had time to check on the work here while I was touring," Kame continues, setting one of the plates in front of Yamapi and sitting down opposite from him. "I didn't want Boo and Naga here if there was still work to do."
"Of course," Yamapi answers, but he only has eyes for the steaming farfalle in front of him, drowning in what Yamapi thinks might be Carbonara sauce, and looking delicious.
"Dig in," Kame says self-deprecatingly, as if he didn't know he was a good cook.
Turns out it tastes as great as it looks, cream and eggs and heavenly bacon, pasta that's not too soft but not hard either.
"So good," Yamapi moans.
Kame grins, obviously pleased at Yamapi's approval. "There's a secret ingredient," he says. "Do you know what it is?"
Yamapi takes another bite, tries to focus past the obvious taste. He thinks there might be nutmeg, or maybe parsley? He's pretty sure it's nutmeg.
Kame is eating with his right hand. His left hand keeps poking playfully at Yamapi's fingers as if trying to animate him to make a guess. Yamapi traps Kame's curious fingers under his palm, rubs Kame's knuckles with his thumb.
He thinks about how small Kame's hands still feel, how easy it was for them to lose sight of each other when Yamapi decided to leave the show biz five years ago.
"I have no idea," Yamapi lies.
"Well," Kame smiles, "then you're just going to have to work for it, arenít you?"
Luckily, Kame's definition of working for something seems to largely include Kame eating at Yamapi's bistro almost every day.
The company is nice. Kame sits at the counter quietly and studies scripts while Yamapi makes plates and plates of pasta and generally takes care of his customers. Kame is content to wait until almost everyone is gone to demand food for himself; sometimes he drops in late after a filming of some variety show or another and shovels spoonfuls of rigatoni Amatriciana or tagliatelle Fungi into his mouth before he even says hi.
He makes friends with Ria, the high schooler that waits tables on weekends, helps to close up when he's still around.
At the same time, Yamapi learns what heís missed in his years as a normal person.
"Koki's girlfriend is pregnant," Kame tells him. "He hopes the baby will be best friends with Nakamaru's little girl. It's kind of cute."
For Yamapi, whose main sources of gossip are Jin and Ryo, it's nice to hear about all the people he barely sees nowadays. Sometimes, a member or two of Arashi drops by, mostly Aiba and Nino who never get tired of hugging Yamapi drunkenly. Other times, Ryo brings Subaru or Ohkura, or Murakami forces Yoko to finally get over himself and try Amatriciana. Takki makes a point to drop by once in a while and leaves obscene tips like he thinks Yamapi needs them.
It's a normal bistro, though, just Yamapi and his kitchen and the rough dozen of tables prettily decorated with fresh flowers. Kame is starting to become part of the package, too, and Yamapi isn't sure what to think of that.
Kame still holds other people's hands when he talks passionately about something, still smiles flirtatiously and laughs with his whole body.
It starts to feel like they're friends again, back to sharing bentos during breaks in filming and taking naps in the van. But Kame keeps teasing Yamapi about still not having found out the secret ingredient (nutmeg, Yamapi thinks, nutmeg) and his smile starts as a shiver down Yamapi's back and ends in a languorous tingling in his stomach.
He's old enough to know what it means.
Business is slow on a rainy Tuesday a few weeks later. Kame comes in with his hood pulled far over his face, the ends of his hair sticking wetly to his neck.
"Yamashita," Kame says gravely, sitting down at the counter and getting water all over the seat, "I can't come anymore, I need to keep my image."
"You know," Yamapi says, easily, "we also serve salads."
"I knew you would understand my predicament," Kame chuckles and takes his coat off. Without the hood, his face is bright as always.
Outside, the rain slows to a drizzle.
These days, Yamapi barely uses his TV anymore. He reads books about supply and demand and all the things he's always liked, things that made him want to go to university back then. He catches the odd drama, mostly so he can mock Ryo over the phone, but it feels odd to see the people he used to go out to drink with up on the screen. NEWS shines in four distinct shades and Yamapi is proud of them, but it's not his life anymore so he tries not to spend too much thought on it.
It's only when he's tired after a long day but not tired enough to sleep that he finds himself channel surfing, skipping what looks too much like work and indulging in sappy dramas.
He finds KAT-TUN when he's already half decided to just go to sleep after all. They look good; sleek hair and dark clothing, hidden smirks while the program shows footage of poor Nakamaru on yet another rollercoaster.
"Our new show starts this Thursday at 11pm," Koki announces.
"Just in time for your anniversary!" one of the hosts says.
"Yes, it's been 15 years since KAT-TUN debuted," Kame says.
Shuuji and Akira didn't even make it to a year, Yamapi thinks.
"Yo," Yamapi's answering-machine says a week later in Jin's familiar drawl, "so I heard you are getting cozy with Kamenashi. Call me when you get this!"
He calls back, even though he can't ever be sure what time it is wherever Jin is right now: "What do you mean, cozy?"
"Exactly what I said," Jin responds, sounding awake and chipper. It must be afternoon, then. "Cozy with Kame. I'm not sure who to give the talk to."
"There's nothing between me and Kame," Yamapi insists, "and I think we both know that thing about the birds and the bees."
"But what about the birds and the other birds," Jin says.
"Why are you doing this to me," Yamapi moans.
"Kame is a delicate little flower and you need to treat him nice," Jin says, "and he will hit you if you don't, so there's actually no need for me to threaten you."
"Your priorities are all screwed-up," Yamapi says. "You do remember that you're my friend, right?"
"Kame is special," Jin says cryptically. "You'll see that soon enough if you haven't already."
Yamapi's stomach flops pleasantly at the sound of Kameís name. He thinks it's impossible to notice much more about Kame.
It's rare that Kame stays long enough to wait for Yamapi to close up and actually make food for himself, but it happens. The moon is high in the sky already, and the street is quiet, so far away from the nightlife districts.
"I'm having solo concerts this summer," Kame says when Yamapi finally sits down to eat.
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmh," Kame says, "just me and a guitar. And a band. I think people would be disappointed if I didn't dance."
"Sounds good," Yamapi says, more focused on his linguine.
"Actually," Kame says, "I have a favour to ask. I've been meaning to ask for a while already."
Yamapi swallows his mouthful and raises an eyebrow.
"I want to do Seishun Amigo," Kame admits, "with you."
"I'm not an idol anymore, Kame," Yamapi says.
"But maybe, for meÖ" Kame starts. His hand reaches to grasp Yamapi's, his smile in a way that's supposed to look alluring, enticing.
"Look, Kame," Yamapi says, "I don't think it's a good idea to get back on stage."
He thinks he should shake off Kame's hand but the contact feels good and Yamapi has long since admitted to himself that he wants to touch Kame forever.
"He would love take you back, you know," Kame says.
Yamapi stiffens under Kame's fingers but Kame ignores it: "You've always been Johnny's Golden Boy, you've never stopped shining."
"Is that what this is about?" Yamapi asks quietly. "The Jimusho wants me back? So you chatting me up all this time was just an order from the higher-ups?"
He draws his hand back even though he immediately starts craving the contact again. He's disappointed and hurt and Kame isn't smiling anymore, but he doesn't deny it either, he just murmurs "Yamapi", softly, like it's the solution to everything.
Yamapi wants to spew hateful words and cry about heartbreak, but he just feels empty.
"Take your agenda elsewhere," Yamapi says and tries not to think about how much more it hurts when the door falls shut behind Kame.
Yamapi spends the rest of the week feeling off. He makes the wrong order thrice and by Thursday, he's managed to shatter two plates.
He wonders if he was too hard on Kame and the guilt only adds to the hurt of being used. He feels awful.
Sometimes he thinks he should go and apologize, but he remembers every single reason he has for leaving his old job: weeks without a day for himself, hours in the recording studio with producers who don't understand that his voice just isn't perfect, crazy diets and finally feeling as dead as the antis claim his eyes are.
He still doesn't feel the urge to go back. His life is quiet but it's good like that. Or was, with Kame's chatter filling the silence.
On Saturday, Ria brings a full plate into the kitchen.
"Yamashita-san," she says, gnawing on her lower lip, "are you alright? This is really salty, the customer made me try it, too."
The penne look fine but they taste awful. Yamapi rubs his temples and takes a deep breath.
"Tell them they're getting a new plate, I'll come apologize in a minute."
The bistro can't afford to lose customers just because Yamapi keeps thinking about Kame and Shuuji and Akira and offers he wishes he'd never gotten so he could cook Kame pasta late in the evening and hear him gossip about the Jimusho instead of going home alone.
"Just a minute," he repeats and pushes Ria gently out the door. He's sure she's already picked up on Kame's sudden disappearance and he isn't ready for her questions, not when he isn't even sure about his answers yet.
"So," Jin says on Wednesday, when Yamapi has crossed all dishes with nutmeg from the menu, "I think it's my duty to inform you that you're being stupid."
"I don't even care," Yamapi murmurs. It's late and he's tired but closing his eyes means dreaming of Kame's soft curls and his softer hands. Yamapi feels pretty stupid even without Jin telling him so.
"You should know that Kame is a professional and that he values his work over everything else," Jin says. "So he's an asshole for starting to talk to you because of an order, but even he doesn't spend months on something like that.î
"What do you mean," Yamapi asks because things have stopped making sense a long time ago where Kame is concerned.
"I mean that you wouldn't be so ridiculously in love with him if there wasn't more to this," Jin says.
"Not in love," Yamapi whispers. He can feel his eyes falling shut without his consent.
Jin sighs. "Sleep well, Tomo. Just remember that Kame never wanted to hurt you."
The phone beeps as Jin hangs up but Yamapi is already asleep, his hand lax around the device. He dreams about Kame's smile and his pink, pink lips.
He wakes up in the morning and can't remember more than the butterflies in his belly whenever Kame held his hand. It's the best sleep he's had in days.
Yamapi comes in on Sunday morning when it's already almost time for lunch. Ria opens the shop on weekends so he can sleep a bit more; he only needs to come when customers do.
When he steps in, all the tables are taken and everybody's already eaten. Ria points to the kitchen.
Kame's arranging spaghetti in artful curls on a plate.
"Hi," he says shyly when Yamapi comes in.
"What are you doing here?" Yamapi asks. He's not sure if he isn't still dreaming.
"I thought maybe you could use me, this time," Kame says, "so we could talk again."
He pours green sauce over the pasta. "I kind of missed you," he adds.
Kame's hair is tied up in a tiny ponytail, a few curls slipping out to hang into his eyes. He looks domestic and warm and Yamapi kind of missed him, too.
"I'll never ask again if you don't want to," Kame says quickly. "I was supposed to come just once and ask then, but then we got to really talk andÖ I came back because I wanted to. I told my manager that you're not going to do it."
Yamapi goes to wash the dirty dishes that are already piled in the sink.
"Just don't forget that I'm your boss now," he says.
"Yes, sir," Kame whispers.
They both grin.
It becomes routine to go in on weekends and find Kame already frying mushrooms and chopping garlic. Kame calls him "Yamashita-san" on those days but he also makes a point to brush against Yamapi's hand when they walk past each other and throw saucy winks his way.
In a way, everything is exactly like it was.
The temperature rises as summer comes along and Kame takes to wearing tight wife beaters in the kitchen. It's distracting enough for Yamapi to smash another plate or two. They don't talk about it but Kame's grin says everything.
One Sunday, when Kame has just finished with the lunch-rush and is sitting on the counter to watch Yamapi wash the dishes, the door opens with a chime.
"Hi," someone says with a lazy Californian drawl.
They both turn around to stare at the newcomer with wide eyes.
"You suck!" Yamapi yells.
Jin leers. "I was in the area, thought I'd drop by."
"Weren't you in South America just now?" Kame asks.
"Would you believe me if I told you I got homesick?"
"You?" Yamapi says. "Never."
"I'm only here for a day or two, my manager forwarded me some tracks and I'm recording with a new group on Wednesday."
"I can't believe you're honestly earning money as a producer these days," Kame says. "Not as surprising as Yamapi the cook, but still hilarious when you think about it."
"Oh Kame," Jin teases, "I saw you and your sequined pants on TV yesterday. Looking good, huh?"
"You've always been envious of my natural talent with sequins," Kame says easily.
They both giggle like it's an argument they've had time and time again.
"Food?" Yamapi offers, feeling very left out.
"I'll help you," Kame says, jumping up to search for ingredients already.
"Looking cozy, you two," Jin murmurs when Kame can't possibly hear them over the sizzling of the pan.
"Meddlesome idiot," Yamapi groans but he makes a point to hug Jin tightly when they all split up to go home a few hours later. He knows there's help whenever he needs it. It's comforting, just like Kame's hand taking his before the other disappears into the night.
A long and tiring evening finds Yamapi spread out on his couch with half his mind on a special about the most successful Japanese songs of the past twenty years and the other half contemplating whether to call it a night or not.
He's close to falling asleep on the soft cushions when a familiar tune starts playing.
"Seishun Amigo of the temporary group Shuuji and Akira sold over 1,627,000 copies since it came out in 2005," the disembodied voice of the host is saying. "The group was specifically formed for the drama, Nobuta wo Produce, and was made up of Yamashita Tomohisa and Kamenashi Kazuya."
They don't show the PV but a mash-up of their live performances, both of them in blue uniforms and dancing with even younger juniors. Yamapi taps his foot to the familiar beat. It was fun, back then, when they were young and too serious for their age. They've both become more relaxed over the years.
"Today, Kamenashi Kazuya is member of the group KAT-TUN that has just completed an Asia tour this winter. Yamashita Tomohisa left his agency five years ago and hasn't drawn attention to himself since then."
Their smiles back then were sometimes so very fake when they were tired and hungry and trying not to show it. It's different from nowadays, when they can both smile honestly at each other.
Shuuji and Akira was fun. There's no reason why it couldn't be fun again.
He closes the bistro for the evening and invites Kame to his house. It's quite the contrast to Kame's model-apartment; Yamapi bought all his furniture himself, set each trinket exactly where it stands now. The neighborhood is almost boring, only happy families around him but Yamapi likes it like that; enough space to hold BBQs in the garden with his mother and sister, enough rooms for his friends to stay over when they need a break from the louder streets in Tokyo.
Kame looks adorably out of place in nice slacks and a designer t-shirt, but Yamapi thinks he looks good on Yamapi's old couch between the dozen of pillows, too.
He serves gnocchi in a white wine sauce and watches in satisfaction as Kame chews.
"I don't want to go back to the spotlight," Yamapi says when Kame can't possibly talk back or apologize again, "but I don't mind shining for you."
He sips on his drink and watches Kame swallow carefully.
Their hands tangle on the table cloth, palms turned towards each other, fingertips caressing what skin they can reach.
When they kiss, they taste the wine on each other's lips.
It's intoxicating.
"There's a special guest today," Kame says, his fingers still strumming mindless melodies on the guitar. All spotlights are focused on him, the audience is dark, the band quiet.
"You all know him but you might have forgotten about him," he continues. "I forgot him for a long time but we were both very happy when I finally remembered."
Someone cries AkaKame in the audience. Kame smirks. "We were young back when we met and now we really aren't young at all anymore."
He plucks a few strings, lets the notes fade out. He puts the guitar on the ground and stands up.
"Even though it's like that," Kame finally says, "we will always be Seishun Amigo."
The lights switch back on, the band starts the song, the audience screams.
Yamapi runs up the stairs to the stage and tackles Kame in a hug before the lyrics set in.
"Si," they sing in the chorus, "the two of us were always as one."
It's never been as true as it is at that moment.