[fic: arashi] on going unnoticed
[Title] on going unnoticed
[Author] turtle_ai
[Disclaimer] I don't own Arashi, or Johnny's Ent. They do own my heart, however.
[Pairing] Aiba/Jun
[Rating] PG
[Summary] He would do anything to spare Jun more hurt. Anything.
[Notes] For ida_lawliet . ♥ You are a dear. Thank you for everything.
As vain to raise a voice as a sigh
In the tumult of free leaves on high.
What are you in the shadow of trees
Engaged up there with the light and breeze?
--Robert Frost
--
Aiba felt freedom when he was thirteen years old.
It had been a cloudless day, Jun remembered. Hot and humid in the very depths of summer. The season when children went swimming outdoors and drank lemonade under tall pine trees, looming over their heads, blocking the sun out, providing shade-if not wind-to cool them.
The clearing where they played, filled with small wooden swords, large bales of hay, and clumps of grass, was where he found him. He was lying flat on his back in a tangle of grass, bugs, laughter and happiness, his face smudged with sweat and dirt. He remembered the dry grass crinkling under his feet as he came to stand by him, his shadow appearing over him as he blinked up at him. He lifted a hand slightly to block out the sun peeking over the other boy’s shoulder.
Jun lifted an eyebrow, and Aiba smiled.
“I flew,” he said solemnly.
Jun found himself smiling back.
--
Aiba had arrived early at school and had gone straight to the classroom, hoping to study, just for a few more minutes, so that there were no other eyes to judge his progress. He reached in his bag for his books, and barely had he started reading there was a hard thump at the window, and he turned, startled. There was no one outside, nor was there anyone inside. His legs carried him outside awkwardly as fast as he could run, his eyes lighting up when he gazed upon the small figure under the window. It was a small bird-a sparrow-and as he lifted it carefully, he saw that it had died instantly upon the impact.
Looking back at that moment, Aiba realized that he had not been sad for its death, but anxious-anxious that no one else would find it, the small life so fleetingly taken. Especially for his curly-haired friend.
For Matsumoto Jun liked birds and he knew, instinctively, that he could not allow him to know about this one.
He buried the sparrow under the tree by the swing set, laying a small yellow flower on the tiny grave. Upon seeing Jun later in the morning, he did not choose to speak about that morning’s events. There were things he had to spare Jun from, things that pure eyes did not have to see, and so he hid them, dealt with them in shadows and secrecy, protecting him by sacrificing himself.
Now, ten years later, Jun’s eyes had grown too sharp for him to hide much.
It started with a slight dizziness during one of their practices in dance-the kind that had him moving vigorously, sweating, moving with his whole body, back flipping in order to keep up with what their teacher wanted, what his teacher would be only satisfied with. Aiba spun sideways, and all of a sudden his vision began to whirl, his body wobbling oddly in attempt to keep his footing. He felt himself fall through the air, felt his pride lose, a strange strangled sort of noise trapped in his throat as the floor hurtled to meet him.
It was Jun who caught him, Jun who managed to grab onto his arm and pull him back up and shoot Aiba a look of confusion. Aiba knew that Jun didn’t understand why Aiba didn’t stand back up, why Aiba had just let the dance fall. He never told him, either, even when the dizziness became worse and he could no longer practice and dance with the trees without revealing his weakness.
Then Aiba started coughing. He brushed it off as a chest cold and that excuse managed to work for about two weeks. He was excused from practicing with Jun, something he learned to agonize over, knowing that that one flurry of movements might have been his last. He needed to protect him from this.
For years he had worked silently to ensure that, with all the sadness and grief in his life, he would never experience those things because of Aiba. The birds when they were children, the strong face he presented to the younger boy when he opened his eyes after the small fist fight that had resulted in bruises all over Jun’s body, the tears Aiba let himself shed over all the hurt Jun had suffered.
He would do anything to spare Jun more hurt. Anything.
--
Less than the coral-root you know
That is content with the daylight low,
And has no leaves at all of its own;
Whose spotted flowers hang meanly down.
--Robert Frost
--
Aiba’s dance teacher approached him a few months later. Nino was a small, wiry man who spoke bluntly, picked on others, and understood many things, though it didn’t seem like it.
He was also observant.
“Masaki, what is it? What’s wrong?”
There was no time to bury this secret. At least, not to Nino.
"I'm dying."
It was said with such simple clarity, he could see that he had shocked him. But if nothing else, he was very strong, something people often lost track of beneath the cheeky grins, the snark, the mischievousness. “Have you seen Sakurai-sensei?” Nino asked, his voice low, serious.
He nodded, suddenly weary, feeling bitter, and it surprised him. He had thought he had come to terms with the fact that it was not an easy solution. "It would require a procedure that I'm... not willing to let him perform."
Nino shifted on his feet as if he wanted to question him further but decided against it. “How long?” he asked instead.
He knew what he meant. "A few months, maybe.”
"He’s going to find out eventually, Aiba. It will only make it harder in the end if you keep protecting him.”
He smiled a little, though the look was grim. "He has enough burdens to bear. This one is mine alone."
--
You grasp the bark by a rugged pleat,
And look up small from the forest’s feet.
The only leaf it drops goes wide,
Your name not written on either side.
--Robert Frost
--
The day of performance came. The group was only halfway through the routine when it hit him again, a pain so intense he saw white stars and dropped to the ground, struggling to breathe, gasping for air. Nino and Jun were at his side almost instantly, and he could hear their voices, but it was beyond him to answer when he wasn’t sure he could take another breath to. There were long, long minutes while everyone could only watch their tall, lanky member writhe on the ground, tears hanging off the corners of his eyes from the supreme effort to bring his lungs back to life.
When he came back to himself and the knot in his chest had dissolved, he found himself lying on a bed, with Jun’s hand running through his hair, softly, smoothly, his face contorted in pain and painted pale against the colour of his dark hair.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, and Jun’s eyes snapped open, his hand stopping abruptly. Aiba’s mouth curved with difficulty. “I didn’t hide it so well this time, did I?”
“This isn’t some bird flying into a window, Aiba,” Jun snapped. His voice was surprisingly hoarse, tinged with righteous anger. Aiba’s eyes widened. “You can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”
Aiba was quiet. “You knew?” he whispered.
Jun looked at him for a long moment. “I heard you talking with Nino,” he admitted, and halted to swallow. “I heard you say ‘I’m dying’.”
Aiba watched him carefully.
“Why did you tell me, Aiba? Why did you tell me about this, your sickness-I would have…could have…”
“You could have what, Jun?” Aiba asked, and his voice dropped, and it sound tired. So, so tired. “Fight death?”
It had been meant to be rhetorical, but Jun’s gaze met his firmly. “I would try.”
“You wouldn’t win that fight, Jun. This is one fight even you cannot win.”
Jun stared at him. “You don’t believe in me.”
Aiba stared back, startled. “What?”
“You’ve lost your faith in me, Aiba.”
Aiba shook his head, wincing. “No. No, Jun, that has nothing to do with it. This is not your fight.”
“Of course it is,” Jun said, his voice getting harder, and he reached for Aiba’s hand, gripping it tightly. Aiba could feel it trembling, but couldn’t find the strength to squeeze back. “Your fights have always been mine. I’m not going to just sit here and let it take you.”
Aiba parted his lips to speak, but Jun leaned over and wrapped his arms around him. “You thought I’d suffered enough,” he whispered. “You’ve protected me enough. Now it’s my turn to make sure death doesn’t touch you. You’re going to survive until Sakurai-sensei arrives. I’ll murder you if you don’t.” His voice cracked on the last sentence.
Aiba was much too weary to argue with him and dozed in Jun’s warm arms, wakened by nothing but painful spasms.
--
After that, it was all darkness and the distant sensation of falling, like the day he’d lost his balance spinning, practicing the dance steps with Jun. He’d caught him then, and he could feel Jun’s hands pressing against him, holding his arm. He couldn’t hear them speak. He was already beginning to drift.
A terrible wrench pulled him from the shadows, and then a flurry of activity. There were hands everywhere, holding him down, supporting him, soothing him. And then there was a tiny, lucid moment when he opened his eyes and knew that he was going to die.
“Aiba.”
A face swam into view in front of him.
“Breathe, Aiba.” Jun, he remembered. He was shaking him. “Aiba, you’ve got to breathe. Aiba, you’ve got to take a breath!”
He sounded almost frantic, and the very idea of that made Aiba’s heart twinge. Jun was never anything but cool and calm in the face of danger. Even when he was angry, he always managed to stay in control. Aiba was listening to him now, and Jun sounded afraid.
And then Jun was leaning over him, his forehead pressed against his very own, the pads of his fingers resting lightly on Aiba’s wrist. He whispered a scattering of words to him, softly-so softly he was positive that no one could hear them but him, and his eyes opened, gasping his first breath in ages.
Aiba felt his heart quiver, and Jun’s hand never let go, even when Aiba’s eyes closed in healing sleep.
--
You linger your little hour and are gone,
And still the wood sweep leafily on,
Not missing the coral-root flower
You took as a trophy of the hour.
--Robert Frost
--
He found him kneeling just over the hill, out of breath and almost unconscious. He managed a victorious grin as he came to stand before him, offering him his hand. Aiba took it after a brief moment but made no move to get up, simply keeping their fingers clasped together in a way that made his heart beat faster.
"I flew," he said, and he felt suddenly as if no time had passed between them at all. They were still children playing with steel and looking down at the river under their feet and wondering how deep it went. And he was still offering everything, giving freely when all his life everything had had a price.
Years ago, he hadn't understood how he could live that way.
Now, he thought, he might be able to learn that sort of strength.
His hand closed over Aiba’s.
"Me too," he replied.
[Author] turtle_ai
[Disclaimer] I don't own Arashi, or Johnny's Ent. They do own my heart, however.
[Pairing] Aiba/Jun
[Rating] PG
[Summary] He would do anything to spare Jun more hurt. Anything.
[Notes] For ida_lawliet . ♥ You are a dear. Thank you for everything.
As vain to raise a voice as a sigh
In the tumult of free leaves on high.
What are you in the shadow of trees
Engaged up there with the light and breeze?
--Robert Frost
--
Aiba felt freedom when he was thirteen years old.
It had been a cloudless day, Jun remembered. Hot and humid in the very depths of summer. The season when children went swimming outdoors and drank lemonade under tall pine trees, looming over their heads, blocking the sun out, providing shade-if not wind-to cool them.
The clearing where they played, filled with small wooden swords, large bales of hay, and clumps of grass, was where he found him. He was lying flat on his back in a tangle of grass, bugs, laughter and happiness, his face smudged with sweat and dirt. He remembered the dry grass crinkling under his feet as he came to stand by him, his shadow appearing over him as he blinked up at him. He lifted a hand slightly to block out the sun peeking over the other boy’s shoulder.
Jun lifted an eyebrow, and Aiba smiled.
“I flew,” he said solemnly.
Jun found himself smiling back.
--
Aiba had arrived early at school and had gone straight to the classroom, hoping to study, just for a few more minutes, so that there were no other eyes to judge his progress. He reached in his bag for his books, and barely had he started reading there was a hard thump at the window, and he turned, startled. There was no one outside, nor was there anyone inside. His legs carried him outside awkwardly as fast as he could run, his eyes lighting up when he gazed upon the small figure under the window. It was a small bird-a sparrow-and as he lifted it carefully, he saw that it had died instantly upon the impact.
Looking back at that moment, Aiba realized that he had not been sad for its death, but anxious-anxious that no one else would find it, the small life so fleetingly taken. Especially for his curly-haired friend.
For Matsumoto Jun liked birds and he knew, instinctively, that he could not allow him to know about this one.
He buried the sparrow under the tree by the swing set, laying a small yellow flower on the tiny grave. Upon seeing Jun later in the morning, he did not choose to speak about that morning’s events. There were things he had to spare Jun from, things that pure eyes did not have to see, and so he hid them, dealt with them in shadows and secrecy, protecting him by sacrificing himself.
Now, ten years later, Jun’s eyes had grown too sharp for him to hide much.
It started with a slight dizziness during one of their practices in dance-the kind that had him moving vigorously, sweating, moving with his whole body, back flipping in order to keep up with what their teacher wanted, what his teacher would be only satisfied with. Aiba spun sideways, and all of a sudden his vision began to whirl, his body wobbling oddly in attempt to keep his footing. He felt himself fall through the air, felt his pride lose, a strange strangled sort of noise trapped in his throat as the floor hurtled to meet him.
It was Jun who caught him, Jun who managed to grab onto his arm and pull him back up and shoot Aiba a look of confusion. Aiba knew that Jun didn’t understand why Aiba didn’t stand back up, why Aiba had just let the dance fall. He never told him, either, even when the dizziness became worse and he could no longer practice and dance with the trees without revealing his weakness.
Then Aiba started coughing. He brushed it off as a chest cold and that excuse managed to work for about two weeks. He was excused from practicing with Jun, something he learned to agonize over, knowing that that one flurry of movements might have been his last. He needed to protect him from this.
For years he had worked silently to ensure that, with all the sadness and grief in his life, he would never experience those things because of Aiba. The birds when they were children, the strong face he presented to the younger boy when he opened his eyes after the small fist fight that had resulted in bruises all over Jun’s body, the tears Aiba let himself shed over all the hurt Jun had suffered.
He would do anything to spare Jun more hurt. Anything.
--
Less than the coral-root you know
That is content with the daylight low,
And has no leaves at all of its own;
Whose spotted flowers hang meanly down.
--Robert Frost
--
Aiba’s dance teacher approached him a few months later. Nino was a small, wiry man who spoke bluntly, picked on others, and understood many things, though it didn’t seem like it.
He was also observant.
“Masaki, what is it? What’s wrong?”
There was no time to bury this secret. At least, not to Nino.
"I'm dying."
It was said with such simple clarity, he could see that he had shocked him. But if nothing else, he was very strong, something people often lost track of beneath the cheeky grins, the snark, the mischievousness. “Have you seen Sakurai-sensei?” Nino asked, his voice low, serious.
He nodded, suddenly weary, feeling bitter, and it surprised him. He had thought he had come to terms with the fact that it was not an easy solution. "It would require a procedure that I'm... not willing to let him perform."
Nino shifted on his feet as if he wanted to question him further but decided against it. “How long?” he asked instead.
He knew what he meant. "A few months, maybe.”
"He’s going to find out eventually, Aiba. It will only make it harder in the end if you keep protecting him.”
He smiled a little, though the look was grim. "He has enough burdens to bear. This one is mine alone."
--
You grasp the bark by a rugged pleat,
And look up small from the forest’s feet.
The only leaf it drops goes wide,
Your name not written on either side.
--Robert Frost
--
The day of performance came. The group was only halfway through the routine when it hit him again, a pain so intense he saw white stars and dropped to the ground, struggling to breathe, gasping for air. Nino and Jun were at his side almost instantly, and he could hear their voices, but it was beyond him to answer when he wasn’t sure he could take another breath to. There were long, long minutes while everyone could only watch their tall, lanky member writhe on the ground, tears hanging off the corners of his eyes from the supreme effort to bring his lungs back to life.
When he came back to himself and the knot in his chest had dissolved, he found himself lying on a bed, with Jun’s hand running through his hair, softly, smoothly, his face contorted in pain and painted pale against the colour of his dark hair.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, and Jun’s eyes snapped open, his hand stopping abruptly. Aiba’s mouth curved with difficulty. “I didn’t hide it so well this time, did I?”
“This isn’t some bird flying into a window, Aiba,” Jun snapped. His voice was surprisingly hoarse, tinged with righteous anger. Aiba’s eyes widened. “You can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”
Aiba was quiet. “You knew?” he whispered.
Jun looked at him for a long moment. “I heard you talking with Nino,” he admitted, and halted to swallow. “I heard you say ‘I’m dying’.”
Aiba watched him carefully.
“Why did you tell me, Aiba? Why did you tell me about this, your sickness-I would have…could have…”
“You could have what, Jun?” Aiba asked, and his voice dropped, and it sound tired. So, so tired. “Fight death?”
It had been meant to be rhetorical, but Jun’s gaze met his firmly. “I would try.”
“You wouldn’t win that fight, Jun. This is one fight even you cannot win.”
Jun stared at him. “You don’t believe in me.”
Aiba stared back, startled. “What?”
“You’ve lost your faith in me, Aiba.”
Aiba shook his head, wincing. “No. No, Jun, that has nothing to do with it. This is not your fight.”
“Of course it is,” Jun said, his voice getting harder, and he reached for Aiba’s hand, gripping it tightly. Aiba could feel it trembling, but couldn’t find the strength to squeeze back. “Your fights have always been mine. I’m not going to just sit here and let it take you.”
Aiba parted his lips to speak, but Jun leaned over and wrapped his arms around him. “You thought I’d suffered enough,” he whispered. “You’ve protected me enough. Now it’s my turn to make sure death doesn’t touch you. You’re going to survive until Sakurai-sensei arrives. I’ll murder you if you don’t.” His voice cracked on the last sentence.
Aiba was much too weary to argue with him and dozed in Jun’s warm arms, wakened by nothing but painful spasms.
--
After that, it was all darkness and the distant sensation of falling, like the day he’d lost his balance spinning, practicing the dance steps with Jun. He’d caught him then, and he could feel Jun’s hands pressing against him, holding his arm. He couldn’t hear them speak. He was already beginning to drift.
A terrible wrench pulled him from the shadows, and then a flurry of activity. There were hands everywhere, holding him down, supporting him, soothing him. And then there was a tiny, lucid moment when he opened his eyes and knew that he was going to die.
“Aiba.”
A face swam into view in front of him.
“Breathe, Aiba.” Jun, he remembered. He was shaking him. “Aiba, you’ve got to breathe. Aiba, you’ve got to take a breath!”
He sounded almost frantic, and the very idea of that made Aiba’s heart twinge. Jun was never anything but cool and calm in the face of danger. Even when he was angry, he always managed to stay in control. Aiba was listening to him now, and Jun sounded afraid.
And then Jun was leaning over him, his forehead pressed against his very own, the pads of his fingers resting lightly on Aiba’s wrist. He whispered a scattering of words to him, softly-so softly he was positive that no one could hear them but him, and his eyes opened, gasping his first breath in ages.
Aiba felt his heart quiver, and Jun’s hand never let go, even when Aiba’s eyes closed in healing sleep.
--
You linger your little hour and are gone,
And still the wood sweep leafily on,
Not missing the coral-root flower
You took as a trophy of the hour.
--Robert Frost
--
He found him kneeling just over the hill, out of breath and almost unconscious. He managed a victorious grin as he came to stand before him, offering him his hand. Aiba took it after a brief moment but made no move to get up, simply keeping their fingers clasped together in a way that made his heart beat faster.
"I flew," he said, and he felt suddenly as if no time had passed between them at all. They were still children playing with steel and looking down at the river under their feet and wondering how deep it went. And he was still offering everything, giving freely when all his life everything had had a price.
Years ago, he hadn't understood how he could live that way.
Now, he thought, he might be able to learn that sort of strength.
His hand closed over Aiba’s.
"Me too," he replied.