詐欺師。
Title: Swindler
Fandom: Tackey&Tsubasa
Pairing: TxT
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The smiles, the love, the person you thought you knew - all is a lie.
You remember.
You can't help but to remember the way your naked back makes contact with cool glass.
The glass of a hotel room window, high above the skyline.
You remember.
The painful silence on the phone.
The static.
The sound of passing cars. The rain that hit your window, you could hear it on the other end of the line.
Would you meet with me?
You didn't think much of it. You thought the desperation in his voice only matched yours. That need for closeness, peace that no one else could give you, and the only place you could get it had become this high-class hotel room above everyone else's eyes.
Always the same room.
You had mutually agreed to make this room yours, right after you had been officially separated, right after Tackey and Tsubasa had just become Tackey. And Tsubasa. Two people again, no longer a group.
You remember the way he stood in the lobby.
The freshly trimmed hair, the all black suit.
You thought back to the time when he was still a stranger, an obnoxious little kid. Even then it had been impossible to keep your eyes of him.
You just followed an urge. A call.
You followed him.
You still do.
It would have been impossible for you to ignore him, to forget him, his voice invaded your dreams and his voice your waking hours, he went everywhere with you, and so it was only natural for you to be everywhere he was.
On such evenings the two of you never talked, because there was nothing to talk about.
To know how he was doing all you had to do was open a newspaper or turn on the TV, and besides, you never had any desire to find out how he was while you couldn't be around.
You knew it would have felt unfair had he been happy without you, because you never were without him.
The nights were pretty much always the same, but you liked them like that.
The slowness, the feeling of not having to worry for once.
Open-mouthed, toe-curling kisses, fingers gentle but intent.
Stroking you, undressing you.
He had always been very direct.
You gripped the hair at the back of his neck when he pushed you back against the window.
His kisses made you dizzy until you lot sense of everything, reality, time, what did it matter.
He was there even though he should not have been, and that was all you needed.
It seemed like a spontaneous, rushed decision when he woke you up in the middle of the night.
Maybe he hoped if he told you while you were bleary from sleep, barely conscious, you would forget.
You sure wish you had.
I'm not Imai Tsubasa.
You didn't understand, but something about his guilty expression told you there was something very wrong about this.
Of course this was Imai Tsubasa, this was the man you had loved for almost a decade.
He was warmth and support and love.
You knew him.
Johnny knew, you know. He doesn't let just any guys into his groups after all.
...
I guess this was his idea of giving me a way out.
You could only look at him, and it felt like you were waiting to wake up from a nightmare.
I know you can't understand this. It'll take time.
Imai Tsubasa... doesn't exist. He is a guy who likes to cook and dance, guy with a married sister and a cute little niece.
That guy isn't me.
What was he talking about?
I am talking about a twelve-year old boy, living on the streets, to whom protection was offered simply by being half of a pop duo.
Protection?
I have a murder to my name.
This twelve-year old kid, Imai Tsubasa. I wonder what would have become of him.
I can still see it, the burning car wreck that no one saved him from.
So you said there and listened to the man you loved and trusted telling you that he was a con artist who had not only played one role perfectly, but dozens of them. The idol, the barkeeper, the hotel boy, the professional.
You listened to him tell you stories about how no holiday he had ever undertaken to improve his dancing served just that - it had always been necessary to build an alias from scratch.
In case he had to disappear.
Sagi-shi.
In the end there was just one question worth asking.
You were not in a state to believe a thing - that he didn't feel any joy when he was cooking pasta for the two of you, that he didn't try to do his best with every new tour, every new single, you didn't believe it.
Your only question, though, it was a selfish one.
...And what about us. What about us was real.
He wanted to lie, you could see it, and that's why you kissed him just in time to swallow the truth you could not have borne.
I need to leave. I got too attached already.
You closed your eyes and sighed, arms tight around Tsubasa's neck.
Your decision had been made for you. A long time ago.
Let Takizawa Hideaki become a lie, too.
Fandom: Tackey&Tsubasa
Pairing: TxT
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The smiles, the love, the person you thought you knew - all is a lie.
You remember.
You can't help but to remember the way your naked back makes contact with cool glass.
The glass of a hotel room window, high above the skyline.
You remember.
The painful silence on the phone.
The static.
The sound of passing cars. The rain that hit your window, you could hear it on the other end of the line.
Would you meet with me?
You didn't think much of it. You thought the desperation in his voice only matched yours. That need for closeness, peace that no one else could give you, and the only place you could get it had become this high-class hotel room above everyone else's eyes.
Always the same room.
You had mutually agreed to make this room yours, right after you had been officially separated, right after Tackey and Tsubasa had just become Tackey. And Tsubasa. Two people again, no longer a group.
You remember the way he stood in the lobby.
The freshly trimmed hair, the all black suit.
You thought back to the time when he was still a stranger, an obnoxious little kid. Even then it had been impossible to keep your eyes of him.
You just followed an urge. A call.
You followed him.
You still do.
It would have been impossible for you to ignore him, to forget him, his voice invaded your dreams and his voice your waking hours, he went everywhere with you, and so it was only natural for you to be everywhere he was.
On such evenings the two of you never talked, because there was nothing to talk about.
To know how he was doing all you had to do was open a newspaper or turn on the TV, and besides, you never had any desire to find out how he was while you couldn't be around.
You knew it would have felt unfair had he been happy without you, because you never were without him.
The nights were pretty much always the same, but you liked them like that.
The slowness, the feeling of not having to worry for once.
Open-mouthed, toe-curling kisses, fingers gentle but intent.
Stroking you, undressing you.
He had always been very direct.
You gripped the hair at the back of his neck when he pushed you back against the window.
His kisses made you dizzy until you lot sense of everything, reality, time, what did it matter.
He was there even though he should not have been, and that was all you needed.
It seemed like a spontaneous, rushed decision when he woke you up in the middle of the night.
Maybe he hoped if he told you while you were bleary from sleep, barely conscious, you would forget.
You sure wish you had.
I'm not Imai Tsubasa.
You didn't understand, but something about his guilty expression told you there was something very wrong about this.
Of course this was Imai Tsubasa, this was the man you had loved for almost a decade.
He was warmth and support and love.
You knew him.
Johnny knew, you know. He doesn't let just any guys into his groups after all.
...
I guess this was his idea of giving me a way out.
You could only look at him, and it felt like you were waiting to wake up from a nightmare.
I know you can't understand this. It'll take time.
Imai Tsubasa... doesn't exist. He is a guy who likes to cook and dance, guy with a married sister and a cute little niece.
That guy isn't me.
What was he talking about?
I am talking about a twelve-year old boy, living on the streets, to whom protection was offered simply by being half of a pop duo.
Protection?
I have a murder to my name.
This twelve-year old kid, Imai Tsubasa. I wonder what would have become of him.
I can still see it, the burning car wreck that no one saved him from.
So you said there and listened to the man you loved and trusted telling you that he was a con artist who had not only played one role perfectly, but dozens of them. The idol, the barkeeper, the hotel boy, the professional.
You listened to him tell you stories about how no holiday he had ever undertaken to improve his dancing served just that - it had always been necessary to build an alias from scratch.
In case he had to disappear.
Sagi-shi.
In the end there was just one question worth asking.
You were not in a state to believe a thing - that he didn't feel any joy when he was cooking pasta for the two of you, that he didn't try to do his best with every new tour, every new single, you didn't believe it.
Your only question, though, it was a selfish one.
...And what about us. What about us was real.
He wanted to lie, you could see it, and that's why you kissed him just in time to swallow the truth you could not have borne.
I need to leave. I got too attached already.
You closed your eyes and sighed, arms tight around Tsubasa's neck.
Your decision had been made for you. A long time ago.
Let Takizawa Hideaki become a lie, too.