fic: This boy 1/1
Yeah, I couldn't wait for March 14th to post this. *facepalms*
Title: This Boy
Rating: PG-13/slight R?
Pairing: Horikita Maki/Yamashita Tomohisa
Notes: a companion piece to This Girl, and a present to commenters old and new, and to the newest people who've joined our crazy cult, community. Say hi! We're not evil evil. And also, we do love Yamapi, it's just that from time to time I feel like I need to point out the lame. Because it's there, people.
For D, who's always such a tremendous help & influence in my writing. And to tinyangl, who loves Pi-chan best.
This boy makes you do things you never thought you'd do.
Oh, you'd thought about that, in the dark and listening to Meisa and Reina chat quietly in the dorms, their giggles muffled under the covers. Sex, and you'd been there that day at school when all the boys went to another room and the girls stayed behind and learned about the wonders of the feminine body and how to protect themselves. Meisa had waited for you after class, as you gathered your books, and told you breezily that while the nurse had gotten the basics right, she didn't have the benefit of growing up with three older sisters, and there was quite a lot of interesting information that had been omitted. Meisa had one niece and a nephew on the way via her middle sister, so she knew all about babies.
Since you're the oldest sister, it would be your task to fill in the blanks for your little sisters if they had a question that your mother and the nurse couldn't or wouldn't answer. The thought made your face flush and your head fill up with cotton wool, and you rushed home to make sure that your little sisters were still little and bratty and not interested in grown up things, and you found them playing video games in the living room. Midori was winning by several thousand points, and Emiko looked none too happy about this, and threatened to cry.
They looked up at your entrance, and Emiko tossed down her controller as you walked over to her side, so she could reach over and hug your knees. "Mari-chan, Midori's being mean to me."
Midori snorted. "Not my fault you can't play this game."
As they bickered back and forth, you can't help but sigh in relief.
When you helped your mother with dinner that night, you leaned your head against her shoulder, and she patted your hair comfortingly. "What's bothering my Marina, hmmm?"
"I want to stay a child, okaa-san."
She laughed, and said "What brings this on?"
"I don't know if I'm ready to grow up."
"Everyone goes at their own pace, dear. You'll find yours, and then everything will fall into place. You'll see." She kissed your cheek, then wiped it off, and went to set the table.
You went to school, went to auditions, memorized lines to become girls that were louder, more exciting than you think you yourself are, and had your picture taken.
It was almost too easy, having your picture taken - you looked in one direction or another, tilted your head down or up - people seemed to like taking pictures of your neck for some reason, and you smiled. Or you don't, and you looked past the camera, beyond the photographer, eyes fixed onto a subject only you knew.
Meisa said it made your photos look enigmatic, you just thought it was an unconscious thing, drifting away into somewhere no one could reach you.
You are sixteen years old, almost seventeen when you meet this boy for the first time.
Your first thought was, "Pretty," followed by "older, and another Johnny's." You don't mind Johnny's. Okada-san was a perfect gentleman and older brother to you when you made your film debut. He bought you a Badtz Maru wallet that you still use occasionally, and you have his phone number in case of 'an emergency or if you ever need help'. You don't know if you'll ever use it, but it's nice to have.
This boy, this Yamashita-san blinked, and looked through you, and then his eyes focused and he nodded politely and shook your hand. "Hi, I'm Yamashita Tomohisa. Nice to meet you."
His hand was cool and covered your own in a firm grip. You bowed, and murmured, "Nice to meet you too."
When Meisa asked you how it went, you shrugged and said that Kamenashi-san was really nice and attentive, but that Yamashita-san was...distant. Oh, his manners were good, but when the camera stopped rolling, he went off by himself or drifted off somewhere with Kamenashi.
"Well, it's only for three months," she reasoned. "You'll probably never work with him again."
It doesn't bother you, you said. He was an adult, and in university - what did he have to talk about with a sixteen year old, anyway?
The truth of the matter was that this boy upset you in a small undefinable way - you looked at his pretty face, with the long eyelashes fringing his eyes - the small splash of brown by his pupil, the perfect nose, the crooked smile hidden in a pouty mouth, and decided that you preferred Kamenashi's thin and pointy face better - he had personality.
However, when this boy looked at you through Akira's eyes, you felt warm and tingly all over, like your heart was overflowing with soda bubbles.
This boy took a picture of you that will change your life, only you didn't know it at the time.
This boy peered through his viewfinder, gave the thumbs up sign, and as you leaned forward to blow out your seventeen candles, he took your picture.
Your cheeks are puffed out and your hands are holding back your hair, and your eyes are half-closed - frankly, you looked like a puffer fish, but when Yamashita-kun handed you the packet of pictures, he pulled the top picture out and said that was his favorite picture of you.
You noticed the envelope was one for double exposures.
This boy calls you Maki-chan, Homaki, and when you're alone, really, truly alone together, his cheek pressed against yours, his breath coming in quick rapid bursts, he gasps Marina, and you close your eyes in bliss.
"I have a secret," you said on the way to the next interview. Yamapi was standing beside you in the elevator, listening to his ipod, but he immediately unplugged one earbud when you tugged at his jacket. "Oh?"
Secrets have been on your mind lately - maybe it's because of Kurosagi, or just the nature of the work you both do, but to have something truly private and yours was something infinitely more precious than the most expensive currency. Yamapi quirked a smile, and asked, "Well, what is it?"
"A secret for a secret, Yamapi-kun."
He thought about it, and suddenly leaned in close enough so you could smell his cologne. "You first, since you brought it up."
"My real name's not Maki."
His cologne tickled the inside of your nostrils - he smelled of spice and forests, which was a strange juxtaposition for a city boy, but it made you feel faint.
"And what's your name when you're at home, then," he murmured.
"Mari-na...Marina Hara," you stammered, which annoyed you, because you never stammer.
Yamapi smiled, and said your name. "Marina?"
"Yes?"
"It suits you. So does Maki, by the way."
The elevator doors open then, and before you could ask him what he meant by that, he stepped through the doors.
You didn't learn a secret that day, but you get a little of your own back in another interview. No, you say quite firmly. Yamashita doesn't make my heart go doki-doki.
He did annoy you terribly, however.
This boy makes you do things you never thought you'd do.
In the dim light of your bedroom, his bedroom, really - but you've stayed over enough to claim it as half yours - the clean half, and his necklace presses against the nape of your neck, as he shifts. The bed creaks a little, dips under your knees as you rock back, his hands around your waist, anchoring you to this place, this moment right here. His chest is slick with sweat, and as his hand drifts lower, you squirm.
Please, you breathe out. You don't think you can hold out any longer, and his fingers brush tantalizingly near to where you need it, and he laughs, actually laughs against your ear, the heat of his breath setting your already frayed nerves alight with sparks.
Why the rush, Mar-i-na, he drawls. We have plenty of time, and he kisses you on your neck, and you hiss, because you want to come now and if he wasn't so heavy, you'd flip him over and do it yourself.
But.
But here, embraced and warm and surrounded, you're as weak as a kitten and it's all you can do to lean your head back and let him kiss you more.
This boy is always late, except when it comes to work, and then it's under the hawk eyes of his manager and his band mates to get him from point A to point B. Your pace is more leisurely, your schedule less crammed with details, but when you have free time, you tend to drift off into what Meisa affectionately dubs Maki-land. Time passes like honey through a sieve in Maki-land, but lately you've been feeling more connected, more aware of certain things. Like the smell of flowers when Yamapi finally arrives, his fingers grasping at your elbow, tiny dots of pressure. The flowers are your favorite, African daisies and tulips, a rainbow wrapped in cellophane. Sorry, I'm late, Yamapi apologizes. I saw these and there was a line in the florist's shop.
There probably was a longer line when he left, you think to yourself, but you accept the flowers and his kiss with good humor. Your hand naturally brushes against his and his fingers seek out yours in a clasp.
This boy is a professional down to his bones, and it always takes him a little while to switch from Yamapi to Tomohisa. You once snuck into a taping for one of his appearances, wearing your oldest pair of glasses, with the thick tortoiseshell frames, your hair twisted into braids. You sat next to a pair of stylishly dressed OLs, their hair auburn and sleekly pulled back with diamante barrettes, their fingernails frosted peachy pink and set off with tiny ornaments. They are both holding signs - one reads I LOVE YAMAPI, and the other reads NEWS MEMBER AI #1. They look at you pityingly, free of uchiwas or any kind of fan-affiliation. Luckily, Toma had gotten you some souvenirs earlier, and you fish around in your purse. You pull out a button emblazoned with Toma's face, an Arashi bear, and finally, a NEWS keyring. You wave it triumphantly.
Not that it mattered, as their attention is solely devoted to the six boys who have just arrived in a swirl of lights and cheerful beats. The screaming starts, and you wince, and you remember again why you don't venture out to these types of events more often. Yamapi dances, and struts, and winks for the crowd, and despite yourself, you can't help but get caught up in the excitement, and sing along under your breath.
It's afterwards, that there's a problem. The fans are already lined up outside the studio waiting for the NEWS van, when you shuffle out, after getting the wrong exit.
You make your way down the crowd, interested in what it's like being on the other side, and the crush of fangirls is almost too much, but you persevere. The telltale shrieking starts and you look at who's exiting out the gate - Koyama is first, followed by Ryo, and then Shige, Massu, Tegoshi, and finally, with his sunglasses on and a fedora hat slouching low on his forehead, Yamapi.
The girls scream and he turns around brightly and waves - and somehow, he sees you.
His mouth dropped open in a perfect O, and then he's whisked away by his handler. You can just make the vague outline of him behind the tinted glass when the door slams, and the car begins to pull away.
And stops.
The door opens and one of the handlers steps out, and casually in a not at all casual way, steps over to the barricade and looks around carefully until he spots you. Then he cups his hands and says "Ahem, we seem to have forgotten one of our staff members - ah, Rika-chan, there you are!"
"Rika-chan?" You say incredulously, and push at his shoulders when he leans in for a kiss. "Where'd that come from?"
"I panicked, okay? I didn't think I'd see you there. Why were you there? I could have gotten you VIP passes -- DVDs, whatever you wanted. He frowns. "It wasn't the best performance."
"I think you're being too hard on yourself, Tomo-chan," and you pull him into a hug, your cheek resting against his collarbone. You feel him swallow, and he says softly, "That's what being leader is all about."
"No special treatment," you murmur, and he kisses your hair, wraps his arms around you. "But you're special to me."
This boy tans in summer, a gorgeous bronze gold color, and it even picks up faint glints of copper in his normally black hair. It's the surfing, he explains - the sand and the salt and then the water, all crashing together over his head, and then the sun - it's some kind of chemistry or magic, maybe.
Magic, you say doubtfully, and then squeal, when he splashes a torrent of shockingly cold water at you. It drips down your legs, the only part of you aside from your face that isn't covered. An umbrella takes care of the rest. Tomohisa turns and runs into the waves, like a little boy, and well, you can't not run in after him.
This boy's hands in winter burn cold against your skin briefly, and then warm up as you cover your hands over his, your thumb stroking his. It is too cold to do much underneath the covers except sleep, plus you are at his grandparents, so entirely inappropriate.
Which is why when you get back to Tokyo, to your apartment, with its framed photographs of his smile and the glass figurines, soft throw pillows, and most importantly, central heating, you peel off all your clothes in the middle of the living room, with his help. Your fingers cramp up at the snap of his jeans, but he blows on them slightly and you're revived.
It is as if all the cold outside is directly proportionate to how feverish you are now, and his hands roam everywhere your hands don't.
This boy knows you like no one else in the world can know, and you wonder sometimes if he knows how much he's changed your life. How this boy makes you care about the here and now, that tomorrow is tomorrow, but today is endless.
Title: This Boy
Rating: PG-13/slight R?
Pairing: Horikita Maki/Yamashita Tomohisa
Notes: a companion piece to This Girl, and a present to commenters old and new, and to the newest people who've joined our crazy cult, community. Say hi! We're not evil evil. And also, we do love Yamapi, it's just that from time to time I feel like I need to point out the lame. Because it's there, people.
For D, who's always such a tremendous help & influence in my writing. And to tinyangl, who loves Pi-chan best.
This boy makes you do things you never thought you'd do.
Oh, you'd thought about that, in the dark and listening to Meisa and Reina chat quietly in the dorms, their giggles muffled under the covers. Sex, and you'd been there that day at school when all the boys went to another room and the girls stayed behind and learned about the wonders of the feminine body and how to protect themselves. Meisa had waited for you after class, as you gathered your books, and told you breezily that while the nurse had gotten the basics right, she didn't have the benefit of growing up with three older sisters, and there was quite a lot of interesting information that had been omitted. Meisa had one niece and a nephew on the way via her middle sister, so she knew all about babies.
Since you're the oldest sister, it would be your task to fill in the blanks for your little sisters if they had a question that your mother and the nurse couldn't or wouldn't answer. The thought made your face flush and your head fill up with cotton wool, and you rushed home to make sure that your little sisters were still little and bratty and not interested in grown up things, and you found them playing video games in the living room. Midori was winning by several thousand points, and Emiko looked none too happy about this, and threatened to cry.
They looked up at your entrance, and Emiko tossed down her controller as you walked over to her side, so she could reach over and hug your knees. "Mari-chan, Midori's being mean to me."
Midori snorted. "Not my fault you can't play this game."
As they bickered back and forth, you can't help but sigh in relief.
When you helped your mother with dinner that night, you leaned your head against her shoulder, and she patted your hair comfortingly. "What's bothering my Marina, hmmm?"
"I want to stay a child, okaa-san."
She laughed, and said "What brings this on?"
"I don't know if I'm ready to grow up."
"Everyone goes at their own pace, dear. You'll find yours, and then everything will fall into place. You'll see." She kissed your cheek, then wiped it off, and went to set the table.
You went to school, went to auditions, memorized lines to become girls that were louder, more exciting than you think you yourself are, and had your picture taken.
It was almost too easy, having your picture taken - you looked in one direction or another, tilted your head down or up - people seemed to like taking pictures of your neck for some reason, and you smiled. Or you don't, and you looked past the camera, beyond the photographer, eyes fixed onto a subject only you knew.
Meisa said it made your photos look enigmatic, you just thought it was an unconscious thing, drifting away into somewhere no one could reach you.
You are sixteen years old, almost seventeen when you meet this boy for the first time.
Your first thought was, "Pretty," followed by "older, and another Johnny's." You don't mind Johnny's. Okada-san was a perfect gentleman and older brother to you when you made your film debut. He bought you a Badtz Maru wallet that you still use occasionally, and you have his phone number in case of 'an emergency or if you ever need help'. You don't know if you'll ever use it, but it's nice to have.
This boy, this Yamashita-san blinked, and looked through you, and then his eyes focused and he nodded politely and shook your hand. "Hi, I'm Yamashita Tomohisa. Nice to meet you."
His hand was cool and covered your own in a firm grip. You bowed, and murmured, "Nice to meet you too."
When Meisa asked you how it went, you shrugged and said that Kamenashi-san was really nice and attentive, but that Yamashita-san was...distant. Oh, his manners were good, but when the camera stopped rolling, he went off by himself or drifted off somewhere with Kamenashi.
"Well, it's only for three months," she reasoned. "You'll probably never work with him again."
It doesn't bother you, you said. He was an adult, and in university - what did he have to talk about with a sixteen year old, anyway?
The truth of the matter was that this boy upset you in a small undefinable way - you looked at his pretty face, with the long eyelashes fringing his eyes - the small splash of brown by his pupil, the perfect nose, the crooked smile hidden in a pouty mouth, and decided that you preferred Kamenashi's thin and pointy face better - he had personality.
However, when this boy looked at you through Akira's eyes, you felt warm and tingly all over, like your heart was overflowing with soda bubbles.
This boy took a picture of you that will change your life, only you didn't know it at the time.
This boy peered through his viewfinder, gave the thumbs up sign, and as you leaned forward to blow out your seventeen candles, he took your picture.
Your cheeks are puffed out and your hands are holding back your hair, and your eyes are half-closed - frankly, you looked like a puffer fish, but when Yamashita-kun handed you the packet of pictures, he pulled the top picture out and said that was his favorite picture of you.
You noticed the envelope was one for double exposures.
This boy calls you Maki-chan, Homaki, and when you're alone, really, truly alone together, his cheek pressed against yours, his breath coming in quick rapid bursts, he gasps Marina, and you close your eyes in bliss.
"I have a secret," you said on the way to the next interview. Yamapi was standing beside you in the elevator, listening to his ipod, but he immediately unplugged one earbud when you tugged at his jacket. "Oh?"
Secrets have been on your mind lately - maybe it's because of Kurosagi, or just the nature of the work you both do, but to have something truly private and yours was something infinitely more precious than the most expensive currency. Yamapi quirked a smile, and asked, "Well, what is it?"
"A secret for a secret, Yamapi-kun."
He thought about it, and suddenly leaned in close enough so you could smell his cologne. "You first, since you brought it up."
"My real name's not Maki."
His cologne tickled the inside of your nostrils - he smelled of spice and forests, which was a strange juxtaposition for a city boy, but it made you feel faint.
"And what's your name when you're at home, then," he murmured.
"Mari-na...Marina Hara," you stammered, which annoyed you, because you never stammer.
Yamapi smiled, and said your name. "Marina?"
"Yes?"
"It suits you. So does Maki, by the way."
The elevator doors open then, and before you could ask him what he meant by that, he stepped through the doors.
You didn't learn a secret that day, but you get a little of your own back in another interview. No, you say quite firmly. Yamashita doesn't make my heart go doki-doki.
He did annoy you terribly, however.
This boy makes you do things you never thought you'd do.
In the dim light of your bedroom, his bedroom, really - but you've stayed over enough to claim it as half yours - the clean half, and his necklace presses against the nape of your neck, as he shifts. The bed creaks a little, dips under your knees as you rock back, his hands around your waist, anchoring you to this place, this moment right here. His chest is slick with sweat, and as his hand drifts lower, you squirm.
Please, you breathe out. You don't think you can hold out any longer, and his fingers brush tantalizingly near to where you need it, and he laughs, actually laughs against your ear, the heat of his breath setting your already frayed nerves alight with sparks.
Why the rush, Mar-i-na, he drawls. We have plenty of time, and he kisses you on your neck, and you hiss, because you want to come now and if he wasn't so heavy, you'd flip him over and do it yourself.
But.
But here, embraced and warm and surrounded, you're as weak as a kitten and it's all you can do to lean your head back and let him kiss you more.
This boy is always late, except when it comes to work, and then it's under the hawk eyes of his manager and his band mates to get him from point A to point B. Your pace is more leisurely, your schedule less crammed with details, but when you have free time, you tend to drift off into what Meisa affectionately dubs Maki-land. Time passes like honey through a sieve in Maki-land, but lately you've been feeling more connected, more aware of certain things. Like the smell of flowers when Yamapi finally arrives, his fingers grasping at your elbow, tiny dots of pressure. The flowers are your favorite, African daisies and tulips, a rainbow wrapped in cellophane. Sorry, I'm late, Yamapi apologizes. I saw these and there was a line in the florist's shop.
There probably was a longer line when he left, you think to yourself, but you accept the flowers and his kiss with good humor. Your hand naturally brushes against his and his fingers seek out yours in a clasp.
This boy is a professional down to his bones, and it always takes him a little while to switch from Yamapi to Tomohisa. You once snuck into a taping for one of his appearances, wearing your oldest pair of glasses, with the thick tortoiseshell frames, your hair twisted into braids. You sat next to a pair of stylishly dressed OLs, their hair auburn and sleekly pulled back with diamante barrettes, their fingernails frosted peachy pink and set off with tiny ornaments. They are both holding signs - one reads I LOVE YAMAPI, and the other reads NEWS MEMBER AI #1. They look at you pityingly, free of uchiwas or any kind of fan-affiliation. Luckily, Toma had gotten you some souvenirs earlier, and you fish around in your purse. You pull out a button emblazoned with Toma's face, an Arashi bear, and finally, a NEWS keyring. You wave it triumphantly.
Not that it mattered, as their attention is solely devoted to the six boys who have just arrived in a swirl of lights and cheerful beats. The screaming starts, and you wince, and you remember again why you don't venture out to these types of events more often. Yamapi dances, and struts, and winks for the crowd, and despite yourself, you can't help but get caught up in the excitement, and sing along under your breath.
It's afterwards, that there's a problem. The fans are already lined up outside the studio waiting for the NEWS van, when you shuffle out, after getting the wrong exit.
You make your way down the crowd, interested in what it's like being on the other side, and the crush of fangirls is almost too much, but you persevere. The telltale shrieking starts and you look at who's exiting out the gate - Koyama is first, followed by Ryo, and then Shige, Massu, Tegoshi, and finally, with his sunglasses on and a fedora hat slouching low on his forehead, Yamapi.
The girls scream and he turns around brightly and waves - and somehow, he sees you.
His mouth dropped open in a perfect O, and then he's whisked away by his handler. You can just make the vague outline of him behind the tinted glass when the door slams, and the car begins to pull away.
And stops.
The door opens and one of the handlers steps out, and casually in a not at all casual way, steps over to the barricade and looks around carefully until he spots you. Then he cups his hands and says "Ahem, we seem to have forgotten one of our staff members - ah, Rika-chan, there you are!"
"Rika-chan?" You say incredulously, and push at his shoulders when he leans in for a kiss. "Where'd that come from?"
"I panicked, okay? I didn't think I'd see you there. Why were you there? I could have gotten you VIP passes -- DVDs, whatever you wanted. He frowns. "It wasn't the best performance."
"I think you're being too hard on yourself, Tomo-chan," and you pull him into a hug, your cheek resting against his collarbone. You feel him swallow, and he says softly, "That's what being leader is all about."
"No special treatment," you murmur, and he kisses your hair, wraps his arms around you. "But you're special to me."
This boy tans in summer, a gorgeous bronze gold color, and it even picks up faint glints of copper in his normally black hair. It's the surfing, he explains - the sand and the salt and then the water, all crashing together over his head, and then the sun - it's some kind of chemistry or magic, maybe.
Magic, you say doubtfully, and then squeal, when he splashes a torrent of shockingly cold water at you. It drips down your legs, the only part of you aside from your face that isn't covered. An umbrella takes care of the rest. Tomohisa turns and runs into the waves, like a little boy, and well, you can't not run in after him.
This boy's hands in winter burn cold against your skin briefly, and then warm up as you cover your hands over his, your thumb stroking his. It is too cold to do much underneath the covers except sleep, plus you are at his grandparents, so entirely inappropriate.
Which is why when you get back to Tokyo, to your apartment, with its framed photographs of his smile and the glass figurines, soft throw pillows, and most importantly, central heating, you peel off all your clothes in the middle of the living room, with his help. Your fingers cramp up at the snap of his jeans, but he blows on them slightly and you're revived.
It is as if all the cold outside is directly proportionate to how feverish you are now, and his hands roam everywhere your hands don't.
This boy knows you like no one else in the world can know, and you wonder sometimes if he knows how much he's changed your life. How this boy makes you care about the here and now, that tomorrow is tomorrow, but today is endless.