Remix for kiayro
Title: Of Secret Codes and Snapshots
Rating: G
Group/Pairing: KinKi Kids (implied Ko/Tsu) with some random Nagase
Warnings: images, general weirdness
Notes: this drabble jumped out at me from the get-go and my mind went wild. Thank you to the mods for letting me tool around with the format, my beta for her help when she was so busy herself, and most importantly, kiayro for writing the original.
Link to Original Story: Totally trufax
Link to Original Writer: kiayro
It’s a common misconception that Koichi and Tsuyoshi don’t have each other’s phone numbers. Even with the excuse of seeing each other often enough that phone calls aren’t necessary, it would be silly not to have their partner’s numbers, if for no other reason than emergency’s sake. They’re pretty sure that their fans know by now not to believe half the things that come out of their mouths anyway, and to be honest, both Domotos enjoy the joke too much to let it die.
But as with most lies, there is a grain of truth hidden beneath the shiny exterior. Because while Koichi has Tsuyoshi’s phone number and Tsuyoshi has Koichi’s, they don’t call each other.
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 13:30 SUN
Subject: magic
When I look up I feel as if
I am connected to everything underneath the
Sun, no matter
How far away we are
~~~
Tsuyoshi scrubs his face irritably, trying unsuccessfully to work the stress out with his fingertips. This song is giving him more trouble than he’d expected, transitions morphing into something more pop than funk. He has no problem with pop--to say that that pop music has done him many favors in his lifetime would be a vast understatement--but it’s not the sound he’s looking for at the moment.
He sighs and digs himself out from the nest of instruments and papers and dog that he had constructed on the bed, heading to take a shower in hopes of it clearing the 4/4 time signature looping through his head.
One shower and a trip to the kitchen later, Tsuyoshi returns to his bedroom, cup of tea in his hand and towel wrapped around his head like a turban, only to notice his phone flashing at him from the bedside table. He climbs onto the bed, careful not to upset any of the objects cluttering his sheets, and sits down cross legged, pulling his phone to him.
There’s a new message from Koichi, and opening it reveals what looks to be Yara lying on the ground. He’s covered in stage blood, a prop sword tucked between his upper arm and chest and a foot stepping on him triumphantly. It’s a silly picture only made worse by Yara sticking his tongue out comically while Koichi’s five centimeter heel pretends to dig into his stomach. Yonehana squatting next to Yara, shooting both thumbs up at the camera and grinning isn’t helping make the mood any more serious either. The caption below the picture reads, “now my dressing room will be quiet for once...”
Tsuyoshi laughs, glad to see SHOCK rehearsals are proceeding as usual, and texts back a demand that Koichi immediately send apologies to Tackey and Butoukan. When he looks back to the papers he’d been scribbling notations down on, he finds himself thinking that maybe, just this once, he’ll let the pop song stay a pop song.
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 15:22 TUE
Subject: in memoriam
Yesterday can be found in pieces all around us.
Of course, it’s up to us to decide whether we
Understand it or overlook it
~~~
Koichi doesn’t make phone calls often, and texts even less frequently. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to work a cell phone; no matter how much the people around him tease for being mentally antiquated, Koichi can function in the 21st century like a capable adult. The issue is that he finds texting terribly tedious. He’s never been strong with expressing himself verbally, can’t hide his thoughts and emotions in layers of flowery words and riddles the way Tsuyoshi does. Years in the entertainment industry has helped him combat his innate shyness to an extent, but when the cameras aren’t on, he prefers the tranquility that silence brings.
When he does choose to text people, he mostly speaks in images. Koichi has always found much comfort in the idea that a picture is worth a thousand words. What would take him two paragraphs of rambling to explain poorly he can capture in a single push of a button, moments and emotions trapped in a single image, each pixel like a word in its own right. Mostly he takes snapshots of whatever he’s doing at the moment or things he finds particularly amusing. To his delight, there’s a lot of overlap between the two.
Koichi smiles as he scrolls through his images on his phone, a mishmash of photos taken by himself and those that have been sent to him, primarily from Tsuyoshi. Most of them will be deleted eventually--he doesn’t need to keep a picture of his lunch from three days ago or his manager passed out drunk at the table over dinner--but a few will get downloaded to his computer and tucked away for the rare moments when he feels like indulging in a little nostalgia.
Koichi looks away from his phone at the sound of nails clacking against the wood floor of his apartment. Pan is trotting up to him, a piece of sheet music that is nearly as big as her own body held in her tiny jaws. It’s clear by the wag of her tail and the way her paws can’t seem to keep still that she wants to play, and when Koichi moves on the couch she skitters away, paper wafting up over her head like a sail in a tailwind.
“Pan,” he coos, trying to lure her back with a honeyed voice and a couple pats on the floor. She takes a few steps forward but jumps back when he finally stands, running back in a circle, tail waggling happily. Koichi grins and follows, pulling his phone up to snap a shot of his playful puppy. Between the shake of his own hand and Pan’s inability to stand still, it takes a couple tries before he gets a clear enough picture, but once he does he puts it in a message labled “parade or boat?” and addresses it to Tsuyoshi. The message sent, he throws his phone back on his couch and takes to chasing Pan in earnest, not content in merely taking pictures of his happiness.
~~~
From: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
To: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
Time: 19:07 THU
Subject: i told you i eat
but it’s too spicy......!!!!!
~~~
Koichi has Tsuyoshi listed as E.T. in his phone address book. It’s been that way through multiple phone and number changes; so long that Koichi can’t remember what sparked the nickname in the first place, just that it fits.
Tsuyoshi’s name for Koichi changes with the weather, as mercurial as Tsuyoshi’s choice in hairstyles. Last month he was The Theory of Relativity. Currently he’s The First Dream of the New Year. Tsuyoshi feels that tomorrow he might be Master Roshi, but then it might be sunny and Head Lamp would suit him better. If all else fails, there’s always Strawberry to fall back on.
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 18:19 WED
Subject: sight
When you look into my
Eyes, do you see the real me or the
Reflections of
Everyone else?
~~~
Koichi takes a gulp off his beer, watches the meat sizzle, pop, and brown on the hotplate in front of him, and swats at Nagase when he tries to swipe most of the gyuutan.
The two idols are sitting in one of the private rooms at Nagase’s favorite yakiniku place. Despite the lack of onlookers, Koichi still has his Chrome Hearts cap pulled low on his forehead, eyes disappearing under the shadowy bill of his hat. Nagase has a baseball cap on as well, though the fact that he has it on backwards does little to help disguise him.
They don’t talk much, but then they’ve never really had to, just enjoying being in each other’s company. Occasionally one might comment on the food, or relate a random anecdote from work, but for the most part they eat in a comfortable silence.
At least, until the calm atmosphere is disrupted by the sound of Koichi’s phone going off. He ignores it at first, but Nagase starts making faces at him until Koichi reaches for his discarded jacket and digs the beeping device out from one of its pockets. Flipping open the phone reveals one new message from ‘E.T.’ titled “shoes.”
Koichi’s lips are trying to work up into a lopsided grin but he fights the urge, maintaining his nonchalant expression as he opens the message.
It’s a picture of Kenshiro snoozing on the grass. Next to him are a pair of beat up white Adidas, legs clad in the red-purple-green-orange striped socks that can only belong to Tsuyoshi leading from the shoes and out of the frame. On the toe of one of the sneakers is what looks to be a deer cracker with an empty wrapper lying discarded between the shoes and the dachshund. Koichi scrolls down for the small novel he expects under the message.
Happiness is the realization that
Even though we are all different, we all will
Return to the same
Earth
Koichi no longer chooses to fight the quirking of his lips, letting the smile unravel across his face like a white flag. The message is a little dark and a little strange but wholly sentimental. How very Tsuyoshi.
“‘Sup?” Nagase asks, left cheek bulging full of food like a chipmunk storing nuts for winter, and bowl and chopstick hovering near his mouth, ready to shovel more rice in. There’s still gyuutan on the plate, but now it looks like there’s a lot less beef than there was before Koichi checked his phone. Part of Koichi wonders if that’s more than a coincidence.
Domoto shakes his head and shuts the phone with a snap! Placing the phone in his lap, he reaches for his discarded chopsticks and puts the remaining gyuutan on the side of the hotplate closest to him. “Messages from outer space.”
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 04:51 FRI
Subject: (none)
~~~
Tsuyoshi swats at his alarm clock, fumbling blindly for a few moments as his fingers struggle to achieve some level of dexterity so soon after waking. The offending device is turned off but by that time the damage has been done; he’s awake--horribly, terribly, frustratingly awake--and knows that he has to stay that way for a while lest he be late for work for the third time this week.
Still, it takes him several attempts before he finally works up the strength to roll out of bed, eyes still mostly closed as he makes his way to the bathroom. He hadn’t managed to fall asleep until close to six in the morning, and his alarm was set for nine. Tsuyoshi grumbles incoherent curses as he barely escapes tripping over Kenshiro. The world is a lot harder to deal with on only three hours of sleep.
Tsuyoshi often wonders if he would be better off without the medication. If he thinks hard enough, he can vaguely recall a time when his sleepless nights were due to the folly of youth and a demanding schedule, not a chemically-induced side effect of trying to regulate his anxiety. On more than one occasion, he has considered saying to hell with the drugs, but he knows better than that, knows what will happen if he lets his emotions go unchecked. Being able to breathe and function like a “normal” adult is worth a few sleepless nights.
There isn’t enough time for a shower, so Tsuyoshi washes his face, throws on some clean clothes, and searches for a hat to hide his massive case of bedhead. The stylists will primp and prod him until he’s presentable for television anyway, so there really was no point in doing it himself.
He’s in the middle of packing his bag for the day when he notices the message icon blinking on his phone. Two of the messages are from his manager, no doubt pleading with him to be on time for their Music Station shooting, while the third is from ‘Master Roshi.’ Tsuyoshi snorts when he sees it; that name will definitely be staying for a while. Ignoring his manager’s plaintive texts for now, he opens Koichi’s message, noting that it had come less than two hours after Tsuyoshi had finally gone to bed.
Tsuyoshi is greeted with the image of two toothbrushes on what seems to be a bathroom counter. One is old, the bristles worn out and warped, fanning out at the edges; the other is still in its plastic packaging, looking new and fresh and out of place next to its older counterpart. Beneath the image is a single line of text, curt and to the point as Koichi’s messages always are.
You owe me 330￥
Tsuyoshi grins and puts on his shoes, wondering if Koichi will settle for being bought dinner instead.
~~~
Love Fighter
Keeps on raining...
Of course, behind the clouds, the sky is still blue
In knowing that I am
Connected to you all, I am
Happy
I love you.
\(愛▽愛)/
~~~
“Sometimes I feel bad lying like that.”
Koichi arches an eyebrow but otherwise tries to keep his poker face. Even if they’re not in the hot seats anymore, the show is still in the middle of taping. As discreetly as possible, he leans over to whisper to his partner, mindful of where the cameras are. “That’s a first.”
Tsuyoshi brings a hand up to mask his guilty smile, not even hiding the fact that the KinKi Kids are whispering like a couple of bad children at the back of the class while Tamori pleasantly chats with the girl idol group du jour in front of them. “What kind of mental image do you have of me?”
‘A complex one,’ is what Koichi thinks. What he says is, “It’s fine. Lord Byron says that a lie is just the truth in masquerade.”
The younger Domoto’s grin grows behind his hand, eyes taking on that troublesome twinkle that usually means teasing is imminent. He kind of wants to ask if Koichi had actually read any Byron or if it was another case of his amusingly strong memory for random trivia. In fact, he’s already leaning in to say as much when he hears Koichi mutter out of the side of his mouth. “If it’s such a big deal to you, we can turn it into the truth.”
Tsuyoshi finally turns his face away from the cameras to look at his partner, trying to gauge just how much of that suggestion was irritable posturing. Koichi is resolutely facing forward, eyes hopping across the other guests, the Music Station staff, the stage--everything that isn’t his partner. He’s fiddling with his thumbs absently, and after a good fifteen seconds under Tsuyoshi’s scrutiny, Koichi gulps and frowns.
Smiling, Tsuyoshi waits until he hears Takeuchi ask the current guests to go to standby before responding, letting the ensuing roar of applause cover his words. “No way. If I’m buying that toothbrush, I’m going to use it.”
Now it’s Koichi’s turn to hide his smile, head ducking as the music blares to life around them. The song is a catchy pop beat, all bubblegum pink and girl power and just loud enough to necessitate Koichi leaning in until his mouth is mere centimeters from Tsuyoshi’s ear. “Good,” he chuckles, voice deep and relaxed and surprisingly soft. “Being a liar is more fun, anyway.”
Rating: G
Group/Pairing: KinKi Kids (implied Ko/Tsu) with some random Nagase
Warnings: images, general weirdness
Notes: this drabble jumped out at me from the get-go and my mind went wild. Thank you to the mods for letting me tool around with the format, my beta for her help when she was so busy herself, and most importantly, kiayro for writing the original.
Link to Original Story: Totally trufax
Link to Original Writer: kiayro
It’s a common misconception that Koichi and Tsuyoshi don’t have each other’s phone numbers. Even with the excuse of seeing each other often enough that phone calls aren’t necessary, it would be silly not to have their partner’s numbers, if for no other reason than emergency’s sake. They’re pretty sure that their fans know by now not to believe half the things that come out of their mouths anyway, and to be honest, both Domotos enjoy the joke too much to let it die.
But as with most lies, there is a grain of truth hidden beneath the shiny exterior. Because while Koichi has Tsuyoshi’s phone number and Tsuyoshi has Koichi’s, they don’t call each other.
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 13:30 SUN
Subject: magic
When I look up I feel as if
I am connected to everything underneath the
Sun, no matter
How far away we are
~~~
Tsuyoshi scrubs his face irritably, trying unsuccessfully to work the stress out with his fingertips. This song is giving him more trouble than he’d expected, transitions morphing into something more pop than funk. He has no problem with pop--to say that that pop music has done him many favors in his lifetime would be a vast understatement--but it’s not the sound he’s looking for at the moment.
He sighs and digs himself out from the nest of instruments and papers and dog that he had constructed on the bed, heading to take a shower in hopes of it clearing the 4/4 time signature looping through his head.
One shower and a trip to the kitchen later, Tsuyoshi returns to his bedroom, cup of tea in his hand and towel wrapped around his head like a turban, only to notice his phone flashing at him from the bedside table. He climbs onto the bed, careful not to upset any of the objects cluttering his sheets, and sits down cross legged, pulling his phone to him.
There’s a new message from Koichi, and opening it reveals what looks to be Yara lying on the ground. He’s covered in stage blood, a prop sword tucked between his upper arm and chest and a foot stepping on him triumphantly. It’s a silly picture only made worse by Yara sticking his tongue out comically while Koichi’s five centimeter heel pretends to dig into his stomach. Yonehana squatting next to Yara, shooting both thumbs up at the camera and grinning isn’t helping make the mood any more serious either. The caption below the picture reads, “now my dressing room will be quiet for once...”
Tsuyoshi laughs, glad to see SHOCK rehearsals are proceeding as usual, and texts back a demand that Koichi immediately send apologies to Tackey and Butoukan. When he looks back to the papers he’d been scribbling notations down on, he finds himself thinking that maybe, just this once, he’ll let the pop song stay a pop song.
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 15:22 TUE
Subject: in memoriam
Yesterday can be found in pieces all around us.
Of course, it’s up to us to decide whether we
Understand it or overlook it
~~~
Koichi doesn’t make phone calls often, and texts even less frequently. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to work a cell phone; no matter how much the people around him tease for being mentally antiquated, Koichi can function in the 21st century like a capable adult. The issue is that he finds texting terribly tedious. He’s never been strong with expressing himself verbally, can’t hide his thoughts and emotions in layers of flowery words and riddles the way Tsuyoshi does. Years in the entertainment industry has helped him combat his innate shyness to an extent, but when the cameras aren’t on, he prefers the tranquility that silence brings.
When he does choose to text people, he mostly speaks in images. Koichi has always found much comfort in the idea that a picture is worth a thousand words. What would take him two paragraphs of rambling to explain poorly he can capture in a single push of a button, moments and emotions trapped in a single image, each pixel like a word in its own right. Mostly he takes snapshots of whatever he’s doing at the moment or things he finds particularly amusing. To his delight, there’s a lot of overlap between the two.
Koichi smiles as he scrolls through his images on his phone, a mishmash of photos taken by himself and those that have been sent to him, primarily from Tsuyoshi. Most of them will be deleted eventually--he doesn’t need to keep a picture of his lunch from three days ago or his manager passed out drunk at the table over dinner--but a few will get downloaded to his computer and tucked away for the rare moments when he feels like indulging in a little nostalgia.
Koichi looks away from his phone at the sound of nails clacking against the wood floor of his apartment. Pan is trotting up to him, a piece of sheet music that is nearly as big as her own body held in her tiny jaws. It’s clear by the wag of her tail and the way her paws can’t seem to keep still that she wants to play, and when Koichi moves on the couch she skitters away, paper wafting up over her head like a sail in a tailwind.
“Pan,” he coos, trying to lure her back with a honeyed voice and a couple pats on the floor. She takes a few steps forward but jumps back when he finally stands, running back in a circle, tail waggling happily. Koichi grins and follows, pulling his phone up to snap a shot of his playful puppy. Between the shake of his own hand and Pan’s inability to stand still, it takes a couple tries before he gets a clear enough picture, but once he does he puts it in a message labled “parade or boat?” and addresses it to Tsuyoshi. The message sent, he throws his phone back on his couch and takes to chasing Pan in earnest, not content in merely taking pictures of his happiness.
~~~
From: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
To: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
Time: 19:07 THU
Subject: i told you i eat
but it’s too spicy......!!!!!
~~~
Koichi has Tsuyoshi listed as E.T. in his phone address book. It’s been that way through multiple phone and number changes; so long that Koichi can’t remember what sparked the nickname in the first place, just that it fits.
Tsuyoshi’s name for Koichi changes with the weather, as mercurial as Tsuyoshi’s choice in hairstyles. Last month he was The Theory of Relativity. Currently he’s The First Dream of the New Year. Tsuyoshi feels that tomorrow he might be Master Roshi, but then it might be sunny and Head Lamp would suit him better. If all else fails, there’s always Strawberry to fall back on.
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 18:19 WED
Subject: sight
When you look into my
Eyes, do you see the real me or the
Reflections of
Everyone else?
~~~
Koichi takes a gulp off his beer, watches the meat sizzle, pop, and brown on the hotplate in front of him, and swats at Nagase when he tries to swipe most of the gyuutan.
The two idols are sitting in one of the private rooms at Nagase’s favorite yakiniku place. Despite the lack of onlookers, Koichi still has his Chrome Hearts cap pulled low on his forehead, eyes disappearing under the shadowy bill of his hat. Nagase has a baseball cap on as well, though the fact that he has it on backwards does little to help disguise him.
They don’t talk much, but then they’ve never really had to, just enjoying being in each other’s company. Occasionally one might comment on the food, or relate a random anecdote from work, but for the most part they eat in a comfortable silence.
At least, until the calm atmosphere is disrupted by the sound of Koichi’s phone going off. He ignores it at first, but Nagase starts making faces at him until Koichi reaches for his discarded jacket and digs the beeping device out from one of its pockets. Flipping open the phone reveals one new message from ‘E.T.’ titled “shoes.”
Koichi’s lips are trying to work up into a lopsided grin but he fights the urge, maintaining his nonchalant expression as he opens the message.
It’s a picture of Kenshiro snoozing on the grass. Next to him are a pair of beat up white Adidas, legs clad in the red-purple-green-orange striped socks that can only belong to Tsuyoshi leading from the shoes and out of the frame. On the toe of one of the sneakers is what looks to be a deer cracker with an empty wrapper lying discarded between the shoes and the dachshund. Koichi scrolls down for the small novel he expects under the message.
Happiness is the realization that
Even though we are all different, we all will
Return to the same
Earth
Koichi no longer chooses to fight the quirking of his lips, letting the smile unravel across his face like a white flag. The message is a little dark and a little strange but wholly sentimental. How very Tsuyoshi.
“‘Sup?” Nagase asks, left cheek bulging full of food like a chipmunk storing nuts for winter, and bowl and chopstick hovering near his mouth, ready to shovel more rice in. There’s still gyuutan on the plate, but now it looks like there’s a lot less beef than there was before Koichi checked his phone. Part of Koichi wonders if that’s more than a coincidence.
Domoto shakes his head and shuts the phone with a snap! Placing the phone in his lap, he reaches for his discarded chopsticks and puts the remaining gyuutan on the side of the hotplate closest to him. “Messages from outer space.”
~~~
From: bigakusan@softbank.ne.jp
To: dkferrari79@docomo.ne.jp
Time: 04:51 FRI
Subject: (none)
~~~
Tsuyoshi swats at his alarm clock, fumbling blindly for a few moments as his fingers struggle to achieve some level of dexterity so soon after waking. The offending device is turned off but by that time the damage has been done; he’s awake--horribly, terribly, frustratingly awake--and knows that he has to stay that way for a while lest he be late for work for the third time this week.
Still, it takes him several attempts before he finally works up the strength to roll out of bed, eyes still mostly closed as he makes his way to the bathroom. He hadn’t managed to fall asleep until close to six in the morning, and his alarm was set for nine. Tsuyoshi grumbles incoherent curses as he barely escapes tripping over Kenshiro. The world is a lot harder to deal with on only three hours of sleep.
Tsuyoshi often wonders if he would be better off without the medication. If he thinks hard enough, he can vaguely recall a time when his sleepless nights were due to the folly of youth and a demanding schedule, not a chemically-induced side effect of trying to regulate his anxiety. On more than one occasion, he has considered saying to hell with the drugs, but he knows better than that, knows what will happen if he lets his emotions go unchecked. Being able to breathe and function like a “normal” adult is worth a few sleepless nights.
There isn’t enough time for a shower, so Tsuyoshi washes his face, throws on some clean clothes, and searches for a hat to hide his massive case of bedhead. The stylists will primp and prod him until he’s presentable for television anyway, so there really was no point in doing it himself.
He’s in the middle of packing his bag for the day when he notices the message icon blinking on his phone. Two of the messages are from his manager, no doubt pleading with him to be on time for their Music Station shooting, while the third is from ‘Master Roshi.’ Tsuyoshi snorts when he sees it; that name will definitely be staying for a while. Ignoring his manager’s plaintive texts for now, he opens Koichi’s message, noting that it had come less than two hours after Tsuyoshi had finally gone to bed.
Tsuyoshi is greeted with the image of two toothbrushes on what seems to be a bathroom counter. One is old, the bristles worn out and warped, fanning out at the edges; the other is still in its plastic packaging, looking new and fresh and out of place next to its older counterpart. Beneath the image is a single line of text, curt and to the point as Koichi’s messages always are.
You owe me 330￥
Tsuyoshi grins and puts on his shoes, wondering if Koichi will settle for being bought dinner instead.
~~~
Love Fighter
Keeps on raining...
Of course, behind the clouds, the sky is still blue
In knowing that I am
Connected to you all, I am
Happy
I love you.
\(愛▽愛)/
~~~
“Sometimes I feel bad lying like that.”
Koichi arches an eyebrow but otherwise tries to keep his poker face. Even if they’re not in the hot seats anymore, the show is still in the middle of taping. As discreetly as possible, he leans over to whisper to his partner, mindful of where the cameras are. “That’s a first.”
Tsuyoshi brings a hand up to mask his guilty smile, not even hiding the fact that the KinKi Kids are whispering like a couple of bad children at the back of the class while Tamori pleasantly chats with the girl idol group du jour in front of them. “What kind of mental image do you have of me?”
‘A complex one,’ is what Koichi thinks. What he says is, “It’s fine. Lord Byron says that a lie is just the truth in masquerade.”
The younger Domoto’s grin grows behind his hand, eyes taking on that troublesome twinkle that usually means teasing is imminent. He kind of wants to ask if Koichi had actually read any Byron or if it was another case of his amusingly strong memory for random trivia. In fact, he’s already leaning in to say as much when he hears Koichi mutter out of the side of his mouth. “If it’s such a big deal to you, we can turn it into the truth.”
Tsuyoshi finally turns his face away from the cameras to look at his partner, trying to gauge just how much of that suggestion was irritable posturing. Koichi is resolutely facing forward, eyes hopping across the other guests, the Music Station staff, the stage--everything that isn’t his partner. He’s fiddling with his thumbs absently, and after a good fifteen seconds under Tsuyoshi’s scrutiny, Koichi gulps and frowns.
Smiling, Tsuyoshi waits until he hears Takeuchi ask the current guests to go to standby before responding, letting the ensuing roar of applause cover his words. “No way. If I’m buying that toothbrush, I’m going to use it.”
Now it’s Koichi’s turn to hide his smile, head ducking as the music blares to life around them. The song is a catchy pop beat, all bubblegum pink and girl power and just loud enough to necessitate Koichi leaning in until his mouth is mere centimeters from Tsuyoshi’s ear. “Good,” he chuckles, voice deep and relaxed and surprisingly soft. “Being a liar is more fun, anyway.”