Arashi: Like the Stars, Part 2
AUTHOR: Marineko/mylittlecthulhu
FANDOM: Arashi
PAIRING: Juntoshi
RATING: PG
DATE: September 26th, 2011
WORD COUNT: 14,400
NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: This is a work of fiction. Written for the Japan Earthquake & Tsunami Relief Fund. Thank you, iphridian for donating, and I'm sorry for the time I took working on this!
The night isn’t silent - it never had been, with the sounds of frogs, insects, cats, and the occasional bird outside. But these sounds don’t bother Satoshi, whose ears are concentrating on the sound of Jun’s even breathing, whose eyes watch as Jun’s chest rise and fall. His finger traces the outline of Jun’s face, thinking about how Jun had grown into his looks, how he would never forget that face, even if they should never meet again.
After awhile, he notices the change in Jun’s breathing, and asks, “you’re awake?”
Jun doesn’t reply, but shifts to bury his head in the crook of Satoshi’s neck. He breathes in deeply, and lets his breath go in a long sigh.
“Do you think we’ll meet again?” Jun asks, pulling back to look at Satoshi.
“Probably not.”
“I could move to Edo - find work there…”
“Don’t.” His voice comes out harsher than he intended, and Jun looks stricken. “I have a family there,” he reminds Jun, gentler this time, but no less firm.
“I don’t mean -” Jun looks distressed, as he tries to explain. “I wasn’t thinking of…”
“I know.” Jun just wants to be in his life - Jun isn’t asking to be his lover. “But I think this place suits you best. You won’t be happy there - it isn’t a kind place.” He braces for an argument, but Jun just backs off, subdued. Satoshi doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.
“So we’re never going to see each other again.”
“Yes, we are,” he says, surprising even himself at how sure he sounds. “Even if our paths will no longer cross in this lifetime, we’ll still have the next one. We’ll find each other - you’ll see.”
There are a lot of things that Ohno doesn’t understand - like why he’s the one who is getting the flashbacks, and not Jun. Like why they keep finding each other, time after time.
Maybe everything really is just in his head. Maybe Sho’s right, and he should be seeing a different kind of doctor.
His spacing out and lack of sleep is taking a backseat in Arashi’s list of worries, though - with Jun’s news, everyone’s getting frantic. They’re worrying about what to tell their fans, and how. They’re worrying about rumours, because there would surely be a tabloid or two that would take the opportunity to hint that there’s dissent within Arashi. They’re worrying about Jun being on his own for so long. They’re worrying about how they’re going to get through their next concert without Jun keeping everything together. They’re worrying that with one person short for too long a time, they’re going to fall apart.
“It’s just one year,” Jun promises. “Two, at the most. I’m definitely coming back.” He looks at Ohno when he says this; Ohno nods.
“Two years isn’t a long time,” he agrees. What’s two years, he thinks, when he’s been apart from Jun longer than that before?
“You know, Oh-chan,” Nino says, falling in step with him as they walk to where their cars are waiting. “A lot of things can happen in two years.”
“Nothing that would change us as a group so drastically.”
“You think?” Nino stops, reaching out and pulling Ohno to a stop, too. “What if he likes it there, and doesn’t want to come back?” he asks. “What if he meets some girl there, some foreigner, and wants to get married? What if - I don’t know, what if an accident happens, and he gets hurt?”
Ohno thinks about the possibilities. All of those are things that he’d rather not consider, though, because he doesn’t know what he would do if they happened. All he says is, “if it happens, then it happens.”
“Riida -”
“He’ll be back,” he tells Nino, and starts walking again. “Other things may happen, sure, but he’ll be back.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Because nothing could change what he has with me, Ohno wants to say, but bites back his words. Even Jun has yet to acknowledge the strange bond between them; he isn’t going to talk about it with Nino. “I just know,” he says.
Even if our paths will no longer cross in this lifetime, we’ll still have the next one.
Things aren’t even that grim, Ohno reminds himself. They’re still in the same company, even if the worst happens and Jun decides to leave Arashi. And it isn’t like they aren’t going to be busy enough coping without Jun - time would fly by, and Jun would be back before they knew it.
After they were done for the day, Jun asks if everyone had time for dinner together, but both Sho and Nino had plans, so the remaining three went instead. Ohno enjoys seeing Jun with Aiba, and he doesn’t say much throughout dinner, watching instead how Jun instantly relaxes as Aiba makes him laugh - sometimes on purpose, sometimes purely accidental.
He goes through dinner only adding a word or two, although he supposes that they count for a lot, since he makes Aiba laugh, too. He offers to pay the bill, but Jun says that he should do it since he’s the one who had asked them out, and while they’re talking about it Aiba slips away and pays.
They linger in front of the restaurant, and Jun suggests they go somewhere else. Aiba says that he needs to go, and leaves them. Ohno looks at Jun, who looks back thoughtfully.
“Hey,” Jun says. “Want to go for a drive?”
Ohno and Aiba aren’t the only ones who are hanging out with Jun as much as they could; Jun had gone out with Sho a couple of times, and had even gone over to Nino’s. Sho had taken Jun to one of his favourite places, which Jun now drives Ohno to. There’s nothing there - just a clearing and a view of the sea. It’s a private place, so Ohno understands the appeal of being somewhere where one doesn’t have to worry about fans, but still. It isn’t until they’re sitting on the ground, and Jun points above them, that he gets it.
The night sky is clear, and the starts above them shine brighter than any stage he knows.
“Pretty,” he comments, noticing that Jun is waiting for him to say something.
“Riida.” Jun sounds hesitant. “Are you really okay with me leaving?”
He smiles. “Wasn’t I the one who told you to go?”
“Yeah, but…” Jun sighs. “Never mind.”
Remembering how they have sat next to each other the same way once, and what the other-Jun had done, Ohno’s hand reaches out to pull Jun towards him. Even as their lips meet, he hears a muffled, “what the fuck -” from the other man, feels the resistance in the rigid way Jun is holding himself, like he’s just waiting for the right moment to push Ohno away. But then there’s a subtle shift, and he could feel Jun softening, could hear the catch of breath when his lips left Jun’s for air, Jun’s fingers tightening on his sleeves to pull him back in for an encore.
When they part for a second time, there is silence except for their breathing, and it takes a moment for Jun to realise that his fingers are still holding on to Ohno’s shirt, and he lets go.
“What was that about?” Jun asks.
“I’ll tell you when you come back.”
He isn’t very good at sneaking out, Satoshi discovers, as he knocks over the stack of records when he’s trying to get his shoes.
He stands still, waiting to see if he had woken anyone up. Nothing happens; it’s a good thing that his parents are heavy sleepers.
He bends over to get his shoes, when he hears Jun’s voice behind him.
“Where’re you going, Satoshi?”
He wavers, hovering between lie and truth, before settling on something in between. “Out. Go back to sleep.”
Jun looks at the shoes in his hand. “I’ll go with you.”
“No,” he insists. “You can’t.”
This makes Jun hesitate, before asking tremulously, “you’re not coming back, are you?”
He swallows. “No.”
“I want to go with you.”
“No.”
“But why -”
“You have to look after Mama,” Satoshi interrupts, loud enough that they both turn to look in the direction of their parents’ bedroom. “I’m going,” he continues, in a softer voice.
“I hate you,” Jun says, but Satoshi just smiles back at Jun’s accusing glare. He’s on one side of the door and Jun is on the other. He knows that it isn’t that they can no longer see each other, but he also knows that the next step he takes away from Jun is going to change everything. He looks up, sees the blanket of stars over them, and a part of him marvels at how clear the night is, while another part thinks of how he is never going to forget that sight, and the hollowed guilt and loneliness that he feels but could not convey to Jun.
“We’ll always be connected,” he tells Jun. “You’ll see.”
He doesn’t really know, or believe in, what he’s saying, and he doesn’t even know what makes him say it, but at the moment, his words sounds truer than anything else he’d said.
“So that’s it?” Sho asks. “You’re just going to let him go.”
The two of them linger in Sho’s car, in the parking lot of Ohno’s apartment. Sho had offered to give him a ride back after recording that day, although now Ohno finds himself regretting that he took Sho up on the offer, and telling Sho the complete story in the first place.
He shrugs. It isn’t like he could think of anything else to do. And the decision had been made; even then, they’re seeing Jun less and less, as their youngest rush from meeting to meeting trying to finalise things, and figuring out how to tie up loose ends with Arashi before leaving. They haven’t yet made an official announcement, but rumours are already spreading, and as far as they’re concerned, they’ve started on something that’s irreversible. Nino keeps saying that it’s going to be the end of them, but Ohno doesn’t think he means it, and anyway, Sho and Aiba aren’t going to let that happen. Jun isn’t going to let that happen. Ohno, too - he would never let Arashi fall apart in Jun’s absence, because he knows the kind of guilt it would force Jun to carry around. So he smiles and cooperates when Jun talks about having one last concert with the five of them, even if he feels like he’s the one left carrying something heavy and unbearable inside him.
“You could tell him,” Sho says.
“I already did.”
“You could tell him how you really felt - what you really want.”
Ohno doesn’t have an answer to that.
“You don’t know that the dreams you’ve been having are real.” Sho speaks carefully, like he’s afraid of offending Ohno. “And even if they were real, then what? Does that mean you don’t have to try in this lifetime?”
“Try what, exactly?” Ohno asks. Sho shuts his mouth, unable to answer. “That’s the thing, Sho-kun. I don’t know what this means, either.” Liar, a voice in his head speaks up. But he pushes the thought away, and continues. “And I don’t know if it’s real, either. All I do know is I want Jun-kun to do what makes him happy, and if it means leaving us, then so be it.”
“Hey, stranger.”
Ohno takes his time turning from the window, and towards Jun. He smiles. “I thought you wouldn’t remember who I am,” he says, teasing.
“I should be the one saying that to you,” Jun replies. “I was gone for two weeks, and not once did you call or message me.”
“Was I supposed to?” Ohno asks innocently. Jun just laughs a little, shaking his head. Ohno takes the bag from Jun’s hand, and says, “The rest couldn’t come to pick you up, but Aiba wants us to go over to his family’s place for dinner in a few hours.”
Jun groans. “But it’s so far away,” he complains. “And what’s the point of designating you as the pick-up guy? You can’t drive.”
Ohno grins and tells Jun that he had procured one of the company drivers’ services for the night, and that Jun could sleep on the way to Chiba.
In the car, he asks about the meetings Jun had went overseas for, but Jun is surprisingly secretive about it. “You’ll see,” is all he says, seeming hesitant, nervous, and happy at the same time. Ohno finds himself resenting the fact that something that sends Jun away could make Jun seem so unsettled-in-a-good-way, but he tells himself that he should be happy for Jun.
“Did you get me any souvenirs, at least?”
Jun falls quiet for a moment, and just when Ohno is about to tell him that it’s alright if he forgot, Jun says, “the strangest thing happened when I was there.”
Jun had a couple of free days when he was away, which he had spent catching up with friends and looking for souvenirs. When he finds the small, overcrowded antique bookshop he goes in immediately, thinking that he’d be able to find something old and suitably impressive for Sho, something quirky for Nino and Aiba, and something with nice illustrations for Ohno. It would definitely be different than his usual gifts.
He spends an hour looking through books, finding a nice first edition that Sho might like, and a book from an old children’s non-fiction series with gorgeous animal illustrations that he thinks both Aiba and Ohno would like. It takes him longer to find something for Nino, but he settles on a book about creating war games by an author whose name he’s heard of, but can’t place. He’s pretty sure that Nino would know. He’s still trying to decide whether to give the picture book to Aiba or Ohno, when he knocks over a small stack of books.
When he piles them back up, apologising to the staff, alternating between Japanese and English, one of the books catches his attention. He picks it up, and wonders why he feels like something cold is running down his spine.
“Oh!” The staff exclaims. “Do you know that the writer of that book is Japanese?”
He blinks at her, only understanding the last part of her words. She repeats her words, more slowly the second time. When he understands, he looks at the name on the book, but it isn’t a Japanese name.
“Oh, that’s a pseudonym. A nickname? The author was the protégé of a famous artist from back then -” the staff rattles off a name that only sounds vaguely familiar, although he’s sure that Ohno has heard of it - “and they both emigrated here when the author was only fourteen. He wrote and drew this book when he was sixteen!” Her eyes are bright; Jun only catches a bit of what she’s saying, but he could see that she’s a big fan.
He looks back down at the book in his hand - he couldn’t deny that it pulls at him, somehow. Maybe he’s homesick, he thinks.
“I’ll take this,” he tells her. The pictures are pretty enough, and he still needs a present for Ohno.
He looks up the author/illustrator when he’s back at the hotel. He finds out that the author’s real name had been Uehara Satoshi. The author had died very young, and only published the one book, but it haunts him, because it’s about two brothers, whose names are Satoshi and Jun.
Ohno looks at the book Jun gives him in awe. “So I - the other-me - made it,” he murmurs. He looks at Jun. “This means that it was real.”
“What is?” Jun isn’t sure that he understands what’s going on, but he knows that he finds Ohno’s words troubling.
“This. Us.” Ohno flips through the book. “Did you realise that this book is about us?”
“Riida,” Jun speaks, in the most rational voice he could muster, “this book was published before we were even born. It just has characters with our names, that’s all.”
Ohno shakes his head, and looks like he’s about to argue, but then changes his mind. “Thank you for finding this,” he says. “I never even thought of looking them up to find if they’re real.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ohno’s smile is warm, but a little resigned, and a little sad. “That’s okay.”
Jun finds himself wishing that he understands.
We’ve known each other for a long time. More than a decade, or decades. A century, maybe longer.
Ohno’s words wouldn’t leave his mind, and he’s distracted throughout his meetings all day. His manager is starting to get impatient with him, but his thoughts keep going back to the book he had found, and the niggling feeling that he had forgotten something important.
It’s frustrating, like the answer is right there before him and he just can’t see it, a word at the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite grasp no matter what he does.
He thinks of the one night Ohno had kissed him, and said that they would talk about it after he came back. It would be months still before he even leaves, and he’s already terrified of the idea of never seeing any of them for such a long stretch of time. When he thinks of Ohno, a kind of bitterness wells up in him, a resentment that he can’t quite place, and he attributes it to Ohno always saying and doing things he doesn’t mean. Things like telling pretty stories that are improbable. Things like kissing Jun.
Even though he’d never admit it, he’s afraid of leaving Ohno the most, because he’s afraid of finding out how much Ohno really means to him.
He’s too old to be climbing trees like a child, so he leans against the tree trunk, his head raised to see above the crowd gathering to see the procession leave. He’s tired; he had hardly slept the night before and he had started work early, with only a short break that he’s spending pushing through crowds to get to the exact same tree he had been on the first time he had seen Satoshi.
That day is going to be the last day he’ll see Satoshi, so he supposes that it’s fitting. He stands still, and watches, as the procession leaves, and the crowd disperses, and he’s all alone. Only then he closes his eyes, and tries to imagine a future where he no longer waits for Satoshi.
“Matsumoto-kun!” His manager’s voice is impatient, and he sits up immediately, trying to clear the fog of sleep.
“I’m very sorry,” he murmurs, and he sounds sorry. “I know I’ve been out of it all day.” Usually he’d wait and listen through his manager’s lecture, but he feels jumpy and (suddenly) wide awake, and he can’t wait because he doesn’t want any part of his dream to disappear. “Do you know where Riida would be right now?”
“Ohno-kun?” His manager looks perplexed, but like all their managers, he keeps a copy of the others’ schedules. He checks it, and tells Jun that Ohno is at a photo shoot with Sho for Non-No, and Jun is out of the door before he could say anything else.
Years in the future, he would still say that he has no idea how he had got to the studio, especially without being stopped even once. Perhaps he had been; he wouldn’t know, because he has no memory of it. The next thing he knows, he’s bursting through the studio doors, and everyone looks bewildered to see him there. Sho and Ohno are in a fake indoor garden or a florist’s, Jun has no idea which, and Sho’s holding out a large bouquet to Ohno. His hand drops to his side at the interruption, but he doesn’t drop the flowers, to his credit.
“Jun,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“Riida,” he manages. “I need to talk to Riida.”
Confused, Sho just looks at Ohno, who is staring at the bouquet for some reason. “We’re in the middle of a shoot, Jun-kun,” he says, gentle but reproachful. “We can talk later.”
“Then I’ll wait,” Jun insists, and Ohno lets out a long sigh, before apologising to Sho and the staff, and walking away from the set. He takes Jun’s elbow, and leads the younger man to the dressing room.
“What is it?” Ohno asks. He looks annoyed, but also worried. “What happened?”
“It’s real, isn’t it?” On his way to the studio he keeps getting flashes of the past - not full fragments of memories, the way the first flashback was like, but something akin to snapshots, except that he could feel everything. It had been terribly unsettling, to have a memory of them as young boys - brothers - playing with other children in one second, and a memory of a strangely beautiful Satoshi undressing him, the next. He reddens as he remembers; it’s definitely strange to remember something like that with Ohno when in real life - in this life, he corrects himself - all they’ve done is to share a kiss. It’s strange, because he had woken up that morning feeling nothing for Ohno but the love he’d always had, one reserved for brothers, for close friends, for crushes one hadn’t quite succeeded in killing off, and now, not even a full day later, he’s bombarded with a slew of new feelings, too much too fast. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ohno, realising that he must be remembering, softens. “I did tell you,” he reminds Jun.
Jun shakes his head. “No,” he amends. “I meant, why didn’t you tell me - why didn’t make me understand, make me believe you?”
“If you hadn’t remembered,” he says, “would you really have believed me?”
This gives Jun a pause. “I suppose not.”
Ohno nods; Jun already understands his point. He feels relief that he isn’t the only one who knows about their past, but he still isn’t sure what they’re supposed to do about it.
Jun apparently feels the same. He shifts uncomfortably, before asking, “Can I hold you?”
Ohno still looks puzzled when Jun engulfs him in a hug. “Jun-kun?”
“Sorry,” Jun says, not letting go. “I just had so many flashbacks on my way here, and they make me feel like I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
Jun does pull back slightly after his words, however, and they look at each other wordlessly for a moment, before Jun leans in again. Ohno’s hand reaches out and stops Jun before their lips could meet.
“I have a shoot to finish,” he says. “And you’re leaving.”
Ohno doesn’t see Jun at all during the following week - even when the whole band are together, he never gets to talk to Jun, because the other three would be there between them during filming, and Jun always disappears right after. At first the fact doesn’t seem so important, because he’s busy, and he knows that Jun is even busier. But as the second week rolls around he realises that Jun could be avoiding him.
He thinks about simply letting Jun do so; perhaps it would make things simpler all around. But in the end he finds himself heading towards their greenroom when he knows that no one should be around but Jun, who would be preparing for another one of his meetings.
Jun, of course, is surprised to see him.
Ohno doesn’t say anything. He finds himself a seat, planting himself on the sofa, like he’s supposed to be there.
“Riida,” Jun says, slowly. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here today.”
“Is that so?”
“You don’t have work until four hours from now.”
Jun knows his schedule better than he does. He nods. “That doesn’t mean I’m not supposed to be here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have to be here, don’t I, if it’s the only way for me to see Jun-kun?”
Jun looks startled at this. He lets out a resigned sigh, and goes over to him. He turns when Jun sits next to him.
“Now you want to talk about this?”
Ohno doesn’t answer, holding out his hand instead. Automatically, like he doesn’t need to think about it at all, Jun takes it, threading his fingers with Ohno’s.
“This feels so natural,” he says. “Everything we do - talking, hugging - even kissing. It all comes so naturally, like it’s meant. It’s always been like that, but now we know why.”
“It’s kind of scary,” Ohno says, putting into words what Jun hadn’t.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” Jun admits. “It’s almost like - we don’t even have a choice.”
“We always have a choice,” Ohno replies. “To stay or to leave. To let this happen, or to break the cycle.”
Jun’s isn’t convinced. “One of us always leaves,” he says. “One way or another.”
“Then perhaps it’s better if we don’t let this happen.” But Jun shakes his head.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean - one of us always leaves, but that doesn’t mean we have to. Don’t you see? Maybe breaking the cycle doesn’t mean not letting this happen. Maybe we don’t really have a choice about that - I’m already halfway in love with you. Maybe breaking the cycle means not leaving.”
“But you are leaving,” Ohno points out.
Jun looks like he just remembered the fact, himself. “Oh,” he says softly. “I suppose I am.” He looks so unhappy with the thought that Ohno pulls him closer, into a slow, lazy kiss. He feels something tighten in his chest, and he wonders if it’s the anticipation of pain from their separation, or the memory of it resurfacing. When they break apart, Jun doesn’t pull away, letting Ohno hold him, murmuring that he has twenty minutes before he absolutely has to leave for his meeting.
Ohno ignores the words, concentrating on the taste of Jun that still lingers, the feel of Jun in his arms.
It feels like coming home.
Jun leaves again, a few days after their conversation. This time Ohno doesn’t really know about it beforehand and finds it hard to swallow down the swell of panic caught in his throat. It’s just a couple of meetings, Jun tells him, and he’ll be back before the week is over. Still he insists on spending time together before Jun leaves, even though the last day they filmed two shows back to back, headed off to separate magazine interviews, and Jun had more meetings in Tokyo itself. By the time both of them are done, the day is over, and Jun takes Ohno to his place for a late night/early morning supper. Ohno helps Jun pack for the trip, and although he gets in the way more than helps - Jun has to re-fold shirts and rearrange everything after - Jun doesn’t seem to mind.
“Do you remember,” Ohno asks, “that you packed for me, every time I had to leave?” He’s speaking of the other life, when they only spent half of each year in each other’s company, before Ohno leaves for good.
Jun’s hand, holding a book he’s trying to find space for in his suitcase, hovers for a moment, before falling uselessly to his side. “I remember,” he says.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Packing is easy,” Jun answers, and starts to explain, but Ohno stops him with a small shake of the head.
“That’s not what I mean,” he says.
“I know.” Jun’s reply is sober, and he continues packing. “But, you know, crying and making a scene isn’t helpful.”
Ohno laughs at that. “I don’t think I know how to do that, either.” He watches as Jun finally manages to put everything in, and closes the suitcase. He thinks about watching Jun leave, and all the times Jun had watched him leave. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Jun pauses at that. “You’re not them,” he says. “And it wasn’t like they thought they had any other choice.” He stands. “I’m done. There’s only a few hours before I have to leave for the airport, but you’ll stay, won’t you?”
“I’ll be with you all the way to the airport,” Ohno promises. “You should get some sleep, though.”
Both of them are too tired, and sleep comes easily, although Ohno gets restless and wakes up a lot. Sometimes when he wakes, it wakes Jun, who, getting impatient and wanting to get back to sleep, finally pulls Ohno in his arms and tells him to sleep, or else.
“But it’s hard,” Ohno murmurs, his voice low enough that Jun wouldn’t hear, but Jun shifts anyway, and speaks.
“Do you remember the stars?” he asks.
“When?”
“All of the times. They’re always there, aren’t they? We’re like that, too.”
“They aren’t the same stars, though,” Ohno reminds Jun. “Stars die.”
“And new ones appear. No matter how much time passes, or how much things change here, how many people we become, we’re always going to be able to look up, and see them.” Ohno makes a humming noise in assent, and Jun continues, “We’re like that. We’re not the same people from those other times, either. Stars die, stars get born - but they won’t disappear, and neither shall we.”
Ohno laughs, high and almost giggly, but short. “We’re not dying yet, Jun-kun.”
“Exactly. This is just one week. I’ll be back. There’s nothing to worry about, so go to sleep.”
One week, Ohno thinks. Perhaps one week would be manageable. He’s pretty sure that they’ve been separated for that long, and longer, before - in fact, he knows that they have - but he feels like he’s forgotten what it’s like. Separation takes on a different perspective when one remembers more permanent partings.
One week is manageable, he tells himself. Because if it isn’t, then how is he going to manage an entire year, or more?
The alarm that wakes him up in the morning sounds different, and when his arm reaches out to shut it up he finds that it isn’t there. He sits up, disoriented, and it takes him a few seconds to remember that he’s at Jun’s place. The alarm gets louder, and he’s relieved when Jun strides over to switch it off with one hand, the other holding a book.
“I don’t think you need yet another book, Jun-kun,” he says helpfully. “You’ve already squeezed in two in your suitcase, and you’re taking a manga and a novel in your carry on bag.”
“No, that’s not it,” Jun replies distractedly. “There’s something in here…” he flips through the book, looking for something. “I had a flashback this morning - you said that we’ll always be connected - and it reminded me of something… aha!” He looks triumphant as he finds what he’s looking for, and holds it out for Ohno to see.
Ohno tries to look impressed, but doesn’t really understand. “It’s a poem,” he says.
Nodding, Jun explains, “it’s about goodbyes and separation - the narrator is leaving the person he loves, and he’s telling them not to be sad, because they’re always connected. Read this part.” He points out the stanza, and Ohno obliges. The verse likens the connection between the lovers as something that can’t be broken, two stars that gravitate around each other, two arms that may be able to stretch and circle around each other, but never let go completely, and always finding their way back to each other.
“Do you think I might have written this?” Ohno asks, since it mirrors his thoughts about the thing that ties him to Jun.
Laughing, Jun shakes his head. “This was only published a couple of years ago, so unless you lead a double life as a writer, I don’t think so.”
“Oh.” He looks back at the book, thinking that it’s his time to say goodbye, and to wait. Saying it out loud would only upset Jun, though, so he changes the subject, asking if they’re having breakfast before they leave for the airport.
“One day,” Satoshi says, “I’m going to write my own comics.” He had just finished reading the latest instalment depicting the adventures of Ryusuke, or Ryu, the boy who travels around Japan, surviving on his wit and adventurous nature. Jun, uninterested, looks over from his homework.
“Father’s never going to let you. He thinks that artists are dirt-poor and unkempt. He’ll kick you out of the house before he lets you become one.”
“So I’ll leave the house before he gets a chance to do that,” Satoshi replies, unconcerned. When Jun frowns, he adds, “I’m just kidding. I’m not going to leave you, okay?”
Jun doesn’t say anything, and turns back to his work, but he finds himself unable to concentrate. He thinks that Satoshi is wrong, because Satoshi always leaves - then he asks himself why he thinks that, and comes up with nothing. So he tells himself that he’s just worrying too much and imagining things, and brushes off the unnamed dread that begins to coil in him.
To say that the week flies by would be an exaggeration, but Ohno finds it easier than he had expected. Sho always makes sure to be there with him at all times, talking his mouth off and not letting Ohno get a word in edgewise, which is a good thing because he never really knows how to respond to all the things Sho talks about. But he enjoys listening to Sho - he always had.
Nino is… well, Nino. He doesn’t hold back on any of his barbs or jabs, despite Aiba elbowing him when he hints on Ohno missing Jun. Ohno doesn’t really mind; it’s Nino’s way of showing concern, he thinks. And if any of the words had stung, then all is forgiven anyway when, at the end of the day, and in between takes, Nino clings to him whenever he gets the chance.
He appreciates Aiba the most, sometimes, because Aiba acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. It reminds him that he doesn’t have time to indulge in things like missing Jun, when they all have work to do. He also likes it best when Aiba makes everyone laugh, how Aiba seems to have more energy than he could possibly contain, and when they go out after work, just the two of them, how Aiba could sometimes seem like a different person, someone who understands that he just wants company, and silence.
It reminds him how much he loves them, all of them, and it makes him realise that this is the lifetime he wants to treasure the most. Because even if he does find Jun again in the next (and it isn’t as if there’s a guarantee that he would, he reminds himself) he isn’t so sure about the rest of them, and they are people whose existence he wanted to always have near him.
He also thinks about the poem Jun had shown him, how separation isn’t really separation when there’s something connecting them - they’re just two stars orbiting each other, and if they should go off-course, gravity will bring them back.
A week may not be as difficult as he had thought, but a year is a different thing. The lines of the poem runs in his head, over and over, until he thinks he knows the answer, even though he hadn’t known that there had been a riddle in the first place.
On the fifth day they have a meeting about their upcoming concert, and they all find themselves wishing for Jun. They knew that Jun does most of the planning, but they’d never really considered how much work it is until they had to start on it themselves. By the end of the day they’ve all accomplished little, and had only exhaustion and annoyance and frustration to show for it. Aiba asks him out for drinks, since they both needed it by then, but he’s more tired than anything else and just wants to get home.
He finds Jun waiting for him, leaning awkwardly against the lobby wall. His luggage - the same one that Ohno had helped to pack - is still with him, lying by his feet.
He stops, and takes a few moments to determine that he isn’t imagining things. Then, aware that the concierge is looking, he acts like he’s been expecting Jun, and motions for the younger man to follow him up. It’s only when they’re both alone in the elevator that he speaks.
“What are you doing here?”
“Breaking the cycle.” Jun answers calmly, but Ohno knows him well enough to see that Jun is nervous - perhaps even scared. “I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”
“The drama -” Ohno stops when the elevator door stops, and one of his neighbours step in. She lives one floor below him, and while they hardly see each other he considers them in pretty friendly terms. But when he greets her, she just smiles politely and nods at him, and stares at the floor. He’s puzzled, until the elevator reaches her floor, and she glances at Jun before leaving.
“I think she’s a fan of yours,” he comments. Jun doesn’t answer, not in the mood to change the subject. When they finally reach his floor, Jun steps out first.
In his apartment, he heads straight to the kitchen, dropping his things at the nearest counter. Jun picks up his bag and hangs it up at the coat hanger behind his door.
“It’s funny,” Ohno says. “Once I thought that the reason I can’t tell you about how I felt was because of who we are. It would be too difficult, and anyway - I wasn’t supposed to like you, or to want you to like me. We’re idols. That’s not what we do.”
Jun smiles. “That’s exactly what we do, Riida.”
“Not in the way I mean,” he says, and Jun sighs; he understands. “But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” After missing out on each other in their previous lives, he had stopped caring about whether or not he was allowed to care for Jun - he already did, and his problem was what he was to do with how he felt. “You haven’t said why you’re here.”
“I did,” Jun tells him. “I said I’m breaking the cycle. Didn’t I?”
“That’s not really an answer.”
Ohno opens the fridge to get them drinks, but Jun asks another question that makes him forget what he’s doing. “Remember when I left, before last week? Well, after discussing things over, and doing their pilot episode, they decided that they wanted to keep me for at least two years.”
Ohno remembers saying that two years isn’t a long time, and wondered why he had a feeling even then that his words were going to come back to haunt him.
“A lot of things can happen in two years,” he says, thinking of what Nino had told him.
“I know.” The door to the fridge is still open, so Jun closes it. “That’s why I declined them.”
“So… that’s it? You’re just not going to do it? Can you even do that?”
“Not exactly.” Jun’s mouth twists into a grimace, as he admits, “I was completely chewed out by my manager, and just about everyone else involved on our side. And I already did the pilot with them, so they still want me to come back for a couple of episodes or so. I’ll just be a minor character, someone who’ll fade away early in the series.”
“How long would that take?”
“Not long. Just a few weeks, at most. Maybe not even that.”
Ohno looks at Jun, studying his face carefully. “And you’re okay with that.”
“Satoshi,” Jun starts, before stopping. Both of them are startled - Jun’s only called him that in their flashbacks. Jun hardly even calls him Oh-chan, the way Nino and Aiba do. Then Jun repeats himself. “Satoshi. Do you want me to leave?”
Honesty, Ohno reminds himself. Perhaps it’s the best way to go, at least in small doses. “No.” He sees the relief in the way Jun’s shoulders loosens, and relaxes, and he wonders - does Jun really think he wants him gone? “I just don’t want you to regret not chasing after something you want.”
“You did that,” Jun says, “in the other life. So tell me, did you think it was worth it?”
“I thought it was - at least, I think I thought it was; I don’t remember everything.” But the only thing that the other-him had published had been about Jun, so it’s obvious that the thought of his brother had never quite left his mind.
Jun nods. “You were so determined. I don’t think anything could have stopped you.” He leans against the kitchen counter, then, sighing a little. “When I remembered that, I realised that this is completely different. Sure, I wanted it - but I didn’t want it the way you had wanted your art, or the way I want other things, now. Things like Arashi, and like you. Us.”
“And what, exactly, is ‘us’?” Ohno turns to make himself busy with getting glasses out of cabinets, so that Jun wouldn’t see the smile on his face as he asked the question. It is a valid question, though - they had been many things in the past, but they’ve yet to decide what they are in the present, or what they want to be in the future.
He had already figured out his answer, while Jun was away, but he supposes that Jun needs to do it on his own, too.
Jun doesn’t disappoint, coming closer again, taking the glasses away from Ohno’s hands and putting them on the counter, before pulling Ohno into a loose hold. “We’re whatever we want us to be,” he says, bending over and dropping a light kiss at the hollow of Ohno’s throat. That part, Ohno hadn’t been expecting - he swallows, preparing to ask another question. Jun doesn’t let him, though, making him a little dazed by trailing more light kisses on his bare skin. It’s an invitation, Ohno realises, and he pushes at Jun’s chest gently, shifting their positions before taking charge, and kissing back.
It takes a long time before they’re reminded of their conversation again, and step away, a little more dishevelled and out of breath than before. He feels super-charged and electric, and he almost misses it when Jun says, “I take it that you feel the same.”
He laughs. He doesn’t know why, but the situation suddenly seems hilarious to him, and he laughs until he’s slightly hunched and holding his stomach, and Jun starts laughing along, more because it’s contagious than anything else.
Jun then says something about not being able to stay away, because isn’t that what the poem really meant - that he can’t stay away, and the answer is to break the cycle, and not leave.
Still chuckling - and still trying to figure out what is it that he finds funny - Ohno takes Jun’s hand, looks out the kitchen window into the night sky, and says, “I knew you’d figure it out, sooner or later.”
Stars die, and the ones that he’s looking at may not even exist any longer, but their light remains.
“Just like us,” he murmurs, his thought echoing the other-hims, and Jun looks up, too, and sees the stars, and understands.
“Just like us,” Jun agrees.
~ the end ~
Back to Part One
Marineko's Notes:
First of all, I'm really sorry for how long I took on this fic! It got to a point where I thought if I didn't post it today, I never will, so I posted it. I really hope that it's okay. ^^;;
FANDOM: Arashi
PAIRING: Juntoshi
RATING: PG
DATE: September 26th, 2011
WORD COUNT: 14,400
NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: This is a work of fiction. Written for the Japan Earthquake & Tsunami Relief Fund. Thank you, iphridian for donating, and I'm sorry for the time I took working on this!
The night isn’t silent - it never had been, with the sounds of frogs, insects, cats, and the occasional bird outside. But these sounds don’t bother Satoshi, whose ears are concentrating on the sound of Jun’s even breathing, whose eyes watch as Jun’s chest rise and fall. His finger traces the outline of Jun’s face, thinking about how Jun had grown into his looks, how he would never forget that face, even if they should never meet again.
After awhile, he notices the change in Jun’s breathing, and asks, “you’re awake?”
Jun doesn’t reply, but shifts to bury his head in the crook of Satoshi’s neck. He breathes in deeply, and lets his breath go in a long sigh.
“Do you think we’ll meet again?” Jun asks, pulling back to look at Satoshi.
“Probably not.”
“I could move to Edo - find work there…”
“Don’t.” His voice comes out harsher than he intended, and Jun looks stricken. “I have a family there,” he reminds Jun, gentler this time, but no less firm.
“I don’t mean -” Jun looks distressed, as he tries to explain. “I wasn’t thinking of…”
“I know.” Jun just wants to be in his life - Jun isn’t asking to be his lover. “But I think this place suits you best. You won’t be happy there - it isn’t a kind place.” He braces for an argument, but Jun just backs off, subdued. Satoshi doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.
“So we’re never going to see each other again.”
“Yes, we are,” he says, surprising even himself at how sure he sounds. “Even if our paths will no longer cross in this lifetime, we’ll still have the next one. We’ll find each other - you’ll see.”
There are a lot of things that Ohno doesn’t understand - like why he’s the one who is getting the flashbacks, and not Jun. Like why they keep finding each other, time after time.
Maybe everything really is just in his head. Maybe Sho’s right, and he should be seeing a different kind of doctor.
His spacing out and lack of sleep is taking a backseat in Arashi’s list of worries, though - with Jun’s news, everyone’s getting frantic. They’re worrying about what to tell their fans, and how. They’re worrying about rumours, because there would surely be a tabloid or two that would take the opportunity to hint that there’s dissent within Arashi. They’re worrying about Jun being on his own for so long. They’re worrying about how they’re going to get through their next concert without Jun keeping everything together. They’re worrying that with one person short for too long a time, they’re going to fall apart.
“It’s just one year,” Jun promises. “Two, at the most. I’m definitely coming back.” He looks at Ohno when he says this; Ohno nods.
“Two years isn’t a long time,” he agrees. What’s two years, he thinks, when he’s been apart from Jun longer than that before?
“You know, Oh-chan,” Nino says, falling in step with him as they walk to where their cars are waiting. “A lot of things can happen in two years.”
“Nothing that would change us as a group so drastically.”
“You think?” Nino stops, reaching out and pulling Ohno to a stop, too. “What if he likes it there, and doesn’t want to come back?” he asks. “What if he meets some girl there, some foreigner, and wants to get married? What if - I don’t know, what if an accident happens, and he gets hurt?”
Ohno thinks about the possibilities. All of those are things that he’d rather not consider, though, because he doesn’t know what he would do if they happened. All he says is, “if it happens, then it happens.”
“Riida -”
“He’ll be back,” he tells Nino, and starts walking again. “Other things may happen, sure, but he’ll be back.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Because nothing could change what he has with me, Ohno wants to say, but bites back his words. Even Jun has yet to acknowledge the strange bond between them; he isn’t going to talk about it with Nino. “I just know,” he says.
Even if our paths will no longer cross in this lifetime, we’ll still have the next one.
Things aren’t even that grim, Ohno reminds himself. They’re still in the same company, even if the worst happens and Jun decides to leave Arashi. And it isn’t like they aren’t going to be busy enough coping without Jun - time would fly by, and Jun would be back before they knew it.
After they were done for the day, Jun asks if everyone had time for dinner together, but both Sho and Nino had plans, so the remaining three went instead. Ohno enjoys seeing Jun with Aiba, and he doesn’t say much throughout dinner, watching instead how Jun instantly relaxes as Aiba makes him laugh - sometimes on purpose, sometimes purely accidental.
He goes through dinner only adding a word or two, although he supposes that they count for a lot, since he makes Aiba laugh, too. He offers to pay the bill, but Jun says that he should do it since he’s the one who had asked them out, and while they’re talking about it Aiba slips away and pays.
They linger in front of the restaurant, and Jun suggests they go somewhere else. Aiba says that he needs to go, and leaves them. Ohno looks at Jun, who looks back thoughtfully.
“Hey,” Jun says. “Want to go for a drive?”
Ohno and Aiba aren’t the only ones who are hanging out with Jun as much as they could; Jun had gone out with Sho a couple of times, and had even gone over to Nino’s. Sho had taken Jun to one of his favourite places, which Jun now drives Ohno to. There’s nothing there - just a clearing and a view of the sea. It’s a private place, so Ohno understands the appeal of being somewhere where one doesn’t have to worry about fans, but still. It isn’t until they’re sitting on the ground, and Jun points above them, that he gets it.
The night sky is clear, and the starts above them shine brighter than any stage he knows.
“Pretty,” he comments, noticing that Jun is waiting for him to say something.
“Riida.” Jun sounds hesitant. “Are you really okay with me leaving?”
He smiles. “Wasn’t I the one who told you to go?”
“Yeah, but…” Jun sighs. “Never mind.”
Remembering how they have sat next to each other the same way once, and what the other-Jun had done, Ohno’s hand reaches out to pull Jun towards him. Even as their lips meet, he hears a muffled, “what the fuck -” from the other man, feels the resistance in the rigid way Jun is holding himself, like he’s just waiting for the right moment to push Ohno away. But then there’s a subtle shift, and he could feel Jun softening, could hear the catch of breath when his lips left Jun’s for air, Jun’s fingers tightening on his sleeves to pull him back in for an encore.
When they part for a second time, there is silence except for their breathing, and it takes a moment for Jun to realise that his fingers are still holding on to Ohno’s shirt, and he lets go.
“What was that about?” Jun asks.
“I’ll tell you when you come back.”
He isn’t very good at sneaking out, Satoshi discovers, as he knocks over the stack of records when he’s trying to get his shoes.
He stands still, waiting to see if he had woken anyone up. Nothing happens; it’s a good thing that his parents are heavy sleepers.
He bends over to get his shoes, when he hears Jun’s voice behind him.
“Where’re you going, Satoshi?”
He wavers, hovering between lie and truth, before settling on something in between. “Out. Go back to sleep.”
Jun looks at the shoes in his hand. “I’ll go with you.”
“No,” he insists. “You can’t.”
This makes Jun hesitate, before asking tremulously, “you’re not coming back, are you?”
He swallows. “No.”
“I want to go with you.”
“No.”
“But why -”
“You have to look after Mama,” Satoshi interrupts, loud enough that they both turn to look in the direction of their parents’ bedroom. “I’m going,” he continues, in a softer voice.
“I hate you,” Jun says, but Satoshi just smiles back at Jun’s accusing glare. He’s on one side of the door and Jun is on the other. He knows that it isn’t that they can no longer see each other, but he also knows that the next step he takes away from Jun is going to change everything. He looks up, sees the blanket of stars over them, and a part of him marvels at how clear the night is, while another part thinks of how he is never going to forget that sight, and the hollowed guilt and loneliness that he feels but could not convey to Jun.
“We’ll always be connected,” he tells Jun. “You’ll see.”
He doesn’t really know, or believe in, what he’s saying, and he doesn’t even know what makes him say it, but at the moment, his words sounds truer than anything else he’d said.
“So that’s it?” Sho asks. “You’re just going to let him go.”
The two of them linger in Sho’s car, in the parking lot of Ohno’s apartment. Sho had offered to give him a ride back after recording that day, although now Ohno finds himself regretting that he took Sho up on the offer, and telling Sho the complete story in the first place.
He shrugs. It isn’t like he could think of anything else to do. And the decision had been made; even then, they’re seeing Jun less and less, as their youngest rush from meeting to meeting trying to finalise things, and figuring out how to tie up loose ends with Arashi before leaving. They haven’t yet made an official announcement, but rumours are already spreading, and as far as they’re concerned, they’ve started on something that’s irreversible. Nino keeps saying that it’s going to be the end of them, but Ohno doesn’t think he means it, and anyway, Sho and Aiba aren’t going to let that happen. Jun isn’t going to let that happen. Ohno, too - he would never let Arashi fall apart in Jun’s absence, because he knows the kind of guilt it would force Jun to carry around. So he smiles and cooperates when Jun talks about having one last concert with the five of them, even if he feels like he’s the one left carrying something heavy and unbearable inside him.
“You could tell him,” Sho says.
“I already did.”
“You could tell him how you really felt - what you really want.”
Ohno doesn’t have an answer to that.
“You don’t know that the dreams you’ve been having are real.” Sho speaks carefully, like he’s afraid of offending Ohno. “And even if they were real, then what? Does that mean you don’t have to try in this lifetime?”
“Try what, exactly?” Ohno asks. Sho shuts his mouth, unable to answer. “That’s the thing, Sho-kun. I don’t know what this means, either.” Liar, a voice in his head speaks up. But he pushes the thought away, and continues. “And I don’t know if it’s real, either. All I do know is I want Jun-kun to do what makes him happy, and if it means leaving us, then so be it.”
“Hey, stranger.”
Ohno takes his time turning from the window, and towards Jun. He smiles. “I thought you wouldn’t remember who I am,” he says, teasing.
“I should be the one saying that to you,” Jun replies. “I was gone for two weeks, and not once did you call or message me.”
“Was I supposed to?” Ohno asks innocently. Jun just laughs a little, shaking his head. Ohno takes the bag from Jun’s hand, and says, “The rest couldn’t come to pick you up, but Aiba wants us to go over to his family’s place for dinner in a few hours.”
Jun groans. “But it’s so far away,” he complains. “And what’s the point of designating you as the pick-up guy? You can’t drive.”
Ohno grins and tells Jun that he had procured one of the company drivers’ services for the night, and that Jun could sleep on the way to Chiba.
In the car, he asks about the meetings Jun had went overseas for, but Jun is surprisingly secretive about it. “You’ll see,” is all he says, seeming hesitant, nervous, and happy at the same time. Ohno finds himself resenting the fact that something that sends Jun away could make Jun seem so unsettled-in-a-good-way, but he tells himself that he should be happy for Jun.
“Did you get me any souvenirs, at least?”
Jun falls quiet for a moment, and just when Ohno is about to tell him that it’s alright if he forgot, Jun says, “the strangest thing happened when I was there.”
Jun had a couple of free days when he was away, which he had spent catching up with friends and looking for souvenirs. When he finds the small, overcrowded antique bookshop he goes in immediately, thinking that he’d be able to find something old and suitably impressive for Sho, something quirky for Nino and Aiba, and something with nice illustrations for Ohno. It would definitely be different than his usual gifts.
He spends an hour looking through books, finding a nice first edition that Sho might like, and a book from an old children’s non-fiction series with gorgeous animal illustrations that he thinks both Aiba and Ohno would like. It takes him longer to find something for Nino, but he settles on a book about creating war games by an author whose name he’s heard of, but can’t place. He’s pretty sure that Nino would know. He’s still trying to decide whether to give the picture book to Aiba or Ohno, when he knocks over a small stack of books.
When he piles them back up, apologising to the staff, alternating between Japanese and English, one of the books catches his attention. He picks it up, and wonders why he feels like something cold is running down his spine.
“Oh!” The staff exclaims. “Do you know that the writer of that book is Japanese?”
He blinks at her, only understanding the last part of her words. She repeats her words, more slowly the second time. When he understands, he looks at the name on the book, but it isn’t a Japanese name.
“Oh, that’s a pseudonym. A nickname? The author was the protégé of a famous artist from back then -” the staff rattles off a name that only sounds vaguely familiar, although he’s sure that Ohno has heard of it - “and they both emigrated here when the author was only fourteen. He wrote and drew this book when he was sixteen!” Her eyes are bright; Jun only catches a bit of what she’s saying, but he could see that she’s a big fan.
He looks back down at the book in his hand - he couldn’t deny that it pulls at him, somehow. Maybe he’s homesick, he thinks.
“I’ll take this,” he tells her. The pictures are pretty enough, and he still needs a present for Ohno.
He looks up the author/illustrator when he’s back at the hotel. He finds out that the author’s real name had been Uehara Satoshi. The author had died very young, and only published the one book, but it haunts him, because it’s about two brothers, whose names are Satoshi and Jun.
Ohno looks at the book Jun gives him in awe. “So I - the other-me - made it,” he murmurs. He looks at Jun. “This means that it was real.”
“What is?” Jun isn’t sure that he understands what’s going on, but he knows that he finds Ohno’s words troubling.
“This. Us.” Ohno flips through the book. “Did you realise that this book is about us?”
“Riida,” Jun speaks, in the most rational voice he could muster, “this book was published before we were even born. It just has characters with our names, that’s all.”
Ohno shakes his head, and looks like he’s about to argue, but then changes his mind. “Thank you for finding this,” he says. “I never even thought of looking them up to find if they’re real.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ohno’s smile is warm, but a little resigned, and a little sad. “That’s okay.”
Jun finds himself wishing that he understands.
We’ve known each other for a long time. More than a decade, or decades. A century, maybe longer.
Ohno’s words wouldn’t leave his mind, and he’s distracted throughout his meetings all day. His manager is starting to get impatient with him, but his thoughts keep going back to the book he had found, and the niggling feeling that he had forgotten something important.
It’s frustrating, like the answer is right there before him and he just can’t see it, a word at the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite grasp no matter what he does.
He thinks of the one night Ohno had kissed him, and said that they would talk about it after he came back. It would be months still before he even leaves, and he’s already terrified of the idea of never seeing any of them for such a long stretch of time. When he thinks of Ohno, a kind of bitterness wells up in him, a resentment that he can’t quite place, and he attributes it to Ohno always saying and doing things he doesn’t mean. Things like telling pretty stories that are improbable. Things like kissing Jun.
Even though he’d never admit it, he’s afraid of leaving Ohno the most, because he’s afraid of finding out how much Ohno really means to him.
He’s too old to be climbing trees like a child, so he leans against the tree trunk, his head raised to see above the crowd gathering to see the procession leave. He’s tired; he had hardly slept the night before and he had started work early, with only a short break that he’s spending pushing through crowds to get to the exact same tree he had been on the first time he had seen Satoshi.
That day is going to be the last day he’ll see Satoshi, so he supposes that it’s fitting. He stands still, and watches, as the procession leaves, and the crowd disperses, and he’s all alone. Only then he closes his eyes, and tries to imagine a future where he no longer waits for Satoshi.
“Matsumoto-kun!” His manager’s voice is impatient, and he sits up immediately, trying to clear the fog of sleep.
“I’m very sorry,” he murmurs, and he sounds sorry. “I know I’ve been out of it all day.” Usually he’d wait and listen through his manager’s lecture, but he feels jumpy and (suddenly) wide awake, and he can’t wait because he doesn’t want any part of his dream to disappear. “Do you know where Riida would be right now?”
“Ohno-kun?” His manager looks perplexed, but like all their managers, he keeps a copy of the others’ schedules. He checks it, and tells Jun that Ohno is at a photo shoot with Sho for Non-No, and Jun is out of the door before he could say anything else.
Years in the future, he would still say that he has no idea how he had got to the studio, especially without being stopped even once. Perhaps he had been; he wouldn’t know, because he has no memory of it. The next thing he knows, he’s bursting through the studio doors, and everyone looks bewildered to see him there. Sho and Ohno are in a fake indoor garden or a florist’s, Jun has no idea which, and Sho’s holding out a large bouquet to Ohno. His hand drops to his side at the interruption, but he doesn’t drop the flowers, to his credit.
“Jun,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“Riida,” he manages. “I need to talk to Riida.”
Confused, Sho just looks at Ohno, who is staring at the bouquet for some reason. “We’re in the middle of a shoot, Jun-kun,” he says, gentle but reproachful. “We can talk later.”
“Then I’ll wait,” Jun insists, and Ohno lets out a long sigh, before apologising to Sho and the staff, and walking away from the set. He takes Jun’s elbow, and leads the younger man to the dressing room.
“What is it?” Ohno asks. He looks annoyed, but also worried. “What happened?”
“It’s real, isn’t it?” On his way to the studio he keeps getting flashes of the past - not full fragments of memories, the way the first flashback was like, but something akin to snapshots, except that he could feel everything. It had been terribly unsettling, to have a memory of them as young boys - brothers - playing with other children in one second, and a memory of a strangely beautiful Satoshi undressing him, the next. He reddens as he remembers; it’s definitely strange to remember something like that with Ohno when in real life - in this life, he corrects himself - all they’ve done is to share a kiss. It’s strange, because he had woken up that morning feeling nothing for Ohno but the love he’d always had, one reserved for brothers, for close friends, for crushes one hadn’t quite succeeded in killing off, and now, not even a full day later, he’s bombarded with a slew of new feelings, too much too fast. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ohno, realising that he must be remembering, softens. “I did tell you,” he reminds Jun.
Jun shakes his head. “No,” he amends. “I meant, why didn’t you tell me - why didn’t make me understand, make me believe you?”
“If you hadn’t remembered,” he says, “would you really have believed me?”
This gives Jun a pause. “I suppose not.”
Ohno nods; Jun already understands his point. He feels relief that he isn’t the only one who knows about their past, but he still isn’t sure what they’re supposed to do about it.
Jun apparently feels the same. He shifts uncomfortably, before asking, “Can I hold you?”
Ohno still looks puzzled when Jun engulfs him in a hug. “Jun-kun?”
“Sorry,” Jun says, not letting go. “I just had so many flashbacks on my way here, and they make me feel like I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
Jun does pull back slightly after his words, however, and they look at each other wordlessly for a moment, before Jun leans in again. Ohno’s hand reaches out and stops Jun before their lips could meet.
“I have a shoot to finish,” he says. “And you’re leaving.”
Ohno doesn’t see Jun at all during the following week - even when the whole band are together, he never gets to talk to Jun, because the other three would be there between them during filming, and Jun always disappears right after. At first the fact doesn’t seem so important, because he’s busy, and he knows that Jun is even busier. But as the second week rolls around he realises that Jun could be avoiding him.
He thinks about simply letting Jun do so; perhaps it would make things simpler all around. But in the end he finds himself heading towards their greenroom when he knows that no one should be around but Jun, who would be preparing for another one of his meetings.
Jun, of course, is surprised to see him.
Ohno doesn’t say anything. He finds himself a seat, planting himself on the sofa, like he’s supposed to be there.
“Riida,” Jun says, slowly. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here today.”
“Is that so?”
“You don’t have work until four hours from now.”
Jun knows his schedule better than he does. He nods. “That doesn’t mean I’m not supposed to be here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have to be here, don’t I, if it’s the only way for me to see Jun-kun?”
Jun looks startled at this. He lets out a resigned sigh, and goes over to him. He turns when Jun sits next to him.
“Now you want to talk about this?”
Ohno doesn’t answer, holding out his hand instead. Automatically, like he doesn’t need to think about it at all, Jun takes it, threading his fingers with Ohno’s.
“This feels so natural,” he says. “Everything we do - talking, hugging - even kissing. It all comes so naturally, like it’s meant. It’s always been like that, but now we know why.”
“It’s kind of scary,” Ohno says, putting into words what Jun hadn’t.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” Jun admits. “It’s almost like - we don’t even have a choice.”
“We always have a choice,” Ohno replies. “To stay or to leave. To let this happen, or to break the cycle.”
Jun’s isn’t convinced. “One of us always leaves,” he says. “One way or another.”
“Then perhaps it’s better if we don’t let this happen.” But Jun shakes his head.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean - one of us always leaves, but that doesn’t mean we have to. Don’t you see? Maybe breaking the cycle doesn’t mean not letting this happen. Maybe we don’t really have a choice about that - I’m already halfway in love with you. Maybe breaking the cycle means not leaving.”
“But you are leaving,” Ohno points out.
Jun looks like he just remembered the fact, himself. “Oh,” he says softly. “I suppose I am.” He looks so unhappy with the thought that Ohno pulls him closer, into a slow, lazy kiss. He feels something tighten in his chest, and he wonders if it’s the anticipation of pain from their separation, or the memory of it resurfacing. When they break apart, Jun doesn’t pull away, letting Ohno hold him, murmuring that he has twenty minutes before he absolutely has to leave for his meeting.
Ohno ignores the words, concentrating on the taste of Jun that still lingers, the feel of Jun in his arms.
It feels like coming home.
Jun leaves again, a few days after their conversation. This time Ohno doesn’t really know about it beforehand and finds it hard to swallow down the swell of panic caught in his throat. It’s just a couple of meetings, Jun tells him, and he’ll be back before the week is over. Still he insists on spending time together before Jun leaves, even though the last day they filmed two shows back to back, headed off to separate magazine interviews, and Jun had more meetings in Tokyo itself. By the time both of them are done, the day is over, and Jun takes Ohno to his place for a late night/early morning supper. Ohno helps Jun pack for the trip, and although he gets in the way more than helps - Jun has to re-fold shirts and rearrange everything after - Jun doesn’t seem to mind.
“Do you remember,” Ohno asks, “that you packed for me, every time I had to leave?” He’s speaking of the other life, when they only spent half of each year in each other’s company, before Ohno leaves for good.
Jun’s hand, holding a book he’s trying to find space for in his suitcase, hovers for a moment, before falling uselessly to his side. “I remember,” he says.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Packing is easy,” Jun answers, and starts to explain, but Ohno stops him with a small shake of the head.
“That’s not what I mean,” he says.
“I know.” Jun’s reply is sober, and he continues packing. “But, you know, crying and making a scene isn’t helpful.”
Ohno laughs at that. “I don’t think I know how to do that, either.” He watches as Jun finally manages to put everything in, and closes the suitcase. He thinks about watching Jun leave, and all the times Jun had watched him leave. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Jun pauses at that. “You’re not them,” he says. “And it wasn’t like they thought they had any other choice.” He stands. “I’m done. There’s only a few hours before I have to leave for the airport, but you’ll stay, won’t you?”
“I’ll be with you all the way to the airport,” Ohno promises. “You should get some sleep, though.”
Both of them are too tired, and sleep comes easily, although Ohno gets restless and wakes up a lot. Sometimes when he wakes, it wakes Jun, who, getting impatient and wanting to get back to sleep, finally pulls Ohno in his arms and tells him to sleep, or else.
“But it’s hard,” Ohno murmurs, his voice low enough that Jun wouldn’t hear, but Jun shifts anyway, and speaks.
“Do you remember the stars?” he asks.
“When?”
“All of the times. They’re always there, aren’t they? We’re like that, too.”
“They aren’t the same stars, though,” Ohno reminds Jun. “Stars die.”
“And new ones appear. No matter how much time passes, or how much things change here, how many people we become, we’re always going to be able to look up, and see them.” Ohno makes a humming noise in assent, and Jun continues, “We’re like that. We’re not the same people from those other times, either. Stars die, stars get born - but they won’t disappear, and neither shall we.”
Ohno laughs, high and almost giggly, but short. “We’re not dying yet, Jun-kun.”
“Exactly. This is just one week. I’ll be back. There’s nothing to worry about, so go to sleep.”
One week, Ohno thinks. Perhaps one week would be manageable. He’s pretty sure that they’ve been separated for that long, and longer, before - in fact, he knows that they have - but he feels like he’s forgotten what it’s like. Separation takes on a different perspective when one remembers more permanent partings.
One week is manageable, he tells himself. Because if it isn’t, then how is he going to manage an entire year, or more?
The alarm that wakes him up in the morning sounds different, and when his arm reaches out to shut it up he finds that it isn’t there. He sits up, disoriented, and it takes him a few seconds to remember that he’s at Jun’s place. The alarm gets louder, and he’s relieved when Jun strides over to switch it off with one hand, the other holding a book.
“I don’t think you need yet another book, Jun-kun,” he says helpfully. “You’ve already squeezed in two in your suitcase, and you’re taking a manga and a novel in your carry on bag.”
“No, that’s not it,” Jun replies distractedly. “There’s something in here…” he flips through the book, looking for something. “I had a flashback this morning - you said that we’ll always be connected - and it reminded me of something… aha!” He looks triumphant as he finds what he’s looking for, and holds it out for Ohno to see.
Ohno tries to look impressed, but doesn’t really understand. “It’s a poem,” he says.
Nodding, Jun explains, “it’s about goodbyes and separation - the narrator is leaving the person he loves, and he’s telling them not to be sad, because they’re always connected. Read this part.” He points out the stanza, and Ohno obliges. The verse likens the connection between the lovers as something that can’t be broken, two stars that gravitate around each other, two arms that may be able to stretch and circle around each other, but never let go completely, and always finding their way back to each other.
“Do you think I might have written this?” Ohno asks, since it mirrors his thoughts about the thing that ties him to Jun.
Laughing, Jun shakes his head. “This was only published a couple of years ago, so unless you lead a double life as a writer, I don’t think so.”
“Oh.” He looks back at the book, thinking that it’s his time to say goodbye, and to wait. Saying it out loud would only upset Jun, though, so he changes the subject, asking if they’re having breakfast before they leave for the airport.
“One day,” Satoshi says, “I’m going to write my own comics.” He had just finished reading the latest instalment depicting the adventures of Ryusuke, or Ryu, the boy who travels around Japan, surviving on his wit and adventurous nature. Jun, uninterested, looks over from his homework.
“Father’s never going to let you. He thinks that artists are dirt-poor and unkempt. He’ll kick you out of the house before he lets you become one.”
“So I’ll leave the house before he gets a chance to do that,” Satoshi replies, unconcerned. When Jun frowns, he adds, “I’m just kidding. I’m not going to leave you, okay?”
Jun doesn’t say anything, and turns back to his work, but he finds himself unable to concentrate. He thinks that Satoshi is wrong, because Satoshi always leaves - then he asks himself why he thinks that, and comes up with nothing. So he tells himself that he’s just worrying too much and imagining things, and brushes off the unnamed dread that begins to coil in him.
To say that the week flies by would be an exaggeration, but Ohno finds it easier than he had expected. Sho always makes sure to be there with him at all times, talking his mouth off and not letting Ohno get a word in edgewise, which is a good thing because he never really knows how to respond to all the things Sho talks about. But he enjoys listening to Sho - he always had.
Nino is… well, Nino. He doesn’t hold back on any of his barbs or jabs, despite Aiba elbowing him when he hints on Ohno missing Jun. Ohno doesn’t really mind; it’s Nino’s way of showing concern, he thinks. And if any of the words had stung, then all is forgiven anyway when, at the end of the day, and in between takes, Nino clings to him whenever he gets the chance.
He appreciates Aiba the most, sometimes, because Aiba acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. It reminds him that he doesn’t have time to indulge in things like missing Jun, when they all have work to do. He also likes it best when Aiba makes everyone laugh, how Aiba seems to have more energy than he could possibly contain, and when they go out after work, just the two of them, how Aiba could sometimes seem like a different person, someone who understands that he just wants company, and silence.
It reminds him how much he loves them, all of them, and it makes him realise that this is the lifetime he wants to treasure the most. Because even if he does find Jun again in the next (and it isn’t as if there’s a guarantee that he would, he reminds himself) he isn’t so sure about the rest of them, and they are people whose existence he wanted to always have near him.
He also thinks about the poem Jun had shown him, how separation isn’t really separation when there’s something connecting them - they’re just two stars orbiting each other, and if they should go off-course, gravity will bring them back.
A week may not be as difficult as he had thought, but a year is a different thing. The lines of the poem runs in his head, over and over, until he thinks he knows the answer, even though he hadn’t known that there had been a riddle in the first place.
On the fifth day they have a meeting about their upcoming concert, and they all find themselves wishing for Jun. They knew that Jun does most of the planning, but they’d never really considered how much work it is until they had to start on it themselves. By the end of the day they’ve all accomplished little, and had only exhaustion and annoyance and frustration to show for it. Aiba asks him out for drinks, since they both needed it by then, but he’s more tired than anything else and just wants to get home.
He finds Jun waiting for him, leaning awkwardly against the lobby wall. His luggage - the same one that Ohno had helped to pack - is still with him, lying by his feet.
He stops, and takes a few moments to determine that he isn’t imagining things. Then, aware that the concierge is looking, he acts like he’s been expecting Jun, and motions for the younger man to follow him up. It’s only when they’re both alone in the elevator that he speaks.
“What are you doing here?”
“Breaking the cycle.” Jun answers calmly, but Ohno knows him well enough to see that Jun is nervous - perhaps even scared. “I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”
“The drama -” Ohno stops when the elevator door stops, and one of his neighbours step in. She lives one floor below him, and while they hardly see each other he considers them in pretty friendly terms. But when he greets her, she just smiles politely and nods at him, and stares at the floor. He’s puzzled, until the elevator reaches her floor, and she glances at Jun before leaving.
“I think she’s a fan of yours,” he comments. Jun doesn’t answer, not in the mood to change the subject. When they finally reach his floor, Jun steps out first.
In his apartment, he heads straight to the kitchen, dropping his things at the nearest counter. Jun picks up his bag and hangs it up at the coat hanger behind his door.
“It’s funny,” Ohno says. “Once I thought that the reason I can’t tell you about how I felt was because of who we are. It would be too difficult, and anyway - I wasn’t supposed to like you, or to want you to like me. We’re idols. That’s not what we do.”
Jun smiles. “That’s exactly what we do, Riida.”
“Not in the way I mean,” he says, and Jun sighs; he understands. “But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” After missing out on each other in their previous lives, he had stopped caring about whether or not he was allowed to care for Jun - he already did, and his problem was what he was to do with how he felt. “You haven’t said why you’re here.”
“I did,” Jun tells him. “I said I’m breaking the cycle. Didn’t I?”
“That’s not really an answer.”
Ohno opens the fridge to get them drinks, but Jun asks another question that makes him forget what he’s doing. “Remember when I left, before last week? Well, after discussing things over, and doing their pilot episode, they decided that they wanted to keep me for at least two years.”
Ohno remembers saying that two years isn’t a long time, and wondered why he had a feeling even then that his words were going to come back to haunt him.
“A lot of things can happen in two years,” he says, thinking of what Nino had told him.
“I know.” The door to the fridge is still open, so Jun closes it. “That’s why I declined them.”
“So… that’s it? You’re just not going to do it? Can you even do that?”
“Not exactly.” Jun’s mouth twists into a grimace, as he admits, “I was completely chewed out by my manager, and just about everyone else involved on our side. And I already did the pilot with them, so they still want me to come back for a couple of episodes or so. I’ll just be a minor character, someone who’ll fade away early in the series.”
“How long would that take?”
“Not long. Just a few weeks, at most. Maybe not even that.”
Ohno looks at Jun, studying his face carefully. “And you’re okay with that.”
“Satoshi,” Jun starts, before stopping. Both of them are startled - Jun’s only called him that in their flashbacks. Jun hardly even calls him Oh-chan, the way Nino and Aiba do. Then Jun repeats himself. “Satoshi. Do you want me to leave?”
Honesty, Ohno reminds himself. Perhaps it’s the best way to go, at least in small doses. “No.” He sees the relief in the way Jun’s shoulders loosens, and relaxes, and he wonders - does Jun really think he wants him gone? “I just don’t want you to regret not chasing after something you want.”
“You did that,” Jun says, “in the other life. So tell me, did you think it was worth it?”
“I thought it was - at least, I think I thought it was; I don’t remember everything.” But the only thing that the other-him had published had been about Jun, so it’s obvious that the thought of his brother had never quite left his mind.
Jun nods. “You were so determined. I don’t think anything could have stopped you.” He leans against the kitchen counter, then, sighing a little. “When I remembered that, I realised that this is completely different. Sure, I wanted it - but I didn’t want it the way you had wanted your art, or the way I want other things, now. Things like Arashi, and like you. Us.”
“And what, exactly, is ‘us’?” Ohno turns to make himself busy with getting glasses out of cabinets, so that Jun wouldn’t see the smile on his face as he asked the question. It is a valid question, though - they had been many things in the past, but they’ve yet to decide what they are in the present, or what they want to be in the future.
He had already figured out his answer, while Jun was away, but he supposes that Jun needs to do it on his own, too.
Jun doesn’t disappoint, coming closer again, taking the glasses away from Ohno’s hands and putting them on the counter, before pulling Ohno into a loose hold. “We’re whatever we want us to be,” he says, bending over and dropping a light kiss at the hollow of Ohno’s throat. That part, Ohno hadn’t been expecting - he swallows, preparing to ask another question. Jun doesn’t let him, though, making him a little dazed by trailing more light kisses on his bare skin. It’s an invitation, Ohno realises, and he pushes at Jun’s chest gently, shifting their positions before taking charge, and kissing back.
It takes a long time before they’re reminded of their conversation again, and step away, a little more dishevelled and out of breath than before. He feels super-charged and electric, and he almost misses it when Jun says, “I take it that you feel the same.”
He laughs. He doesn’t know why, but the situation suddenly seems hilarious to him, and he laughs until he’s slightly hunched and holding his stomach, and Jun starts laughing along, more because it’s contagious than anything else.
Jun then says something about not being able to stay away, because isn’t that what the poem really meant - that he can’t stay away, and the answer is to break the cycle, and not leave.
Still chuckling - and still trying to figure out what is it that he finds funny - Ohno takes Jun’s hand, looks out the kitchen window into the night sky, and says, “I knew you’d figure it out, sooner or later.”
Stars die, and the ones that he’s looking at may not even exist any longer, but their light remains.
“Just like us,” he murmurs, his thought echoing the other-hims, and Jun looks up, too, and sees the stars, and understands.
“Just like us,” Jun agrees.
~ the end ~
Back to Part One
Marineko's Notes:
First of all, I'm really sorry for how long I took on this fic! It got to a point where I thought if I didn't post it today, I never will, so I posted it. I really hope that it's okay. ^^;;