Fic: Dome (Okada)
Okada needs some serious loving. LOVING, man, LOVING.
Part of the ongoing need to write in real timeperiods. Johnny's Countdown 2005-2006, where everyone is on crack and there is a gigantic waterfall in the background. Okada Junichi plays out his role as a Johnny who was never a Junior. \o/ MY BRAIN. IT IS EATEN BY JUNICHI-DOM.
Dome
Characters: Okada Junichi; with side appearances by Tsuyoshi and Tsubasa, and side-side appearances by everyone else.
Summary: With everyone else, Countdown seemed to be one huge welcome home (okaeri!); with Okada, it always felt like a simple welcome.
624 words.
---
Omedetou!
A troop of juniors charged him the moment he got in through the door.
Congratulations on V6's tenth anniversary! They bowed and grinned and ran a few dizzy circles around each other before disappearing down a corridor. Dazed, Okada wondered (not for the first time) who they were, how long they'd been in the jimusho, whether they actually had names --
He walked into the underbelly of Tokyo Dome and - with startling efficiency - proceeded to be almost killed by Kokubun and Inohara, who were almost as old as the five-six-seven-nine juniors who'd just gone past. 'This beats,' Okada choked out through crushed lungs, 'even last year.'
Kokubun grinned, and deigned to let Okada stand. 'Okada, it's Okada,' he informed Inocchi, who, after ten years, still had difficulty remembering the names of his group members (of course). 'He's all grown up now, filming movies with older women, ne.' Kokubun's eyes sparkled as much as Inohara's, which was frightening in ways Okada could not explain, and also strangely comforting.
'Senpai,' Okada complained, one-worded and uncomfortable; this somehow only made Inohara laugh. But Inohara never could, and never would, be able to understand: discomfort between seniors and juniors, discomfort between Okada and everyone else. Okada hadn't been around for two, three, four, eight years before his debut; he'd been around for less than a month. Kokubun Taichi tackling him as means of greeting was not, for him, a homecoming welcome.
But it wouldn't be Johnny's if they didn't do that. It wouldn't be Johnny's if Inohara didn't smile, knowingly if uncomprehendingly, at Okada's wordless smiles. It wouldn't be Johnny's if, less than a minute later, Domoto Koichi didn't walk into the wrong dressing room and cause a ruckus loud enough for Okada to be left abandoned in the middle of a catacomb of noise, disoriented but strangely full, strangely empty. To them, one room down, this was family.
'O,' somebody said, 'Ka-da.'
Tsuyoshi was behind him, Tsuyoshi's hand was on his shoulder. Half a moment. Then the next moment. Okada's lips turned up at the edges. 'Senpai,' he drawled.
Tsuyoshi hit him.
Okada didn't retaliate.
Tsuyoshi hit him again.
'V1,' Tsuyoshi said.
'Kinki,' Okada replied.
They fought all the way down the corridor; not as loud as the others, but loud enough.
--
Somehow it was always Tokyo dome. Maybe, like so many other things, Johnny's wouldn't be Johnny's without a concert at Tokyo; loud, full of people, moving stages and all the bells and whistles of confetti and sparklers and stage props that breathed fire at you when you weren't looking where you were going. In this case, on this year, a waterfall tumbling down twenty feet; a too-expensive relic from a Kinki Kid's concert.
Okada wondered which was better: death by flame or accidental drowning. He pulled his hat further down over his eyes, and walked off the stage. Twelve p.m, thirty first of December, year two thousand and five.
He and Tsuyoshi stood there, hands tucked into pockets, and said nothing. Tsubasa wandered in sometime later, with Takki; checking microphones and stage markers. Takizawa left to join the crowd who were playing with the smoke machines ('If we aim it at the waterfall --' 'What if we put one of the kouhai through --' 'YOKOYAMA!')
Tsubasa strolled over, holding Takki's rescued microphone. 'Tsuyoshi-kun,' the younger man grinned, 'Okada-kun.'
'It's the cap-boy,' Tsuyoshi drawed, slinking an arm over Tsubasa's shoulders.
Okada stood there, but smiled. 'What does that make me?'
Tsuyoshi turned to look at him through slitted eyes. 'Hat-man.'
Okada made a noise at the back of his throat as Tsubasa fought to hide back a snort of laughter.
Maybe it really was, all of this.
Family, that is.
Part of the ongoing need to write in real timeperiods. Johnny's Countdown 2005-2006, where everyone is on crack and there is a gigantic waterfall in the background. Okada Junichi plays out his role as a Johnny who was never a Junior. \o/ MY BRAIN. IT IS EATEN BY JUNICHI-DOM.
Dome
Characters: Okada Junichi; with side appearances by Tsuyoshi and Tsubasa, and side-side appearances by everyone else.
Summary: With everyone else, Countdown seemed to be one huge welcome home (okaeri!); with Okada, it always felt like a simple welcome.
624 words.
---
Omedetou!
A troop of juniors charged him the moment he got in through the door.
Congratulations on V6's tenth anniversary! They bowed and grinned and ran a few dizzy circles around each other before disappearing down a corridor. Dazed, Okada wondered (not for the first time) who they were, how long they'd been in the jimusho, whether they actually had names --
He walked into the underbelly of Tokyo Dome and - with startling efficiency - proceeded to be almost killed by Kokubun and Inohara, who were almost as old as the five-six-seven-nine juniors who'd just gone past. 'This beats,' Okada choked out through crushed lungs, 'even last year.'
Kokubun grinned, and deigned to let Okada stand. 'Okada, it's Okada,' he informed Inocchi, who, after ten years, still had difficulty remembering the names of his group members (of course). 'He's all grown up now, filming movies with older women, ne.' Kokubun's eyes sparkled as much as Inohara's, which was frightening in ways Okada could not explain, and also strangely comforting.
'Senpai,' Okada complained, one-worded and uncomfortable; this somehow only made Inohara laugh. But Inohara never could, and never would, be able to understand: discomfort between seniors and juniors, discomfort between Okada and everyone else. Okada hadn't been around for two, three, four, eight years before his debut; he'd been around for less than a month. Kokubun Taichi tackling him as means of greeting was not, for him, a homecoming welcome.
But it wouldn't be Johnny's if they didn't do that. It wouldn't be Johnny's if Inohara didn't smile, knowingly if uncomprehendingly, at Okada's wordless smiles. It wouldn't be Johnny's if, less than a minute later, Domoto Koichi didn't walk into the wrong dressing room and cause a ruckus loud enough for Okada to be left abandoned in the middle of a catacomb of noise, disoriented but strangely full, strangely empty. To them, one room down, this was family.
'O,' somebody said, 'Ka-da.'
Tsuyoshi was behind him, Tsuyoshi's hand was on his shoulder. Half a moment. Then the next moment. Okada's lips turned up at the edges. 'Senpai,' he drawled.
Tsuyoshi hit him.
Okada didn't retaliate.
Tsuyoshi hit him again.
'V1,' Tsuyoshi said.
'Kinki,' Okada replied.
They fought all the way down the corridor; not as loud as the others, but loud enough.
--
Somehow it was always Tokyo dome. Maybe, like so many other things, Johnny's wouldn't be Johnny's without a concert at Tokyo; loud, full of people, moving stages and all the bells and whistles of confetti and sparklers and stage props that breathed fire at you when you weren't looking where you were going. In this case, on this year, a waterfall tumbling down twenty feet; a too-expensive relic from a Kinki Kid's concert.
Okada wondered which was better: death by flame or accidental drowning. He pulled his hat further down over his eyes, and walked off the stage. Twelve p.m, thirty first of December, year two thousand and five.
He and Tsuyoshi stood there, hands tucked into pockets, and said nothing. Tsubasa wandered in sometime later, with Takki; checking microphones and stage markers. Takizawa left to join the crowd who were playing with the smoke machines ('If we aim it at the waterfall --' 'What if we put one of the kouhai through --' 'YOKOYAMA!')
Tsubasa strolled over, holding Takki's rescued microphone. 'Tsuyoshi-kun,' the younger man grinned, 'Okada-kun.'
'It's the cap-boy,' Tsuyoshi drawed, slinking an arm over Tsubasa's shoulders.
Okada stood there, but smiled. 'What does that make me?'
Tsuyoshi turned to look at him through slitted eyes. 'Hat-man.'
Okada made a noise at the back of his throat as Tsubasa fought to hide back a snort of laughter.
Maybe it really was, all of this.
Family, that is.