Commited Pt. 2
Title : Committed
Pairing : Ninomiya Kazunari x Nagasawa Masami
Rating : G
Genre : angst, romance
Summary: This story is based on the rumors floating around about Nino.
Disclaimer : they're not mine, never will.... and i don't even want to have them, because that would mean i'd have to pay them their incomes and give them their reimbursable. heck, the story's not totally mine. half of it belongs to japanese gossip tabloids.
2. Connect
The first mail I received from her was a few months after. I was in the middle of a photo shot with the rest of the band. In the studio, away from the drizzle that still persistently came despite the summer.
“They misunderstood you again,” her mail said. I turned my head to find out the head and tail of that sentence, but I couldn't find anything. That was only until my manager came and showed me a tabloid about our break up.
“Are you breaking up with her for real this time?” he asked.
“We are on a break,” I said, not really answering his questions.
“And the 'exchanging mail and phone numbers with females on set'? Is that true?” He said rather nervously, “We have enough problems with your traffic accident. Please don't do anything carelessly anymore.”
I eyed him in disbelief but keeping my voice calm and collected, I said, “I do exchange mails and phone numbers with women on set. But I do that too with men.” I took the tabloid from his hand and read through the short article.
It's true I hadn't seen her since my last visit in March.
The phone and e-mail exchange was also true.
But my excuse is, the standard of being close to an opposite sex is different between normal people and famous people. For normal people kissing in front of a thousand people in a subway station would be called romantic. For famous people, walking behind someone from the opposite sex could mean that you're dating. Oh the difference.
And me being conceited might be true as well. I just said to myself, I'm famous. But if I said otherwise, you'd think I'm a goody-two-shoes. But I don't want to go to Hollywood anyway. The American share of the office can be given to someone else. The company seemed to have their own plan on that, and I might not be taking part in it. Not likely. English is too much of a problem to learn to properly go there.
“I don't care much about this kind of junk,” I said sternly, half to myself than to the nervous manager.
At that time the assistant photographer came and told me it's my turn. I excused myself from my manager and headed to the set. I heard him muttering about conceited big stars and that we're all actually nothing without them - the managers, on which I didn't disagree.
"You're not answering my mail," she said when she called me that night.
"I forgot," I said as I searched through my bag to get my script. I just got home, but there's still work to do. First the script. Then dance steps review, then making notes on the reimbursable bills, then bath, then sleep. There would be early shooting tomorrow. Ah, but maybe I could squeeze a game or two before heading for bed.
"You're going to be misunderstood again," she said again, dragging me back to reality that I was now talking to her. "So, are we over now?"
"They said it. Not me," I mumbled, my left hand still busy sorting the things I had to check that night.
She sighed.
"So?"
"I thought we're still on a break."
"Are we?"
"If you want to."
"Let's just play their game this time. Let's be the last one to laugh," she said, voice a little leaning towards minor notes.
I laughed. "You are evil."
"We'll just pretend that we're getting back together later. Like the previous times."
I slumped myself into my couch. "Does that mean you're not mad about the mail exchange?"
She snickered. Not that I could see, but I could vividly imagine her face while saying, "I don't mind. It's part of the job."
"How's your new drama?" I asked.
"Fine. How's kissing a guy?"
"Nothing new. He's not my first."
She laughed. "I'll let you script reading in peace then. Bye bye."
"Bye."