Gift fic for carmine_pink (part two)
> Back to part one
--
Shige doesn’t bring it up for two whole days. Yamashita is actually impressed. He hasn’t missed the worrying looks Shige has given him since Ryo’s visit, the slight hesitation whenever Yamashita touches him, kisses him. All he told Shige that day was that Ryo was an old friend, but hadn’t elaborated. He figured Shige would ask. He didn’t.
Now though, the second Shige walks up and slides onto the stool behind the register counter, Yamashita knows he’s going to ask. It’s midday Saturday, and the shop is empty save for an elderly couple silently arguing in the back.
Shige says nothing, just sits there, like he’s waiting for Yamashita to bring it up. Yamashita doesn’t know how, so he continues adding price tags to a few books that seem to have lost them and ignores Shige’s gaze that burns holes into the back of his head.
Eventually, Yamashita sighs, closes up the last book and turns around to face him. He leans against the counter and says, “You want to know, don’t you? What Ryo said.”
Shige replies steadily, “Only if you’re willing to tell me.” He smiles a little and admits, “I am curious.”
Yamashita drops his gaze, stares at his shoes. “He’s not just a friend of mine; he’s a coworker. We’re from the same company and--”
“I don’t really care about your friend, Tomohisa,” Shige says and, like always, Yamashita’s skin tingles when hearing his name fall from Shige’s lips. No one calls him that; he’s been “Yamapi” - this silly nickname given to him within the company - for so long that it’s indescribable, the way it feels to hear Shige call him by his given name. It’s this, perhaps, that convinces Yamashita to do what he does next.
He lies.
“Right,” he says, chuckles softly. “Well, a month ago...I quit. The company.”
“Why?” Shige asks instantly. “What company is this?”
He evades the second question by saying, “It’s a big...corporation, um. I worked in sales. But, well, things sucked, to be honest. I was getting really tired of being there, of the expectations and having no rest, no time for myself. I just...wanted to break free, I guess.”
Shige opens his mouth to reply but then closes it, sliding off the stool. He touches Yamashita’s hip silently, pushes him aside a bit to help the couple that have finally made their way to the front. Yamashita turns with a smile and puts the two books they bought into a plastic bag, hands it to the woman who gives him a happy grin. They watch them walk out the door before turning back to each other, standing wordlessly while the bells above the door do their usual dance.
Yamashita’s not sure how to continue. Honestly there isn’t much left to say, not more he wants to tell Shige, can tell Shige without explaining the truth. And he doesn’t want to do that yet...not yet. For awhile longer he just wants Shige to know him as Tomohisa, and not as anything else.
“I’m sorry, for never telling you before,” Yamashita says eventually, and Shige shakes his head, smiles. “I guess, I felt a little...ashamed? I don’t know. I never thought I’d quit anything.”
“Well, if you’re happy now, then there’s nothing to feel ashamed about,” Shige says in that philosophical way he does. “Are you? Happy?” He takes a step closer, the tips of their shoes touching.
Yamashita reaches out, brushes Shige’s bangs back, fingers sliding down his right cheek, and thinks about it, really thinks about it, his eyes closing subconsciously. He thinks about the endless work hours, shuttling around from photo shoots to interviews to meetings, catching twenty-minute naps in between. He thinks about how cautious he has to be about who he’s with, where he goes, how he spends his time off. He thinks about the biting remarks in magazines, papers, on websites, fans who don’t think he’s good enough, will never be good enough. He thinks about the tiring dance rehearsals and the rawness of his throat after a recording, only to be told it’s not right, do it one more time.
Then he thinks about the concerts, the beautiful, glowing dots of the penlights that fill up the concert hall like a starry night sky. He thinks about the tearful faces, the smiling faces, the sparkling uchiwa, the screams, the cheers, the voices that fill up his heart and don’t leave his ears for days after. He thinks about how good it feels after a successful tour, the feeling of accomplishment, the adrenaline pumping in his veins, the joy he can’t put down in words. He thinks about the letters he gets everyday, the most tiny Do your best! or I’ll always believe in you! that make him fight harder. He thinks about the fans that have been with him since the very beginning.
He opens his eyes, meets Shige’s clear ones that stare back softly, a little worriedly, his fingers resting on Yamashita’s hip, warm through his t-shirt. He thinks about the past month and half he’s spent here, with Shige. Thinks about Shige’s laughter and smiles, the taste of his lips. Thinks about endless hours immersing himself in the vast world of literature, drowning in various stories and ideas and creative universes that have let him take a step out from his own. He thinks about how quiet, peaceful, and easy it is here.
He smiles. “Yes,” he says, finally, leaning in so his lips ghost against Shige’s. “I’m happy,” he says, but somewhere, just a tiny little sprout of self-doubt blooms inside of him.
--
It’s only the second time he’s been here, but he already feels comfortable, like it’s home. There’s something much more cozy about Shige’s apartment - probably because it isn’t in the middle of Roppongi like his own, and is just big enough for himself, while Yamashita’s could easily house three more people. Yamashita does like his own place, but lately, its bright white walls and expansive space feel stifling and uneasy. He like Shige’s place a whole lot more, with the light yellow paint and the decorative photos. It’s classy but homey.
The first time he was here had been after their unofficial date. Shige had hesitantly invited him over, and Yamashita had readily accepted. They merely watched a movie and Yamashita fell asleep halfway through, woke up on the couch the next morning to Shige’s humming and the smell of coffee.
And now, Shige is also humming, light under his breath as he prepares their dinner. He’d invited Yamashita over after the shop closed, much more confidently than last time, and Yamashita accepted without question.
“Are you sure you don’t want help?” Yamashita questions from where he’s sitting back against the couch. Shige had told him to make himself at home, insisted that he’d cook and shoved Yamashita from the kitchen before he could follow.
Shige’s laughter makes Yamashita’s heart warm, and he glances over at him, watches as he moves around the small place with ease. “It’s fine,” he calls back. “I’m almost done anyway.”
“Well, if you insist,” Yamashita replies, and laughs when Shige says, “I do!”
He smiles and then stands up, heading to the bookcases against the opposite wall. There are three of them, each packed tight with worn-out paperbacks and pristine hardcovers. A thick chunk of law books sit at the bottom shelf, and Yamashita struggles to pull one out, almost dropping it from its surprising weight.
“Did you study law?” he asks Shige as he flips through the pages, sees Shige’s familiar handwriting in the margins, full of words he doesn’t understand.
“Oh,” Shige says, turning and glancing at Yamashita over the bar counter that separates the kitchen from the living area. He nods. “I did,” he says. “I graduated last year.”
Yamashita closes the book with a thud, and looks up at him, confused. “But you’re not...”
Shige laughs, shakes his head. “I decided I didn’t want to,” he replies simply, like that’s all there is to it. “The shop, it used to be my grandmother’s.” A fond smile crosses his face, and Yamashita can almost see in his eyes the memories he must be recalling. “Last year, right before my graduation, she passed away.”
Yamashita stands, walks over the join Shige in the kitchen and slides an arm around his waist, gives Shige a short squeeze. Shige smiles up at him, and then slips from his embrace, turning around to go back to cooking. Yamashita leans against a counter and listens as he continues, “They were going to close the shop; send the books off to other, larger stores, or to collectors, whoever would have them. But I didn’t want them to.”
The thud-thud of the knife chopping carrots against the wooden cutting board resonates through the room for a few minutes. Shige drops them into the simmering pot on the stove and adds, “I was an only child and my parents both worked. I used to stay at the shop during the day a lot and she would look after me. It was like my second home. I love that place. I would sit at the register and read everyday.”
He turns back around and smiles at Yamashita. “So I told them I’d take over instead,” he finishes, and then gives a one-shoulder shrug, like it’s no big deal.
Yamashita reaches out, pulls him close with fingers hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re amazing,” he says into Shige’s mouth and Shige laughs, bright and brilliant.
Shige shakes his head. “I’m just me,” he says, always so modest, and that’s what’s so amazing about him, Yamashita thinks. “I love what I do right now. Working there, it’s like that’s what I was always meant to do, you know?”
Images of the blazing pyrotechnics during a concert, the streams of confetti shooting out from the ceilings, and the roar of the fans fill Yamashita’s mind instantly. He shakes it away. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly. “You don’t regret it?”
“Not at all,” Shige replies instantly. “My parents still disapprove a bit, they insist I wasted four years getting my degree to give it up. But, I don’t think I gave it up. I just found something better.”
Yamashita thinks about his own marketing degree, something he got because he thought it’d help him more while being in the entertainment business. It was never something he was truly passionate about, something more practical than desirable.
He thinks about quitting the company. His mother had asked him, the day after he’d done it, in that kind, understanding voice of hers, “Are you giving up?”
Then, determined and petulant, he’d said “Yes” without hesitation. Now, he feels a little confused. Shige gave up his studies for something he was clearly passionate about, and there’s no doubt in Yamashita’s mind from watching him and getting to know him over the past month that Shige made the right choice. Yamashita, on the other hand, gave up Johnny’s, gave up being an idol...for what?
He sighs, his shoulder slumping as yet again the offer that Ryo had told him about passes through his mind. He hasn’t been able to shake it since he was informed, and it always pops up when he least expects it, reminding himself that he’s still without a job, that his years of savings, even though they’d last him for a very long time, isn’t what he should be living off of.
“Tomohisa?” Shige says gently, and his warm hand on Yamashita’s shoulder has him looking up, pushing aside his worries and meeting Shige’s gaze. “You okay?”
He smiles; a perfected idol smile. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just hungry.” He pouts and pats his stomach. “Is it done yet?”
Shige laughs, presses a kiss to his cheek. “Almost,” he replies and steps back to tend to the boiling pot of curry on the stove. Yamashita’s smile grows as he watches him, and thinks back to what he gave up, what he gained.
He stares at Shige and thinks he definitely found something that is much, much better than any job he could ever have.
But the question is whether this is really enough.
--
It’s a pleasant Friday morning. The sun casts brilliant rays of light from the clear, pale blue sky. Yamashita stops at a fancy bakery near his apartment to buy a couple of muffins before heading toward the bookshop. He’s only a few blocks away when the call comes from his manager. Yamashita figures as he’s ignored Koyama for almost two months, that he should probably be nice and let the perpetually worrying man know that’s he’s at least alive.
He fishes his phone from his pocket and answers with a cheerful, “Hello!”
“Yamapi,” Koyama says, and that name almost feels so strange to hear after going so long without being called by it. He sounds serious, not happy or flaily like he usually is, and Yamashita instantly stops in his tracks, wonders what he’s calling about. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how they found out. Ryo-chan only told me, and of course, neither of us mentioned it to anyone. They must have followed you.”
Yamashita’s heart starts a slow descend towards his stomach. “What, what are you talking about?”
Koyama pauses for a moment, and Yamashita knows he has that expression on his face that he gets when he has to inform him about something upsetting. “They know; the paparazzi. Some of them must have followed you. They’ve found out that you’ve been working at the bookshop.”
His heart bypasses his stomach and drops straight to his feet. “No,” he whispers, and all he can think about is Shige. “I-I’ve got to go,” he stammers to Koyama and before he even hangs up, he’s rushing off down the block.
There are only a few - but it’s enough. Three men with cameras slung around their necks are waiting just inside the door when Yamashita pushes it open, the bells clanging angrily from his force. And they’re on him like vultures, large, twisted grins on their faces because Yamashita knows that this is their story of the year.
They start to immediately question him, but Yamashita doesn’t hear it. It’s just white noise in his ears as his focus is on finding Shige. That’s the only thing in his mind.
The younger man is standing transfixed by the register, looking confused and lost, but he seems to brighten up the second he notices Yamashita.
“Tomo--” he starts but Yamashita cuts him off as he drops the bag from the bakery onto the counter and grabs Shige’s hand, whispering, “Don’t say anything.” He drags him down an aisle toward the back storage room and pushes Shige in first and then follows after, slamming the door shut in the bewildered faces of the paparazzi.
Shige flicks on the lights while Yamashita leans back against the door, his chest rising and falling with his heavy sigh. He closes his eyes, strains his ears to listen to the men grumbling on the other side of the door, before footsteps eventually lead away, and the bells from the front door signaling their departure.
He sighs again, his head thuds back against the door. “They’re gone,” he says, and reaches for the doorknob to head back out front.
Shige pushes the door back shut. “Explain,” he says in a quiet, tremulous voice that Yamashita has never heard before.
Yamashita turns to stare at him and Shige stares back with a look of defiance in his eyes. Yamashita drops his hand from the doorknob and says, “Can we talk out there?”
Shige shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m not going back out there until you explain why there were reporters here. I can’t imagine that this place would bring them a good story.”
Yamashita closes his eyes again. He can’t believe that this is how he has to tell Shige. He’d been thinking about telling him the truth for a couple of days now, always in the back of his mind, but he continued to cling to how easy it was without that complication. And now, this, he’s certain it’s going to mess everything up, and there’s no way he can get around it.
“Tomohisa,” Shige says quietly, and it’s the worrying tone of his voice that pushes Yamashita to finally come out with the truth.
“I’m sorry, Shige,” he says, finally opening his eyes and meeting Shige’s. Shige looks lost now, clearly unable to understand why Yamashita is apologizing. He drops his gaze. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“What do you mean?” Shige questions in a calm voice, staring at Yamashita like he’s never seen him before. And really, he almost hasn’t, not the Yamashita that the world knows. He’s never seen that Yamashita before, and now, as the words start tumbling out of his mouth, that Yamashita - Yamapi, Pi, the idol - starts to color over the Yamashita - Tomohisa, just Tomohisa - that Shige knows.
And he can see it in Shige’s eyes, widening with each new piece of information, his confusion turning into blatant hurt that pricks Yamashita’s skin like a hundred needles, like his heart is bleeding out from every tiny wound into a pool at his feet.
He doesn’t know what to say in the end, just trails off and stares at the ground, his hands curling into fists at his side. Shige’s eyes hold too much pain, too much hurt for Yamashita to look at, and he can almost feel the world that has been built between them over the past month crumbling down around him.
“So,” Shige starts, “so that’s it?” His voice is just barely above a whisper, but in the ringing silence, it sounds like a gunshot. “All this time, you...you’re actually...” He cuts himself off, as though he can’t get himself to say it. “I can’t believe this.”
Yamashita winces. “I’m sorry, Shige, I--” He reaches out a hand for Shige’s, but Shige pulls his back, steps away, and this hurts even worse than anything Yamashita has felt before. He slowly drops his hand back to his side. “I’m so sorry Shige,” he says again.
The look in Shige’s eyes is no longer sad but angry, and it seems to burn Yamashita’s gaze the longer he stares back. “You lied to me,” Shige whispers, and Yamashita was wrong before because those four words hurt even more, each one cutting straight through Yamashita’s ribcage and into his heart like he’s been speared by it. He can’t say anything, just stands there and lets the blows of Shige’s words strike him again and again.
“All this time, not even once, did you even try to tell me the truth. And I, oh my god.” Shige now looks on the verge of turning hysterical, his voice wavering and rising in pitch as he continues, “I, I didn’t even realize. I mean, you...you’re...” Again, he doesn’t seem to be able to say it, instead just slumps back against a shelf full of boxes that shake with the weight of his body.
“Shige,” Yamashita says quiet, not sure what else he can say to make this better, to fix it, to take that look of absolute betrayal in Shige’s eyes and replace it with the usual brightness, happiness that Yamashita looks forward to seeing everyday. “I never meant for this to happen,” he says helplessly. “I-I was going to tell you, I really was, I--”
Shige cuts him off, his voice dangerous like a hurricane of a hundred different emotions. He sounds both upset and infuriated, and Yamashita really doesn’t blame him. “When?!” he exclaims. “When were you going to tell me? You’re only telling me now because those, those reporters or whatever they were found you out! You were just going to continue on in this, this lie you created, that you pulled me into and--”
“No!” Yamashita nearly shouts back, making Shige jump a little and clamp his mouth shut. His eyes are wide and Yamashita takes a deep breath before he continues in a much softer voice, “No. That’s not how it was at all. I wanted to tell you, I figured you must’ve known, in the beginning, but when you didn’t, I just, I...couldn’t.”
Shige stares back at him, his expression steely. “You couldn’t,” he repeats; he sounds tired now, instead of frantic, and Yamashita will rather take this than Shige’s earlier anger.
“I couldn’t,” Yamashita agrees. “I just, I wanted to be myself, and everything was going so well that I just couldn’t bring myself to ruin it.”
Shige’s eyes grow sad again, a dark sea of melancholy and hurt that makes Yamashita’s stomach turn unpleasantly. “You’ve just ruined it,” he breathes then, after what feels like an eternity, and Yamashita’s heart seems to shatter into pieces. Shige drops his gaze. “I think you should go,” he says, his voice unsteady. “I don’t think I’ll need you to help out here anymore, either.”
“Shige--” Yamashita tries but Shige shakes his head and Yamashita sees his fingers clutching the edges of his jeans at his thighs.
“Just go,” Shige says and the pain that’s evident in his voice is what makes Yamashita clench his eyes shut, whisper, “I’m sorry,” one final time before he does as Shige requested. He turns on his heel, pulls open the door and leaves. He walks straight out the front door, thinking that it might be the last time he’ll ever hear those bells ringing, and walks down the sidewalk.
Just before he turns the corner, he looks back over his shoulder, and burns the image, the memories of the shop, of Shige, into his mind forever.
--
Yamashita’s dressed and nearly out the door, ready to go to the bookshop, before he remembers exactly what had happened the day before. He hesitates for a moment, the door halfway open, his hand on the handle, before he slowly pulls it back closed and sinks down to the floor. He closes his eyes and all he can think of is Shige; Shige’s usually cheerful face replaced by the sheer anguish Yamashita had seen yesterday. It’s painful just thinking about it, thinking about how he fucked everything up because he couldn’t be honest with the person he loved.
His eyes snap open as soon as the thought enters his head. In his ears, his heart is pounding as erratically as it had the day before, when he’d been so terrified and distraught at telling Shige the truth. It’s hammering against his ribcage like it’s trying to break free, and all Yamashita can do is stare helplessly at the blank, white wall in front of him and try to reign it inside, lock it up and keep it safe, because he knows, he can tell, that the second it leaves, he might not get it back.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, pouring over the past two months in his head, thinking about how it’s been like with Shige, without the worries or pressures of work, thinking about how easy it was, and yet the moments of uneasiness, of boredom that he always pushed aside because he didn’t want to think about it.
He thinks about it now, how he has spent the past two months doing what he wanted, without any consequences, getting to just be himself, and not Yamashita Tomohisa, the Idol, but Yamashita Tomohisa, the Ordinary Person, and how it was a taste of the life he could have had, that he could still have, if he decides to do so, and yet every time he thinks about that, all he remembers are the faces of the fans at concerts, and the ridiculous questions he has to answer during interviews, and the glowing colors of the penlights, and the amazing, amazing feeling that wells up inside him after an exceptional recording, photo shoot, performance.
And yet, he thinks about Shige, and how Shige has always been truthful and kind and warm and full of smiles that make his skin warm and a smile stretch involuntarily across his face, and how Shige never once doubted him, the stupid lie he made him, how he’d trusted him completely and how he’d let him down.
He wishes, as he sits there in the genkan with his face in his hands, his eyes clenched shut and his mind filled with battling images of Shige, of work, of two different lives, he wishes he’d been a little less of a coward and explained the truth to Shige himself. Things could be different right now, if he’d just been honest, if he hadn't lied that one day when Shige came up and silently asked him what had happened.
But now, now all he has is Shige’s voice telling him it’s ruined, replaying over and over in his head like a broken cassette tape, and it hurts even more now than it did the day before.
And the worst part of it all is that he doesn’t know what to do to fix it.
It’s probably an hour later that he finally picks himself up, still nowhere close to a proper conclusion or decision, but knowing what he has to do to get there. He fishes his phone from his pocket and calls Koyama.
Koyama answers on the second ring, and Yamashita says before he can speak, “I need to talk to you.”
--
He doesn’t go back to the bookshop for two weeks. It’s difficult, and he has to remind himself everyday that he can’t, not yet, forcing himself from heading there on instinct whenever he leaves the house.
Two weeks later, he thinks he can finally do it, and as the bells ring above the door, a familiar warmth settles in the pit of his stomach and pushes aside his anxiety.
“Welcome!” Shige’s voice immediately calls out and Yamashita’s heart starts jumping in his chest. Shige appears from behind a shelf and he stops in his tracks when he realizes it’s Yamashita standing beside the door. His eyes grow dark, his cheerful smile fading into a frown, and Yamashita tries to ignore the way it makes his confidence deflate a bit. He’s psyched himself up for this for past two days; he’s not going to back out now.
“Hi,” he says, his voice sounding ridiculously hopeful. His smile is hesitant.
Shige doesn’t move. “Hi,” he replies, a little stiff. He drops his gaze, folds his arms over his chest. “What’re you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” Yamashita replies. “I wanted to explain.”
Shige scoffs, but Yamashita has gotten to read him well, and knows that the way he turns his head toward him, glances at him for a second before looking away again, is enough to tell him Shige is curious, willing to at least hear him out, no matter what he might say. “I think you said everything that needed to be said last time,” he says finally.
Yamashita shakes his head, takes a step closer. Shige steps back. Yamashita shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks a bit on his feet. “Last time was a mess,” he says honestly. “I wasn’t expecting you to ever find out like that, Shige. I really am sorry.”
Shige’s eyes are much softer when they meet his again, staring hard as though he’s trying to determine whether Yamashita’s telling the truth. He looks away again after a moment. “Are you sorry I found out the way I did, or are you sorry for lying to me?”
“Both,” Yamashita answers instantly. “I know that I can’t say anything to make it better, to fix this, this...thing between us.” He swallows thickly, fidgeting a bit, his fingernails scraping along the insides of his jeans pockets as he tries to find the right words. He doesn’t want to screw this up.
Shige is watching him again, and that’s reassuring. Shige is reassuring. The fact that he hasn’t turned away or kicked him out of the shop is more than Yamashita expected. More than he deserves.
He takes a deep breath and says the words he should’ve told Shige weeks ago, “I love you.”
Shige looks a bit like someone just dropped a stack of books on his head. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again when he seems at a loss for words.
Yamashita merely smiles. He steps closer again and takes it as a good sign Shige doesn’t step away, though it might just be because he’s too shocked to move. Either way, he continues confidently, feeling the adrenaline in his veins the way he does when he first walks on stage during a concert or performance, “Thanks to you, I had possibly the best two months in my life. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I was really confused before, about what I was doing, and I just didn’t want to be thought of as the superstar Yamapi everyone knows me by.” He smiles at Shige and steps closer again. “With you I could just be Tomohisa,” he says softly.
Yamashita hears Shige’s breath hitch, can see in his eyes the way he’s forcing himself to hold back, how his fingers are curling into fists at his sides in an attempt to not reach out. Yamashita, right now, wants nothing more than to step closer, closer than closer, feel Shige’s body against his and kiss him soundly on the mouth. But he holds back just as much as Shige, staring at him with a large, balloon of hope in his heart, waiting, waiting to be cut free.
Shige’s eyes clench shut and he hangs his head, and Yamashita feels that balloon pop in his chest the second he says, “I’m sorry. I-I can’t.”
Yamashita takes a quick step backward, and this is possibly the most painful moment of all. Worse than when Shige had first found out. He gives a short, forced laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says in the end, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Okay.” He turns toward the door and adds, “Goodbye, Shige.”
--
It was never just one thing that made him do it. It was an accumulation of many things. Of years of stressful work and no sleep, endless hours of photo shoots and interviews, and limited time for himself. Everything he was always told was the price for fame. It built up inside him and that day, that day, he couldn’t take anymore. He stood before Johnny and Koyama and a handful of staff mingling about before an important meeting about a new movie role or something, he can’t even remember, and he told them he quit.
He doesn’t regret it.
Thinking back on it now, he was probably just selfish. He could’ve simply asked for a vacation. He probably would’ve gotten one. He was impulsive and selfish and he did the only thing he could think of, at that time, and it was walking out of that building and never looking back.
He thought it’d be difficult returning, but his first steps back inside feel as though he never left. Just another day, another meeting. Koyama looks positively beside himself when Yamashita meets up with him, and after formalities, launches straight into his new schedule. It’s like the past two months never happened. And that familiarity, if anything, is highly comforting.
When he meets with Johnny later, the old man simply gives him a shark-like grin and tells him, “Welcome back,” and that is it. Yamashita thinks he should’ve expected as much. He knows, already, that Johnny stopped the paparazzi from releasing whatever story they had on Yamashita and his ties to the bookshop. Johnny had that kind of power. He’d probably been ready for it the second Yamashita quit.
Of course, the rumors of Yamashita leaving the company continue to circulate throughout the media and the fans. This is why the second Yamashita returns, he finds himself much busier than he was before he left.
He has two weeks to prepare for a series of concerts at Yokohama Area, and a final concert at the Tokyo Dome. He has recording, dance practice, concert meetings, and photo shoots back to back to back, and functions on merely four to five hours of sleep each day. He knows the quick preparation and last minute scheduling are to quickly dispel the rumors surrounding him. That is what Johnny’s did, and that’s what they did well. Despite taking a two month break, Yamashita could do this all in his sleep.
But, in the back of his mind, no matter how busy he gets, remains the lingering thoughts of Shige. Of kissing against bookshelves, of walking together through the rain, of discussing characters and fantasy worlds, of soft touches and warm smiles and bubbling happiness.
Of Shige’s sad, wretched face when Yamashita told him the truth. Of Shige’s final words that day he had confessed.
He tries not to think about it after that.
On the day of his first concert, Yamashita is uncharacteristically nervous. This is different than any other concert he has done before. This is him returning. It does not matter that the fans or the media don’t know about it - this is him returning. And uneasiness rests in the pit of his stomach as he waits for the music to start and the stage to lift him up out in the center of the hall.
He can hear the fans roar, the incessant chanting of Yamapi, Yamapi, Yamapi, and he closes his eyes and drowns in it.
Then it starts, and the second he opens his eyes and looks out through the haze of penlights and streamers and pyrotechnics, he has no doubt left in his mind that this is truly where he belongs.
--
In the rush of being an idol again, Yamashita almost manages to push any stray thought of Shige into a little wooden chest in the back of his mind, safe with lock and key. Almost. He remembers every once in a while, when he sees the stack of books he’d bought from the shop on his kitchen table, or the umbrella Shige had made him take one evening as they parted ways. Sometimes, when he’s spacing out during a meeting or a photo shoot, working through on autopilot, Shige’s face fills his mind, his soft smiles and his brilliant laugh, and Yamashita has to forcefully will the memories away or else he finds he can no longer concentrate.
When he sees Shige again, it’s after the final Dome Concert. He’s waiting outside, down the street, leaning against the side of a brick building, with his hands in his pockets and his head hanging low. Yamashita is so dumbfounded, he can merely stand and gape for a few seconds, and Shige rushes to straighten up and step closer, explaining, “I ran into your manager earlier. I was looking around for you, and he probably thought I was some crazy fan.” He gives a short laugh. “He told me you’d be out this way. I hope you don’t mind.” He pauses, swallows, and adds, “I wanted to talk to you.”
Yamashita quickly shakes his head. “No, no. It’s okay,” he says and steps closer. It’s nearly ten in the evening now, and Yamashita wonders how long Shige has been waiting out here. “How’ve you been?” he asks, uncertain what else to say, but Shige ignores the question and dives right in.
“I saw your concert,” Shige says in one breath, looking a little like he still can’t believe it.
Yamashita most certainly can’t, and he gapes at Shige again, astounded that he was in the audience somewhere, watching as he went through his repertoire of songs, as he messed up the lyrics in the last one, as he danced seductively, as he walked around in the hideous costumes. He feels heat in his cheeks just thinking about it and knowing that Shige had been there, watching everything. “R-Really?” he says, his voice taking on a slightly high pitch. He clears his throat and tries again, “Really? You, you should’ve told me.”
Shige shakes his head. “I didn’t want to. I just...I just wanted to come and see,” he says. “See the real you.”
Yamashita wants to refute that the person he saw up there is not entirely him, but he doesn’t get the chance as Shige continues, “You were amazing,” and although he sounds incredibly sincere, Yamashita can only groan and hide his face in embarrassment.
“I really can’t believe you watched it,” he mumbles into his hands.
Shige laughs, reaches out and takes Yamashita’s hands in his and pulls them from his face. Yamashita’s eyes widen at his touch, so soft and warm like he remembers, and when their gazes meet, Shige drops his hands like he’d just been burned. They both look away awkwardly, and at that moment someone passes by, glancing at them suspiciously, and Shige quickly says, “Can we go somewhere?”
Yamashita is already pulling his keys from his pockets. “My apartment is nearby,” he offers, and Shige hesitates for a moment before he nods and follows.
Shige’s first words when they arrive are, “Wow, you really are an idol.” His eyes are big and his mouth a little open, as he takes in Yamashita’s large flat with decorative interior and looks a bit like a deer in headlights.
It makes Yamashita laugh. He slips out of his shoes and slides into the apartment, and Shige hastily follows. “Do you want something to drink? I can make some tea--”
“No, it’s okay,” Shige interrupts. “I--Can we talk?”
Yamashita nods, motions toward the couch, but Shige shakes his head, continues to stand nervously beside the coffee table. When he seems to not be able to say what he wants, his eyes focused on the floor and his fingers wringing together before him the way he does sometimes when he’s not sure how to say what he wants to. Yamashita smiles at him and prompts instead, “How did you realize I was having concerts?”
Shige looks up at him and relief crosses his face. “I saw it on the news,” he replies, sheepishly. “They showed your face and everything, and I couldn’t believe I’d never realized before.” He laughs a little self-deprecatingly. “I mean, you’re Yamapi. Of course I’d heard it before, I just. I don’t know, I never realized.”
Yamashita shakes his head and steps closer to him, smiling wider when Shige doesn’t move away. “I didn’t want you to realize,” Yamashita says. “I wanted to tell you eventually, but I liked that you didn’t know.” He hesitates for a second, and then gives in, reaches out to brush away the bangs from Shige’s face, lets his fingers linger against his cheek. Shige’s breath catches in his throat, and Yamashita adds softly, “I told you, didn’t I? With you, I could just be Tomohisa.”
“What if I want to know Yamapi, too?” Shige counters and Yamashita starts. “You never even gave me the chance to try.”
“I know,” he replies, chagrined. “I’m sorry.”
Shige reaches up and takes Yamashita’s hand in his, threading their fingers together and slowly lowering them down between them. “About what you told me last time,” Shige starts and Yamashita groans, quickly jumps in to say, “I’m sorry about that. I really shouldn’t have. I know it was awful timing and it probably seemed like I was trying to make it up to you and I really am--”
Yamashita’s eyes widen as his words are cut off by Shige’s mouth pressing up against his. Yamashita doesn’t even hesitate in reciprocating, pulling Shige closer and sliding his arms around his waist. He sighs into his mouth as Shige’s lips stretch into a smile that Yamashita kisses away again and again. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this until right now, and every moment, every feeling comes soaring back, flooding his mind and his body until he can no longer think, just lets himself go with Shige’s fingers curling into his t-shirt and his breath hot against his lips.
It feels like a whole day has passed when Shige finally breaks apart, and Yamashita’s mind is a dizzying, spiraling mess of words and thoughts that he can’t figure out how to say. But Shige meets his eyes and does it instead, his voice sending shivers down Yamashita’s spine when he breathes, “I love you.”
And at those words, Yamashita’s heart grows wings and escapes from its tiny cage. He doesn’t know what to say.
Shige smiles, continues, “I love all of you; Tomohisa, Yamapi, it doesn’t matter.” His fingers tighten into the fabric of Yamashita’s shirt. “I love you.”
Yamashita’s throat feels too tight to speak and the blood is rushing in his ears, and he does all he can think to do, in that moment, putting everything he’s wanted to say and more into that next kiss.
--
It’s later, sometime when they’re lying beneath the covers in Yamashita’s bed, Shige’s hair a cascade across the white pillow covers, that he asks, “Why did you go back?”
Yamashita looks up at the ceiling. His fingers draw patterns down Shige’s arm. “I wanted to stop lying. To you, and to myself. This is who I am, I’m Yamapi, and I realized I didn’t want to change that.” He smiles down at Shige, whose arm is warm from where it’s thrown across Yamashita’s waist, fingertips pressing little hot marks against his hip. “I think I just forgot, for awhile, how to simply be Tomohisa, too,” he continues. He meets Shige’s eyes. “You reminded me. That’s what I need. Not to forget.”
Shige reaches over, his hand sliding around to the back of Yamashita’s neck and he’s pulling him down, ghosting their lips together as he says, “I’ll remind you whenever you want.”
--
Shige doesn’t bring it up for two whole days. Yamashita is actually impressed. He hasn’t missed the worrying looks Shige has given him since Ryo’s visit, the slight hesitation whenever Yamashita touches him, kisses him. All he told Shige that day was that Ryo was an old friend, but hadn’t elaborated. He figured Shige would ask. He didn’t.
Now though, the second Shige walks up and slides onto the stool behind the register counter, Yamashita knows he’s going to ask. It’s midday Saturday, and the shop is empty save for an elderly couple silently arguing in the back.
Shige says nothing, just sits there, like he’s waiting for Yamashita to bring it up. Yamashita doesn’t know how, so he continues adding price tags to a few books that seem to have lost them and ignores Shige’s gaze that burns holes into the back of his head.
Eventually, Yamashita sighs, closes up the last book and turns around to face him. He leans against the counter and says, “You want to know, don’t you? What Ryo said.”
Shige replies steadily, “Only if you’re willing to tell me.” He smiles a little and admits, “I am curious.”
Yamashita drops his gaze, stares at his shoes. “He’s not just a friend of mine; he’s a coworker. We’re from the same company and--”
“I don’t really care about your friend, Tomohisa,” Shige says and, like always, Yamashita’s skin tingles when hearing his name fall from Shige’s lips. No one calls him that; he’s been “Yamapi” - this silly nickname given to him within the company - for so long that it’s indescribable, the way it feels to hear Shige call him by his given name. It’s this, perhaps, that convinces Yamashita to do what he does next.
He lies.
“Right,” he says, chuckles softly. “Well, a month ago...I quit. The company.”
“Why?” Shige asks instantly. “What company is this?”
He evades the second question by saying, “It’s a big...corporation, um. I worked in sales. But, well, things sucked, to be honest. I was getting really tired of being there, of the expectations and having no rest, no time for myself. I just...wanted to break free, I guess.”
Shige opens his mouth to reply but then closes it, sliding off the stool. He touches Yamashita’s hip silently, pushes him aside a bit to help the couple that have finally made their way to the front. Yamashita turns with a smile and puts the two books they bought into a plastic bag, hands it to the woman who gives him a happy grin. They watch them walk out the door before turning back to each other, standing wordlessly while the bells above the door do their usual dance.
Yamashita’s not sure how to continue. Honestly there isn’t much left to say, not more he wants to tell Shige, can tell Shige without explaining the truth. And he doesn’t want to do that yet...not yet. For awhile longer he just wants Shige to know him as Tomohisa, and not as anything else.
“I’m sorry, for never telling you before,” Yamashita says eventually, and Shige shakes his head, smiles. “I guess, I felt a little...ashamed? I don’t know. I never thought I’d quit anything.”
“Well, if you’re happy now, then there’s nothing to feel ashamed about,” Shige says in that philosophical way he does. “Are you? Happy?” He takes a step closer, the tips of their shoes touching.
Yamashita reaches out, brushes Shige’s bangs back, fingers sliding down his right cheek, and thinks about it, really thinks about it, his eyes closing subconsciously. He thinks about the endless work hours, shuttling around from photo shoots to interviews to meetings, catching twenty-minute naps in between. He thinks about how cautious he has to be about who he’s with, where he goes, how he spends his time off. He thinks about the biting remarks in magazines, papers, on websites, fans who don’t think he’s good enough, will never be good enough. He thinks about the tiring dance rehearsals and the rawness of his throat after a recording, only to be told it’s not right, do it one more time.
Then he thinks about the concerts, the beautiful, glowing dots of the penlights that fill up the concert hall like a starry night sky. He thinks about the tearful faces, the smiling faces, the sparkling uchiwa, the screams, the cheers, the voices that fill up his heart and don’t leave his ears for days after. He thinks about how good it feels after a successful tour, the feeling of accomplishment, the adrenaline pumping in his veins, the joy he can’t put down in words. He thinks about the letters he gets everyday, the most tiny Do your best! or I’ll always believe in you! that make him fight harder. He thinks about the fans that have been with him since the very beginning.
He opens his eyes, meets Shige’s clear ones that stare back softly, a little worriedly, his fingers resting on Yamashita’s hip, warm through his t-shirt. He thinks about the past month and half he’s spent here, with Shige. Thinks about Shige’s laughter and smiles, the taste of his lips. Thinks about endless hours immersing himself in the vast world of literature, drowning in various stories and ideas and creative universes that have let him take a step out from his own. He thinks about how quiet, peaceful, and easy it is here.
He smiles. “Yes,” he says, finally, leaning in so his lips ghost against Shige’s. “I’m happy,” he says, but somewhere, just a tiny little sprout of self-doubt blooms inside of him.
--
It’s only the second time he’s been here, but he already feels comfortable, like it’s home. There’s something much more cozy about Shige’s apartment - probably because it isn’t in the middle of Roppongi like his own, and is just big enough for himself, while Yamashita’s could easily house three more people. Yamashita does like his own place, but lately, its bright white walls and expansive space feel stifling and uneasy. He like Shige’s place a whole lot more, with the light yellow paint and the decorative photos. It’s classy but homey.
The first time he was here had been after their unofficial date. Shige had hesitantly invited him over, and Yamashita had readily accepted. They merely watched a movie and Yamashita fell asleep halfway through, woke up on the couch the next morning to Shige’s humming and the smell of coffee.
And now, Shige is also humming, light under his breath as he prepares their dinner. He’d invited Yamashita over after the shop closed, much more confidently than last time, and Yamashita accepted without question.
“Are you sure you don’t want help?” Yamashita questions from where he’s sitting back against the couch. Shige had told him to make himself at home, insisted that he’d cook and shoved Yamashita from the kitchen before he could follow.
Shige’s laughter makes Yamashita’s heart warm, and he glances over at him, watches as he moves around the small place with ease. “It’s fine,” he calls back. “I’m almost done anyway.”
“Well, if you insist,” Yamashita replies, and laughs when Shige says, “I do!”
He smiles and then stands up, heading to the bookcases against the opposite wall. There are three of them, each packed tight with worn-out paperbacks and pristine hardcovers. A thick chunk of law books sit at the bottom shelf, and Yamashita struggles to pull one out, almost dropping it from its surprising weight.
“Did you study law?” he asks Shige as he flips through the pages, sees Shige’s familiar handwriting in the margins, full of words he doesn’t understand.
“Oh,” Shige says, turning and glancing at Yamashita over the bar counter that separates the kitchen from the living area. He nods. “I did,” he says. “I graduated last year.”
Yamashita closes the book with a thud, and looks up at him, confused. “But you’re not...”
Shige laughs, shakes his head. “I decided I didn’t want to,” he replies simply, like that’s all there is to it. “The shop, it used to be my grandmother’s.” A fond smile crosses his face, and Yamashita can almost see in his eyes the memories he must be recalling. “Last year, right before my graduation, she passed away.”
Yamashita stands, walks over the join Shige in the kitchen and slides an arm around his waist, gives Shige a short squeeze. Shige smiles up at him, and then slips from his embrace, turning around to go back to cooking. Yamashita leans against a counter and listens as he continues, “They were going to close the shop; send the books off to other, larger stores, or to collectors, whoever would have them. But I didn’t want them to.”
The thud-thud of the knife chopping carrots against the wooden cutting board resonates through the room for a few minutes. Shige drops them into the simmering pot on the stove and adds, “I was an only child and my parents both worked. I used to stay at the shop during the day a lot and she would look after me. It was like my second home. I love that place. I would sit at the register and read everyday.”
He turns back around and smiles at Yamashita. “So I told them I’d take over instead,” he finishes, and then gives a one-shoulder shrug, like it’s no big deal.
Yamashita reaches out, pulls him close with fingers hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re amazing,” he says into Shige’s mouth and Shige laughs, bright and brilliant.
Shige shakes his head. “I’m just me,” he says, always so modest, and that’s what’s so amazing about him, Yamashita thinks. “I love what I do right now. Working there, it’s like that’s what I was always meant to do, you know?”
Images of the blazing pyrotechnics during a concert, the streams of confetti shooting out from the ceilings, and the roar of the fans fill Yamashita’s mind instantly. He shakes it away. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly. “You don’t regret it?”
“Not at all,” Shige replies instantly. “My parents still disapprove a bit, they insist I wasted four years getting my degree to give it up. But, I don’t think I gave it up. I just found something better.”
Yamashita thinks about his own marketing degree, something he got because he thought it’d help him more while being in the entertainment business. It was never something he was truly passionate about, something more practical than desirable.
He thinks about quitting the company. His mother had asked him, the day after he’d done it, in that kind, understanding voice of hers, “Are you giving up?”
Then, determined and petulant, he’d said “Yes” without hesitation. Now, he feels a little confused. Shige gave up his studies for something he was clearly passionate about, and there’s no doubt in Yamashita’s mind from watching him and getting to know him over the past month that Shige made the right choice. Yamashita, on the other hand, gave up Johnny’s, gave up being an idol...for what?
He sighs, his shoulder slumping as yet again the offer that Ryo had told him about passes through his mind. He hasn’t been able to shake it since he was informed, and it always pops up when he least expects it, reminding himself that he’s still without a job, that his years of savings, even though they’d last him for a very long time, isn’t what he should be living off of.
“Tomohisa?” Shige says gently, and his warm hand on Yamashita’s shoulder has him looking up, pushing aside his worries and meeting Shige’s gaze. “You okay?”
He smiles; a perfected idol smile. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just hungry.” He pouts and pats his stomach. “Is it done yet?”
Shige laughs, presses a kiss to his cheek. “Almost,” he replies and steps back to tend to the boiling pot of curry on the stove. Yamashita’s smile grows as he watches him, and thinks back to what he gave up, what he gained.
He stares at Shige and thinks he definitely found something that is much, much better than any job he could ever have.
But the question is whether this is really enough.
--
It’s a pleasant Friday morning. The sun casts brilliant rays of light from the clear, pale blue sky. Yamashita stops at a fancy bakery near his apartment to buy a couple of muffins before heading toward the bookshop. He’s only a few blocks away when the call comes from his manager. Yamashita figures as he’s ignored Koyama for almost two months, that he should probably be nice and let the perpetually worrying man know that’s he’s at least alive.
He fishes his phone from his pocket and answers with a cheerful, “Hello!”
“Yamapi,” Koyama says, and that name almost feels so strange to hear after going so long without being called by it. He sounds serious, not happy or flaily like he usually is, and Yamashita instantly stops in his tracks, wonders what he’s calling about. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how they found out. Ryo-chan only told me, and of course, neither of us mentioned it to anyone. They must have followed you.”
Yamashita’s heart starts a slow descend towards his stomach. “What, what are you talking about?”
Koyama pauses for a moment, and Yamashita knows he has that expression on his face that he gets when he has to inform him about something upsetting. “They know; the paparazzi. Some of them must have followed you. They’ve found out that you’ve been working at the bookshop.”
His heart bypasses his stomach and drops straight to his feet. “No,” he whispers, and all he can think about is Shige. “I-I’ve got to go,” he stammers to Koyama and before he even hangs up, he’s rushing off down the block.
There are only a few - but it’s enough. Three men with cameras slung around their necks are waiting just inside the door when Yamashita pushes it open, the bells clanging angrily from his force. And they’re on him like vultures, large, twisted grins on their faces because Yamashita knows that this is their story of the year.
They start to immediately question him, but Yamashita doesn’t hear it. It’s just white noise in his ears as his focus is on finding Shige. That’s the only thing in his mind.
The younger man is standing transfixed by the register, looking confused and lost, but he seems to brighten up the second he notices Yamashita.
“Tomo--” he starts but Yamashita cuts him off as he drops the bag from the bakery onto the counter and grabs Shige’s hand, whispering, “Don’t say anything.” He drags him down an aisle toward the back storage room and pushes Shige in first and then follows after, slamming the door shut in the bewildered faces of the paparazzi.
Shige flicks on the lights while Yamashita leans back against the door, his chest rising and falling with his heavy sigh. He closes his eyes, strains his ears to listen to the men grumbling on the other side of the door, before footsteps eventually lead away, and the bells from the front door signaling their departure.
He sighs again, his head thuds back against the door. “They’re gone,” he says, and reaches for the doorknob to head back out front.
Shige pushes the door back shut. “Explain,” he says in a quiet, tremulous voice that Yamashita has never heard before.
Yamashita turns to stare at him and Shige stares back with a look of defiance in his eyes. Yamashita drops his hand from the doorknob and says, “Can we talk out there?”
Shige shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m not going back out there until you explain why there were reporters here. I can’t imagine that this place would bring them a good story.”
Yamashita closes his eyes again. He can’t believe that this is how he has to tell Shige. He’d been thinking about telling him the truth for a couple of days now, always in the back of his mind, but he continued to cling to how easy it was without that complication. And now, this, he’s certain it’s going to mess everything up, and there’s no way he can get around it.
“Tomohisa,” Shige says quietly, and it’s the worrying tone of his voice that pushes Yamashita to finally come out with the truth.
“I’m sorry, Shige,” he says, finally opening his eyes and meeting Shige’s. Shige looks lost now, clearly unable to understand why Yamashita is apologizing. He drops his gaze. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“What do you mean?” Shige questions in a calm voice, staring at Yamashita like he’s never seen him before. And really, he almost hasn’t, not the Yamashita that the world knows. He’s never seen that Yamashita before, and now, as the words start tumbling out of his mouth, that Yamashita - Yamapi, Pi, the idol - starts to color over the Yamashita - Tomohisa, just Tomohisa - that Shige knows.
And he can see it in Shige’s eyes, widening with each new piece of information, his confusion turning into blatant hurt that pricks Yamashita’s skin like a hundred needles, like his heart is bleeding out from every tiny wound into a pool at his feet.
He doesn’t know what to say in the end, just trails off and stares at the ground, his hands curling into fists at his side. Shige’s eyes hold too much pain, too much hurt for Yamashita to look at, and he can almost feel the world that has been built between them over the past month crumbling down around him.
“So,” Shige starts, “so that’s it?” His voice is just barely above a whisper, but in the ringing silence, it sounds like a gunshot. “All this time, you...you’re actually...” He cuts himself off, as though he can’t get himself to say it. “I can’t believe this.”
Yamashita winces. “I’m sorry, Shige, I--” He reaches out a hand for Shige’s, but Shige pulls his back, steps away, and this hurts even worse than anything Yamashita has felt before. He slowly drops his hand back to his side. “I’m so sorry Shige,” he says again.
The look in Shige’s eyes is no longer sad but angry, and it seems to burn Yamashita’s gaze the longer he stares back. “You lied to me,” Shige whispers, and Yamashita was wrong before because those four words hurt even more, each one cutting straight through Yamashita’s ribcage and into his heart like he’s been speared by it. He can’t say anything, just stands there and lets the blows of Shige’s words strike him again and again.
“All this time, not even once, did you even try to tell me the truth. And I, oh my god.” Shige now looks on the verge of turning hysterical, his voice wavering and rising in pitch as he continues, “I, I didn’t even realize. I mean, you...you’re...” Again, he doesn’t seem to be able to say it, instead just slumps back against a shelf full of boxes that shake with the weight of his body.
“Shige,” Yamashita says quiet, not sure what else he can say to make this better, to fix it, to take that look of absolute betrayal in Shige’s eyes and replace it with the usual brightness, happiness that Yamashita looks forward to seeing everyday. “I never meant for this to happen,” he says helplessly. “I-I was going to tell you, I really was, I--”
Shige cuts him off, his voice dangerous like a hurricane of a hundred different emotions. He sounds both upset and infuriated, and Yamashita really doesn’t blame him. “When?!” he exclaims. “When were you going to tell me? You’re only telling me now because those, those reporters or whatever they were found you out! You were just going to continue on in this, this lie you created, that you pulled me into and--”
“No!” Yamashita nearly shouts back, making Shige jump a little and clamp his mouth shut. His eyes are wide and Yamashita takes a deep breath before he continues in a much softer voice, “No. That’s not how it was at all. I wanted to tell you, I figured you must’ve known, in the beginning, but when you didn’t, I just, I...couldn’t.”
Shige stares back at him, his expression steely. “You couldn’t,” he repeats; he sounds tired now, instead of frantic, and Yamashita will rather take this than Shige’s earlier anger.
“I couldn’t,” Yamashita agrees. “I just, I wanted to be myself, and everything was going so well that I just couldn’t bring myself to ruin it.”
Shige’s eyes grow sad again, a dark sea of melancholy and hurt that makes Yamashita’s stomach turn unpleasantly. “You’ve just ruined it,” he breathes then, after what feels like an eternity, and Yamashita’s heart seems to shatter into pieces. Shige drops his gaze. “I think you should go,” he says, his voice unsteady. “I don’t think I’ll need you to help out here anymore, either.”
“Shige--” Yamashita tries but Shige shakes his head and Yamashita sees his fingers clutching the edges of his jeans at his thighs.
“Just go,” Shige says and the pain that’s evident in his voice is what makes Yamashita clench his eyes shut, whisper, “I’m sorry,” one final time before he does as Shige requested. He turns on his heel, pulls open the door and leaves. He walks straight out the front door, thinking that it might be the last time he’ll ever hear those bells ringing, and walks down the sidewalk.
Just before he turns the corner, he looks back over his shoulder, and burns the image, the memories of the shop, of Shige, into his mind forever.
--
Yamashita’s dressed and nearly out the door, ready to go to the bookshop, before he remembers exactly what had happened the day before. He hesitates for a moment, the door halfway open, his hand on the handle, before he slowly pulls it back closed and sinks down to the floor. He closes his eyes and all he can think of is Shige; Shige’s usually cheerful face replaced by the sheer anguish Yamashita had seen yesterday. It’s painful just thinking about it, thinking about how he fucked everything up because he couldn’t be honest with the person he loved.
His eyes snap open as soon as the thought enters his head. In his ears, his heart is pounding as erratically as it had the day before, when he’d been so terrified and distraught at telling Shige the truth. It’s hammering against his ribcage like it’s trying to break free, and all Yamashita can do is stare helplessly at the blank, white wall in front of him and try to reign it inside, lock it up and keep it safe, because he knows, he can tell, that the second it leaves, he might not get it back.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, pouring over the past two months in his head, thinking about how it’s been like with Shige, without the worries or pressures of work, thinking about how easy it was, and yet the moments of uneasiness, of boredom that he always pushed aside because he didn’t want to think about it.
He thinks about it now, how he has spent the past two months doing what he wanted, without any consequences, getting to just be himself, and not Yamashita Tomohisa, the Idol, but Yamashita Tomohisa, the Ordinary Person, and how it was a taste of the life he could have had, that he could still have, if he decides to do so, and yet every time he thinks about that, all he remembers are the faces of the fans at concerts, and the ridiculous questions he has to answer during interviews, and the glowing colors of the penlights, and the amazing, amazing feeling that wells up inside him after an exceptional recording, photo shoot, performance.
And yet, he thinks about Shige, and how Shige has always been truthful and kind and warm and full of smiles that make his skin warm and a smile stretch involuntarily across his face, and how Shige never once doubted him, the stupid lie he made him, how he’d trusted him completely and how he’d let him down.
He wishes, as he sits there in the genkan with his face in his hands, his eyes clenched shut and his mind filled with battling images of Shige, of work, of two different lives, he wishes he’d been a little less of a coward and explained the truth to Shige himself. Things could be different right now, if he’d just been honest, if he hadn't lied that one day when Shige came up and silently asked him what had happened.
But now, now all he has is Shige’s voice telling him it’s ruined, replaying over and over in his head like a broken cassette tape, and it hurts even more now than it did the day before.
And the worst part of it all is that he doesn’t know what to do to fix it.
It’s probably an hour later that he finally picks himself up, still nowhere close to a proper conclusion or decision, but knowing what he has to do to get there. He fishes his phone from his pocket and calls Koyama.
Koyama answers on the second ring, and Yamashita says before he can speak, “I need to talk to you.”
--
He doesn’t go back to the bookshop for two weeks. It’s difficult, and he has to remind himself everyday that he can’t, not yet, forcing himself from heading there on instinct whenever he leaves the house.
Two weeks later, he thinks he can finally do it, and as the bells ring above the door, a familiar warmth settles in the pit of his stomach and pushes aside his anxiety.
“Welcome!” Shige’s voice immediately calls out and Yamashita’s heart starts jumping in his chest. Shige appears from behind a shelf and he stops in his tracks when he realizes it’s Yamashita standing beside the door. His eyes grow dark, his cheerful smile fading into a frown, and Yamashita tries to ignore the way it makes his confidence deflate a bit. He’s psyched himself up for this for past two days; he’s not going to back out now.
“Hi,” he says, his voice sounding ridiculously hopeful. His smile is hesitant.
Shige doesn’t move. “Hi,” he replies, a little stiff. He drops his gaze, folds his arms over his chest. “What’re you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” Yamashita replies. “I wanted to explain.”
Shige scoffs, but Yamashita has gotten to read him well, and knows that the way he turns his head toward him, glances at him for a second before looking away again, is enough to tell him Shige is curious, willing to at least hear him out, no matter what he might say. “I think you said everything that needed to be said last time,” he says finally.
Yamashita shakes his head, takes a step closer. Shige steps back. Yamashita shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks a bit on his feet. “Last time was a mess,” he says honestly. “I wasn’t expecting you to ever find out like that, Shige. I really am sorry.”
Shige’s eyes are much softer when they meet his again, staring hard as though he’s trying to determine whether Yamashita’s telling the truth. He looks away again after a moment. “Are you sorry I found out the way I did, or are you sorry for lying to me?”
“Both,” Yamashita answers instantly. “I know that I can’t say anything to make it better, to fix this, this...thing between us.” He swallows thickly, fidgeting a bit, his fingernails scraping along the insides of his jeans pockets as he tries to find the right words. He doesn’t want to screw this up.
Shige is watching him again, and that’s reassuring. Shige is reassuring. The fact that he hasn’t turned away or kicked him out of the shop is more than Yamashita expected. More than he deserves.
He takes a deep breath and says the words he should’ve told Shige weeks ago, “I love you.”
Shige looks a bit like someone just dropped a stack of books on his head. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again when he seems at a loss for words.
Yamashita merely smiles. He steps closer again and takes it as a good sign Shige doesn’t step away, though it might just be because he’s too shocked to move. Either way, he continues confidently, feeling the adrenaline in his veins the way he does when he first walks on stage during a concert or performance, “Thanks to you, I had possibly the best two months in my life. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I was really confused before, about what I was doing, and I just didn’t want to be thought of as the superstar Yamapi everyone knows me by.” He smiles at Shige and steps closer again. “With you I could just be Tomohisa,” he says softly.
Yamashita hears Shige’s breath hitch, can see in his eyes the way he’s forcing himself to hold back, how his fingers are curling into fists at his sides in an attempt to not reach out. Yamashita, right now, wants nothing more than to step closer, closer than closer, feel Shige’s body against his and kiss him soundly on the mouth. But he holds back just as much as Shige, staring at him with a large, balloon of hope in his heart, waiting, waiting to be cut free.
Shige’s eyes clench shut and he hangs his head, and Yamashita feels that balloon pop in his chest the second he says, “I’m sorry. I-I can’t.”
Yamashita takes a quick step backward, and this is possibly the most painful moment of all. Worse than when Shige had first found out. He gives a short, forced laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says in the end, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Okay.” He turns toward the door and adds, “Goodbye, Shige.”
--
It was never just one thing that made him do it. It was an accumulation of many things. Of years of stressful work and no sleep, endless hours of photo shoots and interviews, and limited time for himself. Everything he was always told was the price for fame. It built up inside him and that day, that day, he couldn’t take anymore. He stood before Johnny and Koyama and a handful of staff mingling about before an important meeting about a new movie role or something, he can’t even remember, and he told them he quit.
He doesn’t regret it.
Thinking back on it now, he was probably just selfish. He could’ve simply asked for a vacation. He probably would’ve gotten one. He was impulsive and selfish and he did the only thing he could think of, at that time, and it was walking out of that building and never looking back.
He thought it’d be difficult returning, but his first steps back inside feel as though he never left. Just another day, another meeting. Koyama looks positively beside himself when Yamashita meets up with him, and after formalities, launches straight into his new schedule. It’s like the past two months never happened. And that familiarity, if anything, is highly comforting.
When he meets with Johnny later, the old man simply gives him a shark-like grin and tells him, “Welcome back,” and that is it. Yamashita thinks he should’ve expected as much. He knows, already, that Johnny stopped the paparazzi from releasing whatever story they had on Yamashita and his ties to the bookshop. Johnny had that kind of power. He’d probably been ready for it the second Yamashita quit.
Of course, the rumors of Yamashita leaving the company continue to circulate throughout the media and the fans. This is why the second Yamashita returns, he finds himself much busier than he was before he left.
He has two weeks to prepare for a series of concerts at Yokohama Area, and a final concert at the Tokyo Dome. He has recording, dance practice, concert meetings, and photo shoots back to back to back, and functions on merely four to five hours of sleep each day. He knows the quick preparation and last minute scheduling are to quickly dispel the rumors surrounding him. That is what Johnny’s did, and that’s what they did well. Despite taking a two month break, Yamashita could do this all in his sleep.
But, in the back of his mind, no matter how busy he gets, remains the lingering thoughts of Shige. Of kissing against bookshelves, of walking together through the rain, of discussing characters and fantasy worlds, of soft touches and warm smiles and bubbling happiness.
Of Shige’s sad, wretched face when Yamashita told him the truth. Of Shige’s final words that day he had confessed.
He tries not to think about it after that.
On the day of his first concert, Yamashita is uncharacteristically nervous. This is different than any other concert he has done before. This is him returning. It does not matter that the fans or the media don’t know about it - this is him returning. And uneasiness rests in the pit of his stomach as he waits for the music to start and the stage to lift him up out in the center of the hall.
He can hear the fans roar, the incessant chanting of Yamapi, Yamapi, Yamapi, and he closes his eyes and drowns in it.
Then it starts, and the second he opens his eyes and looks out through the haze of penlights and streamers and pyrotechnics, he has no doubt left in his mind that this is truly where he belongs.
--
In the rush of being an idol again, Yamashita almost manages to push any stray thought of Shige into a little wooden chest in the back of his mind, safe with lock and key. Almost. He remembers every once in a while, when he sees the stack of books he’d bought from the shop on his kitchen table, or the umbrella Shige had made him take one evening as they parted ways. Sometimes, when he’s spacing out during a meeting or a photo shoot, working through on autopilot, Shige’s face fills his mind, his soft smiles and his brilliant laugh, and Yamashita has to forcefully will the memories away or else he finds he can no longer concentrate.
When he sees Shige again, it’s after the final Dome Concert. He’s waiting outside, down the street, leaning against the side of a brick building, with his hands in his pockets and his head hanging low. Yamashita is so dumbfounded, he can merely stand and gape for a few seconds, and Shige rushes to straighten up and step closer, explaining, “I ran into your manager earlier. I was looking around for you, and he probably thought I was some crazy fan.” He gives a short laugh. “He told me you’d be out this way. I hope you don’t mind.” He pauses, swallows, and adds, “I wanted to talk to you.”
Yamashita quickly shakes his head. “No, no. It’s okay,” he says and steps closer. It’s nearly ten in the evening now, and Yamashita wonders how long Shige has been waiting out here. “How’ve you been?” he asks, uncertain what else to say, but Shige ignores the question and dives right in.
“I saw your concert,” Shige says in one breath, looking a little like he still can’t believe it.
Yamashita most certainly can’t, and he gapes at Shige again, astounded that he was in the audience somewhere, watching as he went through his repertoire of songs, as he messed up the lyrics in the last one, as he danced seductively, as he walked around in the hideous costumes. He feels heat in his cheeks just thinking about it and knowing that Shige had been there, watching everything. “R-Really?” he says, his voice taking on a slightly high pitch. He clears his throat and tries again, “Really? You, you should’ve told me.”
Shige shakes his head. “I didn’t want to. I just...I just wanted to come and see,” he says. “See the real you.”
Yamashita wants to refute that the person he saw up there is not entirely him, but he doesn’t get the chance as Shige continues, “You were amazing,” and although he sounds incredibly sincere, Yamashita can only groan and hide his face in embarrassment.
“I really can’t believe you watched it,” he mumbles into his hands.
Shige laughs, reaches out and takes Yamashita’s hands in his and pulls them from his face. Yamashita’s eyes widen at his touch, so soft and warm like he remembers, and when their gazes meet, Shige drops his hands like he’d just been burned. They both look away awkwardly, and at that moment someone passes by, glancing at them suspiciously, and Shige quickly says, “Can we go somewhere?”
Yamashita is already pulling his keys from his pockets. “My apartment is nearby,” he offers, and Shige hesitates for a moment before he nods and follows.
Shige’s first words when they arrive are, “Wow, you really are an idol.” His eyes are big and his mouth a little open, as he takes in Yamashita’s large flat with decorative interior and looks a bit like a deer in headlights.
It makes Yamashita laugh. He slips out of his shoes and slides into the apartment, and Shige hastily follows. “Do you want something to drink? I can make some tea--”
“No, it’s okay,” Shige interrupts. “I--Can we talk?”
Yamashita nods, motions toward the couch, but Shige shakes his head, continues to stand nervously beside the coffee table. When he seems to not be able to say what he wants, his eyes focused on the floor and his fingers wringing together before him the way he does sometimes when he’s not sure how to say what he wants to. Yamashita smiles at him and prompts instead, “How did you realize I was having concerts?”
Shige looks up at him and relief crosses his face. “I saw it on the news,” he replies, sheepishly. “They showed your face and everything, and I couldn’t believe I’d never realized before.” He laughs a little self-deprecatingly. “I mean, you’re Yamapi. Of course I’d heard it before, I just. I don’t know, I never realized.”
Yamashita shakes his head and steps closer to him, smiling wider when Shige doesn’t move away. “I didn’t want you to realize,” Yamashita says. “I wanted to tell you eventually, but I liked that you didn’t know.” He hesitates for a second, and then gives in, reaches out to brush away the bangs from Shige’s face, lets his fingers linger against his cheek. Shige’s breath catches in his throat, and Yamashita adds softly, “I told you, didn’t I? With you, I could just be Tomohisa.”
“What if I want to know Yamapi, too?” Shige counters and Yamashita starts. “You never even gave me the chance to try.”
“I know,” he replies, chagrined. “I’m sorry.”
Shige reaches up and takes Yamashita’s hand in his, threading their fingers together and slowly lowering them down between them. “About what you told me last time,” Shige starts and Yamashita groans, quickly jumps in to say, “I’m sorry about that. I really shouldn’t have. I know it was awful timing and it probably seemed like I was trying to make it up to you and I really am--”
Yamashita’s eyes widen as his words are cut off by Shige’s mouth pressing up against his. Yamashita doesn’t even hesitate in reciprocating, pulling Shige closer and sliding his arms around his waist. He sighs into his mouth as Shige’s lips stretch into a smile that Yamashita kisses away again and again. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this until right now, and every moment, every feeling comes soaring back, flooding his mind and his body until he can no longer think, just lets himself go with Shige’s fingers curling into his t-shirt and his breath hot against his lips.
It feels like a whole day has passed when Shige finally breaks apart, and Yamashita’s mind is a dizzying, spiraling mess of words and thoughts that he can’t figure out how to say. But Shige meets his eyes and does it instead, his voice sending shivers down Yamashita’s spine when he breathes, “I love you.”
And at those words, Yamashita’s heart grows wings and escapes from its tiny cage. He doesn’t know what to say.
Shige smiles, continues, “I love all of you; Tomohisa, Yamapi, it doesn’t matter.” His fingers tighten into the fabric of Yamashita’s shirt. “I love you.”
Yamashita’s throat feels too tight to speak and the blood is rushing in his ears, and he does all he can think to do, in that moment, putting everything he’s wanted to say and more into that next kiss.
--
It’s later, sometime when they’re lying beneath the covers in Yamashita’s bed, Shige’s hair a cascade across the white pillow covers, that he asks, “Why did you go back?”
Yamashita looks up at the ceiling. His fingers draw patterns down Shige’s arm. “I wanted to stop lying. To you, and to myself. This is who I am, I’m Yamapi, and I realized I didn’t want to change that.” He smiles down at Shige, whose arm is warm from where it’s thrown across Yamashita’s waist, fingertips pressing little hot marks against his hip. “I think I just forgot, for awhile, how to simply be Tomohisa, too,” he continues. He meets Shige’s eyes. “You reminded me. That’s what I need. Not to forget.”
Shige reaches over, his hand sliding around to the back of Yamashita’s neck and he’s pulling him down, ghosting their lips together as he says, “I’ll remind you whenever you want.”