I'll Sing You My Heart / Yorokobi no Uta
Title: I'll Sing You My Heart / Yorokobi no Uta
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Group: Akame (KAT-TUN)
Word count: 5,137 (One-shot)
Summary:
"Aishiteru, aishiteru."
Jin isn't good with numbers, nor is he good in words.
So when he decides that Kame needs to know, he does the only thing he can do best.
He sings.
Notes: My first fanfictions involving new pairings is always awkward in my opinion, and since this is my second Akame fic, it turned out so much better than my first one (at least that's how I see it, LOL. XD) The entire fic is spun off KAT-TUN's Yorokobi no Uta, so I really urge you guys to take in the meaning of the lyrics itself because, well, it's pretty much the focal point of everything. XD Also, if you haven't listened to this song at all, LISTEN TO THE SONG. Aside from it being amazingly amazing, it will give you the general feel of how I envisioned the story to feel like. :D I added a link up there. :)) Also, when I was writing this fic I listened to Jung Yonghwa's For First Time Lovers, and it suits it incredibly well, so, I recommend listening to it while reading through this. :)) All in all I wrote this fanfic (which is kind of opposite to my first one, The Anatomy of a Broken Heart), to kind of show that Jin leaving the group doesn't only spawns sad endings. :)) Yosh. Enjoy. :))
I’ll Sing You My Heart / Yorokobi no Uta
An Akame fanfiction by Nhixxie / Nhijumma
I.
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Akanishi Jin collapses on the floor of the rehearsal room, beads of sweat trailing down his neck and breaths heaving in and out his lips like puffs of invisible condensation.
Damn, I’m beat. He curses at himself, rolling his head to the side. He sees Nakamaru leaning slightly, both hands planted on his knees while heaving less strained breaths. Ueda has sauntered to the other side of the room, draining half a bottle of water in one go. Koki is on his feet, fervently going through his rap verse under his breath while pacing around uncaringly. Kame is leaning by the rehearsal room mirrors, one hand on his hip and the other wiping the thin mist of perspiration shining on his forehead. Taguchi-he is running around, flopping his arms madly in celebration of a newly achieved level in a game he’s playing on his PSP.
Jin, if not so exhausted and lacking the energy to even lift a leg in hopes of tripping the highly energized boy, would have pounced on Taguchi with the gangster moves he learned while he’s in America.
But he is so. Damn. Tired.
“Oi, Akanishi.” Koki calls, smirking at the fallen guy, “Can’t keep up?”
Jin snarls slightly, heaving his upper body up with much difficulty. “You wish, you bald bitch-”
“It’s because you’ve gone flabby.” Ueda pointedly states, straightforward and undeterred like he usually is, “You’re so fat.”
The look on Jin’s face, just now, is priceless, Kame notices while hiding his laugh beneath his hands. It could best be described as something cosmic falling off its alignment in space and crash landing right on Jin’s face. The said guy suddenly finds strength from Ueda’s flat out diss, hurriedly scrambles on his feet and begins babbling about how it’s ‘not true’, ‘I’m never fat’, and ‘I’m just big-boned this way’.
Nakamaru cocks his head to the side, his pensive expression showing that he has his thinking cap on. “It must have been the hamburgers. And the extra-gigantic sodas. And the hills and mountains of fries.”
Jin could only open and close his mouth in a repeated manner. Because technically it is true, the hamburgers, the sodas, and the mountains. Of fries. And chips. .. And hash browns.
Fuck it. Jin huffs to himself, defeated.
“Anyways, I’m heading out.” Koki announces, glancing at his wrist watch for a full three seconds, “Lunch.”
Nakamaru straightens and raises his hand. “I wanna come with~”
Taguchi dumps his game console into his bag and drags both his luggage and Ueda towards the door. “Tat-chan, I’m gonna take you to this AMAAAAZING soba place I know, which is AMAAAAZING and AAAAWESOME-”
And just because Ueda can’t handle anymore exaggerated, elongated words, he releases a sigh of despair and lets himself be hauled to wherever Taguchi pleased. “Ja.” He calls right when they are at the door, raising his hand in a small goodbye gesture.
Kame watches as Jin slumps back on the ground, his ‘something-cosmic-crash-landing-on-his-face’ look replaced by an expression which closely resembled that of a sad puppy scolded for peeing indoors.
“You’re not going out?” Kame asks, walking from his previous spot against the mirrors and sitting down beside the fallen, slightly bitch-fitting Jin.
Jin makes a scrunchy face at the ceiling. “They’ve put me on a diet.” He pulls off a disgusted twitch at the word.
Kame smiles, despite the other’s clear frustration. “You know, you’re not fat fat. You just got a little bit bigger than before. And you know the jimusho; you’re no good if you can’t strip off your shirt.”
“My fans won’t care if I have a slight tummy.” Jin murmurs defensively, peeking at Kame through his curtain of hair that desperately needs a bit of trimming.
“No, they probably won’t.” Kame says with a look of realization, “But then again they might put the Pillsbury dough boy on your uchiwas instead of your face.” Kame straightens a little bit and does the animated character’s tummy rubbing move.
Jin’s face falls, crushed. “Oh no.”
Kame laughs openly. He then abruptly stops, as if remembering something, and dumps one hand into the pocket of his faded jeans. From there he fists something out and offers them to Jin.
Jin looks at the multi-colored candies spread evenly on Kame’s outstretched palm, and he is reminded of a little kid sharing his sweets to a friend.
“It’ll help with your exhaustion.” Kame says, shrugging his shoulders in a good-natured manner, “Sugar rush. Just until you gain your strength back.”
When Jin has the candies dumped from the other’s hand to his, he remembers his departure, his six month hiatus, and his arrival. He is reminded of the people who protested on his leave of absence, the people in America who he had met and soon forgotten, and the people who welcomed him back home with accepting smiles and nostalgic hugs. He is reminded of how he is able to grasp the ins and outs of English, of the American culture, but in return loses from his grip the warmth of his band mates, of the media and fans.
He is reminded of-and then Kame smiles at him, again-and he forgets.
This is probably why he loves Kame.
With him, all the bullshit in his life, he is able to forget.
“Thanks.” Jin says with a smile, his mind in euphoria and his heart touched. “Thanks.” He says again, just so he could get his gratitude clearly across.
“So,” Kame starts, sprawling himself onto the cool floor, spreading his arms and legs slightly apart, “Any songs from our new album that caught your liking? Or are you too American now?” He jokes, feeling Jin lay down on the floor himself.
Jin watches the ceiling, the lights a little bit blinding and the gray metal of the roof contrasting. He thinks for a while, and then sings,
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Apart from this, I can’t find anything else.
”Kame ‘ohh’s, nodding. “Yorokobi no Uta. Good choice.”
Jin sighs a little in his mind, disappointed that he is misunderstood, and thinks that he should have said it rather than sang it.
II.
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
Iki saki wa doko demo ii.
It has been a two hour drive, and Kame, Jin takes careful notice, is upset and cranky.
When the majority alight the vehicle, Kame stays behind a few minutes, struggling to move away the stack of paper from his lap and peeling away the handkerchief covering his sleepy eyes. When he steps out of the van, he frowns at the brightness.
Jin tries hard not to seem too concerned, but feels this resolve fail miserably when his hands move in its own accord-removing the pair of aviator glasses from his own eyes and slipping them against Kame’s barely open ones.
“It’s not that bright, is it?” Jin wonders, coughing a small awkward cough, plunging his hands into the pockets of his pants.
Kame only grunts in response, a half-asleep thank you, Jin deciphers, before heading out towards the rest of the crew.
A new drama has landed itself onto the lap of the already preoccupied Kame, and Jin doesn’t entirely think that the other has accepted this role with much enthusiasm. With their Queen of Pirates Tokyo Dome Concerts just around the corner and the constant filming of Cartoon KAT-TUN alongside it, the youngest member has been struggling to find small fractions of time to wedge in his script reading. Dark circles under the eyes, sullen expressions, and a general aura of weariness serve as evidences of how Kame is being worked to the very bone.
Sometimes Jin can’t take the horrible, heart-breaking sight and just turns away to look out the window or maybe to survey the scenery. It’s unbearable to witness someone you love weak and restless, even more to know that you can’t do anything about it (both out of powerlessness and the sheer fear of rejection). But sometimes Jin’s heart is weak and his walls crumble and crack. When he really can’t take it anymore, he shakily touches Kame’s face while he’s asleep, and guides it gently onto his shoulder. (It is only when the younger one unconsciously moves in closer that he feels some kind of sad, illusionary reassurance; that maybe, he’s not that hopeless after all.)
Jin hates himself to such extents for two reasons.
One, for giving in.
And two, for not being able to do anything.
“Jin.” He hears his name being called and realizes soon enough that it is Kame, “Come here for a second.”
He walks over to where Kame is leaning over a wide expanse of railings, before he grasps all that is being picked up by his senses. The strong breeze, the clear, cerulean skies, the taste of salt on his tongue, and the sound of waves scattering along the rocky shore. When he reaches the railed edge, he is tittering along the boundaries of a cliff, a stretch of the magnificent sea laid out before their eyes.
“You feeling better?” Jin casually asks, giving the other a small look over his shoulder, “A while back you looked like a cheated housewife after thrashing her husband’s flat screen.”
Kame wants to laugh, but only manages a little smirk out of exhaustion. “And now?”
“Just a cheated housewife.” Jin supplies, placing both elbows against the metal fence.
“Sorry for being unbearable.” Kame mutters under his breath, closing his eyes as the breeze rolls in from far ahead, “Didn’t have enough sleep. And when I’m deprived of sleep, everyone is an enemy.”
“If it exhausts you so much,” Jin asks with brows furrowed and a frown in place, his rebellious heart getting the better of him, “Why did you take the role in the first place?”
Kame keeps his eyes close. “You know the jimusho.”
Jin fumes, a slight snarl curling against his lips, “I fucking swear, one day I’ll be thrice as rich as Johnny so I can create my own jimusho and then I’ll earn the right to punch him in-the-face.”
Kame’s eyes suddenly open in a simultaneous movement with the laugh that has exploded from his lips. “Idiot, that didn’t even make sense.”
“Punching Johnny in the face is the most sensible thing I’ve ever come up with, okay.” Jin sulks, pounding a determined fist against the railings.
Kame’s smile flickers away quickly, as if laughing itself is a difficult, tiring task. “That I’d want to see.”
Jin’s heart weakens again, seeing the dispirited expression on Kame’s face, which in his mind is magnified into a heart-wrenchingly painful sight. He knows he does the densest, unimaginably brain-dead things, but with the person right next to him, it’s not stupid-it’s sightless. Blind and sightless.
“After this, where are they dragging us to next?” Kame sighs problematically, straightening up and stretching his arms skywards, “Okinawa, Fukuoka, Sendai?”
Yes.
Blind and sightless.
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Iki saki wa doko demo ii
I’m fine with any destination we reach.
”
Now he doesn’t sing it-tries to say it with much truth and conviction-wagers his heart and hopes that he is understood completely-and wishes on everything that he’s accepted.
But Jin knows he wished for too much.
Kame keeps his eyes along the sun dipping low along the horizon, filling in the next set of lyrics, singing with his fingers tapping to the rhythm.
Too much, Akanishi.
Too much.
III.
Kono kisha de mieru miraini,
In the future we see on this train
Owaranai uta.
Is a never-ending song.
Time is a precarious thing, and just when Jin believes it’s ticking down slowly, it’s actually winding forward in break-neck speed.
It’s Break the Record’s last day, and they’re caught in the hasty buzz of singing, dancing, and costume changing.
Jin is inside his dressing room; glossy pants, rolled up sleeves and the sleek Fedora fitted against his frame (which he has successfully trimmed down to an acceptable shirt-stripping standard, thank you very much). He checks his surroundings with restless eyes, his gaze flickering at Nakamaru running through his ‘Daa’ lines with a completely comfortable Koki, at Ueda doing a few knuckle push-ups on the floor just by his far left, then at Taguchi signing a few uchiwas with his face on it while humming a small tune to pass time.
Kame. Kame, where is Kame-
“He’s out there doing his solo.” Nakamaru fills in so suddenly, making Jin jump slightly out of his seat, “Are you sure you’ve eaten enough for today?” He asks in a concerned manner, though it might have spun off as taunting to Jin’s muddled mind.
“I said that out loud?”
Nakamaru’s concern swells. “You said that out loud too, just in case you don’t know.” He bites his lower lip pensively, which Jin takes as the warning bell to the quick resurfacing of the other’s motherly instincts.
“Are you sure you’re-”
“I’m okay.” Jin presses, his fisted fingers shedding some light on the untruthfulness of his words. He stands up, almost unsteadily, and shouts while running off, “AND I’M NOT FAT!”
“What..” Nakamaru stays still for a good few seconds, unable to register the very reality and the sense of the previous conversation. Koki sees this from the corner of his eyes and just yells, “DAAAA!”
Nakamaru snaps out of his confused universe.
“Thanks,” He unhitches his breath, wringing his wrists, “I owe you one.”
Jin is frantically sprinting through the entire underground set, once in a while glancing at the piece of paper he has clutched on one hand where small, boxed legends marked the different stage entrances and exits. His mind barely registers the multitude of reminding yells coming at him from all directions-‘Akanishi-kun, you’re up next!’, ‘That’s not your entrance-’, ‘What-are-you-doing!’ and for the next few seconds ticking into the clock, all he sees is the piece of paper plastered on the metal fixture by his right, the scribbled number 20 blaring at his eyes.
And then Kame appears, descending down, a towel around his soaking frame, shivering while muttering crossly, “C-can’t believe.. agreed t-to this.. fucking water f-festival-”
“Kame,” Jin says with difficulty, falling a couple of steps forward, “Kame,”
I love you-
I’m leaving for good-
Jin struggles to choose which confession to say.
“W-what is it?” Kame shudders out, trying his hardest to summon out his patience for Jin as he instinctively snuggles deeper into his towel, “Jin? I’m f-freezing-”
“Kame, I’m leaving.” Jin’s lips blurt out the words, and it hangs indefinitely in the air-and sadly, it won’t condense. It’s just there, hovering above their heads like something ominous in their midst.
“I’m leaving for good.” Kame, completely soaked and shivering in the cold, takes in whatever Jin’s eyes try to say. I’m sorry. For hurting you once. And now for doing it twice.
“Let’s talk about this later, okay?” Kame says, producing a small smile despite his rebelling self, “Go on, you’re next.”
Jin, with a halfhearted resolve and his gaze soft on the other, lets himself be whisked away on stage.
Kame quietly strides away, eyes and cheeks moist, quivering underneath his dripping clothes.
But now it’s because of an entirely different reason.
- - -
When they’ve reached their last encore, they’re a single line on the main stage, nothing fancy or extravagant, just the speakers against their ears and the lights against their eyes. They’ve linked their palms together, raised them up in the air, and brought them down along with the bending of their backs into one, grateful bow. They’ve closed their eyes, taking in the screams and shouts, trying to trap themselves momentarily in that second.
Jin feels Kame’s fingers against his, and he opens his eyes for a fraction of a second, just to assure himself that it’s real.
It is.
There is also the suffocating feeling he has on that hand, as if the other is gripping a little too tightly and a little too restlessly; but Jin has learned not to wish for too much.
They straighten to a stand, moving fingers to release their holds from each other, and Jin does the same. Only that when he relaxes his fingers from Kame’s the movement is not reciprocated; and Jin finds the other’s grip steadfast and selfish on his.
“Hey,” Jin tries to say, but then is met by the back of Kame’s head. The younger one is still waving towards the audience, as if innocent to the unyielding hold he has on the older one’s hand.
Then Jin hears it.
This is it. It has to be it. This is the last encore, and there’s no way, just no fucking way that this isn’t it.
Kame is singing, no musical accompaniment, just himself, his lips against the microphone, his fingers curled against Jin’s.
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Apart from this, I can’t find anything else.
”
Jin knows he has already taught himself well of not wishing for too much, but he is sure of this. It’s the telltale grip on his hand, tightening once Kame started singing, loosening not one single time.
They amble off the stage just like that, hand-in-hand, a wordless walk, automatically understood.
“When are you leaving?” Kame asks, his voice barely scratching a whisper.
“Next week.” Jin softly answers, ashamed of his selfish reasons.
Kame keeps still for a second, as if gathering up enough strength to push into his voice. “Keep in touch then, yeah?” he spares Jin a look and a smile, one of strained acceptance, one which an outsider looking in would have easily believed.
Jin would have said something in return, but their hands are suddenly broken apart; and all he’s left with is the tingling sensation that reminded him that it’s all real.
IV.
Ikiteru tada sore dake de,
Kimi no hashiitte yukou.
Kiesou na KISS de atatamete,
Kyou wa koko de nemuritai.
That night, Kame comes down with a fever.
He could only curse at how insanely defective the jimusho is for spinning off his entire solo performance from a cross breed of an old Japanese folklore and Water World. It’s the cold, the fatigue, the-pain, the unbelievable heart ache, the five minutes he spends cooped up in the dressing room showers in his slowly drying clothes.
He is no medical genius, nor is he even gifted with the most basic knowledge of first aid, so the only solution he finds in his pallid, empty apartment is currently boiling in a kettle settled on top of the electric stove. He stares at the teabag readied into his mug. Beggars can’t be choosers, he thinks, and finds it slightly funny that him, who just came back from a record-breaking concert tour of thirteen shows in one go, finds a reason to say such things to himself.
Kame stretches and finds his body aching. Sleep. I just need some sleep.
Kame yawns and ends up sputtering out fits of coughs. Tea. I just need some tea.
Then Kame remembers Jin (his words, his stupidity, his impending departure) and feels his heart burst. The unfortunate thing is, there is nothing Kame could do or take that would heal this type of pain.
The sound of knocking splays through his reverie, breaking his thoughts completely. Kame wonders who it could be at such time of the night-and at this weather too, he adds, after realizing that rain has been heavily pattering against his roof.
He drags his feet against the wooden floor boards, his body heavy and protesting. He keeps the metal chain lock in place, just in case it’s an unwanted visitor or a rabid fan girl. With one hand he twists his doorknob open and allows a small crevice to be made, just enough to see Jin restlessly standing outside, fingers wringing at his wrists.
“Hey,” Jin says, almost choking out as he unhitches his breath a little bit too late, “Hey.” He finishes lamely, shoulders sagging at the weight of his embarrassment.
It is the look of despair, Kame stubbornly reasons, that made him open the door. It’s not about listening to Jin’s reasons, he stiffly tells himself as he unhooks the chain from its hold, opening the door to its full extent.
Jin comes right at him, almost half an attack in Kame’s slightly light-headed state, only it’s not fists plunging at him but hands gently holding his face. His gaze sees the other’s features slowly being magnified against his eyes, closer and closer until Kame finally closes his eyes in fear of being seen cross-eyed at such a pivotal moment.
It doesn’t come though. The pivotal moment.
He opens his eyes, quite confused, as his gaze drinks in the image of Jin’s face hovering just a few inches from his, breath puffing in and out in a rhythmic pattern Kame’s heart is beating along with.
Jin’s fingers moves towards Kame’s neck, patting worriedly. “You have a fever.” He realizes, his tone one of concern, “And I just ate ice cream.”
“What?” Kame manages to stammer, not quite following Jin’s logic (if there is even a slight chance that there is).
Jin is now a foot away (too late for Kame to reach for), his hands still against the crevice of Kame’s neck and shoulder. Jin’s palm moves onto the younger one’s forehead, the other feeling the temperature of his own, before completely breaking off his hold. He passes Kame by, mumbling things like ‘Johnny, you will get your face punched, I swear’ and ‘I’m gonna make soup’ under his breath.
Kame could only stare at him, wide-eyed, still unable to stumble out of the fact that the guy ambling into his kitchen in search of soup ingredients, tried to kiss him, just now.
That night, Jin nurses him back to health.
When Kame finally feels sleep beckon to him, he contentedly obliges. The last sensation he feels is the damp moisture of the cloth on his forehead and the cool tips of Jin’s fingers brushing his neck as he checks for any sudden spikes of warmth.
Jin spends the night there, in the younger’s apartment, curled in an uncomfortable ball on the couch. He flinches once in a while, one hand still clasped protectively onto the digital thermometer, his features distorted in a pained frown as he dreams; of the present, of the problems, of Kame.
Of Kame-and then, once again, he forgets.
- - -
Jin feels himself being lulled out of his sleep, a rhythmic pattern drumming against his cheek. He heavily flings his arm around as he tries to swat away the disturbance, and it connects with an elbow (at least that’s what it seems like in his half-conscious state). Even more brain-dead in his sleep, he drowsily chortles in victory at the moment of peace he regains, but is then retaliated with by a rather impatient whack on the face.
“Oi. Wake up.”
Jin finally opens his eyes, and turns even sourer at the fact that it is still dark. He manages to decipher the smooth outline of Kame’s face in the shadows, about to find him beautiful, and angelic, and unbelievable; but is reminded of the fact that he slapped the sleep out of Jin’s eyes.
“What. The fuck. Is it?” Jin gurgles crossly, using his elbow to heave himself up halfway.
“Sleep on the bed.” Kame answers, unfazed.
Jin feels a little bit more awake now, and decides he must choose his words wisely. “You’re still sick.” He croaks out, just to hide that fact that what the other had said completely knocked his brain back to life. “You need to lie down.” He continues, his voice still in a sleepy slur.
“I’m healed.” Kame pointedly says, pointing at the digital thermometer that is now wedged between his fingers.
“And I didn’t say I’m getting out of it.”
“Oh.” Jin gulps, he can’t help it, as he slowly rises from the discomfort of the couch, “Okay.”
As the night continues, Jin spends it lying on the far edge of Kame’s bed, all limbs disciplined into their firm positions along his sides and his face scrunched up in agitation. He wishes he is back on the couch, because as far as obedience and control are concerned, the bed with a sleeping Kame just a foot and a half away is of much more discomfort than some few lumpy pillows.
“You’re falling off.” Kame mutters drowsily, voice still scratchy from his few moments of sleep. “Move closer.”
Jin obliges half-heartedly, even Kame could sense through the thick fog of sleep, edging himself towards the bed’s center like a boulder being pushed towards the edge of a cliff. Kame finds this ridiculously stupid, something to be expected from Jin anyways, so he turns to his side, slips his arms around the other’s waist, and moves his head along the space of Jin’s neck and lets it stay there.
Kame gives it five seconds-and soon enough Jin melts into his arms, like something pliable under his touch. Jin moves on his own accord, body shifting closer, arms gently encircling Kame’s shoulders, chin settling delicately onto the other’s hair.
“You have no idea,” Jin starts with a sigh, “How much I’ve wanted to do this.”
“It’s unfortunate how you didn’t have the guts.” Kame smirks through the cotton of Jin’s shirt.
“I was respecting your space, okay.” He retorts huffily, but still smiles despite himself.
“Can’t sleep.” Kame mutters tiredly, lightly touching his toes against the surface of Jin’s ankles.
Jin thinks for a while, then sings.
“
Ikiteru tada sore dake de,
Just simply living like this,
Kimi no hashiitte yukou.
Running ahead with you.
Kiesou na KISS de atatamete,
Warming ourselves in this vanishing kiss,
Kyou wa koko de nemuritai.
I want to sleep here today.
”
Jin draws back a little bit, his gaze hopeful, like a puppy trying to wheedle off treats from his owner. Kame stares back, unflinching, then says blankly, “You’re already sleeping here.”
Jin’s face falls, again in that ‘something-cosmic-crash-landing-on-his-face’ kind of way, before pursing his lips and allowing his face to distort into a haughty expression, something a kid would pull once banned from his sweets.
Kame fails to hold his laughter any longer so he throws his head back, moves in lightly, and fits his lips perfectly upon Jin’s. He smiles through the kiss.
“I got what you were saying, okay.” Kame says, “I’m not as stupid as you are.” He smirks.
“But that’s not what I was trying to say.” Jin answers, and Kame’s a little confused.
“Eh? Really?” Kame asks, still a bit stunned at his mistake, “What then?”
“What I really want to say is-”
I love you-
I’m leaving for good-
“I love you.”
As Kame jokingly kicks at his legs, blows on his collarbone and mutters a swift ‘me too’, Jin just feels happy that he finally chose the right words to say.
- - -
Jin stirs to a start for the second time that morning, and aside from the (beautiful, angelic, unbelievable) sleeping Kame fitted against his frame, he sees the digital thermometer sticking out from underneath a pillow.
Stretching one hand out he picks it up and checks the last temperature recorded on its memory space.
“38.6 degree Celsius.” He reads, his voice still scratchy, until he is hit by a pretty amazing realization.
“I’m healed.” Kame pointedly says, pointing at the digital thermometer that is now wedged between his fingers.
Jin looks down at the peacefully slumbering boy by his side, and doesn’t even attempt to hide his million-watt smile.
“If you wanted me by your side,” He whispers to Kame, “You should have just asked.”
V.
Nakisou no toki wa omoi dashite,
When you’re about to cry, just remember,
Chanto ore ga iru kara.
No matter what, I’ll be there.
Zutto soba ni iru kara.
I’ll always be near.
Kamenashi Kazuya collapses on the floor of the rehearsal room, beads of sweat trailing down his neck and breaths heaving in and out his lips like puffs of invisible condensation.
Even before the others could slide in a snide comment, Kame pushes himself up and directs an accusing finger towards their direction.
“I can keep up,” He tells Koki, who is quite disappointed at the impending lack of an argument.
“I haven’t gone flabby nor am I fat.” He then tells Ueda, who in truth isn’t really even considering applying his chubby-Jin insults at someone who actually needs more weight.
“And it’s definitely not the hamburgers, the extra-gigantic sodas, and the hills and mountains of fries.” He finishes with Nakamaru, who doesn’t even bother with his thinking cap.
He just needed. Some damn. Sleep.
“You miss Jin way too much, Kame-chan.” Taguchi chides in, for once not immersed in his world of almost-there, just-a-little-bit-more pro-gaming. “Just call him, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” He grins encouragingly, nudging the fallen Kame with his water bottle.
Koki looks up, a stubborn set on his jaw and a flicker of nostalgia visible in his eyes. “Yeah, call him up and tell him I hate his ass and he doesn’t exist to me anymore.” He finishes with an air of defiance, before adding as an afterthought, “And tell him to send over some chocolate and some canned spam, that back-stabbing dumbass.”
Nakamaru straightens, raising his hand. “Tell him how he’s never gonna beat me at soccer because I’ve trained with the big shots now.”
Kame, though sprawled on the ground, gives him an ‘is that real life?’ look. “No, not really.” Nakamaru answers, shrugging carelessly.
“Tell him to get a freaking treadmill.” Ueda calls from afar, still as straight forward as ever, “And also to stop stuffing his fucking face.”
Taguchi spreads his arms wide open, as if to mirror the greatness of his emotions. “Kame-chan, tell him I LOOOOVE him and I MIIIIISS him and-”
And just because Kame can’t handle anymore exaggerated, elongated words, he releases a sigh of despair and fishes his phone from inside his pocket and punches in speed dial number one.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ri-
And then, Kame sings.
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Apart from this, I can’t find anything else.
”
Somewhere at the other end of the world, somebody is singing the same song, a genuine smile set on his lips, and all of his life’s bullshit immediately forgotten.
Fin.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Group: Akame (KAT-TUN)
Word count: 5,137 (One-shot)
Summary:
"Aishiteru, aishiteru."
Jin isn't good with numbers, nor is he good in words.
So when he decides that Kame needs to know, he does the only thing he can do best.
He sings.
Notes: My first fanfictions involving new pairings is always awkward in my opinion, and since this is my second Akame fic, it turned out so much better than my first one (at least that's how I see it, LOL. XD) The entire fic is spun off KAT-TUN's Yorokobi no Uta, so I really urge you guys to take in the meaning of the lyrics itself because, well, it's pretty much the focal point of everything. XD Also, if you haven't listened to this song at all, LISTEN TO THE SONG. Aside from it being amazingly amazing, it will give you the general feel of how I envisioned the story to feel like. :D I added a link up there. :)) Also, when I was writing this fic I listened to Jung Yonghwa's For First Time Lovers, and it suits it incredibly well, so, I recommend listening to it while reading through this. :)) All in all I wrote this fanfic (which is kind of opposite to my first one, The Anatomy of a Broken Heart), to kind of show that Jin leaving the group doesn't only spawns sad endings. :)) Yosh. Enjoy. :))
I’ll Sing You My Heart / Yorokobi no Uta
An Akame fanfiction by Nhixxie / Nhijumma
I.
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Akanishi Jin collapses on the floor of the rehearsal room, beads of sweat trailing down his neck and breaths heaving in and out his lips like puffs of invisible condensation.
Damn, I’m beat. He curses at himself, rolling his head to the side. He sees Nakamaru leaning slightly, both hands planted on his knees while heaving less strained breaths. Ueda has sauntered to the other side of the room, draining half a bottle of water in one go. Koki is on his feet, fervently going through his rap verse under his breath while pacing around uncaringly. Kame is leaning by the rehearsal room mirrors, one hand on his hip and the other wiping the thin mist of perspiration shining on his forehead. Taguchi-he is running around, flopping his arms madly in celebration of a newly achieved level in a game he’s playing on his PSP.
Jin, if not so exhausted and lacking the energy to even lift a leg in hopes of tripping the highly energized boy, would have pounced on Taguchi with the gangster moves he learned while he’s in America.
But he is so. Damn. Tired.
“Oi, Akanishi.” Koki calls, smirking at the fallen guy, “Can’t keep up?”
Jin snarls slightly, heaving his upper body up with much difficulty. “You wish, you bald bitch-”
“It’s because you’ve gone flabby.” Ueda pointedly states, straightforward and undeterred like he usually is, “You’re so fat.”
The look on Jin’s face, just now, is priceless, Kame notices while hiding his laugh beneath his hands. It could best be described as something cosmic falling off its alignment in space and crash landing right on Jin’s face. The said guy suddenly finds strength from Ueda’s flat out diss, hurriedly scrambles on his feet and begins babbling about how it’s ‘not true’, ‘I’m never fat’, and ‘I’m just big-boned this way’.
Nakamaru cocks his head to the side, his pensive expression showing that he has his thinking cap on. “It must have been the hamburgers. And the extra-gigantic sodas. And the hills and mountains of fries.”
Jin could only open and close his mouth in a repeated manner. Because technically it is true, the hamburgers, the sodas, and the mountains. Of fries. And chips. .. And hash browns.
Fuck it. Jin huffs to himself, defeated.
“Anyways, I’m heading out.” Koki announces, glancing at his wrist watch for a full three seconds, “Lunch.”
Nakamaru straightens and raises his hand. “I wanna come with~”
Taguchi dumps his game console into his bag and drags both his luggage and Ueda towards the door. “Tat-chan, I’m gonna take you to this AMAAAAZING soba place I know, which is AMAAAAZING and AAAAWESOME-”
And just because Ueda can’t handle anymore exaggerated, elongated words, he releases a sigh of despair and lets himself be hauled to wherever Taguchi pleased. “Ja.” He calls right when they are at the door, raising his hand in a small goodbye gesture.
Kame watches as Jin slumps back on the ground, his ‘something-cosmic-crash-landing-on-his-face’ look replaced by an expression which closely resembled that of a sad puppy scolded for peeing indoors.
“You’re not going out?” Kame asks, walking from his previous spot against the mirrors and sitting down beside the fallen, slightly bitch-fitting Jin.
Jin makes a scrunchy face at the ceiling. “They’ve put me on a diet.” He pulls off a disgusted twitch at the word.
Kame smiles, despite the other’s clear frustration. “You know, you’re not fat fat. You just got a little bit bigger than before. And you know the jimusho; you’re no good if you can’t strip off your shirt.”
“My fans won’t care if I have a slight tummy.” Jin murmurs defensively, peeking at Kame through his curtain of hair that desperately needs a bit of trimming.
“No, they probably won’t.” Kame says with a look of realization, “But then again they might put the Pillsbury dough boy on your uchiwas instead of your face.” Kame straightens a little bit and does the animated character’s tummy rubbing move.
Jin’s face falls, crushed. “Oh no.”
Kame laughs openly. He then abruptly stops, as if remembering something, and dumps one hand into the pocket of his faded jeans. From there he fists something out and offers them to Jin.
Jin looks at the multi-colored candies spread evenly on Kame’s outstretched palm, and he is reminded of a little kid sharing his sweets to a friend.
“It’ll help with your exhaustion.” Kame says, shrugging his shoulders in a good-natured manner, “Sugar rush. Just until you gain your strength back.”
When Jin has the candies dumped from the other’s hand to his, he remembers his departure, his six month hiatus, and his arrival. He is reminded of the people who protested on his leave of absence, the people in America who he had met and soon forgotten, and the people who welcomed him back home with accepting smiles and nostalgic hugs. He is reminded of how he is able to grasp the ins and outs of English, of the American culture, but in return loses from his grip the warmth of his band mates, of the media and fans.
He is reminded of-and then Kame smiles at him, again-and he forgets.
This is probably why he loves Kame.
With him, all the bullshit in his life, he is able to forget.
“Thanks.” Jin says with a smile, his mind in euphoria and his heart touched. “Thanks.” He says again, just so he could get his gratitude clearly across.
“So,” Kame starts, sprawling himself onto the cool floor, spreading his arms and legs slightly apart, “Any songs from our new album that caught your liking? Or are you too American now?” He jokes, feeling Jin lay down on the floor himself.
Jin watches the ceiling, the lights a little bit blinding and the gray metal of the roof contrasting. He thinks for a while, and then sings,
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Apart from this, I can’t find anything else.
”Kame ‘ohh’s, nodding. “Yorokobi no Uta. Good choice.”
Jin sighs a little in his mind, disappointed that he is misunderstood, and thinks that he should have said it rather than sang it.
II.
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
Iki saki wa doko demo ii.
It has been a two hour drive, and Kame, Jin takes careful notice, is upset and cranky.
When the majority alight the vehicle, Kame stays behind a few minutes, struggling to move away the stack of paper from his lap and peeling away the handkerchief covering his sleepy eyes. When he steps out of the van, he frowns at the brightness.
Jin tries hard not to seem too concerned, but feels this resolve fail miserably when his hands move in its own accord-removing the pair of aviator glasses from his own eyes and slipping them against Kame’s barely open ones.
“It’s not that bright, is it?” Jin wonders, coughing a small awkward cough, plunging his hands into the pockets of his pants.
Kame only grunts in response, a half-asleep thank you, Jin deciphers, before heading out towards the rest of the crew.
A new drama has landed itself onto the lap of the already preoccupied Kame, and Jin doesn’t entirely think that the other has accepted this role with much enthusiasm. With their Queen of Pirates Tokyo Dome Concerts just around the corner and the constant filming of Cartoon KAT-TUN alongside it, the youngest member has been struggling to find small fractions of time to wedge in his script reading. Dark circles under the eyes, sullen expressions, and a general aura of weariness serve as evidences of how Kame is being worked to the very bone.
Sometimes Jin can’t take the horrible, heart-breaking sight and just turns away to look out the window or maybe to survey the scenery. It’s unbearable to witness someone you love weak and restless, even more to know that you can’t do anything about it (both out of powerlessness and the sheer fear of rejection). But sometimes Jin’s heart is weak and his walls crumble and crack. When he really can’t take it anymore, he shakily touches Kame’s face while he’s asleep, and guides it gently onto his shoulder. (It is only when the younger one unconsciously moves in closer that he feels some kind of sad, illusionary reassurance; that maybe, he’s not that hopeless after all.)
Jin hates himself to such extents for two reasons.
One, for giving in.
And two, for not being able to do anything.
“Jin.” He hears his name being called and realizes soon enough that it is Kame, “Come here for a second.”
He walks over to where Kame is leaning over a wide expanse of railings, before he grasps all that is being picked up by his senses. The strong breeze, the clear, cerulean skies, the taste of salt on his tongue, and the sound of waves scattering along the rocky shore. When he reaches the railed edge, he is tittering along the boundaries of a cliff, a stretch of the magnificent sea laid out before their eyes.
“You feeling better?” Jin casually asks, giving the other a small look over his shoulder, “A while back you looked like a cheated housewife after thrashing her husband’s flat screen.”
Kame wants to laugh, but only manages a little smirk out of exhaustion. “And now?”
“Just a cheated housewife.” Jin supplies, placing both elbows against the metal fence.
“Sorry for being unbearable.” Kame mutters under his breath, closing his eyes as the breeze rolls in from far ahead, “Didn’t have enough sleep. And when I’m deprived of sleep, everyone is an enemy.”
“If it exhausts you so much,” Jin asks with brows furrowed and a frown in place, his rebellious heart getting the better of him, “Why did you take the role in the first place?”
Kame keeps his eyes close. “You know the jimusho.”
Jin fumes, a slight snarl curling against his lips, “I fucking swear, one day I’ll be thrice as rich as Johnny so I can create my own jimusho and then I’ll earn the right to punch him in-the-face.”
Kame’s eyes suddenly open in a simultaneous movement with the laugh that has exploded from his lips. “Idiot, that didn’t even make sense.”
“Punching Johnny in the face is the most sensible thing I’ve ever come up with, okay.” Jin sulks, pounding a determined fist against the railings.
Kame’s smile flickers away quickly, as if laughing itself is a difficult, tiring task. “That I’d want to see.”
Jin’s heart weakens again, seeing the dispirited expression on Kame’s face, which in his mind is magnified into a heart-wrenchingly painful sight. He knows he does the densest, unimaginably brain-dead things, but with the person right next to him, it’s not stupid-it’s sightless. Blind and sightless.
“After this, where are they dragging us to next?” Kame sighs problematically, straightening up and stretching his arms skywards, “Okinawa, Fukuoka, Sendai?”
Yes.
Blind and sightless.
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Iki saki wa doko demo ii
I’m fine with any destination we reach.
”
Now he doesn’t sing it-tries to say it with much truth and conviction-wagers his heart and hopes that he is understood completely-and wishes on everything that he’s accepted.
But Jin knows he wished for too much.
Kame keeps his eyes along the sun dipping low along the horizon, filling in the next set of lyrics, singing with his fingers tapping to the rhythm.
Too much, Akanishi.
Too much.
III.
Kono kisha de mieru miraini,
In the future we see on this train
Owaranai uta.
Is a never-ending song.
Time is a precarious thing, and just when Jin believes it’s ticking down slowly, it’s actually winding forward in break-neck speed.
It’s Break the Record’s last day, and they’re caught in the hasty buzz of singing, dancing, and costume changing.
Jin is inside his dressing room; glossy pants, rolled up sleeves and the sleek Fedora fitted against his frame (which he has successfully trimmed down to an acceptable shirt-stripping standard, thank you very much). He checks his surroundings with restless eyes, his gaze flickering at Nakamaru running through his ‘Daa’ lines with a completely comfortable Koki, at Ueda doing a few knuckle push-ups on the floor just by his far left, then at Taguchi signing a few uchiwas with his face on it while humming a small tune to pass time.
Kame. Kame, where is Kame-
“He’s out there doing his solo.” Nakamaru fills in so suddenly, making Jin jump slightly out of his seat, “Are you sure you’ve eaten enough for today?” He asks in a concerned manner, though it might have spun off as taunting to Jin’s muddled mind.
“I said that out loud?”
Nakamaru’s concern swells. “You said that out loud too, just in case you don’t know.” He bites his lower lip pensively, which Jin takes as the warning bell to the quick resurfacing of the other’s motherly instincts.
“Are you sure you’re-”
“I’m okay.” Jin presses, his fisted fingers shedding some light on the untruthfulness of his words. He stands up, almost unsteadily, and shouts while running off, “AND I’M NOT FAT!”
“What..” Nakamaru stays still for a good few seconds, unable to register the very reality and the sense of the previous conversation. Koki sees this from the corner of his eyes and just yells, “DAAAA!”
Nakamaru snaps out of his confused universe.
“Thanks,” He unhitches his breath, wringing his wrists, “I owe you one.”
Jin is frantically sprinting through the entire underground set, once in a while glancing at the piece of paper he has clutched on one hand where small, boxed legends marked the different stage entrances and exits. His mind barely registers the multitude of reminding yells coming at him from all directions-‘Akanishi-kun, you’re up next!’, ‘That’s not your entrance-’, ‘What-are-you-doing!’ and for the next few seconds ticking into the clock, all he sees is the piece of paper plastered on the metal fixture by his right, the scribbled number 20 blaring at his eyes.
And then Kame appears, descending down, a towel around his soaking frame, shivering while muttering crossly, “C-can’t believe.. agreed t-to this.. fucking water f-festival-”
“Kame,” Jin says with difficulty, falling a couple of steps forward, “Kame,”
I love you-
I’m leaving for good-
Jin struggles to choose which confession to say.
“W-what is it?” Kame shudders out, trying his hardest to summon out his patience for Jin as he instinctively snuggles deeper into his towel, “Jin? I’m f-freezing-”
“Kame, I’m leaving.” Jin’s lips blurt out the words, and it hangs indefinitely in the air-and sadly, it won’t condense. It’s just there, hovering above their heads like something ominous in their midst.
“I’m leaving for good.” Kame, completely soaked and shivering in the cold, takes in whatever Jin’s eyes try to say. I’m sorry. For hurting you once. And now for doing it twice.
“Let’s talk about this later, okay?” Kame says, producing a small smile despite his rebelling self, “Go on, you’re next.”
Jin, with a halfhearted resolve and his gaze soft on the other, lets himself be whisked away on stage.
Kame quietly strides away, eyes and cheeks moist, quivering underneath his dripping clothes.
But now it’s because of an entirely different reason.
- - -
When they’ve reached their last encore, they’re a single line on the main stage, nothing fancy or extravagant, just the speakers against their ears and the lights against their eyes. They’ve linked their palms together, raised them up in the air, and brought them down along with the bending of their backs into one, grateful bow. They’ve closed their eyes, taking in the screams and shouts, trying to trap themselves momentarily in that second.
Jin feels Kame’s fingers against his, and he opens his eyes for a fraction of a second, just to assure himself that it’s real.
It is.
There is also the suffocating feeling he has on that hand, as if the other is gripping a little too tightly and a little too restlessly; but Jin has learned not to wish for too much.
They straighten to a stand, moving fingers to release their holds from each other, and Jin does the same. Only that when he relaxes his fingers from Kame’s the movement is not reciprocated; and Jin finds the other’s grip steadfast and selfish on his.
“Hey,” Jin tries to say, but then is met by the back of Kame’s head. The younger one is still waving towards the audience, as if innocent to the unyielding hold he has on the older one’s hand.
Then Jin hears it.
This is it. It has to be it. This is the last encore, and there’s no way, just no fucking way that this isn’t it.
Kame is singing, no musical accompaniment, just himself, his lips against the microphone, his fingers curled against Jin’s.
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Apart from this, I can’t find anything else.
”
Jin knows he has already taught himself well of not wishing for too much, but he is sure of this. It’s the telltale grip on his hand, tightening once Kame started singing, loosening not one single time.
They amble off the stage just like that, hand-in-hand, a wordless walk, automatically understood.
“When are you leaving?” Kame asks, his voice barely scratching a whisper.
“Next week.” Jin softly answers, ashamed of his selfish reasons.
Kame keeps still for a second, as if gathering up enough strength to push into his voice. “Keep in touch then, yeah?” he spares Jin a look and a smile, one of strained acceptance, one which an outsider looking in would have easily believed.
Jin would have said something in return, but their hands are suddenly broken apart; and all he’s left with is the tingling sensation that reminded him that it’s all real.
IV.
Ikiteru tada sore dake de,
Kimi no hashiitte yukou.
Kiesou na KISS de atatamete,
Kyou wa koko de nemuritai.
That night, Kame comes down with a fever.
He could only curse at how insanely defective the jimusho is for spinning off his entire solo performance from a cross breed of an old Japanese folklore and Water World. It’s the cold, the fatigue, the-pain, the unbelievable heart ache, the five minutes he spends cooped up in the dressing room showers in his slowly drying clothes.
He is no medical genius, nor is he even gifted with the most basic knowledge of first aid, so the only solution he finds in his pallid, empty apartment is currently boiling in a kettle settled on top of the electric stove. He stares at the teabag readied into his mug. Beggars can’t be choosers, he thinks, and finds it slightly funny that him, who just came back from a record-breaking concert tour of thirteen shows in one go, finds a reason to say such things to himself.
Kame stretches and finds his body aching. Sleep. I just need some sleep.
Kame yawns and ends up sputtering out fits of coughs. Tea. I just need some tea.
Then Kame remembers Jin (his words, his stupidity, his impending departure) and feels his heart burst. The unfortunate thing is, there is nothing Kame could do or take that would heal this type of pain.
The sound of knocking splays through his reverie, breaking his thoughts completely. Kame wonders who it could be at such time of the night-and at this weather too, he adds, after realizing that rain has been heavily pattering against his roof.
He drags his feet against the wooden floor boards, his body heavy and protesting. He keeps the metal chain lock in place, just in case it’s an unwanted visitor or a rabid fan girl. With one hand he twists his doorknob open and allows a small crevice to be made, just enough to see Jin restlessly standing outside, fingers wringing at his wrists.
“Hey,” Jin says, almost choking out as he unhitches his breath a little bit too late, “Hey.” He finishes lamely, shoulders sagging at the weight of his embarrassment.
It is the look of despair, Kame stubbornly reasons, that made him open the door. It’s not about listening to Jin’s reasons, he stiffly tells himself as he unhooks the chain from its hold, opening the door to its full extent.
Jin comes right at him, almost half an attack in Kame’s slightly light-headed state, only it’s not fists plunging at him but hands gently holding his face. His gaze sees the other’s features slowly being magnified against his eyes, closer and closer until Kame finally closes his eyes in fear of being seen cross-eyed at such a pivotal moment.
It doesn’t come though. The pivotal moment.
He opens his eyes, quite confused, as his gaze drinks in the image of Jin’s face hovering just a few inches from his, breath puffing in and out in a rhythmic pattern Kame’s heart is beating along with.
Jin’s fingers moves towards Kame’s neck, patting worriedly. “You have a fever.” He realizes, his tone one of concern, “And I just ate ice cream.”
“What?” Kame manages to stammer, not quite following Jin’s logic (if there is even a slight chance that there is).
Jin is now a foot away (too late for Kame to reach for), his hands still against the crevice of Kame’s neck and shoulder. Jin’s palm moves onto the younger one’s forehead, the other feeling the temperature of his own, before completely breaking off his hold. He passes Kame by, mumbling things like ‘Johnny, you will get your face punched, I swear’ and ‘I’m gonna make soup’ under his breath.
Kame could only stare at him, wide-eyed, still unable to stumble out of the fact that the guy ambling into his kitchen in search of soup ingredients, tried to kiss him, just now.
That night, Jin nurses him back to health.
When Kame finally feels sleep beckon to him, he contentedly obliges. The last sensation he feels is the damp moisture of the cloth on his forehead and the cool tips of Jin’s fingers brushing his neck as he checks for any sudden spikes of warmth.
Jin spends the night there, in the younger’s apartment, curled in an uncomfortable ball on the couch. He flinches once in a while, one hand still clasped protectively onto the digital thermometer, his features distorted in a pained frown as he dreams; of the present, of the problems, of Kame.
Of Kame-and then, once again, he forgets.
- - -
Jin feels himself being lulled out of his sleep, a rhythmic pattern drumming against his cheek. He heavily flings his arm around as he tries to swat away the disturbance, and it connects with an elbow (at least that’s what it seems like in his half-conscious state). Even more brain-dead in his sleep, he drowsily chortles in victory at the moment of peace he regains, but is then retaliated with by a rather impatient whack on the face.
“Oi. Wake up.”
Jin finally opens his eyes, and turns even sourer at the fact that it is still dark. He manages to decipher the smooth outline of Kame’s face in the shadows, about to find him beautiful, and angelic, and unbelievable; but is reminded of the fact that he slapped the sleep out of Jin’s eyes.
“What. The fuck. Is it?” Jin gurgles crossly, using his elbow to heave himself up halfway.
“Sleep on the bed.” Kame answers, unfazed.
Jin feels a little bit more awake now, and decides he must choose his words wisely. “You’re still sick.” He croaks out, just to hide that fact that what the other had said completely knocked his brain back to life. “You need to lie down.” He continues, his voice still in a sleepy slur.
“I’m healed.” Kame pointedly says, pointing at the digital thermometer that is now wedged between his fingers.
“And I didn’t say I’m getting out of it.”
“Oh.” Jin gulps, he can’t help it, as he slowly rises from the discomfort of the couch, “Okay.”
As the night continues, Jin spends it lying on the far edge of Kame’s bed, all limbs disciplined into their firm positions along his sides and his face scrunched up in agitation. He wishes he is back on the couch, because as far as obedience and control are concerned, the bed with a sleeping Kame just a foot and a half away is of much more discomfort than some few lumpy pillows.
“You’re falling off.” Kame mutters drowsily, voice still scratchy from his few moments of sleep. “Move closer.”
Jin obliges half-heartedly, even Kame could sense through the thick fog of sleep, edging himself towards the bed’s center like a boulder being pushed towards the edge of a cliff. Kame finds this ridiculously stupid, something to be expected from Jin anyways, so he turns to his side, slips his arms around the other’s waist, and moves his head along the space of Jin’s neck and lets it stay there.
Kame gives it five seconds-and soon enough Jin melts into his arms, like something pliable under his touch. Jin moves on his own accord, body shifting closer, arms gently encircling Kame’s shoulders, chin settling delicately onto the other’s hair.
“You have no idea,” Jin starts with a sigh, “How much I’ve wanted to do this.”
“It’s unfortunate how you didn’t have the guts.” Kame smirks through the cotton of Jin’s shirt.
“I was respecting your space, okay.” He retorts huffily, but still smiles despite himself.
“Can’t sleep.” Kame mutters tiredly, lightly touching his toes against the surface of Jin’s ankles.
Jin thinks for a while, then sings.
“
Ikiteru tada sore dake de,
Just simply living like this,
Kimi no hashiitte yukou.
Running ahead with you.
Kiesou na KISS de atatamete,
Warming ourselves in this vanishing kiss,
Kyou wa koko de nemuritai.
I want to sleep here today.
”
Jin draws back a little bit, his gaze hopeful, like a puppy trying to wheedle off treats from his owner. Kame stares back, unflinching, then says blankly, “You’re already sleeping here.”
Jin’s face falls, again in that ‘something-cosmic-crash-landing-on-his-face’ kind of way, before pursing his lips and allowing his face to distort into a haughty expression, something a kid would pull once banned from his sweets.
Kame fails to hold his laughter any longer so he throws his head back, moves in lightly, and fits his lips perfectly upon Jin’s. He smiles through the kiss.
“I got what you were saying, okay.” Kame says, “I’m not as stupid as you are.” He smirks.
“But that’s not what I was trying to say.” Jin answers, and Kame’s a little confused.
“Eh? Really?” Kame asks, still a bit stunned at his mistake, “What then?”
“What I really want to say is-”
I love you-
I’m leaving for good-
“I love you.”
As Kame jokingly kicks at his legs, blows on his collarbone and mutters a swift ‘me too’, Jin just feels happy that he finally chose the right words to say.
- - -
Jin stirs to a start for the second time that morning, and aside from the (beautiful, angelic, unbelievable) sleeping Kame fitted against his frame, he sees the digital thermometer sticking out from underneath a pillow.
Stretching one hand out he picks it up and checks the last temperature recorded on its memory space.
“38.6 degree Celsius.” He reads, his voice still scratchy, until he is hit by a pretty amazing realization.
“I’m healed.” Kame pointedly says, pointing at the digital thermometer that is now wedged between his fingers.
Jin looks down at the peacefully slumbering boy by his side, and doesn’t even attempt to hide his million-watt smile.
“If you wanted me by your side,” He whispers to Kame, “You should have just asked.”
V.
Nakisou no toki wa omoi dashite,
When you’re about to cry, just remember,
Chanto ore ga iru kara.
No matter what, I’ll be there.
Zutto soba ni iru kara.
I’ll always be near.
Kamenashi Kazuya collapses on the floor of the rehearsal room, beads of sweat trailing down his neck and breaths heaving in and out his lips like puffs of invisible condensation.
Even before the others could slide in a snide comment, Kame pushes himself up and directs an accusing finger towards their direction.
“I can keep up,” He tells Koki, who is quite disappointed at the impending lack of an argument.
“I haven’t gone flabby nor am I fat.” He then tells Ueda, who in truth isn’t really even considering applying his chubby-Jin insults at someone who actually needs more weight.
“And it’s definitely not the hamburgers, the extra-gigantic sodas, and the hills and mountains of fries.” He finishes with Nakamaru, who doesn’t even bother with his thinking cap.
He just needed. Some damn. Sleep.
“You miss Jin way too much, Kame-chan.” Taguchi chides in, for once not immersed in his world of almost-there, just-a-little-bit-more pro-gaming. “Just call him, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” He grins encouragingly, nudging the fallen Kame with his water bottle.
Koki looks up, a stubborn set on his jaw and a flicker of nostalgia visible in his eyes. “Yeah, call him up and tell him I hate his ass and he doesn’t exist to me anymore.” He finishes with an air of defiance, before adding as an afterthought, “And tell him to send over some chocolate and some canned spam, that back-stabbing dumbass.”
Nakamaru straightens, raising his hand. “Tell him how he’s never gonna beat me at soccer because I’ve trained with the big shots now.”
Kame, though sprawled on the ground, gives him an ‘is that real life?’ look. “No, not really.” Nakamaru answers, shrugging carelessly.
“Tell him to get a freaking treadmill.” Ueda calls from afar, still as straight forward as ever, “And also to stop stuffing his fucking face.”
Taguchi spreads his arms wide open, as if to mirror the greatness of his emotions. “Kame-chan, tell him I LOOOOVE him and I MIIIIISS him and-”
And just because Kame can’t handle anymore exaggerated, elongated words, he releases a sigh of despair and fishes his phone from inside his pocket and punches in speed dial number one.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ri-
And then, Kame sings.
“
Aishiteru, aishiteru.
I love you, I love you.
Sore igai, mitsukaranai.
Apart from this, I can’t find anything else.
”
Somewhere at the other end of the world, somebody is singing the same song, a genuine smile set on his lips, and all of his life’s bullshit immediately forgotten.
Fin.