snark and fluff for the birthday boy
Title: The Things That Count
Author: nami
Rating: G
Pairing: Ryo/Ueda
Word Count: 3,137
Summary: When everything goes wrong, Ueda finds comfort in the person he least expects it from.
Notes: I really shouldn’t be writing right now. Why must I always be in the mood to write when I have exams coming up D: Ah, whatever. Happy birthday, Ueda ♥
Ueda brushes off the stray leaves that had resolutely stuck to his hair and clothes after that last gust of autumn wind. He doesn’t want to be yelled at by his stylist when he goes back into the building.
It probably doesn’t matter if she does. She would be the nth person in the long list of people who had made his day miserable so far. Ueda wasn’t wont to argue when people pointed out his faults but he could only endure so much insult in one day.
He really doesn’t think that his manager should have reprimanded him so harshly for being half an hour late to a cartoon KAT-TUN taping. If it had been Nakamaru, the man wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. And was it really necessary for their choreographer to rant about his apparently nonexistent dancing skills in front of his bandmates during the afternoon rehearsal? Even Kame had stumbled once or twice over the complicated dance steps, but of course the dance instructor wouldn’t dare to pick on him. No, Ueda was just special.
He sighs, leaning against the trunk of the tree beneath which he sits, and closes his eyes. He didn’t come here to wallow in self-pity, even if the choreographer’s words had hurt. He reminds himself that he had only wanted to get some fresh air, away from all the negative vibes that people within a five foot radius of him had kept projecting in his direction since this morning. Just a bit of fresh air to lighten his mood and help him forget every single thing that had sucked today - a day that shouldn’t be so awful, and in fact was supposed to be quite pleasant, at least if he held on to the childish belief that such a day was the most important occasion in a given year.
Today he turned twenty-four. He knows by now that a birthday isn’t defined by a candle-laden cake and cheerful wishes from friends - he has received neither thus far, and he is pretty sure that none of his bandmates are feigning forgetfulness-they’re simply too busy to remember his birthday. He doesn’t assume that the staff would be scrambling around inside the building, haphazardly making the necessary preparations for a typical surprise party while he sits out here on the grass. They only did that for the more “valuable assets” to the jimusho, such as Kame or Yamapi. He has few expectations of this day, two of which are that at least one person would remember, and that everyone in general would be just a bit nicer to him, maybe even cut him a little slack when he messes something up. Is that really too much to ask for?
Ueda knows that a twenty-four-year-old shouldn’t have such petty thoughts over this, but he can’t help but wish that he were a child once again, able to pout and cry and throw a fit when nobody acknowledges his birthday and instead pretends to have forgotten, being extra-mean but in the end surprising him with a birthday bash just when he begins to think that no one cares. But Ueda isn’t a child, and the people around him are not pretending, and somehow that makes it so much more painful than it should be.
Leaves crunch under the weight of an approaching person’s foot, and Ueda looks up, startled. His already low mood immediately plummets when his eyes rest upon the all-too-familiar smirk.
“Yo, donkey face. What the hell are you doing in a place like this? I almost mistook you for a garden gnome, but I guess I can’t blame my eyes, you look exactly like one,” Ryo remarks from where he stands towering over Ueda.
Ueda’s throat constricts. He fights the urge to flinch when the other man squats down and scrutinizes him, leaning in a little too close for comfort, enough for Ueda to catch a whiff of Ryo’s citrusy aftershave. It is, uncannily, the same one that Ueda uses, and now he knows that the image of Ryo’s smirking face will be permanently imprinted in his mind whenever he faces his bathroom mirror in the morning.
This is the last thing he needs right now-another round of ego-bruising courtesy of the cockiest bastard of Osaka, who also happens to be, against all forms of logic and rationale, the person that Ueda is currently attracted to. Fate has always been cruel to him. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised that this day has been so horrible.
“Go away, Nishikido,” Ueda says quietly, already uncomfortably hyperaware of Ryo’s proximity.
Ryo draws back slightly, still appearing quite amused. “You look more pathetic than usual. Jin told me you guys have a taping for that loser show of yours today. Let me guess, you’ve been kicked off the set for being so uninteresting, haven’t you? Geez, the only thing you’re supposed to do is sit there looking ugly and you can’t even do a decent job at that.”
Ueda summons the energy to stare coldly at him. “You seem so concerned for a guy who thinks that the show sucks,” he replies in a tone that was not as sarcasm-laden as he would have liked.
Ryo rolls his eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice Ueda’s lackluster attitude. “Yeah, I am concerned-for the rest of your group. I feel sorry for them for having such an incompetent member to pick up after all the time.”
Ueda remembers the choreographer’s scathing comments from this afternoon, and he hates himself for the tears that start to well up in his eyes. He makes a move to stand but Ryo grabs his arm and pulls him back down.
“What’s the rush? That’s completely rude, walking off in the middle of our conversation,” Ryo mocks him.
Ueda jerks his arm away and tries to ignore the tingling in his skin where Ryo had touched him. “You aren’t exactly the best person to preach about respect, Nishikido,” he retorts, his voice cracking. He has to get out of here now.
There is a twinkle in Ryo’s eye, a glint that Ueda recognizes as the kind that only appears at times when Ryo is enjoying being particularly vindictive towards him. “Someone’s got a temper,” he answers amusedly as he sits himself comfortably on the grass. “I’m sure you don’t have anything better to do anyway-it must be sad to be the only member in your group who never gets offered a lot of extra work, huh? How old are you again? You should hurry up and figure out a way to make up for your lack of talent before people get tired of your face.”
That last question is more than enough for Ueda-all the emotions churning inside him find release as he starts crying, feeling anger and pain and an overwhelming rush of hatred for his own weakness. Crying in front of Ryo is something that he will never live down, but he has come past the point of caring. He allows himself this one rule to break, because he still feels that he should be forgiven for his flaws today, even if no one remembers, even if no one cares. He cries so hard that he can barely make out Ryo and the look of dismay that has replaced the amusement on the other one’s face.
“God, don’t break down here, if anybody sees me with you they’re going to think I associate with pitiable pansies…”
Ueda wipes desperately at his tears with his fingers, but they show no sign of stopping. His vision is still slightly blurry, but he can see that Ryo looks genuinely panicked by now.
“Okay, okay, I was just kidding. Don’t cry, Ueda,” Ryo is almost pleading, reaching into his pocket and offering Ueda a handkerchief.
“I d-don’t need your pity, Nishikido,” Ueda stutters, slightly sickened by how Ryo would go to such lengths as acting like he cared just so he could coax Ueda into a feeling of false security before turning around and kicking him where it hurts the most. He recalls all the times that Ryo has done just that, deceiving him with a well-placed compliment, only to rebound it with a snide insult that would always haunt Ueda for the rest of the day.
And he has fallen for it every single time, because even if it is impossible, he clings to the hope that someday Ryo would respect him and make him believe that his feelings for him are justified.
Ryo takes hold of Ueda’s wrist and presses the piece of cloth into his palm. “Just take it. Clean yourself up before showing your face to the make-up artists-they can get pretty anal when your eyes are all red and puffy like that. Not that I speak from experience; Yasu always gets yelled at for ruining his make-up when he becomes too emotional over stupid things, that idiot. I get pissed off at them because if they scold him, he’ll just snivel even more and-well, the point is, just…feel better, or something.”
Ueda peers at Ryo through lashes clumped together by tears, too shocked at Ryo’s sudden display of compassion to respond. He thinks he sees a tinge of pink on the Osakan’s cheeks, but Ryo looks away and scrambles to his feet.
“See you around,” Ryo mumbles, ducking his head and walking off before Ueda can thank him.
Ueda looks down at the fingers he had unconsciously curled around the white handkerchief sometime during Ryo’s awkward little speech. He unclenches his hand and exposes the slightly wrinkled fabric, for a moment unable to believe that he was holding it in his palm. The wind rushes to his face, stinging his swollen eyes, and he instinctively raises his hand to his face.
A piece of paper falls out of the handkerchief’s folds and onto the grass, and Ueda picks it up, his eyes falling onto the messy handwriting upon it.
You’ll get uglier if you cry all the time. Smile more - you don’t look half as bad when you do. Happy birthday, Ueda Tatsuya-sama. ~Nishikido Ryo
Ueda stares at the note, rereading the words again and again as a new emotion starts welling up in him, his bitter sadness dulling into a faded glimmer at the back of his mind. Before he can become aware of it, he is already standing up and running in the direction that Ryo had gone off to.
“Nishikido!” he calls out, and Ryo stops just short of the studio’s back door.
“What?” Ryo asks, eyebrow raised, impassive expression in place. There is an unfamiliar lilt in his voice that belies the image he wishes to project, and despite his composure his eyes show a hint of apprehension.
Ueda has never before had a chance to become graced with it, so he finds that Ryo’s sincerity is something that he wishes he could be on the receiving end of more often. It courses through him like warmth in his veins, its calming effect as efficient at completely possessing Ueda as the cutting words that Ryo usually disposes of freely in his presence. Nobody else could affect him this much.
For a moment, he is overcome with the sudden urge to confess everything to Ryo, to throw all caution to the wind and lay bare everything he has never admitted to anyone else for fear of being laughed at. He wants to hold on to that bit of sincerity just a little longer, certain that Ryo wouldn’t mock him if he said it today.
Only today, because he can’t guarantee that tomorrow isn’t going to bring back the Ryo who despises him, the Ryo who reserves a special kind of sneer for him alone, the Ryo who doesn’t give a damn about him, will never give a damn about him because he’s too sensitive and gutless and weak of resolve.
“Spit it out, I don’t have all day,” Ryo speaks up with an impatient glance at his watch.
What if Ryo really does just feel sorry for him? Is he so pitiful that even the jimusho’s resident asshole would be moved by his wretchedness? Maybe Ryo simply thought that even his favorite victims deserved a break and this was merely a twenty-four hour reprieve from Ryo’s biting insensitivity.
He is tired of second-guessing people’s intentions. He doesn’t want to expect anything from anyone anymore; he is fed up with hoping and waiting and ending up miserable when his dreams remain dreams and nothing more than that.
“…thanks,” he says instead, and in that single word all the what-ifs and could-have-beens start filtering into his already-rich store of personal regrets. He hates how he gives up so easily, but he figures that if he never tries, he’ll never have to know how badly he’ll crash and burn if he ends up failing.
“You’re supposed to use it, dumbass,” is Ryo’s exasperated reply.
Flustered, Ueda hurriedly dabs at his eyes, wincing when he presses the cloth too roughly against his face. He hears Ryo sighing, and his breath catches in his throat when smooth hands take hold of his wrists and tug the handkerchief away from him, patting it gently over his eyelids.
“Such a wuss,” he hears Ryo saying, and his cheeks are flaming by the time Ryo withdraws and stares at him intently. Ryo tosses the handkerchief back at him and Ueda fumbles to catch it, twisting it nervously in his hands and refusing to look up. There is silence for a long moment. “I think you really get a kick out of being miserable,” Ryo speaks up.
Ueda glances back up at him, eyes wide.
“The world’s not going to end just because a couple of friends forget about your birthday,” Ryo clarifies, his tone neutral. “And if things don’t go your way, holing up somewhere and feeling sorry for yourself is just as stupid as throwing a tantrum at random people.”
Ueda pointedly avoids Ryo’s piercing stare. “You’re the first person to greet me today,” he answers, not wanting to go into the details.
Ryo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Not even-well. I always knew your group was made up of a bunch of losers,” he responds with a snort.
“That’s not for you to say,” Ueda protests.
Ryo rolls his eyes. “That’s right, just shoot me down. I’m trying to make you feel better, here. You’re only proving my previous point by being so negative about everything.”
Ueda stares pensively at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
Ueda frowns. He doesn’t like being toyed with. “You don’t have to pretend that you care, Nishikido.” He has to say it. He wants to know if this isn’t just another elaborate prank.
Ryo’s eyes flash, and Ueda instinctively takes a step back, bracing himself for another insult. It doesn’t come. He looks up to see Ryo with his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. The gesture is so unfamiliar that it takes Ueda a few moments to realize that this is the first time he’s ever seen Ryo being nervous in his presence. Ryo mutters something that Ueda is unable to catch. “What?” Ueda says automatically.
The annoyed look on Ryo’s face doesn’t go well with his nervousness. “I said, I’m sorry,” he repeats in a louder voice. “And I’m not pretending. Idiot.”
“What?” Ueda repeats, not quite trusting his ears.
Ryo’s face is slightly pink. “Shut up, I’m not going to say it again,” he snaps. He glances at his watch again. “Fuck, I’m late.” He turns to leave, looking just a little too keen on doing so.
It is Ueda’s turn to stop Ryo from leaving, latching at his wrist and refusing to let go. He has to say it now, before he loses his nerve. “Nishikido, I…”
Ryo tries to tug his wrist away. “Save it for next time, will you? And if you ever tell anybody that I apologized to you I am going to make you so miserable that you’ll-”
“I like you,” Ueda blurts out, and Ryo’s hand instantaneously falls limp in his grip. Ryo’s eyes widen a fraction, but when Ueda blinks, his face is impassive once again.
“Let go,” Ryo says quietly, and Ueda complies, retracting his hand as if he were burned.
His insides are a jumble of dread, disappointment and humiliation, and he knows that all those emotions must be displayed quite openly on his face. Ryo is staring at him, not uttering a single word, but Ueda’s eyes are resolutely glued to the floor as he waits for the imminent rejection. The heavy silence between them is suffocating and the prolonged pause feels much worse than any derisive remark that Ryo could possibly hurl at him.
His eyes are damp, but he refuses to cry.
“You know, in Kanjani8, we always try to celebrate one another’s birthdays no matter how busy we are,” Ryo finally says.
Among the numerous answers Ueda has been expecting to receive, that one was the last thing he could have thought of. He says nothing. He has had enough unpleasant encounters with Ryo to know that one should not let one’s guard down just because he doesn’t continue the conversation with a smart-assed remark.
“Your group has no sense of unity at all. That’s why you guys suck so much. But next year, if they don’t remember your birthday again…” Ryo meets his eyes and immediately glances away, “Just give me a call. I’ll show you a good time that none of your stupid friends will ever be able to match. And if you still end up crying your eyes out then, then there really must be something seriously wrong with your head.” He kicks at the ground the way an embarrassed little kid would and doesn’t wait for Ueda’s reply, simply gracing him with a crooked smile before ducking into the studio and disappearing beyond the wooden doors.
It takes a second for Ueda to take in what just happened. And he suddenly feels like crying again, but for completely different reasons. He sniffles as he looks down at the handkerchief that Ryo had given him, too overcome with happiness to move from the spot.
He blinks, noticing something embroidered onto the corner of the square cloth. He lifts it up and squints, and his lips begin to form a smile.
A birthday isn’t defined by a candle-laden cake and cheerful wishes from friends, surprise parties and people treating you extra-special. It’s simply a day that should remind a person that there is so much in life to look forward to.
Ueda clutches the handkerchief and rereads the word formed by the delicate stitching.
Sukiyanen.
And this was one of them.
Author: nami
Rating: G
Pairing: Ryo/Ueda
Word Count: 3,137
Summary: When everything goes wrong, Ueda finds comfort in the person he least expects it from.
Notes: I really shouldn’t be writing right now. Why must I always be in the mood to write when I have exams coming up D: Ah, whatever. Happy birthday, Ueda ♥
Ueda brushes off the stray leaves that had resolutely stuck to his hair and clothes after that last gust of autumn wind. He doesn’t want to be yelled at by his stylist when he goes back into the building.
It probably doesn’t matter if she does. She would be the nth person in the long list of people who had made his day miserable so far. Ueda wasn’t wont to argue when people pointed out his faults but he could only endure so much insult in one day.
He really doesn’t think that his manager should have reprimanded him so harshly for being half an hour late to a cartoon KAT-TUN taping. If it had been Nakamaru, the man wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. And was it really necessary for their choreographer to rant about his apparently nonexistent dancing skills in front of his bandmates during the afternoon rehearsal? Even Kame had stumbled once or twice over the complicated dance steps, but of course the dance instructor wouldn’t dare to pick on him. No, Ueda was just special.
He sighs, leaning against the trunk of the tree beneath which he sits, and closes his eyes. He didn’t come here to wallow in self-pity, even if the choreographer’s words had hurt. He reminds himself that he had only wanted to get some fresh air, away from all the negative vibes that people within a five foot radius of him had kept projecting in his direction since this morning. Just a bit of fresh air to lighten his mood and help him forget every single thing that had sucked today - a day that shouldn’t be so awful, and in fact was supposed to be quite pleasant, at least if he held on to the childish belief that such a day was the most important occasion in a given year.
Today he turned twenty-four. He knows by now that a birthday isn’t defined by a candle-laden cake and cheerful wishes from friends - he has received neither thus far, and he is pretty sure that none of his bandmates are feigning forgetfulness-they’re simply too busy to remember his birthday. He doesn’t assume that the staff would be scrambling around inside the building, haphazardly making the necessary preparations for a typical surprise party while he sits out here on the grass. They only did that for the more “valuable assets” to the jimusho, such as Kame or Yamapi. He has few expectations of this day, two of which are that at least one person would remember, and that everyone in general would be just a bit nicer to him, maybe even cut him a little slack when he messes something up. Is that really too much to ask for?
Ueda knows that a twenty-four-year-old shouldn’t have such petty thoughts over this, but he can’t help but wish that he were a child once again, able to pout and cry and throw a fit when nobody acknowledges his birthday and instead pretends to have forgotten, being extra-mean but in the end surprising him with a birthday bash just when he begins to think that no one cares. But Ueda isn’t a child, and the people around him are not pretending, and somehow that makes it so much more painful than it should be.
Leaves crunch under the weight of an approaching person’s foot, and Ueda looks up, startled. His already low mood immediately plummets when his eyes rest upon the all-too-familiar smirk.
“Yo, donkey face. What the hell are you doing in a place like this? I almost mistook you for a garden gnome, but I guess I can’t blame my eyes, you look exactly like one,” Ryo remarks from where he stands towering over Ueda.
Ueda’s throat constricts. He fights the urge to flinch when the other man squats down and scrutinizes him, leaning in a little too close for comfort, enough for Ueda to catch a whiff of Ryo’s citrusy aftershave. It is, uncannily, the same one that Ueda uses, and now he knows that the image of Ryo’s smirking face will be permanently imprinted in his mind whenever he faces his bathroom mirror in the morning.
This is the last thing he needs right now-another round of ego-bruising courtesy of the cockiest bastard of Osaka, who also happens to be, against all forms of logic and rationale, the person that Ueda is currently attracted to. Fate has always been cruel to him. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised that this day has been so horrible.
“Go away, Nishikido,” Ueda says quietly, already uncomfortably hyperaware of Ryo’s proximity.
Ryo draws back slightly, still appearing quite amused. “You look more pathetic than usual. Jin told me you guys have a taping for that loser show of yours today. Let me guess, you’ve been kicked off the set for being so uninteresting, haven’t you? Geez, the only thing you’re supposed to do is sit there looking ugly and you can’t even do a decent job at that.”
Ueda summons the energy to stare coldly at him. “You seem so concerned for a guy who thinks that the show sucks,” he replies in a tone that was not as sarcasm-laden as he would have liked.
Ryo rolls his eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice Ueda’s lackluster attitude. “Yeah, I am concerned-for the rest of your group. I feel sorry for them for having such an incompetent member to pick up after all the time.”
Ueda remembers the choreographer’s scathing comments from this afternoon, and he hates himself for the tears that start to well up in his eyes. He makes a move to stand but Ryo grabs his arm and pulls him back down.
“What’s the rush? That’s completely rude, walking off in the middle of our conversation,” Ryo mocks him.
Ueda jerks his arm away and tries to ignore the tingling in his skin where Ryo had touched him. “You aren’t exactly the best person to preach about respect, Nishikido,” he retorts, his voice cracking. He has to get out of here now.
There is a twinkle in Ryo’s eye, a glint that Ueda recognizes as the kind that only appears at times when Ryo is enjoying being particularly vindictive towards him. “Someone’s got a temper,” he answers amusedly as he sits himself comfortably on the grass. “I’m sure you don’t have anything better to do anyway-it must be sad to be the only member in your group who never gets offered a lot of extra work, huh? How old are you again? You should hurry up and figure out a way to make up for your lack of talent before people get tired of your face.”
That last question is more than enough for Ueda-all the emotions churning inside him find release as he starts crying, feeling anger and pain and an overwhelming rush of hatred for his own weakness. Crying in front of Ryo is something that he will never live down, but he has come past the point of caring. He allows himself this one rule to break, because he still feels that he should be forgiven for his flaws today, even if no one remembers, even if no one cares. He cries so hard that he can barely make out Ryo and the look of dismay that has replaced the amusement on the other one’s face.
“God, don’t break down here, if anybody sees me with you they’re going to think I associate with pitiable pansies…”
Ueda wipes desperately at his tears with his fingers, but they show no sign of stopping. His vision is still slightly blurry, but he can see that Ryo looks genuinely panicked by now.
“Okay, okay, I was just kidding. Don’t cry, Ueda,” Ryo is almost pleading, reaching into his pocket and offering Ueda a handkerchief.
“I d-don’t need your pity, Nishikido,” Ueda stutters, slightly sickened by how Ryo would go to such lengths as acting like he cared just so he could coax Ueda into a feeling of false security before turning around and kicking him where it hurts the most. He recalls all the times that Ryo has done just that, deceiving him with a well-placed compliment, only to rebound it with a snide insult that would always haunt Ueda for the rest of the day.
And he has fallen for it every single time, because even if it is impossible, he clings to the hope that someday Ryo would respect him and make him believe that his feelings for him are justified.
Ryo takes hold of Ueda’s wrist and presses the piece of cloth into his palm. “Just take it. Clean yourself up before showing your face to the make-up artists-they can get pretty anal when your eyes are all red and puffy like that. Not that I speak from experience; Yasu always gets yelled at for ruining his make-up when he becomes too emotional over stupid things, that idiot. I get pissed off at them because if they scold him, he’ll just snivel even more and-well, the point is, just…feel better, or something.”
Ueda peers at Ryo through lashes clumped together by tears, too shocked at Ryo’s sudden display of compassion to respond. He thinks he sees a tinge of pink on the Osakan’s cheeks, but Ryo looks away and scrambles to his feet.
“See you around,” Ryo mumbles, ducking his head and walking off before Ueda can thank him.
Ueda looks down at the fingers he had unconsciously curled around the white handkerchief sometime during Ryo’s awkward little speech. He unclenches his hand and exposes the slightly wrinkled fabric, for a moment unable to believe that he was holding it in his palm. The wind rushes to his face, stinging his swollen eyes, and he instinctively raises his hand to his face.
A piece of paper falls out of the handkerchief’s folds and onto the grass, and Ueda picks it up, his eyes falling onto the messy handwriting upon it.
You’ll get uglier if you cry all the time. Smile more - you don’t look half as bad when you do. Happy birthday, Ueda Tatsuya-sama. ~Nishikido Ryo
Ueda stares at the note, rereading the words again and again as a new emotion starts welling up in him, his bitter sadness dulling into a faded glimmer at the back of his mind. Before he can become aware of it, he is already standing up and running in the direction that Ryo had gone off to.
“Nishikido!” he calls out, and Ryo stops just short of the studio’s back door.
“What?” Ryo asks, eyebrow raised, impassive expression in place. There is an unfamiliar lilt in his voice that belies the image he wishes to project, and despite his composure his eyes show a hint of apprehension.
Ueda has never before had a chance to become graced with it, so he finds that Ryo’s sincerity is something that he wishes he could be on the receiving end of more often. It courses through him like warmth in his veins, its calming effect as efficient at completely possessing Ueda as the cutting words that Ryo usually disposes of freely in his presence. Nobody else could affect him this much.
For a moment, he is overcome with the sudden urge to confess everything to Ryo, to throw all caution to the wind and lay bare everything he has never admitted to anyone else for fear of being laughed at. He wants to hold on to that bit of sincerity just a little longer, certain that Ryo wouldn’t mock him if he said it today.
Only today, because he can’t guarantee that tomorrow isn’t going to bring back the Ryo who despises him, the Ryo who reserves a special kind of sneer for him alone, the Ryo who doesn’t give a damn about him, will never give a damn about him because he’s too sensitive and gutless and weak of resolve.
“Spit it out, I don’t have all day,” Ryo speaks up with an impatient glance at his watch.
What if Ryo really does just feel sorry for him? Is he so pitiful that even the jimusho’s resident asshole would be moved by his wretchedness? Maybe Ryo simply thought that even his favorite victims deserved a break and this was merely a twenty-four hour reprieve from Ryo’s biting insensitivity.
He is tired of second-guessing people’s intentions. He doesn’t want to expect anything from anyone anymore; he is fed up with hoping and waiting and ending up miserable when his dreams remain dreams and nothing more than that.
“…thanks,” he says instead, and in that single word all the what-ifs and could-have-beens start filtering into his already-rich store of personal regrets. He hates how he gives up so easily, but he figures that if he never tries, he’ll never have to know how badly he’ll crash and burn if he ends up failing.
“You’re supposed to use it, dumbass,” is Ryo’s exasperated reply.
Flustered, Ueda hurriedly dabs at his eyes, wincing when he presses the cloth too roughly against his face. He hears Ryo sighing, and his breath catches in his throat when smooth hands take hold of his wrists and tug the handkerchief away from him, patting it gently over his eyelids.
“Such a wuss,” he hears Ryo saying, and his cheeks are flaming by the time Ryo withdraws and stares at him intently. Ryo tosses the handkerchief back at him and Ueda fumbles to catch it, twisting it nervously in his hands and refusing to look up. There is silence for a long moment. “I think you really get a kick out of being miserable,” Ryo speaks up.
Ueda glances back up at him, eyes wide.
“The world’s not going to end just because a couple of friends forget about your birthday,” Ryo clarifies, his tone neutral. “And if things don’t go your way, holing up somewhere and feeling sorry for yourself is just as stupid as throwing a tantrum at random people.”
Ueda pointedly avoids Ryo’s piercing stare. “You’re the first person to greet me today,” he answers, not wanting to go into the details.
Ryo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Not even-well. I always knew your group was made up of a bunch of losers,” he responds with a snort.
“That’s not for you to say,” Ueda protests.
Ryo rolls his eyes. “That’s right, just shoot me down. I’m trying to make you feel better, here. You’re only proving my previous point by being so negative about everything.”
Ueda stares pensively at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
Ueda frowns. He doesn’t like being toyed with. “You don’t have to pretend that you care, Nishikido.” He has to say it. He wants to know if this isn’t just another elaborate prank.
Ryo’s eyes flash, and Ueda instinctively takes a step back, bracing himself for another insult. It doesn’t come. He looks up to see Ryo with his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. The gesture is so unfamiliar that it takes Ueda a few moments to realize that this is the first time he’s ever seen Ryo being nervous in his presence. Ryo mutters something that Ueda is unable to catch. “What?” Ueda says automatically.
The annoyed look on Ryo’s face doesn’t go well with his nervousness. “I said, I’m sorry,” he repeats in a louder voice. “And I’m not pretending. Idiot.”
“What?” Ueda repeats, not quite trusting his ears.
Ryo’s face is slightly pink. “Shut up, I’m not going to say it again,” he snaps. He glances at his watch again. “Fuck, I’m late.” He turns to leave, looking just a little too keen on doing so.
It is Ueda’s turn to stop Ryo from leaving, latching at his wrist and refusing to let go. He has to say it now, before he loses his nerve. “Nishikido, I…”
Ryo tries to tug his wrist away. “Save it for next time, will you? And if you ever tell anybody that I apologized to you I am going to make you so miserable that you’ll-”
“I like you,” Ueda blurts out, and Ryo’s hand instantaneously falls limp in his grip. Ryo’s eyes widen a fraction, but when Ueda blinks, his face is impassive once again.
“Let go,” Ryo says quietly, and Ueda complies, retracting his hand as if he were burned.
His insides are a jumble of dread, disappointment and humiliation, and he knows that all those emotions must be displayed quite openly on his face. Ryo is staring at him, not uttering a single word, but Ueda’s eyes are resolutely glued to the floor as he waits for the imminent rejection. The heavy silence between them is suffocating and the prolonged pause feels much worse than any derisive remark that Ryo could possibly hurl at him.
His eyes are damp, but he refuses to cry.
“You know, in Kanjani8, we always try to celebrate one another’s birthdays no matter how busy we are,” Ryo finally says.
Among the numerous answers Ueda has been expecting to receive, that one was the last thing he could have thought of. He says nothing. He has had enough unpleasant encounters with Ryo to know that one should not let one’s guard down just because he doesn’t continue the conversation with a smart-assed remark.
“Your group has no sense of unity at all. That’s why you guys suck so much. But next year, if they don’t remember your birthday again…” Ryo meets his eyes and immediately glances away, “Just give me a call. I’ll show you a good time that none of your stupid friends will ever be able to match. And if you still end up crying your eyes out then, then there really must be something seriously wrong with your head.” He kicks at the ground the way an embarrassed little kid would and doesn’t wait for Ueda’s reply, simply gracing him with a crooked smile before ducking into the studio and disappearing beyond the wooden doors.
It takes a second for Ueda to take in what just happened. And he suddenly feels like crying again, but for completely different reasons. He sniffles as he looks down at the handkerchief that Ryo had given him, too overcome with happiness to move from the spot.
He blinks, noticing something embroidered onto the corner of the square cloth. He lifts it up and squints, and his lips begin to form a smile.
A birthday isn’t defined by a candle-laden cake and cheerful wishes from friends, surprise parties and people treating you extra-special. It’s simply a day that should remind a person that there is so much in life to look forward to.
Ueda clutches the handkerchief and rereads the word formed by the delicate stitching.
Sukiyanen.
And this was one of them.