let's be Ryo-free
I need a change of scenery. Ryo is in all of my fic. Even in the non-Ryo-slash-someone ones, he has always managed to worm in some sort of mention that it almost seems mandatory. Today I want to do things a little differently. I haven't written any drabbles lately, so I think it's high time I post a drabble meme like Momo did a few days ago.
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He knew that Jin wasn’t like that; Jin was arrogant and loudmouthed and sometimes exasperatingly simple, but it was that simplicity that assured Kame that Jin was always sincere. Kame was sure that Yamapi didn’t like him as much, though. But Yamapi was Jin’s first best friend and when Yamapi laughed, Jin also laughed, and they were in a world of their own, a world that Kame didn’t think he could ever truly be a part of.
When Kame was nineteen Jin walked up to him out of the blue. “We’re best friends, right?” Jin said, and Kame thought that if they were, Jin wouldn’t have needed to ask, would have exclaimed it aloud with that huge goofy grin on his face. “I really like you a lot, Kame. Do you like me, too?”
It took Kame by surprise, and he watched Jin, scrutinized his twinkling eyes and the way he smirked-the patented Hayato smirk, the smirk of perfect confidence that never indicated if he was joking or not. Kame decided that it was the former. “I don’t know,” he answered, and he didn’t, really. Jin had lots of friends, and Kame was just one of many. Kame wondered why Jin would say something like that.
Kame thought that Jin had changed after that incident; there was less laughter and more professionalism and an ever-growing tension that Kame couldn’t quite understand, nor remember the origin of. Kame missed the old Jin, the Jin who would laugh without a care in the world, and Kame knew then that he had liked that Jin very much. But it was too late to say that now.
After Shuuji to Akira, Kame felt that he and Jin had grown farther apart, and it bothered him. When Kame apologized-he didn’t think he had to, he just felt that it was needed-Jin only shook his head and said it was okay, even though Kame knew it wasn’t. There were leagues and leagues between him and Jin now, and he suddenly wanted to close the horribly awkward gap, build bridges that would restore what they once had.
He thought he might have been able to succeed, but then Jin went to America. And it was only when he left that Kame realized that life wasn’t quite the same without Jin, he missed Jin, he needed Jin. He and Jin were best friends, and he really liked Jin a lot. But somehow whenever he made long-distance calls to LA, he never got around to saying it.
Jin came home. And Kame witnessed in him the greatest change yet-it was like the gaping chasm between them widened in that half a year apart, Jin with his newfound worldliness and still-bad-but-improving English and Kame with his overrun schedules and the inescapable pattern of work, more work, stress and the tiniest bit of rest in between. In Jin’s absence Kame sometimes thought what it would be like to quit. When Jin came back, he wondered why such thoughts ever crossed his mind. Jin was a lot different now, aloof and independent and a tad wiser, but he was here. And that was all that mattered to Kame.
“We were best friends,” Kame said, and there was conviction in his voice that wavered only out of nervousness, “but I think I love you now.”
Jin merely looked at him, and in his eyes Kame saw the leagues and leagues between them. Kame smiled, but it was one of sorrow, and feeble hope, and regret for all the missed opportunities and lost time. “Do you,” Kame faltered, and swallowed hard, “do you think you’ll ever feel the same?”
“I don’t know,” Jin responded, and his tone is distant and hollow and just a trace sad. And Kame’s eyes stung and he felt like crying, but he couldn’t. Didn’t.
They were once best friends, Kame thought painfully as Jin walked away, and perhaps that was all they ever would be.
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