One-shot: Never look back

[sashjun]

Title: Never look back
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ueda/Nakamaru
Summary: When Ueda boxes, it’s all about control. The rhythm, the solid presence of the sand bag, the sound, it is all immersing. For just a little longer. Until Ueda is able to control his life like he is able to control the sand bag.
Warnings: The fic deals with anxiety, more precisely with obsessive compulsive disorder.
Notes: Written for akumanakoi, for je-squickfic 2012. Originally posted here. Inspired by Ueda’s claim of sleeping only four hours at night and his pretty intense regular training. To avoid any confusion, the sections in italics are events that really happened to Ueda. 4222 words.
Thanks to maayacola for beta.


“I can’t take it anymore. I quit,” Ueda said. He was close to tears. Biting his lip helped to push them back.

“Think about it. You could be a good leader.” The manager winced. He didn’t believe it either.

“I’m not KAT-TUN’s leader anymore. I don’t want to be.”

Ueda lies there, awake. The same old scenario running through his head. Always unchanging. He shouldn’t have said it. He should’ve said it differently. He should’ve proven the manager wrong.

The clock on his nightstand blinks. The digits change. It’s three thirty in the morning. Ueda has to be up in less than five hours. He has yet to fall asleep. He blinks one more time then gets up.

“What are you doing? You sound out of breath,” Nakamaru asks. He sounds so… fresh.

“I’m practicing. I got a sand bag for my hallway.” Ueda slides down the wall, pulling the towel off his head. “What time is it?”

“Seven. You wanted me to call to make sure you get out of bed.” Nakamaru sounds almost like he worries. But he says nothing more.

“I’m up now.” Still. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kame throws a bottle of make up at him. “You look like shit. Cover those black circles under your eyes. Or use eyeliner again. A heavy one. And black eyeshadow.” He takes Ueda’s chin and inspects his face. “Definitely do that.”

Ueda jerks his head and pulls away from Kame. He catches Nakamaru looking at him anxiously in the mirror.

“Or use eyeliner again. A heavy one. And black eyeshadow. Definitely do that,” Kame has added after pulling Ueda’s chin up to inspect his face.

Ueda had stayed quiet.

He wants to go running. Badly. It would take his mind off things. Off that constant nagging. Did he do the right thing? Maybe he should have bowed lower. He should have asked more clearly. He should have spoken more loudly and looked them right into the eyes. It doesn’t matter that he got his way; that he is doing solo concerts. It still haunts him.

Ueda drops his bag when he comes home and changes into his running clothes. He doesn’t even drink a glass of water. He has been thirsty for ages. But his brain won’t stop. He punches his door frame on the way out. Who needs a sand bag, really?

When Ueda runs, he counts his steps. He also counts the trees he passes. And the intersections that he crosses. He goes on and on, keeping his internal counts. Every time, he pushes a little further. Comes home a little later. Every time, he feels like this time, his mind is really clear.

He missed. Completely. The pile of bricks just sat there, as if laughing at him. The audience went completely quiet for an excruciatingly long second. It was the longest second ever until he laughed it off. And tried again.

Why couldn’t he manage on the first try? He knows his stuff. He’s been training for ever. He has succeeded so many times in rehearsals. Ueda goes over every move, every pull of his body in his head. Over his speed and the force he used. In his head, he reacts faster to the possible failure.

“Ueda?” Nakamaru shakes his shoulder, and Ueda looks up, this anger rising in him. He takes a deep breath. It’s Nakamaru, with his big eyes and worried bottom lip.

“What is it?” Ueda asks at last.

“Your hand. Is it okay? You keep shaking it out ever since that concert.”

“It was just a stupid miss. It won’t happen again,” Ueda blurts out.

Nakamaru nods slowly. “Of course it won’t. You’re doing great,” he says, and he sounds so confident about it.

“Right,” Ueda says, and he kind of kills the vibe.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just… the concert, it’s a lot of pressure, and I don’t want to think about that mistake,” Ueda said, approaching Nakamaru.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.” Nakamaru bowed his head.

“No. It’s not that,” Ueda said, and it came out angry. He was angry. He was angry because he should have not been so stuck on it. Other people took silly misses like this well. And he made Nakamaru feel bad twice.

Nakamaru who was squeezing his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Ueda shook his head and walked away.

How can he be such a total idiot? Ueda’s eyes fall on his boxing gloves. He’s just taken a shower. But this helps. It always does.

When Ueda boxes, it’s all about control. You can’t lose it. You have to hold on to it no matter what. It takes all his concentration; to move his feet right, to guard with one of his hands, always, never letting it up while the other hits with not only strength but wisely too. The rhythm, the solid presence of the sand bag, the sound, it is all immersing. Just a little longer. Just with a bit more precision. Until Ueda is able to control his life like he is able to control the sand bag.

“I don’t like being alone for a long time,” Ueda had said, off-handedly in a short moment when he let go of his guard during an interview.

That must come off as so pathetic. He hits his fist against the couch cushion, annoyed as the moment and the slight pitying smile of the editor replays in his head, over and over again. Then his phone rings.

“Yeah,” Ueda knows he still sounds a bit upset.

“Is this a bad time?” Nakamaru asks.

“No. Actually it’s perfect. Want to come over for dinner and movies?”

That day, he meets Nishikido after a long time. The man is perfectly polite to him. They have a very civil conversation and even exchange numbers. Ryo is curious about how he managed to land himself solo concerts and how it was, playing Romeo.

What do you want to be?

It’s in Ueda’s head. On repeat. It flashes in front of his eyes, vivid colors and deep contrasts of Ryo’s dark hair and his own white lips and bleached eyebrows. Again and again, every idle moment of that day, complete with how he should have sent Ryo to hell, taping in front of an audience or not.

Ueda punches his sand bag before his hands are even taped. He does it again, and again. And then he goes running. He’s never been this far. He’s never made it past those big lumps of trees and past that bridge.

On his way home, his phone rings and it messes up his step count. He picks up, just because of that -- to tell whoever it is off -- and his head spins.

“Fuck,” he says into the phone.

“What is wrong with you?” Nakamaru’s voice filters through to him as he stumbles towards a tree trunk.

Ueda throws up. Nakamaru is still on the phone when he can talk again.

“Where are you?”

Ueda tells him.

“Hey,” Nakamaru smiles at him, takeout in one hand, beers in the other.

Ueda wipes his sweaty palms into his jeans and lets him in.

“I'm going to let you chose a movie if you eat more rice than me tonight,” Nakamaru says as he starts pulling out bowls and opening boxes with food.

Ueda measures him up and down. “I don’t think that is going to be a problem,” he smirks.

“Do not underestimate me.” Nakamaru actually points a finger at him. Ueda grins like an idiot, and Nakamaru’s smile is relieved, even if he tries to hide that.

“I’m glad you are okay,” he says as they watch a movie. “This is good, right? Relaxing a bit.”

Ueda only nods, eyes trained on a movie until they start to droop.

He wakes up to find the lights off and Nakamaru curled on the other side of the sofa, their toes touching. He stares into the dark, thinking of Nakamaru, watching him like a hawk while Ueda ate three servings of rice.

“You’ve got to stop training this hard. You’re pushing yourself too much. What if I wasn’t on the phone when you collapsed? You always look tired, and you are skinnier than when you were sixteen,” Nakamaru was talking fast and worried as he drove Ueda out of the hospital.

“I can’t,” Ueda blurted out.

“What do you mean?” Nakamaru asked, sounding even more alarmed, if possible.

“It’s… it’s like the only thing that helps.” To stop my head from driving me insane. “To relax, I mean.”

“That’s not true. You can do lot of things to relax. I can show you,” Nakamaru said, perking up, probably already planning all the ways he could help.

“It’s not that easy,” Ueda muttered.

They stopped at the lights. Nakamaru looked at him, his mouth pursed as if he wanted to say something. But he didn’t, and the light turned green again.

“If there’s anything. You have to tell me if something is wrong,” Nakamaru said after all, eyes trained on the road.

“Nothing is wrong,” Ueda lied. Nakamaru’s eyebrow twitched.

It’s all wrong, and now Nakamaru is always making plans for them and worrying for Ueda, just because Ueda couldn’t play it better that day. Just because he let Nakamaru drive him home, and because he let himself slip and whine in that car. Why couldn’t he control himself?

It’s four am when Ueda gets up and slips into his bedroom. He pulls on his running clothes and ties his shoes. He is opening the front door when Nakamaru grabs his hand, half asleep.

“What are you doing? Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Ueda lies.

“But I am,” Nakamaru murmurs, and pulls Ueda back inside and into his kitchen. “Do you want to tell me what is going on in your head?” he asks. Ueda doesn’t answer. Nakamaru puts on the water for tea and turns around, squeezing Ueda’s shoulder. Ueda sighs, grabbing for Nakamaru’s other wrist, gripping it tight.

“It’s stupid. Don’t worry,” he mutters.

“Okay,” Nakamaru say. He sits next to Ueda, letting him hold his wrist for a little longer. Later, they drink tea, their sides still touching. Nakamaru’s warmth seeps into Ueda, Ueda’s fingers tingling with the pulse he felt when holding onto Nakamaru. Ueda counts the beats in his head. And somehow he doesn’t think of anything else.

“Aren’t you cold?” Nakamaru asks as he fiddles with something on Ueda’s computer. His eyes wander to Ueda’s bare feet for a moment, but then he’s busy fixing whatever Ueda managed to mess up in the past two weeks.

Ueda looks at him, cup of tea in hand.

“It’s so annoying how he struts around in those ugly, old sandals. And now he’s going to walk around bare foot. It’s like a catastrophe waiting to happen.” Two men from the backstage staff turned the corner and stumbled upon Ueda, trying to breathe his anger out of his system.

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said, and ran in the opposite direction.

The cup hits the table, and hot tea splashes Ueda’s and Nakamaru’s hand.

“Ueda?” Nakamaru asks, voice tilting into worry as he looks up into Ueda’s face.

“Sorry, sorry…” Ueda hurriedly lifts Nakamaru’s writs out of the puddle of hot liquid on his table and pulls him into the kitchen, letting cold water wash over both of their hands. He feels Nakamaru’s pulse again, and his skin is warm even under the cold water. Ueda’s mind clears, and he looks down at his feet.

“Do you… Do you think it’s creepy that I walk around like this?”

Nakamaru ruffles Ueda’s hair with his other hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s kind of… cute.”

Ueda smiles. Yes, it’s silly. It should all be so silly. No need to dwell on it. That’s what he should have told those two as well. But Nakamaru is still ruffling his hair, and his warmth makes Ueda calm down, so he stops thinking about it.

It’s normal for Ueda to go through every mistake he’s ever done in his dance routines before the concert. He’s usually so anxious to just go out there and run around the stadium for the first time because that helps. So he stands behind the curtains, biting his lip, and counts down the seconds.

“Hey! Let’s have fun,” Nakamaru shouts right into his ear, high and happy, and so close. Ueda grabs for him, holds onto his arms, slides his hand towards his wrist and breathes in.

“Yeah! Let’s make it the best one,” he says, opening his eyes and grinning back at Nakamaru. He really means it, the regret and the need to just do something about it gone for a moment. Nakamaru gives him one more beaming smile before he runs off.

Ueda makes sure to stand somewhere near Nakamaru before their concerts. Suddenly even Kame has no remarks about Ueda’s slow start.

“You haven’t been training in secret, right?” Nakamaru asks Ueda after the dinner as they head into their hotel rooms.

Ueda bites his lip. He knows he won’t be able to sleep again. He has been trying to tone the training down like he had promised, but he was just about to sneak in for a run to knock himself off before he can think about how he overdid it during the members intro today.

“Not in secret. But I’m going right now,” Ueda says.

Nakamaru halts then catches up with Ueda. “Let’s watch a movie together instead.”

“I need to get my mind off things,” Ueda says bluntly. Everybody has a way to deal, damn it.

“What things?” Nakamaru asks.

“Do you want to tell me what is going on in your head?” Nakamaru asked, making tea and looking at Ueda with worry. Ueda hated it.

“You know, concert, fans, just to wind down,” Ueda insists.

“Don’t be silly!” Nakamaru’s voice sounded so cheerful. For Ueda it was all dead serious.”

Nakamaru pulls Ueda by his sleeve. “There are other ways. Let’s play a game.”

Ueda doesn’t want to be pulled like a little child. He reaches for Nakamaru’s hand, almost on instinct. His fingers close around Nakamaru’s bony wrist. As Nakamaru looks back at him and gives him a searching look, Ueda feels his head empty and his body goes sluggish.

He falls asleep curled on Nakamaru’s bed, back leaning against Nakamaru’s thigh, listening to Nakamaru swear and cheer as he plays the game.

“You need to try harder. Do we really bore you this much? You’ve become annoying, Akanishi,” Ueda said. Jin had left him stuck during the location shoot that day, battling with the overeager guests and stressed out director.

Jin looked taken aback. He probably thought Ueda would be on his side.

“Maybe you’d be better off if I was gone”, he said.

“We were just fine the last time,” Ueda lied.

He doesn’t realize it’s Nakamaru who holds on to him first this time. He just digs his nails into Nakamaru’s thigh underneath the table as they are told Jin is leaving again. This time for good. Ueda should have said the truth back then. He ends up counting the beats of the pulse between him and Nakamaru, frantically in synch.

Two weeks later, Nakamaru kisses Ueda. Admittedly that too takes Ueda’s mind off things. Ueda pushes him back, but doesn’t let go off his wrist. Then Ueda pulls Nakamaru right back in. Because Nakamaru has been there -- always there for Ueda to hold on to. And Ueda might have known this was the reason. Somewhere deep down, between sleepless nights and endless rounds of training, his mind had wandered there.

“What if I am not doing this for you? What if this is just me looking for an easy way to be around you?” Ueda asked.

Nakamaru looked confused and hurt for just a second. But then he lifted his head a little higher and pulled Ueda in for a hug.

“Well, isn’t that what a relationship is about?” he asked.

Ueda sits up in bed. It’s three in the morning. He drives himself to Nakamaru’s apartment on a whim and rings the doorbell until Nakamaru opens the door for him. It starts with a pull on Nakamaru’s wrist and ends up with them having sex for the first time.

“What are you thinking about?” Nakamaru asks, as Ueda curls into his side.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Ueda answers.

“Should I be offended?” Nakamaru laughs a little, pokes Ueda into his ribs.

“No. It’s a compliment,” Ueda mutters as he drifts to sleep.

“I might… I might love you,” Nakamaru said over the sound of the television as they were dozing off together one evening.

Ueda froze. Nakamaru kept on holding his hand, squeezing it almost too tightly. “Thank you,” Ueda muttered in the end. He didn’t stay the night.

It’s been three days, and Ueda has upped his training doses again, the same scenario in his head on repeat even when his running slowed down too much and there was too much time in between the trees on the road. He wants to run to Nakamaru and hold onto his hand. He wants to feel his warmth and say sorry and ask if it’s okay to say just thank you and hear that yes it is and tell him he loves him too. Because he needs him. Just like that, to hold on to.

It’s not like Ueda likes to think about it. It’s more like it torments him day in, day out. That one time he jokingly said he loved Nakamaru on air. It’s that or Nakamaru’s very real admittance, and it drives Ueda crazy. So he goes into the archives and finds the recording and sends it to Nakamaru. Nakamaru thinks it’s kind of romantic. He comes over that evening, and Ueda never wants to let him go.

Over the past week Ueda’s muscles were constantly sore. They ache badly as he drapes himself over Nakamaru on the couch that night. He just needs a break and more warmth and the scent of Nakamaru’s aftershave and his breath on his cheek. The pulse lulls him to sleep, but not before Ueda realizes how this, too, is all wrong.

“Don’t be so anxious,” Kame told him as they waited for the shoot to begin. Nakamaru wasn’t there, and Ueda couldn’t just run out of the room either. He could punch something. Or somebody.

“Ueda, seriously stop the fidgeting,” Kame said, and rolled his eyes. “We’ve done this so many times. It will be fine.”

“Shut up. Just shut it,” Ueda hissed, and hit his fist against the small plastic table between them. It shattered.

He was so angry. With no reasons; just blinded by it. He knew Kame was just trying to help.

Ueda almost breaks the computer as he tries to turn it on in bed, still so upset over his scene with Kame. He googles anxiety until it is time to go to work the next day.

By the time Nakamaru comes back from the overseas location shooting, Ueda has dark circles under his eyes and is two kilos lighter .When the concerts begin, he suggest they room in pairs again, after a long time.

“You used to have such problems sleeping in hotels,” Nakamaru whispers into Ueda’s ear as they curl around each other under the blankets.

“I still do,” Ueda sighs, almost asleep.

“Not right now,” Nakamaru laughs, and it tingles Ueda’s ear.

“Because you’re here,” Ueda says, and reaches for Nakamaru’s wrist, thumb bumping over the prominent bone under Nakamaru’s skin.

Nakamaru hums, but then strokes Ueda’s head and pulls him away so that he can look at his face. “But really, what goes on inside here that you can’t sleep most of the night?”

Ueda grips Nakamaru’s writs tighter. “Just things.” But Nakamaru purses his lips in disapproval. Ueda knows him. He will need to talk tonight. “Like what I did wrong. Or how I could do things better. Past, flashes of it all the time,” Ueda murmurs it into the pillow -- eyes shut because he doesn’t want to admit it. “I’m never in control enough. I never react how I should, and I always regret it later.”

Nakamaru hisses, and Ueda realizes he’s been digging nails too deep into the skin on his hand.

“Sorry,” Ueda whispers. “It’s just that… running helps. And boxing, and being with you. I know I’m not normal.”

“You’re perfectly fine,” Nakamaru whispers, bringing Ueda closer.

“I’m sorry,” Ueda says again.

“We all make mistakes. We all regret some things we do. You just… can’t let it eat you up. Don’t be angry at yourself.” Nakamaru rubs Ueda’s back. “You can do it,”

Ueda almost believes him.

“Maybe you should see a doctor. There are ways to help you,” Nakamaru said one evening.

“I’m not crazy. I don’t think I am. Plus I can’t just pick up and ask for some pills for my “crazy.” Imagine the field trip the papers would have with that.” Ueda got up, angry and almost turning his plate over with the sudden motion.

“I’m not saying you are crazy. I just want to help you. I…” Nakamaru bit his lip.

Ueda left.

It was just a matter of time before Nakamaru would catch on. Ueda punches his sand bag with bare hands that night. Over and over until his knuckles are angry red and he can’t feel them anymore, until he can’t count anymore and he just slides down the wall and falls into a nightmare of Nakamaru looking down on him for his weakness, of Nakamaru not being there anymore.

Ueda holds on, keeps Nakamaru close, tries everything to show he cares. Until one day, Nakamaru pulls his hand away.

“I’m just trying to help,” he mutters. “I’ve tried to read about it. It helps to, you know, change your habits, to try to eliminate the obsession.”

“You’re not an obsession,” Ueda says, and reaches for Nakamaru’s wrist. Nakamaru dodges one more time, but gives in at the end.

“It’s a chemical reaction in your brain. Look at it that way,” the doctor said.

Ueda hurls everything off his small make-up table.

“What’s going on?” Kame touches his shoulder, but stands back when Ueda turns around and growls in frustration.

“Leave me alone,” he bursts out and runs out of the room. In the elevator, the anger slowly subsides, leaving him out of breath and on the verge of tears. He drives straight to his boxing gym.

“Ueda, I…” Nakamaru approaches Ueda the next day before rehearsals. “I just really want to help. Please understand. It’s the only way. The only solution I saw...”

Ueda turns on his heel. “You don’t have to tell me again. I can hear you just fine in my head.”

Ueda turned around in bed and found Nakamaru staring at him.

“You can’t sleep?” he asked.

“Isn’t that funny?” Nakamaru asked back, but he sounded bitter.

Ueda tried to run his fingers down Nakamaru’s side then, but Nakamaru twitched and made to move away.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he said.

Ueda stopped breathing. “What… what do you mean?” He got out, straightening up in bed and turning on the night stand light.

“I mean.” Nakamaru looked somewhere above Ueda’s head. “I don’t know anymore. I can’t tell when you are touching me because you want to and when it’s just because you need to do it. I’m not sure if you are with me because you like me and want me, or because you need me -- because you have these urges to just touch me. I don’t know if I’ll ever know.”

Ueda stared blankly.

“I think we should break up. I hope. I hope this will help… to curb your obsession.” Nakamaru took a deep breath. “You should go.”

Ueda doesn’t get up from bed. He doesn’t want to go running. He doesn’t want to stop thinking about this. About Nakamaru. He doesn’t believe in Nakamaru’s solution. He doesn’t want to believe Nakamaru’s gone.

Nakamaru, give me your hand,” Ueda said. He was feeling pretty giddy. The shooting went well and the sun was coloring everything wonderful pink and orange as it was setting down over the river.

Nakamaru came closer, but his hands stayed in his pockets.

“No one will see,” Ueda muttered.

“There’s staff everywhere.”

“I can’t help it though. Don’t be a spoilsport. I need your hand,” Ueda pouted. When Nakamaru wasn’t moving, Ueda put on the oversized sweater he had brought in case he got cold during the evening part of the shoot. It hung low and completely covered his hands. He stood close to Nakamaru, and pulled his hand out of his pocket.

“No one will see like this,” he muttered, twining their fingers and rubbing Nakamaru’s thumb with his own. “Now watch the sunset with me.”

Ueda’d taken out the prescription two weeks ago. He’s just been gathering the courage to tell Nakamaru - to start the treatment. Now he throws the pills into the trash can and heads back to bed. He shuts his eyes and finds another moment -- another moment with Nakamaru that he screwed up.