FIC: The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Multipairing, NC17 (3/3)
Title: The Twelve Ways of Christmas (3/3)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: Up to and including NC17
Pairing(s): Multipairing (aka, lots of different pairings)
Wordcount: 21 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Gackt, infidelity, some het, and Keanu Reeves. Concept borrowed from Love, Actually-wouldn't Yuushi approve!
Author's notes: Big thanks to my beta, mayezinha! Written for the community at santa_smex 2008.
This fic has been truncated into 3 parts due to length. These parts are NOT CHAPTERS. This is a one-shot fic.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
9.
If he nearly puked when he finally asked Ann out, Kamio has no idea how he'll survive tonight.
The guy is supposed to pick the girl up from her place-the problem is, Ann-chan still lives with her parents and the thought of seeing Tachibana-san with her, glaring down at Kamio is enough to make the blood drain from his face. And, their family bulldog scares him a little. Gokudora is old and infirm, Ann says, but Kamio gets the narrowed eyes and the big, slobbering sneers when Ann-chan's back is turned.
And then there is the problem of the tickets. It's Christmas Eve, so HMV was busy. His feet are killing him and a display full of pop CDs fell over. Kamio gets to clean it up, of course, even though he has a Big Date tonight. He bends over. All he can see is a rainbow arc of KAT-TUN across the floor of the store. He sighs. He looks up, and Speed stops playing over all the video screens.
"Oi!" he shouts. "We were watching that! It was my turn to pick!"
Bun-san rolls his eyes. He chews on his goatee. "My turn now," he says.
Kamio hates Gackt's latest tour DVD: it's all flashy outfits and lights and then a BALLAD, gross. The slow stuff is the worst. He grabs another CD and grinds his teeth until his jaw starts to hurt, too. If it wasn't for the latest reprimand from the assistant manager, he'd punch Bun-san in his scrappy goatee face right now, too.
Instead, Kamio gets a face-full of boot. He snaps his face back and looks up. The boot belong to someone in an expensive wool coat, who says, "Excuse me" in the thickest Kansai drawl he can barely make out.
"The best-sellers are over there," Kamio says. He nods to the far wall.
Boot-guy's expression spreads into a sideways smirk. "I'm looking for someone named Kamio," he says.
Kamio stands up. "Do I know you?" he asks. He steps closer to boot-guy. And just in case this guy wants a tussle, Kamio balls his fists and curls his lip, too.
"Hn…I have something for him…"
Kamio blinks. "Eh?"
"He wanted to buy a pair of concert tickets off my friends, but he couldn't come." The guy's glasses start to slip down his long nose. It takes him a long, dripping Gackt song to fix them. His smirk seems to deepen and Bun-san keeps chewing on his goatee by the cash register.
"You done yet, kid?" he shouts.
"Shut it!" Kamio snaps back. Under his breath, he adds, "Asshole."
The guy raises his eyebrow. "I suppose he's left for the night, then." With his hands in his pockets, he starts to saunter toward the exit.
Kamio runs for it. He grabs the guy by the arm and spins him around. "Okay, it's me!" he says. "I'm Kamio. I need those tickets!"
"Oh?" The guy's glasses gleam in the strobe light of Gackt's awful DVD.
Kamio growls through his teeth. He purses his lips. "Look, I told my girlfriend we'd go and I NEED those tickets," he says.
The guy leaves 10 000 richer.
Kamio gets a pair of tickets to Coldplay, and a creeped-out shiver running down his spine. At least it isn’t the barfy fear of dealing with Tachibana-san, though.
He chugs his coke behind the register until his shift finishes. The KAT-TUN display is messed up and off-center and one of the cardboard cut-outs has a fold through his face, but Kamio doesn't really care. He dances on the spot. Bun-san pops in a Hamasaki Ayumi DVD (No! What's wrong with Speed? Or Face/off? Or Daredevil?)
As soon as the computer screen reads six, Kamio splits.
"Later!" he shouts.
Bun-san doesn't bother to tell Kamio that, by the way, Ann-chan showed up at the store ten minutes ago.
And Kamio doesn't notice until he races past the magazine rack. A row of new issues slip to the floor in a flutter of pages. He backtracks into a girl, who bends down to pick them up.
"Aw, shi-"
"Here," Ann says. She holds out a pile of magazines, all picked up and perfect.
Kamio blinks. Then he realizes it's her, and a hot flush creeps up from his neck to his face to his hairline. Her smile turns his insides to melty-goo and makes explosions in his chest at the same time.
"You're not supposed to be here!" he says.
Ann winks at him. "I decided to come early." She holds her hands behind her back and rocks on her heels.
"But-it-"
She touches his shoulder. More explosions go off in Kamio's rib cage. It feels like just yesterday he finally said the words to her over the phone. Will you go out with me, maybe? And her words are crystal clear in the fierce blush of memory.
Why don't you ask me to my face, Kamio?
So he did.
Eventually.
And now they're here, standing in front of the magazine rack at HMV before the concert tonight. Ann's hand is warm and small and tight. A sugar rush of coke zips up into Kamio's brain-he eye starts to twitch.
"The tickets are for fifth row," he says.
"Great," she says. Her smile twinkles in the corners of her eyes.
Kamio's other eye twitches.
Ann starts to giggle. The nervous nausea creeps back up Kamio's throat. "Ye-es?" he squeaks. He cringes at himself as Ann continues to laugh behind her free hand.
"Were you that excited to see me?"
Kamio's face is roughly the colour of Hamasaki Ayumi's red dress in the video screens.
"You left your HMV apron on," Ann says.
Maybe Kamio doesn't need Tachibana-san to kick his ass after all-Ann's doing a pretty good job on her own.
***
Ann makes it worse at the concert hall.
Kamio's too busy thinking about it to notice her hand slip into his. She stands close enough that he can smell her shampoo, and the sharp woodsy scent of pine trees. "We sold lots of trees today," she says.
Kamio says, "Uh huh." He scans the crowds, but there is no tall, bleached head of hair. He breathes a quick sigh of relief. Ann is the only Tachibana here.
"There's Gwyneth Paltrow," Ann says.
"Huh-what?" Kamio says.
Ann rolls her eyes. "Are you listening?"
Kamio turns red. Ann pokes him in the side. "You still have the tickets?" she asks. She starts to reach into his front pocket, except it's the wrong size and-
NO DON'T DO THAT!
Kamio jumps backwards to get away. Ann's hand slips from his. She gives him a funny look, the sort that Gokudora would, only with less slobber and tongue lolling.
"They're in this side," Kamio says. He flashes the tickets from his other pocket. Fast save! he thinks.
Ann just raises both her eyebrows at him. Kamio fakes a laugh. The bile is going to wear a hole through his throat soon if it doesn't let up. He can barely breathe. It's too hot in line and way, way too slow. They file like insects through the queue-Kamio would rather grab Ann's hand and just run into the venue. It's making him antsy. The coke is making him have to piss, too. He squirms. He dances on the spot. Kamio tries to sing to himself under his breath; the only songs he can hear are from that stupid Gackt tour DVD, argh!
"How did you get such good tickets?" Ann asks. She looks at Kamio with wide eyes. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the concert hall lobby, they look green and endless and amazingly still.
Kamio forgets himself for a moment. When Ann calls his name, he snaps out of it. "Er…my good luck?" he says.
"Really?" Her crooked smile is suspiciously close to the one that Boot guy had in HMV earlier. Kamio rocks from side to side. He bounces. He dances; he's not the only one, either. Now that the concert hall has started streaming a music broadcast through the lobby, other people in the queue start to bob their heads and dance a little, too. Including the big group of girls behind Ann.
The difference is, of course, that they're dancing because they like the music, and Kamio is scared shitless.
"Are you okay, Kamio?"
He nods furiously. "Yeah! I'm good!" His words run a mile a minute-but then, they sometimes do and why is Ann giving him a little giggle again? There is definitely no way he is going to survive the night at this rate. Ann makes his heart pound and his head rush. The coke does the rest. Kamio jerks and twitches and flits around in their little personal 2 x 2 space in the concert line.
"Are you sure?" Ann asks.
Kamio opens his mouth to say yes.
But instead, he ends up heaving. The line starts to shuffle forward around them. The pack of girls behind Ann envelopes both of them in a writhing mass of female dancing to the faintest of tunes behind the megaphone shouts of the hall attendants shouting numbers. Ann reaches into Kamio's pocket again. He isn't fast enough to stop her.
It's the wrong pocket.
The tickets don't fall out.
Something else does.
Ann bends down to pick it up. Kamio tries to grab it first, but another acrid heave shudders through his chest.
NO!
The smile slips off Ann's face, only to be replaced by a myriad of other emotions that Kamio can't make out. Her features change too fast: confusion, realization…
Horror?
No, it isn't horror.
Her face is turning pink, just as Kamio's is turning white. She holds the small, glittery ring out to him. "Well," she says, "are you going to ask me now?"
She winks.
And Kamio doesn't puke, even though a Gackt song comes on over the PA when he asks.
10.
I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date!
The German clock outside Atobe-sama's office reads half past. Dan runs to the elevator. He runs to the front desk of the building and crashes into the counter. "Is it here yet?" he asks. "Is it here?" He jumps from foot to foot. He watches the clock behind Urayama as Urayama rummages around with papers and parcels and-
"There it is!" Dan shouts.
"It just got here," Urayama says. "Is Atobe-san busy?"
Dan shakes his head. He checks the sender on the delivery-it's definitely the one Atobe has been waiting for. If he can get it to Atobe asap, then he can get out of here (Atobe-sama wouldn't keep him late tonight, would he? That would be just mean!)
"I have a very important date!" Dan shouts as the elevator doors chime. The doors begin to close and Urayama shouts back from the desk, "I'm jealous!"
Dan wiggles in the elevator. He's alone and the floors take forever to blink by: Atobe's office is really high up. He bounces some more. If he's late tonight, he's dead. It's very important!
Dan knocks on Atobe's door and then he rushes inside. "The delivery from New York just got here, Atobe-sama," he says. Atobe's clock ticks with Swiss accuracy. Atobe looks around at everything but the parcel. Dan squirms from right foot to left foot and back again. He chews on his lip. Atobe asks if there's something wrong.
"No!" Dan says. Because he's new and he's going to be late soon if Atobe doesn't hurry, Dan grabs the parcel and rips the tape off from it. Atobe frowns, but he doesn't stop Dan until the inside box sits on the glass-top desk. The only thing Dan knows is that the gift is for Atobe-sama's wife.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimes for the half-hour. Tension rises. Dan shakes. He's got to get out of here soon, or he's toast! The package was supposed to arrive three hours ago, but Urayama never called it up and Dan got busy licking stamps for Atobe's New Year's cards.
He asks if Atobe wants a chauffeur yet. Atobe waves him off with an indeterminate Atobe-sama-type grunt. There's no mention about Dan being needed tonight.
So Dan runs out of the room. He flings the door open right before he smacks into it, and then he runs to catch the elevator before it's gone to the sixtieth floor for fifteen minutes like last night.
I'm late I'm late I'm late!
Dan runs to the train station. He catches his coat on the suica card reader and the attendant nods for him to go through. Dan pulls his jacket up and the button pops off the sleeve. It's his favourite coat, and he's very late if he doesn’t catch the next train. He runs to the platform and he runs through a mess of people plowing past him. He's skinny enough to slip onto the carriage just as the doors finish their song and shut tight.
Dan takes a deep breath. He thinks about the last few hours at work-did he remember to wish Atobe-sama a Merry Christmas? Does Atobe-sama know that he asked for the day off tomorrow? Dan doesn't know. Atobe runs an important business, and does important things, but right now, there is something even more important.
That he's very very late for.
Dan chews on his lip. He clings to the hand rail and smells too many salarymen. He squirms and shifts his weight and bounces in one spot. Maybe Atobe can afford pretty rings from New York for his family, but Dan can't. Even still, he's pretty lucky. There's a fad wad of cash in his wallet from the extra bonus he got last week and-
His stop has come up! Dan slips through more people struggling to get off the train. He says excuse me once or twice, but he stops at the third time because he's too busy, he's too late and no one notices anyway.
Dan pushes his hat down over his ears when he exits the station. It's cold tonight and he's glad for the mittens that he got last winter. He runs through the streets, past a Familymart and across the road. He runs up past a fish shop and down another quiet road. The place is just down here-he's got to be close, because he can smell the camphorous smell of the pine trees already. And he can smell the sharp sting of cigarettes, too.
Dan runs around a corner. He hits something big and hard with a smuck to his face. He looks up from the pavement into the dim light.
"Akutsu-senpai!" he says.
"You're late," Akutsu-senpai says. He exhales a puff of smoke into the air. He's hidden by the shadows of a big dumpster that he leans against, but his face and hair reflect the twinkling lights of the sign for the Christmas tree shop in the empty car lot across from them.
Dan winces. "Sorry…"
Akutsu blows smoke into Dan's face. Dan coughs. Akutsu tosses the butt onto the ground-it's near Dan's arm, but Akutsu-senpai steps on it to snuff the tiny amber glow of the cigarette. Dan stands up. He stops chewing on his lip for a moment or two, but he apologizes again.
"This is fucking stupid," Akutsu says.
Dan beams. Akutsu-senpai only says that when he likes something, so he grabs Akutsu's arm to drag him across the road. Akutsu snorts. He pulls Dan's hat down over his eyes and when Dan struggles to push it back up over his eyes, Akutsu-senpai laughs. He hacks and sputters and rolls his eyes. His face turns red.
Dan guesses that it's okay he's a little late-Akutsu-senpai doesn't have a watch anyway. Whenever his mom asks if he needs one, Akutsu tells her to fuck off. It's mean, but Akutsu's mom is used to it. After these many years, Dan guesses he probably is too.
There are trees of every size at the farm. Dan pokes around through a group of Colorado spruces with bluish needles. Akutsu rolls his eyes. He stays a good ten feet behind Dan, just in case someone might think they're together. Dan's okay with that, too, because he sees just the right tree in the corner, propped up against the fence.
It's seen better days, but it's at least as tall as Akutsu-senpai plus hair when he wakes up in the mornings. Branches catch Dan's coat, around the hem of his sleeve where the button popped. Needles sprinkle to the ground all around him, like green, aromatic snow. Dan breathes it all in. Akutsu-senpai starts to cough again. Dan says, "This one."
"It's falling apart, idiot," Akutsu-senpai says.
Dan drags it to the train station. Needles prick his face on the train. Akutsu-senpai stands at the other end of the carriage, but when Dan looks up and their eyes meet, Akutsu snorts. Dan smiles. People shuffle past the tree to squish onto the train. Akutsu-senpai squishes closer and closer to Dan.
"You're so fucking stupid," he mutters under his breath. Dan can taste the cigarettes on his words.
Akutsu's mom doesn't think the tree is stupid. She doesn't think Dan is, either. Her face lights up when they pull the tree up three floors to her apartment. "It's perfect, Dan," she says.
Dan grins.
Akutsu-senpai calls them both fucking stupid idiots.
"I'm sorry, I was so late," Dan says. Late late late! Akutsu's mom says it's okay. The apartment smells a bit like her café, thick with the aroma of coffee and crumb cake and hot milk tea. Now, the Christmas tree propped into the corner adds to it all. Akutsu pushes the couch out of the way for the tree. He shoves it into the wall and knocks down a row of photos. Akutsu's mom runs out to pick them up.
From the back room, Kawamura walks up. He ducks his head and buttons his shirt and asks if everything is okay. Dan looks at Akutsu's mom. She looks from him, to Kawamura, and then to Akutsu-senpai, right as he grabs Kawamura by the collar.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Akutsu says through his teeth. His mom starts to cry. Dan pulls him off Kawamura.
"Senpai!" he shouts.
Akutsu-senpai swears. He nurses his pride on the couch, as the pine needles fall onto his hair and his mom goes into the kitchen with Kawamura. Dan listens as glasses clink and the espresso-maker hisses and steams its way through a hot shot. Kawamura murmurs things to Akutsu's mom that Akutsu-senpai didn't mean it, he wasn't expecting it, and hey, they'll tell him when he's ready.
"Fucking skank," Akutsu grumbles.
"Don't call your mom that!" Dan says. He glares at Akutsu-senpai until Akutsu looks over and notices. Dan glares until his eyes hurt-the tree keeps shedding needles and balsam smell into the room, almost enough to mask the stale cigarette smell that clings to Akutsu-senpai. Akustu says his name. Dan blinks.
"Dan," Akutsu-senpai says. His eyes flick to the empty couch seat beside himself. He flicks on the tv remote. There's a ballet on tv. Akutsu says, "Fucking fairies," as a group of ballet dancers prance across the screen, all boys, all in costume.
Akutsu doesn't say anything when Dan sits down beside him. When his mom comes in with a tray of espressos and Kawamura, Akutsu shifts on the couch. He's close enough that Dan can feel his warm body, but he's far away enough that the old, dead couch springs sink down and move them closer together still.
"We don't have any lights," she says, looking at the tree. Dan winces. If he wasn't so late, they might have had time to go out.
"They're in the kitchen, woman," Akutsu says.
She looks at him. Kawamura does too, and Dan. Akutsu's face might be a bit pink from the reflection of the ballet dances on tv with their red tutus, or he might be pink for another reason. Since there are a string of lights under the kitchen sink, which is really kind of weird, Dan thinks.
"Jin, did you-?"
"Don't be fucking stupid," Akutsu tells his mom. Kawamura helps unravel the lights from their box-it looks new, but maybe a little dog-eared in the corner, and there's a price sticker still taped to the side.
The lights are strung up around the top half of the tree. They don't make it any further. Half the needles fall onto the couch, and Akutsu-senpai's lap, and into his coffee.
Because it's Christmas, though, he doesn't dump his coffee on the floor and stomp off. Instead, he just swears. Dan beams.
"This is gay," Akutsu grumbles.
"No, that's you, dear," his mom says.
Because it's Christmas-and because Dan grabs Akutsu's hand to stop him-Akutsu-senpai doesn't do anything. His skin is warm and his glare is, too. Kawamura has a nervous laugh, but Dan doesn't mind at all when he suggests that he and Akutsu's mom go to the 100-yen shop to see if there are any Christmas stars still for sale.
Akutsu's mom winks at Dan. "That's right," she says, "Taka and I can also go pick up the leftover Christmas cake from the café. I forgot to take it home tonight for us."
"Dumb broad," Akutsu says.
When the door closes behind Kawamura and Akutsu's mom, the tv ballet plays for a long moment. More ballet lords leap across the stage on the tiny, grainy tv-set that has a foot-dent in the side. Dan wiggles on the couch. The springs sag even lower under his butt.
"If I wasn't so late, we could have got a mistletoe, too," Dan says.
Akutsu-senpai rolls his eyes. "It's too late for that, idiot," he says.
Dan doesn't get it.
Until Akutsu-senpai leans over all the fallen needles and the creaky couch to kiss him, that is.
11.
Gakuto is in a right, foul mood.
This morning's email #52 is from Yuna-chan. i dont think we should c each other enymore sowwi (;____;)
Gakuto sends email #53 thirty seconds later: stupid bitch fuck u
He spent, like, fifty thousand on those concert tickets, all for some good-for-nothing tramp. Gakuto doesn't even like Coldplay.
Email #54 is to Yuushi: u wanna make some money?
Of course Yuushi does-he's from Osaka. By noon, the tickets are gone from the mail box in the apartment lobby. Gakuto double-checks his box, and then he goes out. He brings his skateboard, but he doesn't feel like doing anything. Unless it involves finding Yuna-chan and asking for a refund on a) his fifty grand and b) his heart.
He wanders around the neighbourhood, and then grabs the train. The carriage floor is covered in a grimy film of wet footprints. Gakuto slips when the train pulls into the next stop. He swears and catches his balance-he's completely off. He hasn't even jumped all day.
And he doesn't feel like it, either.
It's a gross display of girly, mushy feelings and pre-holiday shopping rush, everywhere. Usually, Gakuto likes the fast pace. Usually, he would hop on his board and coast down the street, weave between pedestrians and try to sneak through traffic, just because he could. All he wants to do now are glare at the leggy girls with dyed hair. They all look like Yuna. She was each and every one of these girls, in wool coats and frosty pink cashmere hats.
Gakuto stops at a subway entrance. He doesn't slide down the handrail, he just walks into the underground shopping arcade like everyone else. His footsteps are too heavy. It's cold down here, even with the piping heaters in the ceiling. Cheerful Santa-san lights hang from the ceiling between golden, feathery tinsel boughs. Cheerful Christmas music plays between the shop fronts: carols and flute music and bells, too. It should be light and ethereal. Gakuto should be floating with an impending hot date.
He's anything but. He plods to the café shop. He stomps up to the counter to order an espresso to go. He drags his feet back into the arcade, and the first sip of steaming caffeine burns his tongue.
"Aw, fuck!" he mutters.
Email #73 is from Hiyoshi.
Gakuto deletes it immediately.
The bus stop is outside the department store, at the other end of the shopping arcade. Gakuto sighs all his way there. He purses his lips and scowls at pretty shop girls. Maybe tomorrow he'll jump over to them and ask how they're doing, but not today.
He picks himself up a cheap bottle of wine (Lightweight! the voice in his head drawls. It sounds an awful lot like Yuushi. Gakuto tells it to fuck off), a fish to fry for supper, and a pack of smokes. The bus arrives two minutes late, with a spray of slush from the tires that splatters all over the front Gakuto's favourite pair of jeans.
If possible, his mood sinks even lower as he climbs onto the bus.
At home, the sky seems as dismal and grey as the cement of the building. Gakuto takes the elevator all the way to the roof. He dumps his board, and the bag from the department store, and he walks to the edge. He leans over to look, eleven floors down. There's always a rush of vertigo and a tingle of something that is not-quite fear, but not quite anticipation, either. His stomach flies out of his belly and lands on the cold, hard ledge.
He hasn't jumped once today.
If he did, maybe wings would sprout from his back and he could fly away into the colourless sky.
But Yuna isn't worth anything like that. "She's just a dumb bitch who likes shitty music," he grumbles.
That doesn't mean, of course, break up doesn't sting-it does. And Gakuto would be quite happy to just jump under the futon, crank on his heater until his toes start to burn, and sleep this entire, awful day off. It's not like Santa-san is going to bring what he wants tonight.
Gakuto gives the sky one last, long glare. As he starts to turn, someone calls his name.
He jumps.
"Yuushi!"
Yuushi stands in the open stairwell. He's got his manbag slung across his shoulders and an easy smile on his face.
"Made any money?" Gakuto asks.
Yuushi says, "Hn. What are you doing?"
Gakuto shrugs. He grabs his own bag to reach for a smoke, to keep his hands busy, at least. Or to keep them warm. Yuushi gives him a slow, single eyebrow. His eyes drift from Gakuto's bag, to the ledge of the building. Finally, they settle somewhere just over his right shoulder.
"I brought something," Yuushi says.
There's always a little part of Gakuto that hopes Yuushi has brought a) hot foreign girls from his job or, failing that, porn.
Anything is better than a waste of fifty thousand and spending Christmas Eve alone, like a loser. Or Hiyoshi.
"Didn't you get my email?" Yuushi asks.
Gakuto closes his door. He must have left the heater on too long last night because his place smells a bit like a pigeon's been barbequed. Yuushi doesn't seem to notice. He paws through Gakuto's bag and pulls the fish out. He tosses the smokes into a drawer and he stuffs the bottle of wine into the fridge.
"I was busy," Gakuto says. He grunts. When Yuushi's back is turned to fillet the fish, Gakuto checks his cell.
Email #91 was from Yuushi. Oops.
There's no place to sit in his apartment, so Gakuto flops down onto the beanbag chair Shishido gave him. It was free, and Gakuto's hoping Shishido's gay germs don't spread too much. Dust motes fill the air as the heater hisses, coils red and glowing. Gakuto toasts his toes, then he does his fingers next.
"I sold the tickets," Yuushi says.
The fish starts to fry. Yuushi's quick with the knife.
Gakuto grunts. "Don't you have a date, or something?" he asks. Not that he's complaining, it just sounds a bit that way.
"Hn," Yuushi says. He flips the fish over, one piece at a time. Oil hangs in the air. Gakuto's stomach growls. Yuushi checks his wristwatch. "Soon."
Gakuto leans back on the beanbag until the top of his head touches the floor. Blood rushes to his brain. Yuushi looks at him-down, up, it's all upside-down from here. Then, he hands Gakuto a plate.
Yuushi doesn't sit down. He makes a beeline for his manbag and pulls out a stack of DVD titles.
"Aw, come off it, Yuushi!" Gakuto says. "What the hell? I'm not a chick!" He reads the titles-they're all gross: One Litre of Tears, Pure Love, Koizora, Socrates in Love…
"No preferences?" Yuushi asks.
"You're sick," Gakuto says.
Yuushi gives him a sly smile and takes the top DVD. He pops it into Gakuto's player. The credits start to play, all cheesy saxophone and flute music and some bitch singing about soulmates.
Before he plunks himself down on the spare corner of the beanbag, Yuushi grabs a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. He's already started to sniffle. Gakuto's already started to roll his eyes. He picks at the fish. Yuushi picks at the rest. When the hot, young guy walks across Gakuto's grainy little tv, Yuushi lets own a long, shuddering sigh. The toilet paper crumples in his hand.
Gakuto takes the bottle of wine out from the fridge. He chugs a third of it in one go. His mind sluices down his spine and lands somewhere in the vicinity of the sputtering heater by Yuushi's right leg.
"What's wrong with something like Spiderman?" Gakuto mutters.
"Too boring," Yuushi says. His eyes are glued to the tv, but he reaches for the wine. A blind hand fumbles on Gakuto's leg. Gakuto shivers. A pleasant little thrill settles in his thigh, similar to the weightlessness of jumping.
Yuushi takes a sip or two of the bottle.
Gakuto takes another three. The movie is less annoying. "Don't you have a date to go to?" he asks.
Yuushi's eyes don't move, but his lips do. They twitch in the split-second before he says, "I'm on it."
Mid-drink, Gakuto hears Yuushi's answer. He backwashes into the bottle and chokes on the rest. Wine dribbles down his chin. Yuushi holds out a stretch of toilet paper. His eyes are watering. Someone's dying in the movie, and Gakuto's pretty sure he's got to be dead as well. Only ghosts hear things as weird as this shit.
"Uh, Yuushi," Gakuto says.
"Didn't you read my email?" Yuushi asks.
Gakuto chews on his foot.
Yuushi leans back in the beanbag chair. It's not big enough for two people, even when Yuushi stretches his legs out long. Gakuto falls down on top of Yuushi. Yuushi snuggles closer. He smells like wine and fish and the mayonnaise from the okonomiyaki shop he works at.
"We're guys," Gakuto says.
"We can have a man date," Yuushi says.
"This is fucking lame," Gakuto says.
The gay germs are rubbing off of Shishido's hand-me-downs.
Yuushi holds his hand. It's hot and clammy and makes Gakuto's heart all flighty. This isn't a good thing. This isn't a good idea. "I like you, Gakuto," he says.
Gakuto's jaw hits the floor.
With his free hand, Yuushi takes off his glasses. He folds them up, and sets them on top of the stack of DVDs. His eyes are dark and steady, like the cheesy music on the movie. "I sent that email from Yuna," he says.
Gakuto's jaw hits the pavement, seven floors below.
"Gakuto," Yuushi says.
It must be the wine. There is no other explanation as to why this is happening, or why Gakuto isn't running off at the mouth at Yuushi for being such an ass. His mind is foggy enough that he doesn't think too much about the sensation of Yuushi's hand in his, or Yuushi's other hand stroking the top of his thigh. Gakuto's stomach jumps up, and down, and up and down again, like he's on a trampoline. The feathery feeling crumbles away the inhibitions in his mind.
"Have you jumped today?" Yuushi asks.
Yuna-chan never asked about that. She never tickled the spot behind Gakuto's ear, either. He stiffens, and slithers down to the floor in a shaking shudder of melting weightlessness in his limbs.
"Have you?" Yuushi asks. He climbs over Gakuto.
Gakuto looks up at him.
And then he jumps.
12.
He paces the house.
He paces through the grand hall, and then he moves into the sitting room. He runs up the stairs three at a time (Naniwas's Speedstar, after all) and rummages through Yuushi's bedroom again, just in case.
Kenya wouldn't put it past Yuushi to, you know, hide things on him.
But there is nothing under Yuushi's bed except dirty clothes and porn magazines and a biography on Leonardo di Caprio. Kenya scoffs. He tosses that back under, but he tucks the porn under his arm.
He paces back downstairs. It's too quiet without anyone else here. Kenya pulls out his iPod. A rock song with heavy drum beats starts to play-it's one that Zaizen sent him. For the first few beats, he drums his fingers along the edge of an antique table. Kenya listens to thirty second of it, then he forwards to the next. He's never been able to last very long.
Besides, he is still not here.
His heart is thick and hard in the middle of his throat.
Kenya checks his cellphone. No messages, no emails, no missed calls-unless he counts the one from Yuushi, but that was nothing important.
Yuushi left two hours ago.
Kenya ran to the door to catch him. "Where are you going?"
"To make money," Yuushi said, in his best impression of Tokyo-ben. It sounded like he had marbles in his mouth. Kenya rolled his eyes.
"You can do better?" Yuushi asked.
As if Kenya could resist rising to that challenge!
But he did.
Because Yuushi said, "I have a date after money-making."
"Sweet girl?" Kenya asked. He waggled his eyebrows. If anything, Yuushi would be the sort to pick up a harsh-looking girl from the side streets of Ginza: one with long legs, fake eyelashes and a plastic face.
"Hn, more like Gakuto," Yuushi said.
And then he slammed the door in Kenya's mouth, which fell to the floor in utter disbelief. About the only thing he could reckon-and he does reckon-is that Yuushi was rejected by some girl and swore them all off for the time being until he sees next week's catch in the supermarket and realizes he can't be a fruitcake any more than his obnoxious friend Atobe can be humble.
Luckily, Kenya thinks, I don't have that problem. He grins to himself. His grin falls when he notices the clock on the thermostat. It sucks to be spending the holidays in Tokyo at Yuushi's parents' place, it would suck even more if his last bastion of Osaka love does not show up.
Kenya does shuttle-runs into the kitchen. He pops a can of oden into the microwave until it sparks and finishes. The metal burns his hands. He shouts, "Aw, fuck!". Only when he grabs a spare potholder from the cupboard does he attempt to slurp his supper. Longer shadows fall across the kitchen. He leans on the counter's edge and sighs. The oden is spottily warm, and cold at the bottom, where the good bits of fish cake have sunk. Kenya chews on them.
He's still not here.
The buzzer hasn't sounded.
His cellphone hasn't run-wait. Kenya clicks on the email. He starts to roll his eyes as soon as he reads the first line.
Greetings from Guam-
Kenya clicks delete. He scowls at the mental image of Shiraishi, lying on a beach chair by the pool, with a cocktail in hand. Maybe Shiraishi will contract a real skin disease for Kin-chan to freak out about back home. Or maybe Shiraishi will run into someone even more annoying.
Kenya can only hope.
And pace.
And hope that he shows up, too.
He can't go anywhere-just in case he gets here while Kenya is out, and then it would be a right, foul mess. So Kenya flops down on the couch in the sitting room. He flicks around the channels on tv. There's nothing but trashy pure love movies, and an American remake of Ringu. He shudders. News, news, boring rock concert…
Kenya flicks the tv off. He sighs. He picks at an open bag of shrimp crisps left wedged under one of the sofa pillows. Yuushi left it there-and by the stale, slightly soggy taste, Yuushi probably left the crisps there a week ago. Kenya eats them anyway. They stick between his back molars.
And then he grabs a beer from the fridge. He downs it, checks his cellphone (still nothing!) and then the clock on the microwave. Tiny bits of oden broth cling to the screen of the microwave oven. Kenya shrugs at them. The housekeeper will clean them up tomorrow. And hopefully she can make Yuushi and Kenya something to eat that isn't leftovers from Yuushi's job.
Kenya paces. He flips open the porn magazine. He holds up the spreads of women touching their tits and their pussies. It's all right. The pages have crusted together halfway through, so he tosses the magazine into the rubbish bin.
Nasty, Yuushi! he thinks.
The girls weren't even hot, just slutty.
Kenya prefers something a little different, someone a little sweeter, a little more innocent.
The buzzer goes off.
Kenya's insides flip over. He runs to the doorway. He fumbles with the deadbolt and the lock and the chain. "Don't go!" he shouts. He keeps fumbling and the chain gets stuck. Kenya tries again, and he flings the door open.
His heart runs up through his throat. He's panting hard. He's shaking with anticipation.
The delivery man stands on the porch step. He blinks at Kenya. Kenya grabs him by the shoulders.
"Where is he?!?" he shouts.
The delivery man gives him a funny look. "I'm sorry sir, I don't understand you."
Right. Kenya switches to Tokyo-ben. In an impression even better than Yuushi, he says, "Where is my darling?"
"I have a delivery of live takyubin for an Oshitari Kenya…?" the delivery man offers.
Kenya squirms on the spot. He paces from foot to foot. "That's me!" he says. He grabs the board from the delivery man to sign. His name is a fast, awful scrawl that bleeds off the side of the document.
The delivery man frowns.
Then, he picks up the carrier and hands it to Kenya. "Have a good night, sir," he says.
Kenya slams the door in his face. His heart is going to race out of his body. His mind runs a mile a minute. His hands fumble with the carrier lock. He can't even remember to apologize to the large, black eye staring at him between the slats.
Finally, the carrier door flings open.
Kenya reaches inside. He pulls out the iguana and cradles it to his face. "Keanu," he whispers. "Oh my darling, you're here!"
He rubs his face all over the rough skin. Keanu's tale flicks against his arm. He blinks at Kenya.
For all of the waiting before, and all of the angst, for all of the irritation at Yuushi and the lukewarm oden now splattered all over the microwave, there is nothing that compares to the feeling inside when Kenya lays back on the couch with Keanu curled up on his chest. There's a cheesy movie on tv with some girl singing, "All I want for Christmas is you…."
He's singing along, under his breath, as the chameleon's wavering eyes watch him…
And Kenya's heart melts.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: Up to and including NC17
Pairing(s): Multipairing (aka, lots of different pairings)
Wordcount: 21 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Gackt, infidelity, some het, and Keanu Reeves. Concept borrowed from Love, Actually-wouldn't Yuushi approve!
Author's notes: Big thanks to my beta, mayezinha! Written for the community at santa_smex 2008.
This fic has been truncated into 3 parts due to length. These parts are NOT CHAPTERS. This is a one-shot fic.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
9.
If he nearly puked when he finally asked Ann out, Kamio has no idea how he'll survive tonight.
The guy is supposed to pick the girl up from her place-the problem is, Ann-chan still lives with her parents and the thought of seeing Tachibana-san with her, glaring down at Kamio is enough to make the blood drain from his face. And, their family bulldog scares him a little. Gokudora is old and infirm, Ann says, but Kamio gets the narrowed eyes and the big, slobbering sneers when Ann-chan's back is turned.
And then there is the problem of the tickets. It's Christmas Eve, so HMV was busy. His feet are killing him and a display full of pop CDs fell over. Kamio gets to clean it up, of course, even though he has a Big Date tonight. He bends over. All he can see is a rainbow arc of KAT-TUN across the floor of the store. He sighs. He looks up, and Speed stops playing over all the video screens.
"Oi!" he shouts. "We were watching that! It was my turn to pick!"
Bun-san rolls his eyes. He chews on his goatee. "My turn now," he says.
Kamio hates Gackt's latest tour DVD: it's all flashy outfits and lights and then a BALLAD, gross. The slow stuff is the worst. He grabs another CD and grinds his teeth until his jaw starts to hurt, too. If it wasn't for the latest reprimand from the assistant manager, he'd punch Bun-san in his scrappy goatee face right now, too.
Instead, Kamio gets a face-full of boot. He snaps his face back and looks up. The boot belong to someone in an expensive wool coat, who says, "Excuse me" in the thickest Kansai drawl he can barely make out.
"The best-sellers are over there," Kamio says. He nods to the far wall.
Boot-guy's expression spreads into a sideways smirk. "I'm looking for someone named Kamio," he says.
Kamio stands up. "Do I know you?" he asks. He steps closer to boot-guy. And just in case this guy wants a tussle, Kamio balls his fists and curls his lip, too.
"Hn…I have something for him…"
Kamio blinks. "Eh?"
"He wanted to buy a pair of concert tickets off my friends, but he couldn't come." The guy's glasses start to slip down his long nose. It takes him a long, dripping Gackt song to fix them. His smirk seems to deepen and Bun-san keeps chewing on his goatee by the cash register.
"You done yet, kid?" he shouts.
"Shut it!" Kamio snaps back. Under his breath, he adds, "Asshole."
The guy raises his eyebrow. "I suppose he's left for the night, then." With his hands in his pockets, he starts to saunter toward the exit.
Kamio runs for it. He grabs the guy by the arm and spins him around. "Okay, it's me!" he says. "I'm Kamio. I need those tickets!"
"Oh?" The guy's glasses gleam in the strobe light of Gackt's awful DVD.
Kamio growls through his teeth. He purses his lips. "Look, I told my girlfriend we'd go and I NEED those tickets," he says.
The guy leaves 10 000 richer.
Kamio gets a pair of tickets to Coldplay, and a creeped-out shiver running down his spine. At least it isn’t the barfy fear of dealing with Tachibana-san, though.
He chugs his coke behind the register until his shift finishes. The KAT-TUN display is messed up and off-center and one of the cardboard cut-outs has a fold through his face, but Kamio doesn't really care. He dances on the spot. Bun-san pops in a Hamasaki Ayumi DVD (No! What's wrong with Speed? Or Face/off? Or Daredevil?)
As soon as the computer screen reads six, Kamio splits.
"Later!" he shouts.
Bun-san doesn't bother to tell Kamio that, by the way, Ann-chan showed up at the store ten minutes ago.
And Kamio doesn't notice until he races past the magazine rack. A row of new issues slip to the floor in a flutter of pages. He backtracks into a girl, who bends down to pick them up.
"Aw, shi-"
"Here," Ann says. She holds out a pile of magazines, all picked up and perfect.
Kamio blinks. Then he realizes it's her, and a hot flush creeps up from his neck to his face to his hairline. Her smile turns his insides to melty-goo and makes explosions in his chest at the same time.
"You're not supposed to be here!" he says.
Ann winks at him. "I decided to come early." She holds her hands behind her back and rocks on her heels.
"But-it-"
She touches his shoulder. More explosions go off in Kamio's rib cage. It feels like just yesterday he finally said the words to her over the phone. Will you go out with me, maybe? And her words are crystal clear in the fierce blush of memory.
Why don't you ask me to my face, Kamio?
So he did.
Eventually.
And now they're here, standing in front of the magazine rack at HMV before the concert tonight. Ann's hand is warm and small and tight. A sugar rush of coke zips up into Kamio's brain-he eye starts to twitch.
"The tickets are for fifth row," he says.
"Great," she says. Her smile twinkles in the corners of her eyes.
Kamio's other eye twitches.
Ann starts to giggle. The nervous nausea creeps back up Kamio's throat. "Ye-es?" he squeaks. He cringes at himself as Ann continues to laugh behind her free hand.
"Were you that excited to see me?"
Kamio's face is roughly the colour of Hamasaki Ayumi's red dress in the video screens.
"You left your HMV apron on," Ann says.
Maybe Kamio doesn't need Tachibana-san to kick his ass after all-Ann's doing a pretty good job on her own.
***
Ann makes it worse at the concert hall.
Kamio's too busy thinking about it to notice her hand slip into his. She stands close enough that he can smell her shampoo, and the sharp woodsy scent of pine trees. "We sold lots of trees today," she says.
Kamio says, "Uh huh." He scans the crowds, but there is no tall, bleached head of hair. He breathes a quick sigh of relief. Ann is the only Tachibana here.
"There's Gwyneth Paltrow," Ann says.
"Huh-what?" Kamio says.
Ann rolls her eyes. "Are you listening?"
Kamio turns red. Ann pokes him in the side. "You still have the tickets?" she asks. She starts to reach into his front pocket, except it's the wrong size and-
NO DON'T DO THAT!
Kamio jumps backwards to get away. Ann's hand slips from his. She gives him a funny look, the sort that Gokudora would, only with less slobber and tongue lolling.
"They're in this side," Kamio says. He flashes the tickets from his other pocket. Fast save! he thinks.
Ann just raises both her eyebrows at him. Kamio fakes a laugh. The bile is going to wear a hole through his throat soon if it doesn't let up. He can barely breathe. It's too hot in line and way, way too slow. They file like insects through the queue-Kamio would rather grab Ann's hand and just run into the venue. It's making him antsy. The coke is making him have to piss, too. He squirms. He dances on the spot. Kamio tries to sing to himself under his breath; the only songs he can hear are from that stupid Gackt tour DVD, argh!
"How did you get such good tickets?" Ann asks. She looks at Kamio with wide eyes. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the concert hall lobby, they look green and endless and amazingly still.
Kamio forgets himself for a moment. When Ann calls his name, he snaps out of it. "Er…my good luck?" he says.
"Really?" Her crooked smile is suspiciously close to the one that Boot guy had in HMV earlier. Kamio rocks from side to side. He bounces. He dances; he's not the only one, either. Now that the concert hall has started streaming a music broadcast through the lobby, other people in the queue start to bob their heads and dance a little, too. Including the big group of girls behind Ann.
The difference is, of course, that they're dancing because they like the music, and Kamio is scared shitless.
"Are you okay, Kamio?"
He nods furiously. "Yeah! I'm good!" His words run a mile a minute-but then, they sometimes do and why is Ann giving him a little giggle again? There is definitely no way he is going to survive the night at this rate. Ann makes his heart pound and his head rush. The coke does the rest. Kamio jerks and twitches and flits around in their little personal 2 x 2 space in the concert line.
"Are you sure?" Ann asks.
Kamio opens his mouth to say yes.
But instead, he ends up heaving. The line starts to shuffle forward around them. The pack of girls behind Ann envelopes both of them in a writhing mass of female dancing to the faintest of tunes behind the megaphone shouts of the hall attendants shouting numbers. Ann reaches into Kamio's pocket again. He isn't fast enough to stop her.
It's the wrong pocket.
The tickets don't fall out.
Something else does.
Ann bends down to pick it up. Kamio tries to grab it first, but another acrid heave shudders through his chest.
NO!
The smile slips off Ann's face, only to be replaced by a myriad of other emotions that Kamio can't make out. Her features change too fast: confusion, realization…
Horror?
No, it isn't horror.
Her face is turning pink, just as Kamio's is turning white. She holds the small, glittery ring out to him. "Well," she says, "are you going to ask me now?"
She winks.
And Kamio doesn't puke, even though a Gackt song comes on over the PA when he asks.
10.
I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date!
The German clock outside Atobe-sama's office reads half past. Dan runs to the elevator. He runs to the front desk of the building and crashes into the counter. "Is it here yet?" he asks. "Is it here?" He jumps from foot to foot. He watches the clock behind Urayama as Urayama rummages around with papers and parcels and-
"There it is!" Dan shouts.
"It just got here," Urayama says. "Is Atobe-san busy?"
Dan shakes his head. He checks the sender on the delivery-it's definitely the one Atobe has been waiting for. If he can get it to Atobe asap, then he can get out of here (Atobe-sama wouldn't keep him late tonight, would he? That would be just mean!)
"I have a very important date!" Dan shouts as the elevator doors chime. The doors begin to close and Urayama shouts back from the desk, "I'm jealous!"
Dan wiggles in the elevator. He's alone and the floors take forever to blink by: Atobe's office is really high up. He bounces some more. If he's late tonight, he's dead. It's very important!
Dan knocks on Atobe's door and then he rushes inside. "The delivery from New York just got here, Atobe-sama," he says. Atobe's clock ticks with Swiss accuracy. Atobe looks around at everything but the parcel. Dan squirms from right foot to left foot and back again. He chews on his lip. Atobe asks if there's something wrong.
"No!" Dan says. Because he's new and he's going to be late soon if Atobe doesn't hurry, Dan grabs the parcel and rips the tape off from it. Atobe frowns, but he doesn't stop Dan until the inside box sits on the glass-top desk. The only thing Dan knows is that the gift is for Atobe-sama's wife.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimes for the half-hour. Tension rises. Dan shakes. He's got to get out of here soon, or he's toast! The package was supposed to arrive three hours ago, but Urayama never called it up and Dan got busy licking stamps for Atobe's New Year's cards.
He asks if Atobe wants a chauffeur yet. Atobe waves him off with an indeterminate Atobe-sama-type grunt. There's no mention about Dan being needed tonight.
So Dan runs out of the room. He flings the door open right before he smacks into it, and then he runs to catch the elevator before it's gone to the sixtieth floor for fifteen minutes like last night.
I'm late I'm late I'm late!
Dan runs to the train station. He catches his coat on the suica card reader and the attendant nods for him to go through. Dan pulls his jacket up and the button pops off the sleeve. It's his favourite coat, and he's very late if he doesn’t catch the next train. He runs to the platform and he runs through a mess of people plowing past him. He's skinny enough to slip onto the carriage just as the doors finish their song and shut tight.
Dan takes a deep breath. He thinks about the last few hours at work-did he remember to wish Atobe-sama a Merry Christmas? Does Atobe-sama know that he asked for the day off tomorrow? Dan doesn't know. Atobe runs an important business, and does important things, but right now, there is something even more important.
That he's very very late for.
Dan chews on his lip. He clings to the hand rail and smells too many salarymen. He squirms and shifts his weight and bounces in one spot. Maybe Atobe can afford pretty rings from New York for his family, but Dan can't. Even still, he's pretty lucky. There's a fad wad of cash in his wallet from the extra bonus he got last week and-
His stop has come up! Dan slips through more people struggling to get off the train. He says excuse me once or twice, but he stops at the third time because he's too busy, he's too late and no one notices anyway.
Dan pushes his hat down over his ears when he exits the station. It's cold tonight and he's glad for the mittens that he got last winter. He runs through the streets, past a Familymart and across the road. He runs up past a fish shop and down another quiet road. The place is just down here-he's got to be close, because he can smell the camphorous smell of the pine trees already. And he can smell the sharp sting of cigarettes, too.
Dan runs around a corner. He hits something big and hard with a smuck to his face. He looks up from the pavement into the dim light.
"Akutsu-senpai!" he says.
"You're late," Akutsu-senpai says. He exhales a puff of smoke into the air. He's hidden by the shadows of a big dumpster that he leans against, but his face and hair reflect the twinkling lights of the sign for the Christmas tree shop in the empty car lot across from them.
Dan winces. "Sorry…"
Akutsu blows smoke into Dan's face. Dan coughs. Akutsu tosses the butt onto the ground-it's near Dan's arm, but Akutsu-senpai steps on it to snuff the tiny amber glow of the cigarette. Dan stands up. He stops chewing on his lip for a moment or two, but he apologizes again.
"This is fucking stupid," Akutsu says.
Dan beams. Akutsu-senpai only says that when he likes something, so he grabs Akutsu's arm to drag him across the road. Akutsu snorts. He pulls Dan's hat down over his eyes and when Dan struggles to push it back up over his eyes, Akutsu-senpai laughs. He hacks and sputters and rolls his eyes. His face turns red.
Dan guesses that it's okay he's a little late-Akutsu-senpai doesn't have a watch anyway. Whenever his mom asks if he needs one, Akutsu tells her to fuck off. It's mean, but Akutsu's mom is used to it. After these many years, Dan guesses he probably is too.
There are trees of every size at the farm. Dan pokes around through a group of Colorado spruces with bluish needles. Akutsu rolls his eyes. He stays a good ten feet behind Dan, just in case someone might think they're together. Dan's okay with that, too, because he sees just the right tree in the corner, propped up against the fence.
It's seen better days, but it's at least as tall as Akutsu-senpai plus hair when he wakes up in the mornings. Branches catch Dan's coat, around the hem of his sleeve where the button popped. Needles sprinkle to the ground all around him, like green, aromatic snow. Dan breathes it all in. Akutsu-senpai starts to cough again. Dan says, "This one."
"It's falling apart, idiot," Akutsu-senpai says.
Dan drags it to the train station. Needles prick his face on the train. Akutsu-senpai stands at the other end of the carriage, but when Dan looks up and their eyes meet, Akutsu snorts. Dan smiles. People shuffle past the tree to squish onto the train. Akutsu-senpai squishes closer and closer to Dan.
"You're so fucking stupid," he mutters under his breath. Dan can taste the cigarettes on his words.
Akutsu's mom doesn't think the tree is stupid. She doesn't think Dan is, either. Her face lights up when they pull the tree up three floors to her apartment. "It's perfect, Dan," she says.
Dan grins.
Akutsu-senpai calls them both fucking stupid idiots.
"I'm sorry, I was so late," Dan says. Late late late! Akutsu's mom says it's okay. The apartment smells a bit like her café, thick with the aroma of coffee and crumb cake and hot milk tea. Now, the Christmas tree propped into the corner adds to it all. Akutsu pushes the couch out of the way for the tree. He shoves it into the wall and knocks down a row of photos. Akutsu's mom runs out to pick them up.
From the back room, Kawamura walks up. He ducks his head and buttons his shirt and asks if everything is okay. Dan looks at Akutsu's mom. She looks from him, to Kawamura, and then to Akutsu-senpai, right as he grabs Kawamura by the collar.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Akutsu says through his teeth. His mom starts to cry. Dan pulls him off Kawamura.
"Senpai!" he shouts.
Akutsu-senpai swears. He nurses his pride on the couch, as the pine needles fall onto his hair and his mom goes into the kitchen with Kawamura. Dan listens as glasses clink and the espresso-maker hisses and steams its way through a hot shot. Kawamura murmurs things to Akutsu's mom that Akutsu-senpai didn't mean it, he wasn't expecting it, and hey, they'll tell him when he's ready.
"Fucking skank," Akutsu grumbles.
"Don't call your mom that!" Dan says. He glares at Akutsu-senpai until Akutsu looks over and notices. Dan glares until his eyes hurt-the tree keeps shedding needles and balsam smell into the room, almost enough to mask the stale cigarette smell that clings to Akutsu-senpai. Akustu says his name. Dan blinks.
"Dan," Akutsu-senpai says. His eyes flick to the empty couch seat beside himself. He flicks on the tv remote. There's a ballet on tv. Akutsu says, "Fucking fairies," as a group of ballet dancers prance across the screen, all boys, all in costume.
Akutsu doesn't say anything when Dan sits down beside him. When his mom comes in with a tray of espressos and Kawamura, Akutsu shifts on the couch. He's close enough that Dan can feel his warm body, but he's far away enough that the old, dead couch springs sink down and move them closer together still.
"We don't have any lights," she says, looking at the tree. Dan winces. If he wasn't so late, they might have had time to go out.
"They're in the kitchen, woman," Akutsu says.
She looks at him. Kawamura does too, and Dan. Akutsu's face might be a bit pink from the reflection of the ballet dances on tv with their red tutus, or he might be pink for another reason. Since there are a string of lights under the kitchen sink, which is really kind of weird, Dan thinks.
"Jin, did you-?"
"Don't be fucking stupid," Akutsu tells his mom. Kawamura helps unravel the lights from their box-it looks new, but maybe a little dog-eared in the corner, and there's a price sticker still taped to the side.
The lights are strung up around the top half of the tree. They don't make it any further. Half the needles fall onto the couch, and Akutsu-senpai's lap, and into his coffee.
Because it's Christmas, though, he doesn't dump his coffee on the floor and stomp off. Instead, he just swears. Dan beams.
"This is gay," Akutsu grumbles.
"No, that's you, dear," his mom says.
Because it's Christmas-and because Dan grabs Akutsu's hand to stop him-Akutsu-senpai doesn't do anything. His skin is warm and his glare is, too. Kawamura has a nervous laugh, but Dan doesn't mind at all when he suggests that he and Akutsu's mom go to the 100-yen shop to see if there are any Christmas stars still for sale.
Akutsu's mom winks at Dan. "That's right," she says, "Taka and I can also go pick up the leftover Christmas cake from the café. I forgot to take it home tonight for us."
"Dumb broad," Akutsu says.
When the door closes behind Kawamura and Akutsu's mom, the tv ballet plays for a long moment. More ballet lords leap across the stage on the tiny, grainy tv-set that has a foot-dent in the side. Dan wiggles on the couch. The springs sag even lower under his butt.
"If I wasn't so late, we could have got a mistletoe, too," Dan says.
Akutsu-senpai rolls his eyes. "It's too late for that, idiot," he says.
Dan doesn't get it.
Until Akutsu-senpai leans over all the fallen needles and the creaky couch to kiss him, that is.
11.
Gakuto is in a right, foul mood.
This morning's email #52 is from Yuna-chan. i dont think we should c each other enymore sowwi (;____;)
Gakuto sends email #53 thirty seconds later: stupid bitch fuck u
He spent, like, fifty thousand on those concert tickets, all for some good-for-nothing tramp. Gakuto doesn't even like Coldplay.
Email #54 is to Yuushi: u wanna make some money?
Of course Yuushi does-he's from Osaka. By noon, the tickets are gone from the mail box in the apartment lobby. Gakuto double-checks his box, and then he goes out. He brings his skateboard, but he doesn't feel like doing anything. Unless it involves finding Yuna-chan and asking for a refund on a) his fifty grand and b) his heart.
He wanders around the neighbourhood, and then grabs the train. The carriage floor is covered in a grimy film of wet footprints. Gakuto slips when the train pulls into the next stop. He swears and catches his balance-he's completely off. He hasn't even jumped all day.
And he doesn't feel like it, either.
It's a gross display of girly, mushy feelings and pre-holiday shopping rush, everywhere. Usually, Gakuto likes the fast pace. Usually, he would hop on his board and coast down the street, weave between pedestrians and try to sneak through traffic, just because he could. All he wants to do now are glare at the leggy girls with dyed hair. They all look like Yuna. She was each and every one of these girls, in wool coats and frosty pink cashmere hats.
Gakuto stops at a subway entrance. He doesn't slide down the handrail, he just walks into the underground shopping arcade like everyone else. His footsteps are too heavy. It's cold down here, even with the piping heaters in the ceiling. Cheerful Santa-san lights hang from the ceiling between golden, feathery tinsel boughs. Cheerful Christmas music plays between the shop fronts: carols and flute music and bells, too. It should be light and ethereal. Gakuto should be floating with an impending hot date.
He's anything but. He plods to the café shop. He stomps up to the counter to order an espresso to go. He drags his feet back into the arcade, and the first sip of steaming caffeine burns his tongue.
"Aw, fuck!" he mutters.
Email #73 is from Hiyoshi.
Gakuto deletes it immediately.
The bus stop is outside the department store, at the other end of the shopping arcade. Gakuto sighs all his way there. He purses his lips and scowls at pretty shop girls. Maybe tomorrow he'll jump over to them and ask how they're doing, but not today.
He picks himself up a cheap bottle of wine (Lightweight! the voice in his head drawls. It sounds an awful lot like Yuushi. Gakuto tells it to fuck off), a fish to fry for supper, and a pack of smokes. The bus arrives two minutes late, with a spray of slush from the tires that splatters all over the front Gakuto's favourite pair of jeans.
If possible, his mood sinks even lower as he climbs onto the bus.
At home, the sky seems as dismal and grey as the cement of the building. Gakuto takes the elevator all the way to the roof. He dumps his board, and the bag from the department store, and he walks to the edge. He leans over to look, eleven floors down. There's always a rush of vertigo and a tingle of something that is not-quite fear, but not quite anticipation, either. His stomach flies out of his belly and lands on the cold, hard ledge.
He hasn't jumped once today.
If he did, maybe wings would sprout from his back and he could fly away into the colourless sky.
But Yuna isn't worth anything like that. "She's just a dumb bitch who likes shitty music," he grumbles.
That doesn't mean, of course, break up doesn't sting-it does. And Gakuto would be quite happy to just jump under the futon, crank on his heater until his toes start to burn, and sleep this entire, awful day off. It's not like Santa-san is going to bring what he wants tonight.
Gakuto gives the sky one last, long glare. As he starts to turn, someone calls his name.
He jumps.
"Yuushi!"
Yuushi stands in the open stairwell. He's got his manbag slung across his shoulders and an easy smile on his face.
"Made any money?" Gakuto asks.
Yuushi says, "Hn. What are you doing?"
Gakuto shrugs. He grabs his own bag to reach for a smoke, to keep his hands busy, at least. Or to keep them warm. Yuushi gives him a slow, single eyebrow. His eyes drift from Gakuto's bag, to the ledge of the building. Finally, they settle somewhere just over his right shoulder.
"I brought something," Yuushi says.
There's always a little part of Gakuto that hopes Yuushi has brought a) hot foreign girls from his job or, failing that, porn.
Anything is better than a waste of fifty thousand and spending Christmas Eve alone, like a loser. Or Hiyoshi.
"Didn't you get my email?" Yuushi asks.
Gakuto closes his door. He must have left the heater on too long last night because his place smells a bit like a pigeon's been barbequed. Yuushi doesn't seem to notice. He paws through Gakuto's bag and pulls the fish out. He tosses the smokes into a drawer and he stuffs the bottle of wine into the fridge.
"I was busy," Gakuto says. He grunts. When Yuushi's back is turned to fillet the fish, Gakuto checks his cell.
Email #91 was from Yuushi. Oops.
There's no place to sit in his apartment, so Gakuto flops down onto the beanbag chair Shishido gave him. It was free, and Gakuto's hoping Shishido's gay germs don't spread too much. Dust motes fill the air as the heater hisses, coils red and glowing. Gakuto toasts his toes, then he does his fingers next.
"I sold the tickets," Yuushi says.
The fish starts to fry. Yuushi's quick with the knife.
Gakuto grunts. "Don't you have a date, or something?" he asks. Not that he's complaining, it just sounds a bit that way.
"Hn," Yuushi says. He flips the fish over, one piece at a time. Oil hangs in the air. Gakuto's stomach growls. Yuushi checks his wristwatch. "Soon."
Gakuto leans back on the beanbag until the top of his head touches the floor. Blood rushes to his brain. Yuushi looks at him-down, up, it's all upside-down from here. Then, he hands Gakuto a plate.
Yuushi doesn't sit down. He makes a beeline for his manbag and pulls out a stack of DVD titles.
"Aw, come off it, Yuushi!" Gakuto says. "What the hell? I'm not a chick!" He reads the titles-they're all gross: One Litre of Tears, Pure Love, Koizora, Socrates in Love…
"No preferences?" Yuushi asks.
"You're sick," Gakuto says.
Yuushi gives him a sly smile and takes the top DVD. He pops it into Gakuto's player. The credits start to play, all cheesy saxophone and flute music and some bitch singing about soulmates.
Before he plunks himself down on the spare corner of the beanbag, Yuushi grabs a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. He's already started to sniffle. Gakuto's already started to roll his eyes. He picks at the fish. Yuushi picks at the rest. When the hot, young guy walks across Gakuto's grainy little tv, Yuushi lets own a long, shuddering sigh. The toilet paper crumples in his hand.
Gakuto takes the bottle of wine out from the fridge. He chugs a third of it in one go. His mind sluices down his spine and lands somewhere in the vicinity of the sputtering heater by Yuushi's right leg.
"What's wrong with something like Spiderman?" Gakuto mutters.
"Too boring," Yuushi says. His eyes are glued to the tv, but he reaches for the wine. A blind hand fumbles on Gakuto's leg. Gakuto shivers. A pleasant little thrill settles in his thigh, similar to the weightlessness of jumping.
Yuushi takes a sip or two of the bottle.
Gakuto takes another three. The movie is less annoying. "Don't you have a date to go to?" he asks.
Yuushi's eyes don't move, but his lips do. They twitch in the split-second before he says, "I'm on it."
Mid-drink, Gakuto hears Yuushi's answer. He backwashes into the bottle and chokes on the rest. Wine dribbles down his chin. Yuushi holds out a stretch of toilet paper. His eyes are watering. Someone's dying in the movie, and Gakuto's pretty sure he's got to be dead as well. Only ghosts hear things as weird as this shit.
"Uh, Yuushi," Gakuto says.
"Didn't you read my email?" Yuushi asks.
Gakuto chews on his foot.
Yuushi leans back in the beanbag chair. It's not big enough for two people, even when Yuushi stretches his legs out long. Gakuto falls down on top of Yuushi. Yuushi snuggles closer. He smells like wine and fish and the mayonnaise from the okonomiyaki shop he works at.
"We're guys," Gakuto says.
"We can have a man date," Yuushi says.
"This is fucking lame," Gakuto says.
The gay germs are rubbing off of Shishido's hand-me-downs.
Yuushi holds his hand. It's hot and clammy and makes Gakuto's heart all flighty. This isn't a good thing. This isn't a good idea. "I like you, Gakuto," he says.
Gakuto's jaw hits the floor.
With his free hand, Yuushi takes off his glasses. He folds them up, and sets them on top of the stack of DVDs. His eyes are dark and steady, like the cheesy music on the movie. "I sent that email from Yuna," he says.
Gakuto's jaw hits the pavement, seven floors below.
"Gakuto," Yuushi says.
It must be the wine. There is no other explanation as to why this is happening, or why Gakuto isn't running off at the mouth at Yuushi for being such an ass. His mind is foggy enough that he doesn't think too much about the sensation of Yuushi's hand in his, or Yuushi's other hand stroking the top of his thigh. Gakuto's stomach jumps up, and down, and up and down again, like he's on a trampoline. The feathery feeling crumbles away the inhibitions in his mind.
"Have you jumped today?" Yuushi asks.
Yuna-chan never asked about that. She never tickled the spot behind Gakuto's ear, either. He stiffens, and slithers down to the floor in a shaking shudder of melting weightlessness in his limbs.
"Have you?" Yuushi asks. He climbs over Gakuto.
Gakuto looks up at him.
And then he jumps.
12.
He paces the house.
He paces through the grand hall, and then he moves into the sitting room. He runs up the stairs three at a time (Naniwas's Speedstar, after all) and rummages through Yuushi's bedroom again, just in case.
Kenya wouldn't put it past Yuushi to, you know, hide things on him.
But there is nothing under Yuushi's bed except dirty clothes and porn magazines and a biography on Leonardo di Caprio. Kenya scoffs. He tosses that back under, but he tucks the porn under his arm.
He paces back downstairs. It's too quiet without anyone else here. Kenya pulls out his iPod. A rock song with heavy drum beats starts to play-it's one that Zaizen sent him. For the first few beats, he drums his fingers along the edge of an antique table. Kenya listens to thirty second of it, then he forwards to the next. He's never been able to last very long.
Besides, he is still not here.
His heart is thick and hard in the middle of his throat.
Kenya checks his cellphone. No messages, no emails, no missed calls-unless he counts the one from Yuushi, but that was nothing important.
Yuushi left two hours ago.
Kenya ran to the door to catch him. "Where are you going?"
"To make money," Yuushi said, in his best impression of Tokyo-ben. It sounded like he had marbles in his mouth. Kenya rolled his eyes.
"You can do better?" Yuushi asked.
As if Kenya could resist rising to that challenge!
But he did.
Because Yuushi said, "I have a date after money-making."
"Sweet girl?" Kenya asked. He waggled his eyebrows. If anything, Yuushi would be the sort to pick up a harsh-looking girl from the side streets of Ginza: one with long legs, fake eyelashes and a plastic face.
"Hn, more like Gakuto," Yuushi said.
And then he slammed the door in Kenya's mouth, which fell to the floor in utter disbelief. About the only thing he could reckon-and he does reckon-is that Yuushi was rejected by some girl and swore them all off for the time being until he sees next week's catch in the supermarket and realizes he can't be a fruitcake any more than his obnoxious friend Atobe can be humble.
Luckily, Kenya thinks, I don't have that problem. He grins to himself. His grin falls when he notices the clock on the thermostat. It sucks to be spending the holidays in Tokyo at Yuushi's parents' place, it would suck even more if his last bastion of Osaka love does not show up.
Kenya does shuttle-runs into the kitchen. He pops a can of oden into the microwave until it sparks and finishes. The metal burns his hands. He shouts, "Aw, fuck!". Only when he grabs a spare potholder from the cupboard does he attempt to slurp his supper. Longer shadows fall across the kitchen. He leans on the counter's edge and sighs. The oden is spottily warm, and cold at the bottom, where the good bits of fish cake have sunk. Kenya chews on them.
He's still not here.
The buzzer hasn't sounded.
His cellphone hasn't run-wait. Kenya clicks on the email. He starts to roll his eyes as soon as he reads the first line.
Greetings from Guam-
Kenya clicks delete. He scowls at the mental image of Shiraishi, lying on a beach chair by the pool, with a cocktail in hand. Maybe Shiraishi will contract a real skin disease for Kin-chan to freak out about back home. Or maybe Shiraishi will run into someone even more annoying.
Kenya can only hope.
And pace.
And hope that he shows up, too.
He can't go anywhere-just in case he gets here while Kenya is out, and then it would be a right, foul mess. So Kenya flops down on the couch in the sitting room. He flicks around the channels on tv. There's nothing but trashy pure love movies, and an American remake of Ringu. He shudders. News, news, boring rock concert…
Kenya flicks the tv off. He sighs. He picks at an open bag of shrimp crisps left wedged under one of the sofa pillows. Yuushi left it there-and by the stale, slightly soggy taste, Yuushi probably left the crisps there a week ago. Kenya eats them anyway. They stick between his back molars.
And then he grabs a beer from the fridge. He downs it, checks his cellphone (still nothing!) and then the clock on the microwave. Tiny bits of oden broth cling to the screen of the microwave oven. Kenya shrugs at them. The housekeeper will clean them up tomorrow. And hopefully she can make Yuushi and Kenya something to eat that isn't leftovers from Yuushi's job.
Kenya paces. He flips open the porn magazine. He holds up the spreads of women touching their tits and their pussies. It's all right. The pages have crusted together halfway through, so he tosses the magazine into the rubbish bin.
Nasty, Yuushi! he thinks.
The girls weren't even hot, just slutty.
Kenya prefers something a little different, someone a little sweeter, a little more innocent.
The buzzer goes off.
Kenya's insides flip over. He runs to the doorway. He fumbles with the deadbolt and the lock and the chain. "Don't go!" he shouts. He keeps fumbling and the chain gets stuck. Kenya tries again, and he flings the door open.
His heart runs up through his throat. He's panting hard. He's shaking with anticipation.
The delivery man stands on the porch step. He blinks at Kenya. Kenya grabs him by the shoulders.
"Where is he?!?" he shouts.
The delivery man gives him a funny look. "I'm sorry sir, I don't understand you."
Right. Kenya switches to Tokyo-ben. In an impression even better than Yuushi, he says, "Where is my darling?"
"I have a delivery of live takyubin for an Oshitari Kenya…?" the delivery man offers.
Kenya squirms on the spot. He paces from foot to foot. "That's me!" he says. He grabs the board from the delivery man to sign. His name is a fast, awful scrawl that bleeds off the side of the document.
The delivery man frowns.
Then, he picks up the carrier and hands it to Kenya. "Have a good night, sir," he says.
Kenya slams the door in his face. His heart is going to race out of his body. His mind runs a mile a minute. His hands fumble with the carrier lock. He can't even remember to apologize to the large, black eye staring at him between the slats.
Finally, the carrier door flings open.
Kenya reaches inside. He pulls out the iguana and cradles it to his face. "Keanu," he whispers. "Oh my darling, you're here!"
He rubs his face all over the rough skin. Keanu's tale flicks against his arm. He blinks at Kenya.
For all of the waiting before, and all of the angst, for all of the irritation at Yuushi and the lukewarm oden now splattered all over the microwave, there is nothing that compares to the feeling inside when Kenya lays back on the couch with Keanu curled up on his chest. There's a cheesy movie on tv with some girl singing, "All I want for Christmas is you…."
He's singing along, under his breath, as the chameleon's wavering eyes watch him…
And Kenya's heart melts.