:S
Title: Rumour Has It
Pairing/Group: Kame/Anne
Rating: G
Word Count: 4,170
Warnings: none
Notes: This fic is built on a lot of quotes and tidbits from magazines and video interviews, and was written for je_ficgames. I was sorted into Team Present (and our team won, yay! ♥) and chose the quote: she's just a friend. The original post can be found here. Thank to everyone who voted and a BIG thank you to dusk037 for betaing ♥. (Taking advantage of my fhsdjk feelings for this and re-posting before I chicken out.)
Summary: Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Similarly, where there are onions, there are tears.
A bowl of his homemade curry warming his hands, Kame leans back in his film chair and watches his colleagues and staff as they merrily gobble down his food in satisfaction. Trading some sleep to figure out the mechanics of his pressure cooker and finally put it to use had its benefits.
Namely in the form of all the thankful smiles sent his way.
"It's delicious," the director says and Fuku vigorously nods his head, seated by Kame's side.
"Yummy!"
Kame beams. That extra little time to make a separate, less spicy batch for Fuku was entirely worth it.
"You're eating like a monster," Kame laughs, and bends slightly to wipe the bits of rice and curry that have become glued around Fuku's mouth. His fingers still when he hears Anne mumble under her breath on his other side.
"It could have used some onions."
Kame turns to her with a twitching smile. "You don't like it."
Anne shakes her head, her long braid swaying and her eyes hooded with mischief in a way Kame has learned to anticipate.
"I like it. It's just... missing something," Anne says, the ends of her chopsticks pressed to her lips in thought, and Kame's back immediately straightens with the undertone of challenge.
In the back of his mind, he knows he's being predictable, knows that, just as he expects Anne to goad, she expects him to jump to the bait. One day he'd like to learn how to stop because there's something about being predictable that rankles him.
For the moment, however, nothing changes.
"Like what? You can do better?"
A curl of red lips. "Maybe."
"You'll have to show me."
"It's a date."
A wheezing cough interrupts their gaze and Kame silently chides himself for feeling like he's been caught in the middle of an attempt to flip a skirt. He's allowed to look at the very least.
"You two have great chemistry," the director says, dabbing at his mouth with a trace of embarrassment. "I've worked with enough actors and actresses to know it when I see it."
"Of course we do," Anne agrees, laughter ringing in her voice, and Kame tenses. "We're like sisters. Isn't that right, Kazuko?"
Another bait. Another bite.
"Sisters?" Kame asks archly, trying to catch Anne's gaze with minimum movement as his stylist hovers around him, fixing Bem's scarf and fedora just so.
"You disagree, Kazuko?" she shoots back pointedly and Kame realises any objection falls flat when there's someone dabbing foundation on his face. Bad timing.
Kame sighs and closes his eyes when an eyelining pencil is waved at him.
"I thought we were sticking to friends."
He can hear Anne's smile when she answers, "Friends is too boring, don't you think?"
The lights are dazzling, the applauds thunderous, and through the floating confetti and the curtain of his bangs that fall when he gives his last bow, Kame catches two special smiles.
He sees them again backstage, vivid now that his hair is out of the way.
Fuku runs up and clutches his leg, eyes wide in a wonder that is both naive and earnest and makes Kame heady with pride. He's never denied being a show off and with the way Anne eyes him when he looks up from Fuku's enthusiastic praises, he knows he has succeeded in charming the stage.
Taking slow steps forward, Anne tucks strands of her loose hair behind her ear and murmurs, "I'm beginning to doubt if you really are human."
There's that familiar static grazing along his damp skin again.
Maybe it's not just the stage he's managed to charm.
"YOUKAI BEAM!"
Koki freezes in the doorway of Kame's dressing room, arrested by the tiny finger pointing up at him. Behind him, Taguchi walks into his back.
"Er, hello," Koki says. He's seen the kid on TV several times and Kame has gushed about him enough so that Koki could be his godfather through force-fed second-hand knowledge alone.
Fuku is cuter and even smaller in person and Koki's heart teeters when he sees the frightened panic scribbled across his face. What if Kame had given the poor boy their Real Face concert DVD? Was he not aware of how delicate and impressionable the minds of children were?
"I'm not that scary, I swear," Koki pleads, willing Fuku to lower his finger. "See, I have hair now."
Taguchi fails to muffle his obnoxious laugh and just as Koki turns to kick at his shin, a crash resounds from the hidden nook often used for makeup at the very back of the dressing room. Koki spins around to see Anne emerge, demurely patting at her navy skirt.
A moment passes in which Koki tries to muster a friendly hello, how do you do but the words shrivel in his mouth when Kame is the next to step out, sidling next to Anne and scratching at his nape sheepishly.
"Well, this is a surprise," Taguchi says and only manages to feed the giant elephant in the room.
"We need to have a group meeting," Koki says sternly.
Kame rolls his eyes. "We're just friends. Sisters, even."
"Right," Koki says, trying to squint and see through whatever act Kame is putting on; it's about as effective as putting on glasses to combat the dark. "Is that why you two were alone back there? Giving her makeup tips?"
Kame laughs and it's a real one because his eyes zip up into mere lines in a way Koki admittedly adores. He can barely notice Kame's eyebags when he's like this.
"You know, there are rumours about me writing a makeup manual," Kame replies with a grin. "You shouldn't underestimate me, Koki."
Koki thinks on it, chewing on his lips and coming to the realisation that Anne is indeed a sweet and sound-minded girl and therefore not likely to get caught in Kame's typhoon. And that's when Taguchi happily points out the red lipstick smear near Kame's chin and Koki promptly freaks out once more.
He's lost track of how many times Kame has rolled his eyes at him within the span of ten minutes. It could probably set a world record.
"It's from 1582. I must have missed a spot," Kame explains, arching his eyebrows so they appear even steeper and almost menacing-and it all suddenly sounds very logical. "Besides, do you really think I'd pull that off around a child-moreover, in my work place?"
Alarm bells sound off in Koki's ears because questioning Kame's professionalism is akin to yanking a sleeping tiger's tail, and despite penning a song titled Dangerous Cat, Koki would rather play with a nice kitty instead.
"But you just told us not to underestimate you, Kazuya," Taguchi reminds him.
He's a braver man than Koki will ever be.
Later that day, Fuku receives a call from Kamenashi-san.
"Thank you."
Fuku smiles into the phone and chirps youkai!, extending his thumb and pinky finger in the accompanying hand gesture even if there's no one to see it.
The sun is setting by the time they arrive at the super market. It's one of those rare days where Kame can breathe in the cool air with ease, knowing that filming doesn't recommence until tomorrow afternoon. Maybe he can finally catch some sleep today.
Depending.
Hopefully not.
Anne turns to him when the car is parked. They exchange look overs, their routine check up to make sure their identities are tastefully hidden to any casual passerby, though the chances of anyone noticing are slim. The super market is on the outskirts of the city, in an out-of-the-way town, and is usually only frequented by seniors and housewives who give him tips on recipes and how to choose the best produce. Kame finds the long drive well worth it.
He watches Anne's eyes as they rake over him, her face dyed by the sunset although the colours are muted by his sunglasses.
"You look good."
It's code for you're good to go as long as you can handle your strut without blowing our cover but Kame's pulse quickens anyway.
"You look even better," he returns with just a hint of bashfulness and Anne smiles.
"Pulling on the moves already, huh?"
Kame laughs and helps her out of the car.
A few steps into the super market and Kame lets out a laugh when both their hands land on a bag of onions.
"This one's mine," he says.
Anne gives an amused huff but he catches how her lips purse and really, he should look away now.
"I thought you were going to play the gentleman today."
Kame grins. "I know how predictability bores you."
"Right. It's not at all because you're secretly Fuku's age," Anne returns and adds her own bag of onions to their cart. Kame drops another on top.
"We can never have too many onions," he explains and Anne nods in agreement.
"Finally some truth."
A carton of eggs now added to the cart, Kame grabs a pack of canned espresso tea and pauses when he turns and sees Anne's face.
"What?" he asks a tad defensively and makes room for KIRIN's Gogo no Kocha.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
The edges of her smile quiver as they head for the corner reserved for fresh vegetables.
"It's really good tea," Kame finally blurts out. "It gives you energy and tastes refreshing and-"
"Has magical properties that will transform any old man into an idol with better hair than me, I know." Kame falters at that, not knowing whether to accept the praise or object or continue with his impromptu promotion.
In the meantime, Anne adds two KIRIN onigiris to the cart.
"I hope the companies are paying you extra for all your dedication, Kazuko. Next time we shop, wear your Aoki suit."
Kame blinks, and then smiles. "Bring your whip along and it's a deal."
Futaba-san is a widowed woman with an only son who will be visiting soon and she's here to buy ingredients for the special chilli that he loves, or so she tells Kame as they hunt for veggies. Her face is bare of makeup save for her pale lipstick which reminds him of his mother, but there's a cloud of cinnamon that hangs around her that's wholly different, though not unpleasant.
"No, no," she scolds, briskly swatting his hand when he reaches out to grab a cucumber in hopes of making a salad later. "This one is too soft. Get one that's firm. It will cut better."
Kame grabs another. "How about this one?"
"Too short. You're not paying by weight so you want one that's long and firm."
"Long and firm," Kame repeats slowly, trying to keep a straight face.
Futaba-san pauses for a moment before releasing a warm chortle and glancing to his side.
"Boys will always be boys, won't they?"
"So it seems," Anne sighs. "You can take your time, Kazuko. I need more ingredients before I can show you how real curry is made."
And with that, Anne swivels the cart and disappears between the aisles, her back straight and foreboding.
"So that's what your type is like," Anne says when Kame catches up, a bag of cucumbers in hand as he walks just a few paces behind. "You prefer them older."
"I don't think I have a particular fondness for any certain type," Kame laughs. "I'm too fickle."
"Well, from what I've heard, it wouldn't be the first time..."
The words are mumbled and hesitant but he hears them and suddenly, memories of what feels so long ago wash over him. Memories of standing outside an apartment, hiding from the cameras and waiting for someone to open the door and save him from the chaos of the world he'd stepped into. Memories of stubbornly holding onto the hand that tried to let him go for his own good because the world was a harsh place when it disapproved. He remembers being rescued, the brief getaway of Paris lights-remembers being swept away along waves of their own creation, and saying goodbye on the shore.
In the hustle and bustle of the super market aisle, he falters, wondering, not for the first time, what Kyoko is up to nowadays.
By the time the memories fade and allow him to move forward, Anne is gone.
He finds her in one aisle just over, crouched low to the floor and choosing from a selection of canned beans. The ends of her long hair are just centimeters from the floor and for a brief moment, Kame just looks, watches the concentration writ across her profile as she reads the labels. Even with her impressively long limbs folded, she looks elegant in a way Kame more than admires.
He supposes he does have a type after all.
"You know," he says at last and watches Anne's eyebrows shoot upwards with a small smile, "I was speaking the truth while we in the car."
This time, it's Anne who falters.
Kame supposes it makes sense that his type would be the kind who plays hard to get. Admittedly, he's always been a bit of a zealous overachiever with a strong masochistic streak. Not to mention an incorrigible romantic whose brothers let him read one too many shoujo manga in his childhood, Kame thinks helplessly.
That acknowledgement doesn't stop him from filling up the cart with everything orange he can get a hold of. Baby carrots, orange napkins, grapefruit, that can of peaches someone just had to place on the top shelf, just inches away from his fingertips and-
A warm pressure against his back and the can is suddenly held to his face.
"Here you are, Kazuko," Anne says through a quiet smirk. A young boy clutching at his mother's skirt just to their right lets out a snicker and Kame's cheeks heat as he grabs the can, grumbling under his breath about genes and how Koji always stole his food when they were kids and Anne should be thankful she can wear heels without getting odd looks.
"And I was just about to grab it too," Kame finishes.
Anne just shrugs.
"It was the gentlemanly thing to do. You did describe me as mannish after all."
Fortunately, the teenage-looking boy handling the cashier runs their items through with his head bent, mind engrossed in the worries of youth. He doesn't seem the type to hold an interest in idols and he pauses only once, eyes momentarily widening at the amount of onions.
As their items move along the conveyor belt, Kame catches sight of a jar of pickled plums he doesn't remember adding into their cart. He pulls it out before the cashier can scan it and Anne shoots him an inquisitive look.
"We can do without these," is all Kame says. "You can keep the squid."
"How generous."
Kame hears a muffled groan at his back and turns to see an old lady barely reaching up to his mid chest wrestling with a sack of flour. He catches the sack before it can fall and split and places it onto the counter. He notices that her cart is filled to the brim with other such items and it only takes a glance at her tiny wrinkled hands before he's smiling down sweetly and asking, "Let me help?"
Once everything is ready to go, the groceries Anne had volunteered to pack and the sacks of flour loaded securely in her car, the old lady envelopes Kame's hand in a tight squeeze of gratitude.
Her aged eyes move between them as she smiles with a warmth that can be felt on Kame's skin.
"Your wife must be so lucky."
Both the laughter and objections that follow are in synchrony.
"We're just friends."
The sun has set by the time they arrive at Kame's apartment, though streaks of pink still linger in the sky. Kame grabs the heavier bags before Anne can reach into the trunk and they take the elevator up to his floor in comfortable silence, Kame unable to resist checking his reflection in the mirrored walls and Anne failing to hide her amusement.
His hands full as they arrive at his door, Kame grins when he asks Anne to fetch his keys from his pocket and then barks out a laugh, explaining that he was referring to the pocket of his jacket, not his pants, and Anne should get her mind out of the gutter. Anne rolls her eyes but the small smile doesn't leave her face.
As soon as their groceries have been disposed of onto the kitchen counter and Anne makes a move towards the fridge, Kame catches a hold of her wrist and tugs gently, thumb pressing at her pulse.
"Can we stop pretending now?"
His apartment is growing dim but he can still see the quirk of Anne's lips when she turns around.
"Dinner first," she says, and pokes at Kame's chest before moving away to turn on the lights. "You can chop the onions since you like-what was that song of yours called again?"
"Plastic tears," Kame grumbles and doesn't bother hiding his petulance which Anne happily ignores. At the moment, he really could shed a tear or two.
He sheds many more when the chopping begins and Anne takes pity and tells him they have enough by the time he's finished going through the first bag of onions. Why did they buy so many again?
"Wouldn't want you chopping your own finger," Anne says while wiping Kame's face with a damp dish cloth until he can finally open his eyes without feeling them burn.
When he does, the first thing he sees is Anne's face, her large eyes, deep dark, and close.
"You're staring," Kame whispers.
A faint pink tinge spreads across Anne's cheeks and she blinks, breaking their gaze before looking back up.
"I can't let your attention become one-sided," she mutters back, confirming Kame's suspicion that he's never managed to be half as discreet as he likes to believe. This time, however, he's aware of the perfect opportunity at his disposal and leaves all discretion behind when he leans forward-and touches air.
Anne laughs at him over her shoulder. "You have to be faster than that, Kazuko."
The remainder of their food preparation time progresses in much the same manner. While Anne stirs, Kame offers to help and reaches around her waist to grab the handle, only to have her slip away with a grinning thank you. She returns moments later, when he's staring into the bubbling broth in dejection, and leaves a quick peck on his cheek.
It's enough to give him an airheaded smile and he returns the gesture by bumping hips whenever they sidle past one another, his spacious kitchen becoming tinier with each passing moment. Eventually he starts humming the theme of Youkai Ningen Bem to fill in the gaps between the sizzling and chopping, and Anne joins along, both of them making up silly lyrics and wishing Fuku was here to complete the picture.
They have dinner ready before nine.
The apartment is dark again, the only light coming from the muted TV as Kame flips through the channels with false interest. Anne is lying on the opposite end of the couch, her legs stretched out and entwined with his. Her toes graze along his calf in a way that's unintentional but highly distracting.
"Oh! Go back," Anne says abruptly and her foot stills. "It's us."
Kame flips back a channel to see a picture of their faces pinned up on the screen. He turns up the volume to hear a panel of judges speculating about the nature of their relationship and can't hold back a full-bellied laugh. At least half of them get it right.
There's a small discussion about them being spotted together after filming hours and Kame feels the pressure of a heavy gaze.
"What?" he asks, putting the TV on mute.
"You and your designer clothes," Anne drawls. "Very subtle."
Kame raises his brows. "And you don't stand out at all, huh?"
He runs his fingers up her long, bare legs to make his point, the calluses of his fingertips skittering across her skin with intent and leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch. His efforts are gifted with a flick to the forehead.
"Announcing your appreciation for my legs to the world didn’t help much either," Anne says, but there's a pleased expression flickering across her face.
"But being friends is too boring, isn't it?" Kame echoes, his voice going involuntarily husky as he leans forward to capture the lips that have been baiting him all day. He tastes traces of sweet, sweet onion and smiles into the kiss.
He does end up getting some sleep that night.
He's awakened when the mattress shifts and he rolls over to an empty space holding remnants of warmth and the scent of Anne's perfume. His eyes snap open but before he can sit up in panic, Anne's weight drops onto his back, her chin settling just below the nape of his neck.
"Relax, you're not late for the filming. It's still early."
Her breath tickles against his skin and Kame keeps the fact that being tardy was only a fraction of his worry to himself.
"Going out for your morning walk again?" Kame slurs into his pillow. It sounds indecipherable to his own ears but he feels Anne's movements transfer to his limp body when she nods.
"I'll make breakfast when I return so be sure to get all your beauty sleep, is that clear?"
A sleepy laughter rumbles in his chest and he turns over, catching Anne around the waist.
"You're the Andy to my Kazuko," he says, feeling dopey with happiness, thankful for all that he has, all the mornings like these where he wakes up in love.
An amused smile slips through before Anne can school her face into something deeply unimpressed.
"... I'm beginning to rethink this dating business."
Kame only tightens his hold and beams up at the face he can't get enough of.
"You'd be missing out. I'm a youkai in bed, y'know."
Anne snorts. "Definitely rethink-"
Kame has her rolled over into the pillows within a second.
"Okay, okay," Anne huffs out a laugh when he blows near her ear. "Besides, it's not every day a model finds a boyfriend who can do the catwalk alongside her."
"Consider yourself lucky," Kame murmurs into her neck. He lifts back up in inquiry when Anne remains quiet, her fingers absently playing with his cottonball bed hair. He can’t imagine allowing any of his other colleagues to see him so unpolished.
"Just remembering that old lady at the super market."
Kame fakes a pained sigh. "And here I thought you'd be thinking about me when we're in bed."
Anne shakes her head, giggling and crossing her arms over his neck in order to plant a kiss on his chin.
"It's not that. I was just thinking that she was right," she explains slowly, clearly, eyes bright and fixed onto Kame's. "I am lucky."
On the nightstand, Kame's phone buzzes with a text that goes unnoticed.
It's not until hours later that Kame discovers that it's from Koki.
It reads: YOU LIAR
Kame wonders how he ever found out.
("There were noises coming from his apartment!" Koki hisses at Nakamaru's blank face.
"... And?" Nakamaru asks once realising that Koki has reached the end of his explanation on why KAT-TUN runs the risk of another meltdown thanks to Kame rediscovering his social life.
Taguchi's face breaks into his usual come-what-may smile and he pats Koki's shoulder placatingly.
"I don't think Yucchi understands."
"I do too," Nakamaru returns; it's more of a reflex reaction to Taguchi having the upper hand. "I make noises in my apartment too."
Beside him, Ueda nearly takes out his ear with a choking sound that sounds far too mangled under layers of shock and deep, deep amusement. Nakamaru finds it hard to relate. A university approved degree on the way and yet there's nothing like spending time with his fellow group mates to blunt his self-esteem.
He wonders why fans go on and on about member-love as if it exists.
"With Nanao?" Koki asks, his gaping expression morphing into something more slick, sliding home the message at last. "You dog! And here I thought you'd be the type to take it step by step."
Nakamaru spends an entire minute sputtering through the embarrassment and the interesting-yet-highly-inappropriate-visuals before he manages a coherent denial.
It comes out as a squeak.
"She's just a friend.")
Pairing/Group: Kame/Anne
Rating: G
Word Count: 4,170
Warnings: none
Notes: This fic is built on a lot of quotes and tidbits from magazines and video interviews, and was written for je_ficgames. I was sorted into Team Present (and our team won, yay! ♥) and chose the quote: she's just a friend. The original post can be found here. Thank to everyone who voted and a BIG thank you to dusk037 for betaing ♥. (Taking advantage of my fhsdjk feelings for this and re-posting before I chicken out.)
Summary: Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Similarly, where there are onions, there are tears.
A bowl of his homemade curry warming his hands, Kame leans back in his film chair and watches his colleagues and staff as they merrily gobble down his food in satisfaction. Trading some sleep to figure out the mechanics of his pressure cooker and finally put it to use had its benefits.
Namely in the form of all the thankful smiles sent his way.
"It's delicious," the director says and Fuku vigorously nods his head, seated by Kame's side.
"Yummy!"
Kame beams. That extra little time to make a separate, less spicy batch for Fuku was entirely worth it.
"You're eating like a monster," Kame laughs, and bends slightly to wipe the bits of rice and curry that have become glued around Fuku's mouth. His fingers still when he hears Anne mumble under her breath on his other side.
"It could have used some onions."
Kame turns to her with a twitching smile. "You don't like it."
Anne shakes her head, her long braid swaying and her eyes hooded with mischief in a way Kame has learned to anticipate.
"I like it. It's just... missing something," Anne says, the ends of her chopsticks pressed to her lips in thought, and Kame's back immediately straightens with the undertone of challenge.
In the back of his mind, he knows he's being predictable, knows that, just as he expects Anne to goad, she expects him to jump to the bait. One day he'd like to learn how to stop because there's something about being predictable that rankles him.
For the moment, however, nothing changes.
"Like what? You can do better?"
A curl of red lips. "Maybe."
"You'll have to show me."
"It's a date."
A wheezing cough interrupts their gaze and Kame silently chides himself for feeling like he's been caught in the middle of an attempt to flip a skirt. He's allowed to look at the very least.
"You two have great chemistry," the director says, dabbing at his mouth with a trace of embarrassment. "I've worked with enough actors and actresses to know it when I see it."
"Of course we do," Anne agrees, laughter ringing in her voice, and Kame tenses. "We're like sisters. Isn't that right, Kazuko?"
Another bait. Another bite.
"Sisters?" Kame asks archly, trying to catch Anne's gaze with minimum movement as his stylist hovers around him, fixing Bem's scarf and fedora just so.
"You disagree, Kazuko?" she shoots back pointedly and Kame realises any objection falls flat when there's someone dabbing foundation on his face. Bad timing.
Kame sighs and closes his eyes when an eyelining pencil is waved at him.
"I thought we were sticking to friends."
He can hear Anne's smile when she answers, "Friends is too boring, don't you think?"
The lights are dazzling, the applauds thunderous, and through the floating confetti and the curtain of his bangs that fall when he gives his last bow, Kame catches two special smiles.
He sees them again backstage, vivid now that his hair is out of the way.
Fuku runs up and clutches his leg, eyes wide in a wonder that is both naive and earnest and makes Kame heady with pride. He's never denied being a show off and with the way Anne eyes him when he looks up from Fuku's enthusiastic praises, he knows he has succeeded in charming the stage.
Taking slow steps forward, Anne tucks strands of her loose hair behind her ear and murmurs, "I'm beginning to doubt if you really are human."
There's that familiar static grazing along his damp skin again.
Maybe it's not just the stage he's managed to charm.
"YOUKAI BEAM!"
Koki freezes in the doorway of Kame's dressing room, arrested by the tiny finger pointing up at him. Behind him, Taguchi walks into his back.
"Er, hello," Koki says. He's seen the kid on TV several times and Kame has gushed about him enough so that Koki could be his godfather through force-fed second-hand knowledge alone.
Fuku is cuter and even smaller in person and Koki's heart teeters when he sees the frightened panic scribbled across his face. What if Kame had given the poor boy their Real Face concert DVD? Was he not aware of how delicate and impressionable the minds of children were?
"I'm not that scary, I swear," Koki pleads, willing Fuku to lower his finger. "See, I have hair now."
Taguchi fails to muffle his obnoxious laugh and just as Koki turns to kick at his shin, a crash resounds from the hidden nook often used for makeup at the very back of the dressing room. Koki spins around to see Anne emerge, demurely patting at her navy skirt.
A moment passes in which Koki tries to muster a friendly hello, how do you do but the words shrivel in his mouth when Kame is the next to step out, sidling next to Anne and scratching at his nape sheepishly.
"Well, this is a surprise," Taguchi says and only manages to feed the giant elephant in the room.
"We need to have a group meeting," Koki says sternly.
Kame rolls his eyes. "We're just friends. Sisters, even."
"Right," Koki says, trying to squint and see through whatever act Kame is putting on; it's about as effective as putting on glasses to combat the dark. "Is that why you two were alone back there? Giving her makeup tips?"
Kame laughs and it's a real one because his eyes zip up into mere lines in a way Koki admittedly adores. He can barely notice Kame's eyebags when he's like this.
"You know, there are rumours about me writing a makeup manual," Kame replies with a grin. "You shouldn't underestimate me, Koki."
Koki thinks on it, chewing on his lips and coming to the realisation that Anne is indeed a sweet and sound-minded girl and therefore not likely to get caught in Kame's typhoon. And that's when Taguchi happily points out the red lipstick smear near Kame's chin and Koki promptly freaks out once more.
He's lost track of how many times Kame has rolled his eyes at him within the span of ten minutes. It could probably set a world record.
"It's from 1582. I must have missed a spot," Kame explains, arching his eyebrows so they appear even steeper and almost menacing-and it all suddenly sounds very logical. "Besides, do you really think I'd pull that off around a child-moreover, in my work place?"
Alarm bells sound off in Koki's ears because questioning Kame's professionalism is akin to yanking a sleeping tiger's tail, and despite penning a song titled Dangerous Cat, Koki would rather play with a nice kitty instead.
"But you just told us not to underestimate you, Kazuya," Taguchi reminds him.
He's a braver man than Koki will ever be.
Later that day, Fuku receives a call from Kamenashi-san.
"Thank you."
Fuku smiles into the phone and chirps youkai!, extending his thumb and pinky finger in the accompanying hand gesture even if there's no one to see it.
The sun is setting by the time they arrive at the super market. It's one of those rare days where Kame can breathe in the cool air with ease, knowing that filming doesn't recommence until tomorrow afternoon. Maybe he can finally catch some sleep today.
Depending.
Hopefully not.
Anne turns to him when the car is parked. They exchange look overs, their routine check up to make sure their identities are tastefully hidden to any casual passerby, though the chances of anyone noticing are slim. The super market is on the outskirts of the city, in an out-of-the-way town, and is usually only frequented by seniors and housewives who give him tips on recipes and how to choose the best produce. Kame finds the long drive well worth it.
He watches Anne's eyes as they rake over him, her face dyed by the sunset although the colours are muted by his sunglasses.
"You look good."
It's code for you're good to go as long as you can handle your strut without blowing our cover but Kame's pulse quickens anyway.
"You look even better," he returns with just a hint of bashfulness and Anne smiles.
"Pulling on the moves already, huh?"
Kame laughs and helps her out of the car.
A few steps into the super market and Kame lets out a laugh when both their hands land on a bag of onions.
"This one's mine," he says.
Anne gives an amused huff but he catches how her lips purse and really, he should look away now.
"I thought you were going to play the gentleman today."
Kame grins. "I know how predictability bores you."
"Right. It's not at all because you're secretly Fuku's age," Anne returns and adds her own bag of onions to their cart. Kame drops another on top.
"We can never have too many onions," he explains and Anne nods in agreement.
"Finally some truth."
A carton of eggs now added to the cart, Kame grabs a pack of canned espresso tea and pauses when he turns and sees Anne's face.
"What?" he asks a tad defensively and makes room for KIRIN's Gogo no Kocha.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
The edges of her smile quiver as they head for the corner reserved for fresh vegetables.
"It's really good tea," Kame finally blurts out. "It gives you energy and tastes refreshing and-"
"Has magical properties that will transform any old man into an idol with better hair than me, I know." Kame falters at that, not knowing whether to accept the praise or object or continue with his impromptu promotion.
In the meantime, Anne adds two KIRIN onigiris to the cart.
"I hope the companies are paying you extra for all your dedication, Kazuko. Next time we shop, wear your Aoki suit."
Kame blinks, and then smiles. "Bring your whip along and it's a deal."
Futaba-san is a widowed woman with an only son who will be visiting soon and she's here to buy ingredients for the special chilli that he loves, or so she tells Kame as they hunt for veggies. Her face is bare of makeup save for her pale lipstick which reminds him of his mother, but there's a cloud of cinnamon that hangs around her that's wholly different, though not unpleasant.
"No, no," she scolds, briskly swatting his hand when he reaches out to grab a cucumber in hopes of making a salad later. "This one is too soft. Get one that's firm. It will cut better."
Kame grabs another. "How about this one?"
"Too short. You're not paying by weight so you want one that's long and firm."
"Long and firm," Kame repeats slowly, trying to keep a straight face.
Futaba-san pauses for a moment before releasing a warm chortle and glancing to his side.
"Boys will always be boys, won't they?"
"So it seems," Anne sighs. "You can take your time, Kazuko. I need more ingredients before I can show you how real curry is made."
And with that, Anne swivels the cart and disappears between the aisles, her back straight and foreboding.
"So that's what your type is like," Anne says when Kame catches up, a bag of cucumbers in hand as he walks just a few paces behind. "You prefer them older."
"I don't think I have a particular fondness for any certain type," Kame laughs. "I'm too fickle."
"Well, from what I've heard, it wouldn't be the first time..."
The words are mumbled and hesitant but he hears them and suddenly, memories of what feels so long ago wash over him. Memories of standing outside an apartment, hiding from the cameras and waiting for someone to open the door and save him from the chaos of the world he'd stepped into. Memories of stubbornly holding onto the hand that tried to let him go for his own good because the world was a harsh place when it disapproved. He remembers being rescued, the brief getaway of Paris lights-remembers being swept away along waves of their own creation, and saying goodbye on the shore.
In the hustle and bustle of the super market aisle, he falters, wondering, not for the first time, what Kyoko is up to nowadays.
By the time the memories fade and allow him to move forward, Anne is gone.
He finds her in one aisle just over, crouched low to the floor and choosing from a selection of canned beans. The ends of her long hair are just centimeters from the floor and for a brief moment, Kame just looks, watches the concentration writ across her profile as she reads the labels. Even with her impressively long limbs folded, she looks elegant in a way Kame more than admires.
He supposes he does have a type after all.
"You know," he says at last and watches Anne's eyebrows shoot upwards with a small smile, "I was speaking the truth while we in the car."
This time, it's Anne who falters.
Kame supposes it makes sense that his type would be the kind who plays hard to get. Admittedly, he's always been a bit of a zealous overachiever with a strong masochistic streak. Not to mention an incorrigible romantic whose brothers let him read one too many shoujo manga in his childhood, Kame thinks helplessly.
That acknowledgement doesn't stop him from filling up the cart with everything orange he can get a hold of. Baby carrots, orange napkins, grapefruit, that can of peaches someone just had to place on the top shelf, just inches away from his fingertips and-
A warm pressure against his back and the can is suddenly held to his face.
"Here you are, Kazuko," Anne says through a quiet smirk. A young boy clutching at his mother's skirt just to their right lets out a snicker and Kame's cheeks heat as he grabs the can, grumbling under his breath about genes and how Koji always stole his food when they were kids and Anne should be thankful she can wear heels without getting odd looks.
"And I was just about to grab it too," Kame finishes.
Anne just shrugs.
"It was the gentlemanly thing to do. You did describe me as mannish after all."
Fortunately, the teenage-looking boy handling the cashier runs their items through with his head bent, mind engrossed in the worries of youth. He doesn't seem the type to hold an interest in idols and he pauses only once, eyes momentarily widening at the amount of onions.
As their items move along the conveyor belt, Kame catches sight of a jar of pickled plums he doesn't remember adding into their cart. He pulls it out before the cashier can scan it and Anne shoots him an inquisitive look.
"We can do without these," is all Kame says. "You can keep the squid."
"How generous."
Kame hears a muffled groan at his back and turns to see an old lady barely reaching up to his mid chest wrestling with a sack of flour. He catches the sack before it can fall and split and places it onto the counter. He notices that her cart is filled to the brim with other such items and it only takes a glance at her tiny wrinkled hands before he's smiling down sweetly and asking, "Let me help?"
Once everything is ready to go, the groceries Anne had volunteered to pack and the sacks of flour loaded securely in her car, the old lady envelopes Kame's hand in a tight squeeze of gratitude.
Her aged eyes move between them as she smiles with a warmth that can be felt on Kame's skin.
"Your wife must be so lucky."
Both the laughter and objections that follow are in synchrony.
"We're just friends."
The sun has set by the time they arrive at Kame's apartment, though streaks of pink still linger in the sky. Kame grabs the heavier bags before Anne can reach into the trunk and they take the elevator up to his floor in comfortable silence, Kame unable to resist checking his reflection in the mirrored walls and Anne failing to hide her amusement.
His hands full as they arrive at his door, Kame grins when he asks Anne to fetch his keys from his pocket and then barks out a laugh, explaining that he was referring to the pocket of his jacket, not his pants, and Anne should get her mind out of the gutter. Anne rolls her eyes but the small smile doesn't leave her face.
As soon as their groceries have been disposed of onto the kitchen counter and Anne makes a move towards the fridge, Kame catches a hold of her wrist and tugs gently, thumb pressing at her pulse.
"Can we stop pretending now?"
His apartment is growing dim but he can still see the quirk of Anne's lips when she turns around.
"Dinner first," she says, and pokes at Kame's chest before moving away to turn on the lights. "You can chop the onions since you like-what was that song of yours called again?"
"Plastic tears," Kame grumbles and doesn't bother hiding his petulance which Anne happily ignores. At the moment, he really could shed a tear or two.
He sheds many more when the chopping begins and Anne takes pity and tells him they have enough by the time he's finished going through the first bag of onions. Why did they buy so many again?
"Wouldn't want you chopping your own finger," Anne says while wiping Kame's face with a damp dish cloth until he can finally open his eyes without feeling them burn.
When he does, the first thing he sees is Anne's face, her large eyes, deep dark, and close.
"You're staring," Kame whispers.
A faint pink tinge spreads across Anne's cheeks and she blinks, breaking their gaze before looking back up.
"I can't let your attention become one-sided," she mutters back, confirming Kame's suspicion that he's never managed to be half as discreet as he likes to believe. This time, however, he's aware of the perfect opportunity at his disposal and leaves all discretion behind when he leans forward-and touches air.
Anne laughs at him over her shoulder. "You have to be faster than that, Kazuko."
The remainder of their food preparation time progresses in much the same manner. While Anne stirs, Kame offers to help and reaches around her waist to grab the handle, only to have her slip away with a grinning thank you. She returns moments later, when he's staring into the bubbling broth in dejection, and leaves a quick peck on his cheek.
It's enough to give him an airheaded smile and he returns the gesture by bumping hips whenever they sidle past one another, his spacious kitchen becoming tinier with each passing moment. Eventually he starts humming the theme of Youkai Ningen Bem to fill in the gaps between the sizzling and chopping, and Anne joins along, both of them making up silly lyrics and wishing Fuku was here to complete the picture.
They have dinner ready before nine.
The apartment is dark again, the only light coming from the muted TV as Kame flips through the channels with false interest. Anne is lying on the opposite end of the couch, her legs stretched out and entwined with his. Her toes graze along his calf in a way that's unintentional but highly distracting.
"Oh! Go back," Anne says abruptly and her foot stills. "It's us."
Kame flips back a channel to see a picture of their faces pinned up on the screen. He turns up the volume to hear a panel of judges speculating about the nature of their relationship and can't hold back a full-bellied laugh. At least half of them get it right.
There's a small discussion about them being spotted together after filming hours and Kame feels the pressure of a heavy gaze.
"What?" he asks, putting the TV on mute.
"You and your designer clothes," Anne drawls. "Very subtle."
Kame raises his brows. "And you don't stand out at all, huh?"
He runs his fingers up her long, bare legs to make his point, the calluses of his fingertips skittering across her skin with intent and leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch. His efforts are gifted with a flick to the forehead.
"Announcing your appreciation for my legs to the world didn’t help much either," Anne says, but there's a pleased expression flickering across her face.
"But being friends is too boring, isn't it?" Kame echoes, his voice going involuntarily husky as he leans forward to capture the lips that have been baiting him all day. He tastes traces of sweet, sweet onion and smiles into the kiss.
He does end up getting some sleep that night.
He's awakened when the mattress shifts and he rolls over to an empty space holding remnants of warmth and the scent of Anne's perfume. His eyes snap open but before he can sit up in panic, Anne's weight drops onto his back, her chin settling just below the nape of his neck.
"Relax, you're not late for the filming. It's still early."
Her breath tickles against his skin and Kame keeps the fact that being tardy was only a fraction of his worry to himself.
"Going out for your morning walk again?" Kame slurs into his pillow. It sounds indecipherable to his own ears but he feels Anne's movements transfer to his limp body when she nods.
"I'll make breakfast when I return so be sure to get all your beauty sleep, is that clear?"
A sleepy laughter rumbles in his chest and he turns over, catching Anne around the waist.
"You're the Andy to my Kazuko," he says, feeling dopey with happiness, thankful for all that he has, all the mornings like these where he wakes up in love.
An amused smile slips through before Anne can school her face into something deeply unimpressed.
"... I'm beginning to rethink this dating business."
Kame only tightens his hold and beams up at the face he can't get enough of.
"You'd be missing out. I'm a youkai in bed, y'know."
Anne snorts. "Definitely rethink-"
Kame has her rolled over into the pillows within a second.
"Okay, okay," Anne huffs out a laugh when he blows near her ear. "Besides, it's not every day a model finds a boyfriend who can do the catwalk alongside her."
"Consider yourself lucky," Kame murmurs into her neck. He lifts back up in inquiry when Anne remains quiet, her fingers absently playing with his cottonball bed hair. He can’t imagine allowing any of his other colleagues to see him so unpolished.
"Just remembering that old lady at the super market."
Kame fakes a pained sigh. "And here I thought you'd be thinking about me when we're in bed."
Anne shakes her head, giggling and crossing her arms over his neck in order to plant a kiss on his chin.
"It's not that. I was just thinking that she was right," she explains slowly, clearly, eyes bright and fixed onto Kame's. "I am lucky."
On the nightstand, Kame's phone buzzes with a text that goes unnoticed.
It's not until hours later that Kame discovers that it's from Koki.
It reads: YOU LIAR
Kame wonders how he ever found out.
("There were noises coming from his apartment!" Koki hisses at Nakamaru's blank face.
"... And?" Nakamaru asks once realising that Koki has reached the end of his explanation on why KAT-TUN runs the risk of another meltdown thanks to Kame rediscovering his social life.
Taguchi's face breaks into his usual come-what-may smile and he pats Koki's shoulder placatingly.
"I don't think Yucchi understands."
"I do too," Nakamaru returns; it's more of a reflex reaction to Taguchi having the upper hand. "I make noises in my apartment too."
Beside him, Ueda nearly takes out his ear with a choking sound that sounds far too mangled under layers of shock and deep, deep amusement. Nakamaru finds it hard to relate. A university approved degree on the way and yet there's nothing like spending time with his fellow group mates to blunt his self-esteem.
He wonders why fans go on and on about member-love as if it exists.
"With Nanao?" Koki asks, his gaping expression morphing into something more slick, sliding home the message at last. "You dog! And here I thought you'd be the type to take it step by step."
Nakamaru spends an entire minute sputtering through the embarrassment and the interesting-yet-highly-inappropriate-visuals before he manages a coherent denial.
It comes out as a squeak.
"She's just a friend.")