our house made of paper [part ii]
Maru may be the first to notice that there’s something wrong, but Yoko just shrugs it off when Maru and Yasu approach him at work, asking if anything was wrong and if he wanted to get drunk that evening.
Ryo may be the first person to notice that he loses weight, because at some point all the fatty-jokes stopped.
Ohkura may be the first to notice that he stopped eating, putting chocolate bars into his bag when he thinks no one’s looking.
Subaru may be the first to realize his mind is somewhere entirely different, because he stops scolding him for messing up songtexts and steps.
But it’s never Shingo who says anything.
He’s certain that Shingo must know, because he failed at trying to be secretive.
Shingo seems worried, though, handing him a towel more often or resuming placing his arms around him when they shared a mattress. If they shared a mattress, that’s it.
He wants everything to stop and sometimes he wishes Shingo would just spill everything to him. They’re floating, somewhere between knowing and assuming and Yoko longs for them to return to where they were, that certain state where love and warmth were the only things Shingo gave to him.
But when he finds a bra between the dirty clothes, Yoko just sighs.
“Do you wash these things on 30°, too?” he asks and he can see Hina gulping, but he turns away so the other wouldn’t see how his face falls.
“I’m selfish, aren’t I?” he asks the bartender who just shakes his head and places another glass of liquor in front of him.
Normally, Yokoyama Yuu would dislike the thought of getting drunk alone, but he doesn’t want the other members to be involved. He could have called half of Arashi, but decided against it, simply because and sometimes it was best to settle things alone.
This isn’t something he wanted others to get involved in.
Of course he was selfish. There never was anything as a stated “I love you” in their relationship, was it?
They even had sort of stated rules, both accepted that theirs was a temporary alignment, bound to be broken as soon as one felt uncomfortable or as soon as a girlfriend was involved.
Yoko drowns his drink.
It is only fair to let Hina go.
Isn’t it?
It is only fair, really, he tells himself again, when he opens the door to their bedroom and is greeted by a very undressed Erika and Shingo’s intercourse underwear.
Well, Erika does look rather pretty, without clothes and stuff, is his only thought while he closes the door behind him, not listening to the muffled “Kimi, I..”, but instead leaving the apartment.
There are always these small two rooms waiting for him 15 minutes away, the apartment with nothing more than a sofa, a bed, a cupboard and a fridge with expired food.
He doesn’t like to be there, but he heads there anyway, burying under his blankets where he thinks that nobody can see his tears or hear his screams, because his only neighbour is a deaf old grandpa.
He doesn’t know for sure, can only assume that it was Hina who’d called Yasu and Subaru, but suddenly the two guys are in front of his door, pulling him out of his hole and ten minutes later they are in some shopping district, with Yasu handing him some rather questionable pieces of clothing to try on.
And maybe he should have called the others earlier.
So we sit in the garden and touch the grass
Weeks from then, Recomen gets harder to produce, so they talk about food or soccer or have some guests.
Subaru visits again, but never says anything about the two of them again and Yoko is so thankful that he lends him his new DS game. But when he gets it back two month later and all the savegames are deleted and his DS won’t play the game anymore, he turns all sulky and starts to cry, only to annoy Subaru so much he buys him a new game.
Yoko stops eating, even Ohkura’s chocolate bars remain untouched and it shows. On Recomen they talk about him having lost fourteen pounds by now and it’s one morning that he gets an E-Mail, containing nothing more than the word ‘Eat’.
Five minutes later, there’s another message, telling him he should come over sometimes. Yoko throws the phone away to some corner of his room and he only hears some really unhealthy shatter before he spends the rest of the day looking for a new one.
Three mornings later, he’s woken up by Yasu reciting a whole magazine full of gossip about Tina splitting up and it’s only a couple of moments later that he finds himself on his way to Hina’s apartment.
The door opens after four rings and there are two pairs of eyes widening in surprise.
Shingo only wears a towel around his hips and there is water dripping from his hair, leaving his bare chest exposed and showing slight cuts.
There is broken glass in the living room, there are unwashed pots in the sink and stubbles on the other guy’s face, accompanied by dark circles under his eyes and it takes both guys a couple of minutes to actually speak to each other.
“I’ve been an idiot” “No, I’ve been an idiot”
and Yoko cleans the kitchen while Hina tells him about Erika, tell him that he really loves her and she just went away after smashing his favourite vase and Yoko bites his lip, knowing the feeling very well.
Still, Yoko has no idea on how to fix this, and at least that feeling seemed mutual. There’s this awkward silence and it bothers him to bits because he’s not here to say nothing.
So he starts talking about his brother and Hina about noodles and they joke about Yoko not being able to memorize lyrics. There’s this longing to shout out loud, to scream his feelings into Hina’s face, but he takes another piece of cake instead and complains that Subaru gets all the solo lines.
On his way back home, he cries.
like a window bending in a storm we’ll make it
It’s summer and there’s a new tour scheduled to run, one that covers half of Japan and so all they do is rehearse steps and lyrics and wearing glittery clothes and Shingo is thankful for it. The number of times he throws a fit reduces; it’s only seldom that he snaps, mostly when rumors about Erika and a new boyfriend are involved. Yoko tries his best to help him, drowning his sorrows in talks and alcohol and maybe a random hug. There even is a kiss, but he backs off. Because he knows he doesn’t kiss him for the reason he wants to be kissed for.
Shingo complains, there was a time when it used to be the other way round, but he falls asleep in the middle of saying it and leaves Yoko awake and biting his lip. He decides not to cry but he eats a banana instead. And some left overs.
And the next morning, a hung-over Hina complains that his fridge is empty, while the black haired guy just shrugs and turns around, only to notice that the sofa is not as big as the bed and he finds himself on the floor a few seconds later, Hina laughing and hitting him on the head later on, remarking that Yoko should have used the bed, but stopping mid-sentence, for he suddenly remembers why he shouldn’t and his wall shatters.
It leaves him broken and exposed, so, before he can start to cry, Yoko decides that real man shouldn’t cry and bends over, soft fingertips grazing the other man’s cheeks and soft lips finding their counterpart.
It’s awkward, really awkward, but none of them complains when they find themselves gliding into Hina’s bedroom, more than slightly undressed, with hands and fingers everywhere and moans as the only shape of communication.
There’s heat, there’s longing, but there’s nothing romantic about the two bodies becoming one and Yoko cannot get the image of Shingo fucking Erika out of his head and it’s worse when he suddenly start to think that he can hear him groaning her name in his pleasure.
But in reality there are pleas and somewhere along the way he hears his real name, the one that only a few people use and one that could be so damn arousing when moaned by the right person.
It’s the same as years ago, when girls and love couldn’t spill their bond and Yoko can’t help but start to cry, so he cries while releasing, trying to give everything he’s got but he know it’s not enough.
This soldier knows the battle with the heart isn’t easily won
Pretending starts to get easier and they somewhere stop talking only about noodles or messed up steps.
Maybe they even go back to being friends again, the way they sit next together during rehearsals or even meet up after work.
Things barely turn to normal, but then there is that rumour about Erika’s new boyfriend and things start to get worse again.
So Yoko remembers that one stupid remark at a current MC and arranges that plan and a couple of weeks later, Hina wins and loses a commercial, leaving him barely naked in front of 200 people and when the Eito-Ranger theme song sounds, Hina is dumbfounded but it doesn’t prevent him from pressing Yoko against the wall of some back alley on their way back home.
When Yoko awakes the next morning, there’s the well-known source of heat lying next to him and he sighs. He ’t want things to get more difficult, but now they are the worst. Subjectively seen.
“Oh… Uhm” is the only thing Shingo manages to say when he wakes up and is greeted by the sight of Yoko lying next to him, obviously very naked, obviously very male.
“I guess a simply thank you wouldn’t have been enough?” Yoko tries to laugh, really tries, because he doesn’t want this to be more awkward then it already is, but he thinks he fails because the atmosphere won’t change for the best when Shingo sits up, looking at him with eyes that have ‘it’s over’ written all over.
And the final, phrased “over” sounds hoarse, a bit stuttered and not really convinced. “You never loved me and I never loved you. Can’t we just... stop pretending?”
It feels as if there is something tearing apart his heart.
“I think you’re the one who pretends.”
He doesn’t want to cry, not yet, not after he made it through all the stupid things, nearly without spilling a tear.
So he decides to state the truth. Because he’s sure about his feeling.
It’s a point where he stopped hoping for acceptance or even for even response.
“You want this, because that’s how you can forget. And I want this because it leaves me with the illusion this here is real. And it can’t go right.”
He doesn’t want things to get serious. He doesn’t want things to become facade again, leaving him hoping and holding on to something that isn’t real.
But the worst, he thinks, the worst is the fact that the only response he would get is a hurt expressions of the man he loves, a stuttered “I.. uhm..” here and there and not one clear statement.
“I don’t know how I’ll manage this, because, hell yes, I love you. But I have to, or else it will break me.”
Yoko sighs. Because there still isn’t any reaction what so ever, not even when he pours his heart out like he should have done years and times before.
So he starts to looks for his boxers and socks and maybe his pants.
And suddenly there is a hand on his wrist, pulling him closer, pulling him into an embrace of a pair of well-known arms, a familiar heath surrounding him.
“Prove it to me. I don’t know what’s real or what’s wrong these days. Please,” is mumbled into his ears, shy and carefully, you could nearly call it trembling.
So Yoko kisses him, full and hard, maybe a bit too rude, a bit too forced, with Shingo responding eagerly, tugging at his waist and hair.
And when he feels fingertips, not light and soft, but rough, hot, he stops, steps back, picks up his T-Shirt from somewhere on the floor and leaves the apartment for good.
But it can be won
Ryo may be the first person to notice that he loses weight, because at some point all the fatty-jokes stopped.
Ohkura may be the first to notice that he stopped eating, putting chocolate bars into his bag when he thinks no one’s looking.
Subaru may be the first to realize his mind is somewhere entirely different, because he stops scolding him for messing up songtexts and steps.
But it’s never Shingo who says anything.
He’s certain that Shingo must know, because he failed at trying to be secretive.
Shingo seems worried, though, handing him a towel more often or resuming placing his arms around him when they shared a mattress. If they shared a mattress, that’s it.
He wants everything to stop and sometimes he wishes Shingo would just spill everything to him. They’re floating, somewhere between knowing and assuming and Yoko longs for them to return to where they were, that certain state where love and warmth were the only things Shingo gave to him.
But when he finds a bra between the dirty clothes, Yoko just sighs.
“Do you wash these things on 30°, too?” he asks and he can see Hina gulping, but he turns away so the other wouldn’t see how his face falls.
“I’m selfish, aren’t I?” he asks the bartender who just shakes his head and places another glass of liquor in front of him.
Normally, Yokoyama Yuu would dislike the thought of getting drunk alone, but he doesn’t want the other members to be involved. He could have called half of Arashi, but decided against it, simply because and sometimes it was best to settle things alone.
This isn’t something he wanted others to get involved in.
Of course he was selfish. There never was anything as a stated “I love you” in their relationship, was it?
They even had sort of stated rules, both accepted that theirs was a temporary alignment, bound to be broken as soon as one felt uncomfortable or as soon as a girlfriend was involved.
Yoko drowns his drink.
It is only fair to let Hina go.
Isn’t it?
It is only fair, really, he tells himself again, when he opens the door to their bedroom and is greeted by a very undressed Erika and Shingo’s intercourse underwear.
Well, Erika does look rather pretty, without clothes and stuff, is his only thought while he closes the door behind him, not listening to the muffled “Kimi, I..”, but instead leaving the apartment.
There are always these small two rooms waiting for him 15 minutes away, the apartment with nothing more than a sofa, a bed, a cupboard and a fridge with expired food.
He doesn’t like to be there, but he heads there anyway, burying under his blankets where he thinks that nobody can see his tears or hear his screams, because his only neighbour is a deaf old grandpa.
He doesn’t know for sure, can only assume that it was Hina who’d called Yasu and Subaru, but suddenly the two guys are in front of his door, pulling him out of his hole and ten minutes later they are in some shopping district, with Yasu handing him some rather questionable pieces of clothing to try on.
And maybe he should have called the others earlier.
So we sit in the garden and touch the grass
Weeks from then, Recomen gets harder to produce, so they talk about food or soccer or have some guests.
Subaru visits again, but never says anything about the two of them again and Yoko is so thankful that he lends him his new DS game. But when he gets it back two month later and all the savegames are deleted and his DS won’t play the game anymore, he turns all sulky and starts to cry, only to annoy Subaru so much he buys him a new game.
Yoko stops eating, even Ohkura’s chocolate bars remain untouched and it shows. On Recomen they talk about him having lost fourteen pounds by now and it’s one morning that he gets an E-Mail, containing nothing more than the word ‘Eat’.
Five minutes later, there’s another message, telling him he should come over sometimes. Yoko throws the phone away to some corner of his room and he only hears some really unhealthy shatter before he spends the rest of the day looking for a new one.
Three mornings later, he’s woken up by Yasu reciting a whole magazine full of gossip about Tina splitting up and it’s only a couple of moments later that he finds himself on his way to Hina’s apartment.
The door opens after four rings and there are two pairs of eyes widening in surprise.
Shingo only wears a towel around his hips and there is water dripping from his hair, leaving his bare chest exposed and showing slight cuts.
There is broken glass in the living room, there are unwashed pots in the sink and stubbles on the other guy’s face, accompanied by dark circles under his eyes and it takes both guys a couple of minutes to actually speak to each other.
“I’ve been an idiot” “No, I’ve been an idiot”
and Yoko cleans the kitchen while Hina tells him about Erika, tell him that he really loves her and she just went away after smashing his favourite vase and Yoko bites his lip, knowing the feeling very well.
Still, Yoko has no idea on how to fix this, and at least that feeling seemed mutual. There’s this awkward silence and it bothers him to bits because he’s not here to say nothing.
So he starts talking about his brother and Hina about noodles and they joke about Yoko not being able to memorize lyrics. There’s this longing to shout out loud, to scream his feelings into Hina’s face, but he takes another piece of cake instead and complains that Subaru gets all the solo lines.
On his way back home, he cries.
like a window bending in a storm we’ll make it
It’s summer and there’s a new tour scheduled to run, one that covers half of Japan and so all they do is rehearse steps and lyrics and wearing glittery clothes and Shingo is thankful for it. The number of times he throws a fit reduces; it’s only seldom that he snaps, mostly when rumors about Erika and a new boyfriend are involved. Yoko tries his best to help him, drowning his sorrows in talks and alcohol and maybe a random hug. There even is a kiss, but he backs off. Because he knows he doesn’t kiss him for the reason he wants to be kissed for.
Shingo complains, there was a time when it used to be the other way round, but he falls asleep in the middle of saying it and leaves Yoko awake and biting his lip. He decides not to cry but he eats a banana instead. And some left overs.
And the next morning, a hung-over Hina complains that his fridge is empty, while the black haired guy just shrugs and turns around, only to notice that the sofa is not as big as the bed and he finds himself on the floor a few seconds later, Hina laughing and hitting him on the head later on, remarking that Yoko should have used the bed, but stopping mid-sentence, for he suddenly remembers why he shouldn’t and his wall shatters.
It leaves him broken and exposed, so, before he can start to cry, Yoko decides that real man shouldn’t cry and bends over, soft fingertips grazing the other man’s cheeks and soft lips finding their counterpart.
It’s awkward, really awkward, but none of them complains when they find themselves gliding into Hina’s bedroom, more than slightly undressed, with hands and fingers everywhere and moans as the only shape of communication.
There’s heat, there’s longing, but there’s nothing romantic about the two bodies becoming one and Yoko cannot get the image of Shingo fucking Erika out of his head and it’s worse when he suddenly start to think that he can hear him groaning her name in his pleasure.
But in reality there are pleas and somewhere along the way he hears his real name, the one that only a few people use and one that could be so damn arousing when moaned by the right person.
It’s the same as years ago, when girls and love couldn’t spill their bond and Yoko can’t help but start to cry, so he cries while releasing, trying to give everything he’s got but he know it’s not enough.
This soldier knows the battle with the heart isn’t easily won
Pretending starts to get easier and they somewhere stop talking only about noodles or messed up steps.
Maybe they even go back to being friends again, the way they sit next together during rehearsals or even meet up after work.
Things barely turn to normal, but then there is that rumour about Erika’s new boyfriend and things start to get worse again.
So Yoko remembers that one stupid remark at a current MC and arranges that plan and a couple of weeks later, Hina wins and loses a commercial, leaving him barely naked in front of 200 people and when the Eito-Ranger theme song sounds, Hina is dumbfounded but it doesn’t prevent him from pressing Yoko against the wall of some back alley on their way back home.
When Yoko awakes the next morning, there’s the well-known source of heat lying next to him and he sighs. He ’t want things to get more difficult, but now they are the worst. Subjectively seen.
“Oh… Uhm” is the only thing Shingo manages to say when he wakes up and is greeted by the sight of Yoko lying next to him, obviously very naked, obviously very male.
“I guess a simply thank you wouldn’t have been enough?” Yoko tries to laugh, really tries, because he doesn’t want this to be more awkward then it already is, but he thinks he fails because the atmosphere won’t change for the best when Shingo sits up, looking at him with eyes that have ‘it’s over’ written all over.
And the final, phrased “over” sounds hoarse, a bit stuttered and not really convinced. “You never loved me and I never loved you. Can’t we just... stop pretending?”
It feels as if there is something tearing apart his heart.
“I think you’re the one who pretends.”
He doesn’t want to cry, not yet, not after he made it through all the stupid things, nearly without spilling a tear.
So he decides to state the truth. Because he’s sure about his feeling.
It’s a point where he stopped hoping for acceptance or even for even response.
“You want this, because that’s how you can forget. And I want this because it leaves me with the illusion this here is real. And it can’t go right.”
He doesn’t want things to get serious. He doesn’t want things to become facade again, leaving him hoping and holding on to something that isn’t real.
But the worst, he thinks, the worst is the fact that the only response he would get is a hurt expressions of the man he loves, a stuttered “I.. uhm..” here and there and not one clear statement.
“I don’t know how I’ll manage this, because, hell yes, I love you. But I have to, or else it will break me.”
Yoko sighs. Because there still isn’t any reaction what so ever, not even when he pours his heart out like he should have done years and times before.
So he starts to looks for his boxers and socks and maybe his pants.
And suddenly there is a hand on his wrist, pulling him closer, pulling him into an embrace of a pair of well-known arms, a familiar heath surrounding him.
“Prove it to me. I don’t know what’s real or what’s wrong these days. Please,” is mumbled into his ears, shy and carefully, you could nearly call it trembling.
So Yoko kisses him, full and hard, maybe a bit too rude, a bit too forced, with Shingo responding eagerly, tugging at his waist and hair.
And when he feels fingertips, not light and soft, but rough, hot, he stops, steps back, picks up his T-Shirt from somewhere on the floor and leaves the apartment for good.
But it can be won