KinKi Kids fanfic. Yes, you read that right.
I was trying to re-write a present for Leader (alksdfja;lkomg I seriously wrote THAT what was I thinking, must make this readable!a;lsdkfj;lsdjf;lsjk) and after a while I quit and took an hour or so to write this.
For ill_ame, for everything. I can't promise it's any good but I love you for giving me all that you did. Because you're right and they ARE amazing and I wanted to write something for you and for them.
Can't Erase
Photo sessions always were strange. Tsuyoshi looked at Koichi standing beside him. "Why always our hands?" he asked as the photographer, and all the assistants, knelt and focused on their joined little fingers.
"You don't have a pretty face anymore," Koichi deadpanned. And then yawned, so maybe it wasn't much of a deadpan.
Tsuyoshi turned his face away. "You're the one with a mother who said you looked like an ugly monkey as a baby."
Koichi yawned again-Tsuyoshi could tell without looking because Koichi's jaw popped alarmingly, as it always did-and said, "But I have a pretty face now. People tell me so."
He couldn't remember if people ever told him the same, and meant it, so Tsuyoshi didn't bother answering. Instead he thought about music and the tie lines between notes and the slur notation and the way it curved between two notes on different pitches and the curvature of the world as it bent away from where he was standing, where Koichi was standing. Like they were balanced on top of a giant ball all the time and it only looked like they were on a wide and level space. "Huh," he said.
"Ah! Domoto-san!" wailed the photographer.
Tsuyoshi looked down and then, following the heartbroken gaze of the photographer, up and over. Koichi was scratching his nose. It didn't register at first and then he realized that Koichi was using the hand that was supposed to be in the picture. He wanted to see the proofs of that moment of letting go. But the photographer was already clicking away again and Tsuyoshi realized that they'd linked fingers once more, without thinking.
He almost never thought about it anymore.
But sometimes he did.
"Seriously," he said to Koichi as they found their cars, parked side by side for some reason. "Seriously, why our hands?"
Koichi played catch with his keys for a moment and then, "Well, it's the image of being together, isn't it?"
"I know that," Tsuyoshi told him. "But why us?" Except he kind of knew even as he said it. Why it was always them.
"Because…" Koichi sighed. "Come over."
"Huh?"
"You're not busy now, so come over."
He looked up at the sky. "First, tell me why the sky is blue," he requested.
Koichi smiled and he knew because he was looking. "It's because of the way the sunlight shatters itself trying to get through."
"Okay."
Koichi's apartment was halfway unfamiliar to Tsuyoshi: partly because he was almost never there and mostly because Koichi halfway never cleaned up. It smelled like three-week-old Koichi and takeaway food inside. "Your place smells," he said cheerfully, wandering to look at the largest of the framed pictures on the wall. It was a tourist map of Nara, one that Tsuyoshi had given him as a moving-in present. Pan jumped up against his leg and he bent awkwardly to pet her absentmindedly. "Hey, Pan-chan."
"Yours smells too," Koichi told him. "Like fish and existentialism. I'm going to shower. Here." And he handed him a beer and walked out before Tsuyoshi could even start laughing.
Tsuyoshi drank his beer and looked at the map and thought about going home for a visit, petting the air for a moment when Pan trotted away. He could go for a week or two. Or maybe for even longer. He could buy a house. He had enough saved up for one. He could probably buy two, side by side if he wanted. He went to Koichi's fridge and got a second beer. He handed it to Koichi as he walked into the bathroom and Koichi walked out. "You could put a robe on," he said. "Even in your own home, it's not polite to walk around naked."
"I do everything naked here," Koichi told him.
"Not with guests."
"You're not a guest," he was reminded. Then, "I know, I know, my naked ass on the cushions is why you won't sit on my couch. I don't give a toss. Everybody else will and you've been here twice in three years."
"It's still disgusting." Tsuyoshi shut the door in his face.
"I am going to go roll around on it right now. Pan-chan! Come roll around on the couch and shed!"
Koichi was in his bedroom when Tsuyoshi came out of the shower. Helpfully he'd shut all the other doors and left only that one open. He was naked on the bed but that didn't bother Tsuyoshi at all. He crawled onto the bed beside him and settled against him. "So," he said but it was muffled against Koichi's mouth on his own.
The lights in the room weren't on but it was only noon and the sun was brilliant even through the curtains. "Hey," Koichi murmured at him, cupping his face and pulling him into another kiss when he pulled back.
Eyes opened he could see Koichi clearly as they kissed and then kissed again. There were fine lines around his eyes and he couldn't look at him, not directly, and he couldn't close his eyes again. He buried his face in Koichi's neck as they touched and moved, breathed and gasped and found each other. "Koichi," he whispered as they gentled.
"Tsuyoshi."
He touched Koichi's face. Twenty years of seeing it and he knew it as well as his own. Probably better. He smiled and Koichi smiled back. "I'm going to go shower."
"I'm going to fall asleep," Koichi told him. And then flung a leg over him. "You are too."
Possibly he did or maybe he just drifted and thought he did. Either way, he laid there in a sticky heap with Koichi at his side, the whole day spread out around them like the sheets on the bed and the sunlight shattering itself to reach them.
He woke up, or quit day dreaming, to find his hand and Koichi's held over their heads. Pinkies linked. "Because," he said quietly, "we always seem so far away from each other."
"Yup," Koichi answered. He moved their joined hands back and forth and the dust motes in the air danced around them, shining. "Sometimes," he said. "…sometimes I miss living with you."
They hadn't gotten along very well. Or else they'd sort of forgot that the other was there, living quietly together like ghosts. It had been a strange and failed experiment, even if it had been handy for the company. "Me too, sometimes." Tsuyoshi could feel Koichi looking at him. Koichi always did and he always felt it. Like red sunset light against his skin, somehow warm and weighty. He looked back. Koichi. "Mostly I don't." He looked back at the ceiling.
Because he and Koichi were fated to be parts of each other. It was the only explanation. They weren't close but they knew each other completely. Not in love, but loved no one else more. Too much of something, too much of something else contradictory as well. Music and F1 racecar ringtones, changing names and the refusal to be something other than what he was.
Nobody ever understood them and they understood the least and the most of all. They just were. He turned his head on Koichi's pillow and looked at him once more. Koichi was looking back, amused. "I can't wait to hear this song," he said. "Is it going to be raining again?"
Tsuyoshi rolled over on top of him. "Write me the music," he said, and he kissed Koichi with everything he had in him that was for him. And Koichi kissed him back.
Sometimes things got so far away from each other that they were actually together again; something to do with the way the world curved. Koichi had said so once, he was sure, and Tsuyoshi didn't doubt him because he was the one who would know.
For ill_ame, for everything. I can't promise it's any good but I love you for giving me all that you did. Because you're right and they ARE amazing and I wanted to write something for you and for them.
Can't Erase
Photo sessions always were strange. Tsuyoshi looked at Koichi standing beside him. "Why always our hands?" he asked as the photographer, and all the assistants, knelt and focused on their joined little fingers.
"You don't have a pretty face anymore," Koichi deadpanned. And then yawned, so maybe it wasn't much of a deadpan.
Tsuyoshi turned his face away. "You're the one with a mother who said you looked like an ugly monkey as a baby."
Koichi yawned again-Tsuyoshi could tell without looking because Koichi's jaw popped alarmingly, as it always did-and said, "But I have a pretty face now. People tell me so."
He couldn't remember if people ever told him the same, and meant it, so Tsuyoshi didn't bother answering. Instead he thought about music and the tie lines between notes and the slur notation and the way it curved between two notes on different pitches and the curvature of the world as it bent away from where he was standing, where Koichi was standing. Like they were balanced on top of a giant ball all the time and it only looked like they were on a wide and level space. "Huh," he said.
"Ah! Domoto-san!" wailed the photographer.
Tsuyoshi looked down and then, following the heartbroken gaze of the photographer, up and over. Koichi was scratching his nose. It didn't register at first and then he realized that Koichi was using the hand that was supposed to be in the picture. He wanted to see the proofs of that moment of letting go. But the photographer was already clicking away again and Tsuyoshi realized that they'd linked fingers once more, without thinking.
He almost never thought about it anymore.
But sometimes he did.
"Seriously," he said to Koichi as they found their cars, parked side by side for some reason. "Seriously, why our hands?"
Koichi played catch with his keys for a moment and then, "Well, it's the image of being together, isn't it?"
"I know that," Tsuyoshi told him. "But why us?" Except he kind of knew even as he said it. Why it was always them.
"Because…" Koichi sighed. "Come over."
"Huh?"
"You're not busy now, so come over."
He looked up at the sky. "First, tell me why the sky is blue," he requested.
Koichi smiled and he knew because he was looking. "It's because of the way the sunlight shatters itself trying to get through."
"Okay."
Koichi's apartment was halfway unfamiliar to Tsuyoshi: partly because he was almost never there and mostly because Koichi halfway never cleaned up. It smelled like three-week-old Koichi and takeaway food inside. "Your place smells," he said cheerfully, wandering to look at the largest of the framed pictures on the wall. It was a tourist map of Nara, one that Tsuyoshi had given him as a moving-in present. Pan jumped up against his leg and he bent awkwardly to pet her absentmindedly. "Hey, Pan-chan."
"Yours smells too," Koichi told him. "Like fish and existentialism. I'm going to shower. Here." And he handed him a beer and walked out before Tsuyoshi could even start laughing.
Tsuyoshi drank his beer and looked at the map and thought about going home for a visit, petting the air for a moment when Pan trotted away. He could go for a week or two. Or maybe for even longer. He could buy a house. He had enough saved up for one. He could probably buy two, side by side if he wanted. He went to Koichi's fridge and got a second beer. He handed it to Koichi as he walked into the bathroom and Koichi walked out. "You could put a robe on," he said. "Even in your own home, it's not polite to walk around naked."
"I do everything naked here," Koichi told him.
"Not with guests."
"You're not a guest," he was reminded. Then, "I know, I know, my naked ass on the cushions is why you won't sit on my couch. I don't give a toss. Everybody else will and you've been here twice in three years."
"It's still disgusting." Tsuyoshi shut the door in his face.
"I am going to go roll around on it right now. Pan-chan! Come roll around on the couch and shed!"
Koichi was in his bedroom when Tsuyoshi came out of the shower. Helpfully he'd shut all the other doors and left only that one open. He was naked on the bed but that didn't bother Tsuyoshi at all. He crawled onto the bed beside him and settled against him. "So," he said but it was muffled against Koichi's mouth on his own.
The lights in the room weren't on but it was only noon and the sun was brilliant even through the curtains. "Hey," Koichi murmured at him, cupping his face and pulling him into another kiss when he pulled back.
Eyes opened he could see Koichi clearly as they kissed and then kissed again. There were fine lines around his eyes and he couldn't look at him, not directly, and he couldn't close his eyes again. He buried his face in Koichi's neck as they touched and moved, breathed and gasped and found each other. "Koichi," he whispered as they gentled.
"Tsuyoshi."
He touched Koichi's face. Twenty years of seeing it and he knew it as well as his own. Probably better. He smiled and Koichi smiled back. "I'm going to go shower."
"I'm going to fall asleep," Koichi told him. And then flung a leg over him. "You are too."
Possibly he did or maybe he just drifted and thought he did. Either way, he laid there in a sticky heap with Koichi at his side, the whole day spread out around them like the sheets on the bed and the sunlight shattering itself to reach them.
He woke up, or quit day dreaming, to find his hand and Koichi's held over their heads. Pinkies linked. "Because," he said quietly, "we always seem so far away from each other."
"Yup," Koichi answered. He moved their joined hands back and forth and the dust motes in the air danced around them, shining. "Sometimes," he said. "…sometimes I miss living with you."
They hadn't gotten along very well. Or else they'd sort of forgot that the other was there, living quietly together like ghosts. It had been a strange and failed experiment, even if it had been handy for the company. "Me too, sometimes." Tsuyoshi could feel Koichi looking at him. Koichi always did and he always felt it. Like red sunset light against his skin, somehow warm and weighty. He looked back. Koichi. "Mostly I don't." He looked back at the ceiling.
Because he and Koichi were fated to be parts of each other. It was the only explanation. They weren't close but they knew each other completely. Not in love, but loved no one else more. Too much of something, too much of something else contradictory as well. Music and F1 racecar ringtones, changing names and the refusal to be something other than what he was.
Nobody ever understood them and they understood the least and the most of all. They just were. He turned his head on Koichi's pillow and looked at him once more. Koichi was looking back, amused. "I can't wait to hear this song," he said. "Is it going to be raining again?"
Tsuyoshi rolled over on top of him. "Write me the music," he said, and he kissed Koichi with everything he had in him that was for him. And Koichi kissed him back.
Sometimes things got so far away from each other that they were actually together again; something to do with the way the world curved. Koichi had said so once, he was sure, and Tsuyoshi didn't doubt him because he was the one who would know.