on the road: assorted drabbles [arashi & jdramas]
I finally finished typing up the drabble/ficbit requests I wrote on the roadtrip to Minneapolis in April (which is pretty embarrassing, since there's only 8 and the whole file barely maxes out at 2,000 words, but I've always hated typing from notebooks and I never seemed to get around to doing these.) So - yes. Done at long last?
I'm off to the dentist tomorrow. :|
"I meant left that way," Aiba says, and Sho has to close his eyes and breathe deeply (although not for very long, considering that they are on a busy highway - even if it isn't the right one).
"Meaning right," Sho tries not to sound too angry. They have at least two hours left in the car together and he doesn't want to spend them with a sullen Aiba.
"Right!" Aiba's sheepish grin isn't cute at all, Sho tells himself.
"I am never letting you navigate ever again," Sho mutters, searching frantically for the next exit.
There’s nothing more dependable or constant for Nino than Ohno - his expressions, his reactions, the way he drinks his coffee, the funny breathing snores he makes when he naps against Nino’s shoulder, his easygoing kindness and the way he inevitably caves into whatever Nino wants, no matter what. Leader isn’t flashy or dynamic or particularly dangerous, he’s like the steady bob of a fishing line in a calm lake, happy to wait, to float and to sometimes just be.
"I don’t care if you were going for ramen with Leader," Jun snaps, turning around briefly in his chair to smack Nino’s arm after Nino glances at the clock for the fifth time and tugs too hard on Jun’s hair, "It’s all your fault that this happened and you are going to fix it."
"Take it easy, princess." Nino smiles sweetly at Jun’s angry reflection in the dressing room mirror from where he’s standing behind the chair, comb in hand. "It’s not like I did it on purpose. Why aren’t you blaming the usual idiot? He’s the one who thought that an AibaLand Ultimate Bubblegum bubble-blowing Contest would be fun."
"Yes, but he didn’t let his bubble burst directly onto the back of my head." Jun twists impatiently in his chair. "If I have to get a haircut - "
"You won’t, so shut up and hold still." Nino drags the comb carefully through Jun’s curls, picking out bits of sticky purple bubblegum. It’s actually not a whole lot. "You’ve got so much hairspray on that I’m surprised it didn’t slide right off."
"Nino?" Ohno sticks his head around the doorframe of the dressing room. "Ah, Sho-chan said he’d go for ramen with me, so we’re leaving now. It looks like you two will be here for awhile, huh?"
"Not that long," Nino insists, furiously tugging at Jun’s hair. "Leader, wait - !"
But Ohno is out the door before Nino even spoke. Jun momentarily enjoys Nino’s disgruntled expression before Nino catches sight of his victorious smile in the mirror and attacked his curls with the comb until Jun yelps in pain and hits him again.
"Don't trust guys like him," Mimura-kun warns him, frowning after the tall, curly-haired man who had just excused himself from them and sauntered off across the room. "The Domyouji are all ruthless bastards and he's the worst. They just use people."
Tarou thinks about Mimura-kun's curt introduction, the tense protective hand on his shoulder as Domyouji-san smiled sharply at him and wonders.
These society parties are pretty boring, actually, but the food is always delicious (although Tarou learned long ago that bundling some up into a napkin to take home to his family was Not Appropriate) and Tarou knows that Mimura enjoys his company. Mimura keeps especially close to Tarou's side tonight, a possessive hand on his elbow, the small of his back.
Still, Mimura-kun inevitably gets pulled away into a circle of tittering old society ladies, grimacing politely at their giggle-punctuated inquiries. Tarou is at the food table, sampling his third chunk of pineapple when he feels a hand clap his shoulder. "Ah, so delicio - oh, Mimura-kun, you're-"
But it isn't Mimura-kun at all. Tarou blinks up at a smiling Domyouji, who doesn't let go of Tarou's shoulder.
"Yamada-kun, right?" Domyouji steals a strawberry from Tarou's plate with his other hand, biting into it delicately. "Where's your escort?"
"Ah," Tarou is all too conscious of the strong and and deliberate flex of Domyouji's fingers into his shoulder, glancing over to where Mimura-kun was surrounded by the gaggle of elderly women. "He's..busy."
"Not very good manners, leaving you by yourself." Domyouji finally lets go of Tarou's shoulder.
"Mimura-kun is always very good to me," Tarou edges to the side a little. Domyouji seemed to have a habit of standing uncomfortably close.
"I'll bet," Domyouji says, still smiling. "I'll bet."
The year without Nobuta is long and lonely. Shuuji gets his first real job, and it feels strangely like breaking a promise, the guilt and feeling of just-not-right as he straightens his tie and prepares to bo be polite, professional and hide everything important and real.
Akira makes it bearable in his own annoying way, with surprise hugs when loneliness creeps up on both of them, with big bentos for lunch messily stuffed with Shuji's favourites, with noisy kisses on his forehead when Shuuji worries too much and dropping by Shuuji's workplace specially when a postcard arrives from Nobuta in London.
The year without Akira is just as lonely and even quieter. The funny thing is, he never even leaves Tokyo at all - but his father's illness was sudden and Akira is so busy dealing with a million new responsibilities and little details and Very Important People that he only comes home about once a week, if even that. Shuuji worries about how he sleeps, if he sleeps at all. Akira looks tired all of the time, dark circles pressing in under his eyes, but he smiles brighter than ever and hugs them fiercely, kon-ing at Nobuta's nose to make her laugh quietly. Nobuta is her usual quiet self, but Shuuji can see how she'll cling silently to Akira on those rare moments when he arrives home at some odd hour. Shuuji struggles to act normally, to be strong for both of them, but it's never quite good enough - they need Akira to be complete, and it isn't until a rumpled and exhausted Akira drags himself through the front door, with a look of exultant relief that Nobuta exhales raggedly and Shuuji knows that they will finally be okay.
This time, the promotion is a good one, an opportunity that Shuuji knows he can't afford to miss. New York is far away, but he doesn't think about time zones or miles. To Shuuji, distance is measured by the space between him, Akira's smile and Nobuta's hugs and it's simply too far.
"I'll be back," Shuuji promises them both, on their last night together, with every ounce of determination he has and they both nod, hands clasped with his. Shuuji tries to hold onto the moment, fingers linking across small spaces and two tousled heads sharing his pillow and decides that this year might be the most very lonely of all.
"You know what your problem is, man." Nino's voice was slightly muffled, as his face was buried contentedly in Ohno's lap while their leader absentmindedly skritched him behind the ears. "Your problem is, you just don't relax."
"I do so." Sho didn't even bother to look up from the script he was flipping through, trying to ignore the tiny paper balls that Aiba was flicking at his face from halfway across the room. "Masaki, I'm trying to read this, would you-"
"What?" Aiba asked, eyes wide and innocent, bouncing a particularly well-aimed one off Sho's ear.
Jun, who was curled up back-to-back on the couch with Sho picked the paper ball off the floor and flung it back at Aiba, returning to his magazine with a self-satisfied smile as Aiba screeched and nearly fell off the edge of the dressing room counter trying to avoid it.
"No, see," Nino finally pried his face out of Ohno's lap, curling up against Ohno's side like a cat and pointing at Jun. "I have my games. Captain has his art and fishing. Jun has his violence-"
"Hey, that's not how I relax," Jun cut in.
"No, that's how Jun-chan shows his love!" Aiba, apparently having tired of his paper ball projectiles, took the couch at a leap and flopped half over Jun, half on Sho, with one bony elbow jabbing Sho's neck and his weight crumpling Sho's script.
"OW." Sho shoved Aiba onto Jun, who wrinkled his nose in annoyance and shoved Aiba onto the floor. "AIBA."
"I didn't mean to!" Aiba rubbed the arm which had broken his fall, staring mournfully at Sho out from underneath his bangs.
"Just settle down, you moron." Jun flipped a page in his magazine and began to count down in his head - true to form, less than ten seconds later Aiba was happily ensconced in Sho's lap,
"We never see each other anymore!" Aiba spoke up from where he was nestled in Sho's lap, who was petting Aiba's hair between yawns and sinking sleepily into the dressing room's overstuffed sofa.
"I know." Jun didn't even bother to look up from his magazine. "It's been nice and quiet."
"Hey, nice," Jun lowered his magazine to take a longer look at Sho, nodding approvingly at the tight black leather pants clinging to his legs. "You just get those?"
"A few days ago." Sho tossed his bag onto a nearby chair, "I still don't think they're really me." He half-turned to check out his reflection in one of the mirrors lining the walls of the dressing room. "Do they really look okay?"
"Yeah." Jun dropped his magazine onto the chair. He stood slowly and examined Sho's legs with an almost predatory intensity that made Sho a little bit uncomfortable. "Yeah, they really do."
They hardly ever see each other these days, bouncing between individual projects like ping-pong balls - Jun’s new drama, Aiba’s new variety show. Aiba always seems rushed, busy, but with a bright smile and a warm hug for Jun whenever they meet up for five, ten minutes. There’s just not enough time these days or rather, there’s never enough time for both of them that actually overlaps.
It’s easier at night, meeting for a few drinks after they’re both finished for the day, exhausted and worn down. Jun doesn’t drink much, so he can tell when Aiba’s had a bit too much, emotions loose at the edge and liquid-limbed. He doesn’t remember where Aiba’s new apartment is, fumbles in Aiba’s pocket for his cell while Aiba giggles and runs his fingers through Jun’s hair.
Aiba is easy enough to drag along, pleasant and smiling widely, leaning heavily against Jun’s side. As they take the elevator up to the fourteenth floor of Aiba’s apartment building, Aiba suddenly pitches forward into Jun, a stumbling mess of flailing limbs.
Jun catches him automatically, Aiba’s skin is cold from the late summer night air (he should really bundle up more, it’s nearly fall) the point of his nose chilly where he buries it right above Jun’s collarbone.
"Hello." Aiba giggles, voice rough and breath hot against Jun’s neck. "Hello, Jun-chan."
Jun tries not to shiver when Aiba presses a kiss to the flutter of his pulse, his hands confidently skimming up Jun's sides, humming to himself.
The elevator doors open and it’s a short distance to drag Aiba down the hall. He’s prepared to search Aiba’s pockets for his keys, which might be difficult with Aiba clinging to him like a leech, but Aiba’s door swings open just as they approach and Aiba’s fianceé steps out into the hallway. She looks tired, carrying a book in one hand and dressed in sweats and one of Aiba’s old shirts, one that Jun barely remembers him owning.
"Thanks for bringing him home, Matsumoto-san." Jun hands Aiba over unceremoniously, letting the moron lean against Ayame-chan's smaller frame. She swats at Aiba with exasperated affection when he tries to kiss her cheek, still smiling at Jun. "I hope he didn't cause you any trouble."
"It’s okay." Jun links his hands behind his back, taking a step or two back. He feels the need to retreat, to flee somewhere in his mind. Maybe he drank more than he thought - but no, his composure is still there, even if his heart is hammering. "We haven’t seen each other for - awhile. I’d almost forgotten how he can get like this."
"Hello, Jun." Aiba mumbles sleepily into his fiancee’s shoulder.
"Goodbye, Masaki." Jun nods briefly to Ayame-chan and he’s down the hall before he can even remembering turning around.
He takes the stairs on his way down.
ETA: Also, since it's after midnight now:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, mony_chan!!! ♥
I'm off to the dentist tomorrow. :|
"I meant left that way," Aiba says, and Sho has to close his eyes and breathe deeply (although not for very long, considering that they are on a busy highway - even if it isn't the right one).
"Meaning right," Sho tries not to sound too angry. They have at least two hours left in the car together and he doesn't want to spend them with a sullen Aiba.
"Right!" Aiba's sheepish grin isn't cute at all, Sho tells himself.
"I am never letting you navigate ever again," Sho mutters, searching frantically for the next exit.
There’s nothing more dependable or constant for Nino than Ohno - his expressions, his reactions, the way he drinks his coffee, the funny breathing snores he makes when he naps against Nino’s shoulder, his easygoing kindness and the way he inevitably caves into whatever Nino wants, no matter what. Leader isn’t flashy or dynamic or particularly dangerous, he’s like the steady bob of a fishing line in a calm lake, happy to wait, to float and to sometimes just be.
"I don’t care if you were going for ramen with Leader," Jun snaps, turning around briefly in his chair to smack Nino’s arm after Nino glances at the clock for the fifth time and tugs too hard on Jun’s hair, "It’s all your fault that this happened and you are going to fix it."
"Take it easy, princess." Nino smiles sweetly at Jun’s angry reflection in the dressing room mirror from where he’s standing behind the chair, comb in hand. "It’s not like I did it on purpose. Why aren’t you blaming the usual idiot? He’s the one who thought that an AibaLand Ultimate Bubblegum bubble-blowing Contest would be fun."
"Yes, but he didn’t let his bubble burst directly onto the back of my head." Jun twists impatiently in his chair. "If I have to get a haircut - "
"You won’t, so shut up and hold still." Nino drags the comb carefully through Jun’s curls, picking out bits of sticky purple bubblegum. It’s actually not a whole lot. "You’ve got so much hairspray on that I’m surprised it didn’t slide right off."
"Nino?" Ohno sticks his head around the doorframe of the dressing room. "Ah, Sho-chan said he’d go for ramen with me, so we’re leaving now. It looks like you two will be here for awhile, huh?"
"Not that long," Nino insists, furiously tugging at Jun’s hair. "Leader, wait - !"
But Ohno is out the door before Nino even spoke. Jun momentarily enjoys Nino’s disgruntled expression before Nino catches sight of his victorious smile in the mirror and attacked his curls with the comb until Jun yelps in pain and hits him again.
"Don't trust guys like him," Mimura-kun warns him, frowning after the tall, curly-haired man who had just excused himself from them and sauntered off across the room. "The Domyouji are all ruthless bastards and he's the worst. They just use people."
Tarou thinks about Mimura-kun's curt introduction, the tense protective hand on his shoulder as Domyouji-san smiled sharply at him and wonders.
These society parties are pretty boring, actually, but the food is always delicious (although Tarou learned long ago that bundling some up into a napkin to take home to his family was Not Appropriate) and Tarou knows that Mimura enjoys his company. Mimura keeps especially close to Tarou's side tonight, a possessive hand on his elbow, the small of his back.
Still, Mimura-kun inevitably gets pulled away into a circle of tittering old society ladies, grimacing politely at their giggle-punctuated inquiries. Tarou is at the food table, sampling his third chunk of pineapple when he feels a hand clap his shoulder. "Ah, so delicio - oh, Mimura-kun, you're-"
But it isn't Mimura-kun at all. Tarou blinks up at a smiling Domyouji, who doesn't let go of Tarou's shoulder.
"Yamada-kun, right?" Domyouji steals a strawberry from Tarou's plate with his other hand, biting into it delicately. "Where's your escort?"
"Ah," Tarou is all too conscious of the strong and and deliberate flex of Domyouji's fingers into his shoulder, glancing over to where Mimura-kun was surrounded by the gaggle of elderly women. "He's..busy."
"Not very good manners, leaving you by yourself." Domyouji finally lets go of Tarou's shoulder.
"Mimura-kun is always very good to me," Tarou edges to the side a little. Domyouji seemed to have a habit of standing uncomfortably close.
"I'll bet," Domyouji says, still smiling. "I'll bet."
The year without Nobuta is long and lonely. Shuuji gets his first real job, and it feels strangely like breaking a promise, the guilt and feeling of just-not-right as he straightens his tie and prepares to bo be polite, professional and hide everything important and real.
Akira makes it bearable in his own annoying way, with surprise hugs when loneliness creeps up on both of them, with big bentos for lunch messily stuffed with Shuji's favourites, with noisy kisses on his forehead when Shuuji worries too much and dropping by Shuuji's workplace specially when a postcard arrives from Nobuta in London.
The year without Akira is just as lonely and even quieter. The funny thing is, he never even leaves Tokyo at all - but his father's illness was sudden and Akira is so busy dealing with a million new responsibilities and little details and Very Important People that he only comes home about once a week, if even that. Shuuji worries about how he sleeps, if he sleeps at all. Akira looks tired all of the time, dark circles pressing in under his eyes, but he smiles brighter than ever and hugs them fiercely, kon-ing at Nobuta's nose to make her laugh quietly. Nobuta is her usual quiet self, but Shuuji can see how she'll cling silently to Akira on those rare moments when he arrives home at some odd hour. Shuuji struggles to act normally, to be strong for both of them, but it's never quite good enough - they need Akira to be complete, and it isn't until a rumpled and exhausted Akira drags himself through the front door, with a look of exultant relief that Nobuta exhales raggedly and Shuuji knows that they will finally be okay.
This time, the promotion is a good one, an opportunity that Shuuji knows he can't afford to miss. New York is far away, but he doesn't think about time zones or miles. To Shuuji, distance is measured by the space between him, Akira's smile and Nobuta's hugs and it's simply too far.
"I'll be back," Shuuji promises them both, on their last night together, with every ounce of determination he has and they both nod, hands clasped with his. Shuuji tries to hold onto the moment, fingers linking across small spaces and two tousled heads sharing his pillow and decides that this year might be the most very lonely of all.
"You know what your problem is, man." Nino's voice was slightly muffled, as his face was buried contentedly in Ohno's lap while their leader absentmindedly skritched him behind the ears. "Your problem is, you just don't relax."
"I do so." Sho didn't even bother to look up from the script he was flipping through, trying to ignore the tiny paper balls that Aiba was flicking at his face from halfway across the room. "Masaki, I'm trying to read this, would you-"
"What?" Aiba asked, eyes wide and innocent, bouncing a particularly well-aimed one off Sho's ear.
Jun, who was curled up back-to-back on the couch with Sho picked the paper ball off the floor and flung it back at Aiba, returning to his magazine with a self-satisfied smile as Aiba screeched and nearly fell off the edge of the dressing room counter trying to avoid it.
"No, see," Nino finally pried his face out of Ohno's lap, curling up against Ohno's side like a cat and pointing at Jun. "I have my games. Captain has his art and fishing. Jun has his violence-"
"Hey, that's not how I relax," Jun cut in.
"No, that's how Jun-chan shows his love!" Aiba, apparently having tired of his paper ball projectiles, took the couch at a leap and flopped half over Jun, half on Sho, with one bony elbow jabbing Sho's neck and his weight crumpling Sho's script.
"OW." Sho shoved Aiba onto Jun, who wrinkled his nose in annoyance and shoved Aiba onto the floor. "AIBA."
"I didn't mean to!" Aiba rubbed the arm which had broken his fall, staring mournfully at Sho out from underneath his bangs.
"Just settle down, you moron." Jun flipped a page in his magazine and began to count down in his head - true to form, less than ten seconds later Aiba was happily ensconced in Sho's lap,
"We never see each other anymore!" Aiba spoke up from where he was nestled in Sho's lap, who was petting Aiba's hair between yawns and sinking sleepily into the dressing room's overstuffed sofa.
"I know." Jun didn't even bother to look up from his magazine. "It's been nice and quiet."
"Hey, nice," Jun lowered his magazine to take a longer look at Sho, nodding approvingly at the tight black leather pants clinging to his legs. "You just get those?"
"A few days ago." Sho tossed his bag onto a nearby chair, "I still don't think they're really me." He half-turned to check out his reflection in one of the mirrors lining the walls of the dressing room. "Do they really look okay?"
"Yeah." Jun dropped his magazine onto the chair. He stood slowly and examined Sho's legs with an almost predatory intensity that made Sho a little bit uncomfortable. "Yeah, they really do."
They hardly ever see each other these days, bouncing between individual projects like ping-pong balls - Jun’s new drama, Aiba’s new variety show. Aiba always seems rushed, busy, but with a bright smile and a warm hug for Jun whenever they meet up for five, ten minutes. There’s just not enough time these days or rather, there’s never enough time for both of them that actually overlaps.
It’s easier at night, meeting for a few drinks after they’re both finished for the day, exhausted and worn down. Jun doesn’t drink much, so he can tell when Aiba’s had a bit too much, emotions loose at the edge and liquid-limbed. He doesn’t remember where Aiba’s new apartment is, fumbles in Aiba’s pocket for his cell while Aiba giggles and runs his fingers through Jun’s hair.
Aiba is easy enough to drag along, pleasant and smiling widely, leaning heavily against Jun’s side. As they take the elevator up to the fourteenth floor of Aiba’s apartment building, Aiba suddenly pitches forward into Jun, a stumbling mess of flailing limbs.
Jun catches him automatically, Aiba’s skin is cold from the late summer night air (he should really bundle up more, it’s nearly fall) the point of his nose chilly where he buries it right above Jun’s collarbone.
"Hello." Aiba giggles, voice rough and breath hot against Jun’s neck. "Hello, Jun-chan."
Jun tries not to shiver when Aiba presses a kiss to the flutter of his pulse, his hands confidently skimming up Jun's sides, humming to himself.
The elevator doors open and it’s a short distance to drag Aiba down the hall. He’s prepared to search Aiba’s pockets for his keys, which might be difficult with Aiba clinging to him like a leech, but Aiba’s door swings open just as they approach and Aiba’s fianceé steps out into the hallway. She looks tired, carrying a book in one hand and dressed in sweats and one of Aiba’s old shirts, one that Jun barely remembers him owning.
"Thanks for bringing him home, Matsumoto-san." Jun hands Aiba over unceremoniously, letting the moron lean against Ayame-chan's smaller frame. She swats at Aiba with exasperated affection when he tries to kiss her cheek, still smiling at Jun. "I hope he didn't cause you any trouble."
"It’s okay." Jun links his hands behind his back, taking a step or two back. He feels the need to retreat, to flee somewhere in his mind. Maybe he drank more than he thought - but no, his composure is still there, even if his heart is hammering. "We haven’t seen each other for - awhile. I’d almost forgotten how he can get like this."
"Hello, Jun." Aiba mumbles sleepily into his fiancee’s shoulder.
"Goodbye, Masaki." Jun nods briefly to Ayame-chan and he’s down the hall before he can even remembering turning around.
He takes the stairs on his way down.
ETA: Also, since it's after midnight now:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, mony_chan!!! ♥