(one-shot) always there for you
Title: Always There for You
Author: fingeredheart
Pairing(s): AT-TUN/Kame (all friendship)
Genre: Subtle fluff, humor, friendship.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer(s): I own nothing.
Summary: Kame's tired, but there's always people there for him.
A/N: A series of drabbles, but they sort of link together into one. I haven't written real fluff in quite some time (it's not one of my strengths :|) so I hope this kind of compensates. Plus, I just needed to write something kind of happy. Enjoy? Comments are, as always, extremely appreciated!
01.
His day begins with sunlight spilled across the floor, streaks of soft morning sunshine against his eyelids. Junno is sitting in a plastic, foldable chair in the corner, feet propped against the bottom leg of the piano, sweatpants folding beneath his heel. There’s a binder in his hands, long fingers smoothing across laminated pages and scribbled notes.
Kame dumps his bag onto the ground quietly, hiding a yawn behind his palm as Junno glances up with a bright smile. “ ‘Morning, Kame,” he greets, and although he still hasn’t budged from the chair, Kame can already feel the cheerfulness seeping into the atmosphere. What he likes about Junno, really, is that he never mentions the bad things. He never remarks on the permanent dark rings lining Kame’s eyes; he only places the make-up kit beside Kame’s mirror when he’s not looking. He never circles fingers around Kame’s arm to measure the thinness; he drops chocolates and miniature bags of snacks into Kame’s bag that Kame only finds late at night, when he is rehearsing dance steps alone.
“Good morning,” Kame replies, extracting a jacket from his bag and pulling it over himself. Junno just continues smiling at him, fingering the edge of the binder and nodding at the chair as Kame nears.
“Pull up a chair. New dance routines came in this morning,” his smile never falters as Kame complies with his request, suppressing another yawn. “I like yours,” is what he says instead, and Kame blinks. It takes a moment for him to realize Junno is still talking about the dance steps, eyes focused solely upon the binder, and a smile flits across his lips.
“Thanks,” he answers, before leaning in to see.
02.
Half an hour later finds all of KAT-TUN present, feet sliding up and down the studio floor at their choreographers’ instructions. The manager is sitting on the plastic chair now, back leaned against the mirror as he details notes onto the paper. In the center of the room, Kame tilts his fedora downwards, dark eyes blending with the lowered rim of the hat.
“Cut! Five minute break, be back on time,” the choreographer claps his hands once, a sharp, echoing sound that makes Kame wince involuntarily, eyebrows folding into a crease in the middle of his forehead. Koki takes this opportunity to run up beside him, knocking the fedora onto the ground.
At this, Kame smiles wryly. “Very funny,” he states, bending down to pick it up, but the smile still lingers at the corners of his lips, tired but genuine.
“I am, thank you,” Koki is quick to reply, grinning and faking a punch to Kame’s shoulder.
Kame just rolls his eyes, but continues to smile all the same.
03.
Lunchtime comes later than usual, a mess of sweaty, heaving bodies crowded into line at the counter. While the others move away to their respective tables, Kame trails behind Ueda to a table in the corner, pushed up to the window.
Ueda’s smile is serene, words true and voice comforting. Contrary to popular belief, he does like to talk. He talks quite a lot, actually, but Kame hangs onto every word he says, cannot stop the smile that spreads slowly across his features when Ueda begins to complain about their foolish band mates, the stupid agency, the strange complications of life. He thinks it unlikely Ueda is as completely engrossed with these topics as he seems to be, but he’s grateful for the conversation.
When Ueda ends his speech about Jin’s song writing with an unimpressed crossing of arms, Kame bursts into laughter, his former exhaustion temporarily forgotten. In his happiness, he fails to notice the triumphant gleam in Ueda’s eyes as the older man watches him fondly, moving forward to pat his back.
04.
In a noticeably better mood, Kame resumes dance practice on his own, left behind with Nakamaru as the others set off to start recording new songs. After they depart, Nakamaru immediately joins in with Kame, a few feet away to give adequate space for their temporarily invisible band members.
In the midst of an old song, Nakamaru stumbles, stubbing his toe on the edge between the wall and floor. When he plops down to nurse his foot, Kame rushes over, a flurry of worry and frowns. Nakamaru just looks up at him and smiles, flexing his foot experimentally.
Kame attempts a glare, but it only transforms into an exasperated smile as he reaches out to hit Nakamaru on the shoulder playfully, scolding him about being clumsy and ridiculous and “we’ve been dancing to that for years, why are you like this!”
With a grin, Nakamaru shakes his head, bringing up his hand to beat box and tune out Kame’s voice. He laughs when he has to scramble up to avoid Kame’s fists and half-hearted frustration, ducking his head behind the cover of his hands.
The rest of the band steps into the room a few minutes later to the ring of Kame’s short laughter, and Nakamaru flashing a thumbs-up behind his back.
05.
The sky is already dark by the time they end the day, city lights illuminating one by one, a domino effect. Kame is murmuring words to himself, repeating the new lyrics over and over to engrave them into his head.
As he walks out the door, Ueda pauses, turning around to give Jin a brief glance. Jin only stares back in understanding, a composed look on his face. Junno tugs at Ueda’s sleeve, pulling him out of sight and into the hallway with Koki and Nakamaru as the door shuts behind them. Oblivious to this interaction, Kame continues staring down at the pages spread out in front of him, eyes narrowed in concentration.
Casually, Jin walks forward, crouching down to eye-level and gazing at the sheets. When Kame doesn’t respond, Jin begins to pluck the papers from the ground one by one, gathering them into a stack in his arms.
“Hey,” indignant, Kame looks up, but his eyes soften when they meet Jin’s. “Hey,” he repeats, though reluctant, but gentler.
“You’re tired,” Jin tells him, and Kame crosses his arms. Jin, unlike Junno, has a great tendency to get on his nerves by being painfully blunt. Everything with Jin is up and down, like a roller coaster - that’s what their friendship has been, basically. Eleven years stretched out into a plotline with no ending, zigzagging off the page. Their good times have been so good, in fact, Kame once fancied himself in love with this person.
And their bad times have been so, so bad, that Kame never wanted to see Jin’s face in his line of sight again.
Now, though, Jin just continues to stare back at him, expectant. Kame kind of hates it, because somehow, he still always manages to get Kame to give in.
“Fine, but not because you said so,” is the best response he can come up with, and lets himself be pulled up to his feet, Jin’s hand brushing his elbow. “But you’re not - ”
“I am, in fact, taking you home,” his bag is being picked up from the ground, and the door swings slowly open to reveal a dimly light hallway, quiet murmurs from the direction of the elevator. Jin’s hand is holding the door open, awaiting Kame’s exit.
Kame considers refuting, but then Jin’s hand slips on the door by accident, arm dropping abruptly. Kame’s heavy bag falls with a loud thump to the ground, and Jin mutters curses, along with something resembling an apology. He raises his head in surprise, though, when he hears a snort of muffled laughter, and looks to see Kame’s eyes twinkling at him, bright above the pale complexion and eye bags.
Lips quirking, Jin suddenly reaches out a hand and pulls Kame forward, making the younger yelp in surprise. “Come here, you,” he says, and drags the bag along, letting the door slam shut. Kame is skin and bones beside him, a bundle of clothing wrapped around a tiny figure.
Jin leads him forward and down the stairwell, out into the crisp night air. There’s a motorcycle parked in the far back, leaned against the railing. Two helmets hang from the side, glinting the reflections of city lights in the dark of nighttime. Jin hands him one, watching him pull it over his head before putting on his own.
The seat is cold beneath him, smooth, flat leather. Shivering, Kame draws closer to Jin’s warmth in front of him, arms circling halfway around the older man’s waist. As the engine revs up, he leans in, but not close enough for discomfort.
To his surprise, Jin’s hand tugs him roughly forward, so that his cheek lands on the back of Jin’s shoulder blade, skin pressed against warm fabric. He can hear Jin’s heartbeat in his ear, a comforting, steady vibration that soothes his throbbing headache. “I feel like such a girl,” he comments, more to himself than the other, but Jin hears him anyway, replies with a snort.
“I know you aren’t,” Jin says as they exit the parking lot, Kame’s head still resting against Jin’s back. “Does that help?”
Kame is silent for a while as the wind flies past them, carrying the noises of passerby and chatter of the city. A line of cars whooshes by them, headlights blinding and wheels crackling against the pavement. Strands of hair blow against Kame’s neck below the helmet, tickling his skin and making him shift to shake them away.
“Thanks,” he finally whispers, when they stop at a traffic light, and he knows Jin has heard it, though the other makes no reply. What Jin doesn’t know, though, is what he’s really thanking him for.
But it’s okay. Kame smiles. Because that’s what his life is full of, knowing without knowing.
Author: fingeredheart
Pairing(s): AT-TUN/Kame (all friendship)
Genre: Subtle fluff, humor, friendship.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer(s): I own nothing.
Summary: Kame's tired, but there's always people there for him.
A/N: A series of drabbles, but they sort of link together into one. I haven't written real fluff in quite some time (it's not one of my strengths :|) so I hope this kind of compensates. Plus, I just needed to write something kind of happy. Enjoy? Comments are, as always, extremely appreciated!
01.
His day begins with sunlight spilled across the floor, streaks of soft morning sunshine against his eyelids. Junno is sitting in a plastic, foldable chair in the corner, feet propped against the bottom leg of the piano, sweatpants folding beneath his heel. There’s a binder in his hands, long fingers smoothing across laminated pages and scribbled notes.
Kame dumps his bag onto the ground quietly, hiding a yawn behind his palm as Junno glances up with a bright smile. “ ‘Morning, Kame,” he greets, and although he still hasn’t budged from the chair, Kame can already feel the cheerfulness seeping into the atmosphere. What he likes about Junno, really, is that he never mentions the bad things. He never remarks on the permanent dark rings lining Kame’s eyes; he only places the make-up kit beside Kame’s mirror when he’s not looking. He never circles fingers around Kame’s arm to measure the thinness; he drops chocolates and miniature bags of snacks into Kame’s bag that Kame only finds late at night, when he is rehearsing dance steps alone.
“Good morning,” Kame replies, extracting a jacket from his bag and pulling it over himself. Junno just continues smiling at him, fingering the edge of the binder and nodding at the chair as Kame nears.
“Pull up a chair. New dance routines came in this morning,” his smile never falters as Kame complies with his request, suppressing another yawn. “I like yours,” is what he says instead, and Kame blinks. It takes a moment for him to realize Junno is still talking about the dance steps, eyes focused solely upon the binder, and a smile flits across his lips.
“Thanks,” he answers, before leaning in to see.
02.
Half an hour later finds all of KAT-TUN present, feet sliding up and down the studio floor at their choreographers’ instructions. The manager is sitting on the plastic chair now, back leaned against the mirror as he details notes onto the paper. In the center of the room, Kame tilts his fedora downwards, dark eyes blending with the lowered rim of the hat.
“Cut! Five minute break, be back on time,” the choreographer claps his hands once, a sharp, echoing sound that makes Kame wince involuntarily, eyebrows folding into a crease in the middle of his forehead. Koki takes this opportunity to run up beside him, knocking the fedora onto the ground.
At this, Kame smiles wryly. “Very funny,” he states, bending down to pick it up, but the smile still lingers at the corners of his lips, tired but genuine.
“I am, thank you,” Koki is quick to reply, grinning and faking a punch to Kame’s shoulder.
Kame just rolls his eyes, but continues to smile all the same.
03.
Lunchtime comes later than usual, a mess of sweaty, heaving bodies crowded into line at the counter. While the others move away to their respective tables, Kame trails behind Ueda to a table in the corner, pushed up to the window.
Ueda’s smile is serene, words true and voice comforting. Contrary to popular belief, he does like to talk. He talks quite a lot, actually, but Kame hangs onto every word he says, cannot stop the smile that spreads slowly across his features when Ueda begins to complain about their foolish band mates, the stupid agency, the strange complications of life. He thinks it unlikely Ueda is as completely engrossed with these topics as he seems to be, but he’s grateful for the conversation.
When Ueda ends his speech about Jin’s song writing with an unimpressed crossing of arms, Kame bursts into laughter, his former exhaustion temporarily forgotten. In his happiness, he fails to notice the triumphant gleam in Ueda’s eyes as the older man watches him fondly, moving forward to pat his back.
04.
In a noticeably better mood, Kame resumes dance practice on his own, left behind with Nakamaru as the others set off to start recording new songs. After they depart, Nakamaru immediately joins in with Kame, a few feet away to give adequate space for their temporarily invisible band members.
In the midst of an old song, Nakamaru stumbles, stubbing his toe on the edge between the wall and floor. When he plops down to nurse his foot, Kame rushes over, a flurry of worry and frowns. Nakamaru just looks up at him and smiles, flexing his foot experimentally.
Kame attempts a glare, but it only transforms into an exasperated smile as he reaches out to hit Nakamaru on the shoulder playfully, scolding him about being clumsy and ridiculous and “we’ve been dancing to that for years, why are you like this!”
With a grin, Nakamaru shakes his head, bringing up his hand to beat box and tune out Kame’s voice. He laughs when he has to scramble up to avoid Kame’s fists and half-hearted frustration, ducking his head behind the cover of his hands.
The rest of the band steps into the room a few minutes later to the ring of Kame’s short laughter, and Nakamaru flashing a thumbs-up behind his back.
05.
The sky is already dark by the time they end the day, city lights illuminating one by one, a domino effect. Kame is murmuring words to himself, repeating the new lyrics over and over to engrave them into his head.
As he walks out the door, Ueda pauses, turning around to give Jin a brief glance. Jin only stares back in understanding, a composed look on his face. Junno tugs at Ueda’s sleeve, pulling him out of sight and into the hallway with Koki and Nakamaru as the door shuts behind them. Oblivious to this interaction, Kame continues staring down at the pages spread out in front of him, eyes narrowed in concentration.
Casually, Jin walks forward, crouching down to eye-level and gazing at the sheets. When Kame doesn’t respond, Jin begins to pluck the papers from the ground one by one, gathering them into a stack in his arms.
“Hey,” indignant, Kame looks up, but his eyes soften when they meet Jin’s. “Hey,” he repeats, though reluctant, but gentler.
“You’re tired,” Jin tells him, and Kame crosses his arms. Jin, unlike Junno, has a great tendency to get on his nerves by being painfully blunt. Everything with Jin is up and down, like a roller coaster - that’s what their friendship has been, basically. Eleven years stretched out into a plotline with no ending, zigzagging off the page. Their good times have been so good, in fact, Kame once fancied himself in love with this person.
And their bad times have been so, so bad, that Kame never wanted to see Jin’s face in his line of sight again.
Now, though, Jin just continues to stare back at him, expectant. Kame kind of hates it, because somehow, he still always manages to get Kame to give in.
“Fine, but not because you said so,” is the best response he can come up with, and lets himself be pulled up to his feet, Jin’s hand brushing his elbow. “But you’re not - ”
“I am, in fact, taking you home,” his bag is being picked up from the ground, and the door swings slowly open to reveal a dimly light hallway, quiet murmurs from the direction of the elevator. Jin’s hand is holding the door open, awaiting Kame’s exit.
Kame considers refuting, but then Jin’s hand slips on the door by accident, arm dropping abruptly. Kame’s heavy bag falls with a loud thump to the ground, and Jin mutters curses, along with something resembling an apology. He raises his head in surprise, though, when he hears a snort of muffled laughter, and looks to see Kame’s eyes twinkling at him, bright above the pale complexion and eye bags.
Lips quirking, Jin suddenly reaches out a hand and pulls Kame forward, making the younger yelp in surprise. “Come here, you,” he says, and drags the bag along, letting the door slam shut. Kame is skin and bones beside him, a bundle of clothing wrapped around a tiny figure.
Jin leads him forward and down the stairwell, out into the crisp night air. There’s a motorcycle parked in the far back, leaned against the railing. Two helmets hang from the side, glinting the reflections of city lights in the dark of nighttime. Jin hands him one, watching him pull it over his head before putting on his own.
The seat is cold beneath him, smooth, flat leather. Shivering, Kame draws closer to Jin’s warmth in front of him, arms circling halfway around the older man’s waist. As the engine revs up, he leans in, but not close enough for discomfort.
To his surprise, Jin’s hand tugs him roughly forward, so that his cheek lands on the back of Jin’s shoulder blade, skin pressed against warm fabric. He can hear Jin’s heartbeat in his ear, a comforting, steady vibration that soothes his throbbing headache. “I feel like such a girl,” he comments, more to himself than the other, but Jin hears him anyway, replies with a snort.
“I know you aren’t,” Jin says as they exit the parking lot, Kame’s head still resting against Jin’s back. “Does that help?”
Kame is silent for a while as the wind flies past them, carrying the noises of passerby and chatter of the city. A line of cars whooshes by them, headlights blinding and wheels crackling against the pavement. Strands of hair blow against Kame’s neck below the helmet, tickling his skin and making him shift to shake them away.
“Thanks,” he finally whispers, when they stop at a traffic light, and he knows Jin has heard it, though the other makes no reply. What Jin doesn’t know, though, is what he’s really thanking him for.
But it’s okay. Kame smiles. Because that’s what his life is full of, knowing without knowing.