[03/16] Lifetimes
Lifetimes
November 2012 -
Summary
Mikado Miwa had always been - clichés and all other stereotypes taken into consideration - just an ordinary girl. Pencil pusher-slash-coffee maker in the morning, legendary fanfiction writer and blogger at night. Her stories had been, for more than fifteen years now, about a certain man named Sakurai Sho - idol, rapper, newscaster, godsend. She had been content writing about him, and would have been happy to continue writing about him, had he not one day pulled a pseudo-Akanishi and decided to get himself engaged. It had been a week since that fateful evening the headlines had borne that earth-shattering news. So why was he now standing outside her door in the rain, requesting a place in her life?
A/N
[16.35, 26 December 2012] Happy holidays! I’m way behind on my goal to have this story written by the end of my Christmas break. ::P I will continue to do my best though. Please join me until the end of this saga~
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
Words 1,684
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Three
The Reasons We Never Fight
The fourth week of November
Mikado Miwa tugged at the hem of her faux fur coat, its bulky fluffiness weighing down on her arms and her mood. She had seen Arashi many times before this, even in informal situations when she would wait for them after their location shoots, standing outside buildings as the members were shuffled into cars. Still she had not expected them to be this quiet among themselves, gently slipping into an endless array of dark tuxedos and leather shoes. Miwa tried not to sigh as she waited in one corner of the wedding outfitter’s Ginza headquarters.
Beyond the windows, there was a man with a large camera hiding behind one of the rosebushes on the sidewalk.
She started as someone slowly came to sit beside her. It was Ohno Satoshi, dressed in a deep blue smoking jacket, a white handkerchief with a single embedded rhinestone on his outer chest pocket. He was still wearing the shop’s complimentary house slippers. “Are you all right, Mikado-san? You’ve been very quiet.”
Miwa smiled. It was funny he should feel she had spoken too little. “I think it might be best if I just stay innocuous, and try not to attract attention to myself.”
“But the people here know who you are.” He shrugged. “Or at least, who you’re not. They’ve had to take Setsu-san’s measurements, after all. I admire your dedication, but I think it’s hardly necessary.”
“Yes, well.” Miwa bit her lip, and looked outside the large shop windows. Through the designer blinds, she could see the cameraman was still there. “There’s a paparazzo outside. Is that all right?”
“It’s fine.” Aiba Masaki smiles as he sits on her other side, his suit reflective black, his leather shoes only half-laced. “That’s what we’re here for, right? We’re making a statement that we’re all for Sho-chan’s marriage.”
Miwa could only stare as Aiba hunched over his shoelaces. A few feet away from them, Matsumoto Jun and Ninomiya Kazunari were having a whispered conversation, their hands on their patterned ties, the styling assistants standing at attention a short way away. Aiba straightened up, blinking as he stared back at Miwa.
She blinked. Even with a pair of oversized sunglasses shielding her, she felt vulnerable to all of them.
“Why are you staring at me, Miwa-chan?” Aiba didn’t seem offended, but his tone indicated he would not let her off easily. “Doesn’t my outfit suit me? And I thought it fit me best, too.”
Miwa shook her head. “I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised to hear you speaking so pragmatically, Aiba-san. It’s rare to find you being so…”
“Sensible?” Ninomiya supplied from his spot by the floor-length dressing mirrors, smirking faintly. “I don’t blame you.”
“Rational.” Miwa nodded for emphasis. “I’ve never heard you speak so rationally, Aiba-san.”
“But it’s true!” Aiba exclaimed, raising his hands slightly in agitation. “There’s no point to what we’re doing! We’re inconveniencing so many people just to get this ‘promotional event’ going. I’m shocked Sho-chan is actually putting up with this-”
“But if it puts Sakurai-san’s mind at ease-”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Miwa-chan.” Aiba clutched her hand, and drew near in an effort to explain. Miwa fell slightly back. “Sho-chan wants to get married as swiftly as possible. These paparazzi, these crazy public shows of support, they’re not for him or Setsu-chan. They’re for the Agency.”
“I’m aware. Mikata-san informed me.” Miwa’s fists clenched as she remembered the matter-of-fact way Sakurai’s manager had briefed her before she had been forced into her stuffy mink coat. “The Agency wants to make Sakurai-san’s wedding as casualty-free as possible, so they’re trying to break the news as gently as they can. No surprises.”
“No surprises, yes.” Ohno repeated as Aiba cursed under his breath. “As long as there are bits of information about this wedding, the management thinks the actual event won’t be as shocking as it might be if it were to happen unannounced and unanticipated. Based on previous Johnny’s marriages, that is. Do you agree, Mikado-san?”
Miwa frowned. The management’s idea had merit. Had she been an ordinary fan, however, the daily snippets of the Sakurai-Komada nuptials that were being fed into tabloids would undoubtedly drive her insane in the worst possible way. Maybe Akanishi Jin wasn’t so nuts after all. “I’m afraid I don’t agree with it fully.”
Ohno nodded. “Not all of us agree with the management’s decision, too. But there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Not to mention, they’re dragging outsiders into the fiasco.” Ninomiya Kazunari had joined them, ambling forwards to settle beside Ohno. He was in a pinstriped grayish suit, and as he sat, he patted Ohno’s back. “Your shoes are ready.”
“What do you mean by that, Ninomiya-san?”
“Take for example, yourself.” Ninomiya extended a hand toward her, as though both to illustrate a point and to reach out to her feelings. “You are a very good example, Mikado-chan. You’re a huge fan of Sho-chan, aren’t you? And don’t try to deny it,” he raised a hand as Miwa started to open her mouth. “We’ve all read your fan fiction. You’re very imaginative.”
He flicked away a speck of dirt on his lapel, and in his eyes, Miwa saw he was struggling to find the right words to say next. “Mikado-chan, I’ll be honest. We don’t think it’s good for you to be here.”
“Mikata-san said the same thing. Why?”
“Well, this mission is being carried out to protect our fans from being hurt, right?” Aiba was holding her hand again, earnestly attempting to look past her sunglasses as though he could meet her eyes. “We think there’s nothing but heartache at the end of this mission for you, Miwa-chan-”
“Don’t put it so sentimentally.” Ninomiya chuckled. “But that pretty much encapsulates what the four of us think about this. Sho probably feels the same.”
He suddenly looked up, stared at her face, and smiled gently. “It’s not that we don’t want you here, Mikado-chan. We’re very thankful you’re doing this. Sincerely. We are.”
She felt awfully conflicted. She always felt this way as she neared the end of Arashi concert reruns, when the members would thank all their fans, and express their unending gratitude in the most awkward, most moving ways. “It’s my pleasure, Ninomiya-san. Anything for Arashi.”
Aiba and Ninomiya had the discretion to glance away as she reached under her sunglasses to wipe away a tear. “In any case, I’m sure Komada-san has reasons for not being here. I’m sure she wants to support Sakurai-san as much as she can, too, only it’s difficult for her-”
“If she can’t be by his side now, what is there to guarantee she’ll stay by his side forever?” Matsumoto let his hands fall to his sides as he turned to meet Miwa’s eyes. “That’s all there is to it, Mikado-san. If she’s serious about this marriage, why do you have to be here in her stead?”
There was nothing she could say to that. And so Miwa chose to bite her tongue and clutch her silk skirt, the members around her dejectedly gathering to form a small circle in the middle of the shop. There were no other customers. Miwa suspected their future meetings would be an endless series of arguments, just like this.
She raised a hand to her throbbing temple. There were still three months left.
“-yes, I understand.” Sakurai Sho came out of a private dressing room, followed by the shop’s main designer and an entourage of uniformly wavy-haired women with a collective average heel height of four inches. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting. This is my battle gear. What do you think?”
She had seen him wear so many suits in so many years. It was as though the tough yet pliable fabric so preferred by the clones of Armani was almost a part of his skin, himself. Yet as he stood before her, hands on his sides, a large smile on his face, she knew she knew barely anything about him. Years of idol-worship for this man, and he still threw her senses off balance. She could feel the air rushing out of her lungs in one breath.
He was grinning at her now, and despite the silence that had overcome her hearing, she could sense her feet moving on their own accord, gently inching forward in the daintiest shoes she had ever been prevailed upon to wear. Before she noticed, his hands had fallen to his sides, but that wide smile was still on his face. Her lips were slowly stretching into a hesitant smile. Her fingers slowly rose to fix his already-perfect tie.
As his smile brightened even further, she caught a glint of carefree happiness in his eyes. Against her back, the vivid flash of a camera momentarily stilled the room.
He briefly brushed his fingers against hers, and she chose to forget everything.
A/N
Mush. So much mush. I might have eaten too much shrimp for Christmas dinner. I’m not thinking straight. [17.59, 26 December 2012]
November 2012 -
Summary
Mikado Miwa had always been - clichés and all other stereotypes taken into consideration - just an ordinary girl. Pencil pusher-slash-coffee maker in the morning, legendary fanfiction writer and blogger at night. Her stories had been, for more than fifteen years now, about a certain man named Sakurai Sho - idol, rapper, newscaster, godsend. She had been content writing about him, and would have been happy to continue writing about him, had he not one day pulled a pseudo-Akanishi and decided to get himself engaged. It had been a week since that fateful evening the headlines had borne that earth-shattering news. So why was he now standing outside her door in the rain, requesting a place in her life?
A/N
[16.35, 26 December 2012] Happy holidays! I’m way behind on my goal to have this story written by the end of my Christmas break. ::P I will continue to do my best though. Please join me until the end of this saga~
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
Words 1,684
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Three
The Reasons We Never Fight
The fourth week of November
Mikado Miwa tugged at the hem of her faux fur coat, its bulky fluffiness weighing down on her arms and her mood. She had seen Arashi many times before this, even in informal situations when she would wait for them after their location shoots, standing outside buildings as the members were shuffled into cars. Still she had not expected them to be this quiet among themselves, gently slipping into an endless array of dark tuxedos and leather shoes. Miwa tried not to sigh as she waited in one corner of the wedding outfitter’s Ginza headquarters.
Beyond the windows, there was a man with a large camera hiding behind one of the rosebushes on the sidewalk.
She started as someone slowly came to sit beside her. It was Ohno Satoshi, dressed in a deep blue smoking jacket, a white handkerchief with a single embedded rhinestone on his outer chest pocket. He was still wearing the shop’s complimentary house slippers. “Are you all right, Mikado-san? You’ve been very quiet.”
Miwa smiled. It was funny he should feel she had spoken too little. “I think it might be best if I just stay innocuous, and try not to attract attention to myself.”
“But the people here know who you are.” He shrugged. “Or at least, who you’re not. They’ve had to take Setsu-san’s measurements, after all. I admire your dedication, but I think it’s hardly necessary.”
“Yes, well.” Miwa bit her lip, and looked outside the large shop windows. Through the designer blinds, she could see the cameraman was still there. “There’s a paparazzo outside. Is that all right?”
“It’s fine.” Aiba Masaki smiles as he sits on her other side, his suit reflective black, his leather shoes only half-laced. “That’s what we’re here for, right? We’re making a statement that we’re all for Sho-chan’s marriage.”
Miwa could only stare as Aiba hunched over his shoelaces. A few feet away from them, Matsumoto Jun and Ninomiya Kazunari were having a whispered conversation, their hands on their patterned ties, the styling assistants standing at attention a short way away. Aiba straightened up, blinking as he stared back at Miwa.
She blinked. Even with a pair of oversized sunglasses shielding her, she felt vulnerable to all of them.
“Why are you staring at me, Miwa-chan?” Aiba didn’t seem offended, but his tone indicated he would not let her off easily. “Doesn’t my outfit suit me? And I thought it fit me best, too.”
Miwa shook her head. “I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised to hear you speaking so pragmatically, Aiba-san. It’s rare to find you being so…”
“Sensible?” Ninomiya supplied from his spot by the floor-length dressing mirrors, smirking faintly. “I don’t blame you.”
“Rational.” Miwa nodded for emphasis. “I’ve never heard you speak so rationally, Aiba-san.”
“But it’s true!” Aiba exclaimed, raising his hands slightly in agitation. “There’s no point to what we’re doing! We’re inconveniencing so many people just to get this ‘promotional event’ going. I’m shocked Sho-chan is actually putting up with this-”
“But if it puts Sakurai-san’s mind at ease-”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Miwa-chan.” Aiba clutched her hand, and drew near in an effort to explain. Miwa fell slightly back. “Sho-chan wants to get married as swiftly as possible. These paparazzi, these crazy public shows of support, they’re not for him or Setsu-chan. They’re for the Agency.”
“I’m aware. Mikata-san informed me.” Miwa’s fists clenched as she remembered the matter-of-fact way Sakurai’s manager had briefed her before she had been forced into her stuffy mink coat. “The Agency wants to make Sakurai-san’s wedding as casualty-free as possible, so they’re trying to break the news as gently as they can. No surprises.”
“No surprises, yes.” Ohno repeated as Aiba cursed under his breath. “As long as there are bits of information about this wedding, the management thinks the actual event won’t be as shocking as it might be if it were to happen unannounced and unanticipated. Based on previous Johnny’s marriages, that is. Do you agree, Mikado-san?”
Miwa frowned. The management’s idea had merit. Had she been an ordinary fan, however, the daily snippets of the Sakurai-Komada nuptials that were being fed into tabloids would undoubtedly drive her insane in the worst possible way. Maybe Akanishi Jin wasn’t so nuts after all. “I’m afraid I don’t agree with it fully.”
Ohno nodded. “Not all of us agree with the management’s decision, too. But there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Not to mention, they’re dragging outsiders into the fiasco.” Ninomiya Kazunari had joined them, ambling forwards to settle beside Ohno. He was in a pinstriped grayish suit, and as he sat, he patted Ohno’s back. “Your shoes are ready.”
“What do you mean by that, Ninomiya-san?”
“Take for example, yourself.” Ninomiya extended a hand toward her, as though both to illustrate a point and to reach out to her feelings. “You are a very good example, Mikado-chan. You’re a huge fan of Sho-chan, aren’t you? And don’t try to deny it,” he raised a hand as Miwa started to open her mouth. “We’ve all read your fan fiction. You’re very imaginative.”
He flicked away a speck of dirt on his lapel, and in his eyes, Miwa saw he was struggling to find the right words to say next. “Mikado-chan, I’ll be honest. We don’t think it’s good for you to be here.”
“Mikata-san said the same thing. Why?”
“Well, this mission is being carried out to protect our fans from being hurt, right?” Aiba was holding her hand again, earnestly attempting to look past her sunglasses as though he could meet her eyes. “We think there’s nothing but heartache at the end of this mission for you, Miwa-chan-”
“Don’t put it so sentimentally.” Ninomiya chuckled. “But that pretty much encapsulates what the four of us think about this. Sho probably feels the same.”
He suddenly looked up, stared at her face, and smiled gently. “It’s not that we don’t want you here, Mikado-chan. We’re very thankful you’re doing this. Sincerely. We are.”
She felt awfully conflicted. She always felt this way as she neared the end of Arashi concert reruns, when the members would thank all their fans, and express their unending gratitude in the most awkward, most moving ways. “It’s my pleasure, Ninomiya-san. Anything for Arashi.”
Aiba and Ninomiya had the discretion to glance away as she reached under her sunglasses to wipe away a tear. “In any case, I’m sure Komada-san has reasons for not being here. I’m sure she wants to support Sakurai-san as much as she can, too, only it’s difficult for her-”
“If she can’t be by his side now, what is there to guarantee she’ll stay by his side forever?” Matsumoto let his hands fall to his sides as he turned to meet Miwa’s eyes. “That’s all there is to it, Mikado-san. If she’s serious about this marriage, why do you have to be here in her stead?”
There was nothing she could say to that. And so Miwa chose to bite her tongue and clutch her silk skirt, the members around her dejectedly gathering to form a small circle in the middle of the shop. There were no other customers. Miwa suspected their future meetings would be an endless series of arguments, just like this.
She raised a hand to her throbbing temple. There were still three months left.
“-yes, I understand.” Sakurai Sho came out of a private dressing room, followed by the shop’s main designer and an entourage of uniformly wavy-haired women with a collective average heel height of four inches. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting. This is my battle gear. What do you think?”
She had seen him wear so many suits in so many years. It was as though the tough yet pliable fabric so preferred by the clones of Armani was almost a part of his skin, himself. Yet as he stood before her, hands on his sides, a large smile on his face, she knew she knew barely anything about him. Years of idol-worship for this man, and he still threw her senses off balance. She could feel the air rushing out of her lungs in one breath.
He was grinning at her now, and despite the silence that had overcome her hearing, she could sense her feet moving on their own accord, gently inching forward in the daintiest shoes she had ever been prevailed upon to wear. Before she noticed, his hands had fallen to his sides, but that wide smile was still on his face. Her lips were slowly stretching into a hesitant smile. Her fingers slowly rose to fix his already-perfect tie.
As his smile brightened even further, she caught a glint of carefree happiness in his eyes. Against her back, the vivid flash of a camera momentarily stilled the room.
He briefly brushed his fingers against hers, and she chose to forget everything.
A/N
Mush. So much mush. I might have eaten too much shrimp for Christmas dinner. I’m not thinking straight. [17.59, 26 December 2012]