[13/16] 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
[00.11, 27 October 2013] Photographs and Memories is a song by Jim Croce. It’s a wonderful BGM to this chapter. And lovely beta ianne_xxyl is lovely.
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 1,274
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Twelve
Photographs and Memories
The second week of February
Sakurai Sho looked at the cardboard boxes strewn around them. Most had been taped shut and labeled - Plates, Books, Clothes. The rest had an assortment of possessions spilling out of them into the wooden floor - a stuffed toy here and there, a pillow, a curtain. He frowned as he took a sip of his tea. “You sure found a buyer fast. You’re moving out pretty quickly, too.”
Mikado Miwa spared him a quick glance before smiling to reply, “The house is sitting on prime commercial space. It’s a shame they’re going to have to tear parts of it down after I leave, but-”
Sakurai suddenly put his cup down with remarkable force. His face was tight. “I understand why you didn’t accept the money the Agency offered you, but I still don’t believe it. If you had that, you wouldn’t have had to sell the house - just think of the generations that lived here-”
“It would have been too expensive to maintain in the long run. It’s all wood, you see. And since my sister isn’t planning to return to Japan-” She ran a finger over her warm cup, watching the steam rise softly over her tea. “The truth is it’s too big to live in alone.”
Their eyes met briefly as she made the mistake of glancing at him. With a nervous chuckle, she asked as nonchalantly as she could, “What brings you here?”
He blinked at her for a moment, his left eyebrow half-raised as though he wanted to tell her a damaging truth that was on his mind. She had seen that indecisive expression on his face before, in some of his most pensive moments. It was one of the things about him she would most miss.
Instead, he pulled something out of his backpack, hesitating. “I brought you some stationery.” Sakurai cleared his throat. “In case you decide to, you know, really go about with your search for a hobby. I hope you’ll get to use these. And - if you want - you can send me a postcard each New Year’s. You know my address, right?”
He unraveled rolls of tape and lace on the table and proceeded to take more packets of specialty paper from his bag.
For a moment, Miwa forgot how she had been told to stay away from him - how she had told herself to stay away from him. She smiled. “Thank you, Sho-san.”
Almost shyly, Sakurai smiled back at her. Like hers, his eyes were darting all over the place. He cleared his throat again and slid a small manila envelope towards her across the table. Miwa stared at it, wondering if it contained the money from his Agency she had refused a week ago.
He ran a hand over his nose. “I heard you didn’t accept the money. But I don’t think it’s fair for your help to be uncompensated-”
“You mean this is money?” Miwa asked incredulously, pointing at the envelope.
“Open it,” Sakurai urged, draining the last of his tea. “And try not to judge me.”
With a suspicious look at his decidedly blank face, Miwa gently pulled out the contents of the envelope. They were photos in various sizes. There was a little boy sitting in a playground, his cheeks round and his smile bright. The same boy, slightly older, with a blue cap jammed over his head, his hands on the bright red handlebars of his bike. A man, raising a can of beer up at her, his eyes vivid with happiness. Miwa turned the photos over. 17 August 1984 - First trip to Izu. 4 May 1992 - A picnic with the Furutas. 21 December 2009 - Celebrating the birth of Ryu’s first son.
There were 32 photos in all. Each for a year of his life.
He was scratching the side of his face. “My mother likes to label our photos. I inherited the habit. And anyway, I was thinking… you collect shop photos, don’t you?”
“I mean,” Sakurai put his teacup aside and brought his arms together before him on the low table, “I’m not sure you do, but I’m assuming that’s what fans do so - Maybe if you think of them as shop photos we’re even. They’re extra limited edition, too. You can’t get those anywhere else - I even had to steal some from the family albums-”
Dazed, Miwa laid the photos on top of her new stationery. “You are so vain.”
Sakurai had the grace to look chagrined as he restlessly tapped the tabletop with his finger. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Miwa shook her head. Her vision seemed to be failing. There was an odd thumping around her temples.
“I’m sure you know by now, right?” Miwa slowly raised a pale hand and took his empty cup to pour him more tea. She looked up to find his face blank. “I like you. I always have.”
She carefully placed the cup next to his arms, still linked on the table. The two of them quietly stared down at it. “You’ve probably heard this from other people before, but I don’t care. I don’t even care if you’ve worked it out for yourself. Surely, you must have. Because at the end of the day, that’s what a fan is. Someone who loves you no matter what. And I’m still your fan.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Arashi’s, too, of course.”
Sakurai smiled thinly as he slowly enclosed the cup in his hands. “I do know that. I get a lot of confessions, you know. I’m told that pretty often.” He raised the cup to his lips. “But I don’t always feel it.”
She replaced her mother’s favorite porcelain pot on its tray. Her own cup, half-empty, was still steaming.
“I’m going to start working on a new scrapbook,” she declared, gathering the photos and putting them in a neat pile on top of the manila envelope. As Sakurai watched, she flipped the stationery over, choosing between the various paper samples and accessories. “It’s going to be red, in celebration of tomorrow being Valentine’s Day,” she nodded at him, and he raised his cup and an eyebrow in accession, “even though it’s also in commemoration of my broken heart.”
Her eyes felt so dry.
Sakurai put his cup down and softly said, “I’m going to help.”
He reached for the nearest pair of his scissors. She instantly swatted his hand away. “You’re going to ruin my scrapbook.”
He pulled a face. She smiled. “You can play with the washi tape.”
A/N
[21.29, 31 October 2013] Happy Halloween!
[22.14, 30 December 2013] Happy New Year!
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
[00.11, 27 October 2013] Photographs and Memories is a song by Jim Croce. It’s a wonderful BGM to this chapter. And lovely beta ianne_xxyl is lovely.
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 1,274
Lifetimes
For Arashi
Episode Twelve
Photographs and Memories
The second week of February
Sakurai Sho looked at the cardboard boxes strewn around them. Most had been taped shut and labeled - Plates, Books, Clothes. The rest had an assortment of possessions spilling out of them into the wooden floor - a stuffed toy here and there, a pillow, a curtain. He frowned as he took a sip of his tea. “You sure found a buyer fast. You’re moving out pretty quickly, too.”
Mikado Miwa spared him a quick glance before smiling to reply, “The house is sitting on prime commercial space. It’s a shame they’re going to have to tear parts of it down after I leave, but-”
Sakurai suddenly put his cup down with remarkable force. His face was tight. “I understand why you didn’t accept the money the Agency offered you, but I still don’t believe it. If you had that, you wouldn’t have had to sell the house - just think of the generations that lived here-”
“It would have been too expensive to maintain in the long run. It’s all wood, you see. And since my sister isn’t planning to return to Japan-” She ran a finger over her warm cup, watching the steam rise softly over her tea. “The truth is it’s too big to live in alone.”
Their eyes met briefly as she made the mistake of glancing at him. With a nervous chuckle, she asked as nonchalantly as she could, “What brings you here?”
He blinked at her for a moment, his left eyebrow half-raised as though he wanted to tell her a damaging truth that was on his mind. She had seen that indecisive expression on his face before, in some of his most pensive moments. It was one of the things about him she would most miss.
Instead, he pulled something out of his backpack, hesitating. “I brought you some stationery.” Sakurai cleared his throat. “In case you decide to, you know, really go about with your search for a hobby. I hope you’ll get to use these. And - if you want - you can send me a postcard each New Year’s. You know my address, right?”
He unraveled rolls of tape and lace on the table and proceeded to take more packets of specialty paper from his bag.
For a moment, Miwa forgot how she had been told to stay away from him - how she had told herself to stay away from him. She smiled. “Thank you, Sho-san.”
Almost shyly, Sakurai smiled back at her. Like hers, his eyes were darting all over the place. He cleared his throat again and slid a small manila envelope towards her across the table. Miwa stared at it, wondering if it contained the money from his Agency she had refused a week ago.
He ran a hand over his nose. “I heard you didn’t accept the money. But I don’t think it’s fair for your help to be uncompensated-”
“You mean this is money?” Miwa asked incredulously, pointing at the envelope.
“Open it,” Sakurai urged, draining the last of his tea. “And try not to judge me.”
With a suspicious look at his decidedly blank face, Miwa gently pulled out the contents of the envelope. They were photos in various sizes. There was a little boy sitting in a playground, his cheeks round and his smile bright. The same boy, slightly older, with a blue cap jammed over his head, his hands on the bright red handlebars of his bike. A man, raising a can of beer up at her, his eyes vivid with happiness. Miwa turned the photos over. 17 August 1984 - First trip to Izu. 4 May 1992 - A picnic with the Furutas. 21 December 2009 - Celebrating the birth of Ryu’s first son.
There were 32 photos in all. Each for a year of his life.
He was scratching the side of his face. “My mother likes to label our photos. I inherited the habit. And anyway, I was thinking… you collect shop photos, don’t you?”
“I mean,” Sakurai put his teacup aside and brought his arms together before him on the low table, “I’m not sure you do, but I’m assuming that’s what fans do so - Maybe if you think of them as shop photos we’re even. They’re extra limited edition, too. You can’t get those anywhere else - I even had to steal some from the family albums-”
Dazed, Miwa laid the photos on top of her new stationery. “You are so vain.”
Sakurai had the grace to look chagrined as he restlessly tapped the tabletop with his finger. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Miwa shook her head. Her vision seemed to be failing. There was an odd thumping around her temples.
“I’m sure you know by now, right?” Miwa slowly raised a pale hand and took his empty cup to pour him more tea. She looked up to find his face blank. “I like you. I always have.”
She carefully placed the cup next to his arms, still linked on the table. The two of them quietly stared down at it. “You’ve probably heard this from other people before, but I don’t care. I don’t even care if you’ve worked it out for yourself. Surely, you must have. Because at the end of the day, that’s what a fan is. Someone who loves you no matter what. And I’m still your fan.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Arashi’s, too, of course.”
Sakurai smiled thinly as he slowly enclosed the cup in his hands. “I do know that. I get a lot of confessions, you know. I’m told that pretty often.” He raised the cup to his lips. “But I don’t always feel it.”
She replaced her mother’s favorite porcelain pot on its tray. Her own cup, half-empty, was still steaming.
“I’m going to start working on a new scrapbook,” she declared, gathering the photos and putting them in a neat pile on top of the manila envelope. As Sakurai watched, she flipped the stationery over, choosing between the various paper samples and accessories. “It’s going to be red, in celebration of tomorrow being Valentine’s Day,” she nodded at him, and he raised his cup and an eyebrow in accession, “even though it’s also in commemoration of my broken heart.”
Her eyes felt so dry.
Sakurai put his cup down and softly said, “I’m going to help.”
He reached for the nearest pair of his scissors. She instantly swatted his hand away. “You’re going to ruin my scrapbook.”
He pulled a face. She smiled. “You can play with the washi tape.”
A/N
[21.29, 31 October 2013] Happy Halloween!
[22.14, 30 December 2013] Happy New Year!