Let Me Be The One To Say Goodbye
Title: Let Me Be The One To Say Goodbye
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho (broken)
Summary: For the past six or seven months, he and Sho have tried to part ways.
Notes/Warnings: Christmas Troll here, ho ho ho. Yeah, sorry but this is breakup fic because I have bad timing and I've always kind of wanted to tackle this topic with Sakumoto's special brand of awkward. So really, you're thoroughly warned. Inspiration from the song "Lovers to Friends" from Icona Pop, so please blame the song/the shuffle function on my iPod.
Let's just do it one last time
Let me be the one to say goodbye
From lovers to friends
-Icona Pop, "Lovers to Friends"
--
"You don't have to give it back," he tells Sho as soon as he feels the cold metal in his palm. It's cold like the winter night outside, covered with some grayish blue lint from Sho's coat pocket.
"Feels more official that way, I guess," Sho points out, arranging his shoes neatly and taking more time than necessary to do so.
Jun moves into the living room with a nod, leaving the spare in the small dish on the side table that holds the rest of his keys. He supposes he should give his own spare to Sho's place back. Jun's surprised he didn't even account for this little detail - he makes a mental note to slip the key into Sho's jacket before he leaves in the morning.
Sho's face is red from being outside, and Jun watches him absent-mindedly pat his cheeks to try and warm them back up. Sho trails him silently into the kitchen. It's not as awkward as it could be, but that's because Jun's picked up the Russian beer Sho likes from the import store. He grabs one for each of them, popping the tops off and handing one over.
Sho smiles weakly as they clink the bottles together. "Cheers, then."
For the past six or seven months, he and Sho have tried to part ways. Of course, because of Arashi, it's been a complicated road. But they've always been prone to starts and stops anyhow. The night time calls of adolescence gradually led to experimentation. The long years in unavoidable proximity turned experimentation into a thing of convenience. But never necessity, never something they could be open and honest about. At least not for Sho, anyway.
After so many years of hiding it, stifling it, pretending to forget it, Jun had been the one to propose an ending. They've always been adept at separating their public and private personas, and he thinks it's best they finally draw a line, revert to their professional relationship and keep it that way. Jun's tired of the inconsistency. They're getting too old for it.
That Sho's been the hesitant one has been the biggest surprise. "We don't have to shut the door on this," he's been saying for months. But Sho has more commitments than Jun will ever know. To work, to family, to friends. It's best for Sho in the long run to not have the complication of Jun in his life. Jun's known Sho since he was in junior high. If there's one thing Sho's never struggled with, it's finding someone to sleep with.
Sho will get over it.
They move from the kitchen to Jun's sofa, instinctually sitting side by side and yet at the edge of their respective cushions to keep a safe distance. Close but never close enough, Jun's always known. Finally he's in a place where he can admit that "never close enough" is not what he wants to deal with any longer.
He finds himself watching Sho out of the corner of his eye, the variety show on TV keeping his attention despite the volume being down so low. Sho's gaze remains on the screen until the commercials roll, and then he's off, eyes darting from the rug on the floor to the bowl of oranges on the table, from the throw pillow in his grasp to the pattern of Jun's pajama bottoms. Sho takes a video camera on every vacation, editing his own movies so he can watch them again, remember the feelings of that time, of that place he'll probably never see again in person.
Tonight Sho has no video camera. His eyes will have to suffice.
Jun sets his beer on the coaster and waits for Sho to move. It doesn't take long, just until the next commercial break. Then Sho's turning on his couch cushion, and Jun closes his eyes when he first feels Sho's breath against his ear, along his neck, and back up to his jawline. Sho smells like the beer he loves and the cologne Jun loves. The sentimental prick, Jun thinks with a sigh, patiently allowing Sho to take his last taste.
Thankfully, Sho's touch is confident. His hands aren't shaking, he's not a blubbering mess. It gives Jun the strength to turn his head, find Sho's mouth with his own. Like Sho, Jun will get over this in time. But he has to admit that kissing Sho and being kissed by Sho, he'll miss it. Maybe allowing this, making it one of the terms of the agreement, was a poor decision.
He won't touch Sho like this, never again, and so his fingers are forceful, holding Sho's face in his hands, sliding them back to tangle in Sho's hair. In endless photoshoots they'll have their arms around one another, but it will never return to this. Jun's insisted, after all, and Sho's promised to respect it.
He's not sure who starts to get up from the sofa first, but the costly import beers stay on their coasters and the TV is abandoned. There's a list on Jun's phone, and one of the requirements is that the bed sheets be washed as soon as Sho leaves in the morning. There's less probability of Jun smelling him on the pillows, in the blankets, if he's hasty. Erases the evidence.
Sho showers first while Jun stands in the middle of the bedroom, fingers to his neck and the already fading sensation of Sho's mouth there. Sho emerges in a towel, and it's enough to weaken Jun's resolve. But he'll have to get used to it, Sho at a concert venue after a live - just another one of the guys. He pushes himself into the bathroom, the warm water circling the drain as he braces his hands against the shower tile, reassuring himself that he won't have to endure any more nights like this. No more nights where Sho might turn up unannounced, promising more and never delivering on it.
Sho looks way younger when Jun comes back and finds him waiting patiently on the bed, all damp hair and bright eyes. There was a time when this was just beginning, Jun remembers. When all the excitement derived from keeping it secret. There was also a middle, a long confusing middle of waking up by himself in hotels on tour, of waiting alone for a call that never came. And now it's the end.
They've been Arashi so long that it only makes sense to janken for it, and it's decided that Jun will make Sho come first. He's so slow about it that Sho's whimpering, wordlessly begging before Jun's so much as slipped a finger inside him. Instead Jun lazily says goodbye with a kiss to Sho's fingers, the palms of his hands, his wrists, inside his elbows. From his collarbone to his hipbone. Teasing, probably torturing. He has to tell Sho to relax when he strokes inside him, puts his mouth around him.
Sho's aching for Jun to fuck him, crudely demanding it when he arches up off the mattress and Jun feels Sho's release coat his tongue moments later. In their discussions, their negotiations more like, Sho had been inclined to stay on his back. Maybe in hopes of Jun taking a long, loving look into his eyes and deciding to postpone once again.
Sho's limbs are weary, heavy, and oh so very Sho-like, but Jun gets him to turn over. Jun will come on his own terms tonight. He tries to stay detached as he rolls on a condom, scratches his fingers down Sho's back, ignores Sho's low, desperate cries of "fuck me, please fuck me" in favor of taking it slow and easy.
It'll sink in tomorrow, Jun thinks. For Sho. For himself, too, but for now all he knows is that he wants this, wants to end on a high note of sorts. Sho's pushing his ass back, wanting as much of Jun inside him as he can bear. Wanting this, wanting Sho, always was the easy part. He knows indentations of his fingernails will stick with Sho through tomorrow. While Jun's doing laundry in the morning, comforting himself with the sheets tumbling away Sho's scent, he knows Sho will still have evidence of Jun's presence on his skin. It's kind of cruel.
Any high-level thought processes erode as Jun's singular focus becomes Sho, the sight of his dark hair against the lighter-colored sheets, the beads of sweat on his back. Sho's muffled sounds of pleasure despite the circumstances. It's all too easy to think "maybe...maybe I'll give him one more chance" when he's about to come. Instead he closes his eyes, shuts off his brain, and lets go.
Sho's allowed to sleep over because Jun's not the type to kick someone out after, even if Sho's always been amazing at coming up with excuses over the years. He does, however, leave Sho in his bed and takes a blanket and pillow to the sofa. He falls asleep staring at the faint outline of the beer bottles on his table.
--
Breakfast is not much more than rice, miso soup, and strong coffee, and Sho mumbles out a "thanks, but you didn't have to..." when he sits down at the table. They eat together quietly, and Jun's already slipped his spare key into Sho's jacket. This is abnormal, breakfast the morning after, since Sho usually had a reason or five to leave before he could be accused of settling in, taking what they had beyond the bedroom into anything resembling normalcy.
Not that he or Sho will ever really experience "normal" so long as they're alive and Japan knows their names. Jun supposes that's what really kept Sho from giving them a chance at something more all these years. His fear always won out.
Sho sets down his chopsticks, his eyes betraying his confusion, his worry. Does he clear his place, bring his empty bowls to the kitchen? Does Jun clean it up? If he's done with breakfast, does he have to leave?
Jun solves the problem by getting to his feet, stacking Sho's empty bowls with his own and carrying them into the kitchen, busying himself with rinsing them noisily. This gives Sho an opening to get his jacket, lace up his sneakers, adjust his scarf to "idol in disguise" perfection.
By the time Jun returns from the kitchen, Sho's standing there like a boy waiting for his mother to walk him to school. His eyes are tired. He probably got as little sleep as Jun did out in the living room, staring at the ceiling and knowing it's just too late. It hurts, it really does, but Jun's been hurt before. He knows how this goes. He puts on a strong front. "Did you want any of it back?" Jun asks. "The pencil case you got me? Any of the others?"
Sho looks insulted at the question. "Those were gifts."
Expensive gifts though, Jun thinks. Add them all together and it still wouldn't come close to the worth of Sho simply being there. Sho would buy a hundred pencil cases before saying "I love you."
And that's why Jun needs him to go.
Sho makes to lean in, like maybe a kiss will change Jun's mind after all this. Jun's tempted by it, if only because it's being so freely offered for once. Instead he stands his ground. Sho just nods in understanding, rocking back on his heels before undoing the chain and pushing open the door.
Jun locks it behind him and heads for the kitchen first. He pours the rest of the beers down the drain, tossing the bottles in the recycling. He goes to the bathroom next. Sho's already gone ahead and dumped the toothbrush he'd used in the trash can. And finally the bedroom, the sheets.
The water churns in the washing machine, and Jun shuts his eyes, listens to it hum. Tomorrow he'll go into work. Sho will be completely professional. Jun will be completely professional.
And then they'll go home alone.
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho (broken)
Summary: For the past six or seven months, he and Sho have tried to part ways.
Notes/Warnings: Christmas Troll here, ho ho ho. Yeah, sorry but this is breakup fic because I have bad timing and I've always kind of wanted to tackle this topic with Sakumoto's special brand of awkward. So really, you're thoroughly warned. Inspiration from the song "Lovers to Friends" from Icona Pop, so please blame the song/the shuffle function on my iPod.
Let's just do it one last time
Let me be the one to say goodbye
From lovers to friends
-Icona Pop, "Lovers to Friends"
--
"You don't have to give it back," he tells Sho as soon as he feels the cold metal in his palm. It's cold like the winter night outside, covered with some grayish blue lint from Sho's coat pocket.
"Feels more official that way, I guess," Sho points out, arranging his shoes neatly and taking more time than necessary to do so.
Jun moves into the living room with a nod, leaving the spare in the small dish on the side table that holds the rest of his keys. He supposes he should give his own spare to Sho's place back. Jun's surprised he didn't even account for this little detail - he makes a mental note to slip the key into Sho's jacket before he leaves in the morning.
Sho's face is red from being outside, and Jun watches him absent-mindedly pat his cheeks to try and warm them back up. Sho trails him silently into the kitchen. It's not as awkward as it could be, but that's because Jun's picked up the Russian beer Sho likes from the import store. He grabs one for each of them, popping the tops off and handing one over.
Sho smiles weakly as they clink the bottles together. "Cheers, then."
For the past six or seven months, he and Sho have tried to part ways. Of course, because of Arashi, it's been a complicated road. But they've always been prone to starts and stops anyhow. The night time calls of adolescence gradually led to experimentation. The long years in unavoidable proximity turned experimentation into a thing of convenience. But never necessity, never something they could be open and honest about. At least not for Sho, anyway.
After so many years of hiding it, stifling it, pretending to forget it, Jun had been the one to propose an ending. They've always been adept at separating their public and private personas, and he thinks it's best they finally draw a line, revert to their professional relationship and keep it that way. Jun's tired of the inconsistency. They're getting too old for it.
That Sho's been the hesitant one has been the biggest surprise. "We don't have to shut the door on this," he's been saying for months. But Sho has more commitments than Jun will ever know. To work, to family, to friends. It's best for Sho in the long run to not have the complication of Jun in his life. Jun's known Sho since he was in junior high. If there's one thing Sho's never struggled with, it's finding someone to sleep with.
Sho will get over it.
They move from the kitchen to Jun's sofa, instinctually sitting side by side and yet at the edge of their respective cushions to keep a safe distance. Close but never close enough, Jun's always known. Finally he's in a place where he can admit that "never close enough" is not what he wants to deal with any longer.
He finds himself watching Sho out of the corner of his eye, the variety show on TV keeping his attention despite the volume being down so low. Sho's gaze remains on the screen until the commercials roll, and then he's off, eyes darting from the rug on the floor to the bowl of oranges on the table, from the throw pillow in his grasp to the pattern of Jun's pajama bottoms. Sho takes a video camera on every vacation, editing his own movies so he can watch them again, remember the feelings of that time, of that place he'll probably never see again in person.
Tonight Sho has no video camera. His eyes will have to suffice.
Jun sets his beer on the coaster and waits for Sho to move. It doesn't take long, just until the next commercial break. Then Sho's turning on his couch cushion, and Jun closes his eyes when he first feels Sho's breath against his ear, along his neck, and back up to his jawline. Sho smells like the beer he loves and the cologne Jun loves. The sentimental prick, Jun thinks with a sigh, patiently allowing Sho to take his last taste.
Thankfully, Sho's touch is confident. His hands aren't shaking, he's not a blubbering mess. It gives Jun the strength to turn his head, find Sho's mouth with his own. Like Sho, Jun will get over this in time. But he has to admit that kissing Sho and being kissed by Sho, he'll miss it. Maybe allowing this, making it one of the terms of the agreement, was a poor decision.
He won't touch Sho like this, never again, and so his fingers are forceful, holding Sho's face in his hands, sliding them back to tangle in Sho's hair. In endless photoshoots they'll have their arms around one another, but it will never return to this. Jun's insisted, after all, and Sho's promised to respect it.
He's not sure who starts to get up from the sofa first, but the costly import beers stay on their coasters and the TV is abandoned. There's a list on Jun's phone, and one of the requirements is that the bed sheets be washed as soon as Sho leaves in the morning. There's less probability of Jun smelling him on the pillows, in the blankets, if he's hasty. Erases the evidence.
Sho showers first while Jun stands in the middle of the bedroom, fingers to his neck and the already fading sensation of Sho's mouth there. Sho emerges in a towel, and it's enough to weaken Jun's resolve. But he'll have to get used to it, Sho at a concert venue after a live - just another one of the guys. He pushes himself into the bathroom, the warm water circling the drain as he braces his hands against the shower tile, reassuring himself that he won't have to endure any more nights like this. No more nights where Sho might turn up unannounced, promising more and never delivering on it.
Sho looks way younger when Jun comes back and finds him waiting patiently on the bed, all damp hair and bright eyes. There was a time when this was just beginning, Jun remembers. When all the excitement derived from keeping it secret. There was also a middle, a long confusing middle of waking up by himself in hotels on tour, of waiting alone for a call that never came. And now it's the end.
They've been Arashi so long that it only makes sense to janken for it, and it's decided that Jun will make Sho come first. He's so slow about it that Sho's whimpering, wordlessly begging before Jun's so much as slipped a finger inside him. Instead Jun lazily says goodbye with a kiss to Sho's fingers, the palms of his hands, his wrists, inside his elbows. From his collarbone to his hipbone. Teasing, probably torturing. He has to tell Sho to relax when he strokes inside him, puts his mouth around him.
Sho's aching for Jun to fuck him, crudely demanding it when he arches up off the mattress and Jun feels Sho's release coat his tongue moments later. In their discussions, their negotiations more like, Sho had been inclined to stay on his back. Maybe in hopes of Jun taking a long, loving look into his eyes and deciding to postpone once again.
Sho's limbs are weary, heavy, and oh so very Sho-like, but Jun gets him to turn over. Jun will come on his own terms tonight. He tries to stay detached as he rolls on a condom, scratches his fingers down Sho's back, ignores Sho's low, desperate cries of "fuck me, please fuck me" in favor of taking it slow and easy.
It'll sink in tomorrow, Jun thinks. For Sho. For himself, too, but for now all he knows is that he wants this, wants to end on a high note of sorts. Sho's pushing his ass back, wanting as much of Jun inside him as he can bear. Wanting this, wanting Sho, always was the easy part. He knows indentations of his fingernails will stick with Sho through tomorrow. While Jun's doing laundry in the morning, comforting himself with the sheets tumbling away Sho's scent, he knows Sho will still have evidence of Jun's presence on his skin. It's kind of cruel.
Any high-level thought processes erode as Jun's singular focus becomes Sho, the sight of his dark hair against the lighter-colored sheets, the beads of sweat on his back. Sho's muffled sounds of pleasure despite the circumstances. It's all too easy to think "maybe...maybe I'll give him one more chance" when he's about to come. Instead he closes his eyes, shuts off his brain, and lets go.
Sho's allowed to sleep over because Jun's not the type to kick someone out after, even if Sho's always been amazing at coming up with excuses over the years. He does, however, leave Sho in his bed and takes a blanket and pillow to the sofa. He falls asleep staring at the faint outline of the beer bottles on his table.
--
Breakfast is not much more than rice, miso soup, and strong coffee, and Sho mumbles out a "thanks, but you didn't have to..." when he sits down at the table. They eat together quietly, and Jun's already slipped his spare key into Sho's jacket. This is abnormal, breakfast the morning after, since Sho usually had a reason or five to leave before he could be accused of settling in, taking what they had beyond the bedroom into anything resembling normalcy.
Not that he or Sho will ever really experience "normal" so long as they're alive and Japan knows their names. Jun supposes that's what really kept Sho from giving them a chance at something more all these years. His fear always won out.
Sho sets down his chopsticks, his eyes betraying his confusion, his worry. Does he clear his place, bring his empty bowls to the kitchen? Does Jun clean it up? If he's done with breakfast, does he have to leave?
Jun solves the problem by getting to his feet, stacking Sho's empty bowls with his own and carrying them into the kitchen, busying himself with rinsing them noisily. This gives Sho an opening to get his jacket, lace up his sneakers, adjust his scarf to "idol in disguise" perfection.
By the time Jun returns from the kitchen, Sho's standing there like a boy waiting for his mother to walk him to school. His eyes are tired. He probably got as little sleep as Jun did out in the living room, staring at the ceiling and knowing it's just too late. It hurts, it really does, but Jun's been hurt before. He knows how this goes. He puts on a strong front. "Did you want any of it back?" Jun asks. "The pencil case you got me? Any of the others?"
Sho looks insulted at the question. "Those were gifts."
Expensive gifts though, Jun thinks. Add them all together and it still wouldn't come close to the worth of Sho simply being there. Sho would buy a hundred pencil cases before saying "I love you."
And that's why Jun needs him to go.
Sho makes to lean in, like maybe a kiss will change Jun's mind after all this. Jun's tempted by it, if only because it's being so freely offered for once. Instead he stands his ground. Sho just nods in understanding, rocking back on his heels before undoing the chain and pushing open the door.
Jun locks it behind him and heads for the kitchen first. He pours the rest of the beers down the drain, tossing the bottles in the recycling. He goes to the bathroom next. Sho's already gone ahead and dumped the toothbrush he'd used in the trash can. And finally the bedroom, the sheets.
The water churns in the washing machine, and Jun shuts his eyes, listens to it hum. Tomorrow he'll go into work. Sho will be completely professional. Jun will be completely professional.
And then they'll go home alone.