[big bang challenge] real enough, by krysyuy (part 1/2)
Title: Real Enough
Author: krysyuy
Artist: alienashi
Pairing: Kame/Junno, Kame drama characters/Junno drama characters (Bem/Araki, Hiroto/Seiji, Ryu/Saburo, Shuji/Bido, Kosaku/Hotta, Kyohei/Ranmaru)
Rating: R
Genre/Warning: Angst/Romance/Crossover
Wordcount: 17k~
Notes: I don't even know what to say, other than 'omg, I finished it'. I survived. Kinda. I'm not even sure what this turned out to be, so I can only hope at least some of you readers enjoy it, haha. ♥
Summary: Kame likes Junno. A lot. And that just won’t do. Except his subconscious disagrees, sending him dreams of peculiar what-ifs and what-could-bes. And when fantasy is the only way he’ll ever get what he wants, Kame finds it harder and harder to resist the temptation of escaping reality. After all, denial can only work for so long.
From his perch atop a sturdy tree branch, everything is quiet, save for the occasional rustle as the woodland creatures stir with the coming dawn. At times like this, it feels like he’s the only one in the world. It should be lonely, he supposes, but loneliness is something he’s all too familiar with.
He has Bela and Belo, their existences beyond precious to him, but even they cannot chase away the longing, the need for connection he feels so acutely in the early morning hours. These are the most dangerous times for his sanity, when they sleep and he is without Bela’s wry humor or Belo’s wide-eyed innocence to anchor him. He is left alone with only the whispering foliage for company and the memories of once again being rejected, driven away from their latest “home”.
The crunch of leaves below him is the faintest of sounds, and if he were normal, he would not have heard it. Tensing, he smoothly maneuvers into a crouch and spies on the human passing beneath his tree. The man’s brown hair is pulled into a tight topknot and his plain, dark robes would suggest he is a commoner if not for the katana thrust through the left side of his belt.
Samurai.
Bem’s hand tightens on his walking stick, eyes darting in the direction of where he and the others had made camp the night before. Their few run-ins with those members of the warrior class had taught them to avoid confrontation whenever possible. The man pauses, tilting his head as if listening for something, and Bem inadvertently holds his breath. But then the human is moving on, in the opposite direction of where Bela and Belo still sleep.
Bem doesn’t relax until the stranger is several yards away and he can no longer see him through the trees. He drops to the ground and is moving to adjust his hat when the sharpened edge of a long sword is held to his throat. Freezing, he looks out of the corner of his eye at the stern face of the samurai.
Bem thinks of his drop from the branch high above. Did he see…?
“Who are you?” the samurai demands. His grip is firm and the blade doesn’t waver.
“Bem,” he replies. He slowly lowers his hand to his side, not wanting to appear aggressive in any way.
“What are you?”
Bem closes his eyes, question answered. It also explained why the samurai had already drawn his sword, courtesy thrown to the wayside. “I mean no harm,” he says quietly.
“The village north of here,” the samurai states. “They claim three monsters meant to do them harm. That they had the ability to appear human, for purposes of trickery and deception. A man, a woman, a child.”
Years of having to suppress any strong emotion had taught Bem to show no outward reaction. Instead, he turns his head - again, very slowly - to lock eyes with the samurai. With the utmost sincerity, he once more states, “I mean no harm.”
The samurai’s expression reveals nothing, but then he sheathes his katana in one fluid movement. “Apologies,” he says with a slight bow.
Bem’s surprise must have been apparent because the stranger continues, “I don’t know what you are, but I can see that your intentions are pure. You are no monster.”
Bem tips his hat down so the brim hides his astonishment. No human has ever said that to him before, especially not one he just met. Flashes of the angry villagers and their cruel words pass through his head. “Don’t be so sure,” he murmurs.
The gentle touch on his shoulder makes Bem flinch out of reflex, but the friendly smile on the samurai’s face disarms him. “I’ve seen the darkness of men’s hearts,” the stranger says, “and I know that no such darkness has taken hold of you.”
Bem cannot believe this human had just been holding a sword to his throat. “You are… different.”
The samurai laughs, big and loud and warm, surprising Bem yet again by how pleasant it is to hear. “Am I?” he asks.
Bem nods once, pulling on the edge of his hat and avoiding eye contact.
“I am Araki Kakunoshin.”
Bem peeks out from under his brim to be met with a kind smile, unexpectedly struck by a yearning to see that smile always. “Bem,” he replies, not knowing what else to say.
“Yes, I know,” Araki says, chuckling. “Again, my apologies about before.”
The samurai looks truly regretful when he says it, and Bem is not sure how many more surprises will be foisted upon him. He has now been apologized to, not once but twice, while also being given the benefit of the doubt despite the fact that the samurai knew Bem wasn’t ordinary.
“Maybe our paths will cross again.” Araki bows once more.
Bem watches him go when he walks away, the distance growing with each passing second. He can count the number of humans that have accepted him and the others on one hand, and none of them are quite like Araki. Of its own accord, his arm reaches towards the samurai’s retreating back.
-
“… wait.”
Kame opens his eyes and finds his arm reaching towards the TV. The screen is stuck on the DVD menu with the music still looping. He lets his arm flop to the side where his hand lands on his discarded cell phone. Lifting it without much thought, he scrolls through the menu until he finds Taguchi’s name and presses ‘send’.
It’s only when he lifts the phone to his ear and hears the ringing that he comes to his senses. But it’s too late to do anything because Taguchi’s sleepy voice fills his ears.
“… Kame?” A yawn punctuates Taguchi’s questioning tone and Kame is reminded it’s the middle of the night.
“Taguchi?” he replies, bewildered and not quite believing he made this phone call.
They both pause. Kame is usually never at a loss for words, but what does one say after such a bizarre experience?
Hey, did you also happen to have a dream where the samurai you played in that one drama met the humanoid monster I’m playing again in a movie adaptation?
From the other end, Taguchi sounds a bit more alert but no less confused. “… did you need something?”
“No, I- you see, I had this dream- and, umm, well, it’s nothing. Okaygoodnight,” Kame finishes in a rush, hanging up. He stares as his phone blinks to indicate an ended call.
Maybe it was the tea? Kame glances at the now cold leftover tea on the coffee table. It nearly knocked him right out after the first few sips. Shaking his head, he picks up the Bem movie script and flips to the pages scheduled for filming that day.
There is no way he’s going to sleep again.
-
With his schedule full of nothing but Bem-related work, it’s a few days before there’s a KAT-TUN meeting to discuss the details of their upcoming single. He’s too busy to bother with dreading it, though when he’s finally settled in one of the agency conference rooms, he’s tenser than usual waiting for the others to arrive. He’s rereading the first sentence of a newspaper article for the sixth time when Taguchi’s voice bursts from the doorway.
“Good morning~” There’s scraping against the floor as Taguchi plops into the chair across from him.
Mumbling a reply, Kame lets the top of the newspaper droop backwards so he can peer over the edge. Ever the typical one, Taguchi has already pulled out his PSP and is absorbed in whatever game he’s acquired recently. He looks no different from the last time Kame saw him. Still the same two-tone hairstyle with the shock of blond at the top that Kame and the others had mercilessly teased him about a couple weeks prior. Same eyes, nose, mouth. Same old Taguchi. Nothing had changed.
So why did I dream of you?
Really, Kame blames his recent bouts of insomnia. If not for that, he would not have gone into the backlog of dramas he never had a chance to either watch or finish, and then he wouldn’t have stumbled across the episode his manager had burned for him of Taguchi’s guest appearance in Kochikame.
That plus the tea. It definitely had to be the tea.
“Hey, Kame?”
Blinking, Kame realizes he was staring, though Taguchi’s attention is thankfully on the black binder he pulled out of his bag. His left hand is still curled around his PSP, which Kame recognizes as one of his nervous tells. Taguchi holds on to it like it’s some sort of talisman that gives him strength.
“Hmm?” Kame waits for him to mention the phone call, but Taguchi knows how to surprise him.
“I was thinking I might ask to do the choreography this time around,” he says. He taps the cover of the binder. “I already have a few ideas…” The last time KAT-TUN had met, it was to record Fumetsu no Scrum in the studio, so they all had a rough copy. Taguchi looks up, unsure.
Taguchi doesn’t say it, but Kame knows he’s looking for approval. Taguchi is capable of being so much more, and Kame is glad to see him trying something new for the group. “I think that’s great,” he replies, meaning it.
The power of Taguchi’s smile is a thing to behold, particularly when on the receiving end of it. It’s a nice pleasant sort of rush, the kind that Kame hasn’t felt in weeks. He doesn’t think about why that is, instead choosing to bask in it and let it relax all the knots inside of him.
Kame holds out his hand. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the binder.
Taguchi nods, eager to show his ideas. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we heard the demo,” he explains.
Kame flips through the binder, seeing notes and diagram patterns. His lips twitch when he sees a ‘Kazuya here’ caption pointing to a little stick figure at the front of a V formation. There are little music doodles in the corners, and Kame can imagine Taguchi penciling them in while brainstorming.
“It’s very you,” Kame comments, acknowledging the big gestures and creative use of the body. There’s even a bit of complicated footwork, which is enough to challenge them but not enough to be too frustrating for the group as a whole. “The fans are going to love it.”
“You think?” Taguchi rarely second-guesses himself, so it’s unnerving to see him so hesitant.
“Please.” Kame scoffs. “They’ll eat it up.”
“Thanks,” Taguchi says, “I needed to hear that.” Sure enough, the smile on his face is not only appreciative, but relieved too. Then his eyebrows turn down and scrunch in that concerned way of his, and he asks, “You’re okay, right?”
Kame suddenly remembers that there was a phone call and a dream of samurais and humanoid monsters. Before he can say anything, Taguchi continues, “I mean, I’m not usually the one…”
You’re not usually the one I call. I’d call Koki or Nakamaru before I’d call you because our relationship doesn’t work that way.
The thought leaves him cold, driving away all the comfortable feelings from moments before. “I’m fine,” he says. Perfectly, perfectly fine. “It was just… one of those nights.”
“Yeah…” Taguchi nods slowly, as if trying to process his answer. “You know, I’ll be there if you ever need- if you ever want-”
“I’m fine, Taguchi,” Kame interrupts because there is nothing wrong. “Don’t worry about me.”
Taguchi’s voice is very quiet when he admits, “I can’t help it.”
Kame isn’t given a chance to deliberate on what that means, why it feels like his heart will stutter out of his chest, because the others come in, laughing and talking over each other.
“Taguchi, did you see this?” Koki slides a paper across the table. “It’s the results of some questionnaire Myojo put out last month. They want our comments on it.”
“Songs readers want to hear at our concerts,” Nakamaru explains, taking the seat next to Kame.
“I still can’t believe it,” Ueda says, pushing his sunglasses up his head as he slips next to Nakamaru.
“GIRLS is number five?!” The sound that comes out of Taguchi’s mouth is not unlike a fangirl shriek. They all wince and glare at him, and he lowers his voice to a much softer ecstatic whisper. “Number five?”
Eyes shining, he looks around at all of them excitedly. “They really love me,” he says with a self-satisfied grin.
“They love us,” Koki retorts, kicking his chair. “NTT, man. Who knew?”
“Wasn’t the questionnaire for KAT-TUN songs?” Kame asks, snagging the paper with the results. Harukana Yakusoku is number one, as expected, with even SWEET CHAIN and STAR RIDER making the list. But GIRLS?
“It was,” Ueda replies with a shrug. “Goes to show how much the fans want it.”
“I have to do a medley for the next concert,” Taguchi says, muttering to himself. “There’s no way they’ll forgive me if I don’t.” His head snaps up and he looks at Koki and Nakamaru with a pitiful expression.
Koki shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “The fans have spoken. Who am I to deny them what they want?”
“They’ll finally get to see the costumes I coordinated,” Nakamaru comments absentmindedly, already browsing through the talking points for their meeting.
“I knew NTT was a fantastic idea!” Any more gleeful and Taguchi would be bouncing off his seat. “Koki, we have to go over the choreography you did again, and Nakamaru-kun, we should-”
“You do realize our next concert won’t be until next year,” Nakamaru deadpans.
Nakamaru pointing out the obvious doesn’t discourage Taguchi. “Yeah, but-”
Kame tunes them out, in a worse mood than he was that morning.
I’m fine.
-
Hiroto hates the waiting part the most. Not the actual waiting itself, but what he sees during it. His position on the grassy hill gives him a perfect vantage point of the company entrance. He lights a cigarette while he waits, counting all the sharply dressed men and women as they enter and exit through the automatic sliding doors. It’s a reminder of the world he’s not a part of, of fate’s twisted sense of humor.
He straightens when he recognizes a certain mop of brown hair through the glass walls of the lobby. Unlike usual, Seiji is accompanied by a group of women, all crowding around him. Blowing out smoke, Hiroto keeps a sharp watch as they titter and fawn over Seiji, who is as gracious and clueless as ever. There’s no denying that those attractive women compliment him and his proper business suits. Hiroto can easily imagine any one of them on Seiji’s arm at a business function.
Seiji breaks away from the group with a bow or two, finally heading up the stone steps towards him. He waves enthusiastically when he locates Hiroto. Hiroto responds with a short wave of his own and pats the empty space next to him once Seiji reaches their usual spot.
“Took you long enough,” Hiroto says, though there’s no bite to his words, only fact. He rests one hand on his knee and uses the other to take another drag of his cigarette.
“Sorry,” Seiji replies sheepishly. “I was assigned to a project for another big presentation, and my team wanted to get a head start on brainstorming.”
Hiroto spies the women giggling amongst themselves and looking in their direction. “I’m sure they did.”
Seiji sits next to him and stretches his long legs out on the blanket. “They’re really helpful with things I’m still learning around the office,” he says, “and they’re open to my ideas.”
Yeah, they were probably open to anything as long as they could stare at him in the office all day. “That would definitely help me,” Hiroto mutters, thinking of the drab days in the shipyard.
“Hmm?” Seiji looks blissfully oblivious.
Hiroto can’t resist the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair, to see some disgruntlement in those puppy eyes. Seiji pushes his hand away, cheeks stained red, and Hiroto cracks a small smile, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
“You know you shouldn’t smoke,” Seiji comments with a frown.
“Tell that to the rest of Japan,” Hiroto retorts, but drops the cigarette in his empty soda can anyway.
Seiji smiles in response, and Hiroto marvels at how such a little action can make him feel like he did something worthwhile. “Here, Hiroto-kun,” Seiji says, handing him a bento. “I think I’m finally getting a hang of this cooking thing. Uzaki-san gave me some pointers.”
Hiroto opens the top to find a slice of broiled salmon, half a boiled egg, and rice with the message ‘Don’t mind, Hiroto’ written in dried seaweed. “Don’t mind?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow.
“I thought you might be having a rough day,” Seiji replies quietly.
The last thing he needs is Seiji worrying about him. “Don’t I always?” Hiroto says wryly.
“It’s a helpful motivator. I say it to myself all the time,” Seiji comments with more cheerfulness than necessary. “Don’t mind, me! It’ll all be okay.”
He’s sweet in that wholesome way of his; everything Hiroto is not. Theirs is an odd friendship, something born out of unusual circumstance. In the beginning, Hiroto thought it wouldn’t last. But Seiji is loyal to a fault, which somehow turned into a standing engagement every other day at lunch. Every other day because sometimes work is a factor, and their different worlds call them away.
Hiroto likes it that way because it serves as a reminder, warns him not to get close. “I come here for the food,” he says, “not for the advice.”
Seiji wilts - if he were an actual puppy, his ears would be drooping. Hiroto snags Seiji’s water bottle from his hands; when he brushes against his skin, he resists the urge to interlace their fingers. He takes a swig, and deliberately twists Seiji’s words when he comments, “Don’t mind me.”
“I do mind.”
Seiji is honest and good and not for him. Hiroto lights another cigarette. “You shouldn’t.”
-
“I am not fine.” Kame paces back and forth in his living room, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “What the hell is in that tea you gave me?”
Uchi shrugs from his spot on Kame’s couch. “I bought it at some stall when I was on vacation in the country,” he says. “The old lady had a great pitch. What was it again… something about...”
Kame’s dream the night before had him waking up confused, his stomach in tangles and the sense that something was wrong. The wrongness is readily explained - one does not have dreams about one’s drama characters having some kind of… thing… with a band member’s drama characters.
“I’m getting freaked out,” he says. “Are you sure there isn’t something a little extra in it?”
Uchi snorts. “Maybe you should stop watching dramas before you go to sleep.”
“Believe me, I would if I could,” Kame retorts, flopping on the opposite end of the couch. “It’s the only way I can get to sleep.”
“You don’t have to watch Taguchi’s dramas. You can try watching mine,” Uchi points out with a grin. “Or Ganbatte Ikimasshoi, which is technically mine and his. Maybe you’ll have some freaky fantasy where Saburo changes between the both of us.”
“Stop. Talking.”
“I think you need to get laid,” Uchi continues airily.
Kame kicks him. “Like I have the time.”
“Umm. Ow.” Uchi rubs his knee. “I didn’t say wine and dine someone, just one casual hook-up. Get your engine going, take your mind off other people.”
Kame can see that going over well. “I don’t need the complication.”
“That’s just it! There’s no complication with a one night stand,” Uchi says with a dismissive wave of the hand.
Kame rolls his eyes. “You’re horrible.”
“Practical.”
“Help. I called you for help,” Kame replies, annoyed. “You are not helping.” He drops his head back on the couch. “I can’t be having these dreams.”
Uchi leafs through one of Kame’s coffee table books, unconcerned. “Why not? They sound hilarious.”
“I can’t.” Kame says it so vehemently that Uchi draws back, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s weird, ok?”
Uchi considers him seriously for the first time since he came over. “Do you… like him?”
Kame barks out a laugh. “I have to, he’s in my group,” he says dispassionately. He doesn’t think of Junno’s ever-present smile, his loyalty, his ability to frustrate and make things better all at the same time. “This is like some messed up roleplaying I didn’t sign up for.”
“Maybe some part of you is really kinky?”
Kame flings a cushion at Uchi’s head, gratified with the resulting thump and Uchi’s irked face. “It’s the tea,” he mutters. “It has to be the tea.”
Uchi grabs the cushion and props it behind him to make himself comfortable. “You can try not drinking it then,” he suggests.
“… it’s good tea.”
-
Kame stops drinking the tea.
Remarkably enough, it works. He doesn’t dream but it’s hell of a lot harder to sleep. Dramas help (though he steers clear of Taguchi’s). However, since it takes longer to drift off without the warm tea cocooning him in a pleasant, drowsy haze, he wakes with the added bonus of mild headaches. Win-win all around.
Thankfully Bem and PV filming, not to mention Dream Boys practice, keep him and his mind busy. When he’s not walking around as Bem or in Kamenashi Kazuya of KAT-TUN mode, there’s also the newscasts of Going! every week. He moves from script to script to script, and it’s business as usual.
But there are still the quiet moments when unwanted thoughts creep in. While he’s stopped dreaming, there’s nothing stopping him from thinking about them. It’s like a special kind of torture designed to drive him insane.
“…me? Kame?”
Kame snaps to attention and finds himself alone in the dressing room with Taguchi. Taguchi is all the way on the opposite side of the room, trusty game console in hand. He answers Kame’s unspoken question. “The others were called in for their photo shoot,” he explains. “You seemed like you were thinking pretty hard.” He doesn’t say anything else, but the deliberate opening isn’t lost on Kame.
Kame overlooks the awkwardness of talking to the sort of - they have his face, but he’s not actually dreaming about Taguchi - source of his dreams. He hasn’t had time to talk to Uchi and his friend wasn’t exactly a big help the last time. And frankly, talking about it to himself is getting old.
“Have you ever had any weird dreams?” Kame asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“All the time!” Taguchi says. “There was this one time I dreamed about an otter and a bird, and the bird kept saying ‘usouso kawauso’, and the otter was all ‘what’.”
Not exactly what Kame had in mind.
“Yeah, I think it means animals would have a better handle on that pun than me,” Taguchi comments with a straight face. Kame is sure he’s half-serious.
If Kame weren’t so wound up, he’d be laughing. Instead, he looks at himself in the mirror. “Dreams don’t mean anything,” he says, watching his image mouth the words.
“Sometimes they do.”
It’s a casual remark, innocently said, but it makes Kame twitch. He can see Taguchi’s reflection in the corner, looking for all the world like he has no troubles whatsoever, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to him.
“Don’t spout crap, Taguchi,” he snaps.
Dreams are random, taken from pieces of memories, of everyday life, and mashed together to create some kind of jumbled nighttime entertainment to subject the mind to, because apparently, some people can’t just simply be unconscious at night.
Taguchi isn’t deterred by Kame’s frosty tone, too used to the members’ prickliness. “But it’s not crap,” he says. “Some people think when we dream, it’s us at our truest selves.”
“And your truest self is a punning animal.”
“I’d like to think so,” Taguchi replies easily, and Kame hates him for making him want to laugh. He holds it in, keeps it bottled like he does everything else. “Dreams can also be seen as manifestations of our deepest desires, the things we don’t say aloud.”
Taguchi isn’t making any sense. There can’t be any special significance to dreams because what Kame has done so well at avoiding, what he didn’t tell Uchi about is the attraction his dream selves felt, the keen awareness of their companion’s every movement, the yearning that could bring a man to his knees.
“So what did you dream about?” Taguchi asks. Half his attention is on his game console and Kame wants to bang his own head against the wall. Taguchi doesn’t get it. Everything is wrong; it’s not supposed to be like this.
“None of your business,” Kame says grimly.
-
They’re on opposite sides of the club when they first see each other. Normally, Ryu wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place, with its sweaty crowds and music so loud you can barely hear what someone else is saying. But Saburo likes to meet here, where real life has no chance of intruding. That’s perfectly fine with Ryu. No one ever needs to know about the way he chooses to relieve stress.
Saburo is always easy to spot. The guy is tall, all long legs and arms with an easy smile and wicked, laughing eyes. He’s dressed simpler than most in a pair of dark jeans, a graphic tee and casual blazer. It makes Ryu feel less out of place in his similar getup, with a zipper hoodie replacing the blazer.
When their eyes lock, it’s like a string is pulled taut and there’s only one direction it wants Ryu to go. He weaves through the crowd, leaving the bar tables and making his way down the short set of stairs. The erratic flashes of the club’s strobe lights cause him to lose sight of Saburo when he crosses through the dance floor. He looks around, already feeling foolish standing alone in the middle of all the grinding bodies.
Without warning, a teasing voice whispers in his ear, “Care to dance?”
Ryu whirls around and a raised forearm blocks his swinging fist. Saburo lifts an eyebrow.
“I don’t dance,” Ryu says, his voice louder than normal to be heard over the crowd. He moves to drop his fist, but Saburo wraps his fingers around his wrist.
“Swing first, talk later, huh?” Saburo replies just as loudly. But then he’s closer than before, a hair’s breadth away - “I can get on board with that,” he whispers - and Ryu has only a moment to catch his breath when Saburo captures his lips.
Sensation bursts like a firework, and Ryu’s initial instinct to stiffen at the contact dissipates. Saburo draws him closer, coaxing his lips to move against his, and Ryu forgets to mind when two hands circle around his waist. He smells like the sun, tastes like cherries, and Ryu idly wonders what his typical drink order is.
Saburo guides their hips this way and that, to a leisurely tune in his own head. What they’re doing is nothing like the furious and exciting tempo surrounding them. Enveloped in their own little bubble, it’s sensual in a whole other fashion, seductive in its slow, unhurried pace. Ryu makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when they press together in just the right way, gratified when he hears an echoing groan.
Saburo breaks the kiss first, and his laugh is smoky around the edges when he leans close to Ryu’s ear. “Looks like you can dance after all,” he says.
Ryu tries to regain his senses. “Bite me,” he retorts.
“Gladly.” He snags Ryu by the loops of his jeans, pushing against him, grinning when Ryu’s fingers dig into his shoulders. He tugs him through the dancing bodies and up the stairs at the back of the club to the private party suites. Ryu has never asked but Saburo knows how to pull strings.
Finally, with the music muffled and away from curious, drunken eyes, Ryu grabs Saburo by his jacket lapels and shoves him against the wall. The taller man grips the back of Ryu’s head in retaliation. “You’re in a mood tonight,” he says.
Ryu forces him down for a messy, hot kiss, biting where Saburo had coaxed, rough where he had been gentle. He’s not here for some kind of romantic rendezvous. He twists one hand around Saburo’s belt buckle. No sooner does he unfasten it when Saburo hooks a foot around his ankle, unbalancing him. He swiftly flips their positions, but is careful enough in the momentum so that Ryu’s head doesn’t knock back on the wall.
That only pisses him off further. Ryu strips Saburo of his blazer and slips his hands under his shirt, greedy for the feel of his bare skin. He doesn’t resist when Saburo pulls at his clothes, hissing when the taller man reaches down and gets a hand around him. The assault on his senses washes away everything else, like always, and he arches into Saburo’s touch, bites down hard on his lower lip.
Saburo pulls his head away with a curse, but he’s smiling, gaze pitch-black in the low-lit room. The allure is in the curve of his mouth, the taunt in every touch. “Don’t worry, babe” - his voice is breathless, full of want - “I’ll take care of you.”
Ryu wants to kick him for the pet name, but lets out a deep groan instead when Saburo finally starts stroking him. Saburo’s other hand dances around his collarbone, pets the nape of his neck. Dropping his forehead onto Saburo’s shoulder, his fingers clench and unclench on the man’s waist, hardening further at the sight of Saburo touching him. Ryu reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the contents. With one hand around the tube, he tears the condom packet open with his teeth.
Ryu wraps a hand around Saburo, smirking when he bucks at the touch, and pulls him out, preparing him. The lube is cool to the touch and he enjoys how Saburo shivers when he massages it over him. Saburo strokes harder in response, grasps his chin to steal another kiss. Intoxicated with desire, everywhere hot to the touch, Ryu rocks against him and they both suck in choked breaths.
“Come on,” Ryu mutters impatiently, pushing Saburo’s pants and underwear down over his hips.
“Wait, I haven’t -” Saburo pulls back, but Ryu yanks him back in. He shakes his head. He wants it to hurt. The taller man observes, “You must have had a really bad day.”
Ryu pretends not to hear the note of concern, doesn’t feel the thrill at the possibility that the other man actually cares. He just wants one thing. He gives Saburo another good, hard stroke, reeling him in closer and harshly claiming his mouth.
Saburo accepts his rough, wordless directive and hitches him up, signaling with skimming touches for Ryu to wrap his legs around his waist. He’s held against the wall, but the cold surface is a minor distraction in the face of Saburo crowding around him, hot and alive and about to give him what he needs. Saburo’s palm trails along his leg and under his thigh. Ryu tenses in anticipation, waiting for that one perfect moment of relie-
-
Bzzzz…
Kame’s hand slams down on the alarm clock. He stares listlessly at his white ceiling, body aching in places it hasn’t had the chance to in a long while.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
-
“No, no, no, this is not happening.”
He’s attracted to Taguchi. As in, physically attracted to him. Not that he was unaware of Taguchi’s good looks. His features are all nicely shaped, some may even say striking. Expressive eyes, a long defined nose, a smoothly angled jaw. His mouth is particularly nice. There’s also the fact that he’s quite tall, around six feet, with long limbs complete with big hands and feet. Perfect for dancing among other things.
A memory of naked Taguchi doing a backflip flashes through his brain. He has to remember to ask Ueda about getting a copy of the file on his phone and oh my god, I’ve lost it.
Kame paces back and forth in front of his mirrored closet. Ran and Gerie watch with lolling tongues from his now made bed. He let them in after replacing the sheets and dumping the old ones in the hamper. After taking care of himself that morning, he cleaned up and put on a pair of pajamas because seeing himself naked just roused vivid images counterproductive to staying calm.
He falls to his knees in front of the bed. “Girls, what is wrong with me?” he asks, grateful when they rush up to lick his face. He takes what comfort he can get, and scratches behind their ears. “I can’t be attracted to a group member.”
He knew drinking the tea might result in another dream, but he didn’t think it would be quite so… eye-opening. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Taguchi the night before because of Damena Yoru filming, and he had been willing to do anything to get some shuteye. The tea helped him drop off faster than anything else he had tried. The irony of taking something that makes him dream of Taguchi - not Taguchi - in order to stop thinking about him is not lost on Kame.
He had been desperate though, trying to erase the memory of Taguchi in his arms.
Kame didn’t know what possessed him. Taguchi was definitely the target of the night, and at first, Kame and Koki banded together to keep their bandmate from giving in and then suffering through the punishment game. (Kame never wanted to know what the crew had to mix to get that inhuman smell in that normal looking paper bag.) They had each taken one side of Taguchi, clutching the corners of his vest.
But then the TBS underground parking garage scene came. The comedians burst out in their silly dance and song - “Nande darou, nande darou, nande darou~” - and out of the corner of his eye, Kame could tell Taguchi was going to break. Before he knew it, he had tightly wrapped his arms around him from behind.
Taguchi was solid and warm, his shoulders shaking from the effort to keep in his laughter as he pressed his hands to his mouth. Taguchi’s face scrunched together and his eyes crinkled at the corners in mirth. Kame was completely charmed, taken aback by the desire to pull him down and see if he could taste the amusement on his lips. But, ever mindful of the camera, he kept his face carefully blank even as the comedians tried to cajole him into joining in.
Taguchi, however, eventually gave in to temptation even with Kame holding him back. The loss Kame felt when Taguchi slipped away bothered him more than it should have, and he couldn’t shake the feeling, even well into the night when he made it home to his comfy bed.
Cue the mystery tea. The tea could induce dreams, but Kame has to reluctantly admit that it can’t go so far as to conjure up attraction.
“No,” he says aloud, resigned. He pets Ran and Gerie as they whine and circle around him. “This is all on me.”
-
Having an almost sex dream about one’s bandmate certainly changes one’s perspective. The twist with the drama characters is something Kame tries not to dwell on, though he guesses it’s just another kink he didn’t know he had. Saburo is the character furthest away from Taguchi’s self, but the thrill is still there from the memory of Taguchi’s face leaning in close, dark gaze promising things the real Taguchi never has. There’s a part of him that suddenly can’t wait to go through all of Taguchi’s dramas, and really, Kame wants to slap himself.
Instead, he avoids being alone with Taguchi whenever possible. The start of Dream Boys makes it too easy until Fumetsu no Scrum promotion starts as well, and Kame realizes he and Taguchi are usually the first ones to arrive in the dressing room. He makes up some excuse to be in another part of the building, either something about catering or visiting other talent he’s acquainted with. He doesn’t go back until their manager sends him a text asking where he is.
He also makes a point of not touching Taguchi. Though it might be a little hopeless after the tenth time he catches himself about to reach out and touch some part of him - a pat on the shoulder, a graze of the hand, a ruffle of blond hair. Normally Kame is oblivious to it, but his propensity for touching has never been so apparent. Five more aborted attempts finally has Kame resorting to putting a member between Taguchi and him at all times.
He feels ridiculous, but it’s better than what he feels when in close proximity to Taguchi. Safer.
This goes on for the week, week and a half of single release promotion, and then it’s back to mainly Dream Boys and he rarely sees Taguchi at all, what with Damena Yoru also being on a short hiatus. Group work is limited to magazine photo shoots and interviews only.
So Kame is completely unprepared for the outpouring of energy that greets him one day when he slides into the van their manager uses to pick him up.
“Good morning, Kame~”
Jumping in his seat, he whirls around to find Taguchi in the very back of the van. His taller bandmate flashes him a peace sign, blond hair gone and replaced with wavy black. “Long time no see!”
The sight of that sunny smile eases something in his chest, a tightness he wasn’t even aware of, and he instinctively smiles back despite himself. “Hey.” He turns around to face the front when he feels the car start to move. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Teppei-san is going to drop me off at the agency before you go to the NTV building. I’ve got a meeting.” There’s something in the timbre of Taguchi’s voice, a quaver that makes it seem like he’s going to burst at any second. “You’ll never guess what for.”
“I’m not in the mood to play, Taguchi,” Kame says. He reaches for the morning newspaper that their manager habitually leaves for him in the back pocket of the driver’s seat.
“I’m going to be in a stage play with Higashiyama-san!” Taguchi’s exclamation is right by his ear, nearly deafening him. “As a co-lead!”
Kame spins around again to smack Taguchi in the head with the rolled up newspaper. Taguchi had moved up into the second backseat, right behind Kame. “You don’t have to shout,” Kame says, patting his ears and moving his sunglasses to the top of his head. He blinks. “Wait, did you say-”
Taguchi rubs his head with a wince. “A stage play, Kazuya! With no dialogue, just dancing.”
The weight of his first name from Taguchi after so long gives him a start. It distracts him enough that it takes a few more seconds to process the news. “That’s… that’s amazing,” Kame says. His mind races with possibilities about what this means for Taguchi, for KAT-TUN. “A huge opportunity.” It’s clear now - the quaver in Taguchi’s voice earlier had been excitement.
“I know.”
No, not excitement.
With Kame looking at Taguchi this time, he can see the slight strain around his mouth even though his smile is bigger than it’s ever been. The unsure shift when he doesn’t quite meet Kame’s eyes.
Worry.
Kame doesn’t care for that expression on Taguchi’s face at all. “You’re going to be fantastic,” he says firmly. “You’re the best dancer in KAT-TUN. Have some confidence. Besides -” He reaches over and squeezes Taguchi’s shoulder. “- the agency must have faith in you, for you to be working with Higashiyama-san. An opportunity like this has been a long time coming. With this, you can prove to everyone what you can do on your own, what we in KAT-TUN already know.”
There’s a faint dusting of pink on Taguchi’s cheeks. “Ah, being complimented by Kazuya like this, I feel like I can do anything.”
Kame drops his sunglasses back down and ducks his head, inexplicably bashful. “Just work hard and everything will be fine, okay?” he says.
Taguchi places his hand over Kame’s, and Kame realizes he hadn’t moved it off his shoulder. “You always make me feel better,” Taguchi says softly. He looks at Kame like he’s heaven-sent and Kame catches his breath.
He curls his fingers into the material of Taguchi’s shirt, which seems to bring the taller man back to himself. Unperturbed, Taguchi continues, “About these kind of things.”
Kame takes his hand back, clenching it into a fist on his lap. There was a reason he didn’t want to be near Taguchi. He muddles his head. He still doesn’t know exactly what this is, what this attraction to him means beyond the fact that he finds Taguchi nice to look at. Though that’s just it. There can’t be more than that.
“Ah, this is my stop.”
Kame looks back as Taguchi gathers his things. Several more weeks or so and it’ll be November, December soon after. Those months are mainly set aside for Bem promotion, and the twenty-eight cities campaign will have him traveling all over Japan. Group work is planned to be at a minimum and Kame won’t see his bandmate again for a long while.
“Hey, Taguchi?” Kame stops Taguchi as he slides the van door open.
“Yeah?”
Don’t go, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing. “Congrats.”
“Thanks, Kazuya.” Taguchi smiles, but then hesitates a moment before he adds, “Don’t be a stranger, okay.” He gives a little wave. “Nochiho~”
Kame hides his chuckle behind a cough, waving him away. “Get out of here.”
Taguchi’s backpack hits the door on his way out and he doesn’t notice something fall out of the unzipped front pocket. “Hey, wa…” Kame trails off when he picks the item off the van floor. It’s a small, black velvet box.
“Kamenashi, are you ready?”
Kame flinches, clutches the box in one fist and closes the van door. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
He slides back directly behind the driver’s seat, leaning forward with his head down to ensure their manager can’t see what’s in his hands. He stares at the velvet box and, ever so slowly, opens the lid. The abrupt pain is unexpected.
Kame shuts his eyes quickly, but it does nothing to erase the image of the diamond ring nestled in black silk, glittering back at him.
Part 2
Author: krysyuy
Artist: alienashi
Pairing: Kame/Junno, Kame drama characters/Junno drama characters (Bem/Araki, Hiroto/Seiji, Ryu/Saburo, Shuji/Bido, Kosaku/Hotta, Kyohei/Ranmaru)
Rating: R
Genre/Warning: Angst/Romance/Crossover
Wordcount: 17k~
Notes: I don't even know what to say, other than 'omg, I finished it'. I survived. Kinda. I'm not even sure what this turned out to be, so I can only hope at least some of you readers enjoy it, haha. ♥
Summary: Kame likes Junno. A lot. And that just won’t do. Except his subconscious disagrees, sending him dreams of peculiar what-ifs and what-could-bes. And when fantasy is the only way he’ll ever get what he wants, Kame finds it harder and harder to resist the temptation of escaping reality. After all, denial can only work for so long.
From his perch atop a sturdy tree branch, everything is quiet, save for the occasional rustle as the woodland creatures stir with the coming dawn. At times like this, it feels like he’s the only one in the world. It should be lonely, he supposes, but loneliness is something he’s all too familiar with.
He has Bela and Belo, their existences beyond precious to him, but even they cannot chase away the longing, the need for connection he feels so acutely in the early morning hours. These are the most dangerous times for his sanity, when they sleep and he is without Bela’s wry humor or Belo’s wide-eyed innocence to anchor him. He is left alone with only the whispering foliage for company and the memories of once again being rejected, driven away from their latest “home”.
The crunch of leaves below him is the faintest of sounds, and if he were normal, he would not have heard it. Tensing, he smoothly maneuvers into a crouch and spies on the human passing beneath his tree. The man’s brown hair is pulled into a tight topknot and his plain, dark robes would suggest he is a commoner if not for the katana thrust through the left side of his belt.
Samurai.
Bem’s hand tightens on his walking stick, eyes darting in the direction of where he and the others had made camp the night before. Their few run-ins with those members of the warrior class had taught them to avoid confrontation whenever possible. The man pauses, tilting his head as if listening for something, and Bem inadvertently holds his breath. But then the human is moving on, in the opposite direction of where Bela and Belo still sleep.
Bem doesn’t relax until the stranger is several yards away and he can no longer see him through the trees. He drops to the ground and is moving to adjust his hat when the sharpened edge of a long sword is held to his throat. Freezing, he looks out of the corner of his eye at the stern face of the samurai.
Bem thinks of his drop from the branch high above. Did he see…?
“Who are you?” the samurai demands. His grip is firm and the blade doesn’t waver.
“Bem,” he replies. He slowly lowers his hand to his side, not wanting to appear aggressive in any way.
“What are you?”
Bem closes his eyes, question answered. It also explained why the samurai had already drawn his sword, courtesy thrown to the wayside. “I mean no harm,” he says quietly.
“The village north of here,” the samurai states. “They claim three monsters meant to do them harm. That they had the ability to appear human, for purposes of trickery and deception. A man, a woman, a child.”
Years of having to suppress any strong emotion had taught Bem to show no outward reaction. Instead, he turns his head - again, very slowly - to lock eyes with the samurai. With the utmost sincerity, he once more states, “I mean no harm.”
The samurai’s expression reveals nothing, but then he sheathes his katana in one fluid movement. “Apologies,” he says with a slight bow.
Bem’s surprise must have been apparent because the stranger continues, “I don’t know what you are, but I can see that your intentions are pure. You are no monster.”
Bem tips his hat down so the brim hides his astonishment. No human has ever said that to him before, especially not one he just met. Flashes of the angry villagers and their cruel words pass through his head. “Don’t be so sure,” he murmurs.
The gentle touch on his shoulder makes Bem flinch out of reflex, but the friendly smile on the samurai’s face disarms him. “I’ve seen the darkness of men’s hearts,” the stranger says, “and I know that no such darkness has taken hold of you.”
Bem cannot believe this human had just been holding a sword to his throat. “You are… different.”
The samurai laughs, big and loud and warm, surprising Bem yet again by how pleasant it is to hear. “Am I?” he asks.
Bem nods once, pulling on the edge of his hat and avoiding eye contact.
“I am Araki Kakunoshin.”
Bem peeks out from under his brim to be met with a kind smile, unexpectedly struck by a yearning to see that smile always. “Bem,” he replies, not knowing what else to say.
“Yes, I know,” Araki says, chuckling. “Again, my apologies about before.”
The samurai looks truly regretful when he says it, and Bem is not sure how many more surprises will be foisted upon him. He has now been apologized to, not once but twice, while also being given the benefit of the doubt despite the fact that the samurai knew Bem wasn’t ordinary.
“Maybe our paths will cross again.” Araki bows once more.
Bem watches him go when he walks away, the distance growing with each passing second. He can count the number of humans that have accepted him and the others on one hand, and none of them are quite like Araki. Of its own accord, his arm reaches towards the samurai’s retreating back.
-
“… wait.”
Kame opens his eyes and finds his arm reaching towards the TV. The screen is stuck on the DVD menu with the music still looping. He lets his arm flop to the side where his hand lands on his discarded cell phone. Lifting it without much thought, he scrolls through the menu until he finds Taguchi’s name and presses ‘send’.
It’s only when he lifts the phone to his ear and hears the ringing that he comes to his senses. But it’s too late to do anything because Taguchi’s sleepy voice fills his ears.
“… Kame?” A yawn punctuates Taguchi’s questioning tone and Kame is reminded it’s the middle of the night.
“Taguchi?” he replies, bewildered and not quite believing he made this phone call.
They both pause. Kame is usually never at a loss for words, but what does one say after such a bizarre experience?
Hey, did you also happen to have a dream where the samurai you played in that one drama met the humanoid monster I’m playing again in a movie adaptation?
From the other end, Taguchi sounds a bit more alert but no less confused. “… did you need something?”
“No, I- you see, I had this dream- and, umm, well, it’s nothing. Okaygoodnight,” Kame finishes in a rush, hanging up. He stares as his phone blinks to indicate an ended call.
Maybe it was the tea? Kame glances at the now cold leftover tea on the coffee table. It nearly knocked him right out after the first few sips. Shaking his head, he picks up the Bem movie script and flips to the pages scheduled for filming that day.
There is no way he’s going to sleep again.
-
With his schedule full of nothing but Bem-related work, it’s a few days before there’s a KAT-TUN meeting to discuss the details of their upcoming single. He’s too busy to bother with dreading it, though when he’s finally settled in one of the agency conference rooms, he’s tenser than usual waiting for the others to arrive. He’s rereading the first sentence of a newspaper article for the sixth time when Taguchi’s voice bursts from the doorway.
“Good morning~” There’s scraping against the floor as Taguchi plops into the chair across from him.
Mumbling a reply, Kame lets the top of the newspaper droop backwards so he can peer over the edge. Ever the typical one, Taguchi has already pulled out his PSP and is absorbed in whatever game he’s acquired recently. He looks no different from the last time Kame saw him. Still the same two-tone hairstyle with the shock of blond at the top that Kame and the others had mercilessly teased him about a couple weeks prior. Same eyes, nose, mouth. Same old Taguchi. Nothing had changed.
So why did I dream of you?
Really, Kame blames his recent bouts of insomnia. If not for that, he would not have gone into the backlog of dramas he never had a chance to either watch or finish, and then he wouldn’t have stumbled across the episode his manager had burned for him of Taguchi’s guest appearance in Kochikame.
That plus the tea. It definitely had to be the tea.
“Hey, Kame?”
Blinking, Kame realizes he was staring, though Taguchi’s attention is thankfully on the black binder he pulled out of his bag. His left hand is still curled around his PSP, which Kame recognizes as one of his nervous tells. Taguchi holds on to it like it’s some sort of talisman that gives him strength.
“Hmm?” Kame waits for him to mention the phone call, but Taguchi knows how to surprise him.
“I was thinking I might ask to do the choreography this time around,” he says. He taps the cover of the binder. “I already have a few ideas…” The last time KAT-TUN had met, it was to record Fumetsu no Scrum in the studio, so they all had a rough copy. Taguchi looks up, unsure.
Taguchi doesn’t say it, but Kame knows he’s looking for approval. Taguchi is capable of being so much more, and Kame is glad to see him trying something new for the group. “I think that’s great,” he replies, meaning it.
The power of Taguchi’s smile is a thing to behold, particularly when on the receiving end of it. It’s a nice pleasant sort of rush, the kind that Kame hasn’t felt in weeks. He doesn’t think about why that is, instead choosing to bask in it and let it relax all the knots inside of him.
Kame holds out his hand. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the binder.
Taguchi nods, eager to show his ideas. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we heard the demo,” he explains.
Kame flips through the binder, seeing notes and diagram patterns. His lips twitch when he sees a ‘Kazuya here’ caption pointing to a little stick figure at the front of a V formation. There are little music doodles in the corners, and Kame can imagine Taguchi penciling them in while brainstorming.
“It’s very you,” Kame comments, acknowledging the big gestures and creative use of the body. There’s even a bit of complicated footwork, which is enough to challenge them but not enough to be too frustrating for the group as a whole. “The fans are going to love it.”
“You think?” Taguchi rarely second-guesses himself, so it’s unnerving to see him so hesitant.
“Please.” Kame scoffs. “They’ll eat it up.”
“Thanks,” Taguchi says, “I needed to hear that.” Sure enough, the smile on his face is not only appreciative, but relieved too. Then his eyebrows turn down and scrunch in that concerned way of his, and he asks, “You’re okay, right?”
Kame suddenly remembers that there was a phone call and a dream of samurais and humanoid monsters. Before he can say anything, Taguchi continues, “I mean, I’m not usually the one…”
You’re not usually the one I call. I’d call Koki or Nakamaru before I’d call you because our relationship doesn’t work that way.
The thought leaves him cold, driving away all the comfortable feelings from moments before. “I’m fine,” he says. Perfectly, perfectly fine. “It was just… one of those nights.”
“Yeah…” Taguchi nods slowly, as if trying to process his answer. “You know, I’ll be there if you ever need- if you ever want-”
“I’m fine, Taguchi,” Kame interrupts because there is nothing wrong. “Don’t worry about me.”
Taguchi’s voice is very quiet when he admits, “I can’t help it.”
Kame isn’t given a chance to deliberate on what that means, why it feels like his heart will stutter out of his chest, because the others come in, laughing and talking over each other.
“Taguchi, did you see this?” Koki slides a paper across the table. “It’s the results of some questionnaire Myojo put out last month. They want our comments on it.”
“Songs readers want to hear at our concerts,” Nakamaru explains, taking the seat next to Kame.
“I still can’t believe it,” Ueda says, pushing his sunglasses up his head as he slips next to Nakamaru.
“GIRLS is number five?!” The sound that comes out of Taguchi’s mouth is not unlike a fangirl shriek. They all wince and glare at him, and he lowers his voice to a much softer ecstatic whisper. “Number five?”
Eyes shining, he looks around at all of them excitedly. “They really love me,” he says with a self-satisfied grin.
“They love us,” Koki retorts, kicking his chair. “NTT, man. Who knew?”
“Wasn’t the questionnaire for KAT-TUN songs?” Kame asks, snagging the paper with the results. Harukana Yakusoku is number one, as expected, with even SWEET CHAIN and STAR RIDER making the list. But GIRLS?
“It was,” Ueda replies with a shrug. “Goes to show how much the fans want it.”
“I have to do a medley for the next concert,” Taguchi says, muttering to himself. “There’s no way they’ll forgive me if I don’t.” His head snaps up and he looks at Koki and Nakamaru with a pitiful expression.
Koki shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “The fans have spoken. Who am I to deny them what they want?”
“They’ll finally get to see the costumes I coordinated,” Nakamaru comments absentmindedly, already browsing through the talking points for their meeting.
“I knew NTT was a fantastic idea!” Any more gleeful and Taguchi would be bouncing off his seat. “Koki, we have to go over the choreography you did again, and Nakamaru-kun, we should-”
“You do realize our next concert won’t be until next year,” Nakamaru deadpans.
Nakamaru pointing out the obvious doesn’t discourage Taguchi. “Yeah, but-”
Kame tunes them out, in a worse mood than he was that morning.
I’m fine.
-
Hiroto hates the waiting part the most. Not the actual waiting itself, but what he sees during it. His position on the grassy hill gives him a perfect vantage point of the company entrance. He lights a cigarette while he waits, counting all the sharply dressed men and women as they enter and exit through the automatic sliding doors. It’s a reminder of the world he’s not a part of, of fate’s twisted sense of humor.
He straightens when he recognizes a certain mop of brown hair through the glass walls of the lobby. Unlike usual, Seiji is accompanied by a group of women, all crowding around him. Blowing out smoke, Hiroto keeps a sharp watch as they titter and fawn over Seiji, who is as gracious and clueless as ever. There’s no denying that those attractive women compliment him and his proper business suits. Hiroto can easily imagine any one of them on Seiji’s arm at a business function.
Seiji breaks away from the group with a bow or two, finally heading up the stone steps towards him. He waves enthusiastically when he locates Hiroto. Hiroto responds with a short wave of his own and pats the empty space next to him once Seiji reaches their usual spot.
“Took you long enough,” Hiroto says, though there’s no bite to his words, only fact. He rests one hand on his knee and uses the other to take another drag of his cigarette.
“Sorry,” Seiji replies sheepishly. “I was assigned to a project for another big presentation, and my team wanted to get a head start on brainstorming.”
Hiroto spies the women giggling amongst themselves and looking in their direction. “I’m sure they did.”
Seiji sits next to him and stretches his long legs out on the blanket. “They’re really helpful with things I’m still learning around the office,” he says, “and they’re open to my ideas.”
Yeah, they were probably open to anything as long as they could stare at him in the office all day. “That would definitely help me,” Hiroto mutters, thinking of the drab days in the shipyard.
“Hmm?” Seiji looks blissfully oblivious.
Hiroto can’t resist the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair, to see some disgruntlement in those puppy eyes. Seiji pushes his hand away, cheeks stained red, and Hiroto cracks a small smile, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
“You know you shouldn’t smoke,” Seiji comments with a frown.
“Tell that to the rest of Japan,” Hiroto retorts, but drops the cigarette in his empty soda can anyway.
Seiji smiles in response, and Hiroto marvels at how such a little action can make him feel like he did something worthwhile. “Here, Hiroto-kun,” Seiji says, handing him a bento. “I think I’m finally getting a hang of this cooking thing. Uzaki-san gave me some pointers.”
Hiroto opens the top to find a slice of broiled salmon, half a boiled egg, and rice with the message ‘Don’t mind, Hiroto’ written in dried seaweed. “Don’t mind?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow.
“I thought you might be having a rough day,” Seiji replies quietly.
The last thing he needs is Seiji worrying about him. “Don’t I always?” Hiroto says wryly.
“It’s a helpful motivator. I say it to myself all the time,” Seiji comments with more cheerfulness than necessary. “Don’t mind, me! It’ll all be okay.”
He’s sweet in that wholesome way of his; everything Hiroto is not. Theirs is an odd friendship, something born out of unusual circumstance. In the beginning, Hiroto thought it wouldn’t last. But Seiji is loyal to a fault, which somehow turned into a standing engagement every other day at lunch. Every other day because sometimes work is a factor, and their different worlds call them away.
Hiroto likes it that way because it serves as a reminder, warns him not to get close. “I come here for the food,” he says, “not for the advice.”
Seiji wilts - if he were an actual puppy, his ears would be drooping. Hiroto snags Seiji’s water bottle from his hands; when he brushes against his skin, he resists the urge to interlace their fingers. He takes a swig, and deliberately twists Seiji’s words when he comments, “Don’t mind me.”
“I do mind.”
Seiji is honest and good and not for him. Hiroto lights another cigarette. “You shouldn’t.”
-
“I am not fine.” Kame paces back and forth in his living room, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “What the hell is in that tea you gave me?”
Uchi shrugs from his spot on Kame’s couch. “I bought it at some stall when I was on vacation in the country,” he says. “The old lady had a great pitch. What was it again… something about...”
Kame’s dream the night before had him waking up confused, his stomach in tangles and the sense that something was wrong. The wrongness is readily explained - one does not have dreams about one’s drama characters having some kind of… thing… with a band member’s drama characters.
“I’m getting freaked out,” he says. “Are you sure there isn’t something a little extra in it?”
Uchi snorts. “Maybe you should stop watching dramas before you go to sleep.”
“Believe me, I would if I could,” Kame retorts, flopping on the opposite end of the couch. “It’s the only way I can get to sleep.”
“You don’t have to watch Taguchi’s dramas. You can try watching mine,” Uchi points out with a grin. “Or Ganbatte Ikimasshoi, which is technically mine and his. Maybe you’ll have some freaky fantasy where Saburo changes between the both of us.”
“Stop. Talking.”
“I think you need to get laid,” Uchi continues airily.
Kame kicks him. “Like I have the time.”
“Umm. Ow.” Uchi rubs his knee. “I didn’t say wine and dine someone, just one casual hook-up. Get your engine going, take your mind off other people.”
Kame can see that going over well. “I don’t need the complication.”
“That’s just it! There’s no complication with a one night stand,” Uchi says with a dismissive wave of the hand.
Kame rolls his eyes. “You’re horrible.”
“Practical.”
“Help. I called you for help,” Kame replies, annoyed. “You are not helping.” He drops his head back on the couch. “I can’t be having these dreams.”
Uchi leafs through one of Kame’s coffee table books, unconcerned. “Why not? They sound hilarious.”
“I can’t.” Kame says it so vehemently that Uchi draws back, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s weird, ok?”
Uchi considers him seriously for the first time since he came over. “Do you… like him?”
Kame barks out a laugh. “I have to, he’s in my group,” he says dispassionately. He doesn’t think of Junno’s ever-present smile, his loyalty, his ability to frustrate and make things better all at the same time. “This is like some messed up roleplaying I didn’t sign up for.”
“Maybe some part of you is really kinky?”
Kame flings a cushion at Uchi’s head, gratified with the resulting thump and Uchi’s irked face. “It’s the tea,” he mutters. “It has to be the tea.”
Uchi grabs the cushion and props it behind him to make himself comfortable. “You can try not drinking it then,” he suggests.
“… it’s good tea.”
-
Kame stops drinking the tea.
Remarkably enough, it works. He doesn’t dream but it’s hell of a lot harder to sleep. Dramas help (though he steers clear of Taguchi’s). However, since it takes longer to drift off without the warm tea cocooning him in a pleasant, drowsy haze, he wakes with the added bonus of mild headaches. Win-win all around.
Thankfully Bem and PV filming, not to mention Dream Boys practice, keep him and his mind busy. When he’s not walking around as Bem or in Kamenashi Kazuya of KAT-TUN mode, there’s also the newscasts of Going! every week. He moves from script to script to script, and it’s business as usual.
But there are still the quiet moments when unwanted thoughts creep in. While he’s stopped dreaming, there’s nothing stopping him from thinking about them. It’s like a special kind of torture designed to drive him insane.
“…me? Kame?”
Kame snaps to attention and finds himself alone in the dressing room with Taguchi. Taguchi is all the way on the opposite side of the room, trusty game console in hand. He answers Kame’s unspoken question. “The others were called in for their photo shoot,” he explains. “You seemed like you were thinking pretty hard.” He doesn’t say anything else, but the deliberate opening isn’t lost on Kame.
Kame overlooks the awkwardness of talking to the sort of - they have his face, but he’s not actually dreaming about Taguchi - source of his dreams. He hasn’t had time to talk to Uchi and his friend wasn’t exactly a big help the last time. And frankly, talking about it to himself is getting old.
“Have you ever had any weird dreams?” Kame asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“All the time!” Taguchi says. “There was this one time I dreamed about an otter and a bird, and the bird kept saying ‘usouso kawauso’, and the otter was all ‘what’.”
Not exactly what Kame had in mind.
“Yeah, I think it means animals would have a better handle on that pun than me,” Taguchi comments with a straight face. Kame is sure he’s half-serious.
If Kame weren’t so wound up, he’d be laughing. Instead, he looks at himself in the mirror. “Dreams don’t mean anything,” he says, watching his image mouth the words.
“Sometimes they do.”
It’s a casual remark, innocently said, but it makes Kame twitch. He can see Taguchi’s reflection in the corner, looking for all the world like he has no troubles whatsoever, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to him.
“Don’t spout crap, Taguchi,” he snaps.
Dreams are random, taken from pieces of memories, of everyday life, and mashed together to create some kind of jumbled nighttime entertainment to subject the mind to, because apparently, some people can’t just simply be unconscious at night.
Taguchi isn’t deterred by Kame’s frosty tone, too used to the members’ prickliness. “But it’s not crap,” he says. “Some people think when we dream, it’s us at our truest selves.”
“And your truest self is a punning animal.”
“I’d like to think so,” Taguchi replies easily, and Kame hates him for making him want to laugh. He holds it in, keeps it bottled like he does everything else. “Dreams can also be seen as manifestations of our deepest desires, the things we don’t say aloud.”
Taguchi isn’t making any sense. There can’t be any special significance to dreams because what Kame has done so well at avoiding, what he didn’t tell Uchi about is the attraction his dream selves felt, the keen awareness of their companion’s every movement, the yearning that could bring a man to his knees.
“So what did you dream about?” Taguchi asks. Half his attention is on his game console and Kame wants to bang his own head against the wall. Taguchi doesn’t get it. Everything is wrong; it’s not supposed to be like this.
“None of your business,” Kame says grimly.
-
They’re on opposite sides of the club when they first see each other. Normally, Ryu wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place, with its sweaty crowds and music so loud you can barely hear what someone else is saying. But Saburo likes to meet here, where real life has no chance of intruding. That’s perfectly fine with Ryu. No one ever needs to know about the way he chooses to relieve stress.
Saburo is always easy to spot. The guy is tall, all long legs and arms with an easy smile and wicked, laughing eyes. He’s dressed simpler than most in a pair of dark jeans, a graphic tee and casual blazer. It makes Ryu feel less out of place in his similar getup, with a zipper hoodie replacing the blazer.
When their eyes lock, it’s like a string is pulled taut and there’s only one direction it wants Ryu to go. He weaves through the crowd, leaving the bar tables and making his way down the short set of stairs. The erratic flashes of the club’s strobe lights cause him to lose sight of Saburo when he crosses through the dance floor. He looks around, already feeling foolish standing alone in the middle of all the grinding bodies.
Without warning, a teasing voice whispers in his ear, “Care to dance?”
Ryu whirls around and a raised forearm blocks his swinging fist. Saburo lifts an eyebrow.
“I don’t dance,” Ryu says, his voice louder than normal to be heard over the crowd. He moves to drop his fist, but Saburo wraps his fingers around his wrist.
“Swing first, talk later, huh?” Saburo replies just as loudly. But then he’s closer than before, a hair’s breadth away - “I can get on board with that,” he whispers - and Ryu has only a moment to catch his breath when Saburo captures his lips.
Sensation bursts like a firework, and Ryu’s initial instinct to stiffen at the contact dissipates. Saburo draws him closer, coaxing his lips to move against his, and Ryu forgets to mind when two hands circle around his waist. He smells like the sun, tastes like cherries, and Ryu idly wonders what his typical drink order is.
Saburo guides their hips this way and that, to a leisurely tune in his own head. What they’re doing is nothing like the furious and exciting tempo surrounding them. Enveloped in their own little bubble, it’s sensual in a whole other fashion, seductive in its slow, unhurried pace. Ryu makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when they press together in just the right way, gratified when he hears an echoing groan.
Saburo breaks the kiss first, and his laugh is smoky around the edges when he leans close to Ryu’s ear. “Looks like you can dance after all,” he says.
Ryu tries to regain his senses. “Bite me,” he retorts.
“Gladly.” He snags Ryu by the loops of his jeans, pushing against him, grinning when Ryu’s fingers dig into his shoulders. He tugs him through the dancing bodies and up the stairs at the back of the club to the private party suites. Ryu has never asked but Saburo knows how to pull strings.
Finally, with the music muffled and away from curious, drunken eyes, Ryu grabs Saburo by his jacket lapels and shoves him against the wall. The taller man grips the back of Ryu’s head in retaliation. “You’re in a mood tonight,” he says.
Ryu forces him down for a messy, hot kiss, biting where Saburo had coaxed, rough where he had been gentle. He’s not here for some kind of romantic rendezvous. He twists one hand around Saburo’s belt buckle. No sooner does he unfasten it when Saburo hooks a foot around his ankle, unbalancing him. He swiftly flips their positions, but is careful enough in the momentum so that Ryu’s head doesn’t knock back on the wall.
That only pisses him off further. Ryu strips Saburo of his blazer and slips his hands under his shirt, greedy for the feel of his bare skin. He doesn’t resist when Saburo pulls at his clothes, hissing when the taller man reaches down and gets a hand around him. The assault on his senses washes away everything else, like always, and he arches into Saburo’s touch, bites down hard on his lower lip.
Saburo pulls his head away with a curse, but he’s smiling, gaze pitch-black in the low-lit room. The allure is in the curve of his mouth, the taunt in every touch. “Don’t worry, babe” - his voice is breathless, full of want - “I’ll take care of you.”
Ryu wants to kick him for the pet name, but lets out a deep groan instead when Saburo finally starts stroking him. Saburo’s other hand dances around his collarbone, pets the nape of his neck. Dropping his forehead onto Saburo’s shoulder, his fingers clench and unclench on the man’s waist, hardening further at the sight of Saburo touching him. Ryu reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the contents. With one hand around the tube, he tears the condom packet open with his teeth.
Ryu wraps a hand around Saburo, smirking when he bucks at the touch, and pulls him out, preparing him. The lube is cool to the touch and he enjoys how Saburo shivers when he massages it over him. Saburo strokes harder in response, grasps his chin to steal another kiss. Intoxicated with desire, everywhere hot to the touch, Ryu rocks against him and they both suck in choked breaths.
“Come on,” Ryu mutters impatiently, pushing Saburo’s pants and underwear down over his hips.
“Wait, I haven’t -” Saburo pulls back, but Ryu yanks him back in. He shakes his head. He wants it to hurt. The taller man observes, “You must have had a really bad day.”
Ryu pretends not to hear the note of concern, doesn’t feel the thrill at the possibility that the other man actually cares. He just wants one thing. He gives Saburo another good, hard stroke, reeling him in closer and harshly claiming his mouth.
Saburo accepts his rough, wordless directive and hitches him up, signaling with skimming touches for Ryu to wrap his legs around his waist. He’s held against the wall, but the cold surface is a minor distraction in the face of Saburo crowding around him, hot and alive and about to give him what he needs. Saburo’s palm trails along his leg and under his thigh. Ryu tenses in anticipation, waiting for that one perfect moment of relie-
-
Bzzzz…
Kame’s hand slams down on the alarm clock. He stares listlessly at his white ceiling, body aching in places it hasn’t had the chance to in a long while.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
-
“No, no, no, this is not happening.”
He’s attracted to Taguchi. As in, physically attracted to him. Not that he was unaware of Taguchi’s good looks. His features are all nicely shaped, some may even say striking. Expressive eyes, a long defined nose, a smoothly angled jaw. His mouth is particularly nice. There’s also the fact that he’s quite tall, around six feet, with long limbs complete with big hands and feet. Perfect for dancing among other things.
A memory of naked Taguchi doing a backflip flashes through his brain. He has to remember to ask Ueda about getting a copy of the file on his phone and oh my god, I’ve lost it.
Kame paces back and forth in front of his mirrored closet. Ran and Gerie watch with lolling tongues from his now made bed. He let them in after replacing the sheets and dumping the old ones in the hamper. After taking care of himself that morning, he cleaned up and put on a pair of pajamas because seeing himself naked just roused vivid images counterproductive to staying calm.
He falls to his knees in front of the bed. “Girls, what is wrong with me?” he asks, grateful when they rush up to lick his face. He takes what comfort he can get, and scratches behind their ears. “I can’t be attracted to a group member.”
He knew drinking the tea might result in another dream, but he didn’t think it would be quite so… eye-opening. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Taguchi the night before because of Damena Yoru filming, and he had been willing to do anything to get some shuteye. The tea helped him drop off faster than anything else he had tried. The irony of taking something that makes him dream of Taguchi - not Taguchi - in order to stop thinking about him is not lost on Kame.
He had been desperate though, trying to erase the memory of Taguchi in his arms.
Kame didn’t know what possessed him. Taguchi was definitely the target of the night, and at first, Kame and Koki banded together to keep their bandmate from giving in and then suffering through the punishment game. (Kame never wanted to know what the crew had to mix to get that inhuman smell in that normal looking paper bag.) They had each taken one side of Taguchi, clutching the corners of his vest.
But then the TBS underground parking garage scene came. The comedians burst out in their silly dance and song - “Nande darou, nande darou, nande darou~” - and out of the corner of his eye, Kame could tell Taguchi was going to break. Before he knew it, he had tightly wrapped his arms around him from behind.
Taguchi was solid and warm, his shoulders shaking from the effort to keep in his laughter as he pressed his hands to his mouth. Taguchi’s face scrunched together and his eyes crinkled at the corners in mirth. Kame was completely charmed, taken aback by the desire to pull him down and see if he could taste the amusement on his lips. But, ever mindful of the camera, he kept his face carefully blank even as the comedians tried to cajole him into joining in.
Taguchi, however, eventually gave in to temptation even with Kame holding him back. The loss Kame felt when Taguchi slipped away bothered him more than it should have, and he couldn’t shake the feeling, even well into the night when he made it home to his comfy bed.
Cue the mystery tea. The tea could induce dreams, but Kame has to reluctantly admit that it can’t go so far as to conjure up attraction.
“No,” he says aloud, resigned. He pets Ran and Gerie as they whine and circle around him. “This is all on me.”
-
Having an almost sex dream about one’s bandmate certainly changes one’s perspective. The twist with the drama characters is something Kame tries not to dwell on, though he guesses it’s just another kink he didn’t know he had. Saburo is the character furthest away from Taguchi’s self, but the thrill is still there from the memory of Taguchi’s face leaning in close, dark gaze promising things the real Taguchi never has. There’s a part of him that suddenly can’t wait to go through all of Taguchi’s dramas, and really, Kame wants to slap himself.
Instead, he avoids being alone with Taguchi whenever possible. The start of Dream Boys makes it too easy until Fumetsu no Scrum promotion starts as well, and Kame realizes he and Taguchi are usually the first ones to arrive in the dressing room. He makes up some excuse to be in another part of the building, either something about catering or visiting other talent he’s acquainted with. He doesn’t go back until their manager sends him a text asking where he is.
He also makes a point of not touching Taguchi. Though it might be a little hopeless after the tenth time he catches himself about to reach out and touch some part of him - a pat on the shoulder, a graze of the hand, a ruffle of blond hair. Normally Kame is oblivious to it, but his propensity for touching has never been so apparent. Five more aborted attempts finally has Kame resorting to putting a member between Taguchi and him at all times.
He feels ridiculous, but it’s better than what he feels when in close proximity to Taguchi. Safer.
This goes on for the week, week and a half of single release promotion, and then it’s back to mainly Dream Boys and he rarely sees Taguchi at all, what with Damena Yoru also being on a short hiatus. Group work is limited to magazine photo shoots and interviews only.
So Kame is completely unprepared for the outpouring of energy that greets him one day when he slides into the van their manager uses to pick him up.
“Good morning, Kame~”
Jumping in his seat, he whirls around to find Taguchi in the very back of the van. His taller bandmate flashes him a peace sign, blond hair gone and replaced with wavy black. “Long time no see!”
The sight of that sunny smile eases something in his chest, a tightness he wasn’t even aware of, and he instinctively smiles back despite himself. “Hey.” He turns around to face the front when he feels the car start to move. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Teppei-san is going to drop me off at the agency before you go to the NTV building. I’ve got a meeting.” There’s something in the timbre of Taguchi’s voice, a quaver that makes it seem like he’s going to burst at any second. “You’ll never guess what for.”
“I’m not in the mood to play, Taguchi,” Kame says. He reaches for the morning newspaper that their manager habitually leaves for him in the back pocket of the driver’s seat.
“I’m going to be in a stage play with Higashiyama-san!” Taguchi’s exclamation is right by his ear, nearly deafening him. “As a co-lead!”
Kame spins around again to smack Taguchi in the head with the rolled up newspaper. Taguchi had moved up into the second backseat, right behind Kame. “You don’t have to shout,” Kame says, patting his ears and moving his sunglasses to the top of his head. He blinks. “Wait, did you say-”
Taguchi rubs his head with a wince. “A stage play, Kazuya! With no dialogue, just dancing.”
The weight of his first name from Taguchi after so long gives him a start. It distracts him enough that it takes a few more seconds to process the news. “That’s… that’s amazing,” Kame says. His mind races with possibilities about what this means for Taguchi, for KAT-TUN. “A huge opportunity.” It’s clear now - the quaver in Taguchi’s voice earlier had been excitement.
“I know.”
No, not excitement.
With Kame looking at Taguchi this time, he can see the slight strain around his mouth even though his smile is bigger than it’s ever been. The unsure shift when he doesn’t quite meet Kame’s eyes.
Worry.
Kame doesn’t care for that expression on Taguchi’s face at all. “You’re going to be fantastic,” he says firmly. “You’re the best dancer in KAT-TUN. Have some confidence. Besides -” He reaches over and squeezes Taguchi’s shoulder. “- the agency must have faith in you, for you to be working with Higashiyama-san. An opportunity like this has been a long time coming. With this, you can prove to everyone what you can do on your own, what we in KAT-TUN already know.”
There’s a faint dusting of pink on Taguchi’s cheeks. “Ah, being complimented by Kazuya like this, I feel like I can do anything.”
Kame drops his sunglasses back down and ducks his head, inexplicably bashful. “Just work hard and everything will be fine, okay?” he says.
Taguchi places his hand over Kame’s, and Kame realizes he hadn’t moved it off his shoulder. “You always make me feel better,” Taguchi says softly. He looks at Kame like he’s heaven-sent and Kame catches his breath.
He curls his fingers into the material of Taguchi’s shirt, which seems to bring the taller man back to himself. Unperturbed, Taguchi continues, “About these kind of things.”
Kame takes his hand back, clenching it into a fist on his lap. There was a reason he didn’t want to be near Taguchi. He muddles his head. He still doesn’t know exactly what this is, what this attraction to him means beyond the fact that he finds Taguchi nice to look at. Though that’s just it. There can’t be more than that.
“Ah, this is my stop.”
Kame looks back as Taguchi gathers his things. Several more weeks or so and it’ll be November, December soon after. Those months are mainly set aside for Bem promotion, and the twenty-eight cities campaign will have him traveling all over Japan. Group work is planned to be at a minimum and Kame won’t see his bandmate again for a long while.
“Hey, Taguchi?” Kame stops Taguchi as he slides the van door open.
“Yeah?”
Don’t go, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing. “Congrats.”
“Thanks, Kazuya.” Taguchi smiles, but then hesitates a moment before he adds, “Don’t be a stranger, okay.” He gives a little wave. “Nochiho~”
Kame hides his chuckle behind a cough, waving him away. “Get out of here.”
Taguchi’s backpack hits the door on his way out and he doesn’t notice something fall out of the unzipped front pocket. “Hey, wa…” Kame trails off when he picks the item off the van floor. It’s a small, black velvet box.
“Kamenashi, are you ready?”
Kame flinches, clutches the box in one fist and closes the van door. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
He slides back directly behind the driver’s seat, leaning forward with his head down to ensure their manager can’t see what’s in his hands. He stares at the velvet box and, ever so slowly, opens the lid. The abrupt pain is unexpected.
Kame shuts his eyes quickly, but it does nothing to erase the image of the diamond ring nestled in black silk, glittering back at him.
Part 2