Fic for leen1707 (2/3)
Part 1
Kame's in a taxi before he sighs in relief. He couldn't really sleep last night, stomach churning with all the emotions Akanishi's appearance had awoken.
Akanishi was busy snoring away in the other bed while Kame looked out of the window at London in lights around him. Despite how raw he was while here, the city did not disappoint him. It held an enchanting quality, a flawed and charming beauty that in just a few days managed to soak into a corner of Kame's heart, permanently dyeing it the muted rain-and-stone blues and grays of the city. The souvenirs he managed to buy at kitschy stalls weren't enough as mementos really, and neither were the garish postcards of Big Ben and Tower Bridge.
There's no way he can capture the atmosphere of the city, the quiet moments on early morning walks near the hotel, the rain-damp smell of the streets, the small brick-lined alleys and dusty bookshops and charming rows of old British houses with their red and blue doors.
Kame wrote about some of his experiences in his leather bound journal, but he doesn't think he's ever been good enough with words to truly express his emotions. Though, he is better than Jin, he thinks with a snort, remembering how the shaggy hair stayed firmly under the covers while Kame snuck around and silently packed his things away.
There's a painful tug in his chest, which he ignores. The cab drops him off at the train station, and Kame pays him and manages a smile and a tip of his baseball cap. The old man smiles and nods as he pulls away from the curb.
~~~
Kame isn't entirely sure about the wisdom of coming to Paris, because of the lingering memories from years ago, yet another forgotten lifetime. But bittersweet as the memories are, he remembers the city fondly, and ultimately it isn't his mind that makes the decision to come here, but his heart.
While London felt familiar and comforting, like he could belong there in another life, Paris has always felt like magic. It's like a little slice of surreal fantasy with its whimsical architecture and delicious desserts and breathtaking views.
He plans to find a hotel by asking a taxi to take him to the Louvre, a word he has somehow managed to ingrain in his memory. The French taxi driver, a middle-aged man with gray stubble on his face and a jaunty hat on his silver hair, assumes that Kame knows some of the language and starts chattering away at him. Kame tries to correct his mistake, but he finds he enjoys the chatter after so many days spent in his cocoon of silence. It's easy to offer the man a smile as he tells what sounds like a joke and starts laughing to himself, hand slapping the steering wheel.
The man teases Kame as he fumbles with the change, not yet used to the new currency that he changed his British pounds into before taking the underground train from the UK to France.
In the end, they work together to count out the correct change, each counting in his own language, and the man pats his arm in a friendly way before setting off.
Then Kame turns, stands and stares at the stunning structure of the Louvre, the intricate whorls and tall columns and formidable weight of history steeped in the stones.
It's still only mid-morning, since he took an early morning train, and pearly wisps of clouds hover in the sky, the sun glinting off the glass pyramid at the center of the Louvre.
It catches Kame unawares, the slow smile that crosses his face. He sorts through his bag and pulls out his camera, taking a picture of the hazy clouds and the sharp, curling architecture.
Choosing a street off the main road at random, Kame walks away from the Louvre, planning to check into the first reasonable, clean hotel he comes across.
He finds it in a charming white structure with blue trim and the curious name Timhotel.
The concierge is exactly the kind of woman Kame would imagine if someone said "a French beauty." Her long dusty blond hair is wrapped in a bun and her lips are defined in bright red. The twinkle in her eye takes away the severity of her uniform. She bows her head lightly before she greets him.
They speak in a smattering of English before she realizes he's Japanese and her eyes widen. "I speak little Japanese," she says, accent thick and blurred, hands gesticulating. "I want to go," she says, finishing in English, "someday."
"We have many Japanese come here," she observes.
"Yes, Japanese people love Paris," Kame replies, unable to help the wry smile. Some part of him loves that to her, he's just another Japanese tourist. His blood nearly sings with the freedom of anonymity.
After he's settled into a tiny room which Melanie - she told him to call her that - gave him at a discount because of the small size, Kame turns his phone back on.
He has to call his bank, to make sure they know he's in France, using his credit card, and it hasn't been stolen by some European pickpocket.
His hand trembles as the phone beeps with each voicemail received while it was off. He watches the number go up, guilt washing heavily over him. He can't. Kame just can't bring himself to listen, to deal with everything that's real.
He makes the call to his bank, short, formal.
Then Kame writes another email to KAT-TUN and his manager, only the second in a week. "I am fine. Hope you are all doing well. I will be back. I'm sorry."
His fingers shake and he has to type the letters repeatedly to get the message right. He can't bear to add any emojis. It would feel childish and insincere, like he didn't know how much trouble he's causing everyone, and Kame feels it like a heavy weight in his heart.
~~~
In the lobby, armed with a free map from the stack on the counter, Kame charts out his path with Melanie's help.
When... he was here last, his exposure was limited to the runways of Paris and the legendary fashion houses and boutiques. He caught tantalizing glimpses of the rest of Paris, but only enough to whet his appetite.
Melanie chews her red lip as she circles points on the map, telling him, "You must go there," emphasizing again in Japanese, "Must."
"The Louvre, of course," she murmurs, the pen making squiggly lines on the map. "Obélisque, Champs Élysées, Arc de Triomphe, Tour Eiffel... they are almost in a straight line, you see," she says, completely absorbed in her directions. "Later, maybe tomorrow, you can see Notre Dame, Opera Granier... so many places."
Kame finds himself staring at her jaw more than the map, a curious desire to nibble there taking him completely by surprise. He's shocked, and a little pleased. It's a little comforting he's still capable of feeling such emotions, he thinks, a small smile reaching his face as the feeling dips low and secret in his stomach.
Kame sets off, with Melanie's well wishes and color-coded map, and of course his camera. It's almost a meditative calm, the walking, the taking pictures, the only point being to observe and absorb his surroundings. Kame isn't sure at what cost he's stolen these few days yet, but no matter what, he feels they are worth it.
The weather is moody and grey, but somehow more oppressive compared to London. At dazzling moments the sun breaks through the clouds and transforms the city, light glinting off glass and water onto the buildings, setting Paris ablaze.
It's taken Kame a few days to realize that he doesn't really know who he is any longer. It's always been easiest to define himself by the roles he played, as a son, a brother, a friend and a colleague, an idol, a singer, an actor, a sportscaster. So many of the labels used to describe him have to do with his job, and now that he isn't even sure he has a job anymore, he no longer knows how to define himself.
All he feels now are these moments, these tiny moments of melancholy and awe in the streets of Paris. Tiny moments of intense emotion and connection with the beauty around him that he can claim completely as his own, moments he doesn't have to share with the cameras or explain to any colleagues. He isn't sure if they're enough to define him yet, these emotions, but they seem like some of the most genuine emotions he's allowed himself to feel in so long.
Walking takes a surprisingly long time, and Kame makes a few stops along the way in little bakeries and gift shops, picking out presents for his niece and nephew and his brothers and their wives. By the time he reaches the Eiffel Tower, the light in the sky is dimming, casting the clouds a reddish bronze and purple hue. He hovers there, sitting on the banks of the river, near the tower, just watching the tourists, a little amazed at how so many people come to experience the same thing.
He's taken by surprise when suddenly lights start sparkling on the tower, like camera flashes going off, and it's beautiful, breathtaking moment.
~~~
By the time Kame makes it back to the hotel, it's long past midnight. With the time difference, it turns out to be the right time to call Japan, and he dials the number from his memory, adding the international codes.
"Hello?" comes the melodic and strong voice of his grandmother.
"It's me, Oba-san. Kazuya."
"Kazuya! Your grandfather and I were just remembering you the other day," she says, voice warm, yet wistful. "You've always felt like our own child. It feels like we brought you up, in some ways. Remember how you used to play in the rice paddies in the summer when you were young? And I'd scold you for getting so dirty, and you'd run to your grandfather and get his clothes all dirty?"
She's an elegant woman, and so resilient, and it hurts Kame to think that it's been so long since he's spent time with her and his grandfather that her strongest memories of him are from two decades ago. It's another of those things he always thought he would have time for later.
"You make us so proud. How hard you've worked, supporting everyone from such a young age. Toda-san from down the street always tells me she wishes her grandson were more like you." She seems to remember that it's a phone call suddenly. "How are you, dear?"
"I'm fine. I'm out of the country, actually. How is grandfather doing?"
"Oh, you know, his hearing isn't what it used to be, and he's having some trouble with his knees, but we're managing somehow. But enough about us, tell me all about your life."
He talks to her, telling her things that he's always meant to and never gotten around to. Thoughts and feelings that he never thought to share with her, and by the end his voice is a little hoarse and she sounds emotional as she says goodbye. "Take care of yourself, Kazuya. Come see us soon."
"I will," he says, and he means it.
~~~
It's a sunny day in Paris, and Kame starts it off appropriately with a croissant and coffee. Melanie circles some more things on the map for him and he sets off, a dull, comforting throb in his thighs from all the walking and climbing.
He makes it to the cramped, narrow and charmingly cluttered streets of Montmarte. It feels like he's walked straight into a painting or a postcard, like he's experiencing history. In all the small, sloping alleys, he finds vendors selling jewelry and art and little replicas of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, silly and endearing and oddly nostalgic.
He buys his mother a delicate necklace that he knows she won't ever wear, but she will love the idea of him buying it with her in mind anyway. She has never had the patience or time to maintain her physical appearance, but she has always appreciated Kame thinking she's worthy of the jewelry he finds for her.
Kame makes slow progress, as every five minutes he turns to take pictures and admire the view. The higher he climbs, the more Paris sprawls out below him, and it's a gaudy, alluring and whimsical beauty.
He takes the most meandering path, but eventually, Kame is walking up the criss-crossing staircase of the Sacre Couer cathedral. His breaths come in short puffs and each time he stops to catch his breath he takes a picture of Paris' skyline.
When Kame reaches the top, he isn't sure how long he stands there, just taking in all of Paris, laid out in front of him. He doesn't even reach for his camera, because moments like this feel like they are meant to be engraved in the mind.
Kame steps into the Sacre Couer, dropping some coins into the donation box as he sees other tourists doing. He isn't sure what he expected, but inside, it's breathtaking.
The brilliant sunlight from outside shines in through the stained glass into the cathedral, saturating it with dazzling colors, and he's surprised when he hears the singing. There is a service going on, and a choir sings at the front of the church, the sound bouncing high and clear in the vaulted confines of the church.
Something about it touches Kame where he has always believed in things greater than nature and man. He inhales, trying to absorb and understand the strange transcendence and enormity of the moment.
The sound, the light fills him inside, in places in his heart he wasn't sure existed. And it doesn't matter that it isn't his religion, or his god. The moment still feels honest and pure and beautiful.
Kame swallows thickly, blinking back the moisture in his eyes.
~~~
It's still early evening when Kame wanders back to the hotel, the sky a dusty pink, lighting the slate blue and copper green rooftops and wrought iron windows with a rusty golden glow.
As the sun starts setting, Kame understands why they say Paris is for lovers. He understands why so many of his countrymen idealize it, though his sights have always been set elsewhere. It's warm and splashed with color, the air vibrating with light and energy and saturated with wonder.
He's run out of things to do for the day, at least while night settles over Paris, and he admits to himself that his limbs ache. When he turns the corner, he finds a familiar figure leaning against the hotel's front, smoking a cigarette. Wisps of blond hair have escaped her bun by now, and it's the first time Kame has seen Melanie out of her work uniform. She waves when she spots him, a smile breaking across her slim features.
"Back so soon?" she asks in English.
"I'm a little tired," he admits.
"Are you hungry?"
"I could eat," he replies, intrigued.
"I just finished work," she says, by way of explanation, and her blue eyes sparkle. "Let a real Parisian take you around. No walking though, I promise. Okay, maybe a little walking."
She laughs a husky, attractive laugh and taps the ash from her cigarette as she straightens away from the wall. "You can drop off your bags," she points to the things he's accumulated over the course of the day, and Kame nods, popping in to the hotel to drop off the gifts and his camera in his room. By the time he returns, Melanie's pulled her hair out of the bun, loose waves falling around her face.
The restaurant she takes him to is hidden away, with no big signs outside, and the lights inside are very dim, making it feel like they're in a cavern. The candlelight flickers across Melanie's face as she peruses the wine list with a frown of concentration. She points out some of the choices to Kame, and he pulls out some half-remembered knowledge picked up during his drama to offer mostly useless input about notes of berry and wood smoke. They settle on the house wine with a shared hapless laugh, and Kame leaves the orders for dinner up to her, the French in the menu incomprehensible and intimidating.
"No tomatoes," he whispers while she's ordering, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. The thought, the memory of another face that would never look surprised when he asked for no tomatoes - in fact, would know without being told - comes to his mind unbidden, and Kame muffles it, quickly, forcefully.
"So, Monsieur Kamenashi, tell me about yourself," she says, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs. The confident streak in her personality shines through in a way it never has when she was behind the desk with her professional mask on, and Kame feels like this glimpse is something special and rare.
"Kame, please."
"Kame," she says slowly, moving her lips around the sounds. "You know, most of the tourists we get come in large groups, or at least in pairs. There are some who travel by themselves, but they're never dressed like you," she observes, her warm, alert eyes seeming to take in his expression. "What made you come here?"
"I'm not entirely sure," he says, thinking out loud. He's speaking in English, but his thoughts tumble in Japanese and he isn't sure how to translate them. "I'm lost," he says, voice rising near the end, as if in question. "Searching, I think."
"Searching?" She isn't asking a question really, just confirming, and she nods as if she understands. "Do you know for what?"
"No," he replies. "Or maybe I'm running away."
Melanie laughs, not unkindly, running a hand through her loose hair. "Maybe, think about what it is you want."
"I think I forgot what it is to want," he says, blurting it out before his mind can filter it. "I... It's been so long since I allowed myself that luxury and if I let it in now, it might destroy me." He only realizes he's switched to Japanese when he looks at Melanie and she's giving him a bewildered expression.
"Um," he bites his lip and lets out a self-deprecating laugh, remembering himself. "Nothing... I don't know what I want," he says.
Her eyes linger on him as she takes a sip of her wine. The conversation is stilted by their languages, but never because of awkwardness. Kame's answers are honest in a way he's never allowed himself to be, even with friends and family. She nods from time to time, with a sympathetic frown on her face.
There's something easy about talking to a relative stranger, someone who doesn't know who he is or what he does. He admits weaknesses that he wouldn't tell anyone who actually worried for him, and Melanie reaches over to smooth her fingers warmly over his hand, even if she probably only catches every other word.
Kame doesn't pull away, letting her slender hand linger like a warm pressure as they sip wine and wait for their main course. It reminds him how much he craves touch, and how much he denies it to himself.
Kame doesn't remember much of dinner, except that the wine keeps flowing and they fight over the bill, with Melanie insisting that she pay her half and Kame insisting that he pay for it all. He isn't sure who wins, only that the night air feels refreshing when they leave the restaurant.
They continue on, with Melanie leading the way, her fingers somehow warmly gripping his, and Kame lets himself enjoy it, lets himself savor the fleeting moment, trying not to worry about impressions or consequences. She totters slightly on the cobblestones in her heels, but still manages to look elegant, turning around to laugh with Kame. They find a small wine bar and giggle over the menu again, choosing a dry rosé this time.
Her fingers draw a pattern on his hand, her expression mesmerized. Kame looks around at the other people, and it's so different from the times he sat in English pubs, so much more intimate, somehow, and romantic.
In this light, everything is warm and gold and red and simple, like the slow, solid beat of his pulse and the stark outline of Melanie's lipstick. Simple, untangled.
Melanie tells him about the cities she wants to go visit, the stories she's heard from travelers, the strangers who have become friends, and the common emotions that bind together people from all over the world when they come to the City of Light.
"It might be silly, because I've lived here all my life and haven't tried living anywhere else, but I love it. I love every little piece of it, even the dirty subways and the rude waiters. I know its flaws, but it still has my heart, you know," she says, eyes imploring Kame to understand. He smiles at her earnestness.
Kame tells her about the feelings he felt in Sacre Couer, of something larger and more mysterious than he could ever hope to imagine. She nods enthusiastically, a soft smile playing at her lips. They lose track of time as they talk, somehow this odd mixture of casual and intimately revealing.
When they walk outside once again, there's a light mist clinging in the air and Kame has no idea where he is or what time it is. Melanie offers to walk him back to the hotel. "It's not far, and what kind of hostess would I be if I let you get lost?" She threads her arm into his elbow, and Kame thinks he's a good enough reader of human behavior to realize that it's nothing serious to her, like it might be to someone else.
"Here we are," Melanie says, when they turn the corner. "Wanting is simple, Kame, if you let it be," she murmurs, pressing a soft, friendly kiss to the corner of his lips. He leans into it slightly, only wanting the soft warmth, nothing more.
"I hope you find what it is you're looking for," she continues, pulling back, light eyes sparkling in the lamp light. Her finger swipes at the corner of his lip. "Or whatever it is you're running from. Good night."
"Good night," he says, offering a small smile as he makes his way to the door.
~~~
"Hmm, look what we have here," is what Kame hears when the elevator opens on his floor. His stomach drops. Jin's sitting on the floor, half-hidden in his hoodie, the duffel in a pile next to him with a puffy coat.
"How did you find me?"
Jin gets up, stretching lazily, picking up his duffel and expecting Kame to let him in. "You think Johnny doesn't have a few connections at your bank? They probably tracked your credit card," he shrugs.
"I didn't ask for details, just followed directions," Jin mumbles, and he sounds tired. Kame's a little too buzzed from the wine to bother, so he lets Jin in.
"Wow, you're drunk," Jin observes, as Kame walks in and Kame can hear the snicker in his voice.
"'M not. Just a little," Kame says, toeing off his shoes clumsily and plopping on the bed on his back. He forgets about Jin until he finds him hovering over him, wide eyes studying him. "Go away," he swats blindly.
Jin's long fingers grasp Kame's wrists and hold them to the bed and Kame hates the way his body reacts, something hot curling low in his gut beyond his control, cutting through the fog of apathy and alcohol. His wrists burn, his skin feels like it's on fire, and he's sure his face is flushed.
There's nothing simple here, only tangles of burning emotion that he's repressed for years.
Jin giggles in triumph, and the basic structure of his crookedly perfect smile is so familiar it shoots like an arrow between Kame's ribs. He finds it hard to breathe for a moment, a piercing knot in his chest.
Kame struggles and easily wrenches out of Jin's grasp, knee accidentally catching Jin in the stomach. "Ow," Jin whines, collapsing and rolling around on the bed next to Kame.
Too close. Too much.
Kame hasn't let down his guard around Jin in years. Not since they had bad hair and even worse teeth and Kame had caterpillars for eyebrows. Not since they were friends first and group mates second. Back when they were clumsy and oblivious and things didn't have as much weight to them. Back when Jin didn't hesitate to ask for Kame's opinion and Kame didn't feel all the unsaid words shouting at him in the strained silences. Back when Kame could laugh at Jin's jokes and Jin could mess up Kame's hair and they could hold each other's hands and it didn't mean anything, except in their hearts.
Like a coward, Kame pretends to pass out, and ignoring the sharp scrape of memories in his heart. Jin pokes him a few times and even tries to tickle his sides, but Kame holds firm, holds strong and keeps his eyes closed.
~~~
Kame wakes up warm and fuzzy, long limbs pressed against his side and his heart lurches uncomfortably in his chest before he has even opened his eyes. He draws in a slow breath, then exhales.
He cracks one eye open and there's Jin, sprawled out on the bed, arms and legs spread all over, like a lazy panda.
The covers are heaped at the bottom of the bed in a giant tangle and Kame's heart won't stop hammering. It's only when he tries to move that he realizes Jin has tied their wrists together with a scarf. Jin snuffles in his sleep, turning, hair flopping into his eyes and mouth opening slightly on a half-snore.
There's scraggly stubble on his chin, and his T-shirt is pulled wide across a shoulder, revealing his sensitive collarbones and Kame almost feels guilty for looking. Almost. Jin's floppy and relaxed and beautiful.
Kame hasn't really looked at Jin for what feels like years. It probably has been years. He hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge Jin's existence somewhere, out there, in the wide world, because it was easier than examining everything that went wrong in their friendship or remembering what the ache of missing him felt like.
And now, here is Jin, in front of him, so vibrant and undeniable and familiar in all the ways that hurt deep inside. Before he can stop himself, Kame's finger is brushing a tendril of hair out of Jin's face.
"... no escape," Jin mutters, a frown crossing his features. Kame scrambles to draw back his hand, heart pounding. Hair falls in Jin's face again as he turns, tickling him and waking him up. Kame feels the warmth blooming in his heart, but it is accompanied by a creeping dread. He can't give in to this. Not now.
Kame starts untying the scarf, sighing at how tangled it's become, but Jin's hand claps on his wrist. When Kame looks at him, Jin is staring back, brown eyes blurry with sleep but slowly sharpening in awareness. "You're not going anywhere," Jin says, voice still rough.
Kame had completely forgotten how vulnerable and laid bare he always felt in front of Jin.
"I've got to pee," Kame says, and his voice comes out... resigned.
Kame hasn't looked at his own reflection for days, and he almost laughs when he spots the scraggly eyebrows and the mop of reddish-brown hair that hasn't seen a brush or any styling products in days.
There's a rapid knock on the door as he's brushing his teeth. "I've to pee too," Jin whines through the door and Kame rolls his eyes. He spits out the toothpaste and opens the door.
"I will never understand how you're older than me," Kame mutters, as Jin pushes past him into the bathroom and starts unzipping the jeans he slept in.
Kame's blood pounds in his temples as he quickly shuts the door behind him.
~~~
"Why are you here again?" Kame sighs. "Are you planning to babysit me?"
"Yeah, I'm done having to tail you like a spy," Jin says, that half-amused smirk on his face. They've managed to make it to the bakery where Kame has been buying his coffee and croissants for the past two days, Kame walking fast and irritated, Jin following with an amused swagger.
"Don't you have work you're supposed to be doing?" Kame's voice comes out clipped, and he fully understands the hypocrisy of asking Jin about work when he has extended his own unplanned holiday by many days.
He just... cannot deal with Jin right now. Jin, who's picking apart his croissant messily, brushing those long, graceful fingers against each other to get rid of the flakes.
Kame wishes he didn't notice everything about the way Jin moves, wishes he weren't so aware of Jin.
"Nah, I'm on probation right now," Jin mumbles, eyes on his croissant, shoulders hunched.
"Jin, why... I don't understand you. Why do you keep jeopardizing your career by just..." Kame trails off, speechless, unsure of what he can even say without being a giant hypocrite.
"Living my life? If I don't live it now, Kame, when do I get to? When I'm 50... or 60? When do I get to do things on my own terms?"
"Your own terms?" Kame says, and his voice dips low in that way that usually warns people not to push further.
"The jimusho shouldn't be telling us how to live our lives. They're our lives, Kame." Jin's eyes spark in a way Kame hasn't seen in a long time. His hand is curling into a fist and he thumps it lightly on his thigh. "They can't control what we do in our lives and who we hang out with and how we act."
Pain slices through Kame. "Don't you think I know that? But there's a difference between what's fair and what's professional. There are always consequences, Jin. Is a little bit of freedom enough to risk everything? You've always..." Kame's voice chokes off, and he wonders if he even has any right to...
He throws some change on the table and gets up, the chair scraping against the floor. He picks his bag up and walks out, throat working to hold down the emotion. Not this. Not now.
His head pounds. He needs air. Air and space. And time.
He walks down the street, ignoring the slap of shoes on concrete as long as he can, but then there's Jin, pulling on his sleeve and huffing, hair in his eyes and Kame hates how Jin can crawl under his skin in the space of minutes.
"Say what you want to say, Kame. You always do this. You always hold back what you're really thinking and put on that cold, hard, judging face and shut everyone out. I don't know what it means," Jin said, voice tight, like he's gritting his teeth.
Of all the places, Kame never thought they'd have this fight on a street corner in Paris, a few blocks from the Louvre. There's something surreal about the moment. He turns around and faces Jin, whose jaw is tight and hard. There are no soft edges to this Jin.
Kame's heart is thundering and he can feel himself shaking slightly, and he's not even sure what emotion is strongest now, but he opens his mouth and...
"You just dragged us along at your pace, not caring what your decisions did to everyone else. After how hard we fought to debut, you left. And you came back thank god, because if you had decided to leave the first time, I don't know if we would have survived without your voice. But..." Kame trails off, looking away.
He exhales, swallows and mutters, "Why does it even matter? It's all in the past now anyway. Just... leave me alone, alright?"
"Kame."
"What are you even doing here?" He shouts, vaguely aware of how some people turn to look at them.
"I care, alright! Yeah, management asked me to, but I felt like... I should, I dunno, see if I could talk to you," Jin says and it's the first shade of uncertainty Kame has seen on his face. "Even Nakamaru seemed worried about..."
"You can't suddenly decide to fucking care, Akanishi! Everything can't be fixed, now that you've suddenly grown a conscience or something. I worked so hard. We all did. We did it for the band, and it wasn't easy for any of us, no matter what we said on camera. It wasn't easy for Koki or Ueda or any of us, but we still tried and tried. And you just left us when it got hard, left me." Kame's eyes widen as he realizes what just came out of his mouth.
Jin's face looks tight in a different way, like he's holding back emotion, and Kame can see how his throat works up and down. Jin blinks and looks away, across the street, and clears his throat. "I had my reasons," he mumbles, and his voice sounds raw. Kame feels a sort of distant vindictive pleasure.
"You're the one doing it now. Shutting down, not explaining yourself," Kame says, and suddenly it doesn't seem worth it anymore. It all seems so fucking pointless.
"Whatever, I don't have the energy for this," Kame mutters and he turns and walks away, fingers brushing over the map stuffed in his coat pocket. He doesn't look back. This time, Jin doesn't follow.
With each step, Kame takes a huge swallow of air, trying to calm his breathing, hoping that the ache in his chest will stop throbbing.
~~~
It's a windy afternoon, but there are many people on the streets, some on bikes, but mostly walking, hunched in their coats against the wind.
Kame still hasn't been to Notre Dame, so he pulls out his map, carefully unfolding it so the edges don't tear. He studies it, charting out his path, through all the meandering streets with confusing names towards the structure circled in red ink. Navigating is like solving a puzzle, like walking a maze, and Kame lets his mind get preoccupied with the scenery.
Paris is beautiful, but he wouldn't be able to describe its beauty through tangible qualities. He loves the little details, the wrought iron railings on apartments with peeling paint, the giant, weeping trees that look like they've aged and grown around the city, the shabby book stalls dotting the cobble-stoned streets, like relics of the past. He isn't sure why he likes those things, only that he wants to preserve them all in photographs as he walks the narrow, curving streets.
The sun is playing hide and seek again, and the clouds move fast, making everything pulse with drama. The landscape changes drastically from moment to moment, as the buildings he passes huddle under clouds and glitter in the sun.
Notre Dame Cathedral is actually not far at all, but Kame takes his time, steeping in the experience. The street names change with each corner, but he follows the water of the Seine, sedate and calming. A few tourist ferries pass by, festively decked with strands of light and some even have tables and chairs and music on the decks.
As he gazes out at the water lapping at the edges of the bridge, inevitably, Kame's thoughts return to Jin. What's strange is that Jin, the Jin Kame likes to think of as his Jin, still throbs in his heart, fresh in Kame's memory with his sandy, floppy hair, his easy, crooked smile and his long limbs that tangled up with Kame's.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, once. They knew all the stupid details about each other's lives, like their favorite manga and their most hated food and the things that made each of them insecure about their jobs.
Kame remembers Jin confessing to him once, about how hard it was to sing slow, sad songs without his voice dissolving into tears. Jin's voice would tremble and crack as he sang the melancholy notes of old Kinki Kids songs. He remembers patting Jin's arm, and Jin's spiky hair nuzzling into his cheek.
Kame hates these memories the most, but only because he cherishes them the most. They have the power to destroy him, if he lets them.
Rationally, Kame knows it's unfair to expect Jin to stay the same, stay that warm, open boy with a goofy smile and an endearing stubbornness. Kame himself has changed so much since he was a child, and there is no way Jin could have survived in this industry unchanged, untainted by the cynicism and callousness.
So much of his anger is irrational, useless. It became an implicit thing in KAT-TUN to not bring up Jin's name, but at times, Kame would feel a fierce desire to see Jin make them proud, to realize his full potential.
He had mostly rationalized Jin's leaving, but he only ever got rid of the bitterness by forgetting, and seeing Jin again, it's reopened all the wounds Kame told himself were healed. He ignores the sharp pain of their fresh bleeding, breathing deeply, trying to dispel all the haunting thoughts.
Before he realizes it, Kame is at Notre Dame, looking at the intricate stone carvings and the stained windows. It doesn't move him like the Sacre Couer did. It's somewhat... ordinary, sitting under a grey sky, squat and earthbound.
Kame goes inside, and he has always liked the reverent hush inside places of worship, a quiet reprieve from the noise and tumult of life. He notices others dropping coins into a box and lighting candles, so he follows their example, wondering what the significance is. He wonders if he should say a prayer, but he isn't sure how, so he just bows his head in respect and wanders through the vaulted-ceilinged corridors.
Somehow, the sparkle, the surreal magic that has tinged his time in Paris so far has faded, and Kame knows his heart isn't in this moment.
It pounds, almost like a slow echo, an answer to his thoughts of Jin.
Traitorous thing. Traitorous, irrational thing.
He wanders out of the cathedral again, and watches the pigeons swarm around tourists, pecking at pebbles, being a delight and a nuisance. Toddlers run in the little park in front of Notre Dame, giggling and flying into the arms of their parents when the pigeons get too close. There are couples of all ages sitting on benches, and it feels comforting to share this moment with strangers, but it also makes Kame feel alone, for the first time in a while.
On the walk back, Kame takes a different route, and walks on one of the many tiny bridges crossing the Seine. He notices something both strange and familiar: tiny locks, some with hearts drawn on them, locked to the chain link on the bridge. He's seen them in Japan, the wishful symbols of couples' love. It's charming, seeing them here, so far away from home, so he takes out his camera to document the moment.
Just as Kame's putting away his camera, the clouds break and a sudden downpour catches him. He doesn't have an umbrella and he shields his camera bag inside his coat and starts running. He remembers some of the landmarks, and the run back to the hotel takes no time at all. His hair is soaking, and his jeans drag, heavy with water.
"Hello," Melanie says as soon as Kame enters the lobby, and he gives her a wide, genuine smile, dripping on the lobby's carpet. "You're drenched! Was your hangover terrible?"
"No," he chuckles, combing his fingers through his hair to get rid of the water. "I am used to it."
"I see," she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh! Your boyfriend changed your rooms. Said he'd like somewhere with a better view. I'll send up more towels, since you're soaking."
"B-boyfriend?" Kame wonders if he's mishearing the English.
"Uh, Japanese guy, a little taller than you. Came in last night, I think? I hope he's your boyfriend... he had your room key." She looks puzzled.
"Oh, just a... friend," Kame mumbles, trying to stop his smile from stiffening.
"Oh, I see, I'm so sorry. Désolé." she smiles, looking apologetic and putting her hand over her mouth. "He's very attractive."
She hands him a key card, saying, "You're in Room 23 now."
"Um, thanks," Kame replies, giving her a parting smile.
~~~
When he opens the door, Jin straightens from the bed, where he was probably lying down. "Let's talk."
Kame frowns, slightly surprised. "Uh," he manages.
"I bought some beer. It's Czech. Supposed to be really good. Beer's okay, right? I don't know anything about wine. Oh, and we have a balcony, and more room now. So," Jin trails off. He's scratching his neck and glancing around, almost nervous. He chews his bottom lip in a familiar gesture, and Kame's heart flutters in recognition.
The silence stretches and Jin finally turns to look at Kame. "You're drenched!"
"Yeah, got caught in the downpour," Kame says evenly. He can hear the plink of the rain hitting the balcony's glass door, and it is rather nice to have a view. He walks over to inspect the rust- and slate-colored rooftops under the gloomy sky when Jin shuffles past into the bathroom.
"Here," he says, startling Kame by shoving a handful of towels at him. "You'll get sick." Kame looks at him, completely baffled.
"Thanks," he says, grasping one to catch the excess water still dripping from his hair. "I should probably take a shower anyway."
"Okay, you shower and I'll get some food. I'm starving," Jin says, eyes lowered. His whole demeanor is... apologetic and it catches Kame by surprise, squeezing tightly in his chest.
"No tomatoes," Jin mumbles quietly, and it makes Kame's breath catch.
~~~
When Kame comes out of the shower, dressed in dry jeans and an old, worn T-shirt, he finds Jin on the balcony, setting food on the small table that's protected from rain by the overhang. He slips on his sneakers and finds a sweater before stepping out. The air is cool and damp and it feels refreshing against his skin.
"What did you get?" he asks after taking a deep breath of the cool air.
"I hope you're not tired of sandwiches yet. I went down to the deli across the street and got some baguettes with slices of ham."
It's so strange, the way Jin seems almost worried about what Kame likes. Who are you, and what have you done with Akanishi? Kame wants to ask, but he's curious to see where this will lead before he destroys the strange, tentative calm.
"So, I..." Jin starts and then trails off, rubbing his neck. "Um, we can eat."
"Yeah, thanks," Kame says, sitting down on the small, elegant and uncomfortable wrought iron chair. Both the chairs are tiny, and Jin folds himself onto his carefully. They're angled towards the railing, and Kame crosses his legs at the ankle.
Kame hadn't realized how hungry he was, and the sandwich turns out to be very flavorful, unlike a lot of the French food he has tried so far.
"You know," Jin starts, and he's trying to sound casual, Kame can tell. "When I was... before I entered Johnny's, I wanted to be a singer so badly. I thought it would be, I dunno, amazing, to be on stage, in front of all those people, sharing music and dancing and fun. I loved singing. It made me happy, and I just... wanted to share it with the world."
"I thought," he continues, gaze faraway, looking out at the rain. He looks as if he's just voicing his thoughts out loud. "When I joined Johnny's, I thought that's how simple it would be. I thought it was only about what you saw on screen. It sounds stupid now, but I didn't realize it was a job, and it wasn't just about sharing music and happiness."
"No, it's not," Kame says evenly into the pause, but he stops there, waiting for Jin to continue.
"I'm not built like you, Kame. I can't control my emotions like you can. And I can't bear the spotlight, all the time. All the questions and the pictures and wanting to know everything about me," Jin says, agitated, and his hand ruffles through his hair, leaving it disheveled.
"I don't really know why I thought going solo would change anything, but I didn't fit anymore. When I came back, to all of you... I... it felt so strange. I didn't want to be told what songs to sing and how to look..." He looks down at his half-eaten sandwich, which he's abandoned, and a short bark of a laugh escapes his lips. "It sounds so selfish, doesn't it?"
Kame stays silent.
"But it's the only way I could have lived, somehow. It's like, once I knew what being out of the spotlight was like, I couldn't go back. I'm not sure I understand it myself..."
Kame realizes that this might be the closest he ever comes to understanding Jin, to ever getting some sort of explanation.
"Does your music make you happy now?" he asks, and there's no accusation in his voice. It's a little astonishing to see how open Jin is trying to be.
"Just the music? Yes. Yes, it still makes me happy. It... I feel it in my body, in my mind, and I still want to share it, even if so many other things about being this... this," he says, indicating his body, " which aren't..." He stops and looks up, eyes wide.
Kame nods, at least somewhat understanding. He picks up the bottle of beer and takes a swallow.
"Kame," Jin breaks the silence again, trailing off as if he's unsure of how to proceed. "What... what happened to us, do you think? I mean, before I left..." He scratches his nose and sighs, hunching forward. He tilts his own beer bottle up for another swallow and Kame can't help the way his eyes follow the line of Jin's throat.
"I know I'm not the best at being there for people and," Jin's voice sounds thready, like he's barely getting it to work, and Kame can see how his throat swallows. "I still miss you...
"You're right here, but it's like you're so far away, like I never knew you at all, like we didn't grow up together." Jin looks over at him then, warm, brown eyes so open and almost... haunted. Kame inhales, feeling the sharp slice of pain in his chest.
"I probably made a lot of mistakes, but I don't always realize and if I hurt you..." Kame recognizes something in Jin's voice that he hasn't heard in so long: the soft-hearted vulnerability that Jin later covered up with bravado, coolness and fedoras. It makes him ache in sympathy, even while he's terrified to reach over and squeeze Jin's hand in comfort.
"Jin," is all he says. It's all he can manage, while his heart is in free fall.
"You're good with... feelings and stuff," Jin says, head turning away again, to look at the almost soothing sheets of water pelting down. Now that Kame is looking, really looking, Jin looks tired, worn, creases under his eyes and tight lines around his lips. He looks older in ways that hurt Kame to think about. It's so simple, inevitable, really, to let himself care again. It's so familiar, like breathing.
"I sometimes catch your radio show on the air as I'm driving," Jin muses, "and I wish I had someone like you to talk to when I was young and confused and so angry about everything."
Kame blinks back the prickling behind his eyes and clears his throat, taking a pointed swallow of beer. "Thanks. I had no idea you listened. As for us..."
"I don't know," Kame concludes honestly. "I miss... you too," he says, a little embarrassed at how hoarse his voice gets. "If I knew how to... it's really hard to understand you, sometimes. Maybe, we were just bad at understanding each other."
"And we fought so much over work," Kame adds, remembering with a wistful chuckle. "It probably didn't help because we were both really stubborn... you always wanted to do something crazy with the performances and Maru and I would try to hold you back." For the first time, in a long time, the memories don't shred his heart. They seem fond, not feral.
What Kame doesn't say aloud is, 'You made me feel weak, out of control, like I couldn't breathe, like my skin was burning, like my heart was dropping to my toes.'
"I miss all of you guys," Jin says suddenly, with a sigh. "It's one of those things... I didn't really understand how much it meant having the group, until it wasn't there anymore, you know?" Jin glances over at him again, and there's so much unguarded emotion in his eyes that Kame is almost afraid to read what's written there. He clears his throat and takes another sip of his beer.
"Look, I don't know why you're doing this, but I get it. Of all people, I get why you're, I dunno, running..." Jin trails off. "I won't stop you, but at least let me come along?"
Kame looks away because he's embarrassed. He feels, unfairly, like suddenly Jin has found the chinks in his armor, the flaws in his perfect mask of strength, determination and control. It all seems so childish now, but when he thinks of going back to Japan, to work, his heart still hammers like a drum.
"They want me to do a solo single."
"What? Oh," Jin says, genuine surprise crossing his face. "But then what about..."
"The rest of the guys don't get anything. And I won't be doing Going anymore." Kame's voice comes out in a monotone. It feels so surreal to be confiding in Jin about these things.
"Shit," Jin says, breath whooshing out.
It's silent, except for the rain and their quiet swallows of beer. Oddly, it isn't awkward, just calm.
"What are you going to do?" Jin says after a few moments. "Uh, they sent me here, but they're actually just worried. You're kind of too valuable to lose."
Kame glances at him, a slight frown forming on his forehead. He wonders if Jin has been in contact with the jimusho the whole time. "Do they know where I am?"
"Not exactly. They just know I'm with you and you're not on some crazy drug binge across Europe. I'm not actually spying on you for them, Kame." A wry smile plays at the corner of Jin's lips, as if he's thinking of something funny. "Imagine, me being the responsible one."
Kame reaches across the small round table and punches Jin's arm lightly. Jin chuckles, leaning in slightly and looking at Kame from beneath the fringe over his eyes.
Kame inhales sharply.
"Oh hey! Since... well, since we're already here, we should go to Barcelona! Yu tells me it's really pretty," Jin says, and there's that long lost enthusiasm, that boyish glee making him glow.
Kame's heart thunders in his ears as he says numbly, "Okay."
~~~
Part 3
Kame's in a taxi before he sighs in relief. He couldn't really sleep last night, stomach churning with all the emotions Akanishi's appearance had awoken.
Akanishi was busy snoring away in the other bed while Kame looked out of the window at London in lights around him. Despite how raw he was while here, the city did not disappoint him. It held an enchanting quality, a flawed and charming beauty that in just a few days managed to soak into a corner of Kame's heart, permanently dyeing it the muted rain-and-stone blues and grays of the city. The souvenirs he managed to buy at kitschy stalls weren't enough as mementos really, and neither were the garish postcards of Big Ben and Tower Bridge.
There's no way he can capture the atmosphere of the city, the quiet moments on early morning walks near the hotel, the rain-damp smell of the streets, the small brick-lined alleys and dusty bookshops and charming rows of old British houses with their red and blue doors.
Kame wrote about some of his experiences in his leather bound journal, but he doesn't think he's ever been good enough with words to truly express his emotions. Though, he is better than Jin, he thinks with a snort, remembering how the shaggy hair stayed firmly under the covers while Kame snuck around and silently packed his things away.
There's a painful tug in his chest, which he ignores. The cab drops him off at the train station, and Kame pays him and manages a smile and a tip of his baseball cap. The old man smiles and nods as he pulls away from the curb.
~~~
Kame isn't entirely sure about the wisdom of coming to Paris, because of the lingering memories from years ago, yet another forgotten lifetime. But bittersweet as the memories are, he remembers the city fondly, and ultimately it isn't his mind that makes the decision to come here, but his heart.
While London felt familiar and comforting, like he could belong there in another life, Paris has always felt like magic. It's like a little slice of surreal fantasy with its whimsical architecture and delicious desserts and breathtaking views.
He plans to find a hotel by asking a taxi to take him to the Louvre, a word he has somehow managed to ingrain in his memory. The French taxi driver, a middle-aged man with gray stubble on his face and a jaunty hat on his silver hair, assumes that Kame knows some of the language and starts chattering away at him. Kame tries to correct his mistake, but he finds he enjoys the chatter after so many days spent in his cocoon of silence. It's easy to offer the man a smile as he tells what sounds like a joke and starts laughing to himself, hand slapping the steering wheel.
The man teases Kame as he fumbles with the change, not yet used to the new currency that he changed his British pounds into before taking the underground train from the UK to France.
In the end, they work together to count out the correct change, each counting in his own language, and the man pats his arm in a friendly way before setting off.
Then Kame turns, stands and stares at the stunning structure of the Louvre, the intricate whorls and tall columns and formidable weight of history steeped in the stones.
It's still only mid-morning, since he took an early morning train, and pearly wisps of clouds hover in the sky, the sun glinting off the glass pyramid at the center of the Louvre.
It catches Kame unawares, the slow smile that crosses his face. He sorts through his bag and pulls out his camera, taking a picture of the hazy clouds and the sharp, curling architecture.
Choosing a street off the main road at random, Kame walks away from the Louvre, planning to check into the first reasonable, clean hotel he comes across.
He finds it in a charming white structure with blue trim and the curious name Timhotel.
The concierge is exactly the kind of woman Kame would imagine if someone said "a French beauty." Her long dusty blond hair is wrapped in a bun and her lips are defined in bright red. The twinkle in her eye takes away the severity of her uniform. She bows her head lightly before she greets him.
They speak in a smattering of English before she realizes he's Japanese and her eyes widen. "I speak little Japanese," she says, accent thick and blurred, hands gesticulating. "I want to go," she says, finishing in English, "someday."
"We have many Japanese come here," she observes.
"Yes, Japanese people love Paris," Kame replies, unable to help the wry smile. Some part of him loves that to her, he's just another Japanese tourist. His blood nearly sings with the freedom of anonymity.
After he's settled into a tiny room which Melanie - she told him to call her that - gave him at a discount because of the small size, Kame turns his phone back on.
He has to call his bank, to make sure they know he's in France, using his credit card, and it hasn't been stolen by some European pickpocket.
His hand trembles as the phone beeps with each voicemail received while it was off. He watches the number go up, guilt washing heavily over him. He can't. Kame just can't bring himself to listen, to deal with everything that's real.
He makes the call to his bank, short, formal.
Then Kame writes another email to KAT-TUN and his manager, only the second in a week. "I am fine. Hope you are all doing well. I will be back. I'm sorry."
His fingers shake and he has to type the letters repeatedly to get the message right. He can't bear to add any emojis. It would feel childish and insincere, like he didn't know how much trouble he's causing everyone, and Kame feels it like a heavy weight in his heart.
~~~
In the lobby, armed with a free map from the stack on the counter, Kame charts out his path with Melanie's help.
When... he was here last, his exposure was limited to the runways of Paris and the legendary fashion houses and boutiques. He caught tantalizing glimpses of the rest of Paris, but only enough to whet his appetite.
Melanie chews her red lip as she circles points on the map, telling him, "You must go there," emphasizing again in Japanese, "Must."
"The Louvre, of course," she murmurs, the pen making squiggly lines on the map. "Obélisque, Champs Élysées, Arc de Triomphe, Tour Eiffel... they are almost in a straight line, you see," she says, completely absorbed in her directions. "Later, maybe tomorrow, you can see Notre Dame, Opera Granier... so many places."
Kame finds himself staring at her jaw more than the map, a curious desire to nibble there taking him completely by surprise. He's shocked, and a little pleased. It's a little comforting he's still capable of feeling such emotions, he thinks, a small smile reaching his face as the feeling dips low and secret in his stomach.
Kame sets off, with Melanie's well wishes and color-coded map, and of course his camera. It's almost a meditative calm, the walking, the taking pictures, the only point being to observe and absorb his surroundings. Kame isn't sure at what cost he's stolen these few days yet, but no matter what, he feels they are worth it.
The weather is moody and grey, but somehow more oppressive compared to London. At dazzling moments the sun breaks through the clouds and transforms the city, light glinting off glass and water onto the buildings, setting Paris ablaze.
It's taken Kame a few days to realize that he doesn't really know who he is any longer. It's always been easiest to define himself by the roles he played, as a son, a brother, a friend and a colleague, an idol, a singer, an actor, a sportscaster. So many of the labels used to describe him have to do with his job, and now that he isn't even sure he has a job anymore, he no longer knows how to define himself.
All he feels now are these moments, these tiny moments of melancholy and awe in the streets of Paris. Tiny moments of intense emotion and connection with the beauty around him that he can claim completely as his own, moments he doesn't have to share with the cameras or explain to any colleagues. He isn't sure if they're enough to define him yet, these emotions, but they seem like some of the most genuine emotions he's allowed himself to feel in so long.
Walking takes a surprisingly long time, and Kame makes a few stops along the way in little bakeries and gift shops, picking out presents for his niece and nephew and his brothers and their wives. By the time he reaches the Eiffel Tower, the light in the sky is dimming, casting the clouds a reddish bronze and purple hue. He hovers there, sitting on the banks of the river, near the tower, just watching the tourists, a little amazed at how so many people come to experience the same thing.
He's taken by surprise when suddenly lights start sparkling on the tower, like camera flashes going off, and it's beautiful, breathtaking moment.
~~~
By the time Kame makes it back to the hotel, it's long past midnight. With the time difference, it turns out to be the right time to call Japan, and he dials the number from his memory, adding the international codes.
"Hello?" comes the melodic and strong voice of his grandmother.
"It's me, Oba-san. Kazuya."
"Kazuya! Your grandfather and I were just remembering you the other day," she says, voice warm, yet wistful. "You've always felt like our own child. It feels like we brought you up, in some ways. Remember how you used to play in the rice paddies in the summer when you were young? And I'd scold you for getting so dirty, and you'd run to your grandfather and get his clothes all dirty?"
She's an elegant woman, and so resilient, and it hurts Kame to think that it's been so long since he's spent time with her and his grandfather that her strongest memories of him are from two decades ago. It's another of those things he always thought he would have time for later.
"You make us so proud. How hard you've worked, supporting everyone from such a young age. Toda-san from down the street always tells me she wishes her grandson were more like you." She seems to remember that it's a phone call suddenly. "How are you, dear?"
"I'm fine. I'm out of the country, actually. How is grandfather doing?"
"Oh, you know, his hearing isn't what it used to be, and he's having some trouble with his knees, but we're managing somehow. But enough about us, tell me all about your life."
He talks to her, telling her things that he's always meant to and never gotten around to. Thoughts and feelings that he never thought to share with her, and by the end his voice is a little hoarse and she sounds emotional as she says goodbye. "Take care of yourself, Kazuya. Come see us soon."
"I will," he says, and he means it.
~~~
It's a sunny day in Paris, and Kame starts it off appropriately with a croissant and coffee. Melanie circles some more things on the map for him and he sets off, a dull, comforting throb in his thighs from all the walking and climbing.
He makes it to the cramped, narrow and charmingly cluttered streets of Montmarte. It feels like he's walked straight into a painting or a postcard, like he's experiencing history. In all the small, sloping alleys, he finds vendors selling jewelry and art and little replicas of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, silly and endearing and oddly nostalgic.
He buys his mother a delicate necklace that he knows she won't ever wear, but she will love the idea of him buying it with her in mind anyway. She has never had the patience or time to maintain her physical appearance, but she has always appreciated Kame thinking she's worthy of the jewelry he finds for her.
Kame makes slow progress, as every five minutes he turns to take pictures and admire the view. The higher he climbs, the more Paris sprawls out below him, and it's a gaudy, alluring and whimsical beauty.
He takes the most meandering path, but eventually, Kame is walking up the criss-crossing staircase of the Sacre Couer cathedral. His breaths come in short puffs and each time he stops to catch his breath he takes a picture of Paris' skyline.
When Kame reaches the top, he isn't sure how long he stands there, just taking in all of Paris, laid out in front of him. He doesn't even reach for his camera, because moments like this feel like they are meant to be engraved in the mind.
Kame steps into the Sacre Couer, dropping some coins into the donation box as he sees other tourists doing. He isn't sure what he expected, but inside, it's breathtaking.
The brilliant sunlight from outside shines in through the stained glass into the cathedral, saturating it with dazzling colors, and he's surprised when he hears the singing. There is a service going on, and a choir sings at the front of the church, the sound bouncing high and clear in the vaulted confines of the church.
Something about it touches Kame where he has always believed in things greater than nature and man. He inhales, trying to absorb and understand the strange transcendence and enormity of the moment.
The sound, the light fills him inside, in places in his heart he wasn't sure existed. And it doesn't matter that it isn't his religion, or his god. The moment still feels honest and pure and beautiful.
Kame swallows thickly, blinking back the moisture in his eyes.
~~~
It's still early evening when Kame wanders back to the hotel, the sky a dusty pink, lighting the slate blue and copper green rooftops and wrought iron windows with a rusty golden glow.
As the sun starts setting, Kame understands why they say Paris is for lovers. He understands why so many of his countrymen idealize it, though his sights have always been set elsewhere. It's warm and splashed with color, the air vibrating with light and energy and saturated with wonder.
He's run out of things to do for the day, at least while night settles over Paris, and he admits to himself that his limbs ache. When he turns the corner, he finds a familiar figure leaning against the hotel's front, smoking a cigarette. Wisps of blond hair have escaped her bun by now, and it's the first time Kame has seen Melanie out of her work uniform. She waves when she spots him, a smile breaking across her slim features.
"Back so soon?" she asks in English.
"I'm a little tired," he admits.
"Are you hungry?"
"I could eat," he replies, intrigued.
"I just finished work," she says, by way of explanation, and her blue eyes sparkle. "Let a real Parisian take you around. No walking though, I promise. Okay, maybe a little walking."
She laughs a husky, attractive laugh and taps the ash from her cigarette as she straightens away from the wall. "You can drop off your bags," she points to the things he's accumulated over the course of the day, and Kame nods, popping in to the hotel to drop off the gifts and his camera in his room. By the time he returns, Melanie's pulled her hair out of the bun, loose waves falling around her face.
The restaurant she takes him to is hidden away, with no big signs outside, and the lights inside are very dim, making it feel like they're in a cavern. The candlelight flickers across Melanie's face as she peruses the wine list with a frown of concentration. She points out some of the choices to Kame, and he pulls out some half-remembered knowledge picked up during his drama to offer mostly useless input about notes of berry and wood smoke. They settle on the house wine with a shared hapless laugh, and Kame leaves the orders for dinner up to her, the French in the menu incomprehensible and intimidating.
"No tomatoes," he whispers while she's ordering, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. The thought, the memory of another face that would never look surprised when he asked for no tomatoes - in fact, would know without being told - comes to his mind unbidden, and Kame muffles it, quickly, forcefully.
"So, Monsieur Kamenashi, tell me about yourself," she says, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs. The confident streak in her personality shines through in a way it never has when she was behind the desk with her professional mask on, and Kame feels like this glimpse is something special and rare.
"Kame, please."
"Kame," she says slowly, moving her lips around the sounds. "You know, most of the tourists we get come in large groups, or at least in pairs. There are some who travel by themselves, but they're never dressed like you," she observes, her warm, alert eyes seeming to take in his expression. "What made you come here?"
"I'm not entirely sure," he says, thinking out loud. He's speaking in English, but his thoughts tumble in Japanese and he isn't sure how to translate them. "I'm lost," he says, voice rising near the end, as if in question. "Searching, I think."
"Searching?" She isn't asking a question really, just confirming, and she nods as if she understands. "Do you know for what?"
"No," he replies. "Or maybe I'm running away."
Melanie laughs, not unkindly, running a hand through her loose hair. "Maybe, think about what it is you want."
"I think I forgot what it is to want," he says, blurting it out before his mind can filter it. "I... It's been so long since I allowed myself that luxury and if I let it in now, it might destroy me." He only realizes he's switched to Japanese when he looks at Melanie and she's giving him a bewildered expression.
"Um," he bites his lip and lets out a self-deprecating laugh, remembering himself. "Nothing... I don't know what I want," he says.
Her eyes linger on him as she takes a sip of her wine. The conversation is stilted by their languages, but never because of awkwardness. Kame's answers are honest in a way he's never allowed himself to be, even with friends and family. She nods from time to time, with a sympathetic frown on her face.
There's something easy about talking to a relative stranger, someone who doesn't know who he is or what he does. He admits weaknesses that he wouldn't tell anyone who actually worried for him, and Melanie reaches over to smooth her fingers warmly over his hand, even if she probably only catches every other word.
Kame doesn't pull away, letting her slender hand linger like a warm pressure as they sip wine and wait for their main course. It reminds him how much he craves touch, and how much he denies it to himself.
Kame doesn't remember much of dinner, except that the wine keeps flowing and they fight over the bill, with Melanie insisting that she pay her half and Kame insisting that he pay for it all. He isn't sure who wins, only that the night air feels refreshing when they leave the restaurant.
They continue on, with Melanie leading the way, her fingers somehow warmly gripping his, and Kame lets himself enjoy it, lets himself savor the fleeting moment, trying not to worry about impressions or consequences. She totters slightly on the cobblestones in her heels, but still manages to look elegant, turning around to laugh with Kame. They find a small wine bar and giggle over the menu again, choosing a dry rosé this time.
Her fingers draw a pattern on his hand, her expression mesmerized. Kame looks around at the other people, and it's so different from the times he sat in English pubs, so much more intimate, somehow, and romantic.
In this light, everything is warm and gold and red and simple, like the slow, solid beat of his pulse and the stark outline of Melanie's lipstick. Simple, untangled.
Melanie tells him about the cities she wants to go visit, the stories she's heard from travelers, the strangers who have become friends, and the common emotions that bind together people from all over the world when they come to the City of Light.
"It might be silly, because I've lived here all my life and haven't tried living anywhere else, but I love it. I love every little piece of it, even the dirty subways and the rude waiters. I know its flaws, but it still has my heart, you know," she says, eyes imploring Kame to understand. He smiles at her earnestness.
Kame tells her about the feelings he felt in Sacre Couer, of something larger and more mysterious than he could ever hope to imagine. She nods enthusiastically, a soft smile playing at her lips. They lose track of time as they talk, somehow this odd mixture of casual and intimately revealing.
When they walk outside once again, there's a light mist clinging in the air and Kame has no idea where he is or what time it is. Melanie offers to walk him back to the hotel. "It's not far, and what kind of hostess would I be if I let you get lost?" She threads her arm into his elbow, and Kame thinks he's a good enough reader of human behavior to realize that it's nothing serious to her, like it might be to someone else.
"Here we are," Melanie says, when they turn the corner. "Wanting is simple, Kame, if you let it be," she murmurs, pressing a soft, friendly kiss to the corner of his lips. He leans into it slightly, only wanting the soft warmth, nothing more.
"I hope you find what it is you're looking for," she continues, pulling back, light eyes sparkling in the lamp light. Her finger swipes at the corner of his lip. "Or whatever it is you're running from. Good night."
"Good night," he says, offering a small smile as he makes his way to the door.
~~~
"Hmm, look what we have here," is what Kame hears when the elevator opens on his floor. His stomach drops. Jin's sitting on the floor, half-hidden in his hoodie, the duffel in a pile next to him with a puffy coat.
"How did you find me?"
Jin gets up, stretching lazily, picking up his duffel and expecting Kame to let him in. "You think Johnny doesn't have a few connections at your bank? They probably tracked your credit card," he shrugs.
"I didn't ask for details, just followed directions," Jin mumbles, and he sounds tired. Kame's a little too buzzed from the wine to bother, so he lets Jin in.
"Wow, you're drunk," Jin observes, as Kame walks in and Kame can hear the snicker in his voice.
"'M not. Just a little," Kame says, toeing off his shoes clumsily and plopping on the bed on his back. He forgets about Jin until he finds him hovering over him, wide eyes studying him. "Go away," he swats blindly.
Jin's long fingers grasp Kame's wrists and hold them to the bed and Kame hates the way his body reacts, something hot curling low in his gut beyond his control, cutting through the fog of apathy and alcohol. His wrists burn, his skin feels like it's on fire, and he's sure his face is flushed.
There's nothing simple here, only tangles of burning emotion that he's repressed for years.
Jin giggles in triumph, and the basic structure of his crookedly perfect smile is so familiar it shoots like an arrow between Kame's ribs. He finds it hard to breathe for a moment, a piercing knot in his chest.
Kame struggles and easily wrenches out of Jin's grasp, knee accidentally catching Jin in the stomach. "Ow," Jin whines, collapsing and rolling around on the bed next to Kame.
Too close. Too much.
Kame hasn't let down his guard around Jin in years. Not since they had bad hair and even worse teeth and Kame had caterpillars for eyebrows. Not since they were friends first and group mates second. Back when they were clumsy and oblivious and things didn't have as much weight to them. Back when Jin didn't hesitate to ask for Kame's opinion and Kame didn't feel all the unsaid words shouting at him in the strained silences. Back when Kame could laugh at Jin's jokes and Jin could mess up Kame's hair and they could hold each other's hands and it didn't mean anything, except in their hearts.
Like a coward, Kame pretends to pass out, and ignoring the sharp scrape of memories in his heart. Jin pokes him a few times and even tries to tickle his sides, but Kame holds firm, holds strong and keeps his eyes closed.
~~~
Kame wakes up warm and fuzzy, long limbs pressed against his side and his heart lurches uncomfortably in his chest before he has even opened his eyes. He draws in a slow breath, then exhales.
He cracks one eye open and there's Jin, sprawled out on the bed, arms and legs spread all over, like a lazy panda.
The covers are heaped at the bottom of the bed in a giant tangle and Kame's heart won't stop hammering. It's only when he tries to move that he realizes Jin has tied their wrists together with a scarf. Jin snuffles in his sleep, turning, hair flopping into his eyes and mouth opening slightly on a half-snore.
There's scraggly stubble on his chin, and his T-shirt is pulled wide across a shoulder, revealing his sensitive collarbones and Kame almost feels guilty for looking. Almost. Jin's floppy and relaxed and beautiful.
Kame hasn't really looked at Jin for what feels like years. It probably has been years. He hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge Jin's existence somewhere, out there, in the wide world, because it was easier than examining everything that went wrong in their friendship or remembering what the ache of missing him felt like.
And now, here is Jin, in front of him, so vibrant and undeniable and familiar in all the ways that hurt deep inside. Before he can stop himself, Kame's finger is brushing a tendril of hair out of Jin's face.
"... no escape," Jin mutters, a frown crossing his features. Kame scrambles to draw back his hand, heart pounding. Hair falls in Jin's face again as he turns, tickling him and waking him up. Kame feels the warmth blooming in his heart, but it is accompanied by a creeping dread. He can't give in to this. Not now.
Kame starts untying the scarf, sighing at how tangled it's become, but Jin's hand claps on his wrist. When Kame looks at him, Jin is staring back, brown eyes blurry with sleep but slowly sharpening in awareness. "You're not going anywhere," Jin says, voice still rough.
Kame had completely forgotten how vulnerable and laid bare he always felt in front of Jin.
"I've got to pee," Kame says, and his voice comes out... resigned.
Kame hasn't looked at his own reflection for days, and he almost laughs when he spots the scraggly eyebrows and the mop of reddish-brown hair that hasn't seen a brush or any styling products in days.
There's a rapid knock on the door as he's brushing his teeth. "I've to pee too," Jin whines through the door and Kame rolls his eyes. He spits out the toothpaste and opens the door.
"I will never understand how you're older than me," Kame mutters, as Jin pushes past him into the bathroom and starts unzipping the jeans he slept in.
Kame's blood pounds in his temples as he quickly shuts the door behind him.
~~~
"Why are you here again?" Kame sighs. "Are you planning to babysit me?"
"Yeah, I'm done having to tail you like a spy," Jin says, that half-amused smirk on his face. They've managed to make it to the bakery where Kame has been buying his coffee and croissants for the past two days, Kame walking fast and irritated, Jin following with an amused swagger.
"Don't you have work you're supposed to be doing?" Kame's voice comes out clipped, and he fully understands the hypocrisy of asking Jin about work when he has extended his own unplanned holiday by many days.
He just... cannot deal with Jin right now. Jin, who's picking apart his croissant messily, brushing those long, graceful fingers against each other to get rid of the flakes.
Kame wishes he didn't notice everything about the way Jin moves, wishes he weren't so aware of Jin.
"Nah, I'm on probation right now," Jin mumbles, eyes on his croissant, shoulders hunched.
"Jin, why... I don't understand you. Why do you keep jeopardizing your career by just..." Kame trails off, speechless, unsure of what he can even say without being a giant hypocrite.
"Living my life? If I don't live it now, Kame, when do I get to? When I'm 50... or 60? When do I get to do things on my own terms?"
"Your own terms?" Kame says, and his voice dips low in that way that usually warns people not to push further.
"The jimusho shouldn't be telling us how to live our lives. They're our lives, Kame." Jin's eyes spark in a way Kame hasn't seen in a long time. His hand is curling into a fist and he thumps it lightly on his thigh. "They can't control what we do in our lives and who we hang out with and how we act."
Pain slices through Kame. "Don't you think I know that? But there's a difference between what's fair and what's professional. There are always consequences, Jin. Is a little bit of freedom enough to risk everything? You've always..." Kame's voice chokes off, and he wonders if he even has any right to...
He throws some change on the table and gets up, the chair scraping against the floor. He picks his bag up and walks out, throat working to hold down the emotion. Not this. Not now.
His head pounds. He needs air. Air and space. And time.
He walks down the street, ignoring the slap of shoes on concrete as long as he can, but then there's Jin, pulling on his sleeve and huffing, hair in his eyes and Kame hates how Jin can crawl under his skin in the space of minutes.
"Say what you want to say, Kame. You always do this. You always hold back what you're really thinking and put on that cold, hard, judging face and shut everyone out. I don't know what it means," Jin said, voice tight, like he's gritting his teeth.
Of all the places, Kame never thought they'd have this fight on a street corner in Paris, a few blocks from the Louvre. There's something surreal about the moment. He turns around and faces Jin, whose jaw is tight and hard. There are no soft edges to this Jin.
Kame's heart is thundering and he can feel himself shaking slightly, and he's not even sure what emotion is strongest now, but he opens his mouth and...
"You just dragged us along at your pace, not caring what your decisions did to everyone else. After how hard we fought to debut, you left. And you came back thank god, because if you had decided to leave the first time, I don't know if we would have survived without your voice. But..." Kame trails off, looking away.
He exhales, swallows and mutters, "Why does it even matter? It's all in the past now anyway. Just... leave me alone, alright?"
"Kame."
"What are you even doing here?" He shouts, vaguely aware of how some people turn to look at them.
"I care, alright! Yeah, management asked me to, but I felt like... I should, I dunno, see if I could talk to you," Jin says and it's the first shade of uncertainty Kame has seen on his face. "Even Nakamaru seemed worried about..."
"You can't suddenly decide to fucking care, Akanishi! Everything can't be fixed, now that you've suddenly grown a conscience or something. I worked so hard. We all did. We did it for the band, and it wasn't easy for any of us, no matter what we said on camera. It wasn't easy for Koki or Ueda or any of us, but we still tried and tried. And you just left us when it got hard, left me." Kame's eyes widen as he realizes what just came out of his mouth.
Jin's face looks tight in a different way, like he's holding back emotion, and Kame can see how his throat works up and down. Jin blinks and looks away, across the street, and clears his throat. "I had my reasons," he mumbles, and his voice sounds raw. Kame feels a sort of distant vindictive pleasure.
"You're the one doing it now. Shutting down, not explaining yourself," Kame says, and suddenly it doesn't seem worth it anymore. It all seems so fucking pointless.
"Whatever, I don't have the energy for this," Kame mutters and he turns and walks away, fingers brushing over the map stuffed in his coat pocket. He doesn't look back. This time, Jin doesn't follow.
With each step, Kame takes a huge swallow of air, trying to calm his breathing, hoping that the ache in his chest will stop throbbing.
~~~
It's a windy afternoon, but there are many people on the streets, some on bikes, but mostly walking, hunched in their coats against the wind.
Kame still hasn't been to Notre Dame, so he pulls out his map, carefully unfolding it so the edges don't tear. He studies it, charting out his path, through all the meandering streets with confusing names towards the structure circled in red ink. Navigating is like solving a puzzle, like walking a maze, and Kame lets his mind get preoccupied with the scenery.
Paris is beautiful, but he wouldn't be able to describe its beauty through tangible qualities. He loves the little details, the wrought iron railings on apartments with peeling paint, the giant, weeping trees that look like they've aged and grown around the city, the shabby book stalls dotting the cobble-stoned streets, like relics of the past. He isn't sure why he likes those things, only that he wants to preserve them all in photographs as he walks the narrow, curving streets.
The sun is playing hide and seek again, and the clouds move fast, making everything pulse with drama. The landscape changes drastically from moment to moment, as the buildings he passes huddle under clouds and glitter in the sun.
Notre Dame Cathedral is actually not far at all, but Kame takes his time, steeping in the experience. The street names change with each corner, but he follows the water of the Seine, sedate and calming. A few tourist ferries pass by, festively decked with strands of light and some even have tables and chairs and music on the decks.
As he gazes out at the water lapping at the edges of the bridge, inevitably, Kame's thoughts return to Jin. What's strange is that Jin, the Jin Kame likes to think of as his Jin, still throbs in his heart, fresh in Kame's memory with his sandy, floppy hair, his easy, crooked smile and his long limbs that tangled up with Kame's.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, once. They knew all the stupid details about each other's lives, like their favorite manga and their most hated food and the things that made each of them insecure about their jobs.
Kame remembers Jin confessing to him once, about how hard it was to sing slow, sad songs without his voice dissolving into tears. Jin's voice would tremble and crack as he sang the melancholy notes of old Kinki Kids songs. He remembers patting Jin's arm, and Jin's spiky hair nuzzling into his cheek.
Kame hates these memories the most, but only because he cherishes them the most. They have the power to destroy him, if he lets them.
Rationally, Kame knows it's unfair to expect Jin to stay the same, stay that warm, open boy with a goofy smile and an endearing stubbornness. Kame himself has changed so much since he was a child, and there is no way Jin could have survived in this industry unchanged, untainted by the cynicism and callousness.
So much of his anger is irrational, useless. It became an implicit thing in KAT-TUN to not bring up Jin's name, but at times, Kame would feel a fierce desire to see Jin make them proud, to realize his full potential.
He had mostly rationalized Jin's leaving, but he only ever got rid of the bitterness by forgetting, and seeing Jin again, it's reopened all the wounds Kame told himself were healed. He ignores the sharp pain of their fresh bleeding, breathing deeply, trying to dispel all the haunting thoughts.
Before he realizes it, Kame is at Notre Dame, looking at the intricate stone carvings and the stained windows. It doesn't move him like the Sacre Couer did. It's somewhat... ordinary, sitting under a grey sky, squat and earthbound.
Kame goes inside, and he has always liked the reverent hush inside places of worship, a quiet reprieve from the noise and tumult of life. He notices others dropping coins into a box and lighting candles, so he follows their example, wondering what the significance is. He wonders if he should say a prayer, but he isn't sure how, so he just bows his head in respect and wanders through the vaulted-ceilinged corridors.
Somehow, the sparkle, the surreal magic that has tinged his time in Paris so far has faded, and Kame knows his heart isn't in this moment.
It pounds, almost like a slow echo, an answer to his thoughts of Jin.
Traitorous thing. Traitorous, irrational thing.
He wanders out of the cathedral again, and watches the pigeons swarm around tourists, pecking at pebbles, being a delight and a nuisance. Toddlers run in the little park in front of Notre Dame, giggling and flying into the arms of their parents when the pigeons get too close. There are couples of all ages sitting on benches, and it feels comforting to share this moment with strangers, but it also makes Kame feel alone, for the first time in a while.
On the walk back, Kame takes a different route, and walks on one of the many tiny bridges crossing the Seine. He notices something both strange and familiar: tiny locks, some with hearts drawn on them, locked to the chain link on the bridge. He's seen them in Japan, the wishful symbols of couples' love. It's charming, seeing them here, so far away from home, so he takes out his camera to document the moment.
Just as Kame's putting away his camera, the clouds break and a sudden downpour catches him. He doesn't have an umbrella and he shields his camera bag inside his coat and starts running. He remembers some of the landmarks, and the run back to the hotel takes no time at all. His hair is soaking, and his jeans drag, heavy with water.
"Hello," Melanie says as soon as Kame enters the lobby, and he gives her a wide, genuine smile, dripping on the lobby's carpet. "You're drenched! Was your hangover terrible?"
"No," he chuckles, combing his fingers through his hair to get rid of the water. "I am used to it."
"I see," she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh! Your boyfriend changed your rooms. Said he'd like somewhere with a better view. I'll send up more towels, since you're soaking."
"B-boyfriend?" Kame wonders if he's mishearing the English.
"Uh, Japanese guy, a little taller than you. Came in last night, I think? I hope he's your boyfriend... he had your room key." She looks puzzled.
"Oh, just a... friend," Kame mumbles, trying to stop his smile from stiffening.
"Oh, I see, I'm so sorry. Désolé." she smiles, looking apologetic and putting her hand over her mouth. "He's very attractive."
She hands him a key card, saying, "You're in Room 23 now."
"Um, thanks," Kame replies, giving her a parting smile.
~~~
When he opens the door, Jin straightens from the bed, where he was probably lying down. "Let's talk."
Kame frowns, slightly surprised. "Uh," he manages.
"I bought some beer. It's Czech. Supposed to be really good. Beer's okay, right? I don't know anything about wine. Oh, and we have a balcony, and more room now. So," Jin trails off. He's scratching his neck and glancing around, almost nervous. He chews his bottom lip in a familiar gesture, and Kame's heart flutters in recognition.
The silence stretches and Jin finally turns to look at Kame. "You're drenched!"
"Yeah, got caught in the downpour," Kame says evenly. He can hear the plink of the rain hitting the balcony's glass door, and it is rather nice to have a view. He walks over to inspect the rust- and slate-colored rooftops under the gloomy sky when Jin shuffles past into the bathroom.
"Here," he says, startling Kame by shoving a handful of towels at him. "You'll get sick." Kame looks at him, completely baffled.
"Thanks," he says, grasping one to catch the excess water still dripping from his hair. "I should probably take a shower anyway."
"Okay, you shower and I'll get some food. I'm starving," Jin says, eyes lowered. His whole demeanor is... apologetic and it catches Kame by surprise, squeezing tightly in his chest.
"No tomatoes," Jin mumbles quietly, and it makes Kame's breath catch.
~~~
When Kame comes out of the shower, dressed in dry jeans and an old, worn T-shirt, he finds Jin on the balcony, setting food on the small table that's protected from rain by the overhang. He slips on his sneakers and finds a sweater before stepping out. The air is cool and damp and it feels refreshing against his skin.
"What did you get?" he asks after taking a deep breath of the cool air.
"I hope you're not tired of sandwiches yet. I went down to the deli across the street and got some baguettes with slices of ham."
It's so strange, the way Jin seems almost worried about what Kame likes. Who are you, and what have you done with Akanishi? Kame wants to ask, but he's curious to see where this will lead before he destroys the strange, tentative calm.
"So, I..." Jin starts and then trails off, rubbing his neck. "Um, we can eat."
"Yeah, thanks," Kame says, sitting down on the small, elegant and uncomfortable wrought iron chair. Both the chairs are tiny, and Jin folds himself onto his carefully. They're angled towards the railing, and Kame crosses his legs at the ankle.
Kame hadn't realized how hungry he was, and the sandwich turns out to be very flavorful, unlike a lot of the French food he has tried so far.
"You know," Jin starts, and he's trying to sound casual, Kame can tell. "When I was... before I entered Johnny's, I wanted to be a singer so badly. I thought it would be, I dunno, amazing, to be on stage, in front of all those people, sharing music and dancing and fun. I loved singing. It made me happy, and I just... wanted to share it with the world."
"I thought," he continues, gaze faraway, looking out at the rain. He looks as if he's just voicing his thoughts out loud. "When I joined Johnny's, I thought that's how simple it would be. I thought it was only about what you saw on screen. It sounds stupid now, but I didn't realize it was a job, and it wasn't just about sharing music and happiness."
"No, it's not," Kame says evenly into the pause, but he stops there, waiting for Jin to continue.
"I'm not built like you, Kame. I can't control my emotions like you can. And I can't bear the spotlight, all the time. All the questions and the pictures and wanting to know everything about me," Jin says, agitated, and his hand ruffles through his hair, leaving it disheveled.
"I don't really know why I thought going solo would change anything, but I didn't fit anymore. When I came back, to all of you... I... it felt so strange. I didn't want to be told what songs to sing and how to look..." He looks down at his half-eaten sandwich, which he's abandoned, and a short bark of a laugh escapes his lips. "It sounds so selfish, doesn't it?"
Kame stays silent.
"But it's the only way I could have lived, somehow. It's like, once I knew what being out of the spotlight was like, I couldn't go back. I'm not sure I understand it myself..."
Kame realizes that this might be the closest he ever comes to understanding Jin, to ever getting some sort of explanation.
"Does your music make you happy now?" he asks, and there's no accusation in his voice. It's a little astonishing to see how open Jin is trying to be.
"Just the music? Yes. Yes, it still makes me happy. It... I feel it in my body, in my mind, and I still want to share it, even if so many other things about being this... this," he says, indicating his body, " which aren't..." He stops and looks up, eyes wide.
Kame nods, at least somewhat understanding. He picks up the bottle of beer and takes a swallow.
"Kame," Jin breaks the silence again, trailing off as if he's unsure of how to proceed. "What... what happened to us, do you think? I mean, before I left..." He scratches his nose and sighs, hunching forward. He tilts his own beer bottle up for another swallow and Kame can't help the way his eyes follow the line of Jin's throat.
"I know I'm not the best at being there for people and," Jin's voice sounds thready, like he's barely getting it to work, and Kame can see how his throat swallows. "I still miss you...
"You're right here, but it's like you're so far away, like I never knew you at all, like we didn't grow up together." Jin looks over at him then, warm, brown eyes so open and almost... haunted. Kame inhales, feeling the sharp slice of pain in his chest.
"I probably made a lot of mistakes, but I don't always realize and if I hurt you..." Kame recognizes something in Jin's voice that he hasn't heard in so long: the soft-hearted vulnerability that Jin later covered up with bravado, coolness and fedoras. It makes him ache in sympathy, even while he's terrified to reach over and squeeze Jin's hand in comfort.
"Jin," is all he says. It's all he can manage, while his heart is in free fall.
"You're good with... feelings and stuff," Jin says, head turning away again, to look at the almost soothing sheets of water pelting down. Now that Kame is looking, really looking, Jin looks tired, worn, creases under his eyes and tight lines around his lips. He looks older in ways that hurt Kame to think about. It's so simple, inevitable, really, to let himself care again. It's so familiar, like breathing.
"I sometimes catch your radio show on the air as I'm driving," Jin muses, "and I wish I had someone like you to talk to when I was young and confused and so angry about everything."
Kame blinks back the prickling behind his eyes and clears his throat, taking a pointed swallow of beer. "Thanks. I had no idea you listened. As for us..."
"I don't know," Kame concludes honestly. "I miss... you too," he says, a little embarrassed at how hoarse his voice gets. "If I knew how to... it's really hard to understand you, sometimes. Maybe, we were just bad at understanding each other."
"And we fought so much over work," Kame adds, remembering with a wistful chuckle. "It probably didn't help because we were both really stubborn... you always wanted to do something crazy with the performances and Maru and I would try to hold you back." For the first time, in a long time, the memories don't shred his heart. They seem fond, not feral.
What Kame doesn't say aloud is, 'You made me feel weak, out of control, like I couldn't breathe, like my skin was burning, like my heart was dropping to my toes.'
"I miss all of you guys," Jin says suddenly, with a sigh. "It's one of those things... I didn't really understand how much it meant having the group, until it wasn't there anymore, you know?" Jin glances over at him again, and there's so much unguarded emotion in his eyes that Kame is almost afraid to read what's written there. He clears his throat and takes another sip of his beer.
"Look, I don't know why you're doing this, but I get it. Of all people, I get why you're, I dunno, running..." Jin trails off. "I won't stop you, but at least let me come along?"
Kame looks away because he's embarrassed. He feels, unfairly, like suddenly Jin has found the chinks in his armor, the flaws in his perfect mask of strength, determination and control. It all seems so childish now, but when he thinks of going back to Japan, to work, his heart still hammers like a drum.
"They want me to do a solo single."
"What? Oh," Jin says, genuine surprise crossing his face. "But then what about..."
"The rest of the guys don't get anything. And I won't be doing Going anymore." Kame's voice comes out in a monotone. It feels so surreal to be confiding in Jin about these things.
"Shit," Jin says, breath whooshing out.
It's silent, except for the rain and their quiet swallows of beer. Oddly, it isn't awkward, just calm.
"What are you going to do?" Jin says after a few moments. "Uh, they sent me here, but they're actually just worried. You're kind of too valuable to lose."
Kame glances at him, a slight frown forming on his forehead. He wonders if Jin has been in contact with the jimusho the whole time. "Do they know where I am?"
"Not exactly. They just know I'm with you and you're not on some crazy drug binge across Europe. I'm not actually spying on you for them, Kame." A wry smile plays at the corner of Jin's lips, as if he's thinking of something funny. "Imagine, me being the responsible one."
Kame reaches across the small round table and punches Jin's arm lightly. Jin chuckles, leaning in slightly and looking at Kame from beneath the fringe over his eyes.
Kame inhales sharply.
"Oh hey! Since... well, since we're already here, we should go to Barcelona! Yu tells me it's really pretty," Jin says, and there's that long lost enthusiasm, that boyish glee making him glow.
Kame's heart thunders in his ears as he says numbly, "Okay."
~~~
Part 3