Angels Overheard (Across 5,936 miles)
Title: Angels Overheard (Across 5,936 miles)
Pairings: Kamenashi Kazuya/Ueda Tatsuya
Rating: PG
Genre: angst, fluff (I think?)
Foreword: Canon slight AU
Disclaimer: I own them. And toilets fly.
Word Count: 5.4K
Summary: A confession across 5,936 miles.
Notes: First fic! *gyasp* I don’t know if I got the timeline right here, it might be wrong, because I can’t remember if Ueda’s trip to London intersects with Kame’s drama shooting, but if it’s not, then let’s pretend it is, okay? This is also heavily based on an interview that I can't really remember. orz. But the end part is all canon (Kame actually did get Ueda chocolates <3 how sweet) but the p.s.: part isn't real of course. That's all in my mind.
Ueda doesn’t know whether he should ignore it or pick it up and perhaps yell a few choice words down the receiver just to get a certain person to stop calling.
He rolls over and presses his face into the fluffy covers and sandwiches himself between his pillow and the bed. The incessant ringing of his phone is only muffled to the point where the noise is a throbbing that gradually becomes a thousand hot pokers that make him want to scream.
Then it stops.
Ueda exhales into the ringing silence.
The city lights pour into his hotel room through the window, casting surreal patterns that bathe half the room in parallelograms of multicoloured light. Shadows curl like smoke against the wall opposite where his phone lies - innocent yet so intimidating - on a wooden table pushed up against it.
Ueda has half his face buried into the mattress that slides deliciously soft over his naked skin whenever he moves. Ueda certainly prefers this to the cheap, bulky beds in second rate hotels he’s been dumped in during his Junior days. It’s hard to sleep though, despite the luxurious bed and soft, dancing lights that play around him. Ueda reckons it’s just because he isn’t used to it - being alone in a foreign country that is.
When he left Japan, he was determined to leave it all at the boarding gate before even thinking of getting on the plane; he isn’t going to bring along unnecessary insecurities, and so he doesn’t. This is his chance, his moment. 5 years ago, Ueda would never have dreamed of doing something like this because he’s Ueda Tatsuya, not Kamenashi Kazuya; he will always be second choice because he’s silver and not gold.
Ueda doesn’t blame Kamenashi, as much as he’d like to. He chooses to believe he and the youngest member of KAT-TUN has reached a point of understanding, or equilibrium, if you will. There will always be competition of course, because Kamenashi needs perfection, and Ueda hates him for it because the man doesn’t see that he’s already there. He’s perfection in the fucking flesh.
It feels like an insult every time Kamenashi flashes an uncertain smile, an awkward stutter, an occasional sideways glance at Ueda that easily conveys the message.
“I’m not perfect.”
Ueda will go as far as to say that yes, perhaps Kame isn’t perfect - because nobody is - but why should Kame care what anyone else thinks if Ueda believes that he is?
It’s impossible to convince Kame of anything, and Ueda gives up. He isn’t going to cater to Kamenashi’s selfishness or self-deprecatory tendencies if the latter is going to remain as blind as he is. If there’s anything Ueda hates more than Kame’s horrible insecurities hidden under layers of makeup and a smile too airbrushed, too impeccable to be real, is how blind he actually is to anything but what is presented before him.
Perhaps it’s partially his own fault, or maybe completely his fault - Ueda doesn’t know - but he isn’t going to spell it out for Kame in black and white. Ueda has principles. He has his own rules; and that does not involve spoon feeding Kame everything he needs to know. Ueda is cryptic that way. He’ll leave almost invisible trails that only Taguchi seems to notice, but he isn’t exactly planning on letting everything be easy. If Kamenashi is that oblivious, he doesn’t deserve him. That’s what Ueda thinks.
His phone rings again, and Ueda watches the screen come to life, sharp bright light spreading across the wall and killing off the swirling shadows. He rises eventually, slowly and languidly, taking all the time in the world to slide out of the warm covers.
Ueda isn’t going to rush. After all, he isn’t the one calling someone at three o’clock in the morning. Kame doesn’t deserve any form of gentlemanly treatment from Ueda because that’s the last thing on earth he deserves. The cold air bites at his bare skin as he walks to the phone in his underwear.
Ueda doesn’t look at the screen. He picks up the oblong device and jabs at ‘decline’ button without hesitance. The room falls silent again, the last of the rings echoing off into nothingness.
Ueda switches the device off before tossing it carelessly back onto the table with a clatter and barely winces at how loud it sounds in the silent room. He returns to the fluffy embrace of his bed and closes his eyes.
He isn’t going to indulge Kame.
If Ueda is willing to wait until Kame finally notices his feelings; Kame can jolly well wait until morning to speak to him.
-
When Ueda calls Kame the next morning, it’s Nakamaru who picks up.
Ueda isn’t as stupid or as blinkered to not know that something is seriously wrong; the dead giveaway being the fact that it is Nakamaru who picks up Kamenashi’s phone and not the owner himself, because Kamenashi never lets anyone touch his phone.
“What’s wrong with him now?”
Ueda doesn’t wait for Nakamaru to elaborate. He doesn’t need to, because it’s so fucking obvious why. They’ve been over this too many times that it hurts. It’s like a record set to loop for eternity and will never end, because Kamenashi - for some inexplicable reason - seems to see an infinite number of faults and flaws that stain his skin like ugly smears he can’t wash off. This is but a catalyst that triggers the man to try harder, pushing on, going for months upon months without proper sleep and relying on caffeine to work the cogs in his stress-ridden brain.
“He’s not listening to anyone, not even Akanishi.” Nakamaru says, as though that explains everything, and in a way, it does.
Of course he wouldn’t. Ueda relaxes into the overstuffed couch, staring at the champagne glass perched precariously close to the edge of the coffee table. Kamenashi never listens to anyone.
“Is he eating properly?”
Nakamaru laughs weakly, and Ueda registers the weariness that coats his voice in thick, suffocating layers. “He is eating, but someone has to be there to literally force feed him. Even then he barely takes a few bites. Caffeine is probably the only thing keeping his motor running at this point. but I’m not really sure if it’s the drama doing this to him, or something else.”
Ueda doesn’t comment. Of course it’s the drama. Why shouldn’t it be? He curls his fist loosely and examines his chipped nails and roughed knuckles. So similar to Kame’s, only his is a result from swinging a bat while Ueda’s is through swinging his fists.
“Is he getting enough sleep?”
“Ueda-”
“Maru,” Ueda stresses, but his eyes do not leave his hands. “Is. He. Getting. Enough. Sleep?”
“He sleeps on set,” Nakamaru finally says. “Or at least, that’s what he tells me.”
Ueda laughs derisively, despite it sounding so improper in this situation. “He’s lying.” Ueda says flatly. “I know he is.”
Ueda closes his eyes, and at once, he sees Shuuji. Shuuji and his knobbly shoulders and matchstick thin arms; the individual bumps of his spine poking though layers of clothing and his pale, pallid face. Shuuji is smiling of course, but Ueda can see the want, the naked rabidity of Kame’s need of approval that swirls in the depths of those dark, dilated pupils. It hurts to see it.
When Shuuji’s face begins to morph into Kousaku, relief floods Ueda at the sight of skin being filled in, and the sharps angles of bone beginning to disappear as Shuuji’s body is fattened and packed up with flesh and taut muscle. Kousaku has a healthy glow - much, much, much better than Shuuji - and his smile is also wider. Wider and brighter but oh so fake.
But Kame does it. He smiles because Kousaku always smiles. Even though he feels like shit and has been forced through the wringer time and time again, Kame fucking smiles. Ueda doesn’t really want to remember the rest of the fakes Kame becomes when he’s on set. Hiroto, Yuuki, Yuya, all of them - Ueda hates them. He hates them because they aren’t Kame, and because Kame clings to them for dear life, and because after all those stupid love dramas, Kame is still so fucking dense that it is applaudable.
“How bad is it?” Ueda can finally ask, but he doesn’t really need to. He asks because he just needs to hear it from someone other than himself.
Ueda hears Nakamaru snort before he replies dully, “He’s not listening to Akanishi,” he stresses, “I’d say that’s pretty self-explanatory.”
For the thousandth time, Ueda establishes that Kame seriously is one selfish bastard. “If there’s anyone, Akanishi is the best person to knock some sense into Kamenashi’s thick head,” Ueda mutters, fingers playing with the stray edges of his sweater.
“If the Akanishi method isn’t working, then we have to go with plan B.” he continues, and the finality in his tone surprises even himself, but he’s already on his feet and in front of the grand armoire in the living room. Ueda holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder while pulls the double doors open and extracting his empty luggage bags from the spacious compartment.
“Plan B?” Nakamaru snorts. “Do we even have a plan B?”
“Of course we do,” Ueda says easily, “The plan involves me flying back right now to strap the crazy idiot of a perfectionist to his bed, and forcing him to stay there until kingdom come.”
Nakamaru’s reaction is immediate.
“What?”
Ueda nearly drops his phone at the sudden increase in volume. “Don’t be retarded, Ueda. Johnny won’t let your ass anywhere near a plane with a one way ticket back to Tokyo until your two weeks is up.”
Ueda pauses. He knows. He knows that this is a once in a lifetime chance, goddammit, but what can he do? What can he do when Kamenashi insists on digging up problems for him to fix? Ueda doesn’t want to do this for a fact - he isn’t going to cater to Kamenashi’s selfishness. He refuses to be there every time he breaks down, just to patch him up again. And what does Kame give him in return? A smile and a hug.
Ueda doesn’t want Kame’s cheap smiles and hugs that he practically showers the whole world with.
He wants something more.
But it looks like wanting to have Kame’s heart is just too much to ask for.
“Of course he will.” Ueda says simply, tone detached, He unzips his bag and straightens out the smooth fabric lining inside. “Perhaps for Kame Johnny will flip the universe, but not me. I have a choice, and I’m choosing to ditch.”
“Ueda,” Maru begins, “This is not a decision for you to flaunt around with. This is your first stage play, and you deserve to bask in the perks that come with it, not worry about what’s going on back here. Enjoy London, and for goodness sake, soak up the love from the fans, Ueda. This is about you, and it’s about time you had the chance to-”
“Screw the play,” Ueda says coolly, and this shuts Nakamaru up effectively. His hands continue to arrange the luggage straps, adjusting them to suit his liking.
“If- If Kamenashi is going to be selfish - like he always is - what the hell can I do about it?” Ueda finally says quietly after a moment’s silence.
And when Nakamaru doesn’t say anything to refute his statement, Ueda can only surmise that he agrees with his as well.
“I’ve never heard you so decided before.” Nakamaru finally says. “But why would you do so much for Kame when you don’t even- Oh.”
Ueda entire body freezes, rigid and stiff for a fraction of a second before relaxing. It doesn’t really matter if Nakamaru knows anyway.
“Ueda, do you,” Nakamaru starts, but stops, and Ueda can picture the uncertain yet flabbergasted expression the daddy of KAT-TUN is currently sporting.
“Until Kamenashi grows another brain to stimulate his current one, it looks like I have to to all the heavy lifting for him, doesn’t it?” Is all Ueda answers to Nakamaru’s unfinished enquiry. He doesn’t see the need to explain himself further.
It’s silent, and Ueda can hear Nakamaru’s breathing through the phone.
“I won’t tell him.” Nakamaru says quietly.
Ueda finds himself smiling.
Nakamaru is his best friend for a reason.
-
He is wholly prepared to pick up his phone, dial for Johnny, and say the three words ‘I’m dropping this.’ without a second thought. He finished packing his bags the night before, and they sit by the door of his hotel room, ready to be hauled off into a taxi early next morning.
It’s three in the morning again and Ueda just sits by the window and stares at the multitude of coloured light that dapples his face in faint colours. Ueda doesn’t really know how to feel, because whenever he thinks about Kame sipping from a wine glass, swirling the dark burgundy liquid, he feels sick to the core. Sick, because Kame is selfish; and sicker because he worries - he fucking cares too much about Kame’s inferiority complex that he’s willing to give up a chance of finally being noticed, just to knock some sense into him.
When his phone rings shrilly again, Ueda isn’t surprised despite how ridiculously deja vu this is. He slips halfway off the windowsill and stretches for the ringing device on the bed. He jabs the ‘decline’ button again without looking and chucks the phone back on his bed. He’s not in a mood to speak to anyone, but then there is a sharp buzz that indicates he’s just received a text message.
Ueda doesn’t move at first, staring at the phone like it’s some repulsive monster.
When a second text message follows the first, Ueda relents and moves to pick it up.
{Don’t you dare come back here until your two weeks are up. - Kazuya}
Ueda suddenly feels like laughing. Who is Kamenashi to tell him what to do and what not to do? The second message is more colourful: cluttered with curses and threats and accompanied by a bombardment of ‘veinthrob’ and ‘brokenheart’ emojis.
Ueda laughs quietly, and he flops down onto the bed, still staring at the messages.
Maybe Nakamaru isn’t that good at keeping secrets after all.
He wonders if Kame knows now. Because if he does, then Ueda is going to fly back with a very different mission in mind, which involved punching the face of a certain big-nosed blabbermouth.
-
In the end, Ueda feels like he’s some lovesick idiot jumping headfirst into a tankful of sharks just because it makes him looks heroic-more like completely asinine instead. It takes him 30 minutes to unpack everything and pour himself a glass of wine just to drown out his misery. How was he to know that Kame would turn the tables and be the one knocking sense in him instead?
-
With four days left, Kame texts him again.
Ueda is right in front of the Big Ben when his phone buzzes. At least Kame now knows when is a good time to contact him.
{Hi}
Ueda rolls his eyes at the single word. He prepares to lock his screen without replying, but gives in at the end. Ueda misses Kame. A lot. Even though he chooses to hide it. He types back a cool, scathing reply - just like how he normally does, because if there is something he can’t tolerate, it’s ambiguity.
{You’re mean, Tat-chan :(} is the swift reply.
The sign of emojis in Kame’s messages show that he’s doing just fine. So Ueda decides to tread on dangerous grounds, and asks about the drama. To his amazement, Kame answers immediately.
{It was great! Filming was good, and the people are awesome. I wish you were here though! How’s London?}
This was sent along with a barrage of hearts of various colours, and Ueda wonders if Nakamaru was just pulling his leg when he said that Kame was a wreck, because at the rate the younger man is texting and practically spamming him with emojis is ridiculous.
Ueda types back a little apprehensively, still confused. He manages to say how amazing London is though, and he finds himself talking about the monuments and churches and museums he’s seen. Ueda thinks that it might be amazing to live with Kame alone here and away from everyone and everything, in a foreign land where they can be free. Ueda instinctively types that he’d want nothing more than to stay here in the peaceful embrace and never leave - but he omits the part where he wants Kame to be with him of course.
He stares at the screen, waiting for a reply, but none comes. Ueda gives up after awhile and chalks it up to Kame falling asleep or something, when finally, his phone buzzes. It’s Kame, but this time there are no emojis of sparkles or hearts-even broken hearts-just two words:
{I’m tired}
-
It’s cryptic and confusing and Ueda hates it.
Kamenashi refuses to pick up the phone no matter how many times he calls, and Ueda is finally understands what it feels like to be given the cold shoulder, just as he has been doing to Kamenashi. He gives in and calls Akanashi at the end, who isn’t much help at all.
“Kame? Kame’s fine.” Akanishi says lightly. He sounds so sure. So confident. Ueda chews at his bottom lip.
“How is his drama shooting going?” Ueda asks, and he prays that Jin will give him a straight answer so that the urge to fly back home to see exactly what’s wrong with Kame will dissipate before Ueda combusts in sheer frustration at the way the younger man avoids his calls.
“It’s good,” Akanishi says, “Kame is just being his usual self.”
“His usual self being starving himself close to death while working his ass off?”
“Touche.”
Ueda is practically ripping away at his bottom lip, but barely registers the sensation.
“Is he-” Ueda pauses. Is Kame what? He wonders. Is Kame miserable? Is he faking it? Is he exhausted? What? Ueda doesn’t know how to phrase his question. Jin saves him face by being nice enough to answer it without being prompted.
“Kame isn’t miserable about the drama at all, even though it’s not doing that fantastically on the charts,” Jin says confidently, and Ueda relaxes- “But he’s definitely miserable about something else.” - and he feels his gut drop a thousand miles and hour to land with a splat at his feet.
When he and Akanishi say there goodbyes and hang up, Ueda is left to stare blankly at his phone screen with the acidic feeling of dread curling in his gut. He prides himself, in a way, because he believes he knows everything there is to know about Kamenashi. From the way he found his nose just a bit too crooked and would spend hours pouting about it but unable to change it; to how Kame would stand in front of a mirror, cheer on himself for the day, and skip through the hall with a bounce in his step. There are truckloads of mouth watering secrets about Kamenashi Kazuya he knows of that would literally make rabid fangirls froth at the mouth in adoration.
Ueda wants to keep them for himself.
His lips quirk a little despite being frazzled over Kame going AWOL on him.
The great Kamenashi Kazuya’s dirty little secrets all belong to him.
Perhaps he really can’t call Kame out for being selfish, because it looks like he’s no different to him at all.
-
Ueda doesn’t sleep on his last night in London.
He spends it with a glass of bubbly champagne while sitting in his boxers on the windowsill staring out into the city. The view is probably the second best thing in the hotel after all - after the bed that is. He leans his head against the cool glass, and is about to allow his mind to completely shut down when his phone rings. Ueda decides to be immature, and lets the device ring itself into silence.
But it starts up again 2 seconds later, and when Ueda still doesn’t pick up, it rings again.
On it’s fifth consecutive ring, Ueda is finally worried enough to pick up, and when he does, Kame’s slurred voice greets him with a sloppy whine.
“Taaaaaat-chan~”
Ueda kneads his temples. Great, just great. “Kamenashi?” he begins, slowly and carefully. When Kame doesn’t respond, Ueda repeats his name again, louder and more forcefully this time. He exhales in relief when Kame answers groggily. That’s good. At least he isn’t passed out somewhere in a dark alleyway where some sleazy scumbag can take advantage of him.
“Where are you now?” Ueda asks crisply. A drunk Kame is a dangerous Kame, and Ueda knows that he has to keep Kame talking, at least until he can get to the hotel room phone and get Nakamaru or Taguchi or somebody to get the - now intoxicated - selfish asshole.
“Somewhere…. Bright.” Kame says intelligently, and Ueda chokes on a snort.
“Okay,” Ueda breathes deeply. Inhale, exhale. Good, he’s calm, “Okay, how much did you drink exactly?”
“A bit too much?” And then Kame bursts into a fit of giggles that make the heat rush up Ueda’s spine, and somehow, the redness all go to his ears rather than his face. He has to swallow a few times before trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking.
“Kame, Kame. Can you listen to me please?”
Oh god, Ueda gulps. Since when did he use please with Kame unless it was asking him to shut up?
“Sure can!” Kame answers obediently, his voice terribly high pitched, and a little too enthusiastic for Ueda’s liking.
“Good. Now, tell me exactly where you are so I can get somebody to come pick you up.”
“I want you to come pick me up.” Kame says immediately, his voice suddenly becoming as serious as it can possibly go in his current state, and Ueda swallows the gag that rises in his throat.
“Kame, you know I can’t do that,” Ueda says slowly, emphasising on the word ‘can’t’. “I’ll get Nakamaru to come pick you up. Or would you prefer if Aka- Jin picked you up?”
There is no response; only the sounds of hair flicking sharply from side to side. “Words, Kame.” Ueda prompts, exasperatedly.
“I don’t want either of them to come pick me up,” Kame demands in a high and immature voice that puts Ueda’s nephew’s whining to shame. “Why won’t you come and pick me up? I want you to come pick me up.”
Ueda’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and his throat feels like he’s gone on for days without proper hydration. The fact that Kame uses ‘won’t’ instead of ‘can’t’ throws him off a little though, because if he could Ueda would. Ueda would waste no fucking time because Kame is wandering the streets alone - vulnerable for any predator to strike, may it be a perverted old man or a raving fangirl, Kame is in danger no matter where he is.
Ueda is amazed at the amount of patience he has with Kame at the moment, because his next response is as soothing as his last; soothing for his standards that is.
“Kame,” Ueda tries again, “I’m in London, remember? I literally can’t come and pick you up.”
“I DON’T CARE. I WANT YOU TO COME NOW.”
Ueda literally jumps in his seat at the tone eyebrows disappearing high up into his hairline, because being the whiny, demanding, persistent brat is Jin’s job, not Kame’s.
“You don’t want to come back, do you?” Kame continues, his voice getting higher and higher pitched. “You’re leaving KAT-TUN behind, you’re leaving your home behind, and you’re leaving me behind.” Kame last word breaks into a strangled sob that has Ueda clutching at his phone so hard his knuckles turn white.
“What the fuck are you going on about?” Ueda says, and he winces at how panicky his voice sounds. “I’m not leaving, you idio-”
“Then prove it,” Kame wails stubbornly, and Ueda hears a limb kick out in frustration and something falling to the ground with a crash. “Because I’m tired,” Kame rasps. “I’m tired, and I’m done with you ignoring me because it hurts dammit.”
“How do you expect me to prove-”
“Find a way!” Kame demands.
Ueda is leaning forward in his seat, body wound tight and rigid. “I-”
And then Kame starts sobbing mushed up sentences of ‘Ueda hates me’ into the speaker that Ueda heart twists horribly inside of him. Kame has got to be so dead drunk to be reduced into this mess.
“Kame,” Ueda says loudly over the other man’s indistinguishable babbling. Oh god. This is ridiculous. “Kame shut up. Or so help me god, I will rescind the invitation I was planning to give you when I get back home and not take you to dinner at my favourite french restaurant.”
The rate that Kame shuts up is applaudable. His jaw comes together with an audible click, and all Ueda hears in complete and utter silence in contrast to his heavy breathing. He hopes that that did the trick, because in all honesty, he was planning to doing that. It’s supposed to be a peace offering for constantly ignoring Kame’s calls. Ueda doesn’t really get his hopes up about kame reading more into the gesture.
“Really?” Is all Kame says, and Ueda can tell from his voice that there is a smile coming back to the younger man.
“Yes, yes, really.” Ueda quickly says, relieved that Kame is no longer a crying mess. “Are you calm now?”
“Yes.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Didn’t you always say that the day you take me to a french restaurant is the day you confess your undying love for me and toilets fly?”
“I- What?”
“Have you forgotten?”
No. No, of course Ueda hasn’t. But that had been a joke at the time. He never expected Kame to take it to heart.
When Ueda fails to get his vocal cords to function, it’s Kame who speaks. “Do you like me, Ueda?”
This isn’t the way Ueda wanted this to happen. He had always pictured a less… cliched confession scene, and that he would be looking at the face of the recipient to his affections rather than over a stupid phone, across 5,936 miles. This is so completely out of whack that Ueda has problems collecting his scattered emotions.
“Ueda? Do. You. Like. Me?” This time Kame sounds so demanding and so sober that Ueda quirks a brow.
“Exactly how drunk are you?” he questions suspiciously.
“I’m sober enough to understand the situation here,” Kame says, seriously. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
It takes awhile for Ueda to respond, because although this is what he’s been waiting for for months and months, this being forced upon him so suddenly makes him a little embarrassed, and okay, maybe really embarrassed.
“I’m taking you to a french restaurant, Kame. And I am paying. Do you really need me to spell it out for you word for word?”
Ueda expects Kame to demand a proper answer, because if it were him, he would not settle for such a vague response. But to his utmost amazement, Kame laughs. He laughs long and hard and spastic that Ueda can’t help but grin.
“Are you that embarrassed?” Kame asks when he can finally speak properly again without sounding like someone having a fit. “Well, if you don’t have the balls to say it, then I will.”
Ueda chokes on his breath. “What?”
“I’m gonna say it~”
“Kame,” Ueda starts, and he can feel his face blushing a billion shades of crimson.
“I…”
Ueda’s eyes grow wide, and he doesn’t know when his fist is pushed up into his mouth to stop himself from whimpering in utter embarrassment. He wants to heat it; but he does not. He’s the one who’s supposed to say it first dammit. That has always been the plan. He can’t have Kame say it. But - god - the way Kame is just dragging on, taking his sweet time to allow his tongue to roll around the single syllable makes Ueda want to puke. He waits. Waits and waits, and then-
“…am not going to indulge you over the phone, you idiot.”
Ueda is going to strangle Kame. He’s going to somehow grow his arms long enough to stretch back to Tokyo and strangle the little jerkwad.
“I am going to punch your face in the minute I see you, Kame. You can fucking count on that.”
“Why, aren’t you just the sweetest,” Kame chuckles.
“You aren’t really drunk are you?” Ueda asks, raising a brow.
“No, I actually am,” Kame laughs, and Ueda can hear what he supposes is the sloshing of alcohol in a bottle. “Just not drunk enough to not know what I’ve been saying the entire time.”
Ueda is silent for several seconds.
“I’ll be back in Tokyo in 12 hours,” Ueda says. “You think you can keep yourself alive and sober until then so I can make sure you feel every, single, punch I am going to murder you with.”
“I’ll try,” Kame laughs. “But I’d rather you kiss me rather than punch me, because I prefer a more non-violent way of showing one’s affection~”
Ueda is furious when Kame starts laughing again, and he ponders on the idea of hiding all Kame’s hair products at the bottom of his closet so he can never find them again, but hearing those choking, spacstic giggles, so, so many miles away, Ueda can’t help but smile too.
-
He’s in his seat, leg shaking in impatience because all Ueda really wants to do now is to touch down at Tokyo as fast as possible and seeing the glowing face of a certain turtle.
“Excuse me, are you Ueda Tatsuya-san?”
Ueda’s head jerks upwards, and he comes face to face with a smiling attendant, who is all sparkly teeth and perfect posture. She has the perfect figure and peach-pale skin, and while most people would have drooled, Ueda doesn’t because he knows someone else who looks better than any girl on her airbrushed day.
“Ueda-sama, we’d like to thank you for your patronage,” she bows lowly, and Ueda can only smile awkwardly and nod in response. “I have something for you,” she continues, and moves away to the back to the plane to retrieve it.
Ueda is puzzled. He is even more puzzled when the attendant returns with a box in her hand.
“This is for you.”
Ueda accepts it with a mumbled thanks, and the attendant bows once again before leaving. When Ueda looks down at the gift in his hands, he raises his brows at the assortment of luxurious chocolates that face him with their elegantly swirled surfaces and fancy bows. There is a note taped to the bottom of the box, and when Ueda pulls it off without tearing it, eyes easily recognising the neat, almost girly kanji scribbled on the sheet of paper, and his face splits into a smile so wide it nearly breaks.
3 weeks in London! Otsukaresama deshita!
p.s.: and I love you too, idiot.
Pairings: Kamenashi Kazuya/Ueda Tatsuya
Rating: PG
Genre: angst, fluff (I think?)
Foreword: Canon slight AU
Disclaimer: I own them. And toilets fly.
Word Count: 5.4K
Summary: A confession across 5,936 miles.
Notes: First fic! *gyasp* I don’t know if I got the timeline right here, it might be wrong, because I can’t remember if Ueda’s trip to London intersects with Kame’s drama shooting, but if it’s not, then let’s pretend it is, okay? This is also heavily based on an interview that I can't really remember. orz. But the end part is all canon (Kame actually did get Ueda chocolates <3 how sweet) but the p.s.: part isn't real of course. That's all in my mind.
Ueda doesn’t know whether he should ignore it or pick it up and perhaps yell a few choice words down the receiver just to get a certain person to stop calling.
He rolls over and presses his face into the fluffy covers and sandwiches himself between his pillow and the bed. The incessant ringing of his phone is only muffled to the point where the noise is a throbbing that gradually becomes a thousand hot pokers that make him want to scream.
Then it stops.
Ueda exhales into the ringing silence.
The city lights pour into his hotel room through the window, casting surreal patterns that bathe half the room in parallelograms of multicoloured light. Shadows curl like smoke against the wall opposite where his phone lies - innocent yet so intimidating - on a wooden table pushed up against it.
Ueda has half his face buried into the mattress that slides deliciously soft over his naked skin whenever he moves. Ueda certainly prefers this to the cheap, bulky beds in second rate hotels he’s been dumped in during his Junior days. It’s hard to sleep though, despite the luxurious bed and soft, dancing lights that play around him. Ueda reckons it’s just because he isn’t used to it - being alone in a foreign country that is.
When he left Japan, he was determined to leave it all at the boarding gate before even thinking of getting on the plane; he isn’t going to bring along unnecessary insecurities, and so he doesn’t. This is his chance, his moment. 5 years ago, Ueda would never have dreamed of doing something like this because he’s Ueda Tatsuya, not Kamenashi Kazuya; he will always be second choice because he’s silver and not gold.
Ueda doesn’t blame Kamenashi, as much as he’d like to. He chooses to believe he and the youngest member of KAT-TUN has reached a point of understanding, or equilibrium, if you will. There will always be competition of course, because Kamenashi needs perfection, and Ueda hates him for it because the man doesn’t see that he’s already there. He’s perfection in the fucking flesh.
It feels like an insult every time Kamenashi flashes an uncertain smile, an awkward stutter, an occasional sideways glance at Ueda that easily conveys the message.
“I’m not perfect.”
Ueda will go as far as to say that yes, perhaps Kame isn’t perfect - because nobody is - but why should Kame care what anyone else thinks if Ueda believes that he is?
It’s impossible to convince Kame of anything, and Ueda gives up. He isn’t going to cater to Kamenashi’s selfishness or self-deprecatory tendencies if the latter is going to remain as blind as he is. If there’s anything Ueda hates more than Kame’s horrible insecurities hidden under layers of makeup and a smile too airbrushed, too impeccable to be real, is how blind he actually is to anything but what is presented before him.
Perhaps it’s partially his own fault, or maybe completely his fault - Ueda doesn’t know - but he isn’t going to spell it out for Kame in black and white. Ueda has principles. He has his own rules; and that does not involve spoon feeding Kame everything he needs to know. Ueda is cryptic that way. He’ll leave almost invisible trails that only Taguchi seems to notice, but he isn’t exactly planning on letting everything be easy. If Kamenashi is that oblivious, he doesn’t deserve him. That’s what Ueda thinks.
His phone rings again, and Ueda watches the screen come to life, sharp bright light spreading across the wall and killing off the swirling shadows. He rises eventually, slowly and languidly, taking all the time in the world to slide out of the warm covers.
Ueda isn’t going to rush. After all, he isn’t the one calling someone at three o’clock in the morning. Kame doesn’t deserve any form of gentlemanly treatment from Ueda because that’s the last thing on earth he deserves. The cold air bites at his bare skin as he walks to the phone in his underwear.
Ueda doesn’t look at the screen. He picks up the oblong device and jabs at ‘decline’ button without hesitance. The room falls silent again, the last of the rings echoing off into nothingness.
Ueda switches the device off before tossing it carelessly back onto the table with a clatter and barely winces at how loud it sounds in the silent room. He returns to the fluffy embrace of his bed and closes his eyes.
He isn’t going to indulge Kame.
If Ueda is willing to wait until Kame finally notices his feelings; Kame can jolly well wait until morning to speak to him.
-
When Ueda calls Kame the next morning, it’s Nakamaru who picks up.
Ueda isn’t as stupid or as blinkered to not know that something is seriously wrong; the dead giveaway being the fact that it is Nakamaru who picks up Kamenashi’s phone and not the owner himself, because Kamenashi never lets anyone touch his phone.
“What’s wrong with him now?”
Ueda doesn’t wait for Nakamaru to elaborate. He doesn’t need to, because it’s so fucking obvious why. They’ve been over this too many times that it hurts. It’s like a record set to loop for eternity and will never end, because Kamenashi - for some inexplicable reason - seems to see an infinite number of faults and flaws that stain his skin like ugly smears he can’t wash off. This is but a catalyst that triggers the man to try harder, pushing on, going for months upon months without proper sleep and relying on caffeine to work the cogs in his stress-ridden brain.
“He’s not listening to anyone, not even Akanishi.” Nakamaru says, as though that explains everything, and in a way, it does.
Of course he wouldn’t. Ueda relaxes into the overstuffed couch, staring at the champagne glass perched precariously close to the edge of the coffee table. Kamenashi never listens to anyone.
“Is he eating properly?”
Nakamaru laughs weakly, and Ueda registers the weariness that coats his voice in thick, suffocating layers. “He is eating, but someone has to be there to literally force feed him. Even then he barely takes a few bites. Caffeine is probably the only thing keeping his motor running at this point. but I’m not really sure if it’s the drama doing this to him, or something else.”
Ueda doesn’t comment. Of course it’s the drama. Why shouldn’t it be? He curls his fist loosely and examines his chipped nails and roughed knuckles. So similar to Kame’s, only his is a result from swinging a bat while Ueda’s is through swinging his fists.
“Is he getting enough sleep?”
“Ueda-”
“Maru,” Ueda stresses, but his eyes do not leave his hands. “Is. He. Getting. Enough. Sleep?”
“He sleeps on set,” Nakamaru finally says. “Or at least, that’s what he tells me.”
Ueda laughs derisively, despite it sounding so improper in this situation. “He’s lying.” Ueda says flatly. “I know he is.”
Ueda closes his eyes, and at once, he sees Shuuji. Shuuji and his knobbly shoulders and matchstick thin arms; the individual bumps of his spine poking though layers of clothing and his pale, pallid face. Shuuji is smiling of course, but Ueda can see the want, the naked rabidity of Kame’s need of approval that swirls in the depths of those dark, dilated pupils. It hurts to see it.
When Shuuji’s face begins to morph into Kousaku, relief floods Ueda at the sight of skin being filled in, and the sharps angles of bone beginning to disappear as Shuuji’s body is fattened and packed up with flesh and taut muscle. Kousaku has a healthy glow - much, much, much better than Shuuji - and his smile is also wider. Wider and brighter but oh so fake.
But Kame does it. He smiles because Kousaku always smiles. Even though he feels like shit and has been forced through the wringer time and time again, Kame fucking smiles. Ueda doesn’t really want to remember the rest of the fakes Kame becomes when he’s on set. Hiroto, Yuuki, Yuya, all of them - Ueda hates them. He hates them because they aren’t Kame, and because Kame clings to them for dear life, and because after all those stupid love dramas, Kame is still so fucking dense that it is applaudable.
“How bad is it?” Ueda can finally ask, but he doesn’t really need to. He asks because he just needs to hear it from someone other than himself.
Ueda hears Nakamaru snort before he replies dully, “He’s not listening to Akanishi,” he stresses, “I’d say that’s pretty self-explanatory.”
For the thousandth time, Ueda establishes that Kame seriously is one selfish bastard. “If there’s anyone, Akanishi is the best person to knock some sense into Kamenashi’s thick head,” Ueda mutters, fingers playing with the stray edges of his sweater.
“If the Akanishi method isn’t working, then we have to go with plan B.” he continues, and the finality in his tone surprises even himself, but he’s already on his feet and in front of the grand armoire in the living room. Ueda holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder while pulls the double doors open and extracting his empty luggage bags from the spacious compartment.
“Plan B?” Nakamaru snorts. “Do we even have a plan B?”
“Of course we do,” Ueda says easily, “The plan involves me flying back right now to strap the crazy idiot of a perfectionist to his bed, and forcing him to stay there until kingdom come.”
Nakamaru’s reaction is immediate.
“What?”
Ueda nearly drops his phone at the sudden increase in volume. “Don’t be retarded, Ueda. Johnny won’t let your ass anywhere near a plane with a one way ticket back to Tokyo until your two weeks is up.”
Ueda pauses. He knows. He knows that this is a once in a lifetime chance, goddammit, but what can he do? What can he do when Kamenashi insists on digging up problems for him to fix? Ueda doesn’t want to do this for a fact - he isn’t going to cater to Kamenashi’s selfishness. He refuses to be there every time he breaks down, just to patch him up again. And what does Kame give him in return? A smile and a hug.
Ueda doesn’t want Kame’s cheap smiles and hugs that he practically showers the whole world with.
He wants something more.
But it looks like wanting to have Kame’s heart is just too much to ask for.
“Of course he will.” Ueda says simply, tone detached, He unzips his bag and straightens out the smooth fabric lining inside. “Perhaps for Kame Johnny will flip the universe, but not me. I have a choice, and I’m choosing to ditch.”
“Ueda,” Maru begins, “This is not a decision for you to flaunt around with. This is your first stage play, and you deserve to bask in the perks that come with it, not worry about what’s going on back here. Enjoy London, and for goodness sake, soak up the love from the fans, Ueda. This is about you, and it’s about time you had the chance to-”
“Screw the play,” Ueda says coolly, and this shuts Nakamaru up effectively. His hands continue to arrange the luggage straps, adjusting them to suit his liking.
“If- If Kamenashi is going to be selfish - like he always is - what the hell can I do about it?” Ueda finally says quietly after a moment’s silence.
And when Nakamaru doesn’t say anything to refute his statement, Ueda can only surmise that he agrees with his as well.
“I’ve never heard you so decided before.” Nakamaru finally says. “But why would you do so much for Kame when you don’t even- Oh.”
Ueda entire body freezes, rigid and stiff for a fraction of a second before relaxing. It doesn’t really matter if Nakamaru knows anyway.
“Ueda, do you,” Nakamaru starts, but stops, and Ueda can picture the uncertain yet flabbergasted expression the daddy of KAT-TUN is currently sporting.
“Until Kamenashi grows another brain to stimulate his current one, it looks like I have to to all the heavy lifting for him, doesn’t it?” Is all Ueda answers to Nakamaru’s unfinished enquiry. He doesn’t see the need to explain himself further.
It’s silent, and Ueda can hear Nakamaru’s breathing through the phone.
“I won’t tell him.” Nakamaru says quietly.
Ueda finds himself smiling.
Nakamaru is his best friend for a reason.
-
He is wholly prepared to pick up his phone, dial for Johnny, and say the three words ‘I’m dropping this.’ without a second thought. He finished packing his bags the night before, and they sit by the door of his hotel room, ready to be hauled off into a taxi early next morning.
It’s three in the morning again and Ueda just sits by the window and stares at the multitude of coloured light that dapples his face in faint colours. Ueda doesn’t really know how to feel, because whenever he thinks about Kame sipping from a wine glass, swirling the dark burgundy liquid, he feels sick to the core. Sick, because Kame is selfish; and sicker because he worries - he fucking cares too much about Kame’s inferiority complex that he’s willing to give up a chance of finally being noticed, just to knock some sense into him.
When his phone rings shrilly again, Ueda isn’t surprised despite how ridiculously deja vu this is. He slips halfway off the windowsill and stretches for the ringing device on the bed. He jabs the ‘decline’ button again without looking and chucks the phone back on his bed. He’s not in a mood to speak to anyone, but then there is a sharp buzz that indicates he’s just received a text message.
Ueda doesn’t move at first, staring at the phone like it’s some repulsive monster.
When a second text message follows the first, Ueda relents and moves to pick it up.
{Don’t you dare come back here until your two weeks are up. - Kazuya}
Ueda suddenly feels like laughing. Who is Kamenashi to tell him what to do and what not to do? The second message is more colourful: cluttered with curses and threats and accompanied by a bombardment of ‘veinthrob’ and ‘brokenheart’ emojis.
Ueda laughs quietly, and he flops down onto the bed, still staring at the messages.
Maybe Nakamaru isn’t that good at keeping secrets after all.
He wonders if Kame knows now. Because if he does, then Ueda is going to fly back with a very different mission in mind, which involved punching the face of a certain big-nosed blabbermouth.
-
In the end, Ueda feels like he’s some lovesick idiot jumping headfirst into a tankful of sharks just because it makes him looks heroic-more like completely asinine instead. It takes him 30 minutes to unpack everything and pour himself a glass of wine just to drown out his misery. How was he to know that Kame would turn the tables and be the one knocking sense in him instead?
-
With four days left, Kame texts him again.
Ueda is right in front of the Big Ben when his phone buzzes. At least Kame now knows when is a good time to contact him.
{Hi}
Ueda rolls his eyes at the single word. He prepares to lock his screen without replying, but gives in at the end. Ueda misses Kame. A lot. Even though he chooses to hide it. He types back a cool, scathing reply - just like how he normally does, because if there is something he can’t tolerate, it’s ambiguity.
{You’re mean, Tat-chan :(} is the swift reply.
The sign of emojis in Kame’s messages show that he’s doing just fine. So Ueda decides to tread on dangerous grounds, and asks about the drama. To his amazement, Kame answers immediately.
{It was great! Filming was good, and the people are awesome. I wish you were here though! How’s London?}
This was sent along with a barrage of hearts of various colours, and Ueda wonders if Nakamaru was just pulling his leg when he said that Kame was a wreck, because at the rate the younger man is texting and practically spamming him with emojis is ridiculous.
Ueda types back a little apprehensively, still confused. He manages to say how amazing London is though, and he finds himself talking about the monuments and churches and museums he’s seen. Ueda thinks that it might be amazing to live with Kame alone here and away from everyone and everything, in a foreign land where they can be free. Ueda instinctively types that he’d want nothing more than to stay here in the peaceful embrace and never leave - but he omits the part where he wants Kame to be with him of course.
He stares at the screen, waiting for a reply, but none comes. Ueda gives up after awhile and chalks it up to Kame falling asleep or something, when finally, his phone buzzes. It’s Kame, but this time there are no emojis of sparkles or hearts-even broken hearts-just two words:
{I’m tired}
-
It’s cryptic and confusing and Ueda hates it.
Kamenashi refuses to pick up the phone no matter how many times he calls, and Ueda is finally understands what it feels like to be given the cold shoulder, just as he has been doing to Kamenashi. He gives in and calls Akanashi at the end, who isn’t much help at all.
“Kame? Kame’s fine.” Akanishi says lightly. He sounds so sure. So confident. Ueda chews at his bottom lip.
“How is his drama shooting going?” Ueda asks, and he prays that Jin will give him a straight answer so that the urge to fly back home to see exactly what’s wrong with Kame will dissipate before Ueda combusts in sheer frustration at the way the younger man avoids his calls.
“It’s good,” Akanishi says, “Kame is just being his usual self.”
“His usual self being starving himself close to death while working his ass off?”
“Touche.”
Ueda is practically ripping away at his bottom lip, but barely registers the sensation.
“Is he-” Ueda pauses. Is Kame what? He wonders. Is Kame miserable? Is he faking it? Is he exhausted? What? Ueda doesn’t know how to phrase his question. Jin saves him face by being nice enough to answer it without being prompted.
“Kame isn’t miserable about the drama at all, even though it’s not doing that fantastically on the charts,” Jin says confidently, and Ueda relaxes- “But he’s definitely miserable about something else.” - and he feels his gut drop a thousand miles and hour to land with a splat at his feet.
When he and Akanishi say there goodbyes and hang up, Ueda is left to stare blankly at his phone screen with the acidic feeling of dread curling in his gut. He prides himself, in a way, because he believes he knows everything there is to know about Kamenashi. From the way he found his nose just a bit too crooked and would spend hours pouting about it but unable to change it; to how Kame would stand in front of a mirror, cheer on himself for the day, and skip through the hall with a bounce in his step. There are truckloads of mouth watering secrets about Kamenashi Kazuya he knows of that would literally make rabid fangirls froth at the mouth in adoration.
Ueda wants to keep them for himself.
His lips quirk a little despite being frazzled over Kame going AWOL on him.
The great Kamenashi Kazuya’s dirty little secrets all belong to him.
Perhaps he really can’t call Kame out for being selfish, because it looks like he’s no different to him at all.
-
Ueda doesn’t sleep on his last night in London.
He spends it with a glass of bubbly champagne while sitting in his boxers on the windowsill staring out into the city. The view is probably the second best thing in the hotel after all - after the bed that is. He leans his head against the cool glass, and is about to allow his mind to completely shut down when his phone rings. Ueda decides to be immature, and lets the device ring itself into silence.
But it starts up again 2 seconds later, and when Ueda still doesn’t pick up, it rings again.
On it’s fifth consecutive ring, Ueda is finally worried enough to pick up, and when he does, Kame’s slurred voice greets him with a sloppy whine.
“Taaaaaat-chan~”
Ueda kneads his temples. Great, just great. “Kamenashi?” he begins, slowly and carefully. When Kame doesn’t respond, Ueda repeats his name again, louder and more forcefully this time. He exhales in relief when Kame answers groggily. That’s good. At least he isn’t passed out somewhere in a dark alleyway where some sleazy scumbag can take advantage of him.
“Where are you now?” Ueda asks crisply. A drunk Kame is a dangerous Kame, and Ueda knows that he has to keep Kame talking, at least until he can get to the hotel room phone and get Nakamaru or Taguchi or somebody to get the - now intoxicated - selfish asshole.
“Somewhere…. Bright.” Kame says intelligently, and Ueda chokes on a snort.
“Okay,” Ueda breathes deeply. Inhale, exhale. Good, he’s calm, “Okay, how much did you drink exactly?”
“A bit too much?” And then Kame bursts into a fit of giggles that make the heat rush up Ueda’s spine, and somehow, the redness all go to his ears rather than his face. He has to swallow a few times before trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking.
“Kame, Kame. Can you listen to me please?”
Oh god, Ueda gulps. Since when did he use please with Kame unless it was asking him to shut up?
“Sure can!” Kame answers obediently, his voice terribly high pitched, and a little too enthusiastic for Ueda’s liking.
“Good. Now, tell me exactly where you are so I can get somebody to come pick you up.”
“I want you to come pick me up.” Kame says immediately, his voice suddenly becoming as serious as it can possibly go in his current state, and Ueda swallows the gag that rises in his throat.
“Kame, you know I can’t do that,” Ueda says slowly, emphasising on the word ‘can’t’. “I’ll get Nakamaru to come pick you up. Or would you prefer if Aka- Jin picked you up?”
There is no response; only the sounds of hair flicking sharply from side to side. “Words, Kame.” Ueda prompts, exasperatedly.
“I don’t want either of them to come pick me up,” Kame demands in a high and immature voice that puts Ueda’s nephew’s whining to shame. “Why won’t you come and pick me up? I want you to come pick me up.”
Ueda’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and his throat feels like he’s gone on for days without proper hydration. The fact that Kame uses ‘won’t’ instead of ‘can’t’ throws him off a little though, because if he could Ueda would. Ueda would waste no fucking time because Kame is wandering the streets alone - vulnerable for any predator to strike, may it be a perverted old man or a raving fangirl, Kame is in danger no matter where he is.
Ueda is amazed at the amount of patience he has with Kame at the moment, because his next response is as soothing as his last; soothing for his standards that is.
“Kame,” Ueda tries again, “I’m in London, remember? I literally can’t come and pick you up.”
“I DON’T CARE. I WANT YOU TO COME NOW.”
Ueda literally jumps in his seat at the tone eyebrows disappearing high up into his hairline, because being the whiny, demanding, persistent brat is Jin’s job, not Kame’s.
“You don’t want to come back, do you?” Kame continues, his voice getting higher and higher pitched. “You’re leaving KAT-TUN behind, you’re leaving your home behind, and you’re leaving me behind.” Kame last word breaks into a strangled sob that has Ueda clutching at his phone so hard his knuckles turn white.
“What the fuck are you going on about?” Ueda says, and he winces at how panicky his voice sounds. “I’m not leaving, you idio-”
“Then prove it,” Kame wails stubbornly, and Ueda hears a limb kick out in frustration and something falling to the ground with a crash. “Because I’m tired,” Kame rasps. “I’m tired, and I’m done with you ignoring me because it hurts dammit.”
“How do you expect me to prove-”
“Find a way!” Kame demands.
Ueda is leaning forward in his seat, body wound tight and rigid. “I-”
And then Kame starts sobbing mushed up sentences of ‘Ueda hates me’ into the speaker that Ueda heart twists horribly inside of him. Kame has got to be so dead drunk to be reduced into this mess.
“Kame,” Ueda says loudly over the other man’s indistinguishable babbling. Oh god. This is ridiculous. “Kame shut up. Or so help me god, I will rescind the invitation I was planning to give you when I get back home and not take you to dinner at my favourite french restaurant.”
The rate that Kame shuts up is applaudable. His jaw comes together with an audible click, and all Ueda hears in complete and utter silence in contrast to his heavy breathing. He hopes that that did the trick, because in all honesty, he was planning to doing that. It’s supposed to be a peace offering for constantly ignoring Kame’s calls. Ueda doesn’t really get his hopes up about kame reading more into the gesture.
“Really?” Is all Kame says, and Ueda can tell from his voice that there is a smile coming back to the younger man.
“Yes, yes, really.” Ueda quickly says, relieved that Kame is no longer a crying mess. “Are you calm now?”
“Yes.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Didn’t you always say that the day you take me to a french restaurant is the day you confess your undying love for me and toilets fly?”
“I- What?”
“Have you forgotten?”
No. No, of course Ueda hasn’t. But that had been a joke at the time. He never expected Kame to take it to heart.
When Ueda fails to get his vocal cords to function, it’s Kame who speaks. “Do you like me, Ueda?”
This isn’t the way Ueda wanted this to happen. He had always pictured a less… cliched confession scene, and that he would be looking at the face of the recipient to his affections rather than over a stupid phone, across 5,936 miles. This is so completely out of whack that Ueda has problems collecting his scattered emotions.
“Ueda? Do. You. Like. Me?” This time Kame sounds so demanding and so sober that Ueda quirks a brow.
“Exactly how drunk are you?” he questions suspiciously.
“I’m sober enough to understand the situation here,” Kame says, seriously. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
It takes awhile for Ueda to respond, because although this is what he’s been waiting for for months and months, this being forced upon him so suddenly makes him a little embarrassed, and okay, maybe really embarrassed.
“I’m taking you to a french restaurant, Kame. And I am paying. Do you really need me to spell it out for you word for word?”
Ueda expects Kame to demand a proper answer, because if it were him, he would not settle for such a vague response. But to his utmost amazement, Kame laughs. He laughs long and hard and spastic that Ueda can’t help but grin.
“Are you that embarrassed?” Kame asks when he can finally speak properly again without sounding like someone having a fit. “Well, if you don’t have the balls to say it, then I will.”
Ueda chokes on his breath. “What?”
“I’m gonna say it~”
“Kame,” Ueda starts, and he can feel his face blushing a billion shades of crimson.
“I…”
Ueda’s eyes grow wide, and he doesn’t know when his fist is pushed up into his mouth to stop himself from whimpering in utter embarrassment. He wants to heat it; but he does not. He’s the one who’s supposed to say it first dammit. That has always been the plan. He can’t have Kame say it. But - god - the way Kame is just dragging on, taking his sweet time to allow his tongue to roll around the single syllable makes Ueda want to puke. He waits. Waits and waits, and then-
“…am not going to indulge you over the phone, you idiot.”
Ueda is going to strangle Kame. He’s going to somehow grow his arms long enough to stretch back to Tokyo and strangle the little jerkwad.
“I am going to punch your face in the minute I see you, Kame. You can fucking count on that.”
“Why, aren’t you just the sweetest,” Kame chuckles.
“You aren’t really drunk are you?” Ueda asks, raising a brow.
“No, I actually am,” Kame laughs, and Ueda can hear what he supposes is the sloshing of alcohol in a bottle. “Just not drunk enough to not know what I’ve been saying the entire time.”
Ueda is silent for several seconds.
“I’ll be back in Tokyo in 12 hours,” Ueda says. “You think you can keep yourself alive and sober until then so I can make sure you feel every, single, punch I am going to murder you with.”
“I’ll try,” Kame laughs. “But I’d rather you kiss me rather than punch me, because I prefer a more non-violent way of showing one’s affection~”
Ueda is furious when Kame starts laughing again, and he ponders on the idea of hiding all Kame’s hair products at the bottom of his closet so he can never find them again, but hearing those choking, spacstic giggles, so, so many miles away, Ueda can’t help but smile too.
-
He’s in his seat, leg shaking in impatience because all Ueda really wants to do now is to touch down at Tokyo as fast as possible and seeing the glowing face of a certain turtle.
“Excuse me, are you Ueda Tatsuya-san?”
Ueda’s head jerks upwards, and he comes face to face with a smiling attendant, who is all sparkly teeth and perfect posture. She has the perfect figure and peach-pale skin, and while most people would have drooled, Ueda doesn’t because he knows someone else who looks better than any girl on her airbrushed day.
“Ueda-sama, we’d like to thank you for your patronage,” she bows lowly, and Ueda can only smile awkwardly and nod in response. “I have something for you,” she continues, and moves away to the back to the plane to retrieve it.
Ueda is puzzled. He is even more puzzled when the attendant returns with a box in her hand.
“This is for you.”
Ueda accepts it with a mumbled thanks, and the attendant bows once again before leaving. When Ueda looks down at the gift in his hands, he raises his brows at the assortment of luxurious chocolates that face him with their elegantly swirled surfaces and fancy bows. There is a note taped to the bottom of the box, and when Ueda pulls it off without tearing it, eyes easily recognising the neat, almost girly kanji scribbled on the sheet of paper, and his face splits into a smile so wide it nearly breaks.
3 weeks in London! Otsukaresama deshita!
p.s.: and I love you too, idiot.