On The Dial
Title: On The Dial
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sho/Jun
Word Count: 10,121
Summary: Jun calls Sho. Sho calls Jun. What are they really trying to say?
Warnings/Notes: The drabble that got carried away. Sakumoto history-sans major angst and via a whole lot of awkward phonecalls. (Also basically a long-winded excuse to write my take on What Changed In Hawaii before the DVD release.) High-five to every desperate soul still aboard this ship! *sings MJ's 'You Are Not Alone'*
No one around them would call it hero worship, they were all too respectful of Sho’s silent boundaries and careful of bruising the purity of Jun’s high-flying affection. It was cute, most of them thought. Irregular, but cute.
Well, Ohno certainly thought that it was cute, that there were worst things than an honest heart worn on a sleeve. Aiba was almost the same, except he actually said it out loud to Jun to the point of cooing, and Jun would be puzzled about it, because he’s just that way with Sho-kun, and Sho-kun’s totally cool about it, so what of it? Nino, on the other hand, had no sagely words to impart to Jun, always just watching things unfold from a corner.
Naturally, Jun didn’t think that he was being a nuisance. After all, Sho picked up his calls every night, no matter how late it got. “Are you sleeping?” he’d ask, a balloon of nerves and delight, and Sho would always answer with a scoff. “What do you think, Matsumoto?”
Sho would always be the one to end the call, but he listened. Jun would talk about nailing a triple turn or the lights for their first concert or the best way to approach interviews. He rambled, lived for the moments when Sho would scold him but laugh at the same time. Sometimes, there would even be “you’re weird, Macchan”’s and it would be the axis Jun’s world spun on for days.
“Did you go to the game center again?” Sho admonished. “Stupid. What about your studies?"
It was never because of what Sho said, it was how he said it-with a smile Jun could hear, even through the static.
It was admiration, definitely. There was no going around that. He was ecstatic that he got to debut with someone he really looked up to. But Jun was waking up to who he was, too, and in his teenage mind, that admiration morphed into something that felt more urgent and hushed and aching. Three years was a long time, after all.
But It wasn’t that Jun grew confident. It was just that he was at the end of his rope, and if it wasn’t a point of conversation that that he couldn’t imagine having with Sho in the light of day, ever, then their nightly conversations were his best bet. He had clues, after all, reasons to believe even in the tiniest, most miniscule hope.
“Grow some balls and just ask Sho-chan,” Aiba said in the practice room. "We're talking about him, right?" Jun wanted to die on the spot, although, maybe, Aiba didn’t get the entirety of it, not that Jun gave him the chance. It was too embarrassing, even if Aiba wasn’t fazed at all when Jun dragged him out and confessed to maybe liking a person. Who happened to be a guy. What was he going to do.
Seeing Sho everyday was a slow, silent death in itself, and it had been piling up for years.
“Say, Sho-kun?””
“What,” Sho said, voice sounding sleep-worn. University life was obviously taking its toll, but Jun couldn’t back out now, not when he had firmly decided it already, balls and all.
“Can I ask you something?” Jun said, voice cracking traitorously. He turned in his sheets, wondering if Sho could hear his heart beating like a drum through the phone. “Like, it might be sort of embarrassing.”
A low chuckle registered deliciously on his ears. “Okay, that sounds interesting.”
“Um, it depends on you, really,” Jun replied.
“Out with it,” he said, and Jun could feel him losing interest. Sho was like that. Some days, he was almost ardent, letting Jun listen to his DREAMS COME TRUE record over the phone, or lecturing him about various things, but with the snap of a finger, he would just end the call, no words said. Jun almost didn’t mind, because Sho always picked up the next day. That was the most important thing.
But it was time to think of himself too. Sakurai Sho might be selfish, but so was he.
“Do you-” he was afraid that maybe them being friends would stop being a foregone conclusion when he finished his question-“do you ever think about kissing boys?”
Absolute silence. Dum dummm.
“You’re annoying, Matsumoto,” and Jun gripped to his phone like a lifeline, stunned. Before he could open his mouth to speak-he needed to say something, anything-he heard the dial tone blaring in his ear.
Somehow, in the million times Sho had said the same line, it was only then that Jun felt that he meant it. He was young, not stupid.
He was furious at himself, but he was more confused. The curiosity hadn’t felt one-way, but maybe, just maybe, he said too much? Revealed too much? He would’ve cried, except he left no room for that as he tried to suffocate his horror into his pillowcase. Oh god oh god oh god I don’t want to see him tomorrow, I definitely don’t want to see him tomorrow-he murmured it, moaned it almost, until sleep overtook him.
When Sho acted like nothing happened the next day, Jun took it as a sign to do the same and stop himself from looking at Sho. Any part of Sho.
His lips, especially.
It won’t be the last time Jun would think about self-preservation whenever Sho rounded the corner. There would be no phone calls for a long, long time, not if Jun could help it. It hurt, and maybe Jun wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for any of it.
*
Things weren’t working out the way Jun had imagined. He didn’t mind working hard, didn't complain about the ridiculous, unglamorous hours. What pained him the most were the rows upon rows of empty seats during their concerts, and maybe, he had enough of the silent looks of doom the management shot each other during meetings too. Those were excruciating.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one. He hadn’t seen his name flash on his phone for a a couple of years, maybe three. Disconcerting was putting it lightly.
He looked sideways, vaguely thinking that it might be a prank. At nearly midnight, on an unremarkable street as people walked home? Jun sighed at the leaps his mind afforded him instead of sense and pressed ‘answer’.
“Hello?”
“Sakurai-san?” And there, right there was a gurgle of laughter so sudden that Jun had to stop on his tracks. It felt almost like a solemn moment, and he found himself bewildered, smiling himself.
“Yes, this is Sakurai-san,” Sho said, his laughter easing into conversation. It had been such a long time. He sounded much older on the phone, his voice a couple of steps deeper. “You sound so serious.”
“Well, I didn’t expect a call, so.” It was surreal, and he allowed himself to stand his ground.
“Fair enough,” Sho mused.
They were becoming good at this, deflecting points of conversation that neither of them wanted to venture towards anyway. In person, they were practically pros at it. It was like they were growing into two completely different people and had silently agreed that neither of them had to acknowledge it. To Jun, Sho now completely felt like a stranger.
When they both assured each other that it was nothing urgent, Jun found himself able to walk again. He blended into the sparse crowd, hat jammed almost down to his eyes. “So what is it?” he asked, feeling like he was sleepwalking.
“This isn’t entirely strange, is it?” Sho ventured, coughing.
“What is?”
“Calling you. I mean. You might be busy.”
It’s Jun’s turn to laugh. “You probably know all our schedules, right?”
“Yeah,” Sho replied, almost shyly. Somehow, in the span of a couple of years, Sho had began assuming almost a protective feeling towards Arashi, a feeling Jun didn’t understand, not yet, not from Sho. But Jun was awash with a kind of gratitude he couldn’t voice out. They really didn’t talk much, not anymore. “Yeah, and I mean, I’m only really calling you because it’s about work.”
“Of course,” Jun said.
“Here’s the thing.”
As Sho explained the reason for his unexpected call, he found himself wondering if they were both a touch stupid for not reaching out to each other, when they were experiencing the very same doubts. They may have grown apart, but it seemed like, on the most fundamental things about their career, they were perfectly on the same wavelength.
“Sho-kun,” he breathed, unable to keep the feeling out of his voice. "Yes."
“An image change, right? You’re thinking that too?” Sho said, almost as if he was cutting in. Jun could hear liquid being poured into what he imagined to be a tall glass. What was Sho wearing? Was he sitting or pacing around? Jun wondered about all the details, wanted to paint a full picture in his head.
“Something along those lines,” he admitted, trying to focus, “but I haven’t really thought it through.”
Sho gulped down a lot of whatever he just recently poured. “Me neither, don’t get me wrong. But I’m-I just think we need to do something.”
“Well, it could work?” Jun contributed as he jogged across the pedestrial lane. He barely caught the green light. Behind him, a mini-van screeched haltingly to a break, accompanied by a long, furious beep. His ears rang. “Fuck,” Jun rasped.
“Are you okay?” Sho asked, voice frantic. “What happened?”
He allowed his back to lean against the nearest wall. “Yes, sorry, I was just crossing the street.”
“This is a bad time for a call,” Sho accused, almost like he cared more than just a bandmate.
“No, it’s fine.” His heart drummed up a noisy beat, and maybe not entirely because of that near hit. Pathetic, Jun thought. Still?
“You almost got run over. I don’t know how that qualifies as fine.”
“It’s fine, I’m alive,” Jun repeated, restraint gone after getting his breath back. That had felt a bit too close for comfort, and yet, all he could think about was Sho and their future and his irrelevant feelings and everything else that wasn’t going too well. “I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”
“I’m not going to be the last person you talked to before you get run over,” Sho said. “It’s not funny.”
“I won’t die before I see those seats filled,” he replied.
“Be serious, would you?” Jun could only hypothesize, but he detected a minor trembling in Sho’s voice. He didn’t want to make anything of it, because he knew better now. He should know better.
“I said I was sorry.” He watched the traffic passing by idly, wondering what the hell they were really talking about then. It’s not that eveything was falling apart-Jun just felt so untethered. So far off from the mark. “About that image change,” he said, wanting to go back to their real conversation.
“I’ll bring it up, somehow, tomorrow,” Sho said, tone curt. “Please don’t go dying on my account, I beg of you.”
His heartbeat was almost dulling in the way that it raced and raced. The dial tone in his ear was vaguely nostalgic.
The next morning, Sho brought it up tentatively in the greenroom while they were waiting for their manager. Nino and Aiba drummed up sufficient interest on the idea as they looked up from the couch. Jun felt it was only right to jump in and add his thoughts. The small smile on Sho’s face was warm.
“So you mean the two of you had been conspiring about this without consulting us?” Aiba asked, standing up to stretch.
Sho laughed, mussing up his hair after removing his cap. “We did not. It just happened, and Matsumoto-kun and I thought we would just bring it up. It might be worth a shot? I mean, we’re not talking about becoming different people or anything. Just a different look? Or style?”
All Jun could hear was “we”. We.
Nino made agreeing noises. “Vague, but go on.”
Jun saw Sho take a breath. “That’s what we were hoping we could discuss.”
“Definitely not,” Ohno said, speaking up for what seemed like the first time since they became Arashi. Jun could feel Aiba tense from a couple of feet away. Nino stared at Ohno, who just shook his head, bangs swishing against his forehead as he propped himself up to a sitting position.
“Satoshi-kun,” Sho implored, face coloring. “It’s just an idea, something to think about.”
“I want no part of it.” Ohno closed his eyes as he leaned back on the couch.
“Satoshi-kun.”
It felt like the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for Ohno's response. “If you’re not planning to work hard now, then when will you?” Jun clenched his fists. Ohno's voice wasn’t mad, but it held a conviction that Jun would never forget.
“I know. But we need to do something,” Sho appealed, looking taken aback that Ohno had responded so feelingly. “Even you know we’re in trouble.” It was the most defeated Jun had ever seen Sho, despite the slight bite in his tone.
“I’m not blind, if that's what you're saying.”
“I know that,” Sho said, voice verging on pitchy. “Forget it.”
Ohno shot Jun a look, brows furrowed, as if in apology. “No half-measures, Sho-kun. I just...I hate gimmicks. You’d hate us, too.”
Sho slumped on the couch, right beside Ohno. His sigh reached across to Jun-it felt like one of his ribs tingling, caving in to pressure. He exhaled. Aiba slung an arm around him, squeezing a litte, not saying a thing.
Nino scrabbled for something on his side. “That's that,” he declared, covering his face as he held up his console.
No one spoke up for a few minutes. Sho had searched for his eyes and shrugged at him helplessly. Maybe, it wouldn’t be all that bad, if they were all in this together.
Aiba let go of him. “Going to grab some juice. Want anything?”
“I’ll go with you,” Jun said, tearing his eyes away from Ohno as he nudged into Sho’s side. He heard Sho laugh lightly as he followed Aiba out of the room.
They would be fine, right? They would prove them all wrong, and Jun, Jun promised to give it his all. If no one else could appreciate that, then at least he could have the knowledge that Sho cared, too.
When his phone rang later that night, he shakingly acknowledges Sho’s “thank you.” It was a turning point and they both knew it-no atter how clouded and uncertain the future was. Whatever happened, Jun could hold on to the fact that Sho wanted the same things that he did, and that was no small motivation.
*
His back was always tense, like he was always ready to spring on anyone who dared to come too close. It was the pressure of the job, yes, in many ways, but it was also who he was. He was tired. He kept on painting a part of himself over and over, covering up, reinventing, finding ways just to breathe and take stock of the way his face had become sharper, of his embarrassing fervor to prove something-what that was, he still didn’t know.
He was acutely aware of how the members treaded lightly around him. He wanted to reach out, somehow, appease them, but it always seemed like there was no time. There was always the next shoot, the next dumb thing to laugh about, the next location.
Jun felt like he was being stretched apart in ways that were impossible to explain to anyone else. No, he didn’t want to talk about it. In fact, the wider the radius of the presence that was “Matsumoto Jun” became, the more he wanted to retreat inside himself. It wasn’t that he was becoming unsociable, no.
It was just that, there were so many words that went unchecked as they left his mouth and actions that felt more like instincts, brash and cold as they were. Did he mean half the things that he said?
Because, and yet, he cared so much. Wanted to become more. Big things. Little things. A few other things he had yet to resolve for himself. He fingered the new tangle of curls on his head, feeling his annoyance bubble up anew. The role required it, sure, but it didn’t have to be so literal, right? He sighed as he began filling up the French press he brought from home.
The door burst open. Sho, in his usual state of business-as-usual efficiency, dumped his bag into the couch. Jun focused on pouring the boiling water.
“It’s not as bad as Nino said,” Jun heard.
Was he this uptight, that he couldn’t laugh anymore? “That jerk,” Jun replied.
Weeks later, he found himself falling hard for his co-stars. It was easy to be around a new crew, so to speak, and not have history and expectations weighing down on his shoulders. It was refreshing to enjoy himself on a set, with people his age-the bonus was that the drama theme, an Arashi single, was doing far better than the management and they themselves have ever imagined. It might just be the break they needed. Not that Jun said that out loud to anyone else.
“Congratulations,” Jun heard, and he felt himself trembling. It was a voice he heard every week, in person, yet over the phone, he found himself arriving at conclusions that he thought he had left behind.
“Hey, congratulations, I said.”
He felt the raggedness of his breath fogging up his phone. It was stupid, but even if he was around them all the time, he still needed their validation, a gesture or a word that says, hey, you’re doing okay.
“Don’t be stupid,” he replied. Arashi wasn’t just one person, it never was.
Sho chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s us. All of us,” Jun managed. He was suddenly beset with all the voices that told them that they would never make it, that they were bound to fizzle out like a shooting star. And here, here was a voice that had worried about the same thing, even though they barely found the words to talk about it.
“Still. You know what I mean,” Sho said, even though Jun didn’t, not entirely. At least, not from Sho. Jun picked out honking sounds in the background. He was probably on his way home, sitting in the backseat. “I’ll-I’ll do my best too.”
Jun blushed to an embarassing shade of crimson he was glad Sho couldn’t see. “Turning soft?”
There was a stretch less than a minute where Jun could only hear Sho breathing, considering.
“You know, we might just fill those seats this year,” Sho said, and the hope in it felt like an immense space bursting open inside him, somehow. Jun found himself wanting to drop the call, ring Sho’s doorbell, and hold on to him-like the way he would never allow himself to.
“We might,” Jun could only say.
“I’ll hold ourselves to that,” Sho said, and Jun’s head felt light. “See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
It was a rude awakening, after all these years: that ‘them” was mostly one person, really. Still. Today and tomorrow. Jun would rather focus on work and what lay ahead, but he allowed himself that one moment to break into a riotous smile.
*
He admitted it on magazine interviews and tv shows, so it totally didn’t count right? Arashi was “close”, so there should be no awkwardness at the fact that he was binge-watching Sho in News Zero, on a Sunday morning as he nursed his coffee, yes? He was simply updating himself with the activities of the other members. And a member becoming a newscaster-that was a major thing, surely.
Yes, that’s it, Jun thought, as he raised the volume so he could be further immersed in the wise drone of Sho’s voice. There was pride, of course, at seeing a colleague reach such blistering heights, heights that were completely new for their agency.
But there was also an overwhelming burden in his sinus, like acid suddenly bubbling up through his forehead and streaming down to his eyes.
He had colds, yes. But when he had to wipe away the single tear that he would not allow himself to feel dumb about, he knew pride came second. Jun knew this guy. Jun had been working with him for a decade, maybe even more. Jun looked up to him, knew his worries from years ago, knew just how hard he worked.
He looked crushingly gorgeous in a tie and suit, in an adult way that Jun was acquainting himself with, at his leisure. So wise. So grown-up. Jun laughed at himself for even crying and decided right then and there that he wouldn’t tell a soul about it. Not even for entertainment’s sake.
But he would make one of his rare phone calls to him, because this time, he wasn’t keeping score.
“Congratulations,” he said, and on the other end, Sho sounded pleased. It ended with some proper small talk, but Jun didn’t even wince from how stilted their conversation was. He knew he would feel like an asshole if he didn’t say it-not for Sho’s sake, but for his own. He wanted to.
“Sho-kun,” he said. “I’m still a fan.”
Yes, Jun vowed it would never reach anyone else’s ears, except Sho’s. He could live with that.
*
His hand was shaking. It might be the best revelation of his life.
“Kokuritsu?” Sho breathed, his voice raspy over the phone.
“Kokuritsu,” Jun confirmed, feeling a little guilty about telling Sho first. His manager had slipped to him, and before he knew it, he had pressed ‘call’, almost like his fingers moved faster than his thoughts did. Excuses? Maybe.
“Do the others know yet?”
Jun closed his eyes. Missile right on target. “No.”
“I see. Thanks for telling me.”
He was guilty, yes, but there was no regret. It’s what he had wanted to do the moment it registered as fact in his brain, and to Jun, there were some things that he could let go of during moments when feelings overran logic. It was rare, so it was something that he could give in to without remorse.
“It’s nothing.” It was, and wasn’t, too.
To a certain extent, he was calmer than he expected to feel. He was already sure about the answers to the questions he would never ask anymore. Those questions have become almost inconsequential-life was happening. There were hoofbeats of excitement, of disbelief, stamping around in his heart, and hearing Sho’s voice grounded him just enough to get him through the day. He had an inkling that he would float away otherwise, and no one could else could bring him back to Earth.
Sho’s joy, relayed through an unbelieving chuckle, boomed over the phone. “Fuck. I mean. This is ridiculous.”
“We could fly across the stadium,” Jun said, in a sudden, brilliant stroke of inspiration.
“Don’t you dare, Matsumoto!”
It rang in his ears, the threat dancing about inside him. Jun went to sleep that night wondering if his twenty year-old self would believe just how high they could go. If he would believe that even though things don’t go according to plan, they'd find a way through.
Jun wanted, more than anything else, to tell his younger self that he would find himself and be okay with it, that hang-ups had deadlines, and that there was going to be less collateral damage than he feared. That they would be equals.
And maybe, most importantly, that he would grow up and be fine. More than fine.
*
“Be a 27-year old who shines in rainbow colors,” the text read.
Jun would laugh, except that it was so daft. He was in the middle of a take, and tried not to be distracted by the outright ridiculousness of that message. It was unexpected, yet it was also exactly the kind of thing Sho would say. When he slipped his phone to his manager, he didn’t expect to be teased.
“Special someone?” he observed.
“What, no”, Jun said, with a laugh. The director bade everyone to be on their standby positions as he wondered about just how much he revealed himself. But what was there to reveal? Wasn’t it just Sho, being his ridiculous self?
Later that night, his phone rang. Jun, after all these years, still could never get himself to be quite calm with that name.
“Be a 27-year old who shines in rainbow colors?” he answered. It had been echoing in his brain the whole day. The staff probably thought he was a little unhinged.
“I thought it had a nice ring to it,” Sho replied, and maybe Jun heard hints of a smile in his voice. “Are you still at work?”
“About to leave the set.” He nodded to the assistant director as he passed by her, hitching up his bag on his shoulder.
“Ah.”
“Did you need anything?” Jun asked.
“No, nothing really.”
“Oh.”
“Um, so see you for Music Station,” Sho said. “And happy birthday, again.”
As Jun stepped out of the studio, he is struck by the thought that maybe vulnerabilities weren’t weak points. He decided, as he walked towards his car, that he now conveniently had a topic of discussion for tomorrow’s show. He was glad, after all. He could count Sho as a friend without feeling like he was reading too much into something that wasn’t there. And that felt nice.
*
“Oh, we’re going to the same party! Want to grab some soba for dinner?” Sho asked casually as the five of them ate their lunch bentos together.
“You love soba,” Aiba said, turning towards him as he stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth. “Like you really, really, love soba, right, Matsujun?”
“I do,” Jun admitted, plotting scenarios for Aiba’s murder that didn’t include animal torture. Sho smiled and raved on about a soba place with superb reviews.
“That does sound good,” Ohno commented, a faraway look in his eyes.
“You’re obviously not invited,” Nino said. Ohno only shrugged as Sho remained oblivious to everything, engaged in an unconscious who’s-the-grosser-eater contest with Aiba.
They were mature now, Jun wanted to think. But maybe, he shouldn’t trust his bandmates to be subtle, no matter how little he thought he gave away. He wasn’t even sure, in the first place, how he felt about Sho. He had concluded that he will always be attracted to him for as long as his preferences never changed-forever then-but as for feelings? Real ones?
Those didn’t exist. Anymore. At least, that was how he saw things before he knew how this night would pan out.
To be quite honest, his stomach had turned at the thought that maybe, Sho had watched enough to observe his recent affinity for soba? What else did he observe, without Jun being the wiser? It was the thought process of a teenager, he knew, yet Jun couldn’t help it. It all boiled down to one thing: he had to eat dinner with Sho. Alone. Which didn’t happen very often-meaning, the last time it did was when they were juniors. Probably.
Jun couldn’t think clearly enough to think that far back. He grumbled to himself as he packed his bag, more agitated than he’d been recently.
“Sho-chan can be very dense, don’t you think?”
Jun looked up to face Nino. “Excuse me?”
“I hope you’re alive tomorrow to tell the story,” Nino said, as he sauntered out of the greenroom. Jun opened his mouth to retort, but Nino’s laughter was already ringing outside the corridor.
Still, Jun hoped for the same thing as he dialed his number.
“Hey, you already on your way?” Sho asked.
“Yeah, it shouldn’t take me long,” he said. “Just going to walk, don’t want to have to find parking.”
“Good call,” Sho said. “I want you to be hungry when you get here.”
Jun rolled his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you ordered the entire menu.”
“No! I mean-no, at least not all of it.”
“This is why you’re gaining,” he teased, knowing that it was a sore spot with him of recent.
Sho groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Jun laughed. “Your waistline will do it for me, I think.”
“I’ll be spinning all the calories away tomorrow,” he promised. “But for now, we feast! Provided you get here, of course.”
And he sounded excited, he really did, that Jun found himself walking faster. “Don’t finish the appetizers,” he said, ending the call.
When he entered the welcome warmth of the soba shop, he found himself faltering. He followed the waiter to a private room. As the door opened to a view of Sho calmly drinking a sweating glass of beer, several appetizers already laid out on the table, he thought about what Nino said.
“Impressive spread.”
Sho wiped his mouth with the towel and a sheepish smile. “Took you long enough. Would you like to look at the menu or entrust everything to me?”
“You mean, this isn’t everything?” Jun said, walking in.
He sat down across Sho. “Funny, ha-ha,” Sho said. “They gave me appetizers for free. My recommendations are for the main event.”
Jun pushed the menu back to Sho. He arranged his features as best he could. “I’m at your mercy then, Sakurai-san.”
“Great,” Sho said, already flipping through the menu. Jun breathed out. When did Sho become this, this adult, rough edges all worn down, somehow? When did the barriers go down enough for them to be alone in the same space and for it not to be an occasion of doom?
Jun tried not to jump when Sho’s hand brushed against his when he passed the bottle of shichimi.
So when did Jun start thinking that he was actually immune, again?
Negative. Nino would have to be informed the next day that he didn’t survive to tell the tale, but the soba was truly delicious.
*
“So my hair stylist did a thing,” Sho rambled, not even bothering to say hello. They didn’t talk all the time on the phone, no. It was still the preserve of hastily remembered birthday greetings, concert planning, and emergencies. Jun had picked up without any hesitations, assuming that it was the latter. “And I thought I should warn you, before everyone else.”
“Why, are you blonde,” Jun said, pinching his nose, annoyed at Sho’s not-so-emergency.
Sho actually chortled. “And lose my news stint? Think a little,” he teased.
“I seriously have no time, Sho-san, much as I want to play tiny guessing games with you.” There were just so many things to do, and even if this was Sho, he didn’t have the luxury of time to indulge him, and himself. He was on his way out from his house, trying to remember what he forgot to pack just as his manager alerted him that he was a minute away.
“But you’re my hair person,” Sho said.
Jun had to snort despite his irritation. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that there’s no one else in Arashi I’d ask about hair, except you,” Sho said. “Satoshi-kun would have nothing to say, literally, and I mean, I dread the thought of even just bringing hair up with Aiba-chan and Nino. I can already hear them laughing.”
Jun snorted. “That bad?”
“No, I mean, I’m just embarrassed-” and Jun jumped as his doorbell rang. He hurriedly gathered all his things. “Still there?”
“Sho-san, sorry, if you’re so worried about it, send me a photo and I’ll, I don’t know, I’ll text you,” he said, opening the door for his manager. Upon seeing his stern face, Jun suddenly remembered what he forgot. “Grumpy’s here, talk to you later.”
While his manager predictably grumbled about already running late, Jun raced back to his room to grab the script for his commercial shoot. In the car, he ran over his lines, making sure that he didn’t forget them in the whirlwind that was his morning. They arrived at the location with Jun feeling better prepared than he did an hour ago-and frankly, that was all it took to ease away his irritation. He liked being ready. He liked being already kind of a veteran, although he would never say that out loud.
What he would never be a veteran of was knowing just when, and how, Sho will hit him next, without the oblvious guy even noticing.
It was right before the second take. Jun sat there, clutching his phone, knowing he made a mistake by clicking ‘view’. So was being Sho’s “hair person” a perk, or a minus? Jun couldn’t tell. His manager had to elbow him when the director called for him. It was a mark of his so-called professionalism that he managed to deliver his lines flawlessly, even though the image in his mind didn’t have anything to do with chocolate.
On the way to the headquarters, he found himself composing a reply. “Suits you, Sho-san.” He thought twice about deleting the thumbs up emoji, but settled on keeping it.
Sho texted back almost immediately. “I’m relieved!” Jun forced himself to stuff his phone in his bag, lest he continue staring at it for too long. He decided that Sho was evil, and that this whole “hair person” thing was a ploy to finally get Jun to confess about his undying admiration and love for Sho, that Sho had known all along, that Sho was being an asshole.
Jun sighed. Just a haircut, really? He wanted to laugh. It was just Sho being clueless, and Jun still being completely under his spell. Which was a ridiculous realization to have over a stupid hairstyle change.
When Jun had to contend with later that day was seeing it in the flesh. It was with defeat that he admitted to himself that he had never been so attracted to anyone in his life. Even to past versions of Sho. Which had to be a record by itself.
“Isn’t your hairstyle kind of young?” Nino teased, touching the shaved undercut while looking straight at Jun.
“Nino,” Sho whined, looking concerned again. “I was told that it suited me.”
“I bet,” Nino said, grinning.
“What do you mean?”`
Jun knew it was going to be a long, long night.
*
Did anything ever really change?
That was what he was thinking when he looked at Sho then, an aisle away from him, cocooned in a blanket, dozing off. The cabin was silent; everyone else in first class was sleeping. Possibly, except for him-which was a good thing, the more he thought about it. Here, he could stare openly, in a way that normal life didn’t afford him.
It wasn’t the confusion of his younger, more tumultuous years, that much he knew. It faded into a resignation that wasn’t altogether unpleasant, because they simply just got old. Not that it didn’t mean Jun couldn’t see the outline of Sho clearly. In the dark cabin, Sho’s mouth hung open just so, just unattractively enough, that Jun swallowed down the swell of affection with his flute of champagne. He looked on, thinking about the alchemy that was Sho’s lips and the dumb and infuriating things that sometimes came out of them.
Sho stirred. Jun tore his eyes away and focused them on the stack of papers that were artlessly spread in front of him.
“You should sleep,” Sho said, voice scratchy and worn across from him.
“In a bit.”
Jun heard him gulping down some water, the sound of a plastic bottle caving in disconcertingly loud in the quiet cabin. It was a few minutes before he broke the silence again. “You know what, I’m glad we’re in first class,” Sho murmured, turning towards Jun with a lazy smile, his seat still reclined.
“What do you mean?”
Sho pointed to the champagne in Jun’s hands. “I remember an episode in coach with you and a glass of orange juice.”
Jun knew exactly what he was talking about. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sho snuggled further under his blanket. “You spilled orange juice on my pants, Matsumoto-kun,” he said. “Got all sticky and stuff, and it was a tight squeeze.”
Maybe Jun was crazy, finding his heart blooming at Sho’s stupid memory from years ago. Maybe it was their destination. Maybe it was everything converging into something they could never have dreamed up, the two of them that were sitting in economy class, one fuming at the other’s clumsiness-they had no idea, Jun thought.
“Talk about holding a grudge.”
Sho laughed. “Goodnight again, Jun. And please, sleep.”
Jun. Jun tossed back the remainder of his drink.
They arrived in Hawaii without a hitch. Jun was both a dreamer and a doer. Maybe he head thought of it in passing, but in all those years, he never really imagined it to feel like a homecoming. Hawaii, the five of them, fifteen years later-how could it not feel like a dream that was sort of his work, which was kind of awesome? He was flush with adrenaline as the helicopter cruised over the vista of fans, all waving to them-but there was also an overwhelming sense of disbelief bubbling up within him. A warm saltiness was threatening to spill from his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
Ohno curled a hand into his, understanding him without a word, as the helicopter landed. He was so grateful for the four that he ended up with, and not for the last time, not even for that trip.
When they went out-just him and Ohno-a couple of days later, it was as if Ohno discarded all manner of defenses. Jun knew that this was different, that between the two of them came the knowledge that this year meant more than they could ever verbalize, and they clung on to each other because of it. Sheer joy. Sheer suspension of reality. They were on a high, unable to express themselves, and that was perfectly fine, for Hawaii, for them, and certainly for that night.
Ohno, though, was eloquent as he ordered up another round of fruity cocktails he seemingly had a soft spot for. “Matsujun,” he said, clinking their wooden tiki mugs together. “It’s been too long.”
Jun laughed. “Yes, fifteen years.” He was a little tipsy himself and was more than happy to indulge Ohno. “Are you going to cry again?”
Ohno shook his head emphatically. “No, I saw you.”
“Saw me?”
“Saw you staring at Sho-kun on the way here,” Ohno said, sounding more sober than Jun would like to believe. He took a long sip of the pineapple monstrosity that Ohno treated him to. Ohno gave him a jaunty sideway glance, the room suddenly changing colors, almost. “And you know, for the record, I still think it’s cute.”
Oh my god, Jun thought, stomach dropping. “We’re not talking about this, Leader.”
“’s all good. Just wanted you to know. I think it’s okay,” Ohno slurred. “It will be okay.”
Ohno would probably remember nothing about it the next day, so Jun chose to take one for the team and ordered a couple of tequila shots, all to a whoop of delight on Ohno’s part. He’d rather be inebriated than have to deal with the candid things coming out from Ohno’s mouth. The tequila plan was going well, until his phone rang.
“What?” he said, agitated at the timing.
On the other end, Sho laughed. “Heard from Aiba-chan that you’re out with Leader. Are you guys already wasted?”
“Leader is,” Jun said. Ohno just finished downing his second shot, and was now crowding into Jun’s space. “’s that Sho-kun. Can I talk to him.”
“No,” Jun said, face heating up.
“Why is Satoshi-kun not allowed to talk to me?” Sho asked, obviously amused.
“Why are you calling?”
“Can’t follow after all,” Sho said, sighing but not sounding too disappointed. “Apparently I’m filming an impromptu Abunai segment.”
“Workaholic,” Jun accused, smiling despite himself. “Alcoholic?” Ohno said, smooshing his ear to the other side of Jun’s phone.
Jun’s exasperated “You!” coincided with Sho’s laughter.
“Good luck with him tonight,” Sho said as a goodbye.
Ohno wiggled his eyebrows as Jun packed away his phone into his pocket. “Flirty-wirty,” he said, downing another tequila shot.
“I will kill you,” Jun found himself saying. “I adore and respect you, but I swear to god I will kill you.”
Ohno’s chuckles were hearty and sounded like betrayal to Jun’s ears. “So cute!”
After the embarrassment that was them stumbling drunkenly to their hotel rooms-and Sho opening the door to their clap-trap during his shoot-Jun could only plop onto his bed and pay heed to his now swirling room. Just as he was getting hypnotized by the patterns on the ceiling, he was seized by a sudden panic. Did I actually hug him? Did I? His headache suddenly felt more apocalyptic.
As he was washing his face, his phone rang.
There must be something in the water in Hawaii: he never called twice in a day. Jun acknowledged somewhere in his brain that he was really, really drunk, and in a burst of optimisim, thought that he might be in some sort of dream.
“Room service,” Sho intoned, much too jovial for two in the morning.
“Sakurai,” he said, wiping his mouth. “These phonecalls have to stop.”
“What-I mean, wait, are you still with Ohno-kun?” Sho asked, tone suddenly changing. Jun found himself bumping his hip on the dresser with an ungainly yelp of pain. "Ow!"
“Hey! You okay?”
“Ohno’s…so drunk,” Jun said, “there were lots of tequila shots, somehow lost his shirt when I left him, then he was crying. Again!”
“Where are you?”
“Hotel, duh. The rooms here have nice ceilings, don’t you think?”
“I’m coming over,” Sho declared, and Jun couldn’t process anything anymore.
It only felt like a minute when he heard the bell ring. Jun opened the door, hand unsteady and leaving a fine sheen of sweat on the doorknob. Sho was so close that the first thing Jun saw were the wrinkles on his eyes, wrinkles Jun could swear didn’t exist four, five years ago. “You’re old, Sho-san,” he said, stepping aside to let him in.
“And you’re drunk,” Sho grinned, entering his room. “I’m glad your room’s not trashed, though. That’s all I wanted to check really.”
“What am I, eighteen?”
Sho sat down on the one-seater. “Tequila? Really?”
“It’s Hawaii, don’t be a killjoy.” He locked the door and made a beeline for his bed, jumping onto it and remembering to be embarrassed when Sho laughed. It still registered with him that this wasn’t entirely normal, that this wasn’t something they did. Yet something about how Sho had his leg crossed, chin cupped in hand, his eyes dancing in what seemed like bemusement, seemed so oddly comfortable to Jun.
“You’re drunk,” Sho said. “I hope Ohno-san fared better than you.”
Jun squinted at him through his muggy eyewear. “You didn’t check on him?”
Sho just shrugged, and Jun, even in that haze, recognized a tidal wave for what it was. He shut his eyes, his world turning topsy-turvy again.
“Remove my shoes,” he barked. He just wanted to sleep, wanted to make the spinning stop.
“Excuse me?”
Sho sounded so put-off that he had to laugh. He shook his leg at Sho, with what little coordination was left in him. “Shoes! What’s the point of you coming here if you’re not going to remove my shoes? That was the point, right?”
“Only if you say please.”
“Hell no. Shoes!”
“You are fucking out of it, Matsumoto,” he said, standing up. Something in Jun’s heart tripped at the contrast between his tone and the gentle smile on his face.
“Shoes,” he repeated, weaker this time. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was Sho half-sitting on the foot of his bed, touching his bare ankle.
*
He woke up the next day with his loafers arranged neatly by the door, his glasses folded up on the side desk with a glass of water and a couple tabs of painkiller beside it. In his hazy morning vision, those details were somehow crystal clear, something he immediately latched on to. It felt like being dropped in a new dimension. His mind raced.
Was it just because of where they were? Whose turn was it? Was it too long a stretch of time, or hardly any time at all? Jun couldn’t articulate the difference, and maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
He felt idiotic, but he couldn’t control it no more than he could help being who he was-he moaned gibberish into his pillow, unable to release the flood of...was it happiness? Isn't he jumping the gun?
Jun wanted to think that he was probably wrong and just in the throes of a horrible hangover. But he could also be right. His gut told him that this was something. It was like long division, the sky breaking at dawn-it had a process, a real logic to it. It felt like threads unfurling in his hands, grazing through the gaps between his fingers. This time, he closed his fist.
Jun dialed and waited for him to pick up. Sho, of course, inquired after his health, but Jun couldn’t imagine slogging through any more small talk after that, with his heartbeat blaring in his ear.
“Can I call you when we get back to Tokyo? Really call you,” he said, braver than he could justify to himself.
Sho was silent, at first. “As long as I can...as long as I can call you too.”
Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination, after all. Jun wrestled with that thought as he covered his face with the rumpled duvet. It wasn’t a demand. More than a decade later, they were somehow-albeitly awkwardly-on the same page.
*
Being who they were, neither of them went back on their word. It wasn’t a nightly occurrence, they were far too busy for that. Jun couldn’t help but wonder if he was inconveniencing Sho in any way, but felt all those melt away when it was Sho calling. They didn’t have to talk about anything important-they hardly did.
And Jun, Jun was more than fine with the phonecalls that centered on the mundane details of their life: have you eaten? Did you just wake up? Did you clink on the link Aiba-chan sent? Don’t wear that shirt today. I know this new curry place. See you later. Are you on your way? Are you tired?
He just needed more time to get used to being scolded again: for little things, for going out for meals when he could’ve been resting. He reveled in his new discovery: this time, he could scold back, and Sho took it like a man. Sometimes.
Jun thought that maybe, Sho still saw him for who he was, had never lost sight of him like he had thought he did, that one random Sunday he called Jun and only said, “Listen.”
And so he did. He listened to the tinny sound of a pianist playing a jazz ditty for five minutes over the phone, his ear heating up.
“She’s kind of good, huh?” Sho said, subdued as the background noise of what seemed like a public place came into the foreground. Jun battled with nostalgia, of a different but familiar melody played over the phone, and fought his disbelief that he and Sho were doing it again.
It was comfortable. “She’s good.”
If Jun was being honest, there didn't even need to be any music. Just hearing Sho breathing on the other side was pleasure and joy enough. He dreamed about Sho feeling the same way.
*
It was only three days, but Jun wanted his “vacation” with Ohno to Los Angeles and Las Vegas to be a real getaway. When he told Sho of his plans to not give each other a call during their vacation, he was agreeable. Jun wondered if Sho heard the insecurity in his voice. Probably not. It had already been a few months of “talking”, and he wasn’t sure anymore of what they were trying to achieve, or if there was even a way to move forward, if that was even something Sho considered.
It wasn’t exactly a fight. Sho really had been agreeable. “Then let’s not call each other,” tone rational and understanding. "You should enjoy.”
“That wasn’t exactly the point,” Jun said. It was hard to get the words out.
Sho sighed. “I’m not getting you.”
“Our flight’s ridiculously early tomorrow, I better turn in,” he backtracked, frustration short-circuiting his patience.
“Jun?”
“Goodnight, Sho-kun.” When he pressed ‘end call’, he rightfully felt like an asshole and shut his eyes close, not wanting to think about anything.
The next day, when Ohno peeped around his shoulder to spy on what Jun bought for Sho, he could only grin. “Ah, J’s choice from LA. How lucky is Sho-kun?”
“Stop that,” he said, affection for his bandmate and embarrassing longing for the other bandmate intertwining like snakes in his chest. How could he miss someone he saw all the time? Talked to all the time? It was like having more of Sho just gave him a bigger picture into what he can never have. He didn’t see that feeling coming.
“You could’ve just called,” Ohno said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he yawned. “There’s nothing wrong with caring.”
“It’s his birthday gift, I told you.”
Jun made sure that that little exchange wouldn’t make the cut, not that the producer and director noticed anything out of the ordinary. How was it that someone as seemingly detached from the world as Ohno can zero in on what Jun would never admit to himself? Or was it exactly that perspective that gave him such clarity?
Or was he just that obvious?
*
He didn’t call when Jun had his gift delivered to his house. Jun had been back for a a couple of weeks, and it was stupid, but Jun couldn’t bring himself to be the one to call first. Sho’s “thank you” text message further agitated him. Were they back to being curt? Impersonal?
Later that day as they were shooting his show, Sho registered his surprised that Jun bought his gift when he was in Los Angeles. All of a sudden, he felt very exposed. Jun couldn’t wait for the day to be over, already dreaming about going to the supermarket and grabbing some ingredients. Cooking would give him some time alone, to think. Time that he really needed.
It couldn't come fast enough, and he felt his stress floating away a bit as he entered the supermarket. As he was looking through some scallions, his phone vibrated in his jeans pocket.
“Thank you,” was Sho’s greeting. He coughed. “For the shoes and the hat.”
Jun’s blood ran thick, and he stood there, spine ramrod straight, holding on to that bunch of scallions like his life depended on it. “You’re welcome. Do they fit?”
“You know they fit,” Sho said. He paused for a second. “Where are you?”
Jun placed the scallions in his basket. “At the supermarket.”
“Oh. Umm, I’ll see you on Thursday then?”
Jun was about to say something perfunctory when he heard his manager surprised voice in the background, on Sho’s side of the conversation. “Sakurai-san, do you need anything?”
“No, I was just about to leave.”
"Tell me if you need anything."
“Is that Shimada-san?” Jun asked, suddenly confused because his manager took his leave from him just a few minutes ago to return some of his stuff to his place. Unless.
“Yes,” Sho answered weakly. “I’m kind of…at your place. I mean, outside.”
Jun would have dropped his basket, except the scallions would have been irredeemably squished. “Why are you there?”
“Maybe now’s not a good time to talk,” Sho said. “It's okay, we’ll see each other soon.”
“You wanted to talk?”
“Matsujun, it’s not a big deal.” How was Sakurai Sho, standing outside his apartment, not a big deal? The last time Sho visited him at home, they were practically still kids.
Jun made a decision right then and there. “Don’t move.”
He was glad he decided to shop at the Korean supermarket just five minutes away from his place. He paid for his groceries in a hurry and packed them a little bit haphazardly than he would on a normal day.
“Stay there,” he barked through the phone, not allowing Sho to put the phone down.
“Jun-”
“Stay, okay?"
It wasn’t like one of those scenes from a drama, where his hair was perfect and the camera tracked him gracefully down a pleasant street with choreographed bystanders. He ran while he clutched on to his paper bag, trying to avoid bumping into people. His breath started to hitch as he jogged inside the lobby of his apartment.
It was trepidation. It was over because nothing really began, anyway. “Nearly there.”
He tried to compose himself as he let himself in and saw Sho, in jeans and a rumpled button down shirt, putting his phone down. Jun memorized the image for later. The dial tone blared in his ears.
Sho stood up, and Jun noticed him wearing the shoes. For a moment, they stood there, just looking at each other. Sho was the first to break eye contact. “I’m already taking up your time. I should go.”
Jun put his phone away and settled for dropping his purchases in the open-air kitchen. “I’m making pajeon for dinner.”
“Pajeon?”
“Korean pancakes,” Jun said, as he put on his apron. His heartbeat was thundering on as it sank in that Sho was really in his apartment, perhaps about to say something that will…hurt. Maybe they could share a nice, civilized meal like adults before Sho said something. Jun could give Sho, and himsef that, at the very least. Because they were adults now, right? “Stay for dinner.”
He saw Sho’s shoulders go down in defeat as he nodded. When he offered if he could help, Jun had to laugh. It was with relief that he saw Sho smiling back. “I’m a disaster huh?”
“A little,” Jun said, wanting to confess, wanting to lay his heart on the table because it’s been too long and if anyone was a disaster between the two of them, it certainly wasn’t Sho.
Jun couldn’t explain how it felt like, as Sho fiddled on his sound system and picked out a record to play. As Sho set up the table, to the best of his abilities. As Sho hovered around him, asking observant questions about the ingredients, about how he was cooking it-even though Jun knew he couldn’t care less.
They sat through a pleasant meal, just as Jun had imagined. Sho complimented him on the pajeon, and asked for a second, a third, serving. If only Jun could extend that dinner, or bottle it up, keep it somehow for himself.
Jun wouldn’t have any of it, but Sho insisted on washing the dishes. He gave in, as he poured a glass of wine for him and Sho.
“I’m driving,” Sho said, as he rinsed off the food.
“Suit yourself.”
Sho was loading the dishwasher when he just blurted it out. “I’m sorry for not calling.”
Jun wanted to crawl away. “What are you talking about? We-we agreed on that.”
Sho straightened up and wiped his hands on a towel. He grabbed the glass of wine and took a sip, settling on the stool beside Jun’s.
“You and I both know that that’s not what we agreed on.”
Jun was glad that he didn’t have to meet Sho’s eyes right then. “We don’t have to talk about this. I mean,” he sighed, “this isn’t something that you’re required to do. It was never like that. ”
“Never like what?”
He took a huge gulp of wine and stood up. “This isn’t complicated. We’re free to do whatever we want.”
“I know that,” Sho said, looking up at him from where he was seated. “But why are you upset?”
“What?”
“You’re upset.”
Jun walked towards the sink, placing his glass there. He thought about how he would have reacted to something like that, years ago. He wouldn’t allow himself that, not now, even though what he wanted to do the most was to lash out. “I’m not. And is that all you really came here for?”
Sho exhaled, eyes straying away from Jun. He wasn't angry, or anything visible that Jun could grasp. Sho stood up.
“Yeah, that’s all.” He stepped beside Jun, turning on the tap over the two glasses, watching the remainder of the wine spill out from the sides. Somehow, there was understanding that whatever they were talking about, they'd never talk about again. That was easy enough to get.
“You wasted my wine,” Jun said, staring fixedly at that point. He could feel Sho looking at him from his peripherals. Jun wanted to shrivel up and tuck himself away before his emotions got the best of him.
“I'm sorry,” Sho said, voice soft. “I’ll let myself out.”
And just like that, Jun stood there, alone again, his mind racing.
*
His phone rang. It had only been five minutes.
“Fuck it. Jun, just let me ask this, okay? And I promise I’ll be out of your nose.”
Jun couldn’t breathe. “What?”
“Do you ever think about kissing boys?” Jun’s stomach dropped. His fingers turned to ice as the memory washed over him.
“Screw you.” It was temper, he was in the moment, he didn’t need any of that. He would regret his harsh words soon, Jun knew, but his mouth was way ahead of his brain. A small part of him never forgot. “Seriously, wow. Screw you.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to-”
“Do you ever think about kissing me?”
"I...no."
Sho sighed. "That's reasonable."
Maybe it was too much for one day, but he put on his shoes, already poised to run out and shove him against the wall. And hit him, maybe. He couldn't have gone far. When he opened the door, Sho was standing there. Sho, with his phone still against his ear.
He took a deep breath. “That’s really what you wanted to ask me?”
“I wanted to call you,” Sho said, meeting his eyes. “I swear I did. And I’m sorry, I don’t ever want to be stubborn again. I was a douche in there,” he said, nodding towards the direction of Jun’s apartment.
Jun’s ears ring at hearing it in person and having it reverberate through his phone. “We should end this call.”
Sho shook his head. “Not until you hear me out. I can’t stand it anymore.”
It felt like he was frozen in place. He waited for Sho to elaborate, because nothing made sense in Jun’s head anymore.
“Maybe it’s all in my head, but I feel like we’ve been talking forever. God, Jun,” he said. “It can’t be just in my head. These past few months-” and here, he gestured helplessly with his free hand-“they’ve been…they’ve been all I never had the foresight to want, kind of? Or maybe I’ve wanted it all along, and I was just stupid.”
Jun shivered in his thin shirt, still unable to move. “I’m not sure of anything at all,” Sho said. “Tell me if I’m alone in this, and I will apologize for being selfish. We can forget this ever happened.”
“You’re annoying,” Jun said, meaning everything, as he grabbed on to Sho’s sweater and kissed him.
*
“Do you ever think about kissing boys,” Jun whispered against Sho’s lips, smiling to the point that it almost hurt. “That’s what you came up with?”
Sho’s throaty giggle surrounds them, his lips grazing against Jun's. “You never answered my question.”
“I asked you first,” Jun said, coming up for air, heat suffusing his face. “A long time ago.”
"That." Sho looked at him, really looked at him, like he never had before. In some ways, it was more intense than kissing. It was Sho, close and immediate, and Jun was measuring if he was equal to it. “I was planning to take it to my grave, that I didn’t think about kissing boys," Sho said, tucking an errand tendril of hair behind Jun’s ear. "I only ever thought about kissing you."
And how was Jun to say anything to that? How could Jun have known he’d get his answer that night, after all these years? When Sho laughed, Jun could pick out the shyness that sat there. “Don’t shrink back on me now, Matsumoto," he rallied.
“You wish,” he said, kissing Sho again. They could power an electric grid, just like this, Jun thought. He was lost in Sho, lost in the joy of the twenty year-old who didn’t know what love was but still asked, and lost too in the disbelief of the thirty one year-old who thought he knew everything but was proven wrong.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Sho promised when they could bear to break apart, walking backwards to the open elevator with a small stumble. “I'll call.”
And Jun, his insides ablaze, knew he would always answer.
*
No one around them would call it hero worship.
Ohno still thought it was cute and reminded Jun of the fact almost daily. Aiba, in his quest to be subtle, gave them a gift cheque for a couple’s massage that they would, in all honesty, probably end up using without looking each other in the eye. Nino only smiled when he first caught them holding hands inside the van-no teasing, nothing-and somehow, that felt more mortifying to Jun.
So was it love or like?
Jun couldn’t bring himself to say it in person just yet, so he settled for whispering it on the phone. Sho snored with abandon and it sounded like a symphony to Jun's ears.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sho/Jun
Word Count: 10,121
Summary: Jun calls Sho. Sho calls Jun. What are they really trying to say?
Warnings/Notes: The drabble that got carried away. Sakumoto history-sans major angst and via a whole lot of awkward phonecalls. (Also basically a long-winded excuse to write my take on What Changed In Hawaii before the DVD release.) High-five to every desperate soul still aboard this ship! *sings MJ's 'You Are Not Alone'*
No one around them would call it hero worship, they were all too respectful of Sho’s silent boundaries and careful of bruising the purity of Jun’s high-flying affection. It was cute, most of them thought. Irregular, but cute.
Well, Ohno certainly thought that it was cute, that there were worst things than an honest heart worn on a sleeve. Aiba was almost the same, except he actually said it out loud to Jun to the point of cooing, and Jun would be puzzled about it, because he’s just that way with Sho-kun, and Sho-kun’s totally cool about it, so what of it? Nino, on the other hand, had no sagely words to impart to Jun, always just watching things unfold from a corner.
Naturally, Jun didn’t think that he was being a nuisance. After all, Sho picked up his calls every night, no matter how late it got. “Are you sleeping?” he’d ask, a balloon of nerves and delight, and Sho would always answer with a scoff. “What do you think, Matsumoto?”
Sho would always be the one to end the call, but he listened. Jun would talk about nailing a triple turn or the lights for their first concert or the best way to approach interviews. He rambled, lived for the moments when Sho would scold him but laugh at the same time. Sometimes, there would even be “you’re weird, Macchan”’s and it would be the axis Jun’s world spun on for days.
“Did you go to the game center again?” Sho admonished. “Stupid. What about your studies?"
It was never because of what Sho said, it was how he said it-with a smile Jun could hear, even through the static.
It was admiration, definitely. There was no going around that. He was ecstatic that he got to debut with someone he really looked up to. But Jun was waking up to who he was, too, and in his teenage mind, that admiration morphed into something that felt more urgent and hushed and aching. Three years was a long time, after all.
But It wasn’t that Jun grew confident. It was just that he was at the end of his rope, and if it wasn’t a point of conversation that that he couldn’t imagine having with Sho in the light of day, ever, then their nightly conversations were his best bet. He had clues, after all, reasons to believe even in the tiniest, most miniscule hope.
“Grow some balls and just ask Sho-chan,” Aiba said in the practice room. "We're talking about him, right?" Jun wanted to die on the spot, although, maybe, Aiba didn’t get the entirety of it, not that Jun gave him the chance. It was too embarrassing, even if Aiba wasn’t fazed at all when Jun dragged him out and confessed to maybe liking a person. Who happened to be a guy. What was he going to do.
Seeing Sho everyday was a slow, silent death in itself, and it had been piling up for years.
“Say, Sho-kun?””
“What,” Sho said, voice sounding sleep-worn. University life was obviously taking its toll, but Jun couldn’t back out now, not when he had firmly decided it already, balls and all.
“Can I ask you something?” Jun said, voice cracking traitorously. He turned in his sheets, wondering if Sho could hear his heart beating like a drum through the phone. “Like, it might be sort of embarrassing.”
A low chuckle registered deliciously on his ears. “Okay, that sounds interesting.”
“Um, it depends on you, really,” Jun replied.
“Out with it,” he said, and Jun could feel him losing interest. Sho was like that. Some days, he was almost ardent, letting Jun listen to his DREAMS COME TRUE record over the phone, or lecturing him about various things, but with the snap of a finger, he would just end the call, no words said. Jun almost didn’t mind, because Sho always picked up the next day. That was the most important thing.
But it was time to think of himself too. Sakurai Sho might be selfish, but so was he.
“Do you-” he was afraid that maybe them being friends would stop being a foregone conclusion when he finished his question-“do you ever think about kissing boys?”
Absolute silence. Dum dummm.
“You’re annoying, Matsumoto,” and Jun gripped to his phone like a lifeline, stunned. Before he could open his mouth to speak-he needed to say something, anything-he heard the dial tone blaring in his ear.
Somehow, in the million times Sho had said the same line, it was only then that Jun felt that he meant it. He was young, not stupid.
He was furious at himself, but he was more confused. The curiosity hadn’t felt one-way, but maybe, just maybe, he said too much? Revealed too much? He would’ve cried, except he left no room for that as he tried to suffocate his horror into his pillowcase. Oh god oh god oh god I don’t want to see him tomorrow, I definitely don’t want to see him tomorrow-he murmured it, moaned it almost, until sleep overtook him.
When Sho acted like nothing happened the next day, Jun took it as a sign to do the same and stop himself from looking at Sho. Any part of Sho.
His lips, especially.
It won’t be the last time Jun would think about self-preservation whenever Sho rounded the corner. There would be no phone calls for a long, long time, not if Jun could help it. It hurt, and maybe Jun wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for any of it.
*
Things weren’t working out the way Jun had imagined. He didn’t mind working hard, didn't complain about the ridiculous, unglamorous hours. What pained him the most were the rows upon rows of empty seats during their concerts, and maybe, he had enough of the silent looks of doom the management shot each other during meetings too. Those were excruciating.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one. He hadn’t seen his name flash on his phone for a a couple of years, maybe three. Disconcerting was putting it lightly.
He looked sideways, vaguely thinking that it might be a prank. At nearly midnight, on an unremarkable street as people walked home? Jun sighed at the leaps his mind afforded him instead of sense and pressed ‘answer’.
“Hello?”
“Sakurai-san?” And there, right there was a gurgle of laughter so sudden that Jun had to stop on his tracks. It felt almost like a solemn moment, and he found himself bewildered, smiling himself.
“Yes, this is Sakurai-san,” Sho said, his laughter easing into conversation. It had been such a long time. He sounded much older on the phone, his voice a couple of steps deeper. “You sound so serious.”
“Well, I didn’t expect a call, so.” It was surreal, and he allowed himself to stand his ground.
“Fair enough,” Sho mused.
They were becoming good at this, deflecting points of conversation that neither of them wanted to venture towards anyway. In person, they were practically pros at it. It was like they were growing into two completely different people and had silently agreed that neither of them had to acknowledge it. To Jun, Sho now completely felt like a stranger.
When they both assured each other that it was nothing urgent, Jun found himself able to walk again. He blended into the sparse crowd, hat jammed almost down to his eyes. “So what is it?” he asked, feeling like he was sleepwalking.
“This isn’t entirely strange, is it?” Sho ventured, coughing.
“What is?”
“Calling you. I mean. You might be busy.”
It’s Jun’s turn to laugh. “You probably know all our schedules, right?”
“Yeah,” Sho replied, almost shyly. Somehow, in the span of a couple of years, Sho had began assuming almost a protective feeling towards Arashi, a feeling Jun didn’t understand, not yet, not from Sho. But Jun was awash with a kind of gratitude he couldn’t voice out. They really didn’t talk much, not anymore. “Yeah, and I mean, I’m only really calling you because it’s about work.”
“Of course,” Jun said.
“Here’s the thing.”
As Sho explained the reason for his unexpected call, he found himself wondering if they were both a touch stupid for not reaching out to each other, when they were experiencing the very same doubts. They may have grown apart, but it seemed like, on the most fundamental things about their career, they were perfectly on the same wavelength.
“Sho-kun,” he breathed, unable to keep the feeling out of his voice. "Yes."
“An image change, right? You’re thinking that too?” Sho said, almost as if he was cutting in. Jun could hear liquid being poured into what he imagined to be a tall glass. What was Sho wearing? Was he sitting or pacing around? Jun wondered about all the details, wanted to paint a full picture in his head.
“Something along those lines,” he admitted, trying to focus, “but I haven’t really thought it through.”
Sho gulped down a lot of whatever he just recently poured. “Me neither, don’t get me wrong. But I’m-I just think we need to do something.”
“Well, it could work?” Jun contributed as he jogged across the pedestrial lane. He barely caught the green light. Behind him, a mini-van screeched haltingly to a break, accompanied by a long, furious beep. His ears rang. “Fuck,” Jun rasped.
“Are you okay?” Sho asked, voice frantic. “What happened?”
He allowed his back to lean against the nearest wall. “Yes, sorry, I was just crossing the street.”
“This is a bad time for a call,” Sho accused, almost like he cared more than just a bandmate.
“No, it’s fine.” His heart drummed up a noisy beat, and maybe not entirely because of that near hit. Pathetic, Jun thought. Still?
“You almost got run over. I don’t know how that qualifies as fine.”
“It’s fine, I’m alive,” Jun repeated, restraint gone after getting his breath back. That had felt a bit too close for comfort, and yet, all he could think about was Sho and their future and his irrelevant feelings and everything else that wasn’t going too well. “I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”
“I’m not going to be the last person you talked to before you get run over,” Sho said. “It’s not funny.”
“I won’t die before I see those seats filled,” he replied.
“Be serious, would you?” Jun could only hypothesize, but he detected a minor trembling in Sho’s voice. He didn’t want to make anything of it, because he knew better now. He should know better.
“I said I was sorry.” He watched the traffic passing by idly, wondering what the hell they were really talking about then. It’s not that eveything was falling apart-Jun just felt so untethered. So far off from the mark. “About that image change,” he said, wanting to go back to their real conversation.
“I’ll bring it up, somehow, tomorrow,” Sho said, tone curt. “Please don’t go dying on my account, I beg of you.”
His heartbeat was almost dulling in the way that it raced and raced. The dial tone in his ear was vaguely nostalgic.
The next morning, Sho brought it up tentatively in the greenroom while they were waiting for their manager. Nino and Aiba drummed up sufficient interest on the idea as they looked up from the couch. Jun felt it was only right to jump in and add his thoughts. The small smile on Sho’s face was warm.
“So you mean the two of you had been conspiring about this without consulting us?” Aiba asked, standing up to stretch.
Sho laughed, mussing up his hair after removing his cap. “We did not. It just happened, and Matsumoto-kun and I thought we would just bring it up. It might be worth a shot? I mean, we’re not talking about becoming different people or anything. Just a different look? Or style?”
All Jun could hear was “we”. We.
Nino made agreeing noises. “Vague, but go on.”
Jun saw Sho take a breath. “That’s what we were hoping we could discuss.”
“Definitely not,” Ohno said, speaking up for what seemed like the first time since they became Arashi. Jun could feel Aiba tense from a couple of feet away. Nino stared at Ohno, who just shook his head, bangs swishing against his forehead as he propped himself up to a sitting position.
“Satoshi-kun,” Sho implored, face coloring. “It’s just an idea, something to think about.”
“I want no part of it.” Ohno closed his eyes as he leaned back on the couch.
“Satoshi-kun.”
It felt like the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for Ohno's response. “If you’re not planning to work hard now, then when will you?” Jun clenched his fists. Ohno's voice wasn’t mad, but it held a conviction that Jun would never forget.
“I know. But we need to do something,” Sho appealed, looking taken aback that Ohno had responded so feelingly. “Even you know we’re in trouble.” It was the most defeated Jun had ever seen Sho, despite the slight bite in his tone.
“I’m not blind, if that's what you're saying.”
“I know that,” Sho said, voice verging on pitchy. “Forget it.”
Ohno shot Jun a look, brows furrowed, as if in apology. “No half-measures, Sho-kun. I just...I hate gimmicks. You’d hate us, too.”
Sho slumped on the couch, right beside Ohno. His sigh reached across to Jun-it felt like one of his ribs tingling, caving in to pressure. He exhaled. Aiba slung an arm around him, squeezing a litte, not saying a thing.
Nino scrabbled for something on his side. “That's that,” he declared, covering his face as he held up his console.
No one spoke up for a few minutes. Sho had searched for his eyes and shrugged at him helplessly. Maybe, it wouldn’t be all that bad, if they were all in this together.
Aiba let go of him. “Going to grab some juice. Want anything?”
“I’ll go with you,” Jun said, tearing his eyes away from Ohno as he nudged into Sho’s side. He heard Sho laugh lightly as he followed Aiba out of the room.
They would be fine, right? They would prove them all wrong, and Jun, Jun promised to give it his all. If no one else could appreciate that, then at least he could have the knowledge that Sho cared, too.
When his phone rang later that night, he shakingly acknowledges Sho’s “thank you.” It was a turning point and they both knew it-no atter how clouded and uncertain the future was. Whatever happened, Jun could hold on to the fact that Sho wanted the same things that he did, and that was no small motivation.
*
His back was always tense, like he was always ready to spring on anyone who dared to come too close. It was the pressure of the job, yes, in many ways, but it was also who he was. He was tired. He kept on painting a part of himself over and over, covering up, reinventing, finding ways just to breathe and take stock of the way his face had become sharper, of his embarrassing fervor to prove something-what that was, he still didn’t know.
He was acutely aware of how the members treaded lightly around him. He wanted to reach out, somehow, appease them, but it always seemed like there was no time. There was always the next shoot, the next dumb thing to laugh about, the next location.
Jun felt like he was being stretched apart in ways that were impossible to explain to anyone else. No, he didn’t want to talk about it. In fact, the wider the radius of the presence that was “Matsumoto Jun” became, the more he wanted to retreat inside himself. It wasn’t that he was becoming unsociable, no.
It was just that, there were so many words that went unchecked as they left his mouth and actions that felt more like instincts, brash and cold as they were. Did he mean half the things that he said?
Because, and yet, he cared so much. Wanted to become more. Big things. Little things. A few other things he had yet to resolve for himself. He fingered the new tangle of curls on his head, feeling his annoyance bubble up anew. The role required it, sure, but it didn’t have to be so literal, right? He sighed as he began filling up the French press he brought from home.
The door burst open. Sho, in his usual state of business-as-usual efficiency, dumped his bag into the couch. Jun focused on pouring the boiling water.
“It’s not as bad as Nino said,” Jun heard.
Was he this uptight, that he couldn’t laugh anymore? “That jerk,” Jun replied.
Weeks later, he found himself falling hard for his co-stars. It was easy to be around a new crew, so to speak, and not have history and expectations weighing down on his shoulders. It was refreshing to enjoy himself on a set, with people his age-the bonus was that the drama theme, an Arashi single, was doing far better than the management and they themselves have ever imagined. It might just be the break they needed. Not that Jun said that out loud to anyone else.
“Congratulations,” Jun heard, and he felt himself trembling. It was a voice he heard every week, in person, yet over the phone, he found himself arriving at conclusions that he thought he had left behind.
“Hey, congratulations, I said.”
He felt the raggedness of his breath fogging up his phone. It was stupid, but even if he was around them all the time, he still needed their validation, a gesture or a word that says, hey, you’re doing okay.
“Don’t be stupid,” he replied. Arashi wasn’t just one person, it never was.
Sho chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s us. All of us,” Jun managed. He was suddenly beset with all the voices that told them that they would never make it, that they were bound to fizzle out like a shooting star. And here, here was a voice that had worried about the same thing, even though they barely found the words to talk about it.
“Still. You know what I mean,” Sho said, even though Jun didn’t, not entirely. At least, not from Sho. Jun picked out honking sounds in the background. He was probably on his way home, sitting in the backseat. “I’ll-I’ll do my best too.”
Jun blushed to an embarassing shade of crimson he was glad Sho couldn’t see. “Turning soft?”
There was a stretch less than a minute where Jun could only hear Sho breathing, considering.
“You know, we might just fill those seats this year,” Sho said, and the hope in it felt like an immense space bursting open inside him, somehow. Jun found himself wanting to drop the call, ring Sho’s doorbell, and hold on to him-like the way he would never allow himself to.
“We might,” Jun could only say.
“I’ll hold ourselves to that,” Sho said, and Jun’s head felt light. “See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
It was a rude awakening, after all these years: that ‘them” was mostly one person, really. Still. Today and tomorrow. Jun would rather focus on work and what lay ahead, but he allowed himself that one moment to break into a riotous smile.
*
He admitted it on magazine interviews and tv shows, so it totally didn’t count right? Arashi was “close”, so there should be no awkwardness at the fact that he was binge-watching Sho in News Zero, on a Sunday morning as he nursed his coffee, yes? He was simply updating himself with the activities of the other members. And a member becoming a newscaster-that was a major thing, surely.
Yes, that’s it, Jun thought, as he raised the volume so he could be further immersed in the wise drone of Sho’s voice. There was pride, of course, at seeing a colleague reach such blistering heights, heights that were completely new for their agency.
But there was also an overwhelming burden in his sinus, like acid suddenly bubbling up through his forehead and streaming down to his eyes.
He had colds, yes. But when he had to wipe away the single tear that he would not allow himself to feel dumb about, he knew pride came second. Jun knew this guy. Jun had been working with him for a decade, maybe even more. Jun looked up to him, knew his worries from years ago, knew just how hard he worked.
He looked crushingly gorgeous in a tie and suit, in an adult way that Jun was acquainting himself with, at his leisure. So wise. So grown-up. Jun laughed at himself for even crying and decided right then and there that he wouldn’t tell a soul about it. Not even for entertainment’s sake.
But he would make one of his rare phone calls to him, because this time, he wasn’t keeping score.
“Congratulations,” he said, and on the other end, Sho sounded pleased. It ended with some proper small talk, but Jun didn’t even wince from how stilted their conversation was. He knew he would feel like an asshole if he didn’t say it-not for Sho’s sake, but for his own. He wanted to.
“Sho-kun,” he said. “I’m still a fan.”
Yes, Jun vowed it would never reach anyone else’s ears, except Sho’s. He could live with that.
*
His hand was shaking. It might be the best revelation of his life.
“Kokuritsu?” Sho breathed, his voice raspy over the phone.
“Kokuritsu,” Jun confirmed, feeling a little guilty about telling Sho first. His manager had slipped to him, and before he knew it, he had pressed ‘call’, almost like his fingers moved faster than his thoughts did. Excuses? Maybe.
“Do the others know yet?”
Jun closed his eyes. Missile right on target. “No.”
“I see. Thanks for telling me.”
He was guilty, yes, but there was no regret. It’s what he had wanted to do the moment it registered as fact in his brain, and to Jun, there were some things that he could let go of during moments when feelings overran logic. It was rare, so it was something that he could give in to without remorse.
“It’s nothing.” It was, and wasn’t, too.
To a certain extent, he was calmer than he expected to feel. He was already sure about the answers to the questions he would never ask anymore. Those questions have become almost inconsequential-life was happening. There were hoofbeats of excitement, of disbelief, stamping around in his heart, and hearing Sho’s voice grounded him just enough to get him through the day. He had an inkling that he would float away otherwise, and no one could else could bring him back to Earth.
Sho’s joy, relayed through an unbelieving chuckle, boomed over the phone. “Fuck. I mean. This is ridiculous.”
“We could fly across the stadium,” Jun said, in a sudden, brilliant stroke of inspiration.
“Don’t you dare, Matsumoto!”
It rang in his ears, the threat dancing about inside him. Jun went to sleep that night wondering if his twenty year-old self would believe just how high they could go. If he would believe that even though things don’t go according to plan, they'd find a way through.
Jun wanted, more than anything else, to tell his younger self that he would find himself and be okay with it, that hang-ups had deadlines, and that there was going to be less collateral damage than he feared. That they would be equals.
And maybe, most importantly, that he would grow up and be fine. More than fine.
*
“Be a 27-year old who shines in rainbow colors,” the text read.
Jun would laugh, except that it was so daft. He was in the middle of a take, and tried not to be distracted by the outright ridiculousness of that message. It was unexpected, yet it was also exactly the kind of thing Sho would say. When he slipped his phone to his manager, he didn’t expect to be teased.
“Special someone?” he observed.
“What, no”, Jun said, with a laugh. The director bade everyone to be on their standby positions as he wondered about just how much he revealed himself. But what was there to reveal? Wasn’t it just Sho, being his ridiculous self?
Later that night, his phone rang. Jun, after all these years, still could never get himself to be quite calm with that name.
“Be a 27-year old who shines in rainbow colors?” he answered. It had been echoing in his brain the whole day. The staff probably thought he was a little unhinged.
“I thought it had a nice ring to it,” Sho replied, and maybe Jun heard hints of a smile in his voice. “Are you still at work?”
“About to leave the set.” He nodded to the assistant director as he passed by her, hitching up his bag on his shoulder.
“Ah.”
“Did you need anything?” Jun asked.
“No, nothing really.”
“Oh.”
“Um, so see you for Music Station,” Sho said. “And happy birthday, again.”
As Jun stepped out of the studio, he is struck by the thought that maybe vulnerabilities weren’t weak points. He decided, as he walked towards his car, that he now conveniently had a topic of discussion for tomorrow’s show. He was glad, after all. He could count Sho as a friend without feeling like he was reading too much into something that wasn’t there. And that felt nice.
*
“Oh, we’re going to the same party! Want to grab some soba for dinner?” Sho asked casually as the five of them ate their lunch bentos together.
“You love soba,” Aiba said, turning towards him as he stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth. “Like you really, really, love soba, right, Matsujun?”
“I do,” Jun admitted, plotting scenarios for Aiba’s murder that didn’t include animal torture. Sho smiled and raved on about a soba place with superb reviews.
“That does sound good,” Ohno commented, a faraway look in his eyes.
“You’re obviously not invited,” Nino said. Ohno only shrugged as Sho remained oblivious to everything, engaged in an unconscious who’s-the-grosser-eater contest with Aiba.
They were mature now, Jun wanted to think. But maybe, he shouldn’t trust his bandmates to be subtle, no matter how little he thought he gave away. He wasn’t even sure, in the first place, how he felt about Sho. He had concluded that he will always be attracted to him for as long as his preferences never changed-forever then-but as for feelings? Real ones?
Those didn’t exist. Anymore. At least, that was how he saw things before he knew how this night would pan out.
To be quite honest, his stomach had turned at the thought that maybe, Sho had watched enough to observe his recent affinity for soba? What else did he observe, without Jun being the wiser? It was the thought process of a teenager, he knew, yet Jun couldn’t help it. It all boiled down to one thing: he had to eat dinner with Sho. Alone. Which didn’t happen very often-meaning, the last time it did was when they were juniors. Probably.
Jun couldn’t think clearly enough to think that far back. He grumbled to himself as he packed his bag, more agitated than he’d been recently.
“Sho-chan can be very dense, don’t you think?”
Jun looked up to face Nino. “Excuse me?”
“I hope you’re alive tomorrow to tell the story,” Nino said, as he sauntered out of the greenroom. Jun opened his mouth to retort, but Nino’s laughter was already ringing outside the corridor.
Still, Jun hoped for the same thing as he dialed his number.
“Hey, you already on your way?” Sho asked.
“Yeah, it shouldn’t take me long,” he said. “Just going to walk, don’t want to have to find parking.”
“Good call,” Sho said. “I want you to be hungry when you get here.”
Jun rolled his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you ordered the entire menu.”
“No! I mean-no, at least not all of it.”
“This is why you’re gaining,” he teased, knowing that it was a sore spot with him of recent.
Sho groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Jun laughed. “Your waistline will do it for me, I think.”
“I’ll be spinning all the calories away tomorrow,” he promised. “But for now, we feast! Provided you get here, of course.”
And he sounded excited, he really did, that Jun found himself walking faster. “Don’t finish the appetizers,” he said, ending the call.
When he entered the welcome warmth of the soba shop, he found himself faltering. He followed the waiter to a private room. As the door opened to a view of Sho calmly drinking a sweating glass of beer, several appetizers already laid out on the table, he thought about what Nino said.
“Impressive spread.”
Sho wiped his mouth with the towel and a sheepish smile. “Took you long enough. Would you like to look at the menu or entrust everything to me?”
“You mean, this isn’t everything?” Jun said, walking in.
He sat down across Sho. “Funny, ha-ha,” Sho said. “They gave me appetizers for free. My recommendations are for the main event.”
Jun pushed the menu back to Sho. He arranged his features as best he could. “I’m at your mercy then, Sakurai-san.”
“Great,” Sho said, already flipping through the menu. Jun breathed out. When did Sho become this, this adult, rough edges all worn down, somehow? When did the barriers go down enough for them to be alone in the same space and for it not to be an occasion of doom?
Jun tried not to jump when Sho’s hand brushed against his when he passed the bottle of shichimi.
So when did Jun start thinking that he was actually immune, again?
Negative. Nino would have to be informed the next day that he didn’t survive to tell the tale, but the soba was truly delicious.
*
“So my hair stylist did a thing,” Sho rambled, not even bothering to say hello. They didn’t talk all the time on the phone, no. It was still the preserve of hastily remembered birthday greetings, concert planning, and emergencies. Jun had picked up without any hesitations, assuming that it was the latter. “And I thought I should warn you, before everyone else.”
“Why, are you blonde,” Jun said, pinching his nose, annoyed at Sho’s not-so-emergency.
Sho actually chortled. “And lose my news stint? Think a little,” he teased.
“I seriously have no time, Sho-san, much as I want to play tiny guessing games with you.” There were just so many things to do, and even if this was Sho, he didn’t have the luxury of time to indulge him, and himself. He was on his way out from his house, trying to remember what he forgot to pack just as his manager alerted him that he was a minute away.
“But you’re my hair person,” Sho said.
Jun had to snort despite his irritation. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that there’s no one else in Arashi I’d ask about hair, except you,” Sho said. “Satoshi-kun would have nothing to say, literally, and I mean, I dread the thought of even just bringing hair up with Aiba-chan and Nino. I can already hear them laughing.”
Jun snorted. “That bad?”
“No, I mean, I’m just embarrassed-” and Jun jumped as his doorbell rang. He hurriedly gathered all his things. “Still there?”
“Sho-san, sorry, if you’re so worried about it, send me a photo and I’ll, I don’t know, I’ll text you,” he said, opening the door for his manager. Upon seeing his stern face, Jun suddenly remembered what he forgot. “Grumpy’s here, talk to you later.”
While his manager predictably grumbled about already running late, Jun raced back to his room to grab the script for his commercial shoot. In the car, he ran over his lines, making sure that he didn’t forget them in the whirlwind that was his morning. They arrived at the location with Jun feeling better prepared than he did an hour ago-and frankly, that was all it took to ease away his irritation. He liked being ready. He liked being already kind of a veteran, although he would never say that out loud.
What he would never be a veteran of was knowing just when, and how, Sho will hit him next, without the oblvious guy even noticing.
It was right before the second take. Jun sat there, clutching his phone, knowing he made a mistake by clicking ‘view’. So was being Sho’s “hair person” a perk, or a minus? Jun couldn’t tell. His manager had to elbow him when the director called for him. It was a mark of his so-called professionalism that he managed to deliver his lines flawlessly, even though the image in his mind didn’t have anything to do with chocolate.
On the way to the headquarters, he found himself composing a reply. “Suits you, Sho-san.” He thought twice about deleting the thumbs up emoji, but settled on keeping it.
Sho texted back almost immediately. “I’m relieved!” Jun forced himself to stuff his phone in his bag, lest he continue staring at it for too long. He decided that Sho was evil, and that this whole “hair person” thing was a ploy to finally get Jun to confess about his undying admiration and love for Sho, that Sho had known all along, that Sho was being an asshole.
Jun sighed. Just a haircut, really? He wanted to laugh. It was just Sho being clueless, and Jun still being completely under his spell. Which was a ridiculous realization to have over a stupid hairstyle change.
When Jun had to contend with later that day was seeing it in the flesh. It was with defeat that he admitted to himself that he had never been so attracted to anyone in his life. Even to past versions of Sho. Which had to be a record by itself.
“Isn’t your hairstyle kind of young?” Nino teased, touching the shaved undercut while looking straight at Jun.
“Nino,” Sho whined, looking concerned again. “I was told that it suited me.”
“I bet,” Nino said, grinning.
“What do you mean?”`
Jun knew it was going to be a long, long night.
*
Did anything ever really change?
That was what he was thinking when he looked at Sho then, an aisle away from him, cocooned in a blanket, dozing off. The cabin was silent; everyone else in first class was sleeping. Possibly, except for him-which was a good thing, the more he thought about it. Here, he could stare openly, in a way that normal life didn’t afford him.
It wasn’t the confusion of his younger, more tumultuous years, that much he knew. It faded into a resignation that wasn’t altogether unpleasant, because they simply just got old. Not that it didn’t mean Jun couldn’t see the outline of Sho clearly. In the dark cabin, Sho’s mouth hung open just so, just unattractively enough, that Jun swallowed down the swell of affection with his flute of champagne. He looked on, thinking about the alchemy that was Sho’s lips and the dumb and infuriating things that sometimes came out of them.
Sho stirred. Jun tore his eyes away and focused them on the stack of papers that were artlessly spread in front of him.
“You should sleep,” Sho said, voice scratchy and worn across from him.
“In a bit.”
Jun heard him gulping down some water, the sound of a plastic bottle caving in disconcertingly loud in the quiet cabin. It was a few minutes before he broke the silence again. “You know what, I’m glad we’re in first class,” Sho murmured, turning towards Jun with a lazy smile, his seat still reclined.
“What do you mean?”
Sho pointed to the champagne in Jun’s hands. “I remember an episode in coach with you and a glass of orange juice.”
Jun knew exactly what he was talking about. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sho snuggled further under his blanket. “You spilled orange juice on my pants, Matsumoto-kun,” he said. “Got all sticky and stuff, and it was a tight squeeze.”
Maybe Jun was crazy, finding his heart blooming at Sho’s stupid memory from years ago. Maybe it was their destination. Maybe it was everything converging into something they could never have dreamed up, the two of them that were sitting in economy class, one fuming at the other’s clumsiness-they had no idea, Jun thought.
“Talk about holding a grudge.”
Sho laughed. “Goodnight again, Jun. And please, sleep.”
Jun. Jun tossed back the remainder of his drink.
They arrived in Hawaii without a hitch. Jun was both a dreamer and a doer. Maybe he head thought of it in passing, but in all those years, he never really imagined it to feel like a homecoming. Hawaii, the five of them, fifteen years later-how could it not feel like a dream that was sort of his work, which was kind of awesome? He was flush with adrenaline as the helicopter cruised over the vista of fans, all waving to them-but there was also an overwhelming sense of disbelief bubbling up within him. A warm saltiness was threatening to spill from his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
Ohno curled a hand into his, understanding him without a word, as the helicopter landed. He was so grateful for the four that he ended up with, and not for the last time, not even for that trip.
When they went out-just him and Ohno-a couple of days later, it was as if Ohno discarded all manner of defenses. Jun knew that this was different, that between the two of them came the knowledge that this year meant more than they could ever verbalize, and they clung on to each other because of it. Sheer joy. Sheer suspension of reality. They were on a high, unable to express themselves, and that was perfectly fine, for Hawaii, for them, and certainly for that night.
Ohno, though, was eloquent as he ordered up another round of fruity cocktails he seemingly had a soft spot for. “Matsujun,” he said, clinking their wooden tiki mugs together. “It’s been too long.”
Jun laughed. “Yes, fifteen years.” He was a little tipsy himself and was more than happy to indulge Ohno. “Are you going to cry again?”
Ohno shook his head emphatically. “No, I saw you.”
“Saw me?”
“Saw you staring at Sho-kun on the way here,” Ohno said, sounding more sober than Jun would like to believe. He took a long sip of the pineapple monstrosity that Ohno treated him to. Ohno gave him a jaunty sideway glance, the room suddenly changing colors, almost. “And you know, for the record, I still think it’s cute.”
Oh my god, Jun thought, stomach dropping. “We’re not talking about this, Leader.”
“’s all good. Just wanted you to know. I think it’s okay,” Ohno slurred. “It will be okay.”
Ohno would probably remember nothing about it the next day, so Jun chose to take one for the team and ordered a couple of tequila shots, all to a whoop of delight on Ohno’s part. He’d rather be inebriated than have to deal with the candid things coming out from Ohno’s mouth. The tequila plan was going well, until his phone rang.
“What?” he said, agitated at the timing.
On the other end, Sho laughed. “Heard from Aiba-chan that you’re out with Leader. Are you guys already wasted?”
“Leader is,” Jun said. Ohno just finished downing his second shot, and was now crowding into Jun’s space. “’s that Sho-kun. Can I talk to him.”
“No,” Jun said, face heating up.
“Why is Satoshi-kun not allowed to talk to me?” Sho asked, obviously amused.
“Why are you calling?”
“Can’t follow after all,” Sho said, sighing but not sounding too disappointed. “Apparently I’m filming an impromptu Abunai segment.”
“Workaholic,” Jun accused, smiling despite himself. “Alcoholic?” Ohno said, smooshing his ear to the other side of Jun’s phone.
Jun’s exasperated “You!” coincided with Sho’s laughter.
“Good luck with him tonight,” Sho said as a goodbye.
Ohno wiggled his eyebrows as Jun packed away his phone into his pocket. “Flirty-wirty,” he said, downing another tequila shot.
“I will kill you,” Jun found himself saying. “I adore and respect you, but I swear to god I will kill you.”
Ohno’s chuckles were hearty and sounded like betrayal to Jun’s ears. “So cute!”
After the embarrassment that was them stumbling drunkenly to their hotel rooms-and Sho opening the door to their clap-trap during his shoot-Jun could only plop onto his bed and pay heed to his now swirling room. Just as he was getting hypnotized by the patterns on the ceiling, he was seized by a sudden panic. Did I actually hug him? Did I? His headache suddenly felt more apocalyptic.
As he was washing his face, his phone rang.
There must be something in the water in Hawaii: he never called twice in a day. Jun acknowledged somewhere in his brain that he was really, really drunk, and in a burst of optimisim, thought that he might be in some sort of dream.
“Room service,” Sho intoned, much too jovial for two in the morning.
“Sakurai,” he said, wiping his mouth. “These phonecalls have to stop.”
“What-I mean, wait, are you still with Ohno-kun?” Sho asked, tone suddenly changing. Jun found himself bumping his hip on the dresser with an ungainly yelp of pain. "Ow!"
“Hey! You okay?”
“Ohno’s…so drunk,” Jun said, “there were lots of tequila shots, somehow lost his shirt when I left him, then he was crying. Again!”
“Where are you?”
“Hotel, duh. The rooms here have nice ceilings, don’t you think?”
“I’m coming over,” Sho declared, and Jun couldn’t process anything anymore.
It only felt like a minute when he heard the bell ring. Jun opened the door, hand unsteady and leaving a fine sheen of sweat on the doorknob. Sho was so close that the first thing Jun saw were the wrinkles on his eyes, wrinkles Jun could swear didn’t exist four, five years ago. “You’re old, Sho-san,” he said, stepping aside to let him in.
“And you’re drunk,” Sho grinned, entering his room. “I’m glad your room’s not trashed, though. That’s all I wanted to check really.”
“What am I, eighteen?”
Sho sat down on the one-seater. “Tequila? Really?”
“It’s Hawaii, don’t be a killjoy.” He locked the door and made a beeline for his bed, jumping onto it and remembering to be embarrassed when Sho laughed. It still registered with him that this wasn’t entirely normal, that this wasn’t something they did. Yet something about how Sho had his leg crossed, chin cupped in hand, his eyes dancing in what seemed like bemusement, seemed so oddly comfortable to Jun.
“You’re drunk,” Sho said. “I hope Ohno-san fared better than you.”
Jun squinted at him through his muggy eyewear. “You didn’t check on him?”
Sho just shrugged, and Jun, even in that haze, recognized a tidal wave for what it was. He shut his eyes, his world turning topsy-turvy again.
“Remove my shoes,” he barked. He just wanted to sleep, wanted to make the spinning stop.
“Excuse me?”
Sho sounded so put-off that he had to laugh. He shook his leg at Sho, with what little coordination was left in him. “Shoes! What’s the point of you coming here if you’re not going to remove my shoes? That was the point, right?”
“Only if you say please.”
“Hell no. Shoes!”
“You are fucking out of it, Matsumoto,” he said, standing up. Something in Jun’s heart tripped at the contrast between his tone and the gentle smile on his face.
“Shoes,” he repeated, weaker this time. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was Sho half-sitting on the foot of his bed, touching his bare ankle.
*
He woke up the next day with his loafers arranged neatly by the door, his glasses folded up on the side desk with a glass of water and a couple tabs of painkiller beside it. In his hazy morning vision, those details were somehow crystal clear, something he immediately latched on to. It felt like being dropped in a new dimension. His mind raced.
Was it just because of where they were? Whose turn was it? Was it too long a stretch of time, or hardly any time at all? Jun couldn’t articulate the difference, and maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
He felt idiotic, but he couldn’t control it no more than he could help being who he was-he moaned gibberish into his pillow, unable to release the flood of...was it happiness? Isn't he jumping the gun?
Jun wanted to think that he was probably wrong and just in the throes of a horrible hangover. But he could also be right. His gut told him that this was something. It was like long division, the sky breaking at dawn-it had a process, a real logic to it. It felt like threads unfurling in his hands, grazing through the gaps between his fingers. This time, he closed his fist.
Jun dialed and waited for him to pick up. Sho, of course, inquired after his health, but Jun couldn’t imagine slogging through any more small talk after that, with his heartbeat blaring in his ear.
“Can I call you when we get back to Tokyo? Really call you,” he said, braver than he could justify to himself.
Sho was silent, at first. “As long as I can...as long as I can call you too.”
Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination, after all. Jun wrestled with that thought as he covered his face with the rumpled duvet. It wasn’t a demand. More than a decade later, they were somehow-albeitly awkwardly-on the same page.
*
Being who they were, neither of them went back on their word. It wasn’t a nightly occurrence, they were far too busy for that. Jun couldn’t help but wonder if he was inconveniencing Sho in any way, but felt all those melt away when it was Sho calling. They didn’t have to talk about anything important-they hardly did.
And Jun, Jun was more than fine with the phonecalls that centered on the mundane details of their life: have you eaten? Did you just wake up? Did you clink on the link Aiba-chan sent? Don’t wear that shirt today. I know this new curry place. See you later. Are you on your way? Are you tired?
He just needed more time to get used to being scolded again: for little things, for going out for meals when he could’ve been resting. He reveled in his new discovery: this time, he could scold back, and Sho took it like a man. Sometimes.
Jun thought that maybe, Sho still saw him for who he was, had never lost sight of him like he had thought he did, that one random Sunday he called Jun and only said, “Listen.”
And so he did. He listened to the tinny sound of a pianist playing a jazz ditty for five minutes over the phone, his ear heating up.
“She’s kind of good, huh?” Sho said, subdued as the background noise of what seemed like a public place came into the foreground. Jun battled with nostalgia, of a different but familiar melody played over the phone, and fought his disbelief that he and Sho were doing it again.
It was comfortable. “She’s good.”
If Jun was being honest, there didn't even need to be any music. Just hearing Sho breathing on the other side was pleasure and joy enough. He dreamed about Sho feeling the same way.
*
It was only three days, but Jun wanted his “vacation” with Ohno to Los Angeles and Las Vegas to be a real getaway. When he told Sho of his plans to not give each other a call during their vacation, he was agreeable. Jun wondered if Sho heard the insecurity in his voice. Probably not. It had already been a few months of “talking”, and he wasn’t sure anymore of what they were trying to achieve, or if there was even a way to move forward, if that was even something Sho considered.
It wasn’t exactly a fight. Sho really had been agreeable. “Then let’s not call each other,” tone rational and understanding. "You should enjoy.”
“That wasn’t exactly the point,” Jun said. It was hard to get the words out.
Sho sighed. “I’m not getting you.”
“Our flight’s ridiculously early tomorrow, I better turn in,” he backtracked, frustration short-circuiting his patience.
“Jun?”
“Goodnight, Sho-kun.” When he pressed ‘end call’, he rightfully felt like an asshole and shut his eyes close, not wanting to think about anything.
The next day, when Ohno peeped around his shoulder to spy on what Jun bought for Sho, he could only grin. “Ah, J’s choice from LA. How lucky is Sho-kun?”
“Stop that,” he said, affection for his bandmate and embarrassing longing for the other bandmate intertwining like snakes in his chest. How could he miss someone he saw all the time? Talked to all the time? It was like having more of Sho just gave him a bigger picture into what he can never have. He didn’t see that feeling coming.
“You could’ve just called,” Ohno said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he yawned. “There’s nothing wrong with caring.”
“It’s his birthday gift, I told you.”
Jun made sure that that little exchange wouldn’t make the cut, not that the producer and director noticed anything out of the ordinary. How was it that someone as seemingly detached from the world as Ohno can zero in on what Jun would never admit to himself? Or was it exactly that perspective that gave him such clarity?
Or was he just that obvious?
*
He didn’t call when Jun had his gift delivered to his house. Jun had been back for a a couple of weeks, and it was stupid, but Jun couldn’t bring himself to be the one to call first. Sho’s “thank you” text message further agitated him. Were they back to being curt? Impersonal?
Later that day as they were shooting his show, Sho registered his surprised that Jun bought his gift when he was in Los Angeles. All of a sudden, he felt very exposed. Jun couldn’t wait for the day to be over, already dreaming about going to the supermarket and grabbing some ingredients. Cooking would give him some time alone, to think. Time that he really needed.
It couldn't come fast enough, and he felt his stress floating away a bit as he entered the supermarket. As he was looking through some scallions, his phone vibrated in his jeans pocket.
“Thank you,” was Sho’s greeting. He coughed. “For the shoes and the hat.”
Jun’s blood ran thick, and he stood there, spine ramrod straight, holding on to that bunch of scallions like his life depended on it. “You’re welcome. Do they fit?”
“You know they fit,” Sho said. He paused for a second. “Where are you?”
Jun placed the scallions in his basket. “At the supermarket.”
“Oh. Umm, I’ll see you on Thursday then?”
Jun was about to say something perfunctory when he heard his manager surprised voice in the background, on Sho’s side of the conversation. “Sakurai-san, do you need anything?”
“No, I was just about to leave.”
"Tell me if you need anything."
“Is that Shimada-san?” Jun asked, suddenly confused because his manager took his leave from him just a few minutes ago to return some of his stuff to his place. Unless.
“Yes,” Sho answered weakly. “I’m kind of…at your place. I mean, outside.”
Jun would have dropped his basket, except the scallions would have been irredeemably squished. “Why are you there?”
“Maybe now’s not a good time to talk,” Sho said. “It's okay, we’ll see each other soon.”
“You wanted to talk?”
“Matsujun, it’s not a big deal.” How was Sakurai Sho, standing outside his apartment, not a big deal? The last time Sho visited him at home, they were practically still kids.
Jun made a decision right then and there. “Don’t move.”
He was glad he decided to shop at the Korean supermarket just five minutes away from his place. He paid for his groceries in a hurry and packed them a little bit haphazardly than he would on a normal day.
“Stay there,” he barked through the phone, not allowing Sho to put the phone down.
“Jun-”
“Stay, okay?"
It wasn’t like one of those scenes from a drama, where his hair was perfect and the camera tracked him gracefully down a pleasant street with choreographed bystanders. He ran while he clutched on to his paper bag, trying to avoid bumping into people. His breath started to hitch as he jogged inside the lobby of his apartment.
It was trepidation. It was over because nothing really began, anyway. “Nearly there.”
He tried to compose himself as he let himself in and saw Sho, in jeans and a rumpled button down shirt, putting his phone down. Jun memorized the image for later. The dial tone blared in his ears.
Sho stood up, and Jun noticed him wearing the shoes. For a moment, they stood there, just looking at each other. Sho was the first to break eye contact. “I’m already taking up your time. I should go.”
Jun put his phone away and settled for dropping his purchases in the open-air kitchen. “I’m making pajeon for dinner.”
“Pajeon?”
“Korean pancakes,” Jun said, as he put on his apron. His heartbeat was thundering on as it sank in that Sho was really in his apartment, perhaps about to say something that will…hurt. Maybe they could share a nice, civilized meal like adults before Sho said something. Jun could give Sho, and himsef that, at the very least. Because they were adults now, right? “Stay for dinner.”
He saw Sho’s shoulders go down in defeat as he nodded. When he offered if he could help, Jun had to laugh. It was with relief that he saw Sho smiling back. “I’m a disaster huh?”
“A little,” Jun said, wanting to confess, wanting to lay his heart on the table because it’s been too long and if anyone was a disaster between the two of them, it certainly wasn’t Sho.
Jun couldn’t explain how it felt like, as Sho fiddled on his sound system and picked out a record to play. As Sho set up the table, to the best of his abilities. As Sho hovered around him, asking observant questions about the ingredients, about how he was cooking it-even though Jun knew he couldn’t care less.
They sat through a pleasant meal, just as Jun had imagined. Sho complimented him on the pajeon, and asked for a second, a third, serving. If only Jun could extend that dinner, or bottle it up, keep it somehow for himself.
Jun wouldn’t have any of it, but Sho insisted on washing the dishes. He gave in, as he poured a glass of wine for him and Sho.
“I’m driving,” Sho said, as he rinsed off the food.
“Suit yourself.”
Sho was loading the dishwasher when he just blurted it out. “I’m sorry for not calling.”
Jun wanted to crawl away. “What are you talking about? We-we agreed on that.”
Sho straightened up and wiped his hands on a towel. He grabbed the glass of wine and took a sip, settling on the stool beside Jun’s.
“You and I both know that that’s not what we agreed on.”
Jun was glad that he didn’t have to meet Sho’s eyes right then. “We don’t have to talk about this. I mean,” he sighed, “this isn’t something that you’re required to do. It was never like that. ”
“Never like what?”
He took a huge gulp of wine and stood up. “This isn’t complicated. We’re free to do whatever we want.”
“I know that,” Sho said, looking up at him from where he was seated. “But why are you upset?”
“What?”
“You’re upset.”
Jun walked towards the sink, placing his glass there. He thought about how he would have reacted to something like that, years ago. He wouldn’t allow himself that, not now, even though what he wanted to do the most was to lash out. “I’m not. And is that all you really came here for?”
Sho exhaled, eyes straying away from Jun. He wasn't angry, or anything visible that Jun could grasp. Sho stood up.
“Yeah, that’s all.” He stepped beside Jun, turning on the tap over the two glasses, watching the remainder of the wine spill out from the sides. Somehow, there was understanding that whatever they were talking about, they'd never talk about again. That was easy enough to get.
“You wasted my wine,” Jun said, staring fixedly at that point. He could feel Sho looking at him from his peripherals. Jun wanted to shrivel up and tuck himself away before his emotions got the best of him.
“I'm sorry,” Sho said, voice soft. “I’ll let myself out.”
And just like that, Jun stood there, alone again, his mind racing.
*
His phone rang. It had only been five minutes.
“Fuck it. Jun, just let me ask this, okay? And I promise I’ll be out of your nose.”
Jun couldn’t breathe. “What?”
“Do you ever think about kissing boys?” Jun’s stomach dropped. His fingers turned to ice as the memory washed over him.
“Screw you.” It was temper, he was in the moment, he didn’t need any of that. He would regret his harsh words soon, Jun knew, but his mouth was way ahead of his brain. A small part of him never forgot. “Seriously, wow. Screw you.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to-”
“Do you ever think about kissing me?”
"I...no."
Sho sighed. "That's reasonable."
Maybe it was too much for one day, but he put on his shoes, already poised to run out and shove him against the wall. And hit him, maybe. He couldn't have gone far. When he opened the door, Sho was standing there. Sho, with his phone still against his ear.
He took a deep breath. “That’s really what you wanted to ask me?”
“I wanted to call you,” Sho said, meeting his eyes. “I swear I did. And I’m sorry, I don’t ever want to be stubborn again. I was a douche in there,” he said, nodding towards the direction of Jun’s apartment.
Jun’s ears ring at hearing it in person and having it reverberate through his phone. “We should end this call.”
Sho shook his head. “Not until you hear me out. I can’t stand it anymore.”
It felt like he was frozen in place. He waited for Sho to elaborate, because nothing made sense in Jun’s head anymore.
“Maybe it’s all in my head, but I feel like we’ve been talking forever. God, Jun,” he said. “It can’t be just in my head. These past few months-” and here, he gestured helplessly with his free hand-“they’ve been…they’ve been all I never had the foresight to want, kind of? Or maybe I’ve wanted it all along, and I was just stupid.”
Jun shivered in his thin shirt, still unable to move. “I’m not sure of anything at all,” Sho said. “Tell me if I’m alone in this, and I will apologize for being selfish. We can forget this ever happened.”
“You’re annoying,” Jun said, meaning everything, as he grabbed on to Sho’s sweater and kissed him.
*
“Do you ever think about kissing boys,” Jun whispered against Sho’s lips, smiling to the point that it almost hurt. “That’s what you came up with?”
Sho’s throaty giggle surrounds them, his lips grazing against Jun's. “You never answered my question.”
“I asked you first,” Jun said, coming up for air, heat suffusing his face. “A long time ago.”
"That." Sho looked at him, really looked at him, like he never had before. In some ways, it was more intense than kissing. It was Sho, close and immediate, and Jun was measuring if he was equal to it. “I was planning to take it to my grave, that I didn’t think about kissing boys," Sho said, tucking an errand tendril of hair behind Jun’s ear. "I only ever thought about kissing you."
And how was Jun to say anything to that? How could Jun have known he’d get his answer that night, after all these years? When Sho laughed, Jun could pick out the shyness that sat there. “Don’t shrink back on me now, Matsumoto," he rallied.
“You wish,” he said, kissing Sho again. They could power an electric grid, just like this, Jun thought. He was lost in Sho, lost in the joy of the twenty year-old who didn’t know what love was but still asked, and lost too in the disbelief of the thirty one year-old who thought he knew everything but was proven wrong.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Sho promised when they could bear to break apart, walking backwards to the open elevator with a small stumble. “I'll call.”
And Jun, his insides ablaze, knew he would always answer.
*
No one around them would call it hero worship.
Ohno still thought it was cute and reminded Jun of the fact almost daily. Aiba, in his quest to be subtle, gave them a gift cheque for a couple’s massage that they would, in all honesty, probably end up using without looking each other in the eye. Nino only smiled when he first caught them holding hands inside the van-no teasing, nothing-and somehow, that felt more mortifying to Jun.
So was it love or like?
Jun couldn’t bring himself to say it in person just yet, so he settled for whispering it on the phone. Sho snored with abandon and it sounded like a symphony to Jun's ears.