[Arashi] Second Chance
Title: Second Chance
Pairing: MatsuBa
Rating: R? Swearing! :O
Words: 1,697
Comment: First part of another two-part keyword fic exchange with
iwanaide. Uh... Lots of swearing, because when I write from Jun's POV I get potty-mouthed? XD
Everyone has one - someone you go to whenever you fuck up.
Sometimes it's because you want help, advice, a sympathetic ear to the problems you might have got yourself into. Occasionally, you just want to talk about what a fuckup it is you've been. It was one of those times for Jun.
He didn't want help, or advice. He just wanted to get it off his chest, how fucking stupid it was he'd been. How much he hated himself for it. He didn't want anyone to tell him what it was he'd been doing wrong, or how to fix it. He knew it was wrong when he did it in the first place, and if he was going to fix it he wouldn't be in the bar right now, talking about his fucking mistakes.
He sipped his drink carelessly, more for the gesture than because he needed it, felt comforted somehow holding the small tumbler between thumb and forefinger, his rings clinking against the curved surface. He was irritated.
It wasn't the first time he'd fucked someone and left them wondering where he was hours later, out the back door before the sheets on his side of the bed had even cooled - and on occasion, in the case of more persistent partners, out the front door accompanied by explosive arguments.
Unfortunately, this time it wasn't a matter of making sure he'd never swapped numbers, not frequenting the same nightspots for a while.
He recounted the events of that evening in cold detail, cataloguing the memories as he recalled them, wishing that by talking about it they would be erased from his mind, erase any responsibility placed on him to make it right. It was late. He hadn't wanted to see anyone. Hadn't been expecting Aiba on his doorstep, hadn't bargained on it being so cold and on feeling guilty turning him away.
He mentally kicked himself, seeing it all unfold again in his mind's eye. The way he'd let Aiba stay just that bit too long, had just that one glass of wine too many, got just that tiny bit too close for comfort. But at the time things looked different, and the only thing that seemed to matter was that he was enjoying himself, against all odds, laughing more than he had in weeks, enjoying being with someone else. Not alone.
Somewhere, between the amicability and what happened later, there was a fuzzy period in his recollection. A space in time when he wasn't quite sure what happened, or what changed, and when he tried to remember all he could think of was how close they'd been, the way Aiba grabbed his wrist when he was saying something he felt particularly exciting or important, the way he'd look to Jun when he wanted a reaction, with that slight quirk to his lips like he was just moments away from laughing again..
Jun rubbed at one temple with two fingers, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to remember something tangible, something important about this crucial period in time. These were trivial details, insignificant in light of actual things that happened, not important, not worth remembering. But he couldn't erase the images from his mind, and the more he went over them the more he hated himself for sitting where he was, not really drinking an overly-expensive glass of.. Whatever it was, telling the entire sorry tale to an almost-friend who nearly always was the willing but reluctant recipient of his confessions.
He remembered the scene before he'd left the house, clearer and sharper in detail than any other hazily-recollected time before, countless times before when he'd done the same thing. The dark apartment, the only light streaming in from the streetlights outside and bathing his bedroom - his bedroom, not a featureless bedroom in a stranger's house, a familiar place he returned to night after night. Not somewhere he brought anyone else back to. Private, safe. His.
Then, the piece out of place. The other person in his bed, familiar and at the same time frighteningly unfamiliar in these surroundings. He remembered how Aiba's smell had clung to the room, a low tone that disrupted the homely feel, made Jun uneasy as he surveyed the scene. He wanted that smell gone, the reminder erased. He had a maddening moment, standing as he did in the doorway just before his retreat here, imagining that the sheets on the other side of his bed would forever look crumpled to him, slept-on, marred. It wouldn't feel like his bed any more. Not since it had been shared.
He'd taken his opportunity. He'd run away. Like always, he'd come here, this no-name bar just far enough away that on-one would recognise yet another late-night drifter. It was familiar in a way his own room was no longer. Familiar, too, was the almost-friend, his sometime drinking companion. Jun realised that if he'd ever known the other man's first name, he'd forgotten it over the course of the years. It didn't seem to matter. It was always the same; Jun would talk, he'd listen, he'd nod. They'd drink. They'd go home. It was cathartic for Jun, who had no idea what the other man got out of the situation. On some level it seemed to work.
Not tonight. Tonight he was infuriating, full of questions. Who was this new conquest, this person who'd actually been brought to Jun's apartment? Why was this one different? What was he going to do? There were too many questions, and Jun had no answer for them. He just wanted to get it off his chest and leave, go home, go.. But he couldn't go home. Not tonight. Not while there were more questions to be answered there. So he sat in the bar and pretended to drink, making a passable show of picking up the tumbler when he was asked something he didn't want to address.
"Why don't you give it a second chance?"
It was completely out of the blue. The other man had never before suggested anything like this. Give it a second chance? What for?
"You might see things differently. Try it."
Jun didn't know whether it was time to find a new 'friend' to tell these things to, or whether this was simply a morbid fascination with the one conquest that took place at Jun's own apartment. Some twisted attempt at matchmaking for someone who couldn't even string together one-night stands into something that passed for a relationship.
He paid for his drink, half-finished as it was. Thanked the other man for coming out on such short notice, on a week night. It was cold outside, and the walk home was dreary. There was nowhere else to go, and he just hoped that Aiba wouldn't still be there when he got back. He'd have to deal with it eventually, but for every minute he could avoid it he would.
Despite his hope, he unlocked the front door silently, slipping his shoes and coat off with as little noise as possible as he crept through the kitchen. Give it a second chance..., he thought. See things differently.
Things were already different, he thought bitterly. There was someone else in his bedroom, wasn't that different enough? But as he stepped into the doorway, things did look different. On his way out the room had looked cold, the streetlights throwing everything into stark, scary contrast with deep shadows and sickly highlights.
Now everything looked softer, somehow. The light from outside filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting a warming glow over the top of his bedside table, the rumpled, imperfect sheets. There was still someone else in his bed, that wasn't going to change. But instead of feeling like an outsider coming home to find someone else using his room, it felt more like coming home to someone he'd left behind.
Aiba had moved, and the light from outside fell across his bare arm, painting the edges and lines of his body in gold. Leaning against the door-frame for a minute, Jun watched the other man's steady breathing. His room didn't hold the same alien feel it had when he'd left; time had transformed it into something welcoming and warm. He wondered if this was something that happened with time on every occasion, something he'd never given the time to consider before. He'd always left at the first hint of coldness, not wanted to feel that intrusive atmosphere. He'd never given it a second chance.
Undressing quietly, he lay his clothes over the chair at his desk and got back into bed. He felt awkward and inexperienced, suddenly, unsure for a painful moment how to conduct himself. Aiba shifted with the extra weight on the bed, not quite awake. Hesitantly at first, Jun let his fingertips brush across the bare skin of Aiba's arm, wondering if he would stir again. He did, slightly, murmuring what might have passed for Jun's name in the soft quietness of the bedroom.
Startled, Jun wasn't prepared when Aiba's hand came up to grasp his, pulling his arm forcibly around the other man. He lay there stiffly for a long moment, but Aiba didn't seem to notice. Aiba was warm, and his steady breathing comforting, and before long Jun was starting to feel as though the night had caught up on him, too. It was nice to come home to a warm bed, and someone waiting for him. Nicer, on reflection, than running home to a dark apartment and a cold bed, with no-one to share his anger or hurt.
It was only as he fell asleep that Jun realised he was neither angry nor hurt. Not about this. He may have been, had he anywhere else to go for the evening. Had it not been so cold and he'd sent Aiba home, or stayed out all night with someone else, someone new and faceless and pointless. But he hadn't, and in giving up that option he'd found something warmer. Something worth giving a second chance.
Pairing: MatsuBa
Rating: R? Swearing! :O
Words: 1,697
Comment: First part of another two-part keyword fic exchange with
iwanaide. Uh... Lots of swearing, because when I write from Jun's POV I get potty-mouthed? XD
Everyone has one - someone you go to whenever you fuck up.
Sometimes it's because you want help, advice, a sympathetic ear to the problems you might have got yourself into. Occasionally, you just want to talk about what a fuckup it is you've been. It was one of those times for Jun.
He didn't want help, or advice. He just wanted to get it off his chest, how fucking stupid it was he'd been. How much he hated himself for it. He didn't want anyone to tell him what it was he'd been doing wrong, or how to fix it. He knew it was wrong when he did it in the first place, and if he was going to fix it he wouldn't be in the bar right now, talking about his fucking mistakes.
He sipped his drink carelessly, more for the gesture than because he needed it, felt comforted somehow holding the small tumbler between thumb and forefinger, his rings clinking against the curved surface. He was irritated.
It wasn't the first time he'd fucked someone and left them wondering where he was hours later, out the back door before the sheets on his side of the bed had even cooled - and on occasion, in the case of more persistent partners, out the front door accompanied by explosive arguments.
Unfortunately, this time it wasn't a matter of making sure he'd never swapped numbers, not frequenting the same nightspots for a while.
He recounted the events of that evening in cold detail, cataloguing the memories as he recalled them, wishing that by talking about it they would be erased from his mind, erase any responsibility placed on him to make it right. It was late. He hadn't wanted to see anyone. Hadn't been expecting Aiba on his doorstep, hadn't bargained on it being so cold and on feeling guilty turning him away.
He mentally kicked himself, seeing it all unfold again in his mind's eye. The way he'd let Aiba stay just that bit too long, had just that one glass of wine too many, got just that tiny bit too close for comfort. But at the time things looked different, and the only thing that seemed to matter was that he was enjoying himself, against all odds, laughing more than he had in weeks, enjoying being with someone else. Not alone.
Somewhere, between the amicability and what happened later, there was a fuzzy period in his recollection. A space in time when he wasn't quite sure what happened, or what changed, and when he tried to remember all he could think of was how close they'd been, the way Aiba grabbed his wrist when he was saying something he felt particularly exciting or important, the way he'd look to Jun when he wanted a reaction, with that slight quirk to his lips like he was just moments away from laughing again..
Jun rubbed at one temple with two fingers, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to remember something tangible, something important about this crucial period in time. These were trivial details, insignificant in light of actual things that happened, not important, not worth remembering. But he couldn't erase the images from his mind, and the more he went over them the more he hated himself for sitting where he was, not really drinking an overly-expensive glass of.. Whatever it was, telling the entire sorry tale to an almost-friend who nearly always was the willing but reluctant recipient of his confessions.
He remembered the scene before he'd left the house, clearer and sharper in detail than any other hazily-recollected time before, countless times before when he'd done the same thing. The dark apartment, the only light streaming in from the streetlights outside and bathing his bedroom - his bedroom, not a featureless bedroom in a stranger's house, a familiar place he returned to night after night. Not somewhere he brought anyone else back to. Private, safe. His.
Then, the piece out of place. The other person in his bed, familiar and at the same time frighteningly unfamiliar in these surroundings. He remembered how Aiba's smell had clung to the room, a low tone that disrupted the homely feel, made Jun uneasy as he surveyed the scene. He wanted that smell gone, the reminder erased. He had a maddening moment, standing as he did in the doorway just before his retreat here, imagining that the sheets on the other side of his bed would forever look crumpled to him, slept-on, marred. It wouldn't feel like his bed any more. Not since it had been shared.
He'd taken his opportunity. He'd run away. Like always, he'd come here, this no-name bar just far enough away that on-one would recognise yet another late-night drifter. It was familiar in a way his own room was no longer. Familiar, too, was the almost-friend, his sometime drinking companion. Jun realised that if he'd ever known the other man's first name, he'd forgotten it over the course of the years. It didn't seem to matter. It was always the same; Jun would talk, he'd listen, he'd nod. They'd drink. They'd go home. It was cathartic for Jun, who had no idea what the other man got out of the situation. On some level it seemed to work.
Not tonight. Tonight he was infuriating, full of questions. Who was this new conquest, this person who'd actually been brought to Jun's apartment? Why was this one different? What was he going to do? There were too many questions, and Jun had no answer for them. He just wanted to get it off his chest and leave, go home, go.. But he couldn't go home. Not tonight. Not while there were more questions to be answered there. So he sat in the bar and pretended to drink, making a passable show of picking up the tumbler when he was asked something he didn't want to address.
"Why don't you give it a second chance?"
It was completely out of the blue. The other man had never before suggested anything like this. Give it a second chance? What for?
"You might see things differently. Try it."
Jun didn't know whether it was time to find a new 'friend' to tell these things to, or whether this was simply a morbid fascination with the one conquest that took place at Jun's own apartment. Some twisted attempt at matchmaking for someone who couldn't even string together one-night stands into something that passed for a relationship.
He paid for his drink, half-finished as it was. Thanked the other man for coming out on such short notice, on a week night. It was cold outside, and the walk home was dreary. There was nowhere else to go, and he just hoped that Aiba wouldn't still be there when he got back. He'd have to deal with it eventually, but for every minute he could avoid it he would.
Despite his hope, he unlocked the front door silently, slipping his shoes and coat off with as little noise as possible as he crept through the kitchen. Give it a second chance..., he thought. See things differently.
Things were already different, he thought bitterly. There was someone else in his bedroom, wasn't that different enough? But as he stepped into the doorway, things did look different. On his way out the room had looked cold, the streetlights throwing everything into stark, scary contrast with deep shadows and sickly highlights.
Now everything looked softer, somehow. The light from outside filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting a warming glow over the top of his bedside table, the rumpled, imperfect sheets. There was still someone else in his bed, that wasn't going to change. But instead of feeling like an outsider coming home to find someone else using his room, it felt more like coming home to someone he'd left behind.
Aiba had moved, and the light from outside fell across his bare arm, painting the edges and lines of his body in gold. Leaning against the door-frame for a minute, Jun watched the other man's steady breathing. His room didn't hold the same alien feel it had when he'd left; time had transformed it into something welcoming and warm. He wondered if this was something that happened with time on every occasion, something he'd never given the time to consider before. He'd always left at the first hint of coldness, not wanted to feel that intrusive atmosphere. He'd never given it a second chance.
Undressing quietly, he lay his clothes over the chair at his desk and got back into bed. He felt awkward and inexperienced, suddenly, unsure for a painful moment how to conduct himself. Aiba shifted with the extra weight on the bed, not quite awake. Hesitantly at first, Jun let his fingertips brush across the bare skin of Aiba's arm, wondering if he would stir again. He did, slightly, murmuring what might have passed for Jun's name in the soft quietness of the bedroom.
Startled, Jun wasn't prepared when Aiba's hand came up to grasp his, pulling his arm forcibly around the other man. He lay there stiffly for a long moment, but Aiba didn't seem to notice. Aiba was warm, and his steady breathing comforting, and before long Jun was starting to feel as though the night had caught up on him, too. It was nice to come home to a warm bed, and someone waiting for him. Nicer, on reflection, than running home to a dark apartment and a cold bed, with no-one to share his anger or hurt.
It was only as he fell asleep that Jun realised he was neither angry nor hurt. Not about this. He may have been, had he anywhere else to go for the evening. Had it not been so cold and he'd sent Aiba home, or stayed out all night with someone else, someone new and faceless and pointless. But he hadn't, and in giving up that option he'd found something warmer. Something worth giving a second chance.