Akame fic part 3
Title: There's No Place for Make Believe (3/3)
Word Count: 5,556
Story info, disclaimers, and part 1
Part 2
There were three more articles waiting for him in his cubby that day, taken from various gossip columns. They made the one from before seem tame in comparison, outright accusing him of being ‘selfish’ and ‘difficult to work with’ and ‘egotistical’.
“Really,” Ueda said, coming up from behind him. He grabbed the clippings and threw them in trash before joining Jin in the elevator.
Jin made room for Ueda and his oversized duffel bag, which banged against Jin’s thigh, all soft cloth and hard leather, as Ueda leaned over to press the button to the ninth floor.
“I’m going on a trip,” Ueda explained, shifting the bag to the left. “Nakamaru and I are thinking Hong Kong. Get away from all those rumors.” He waved in Jin’s general direction.
Jin frowned. “Somebody put them in my cubby.”
“Congratulations, someone’s jealous of you.”
Jin didn’t understand what he meant.
Ueda sighed. “It’s the most unoriginal trick in the book. They did that to Kamenashi too during Nobuta and Sapuri and --” He glanced at Jin. “But then I supposed you wouldn’t know. He got handfuls.”
“He never said --” Jin blinked, a thought occurring to him. “But then Yamapi...”
Ueda shrugged. “Nobody likes talking about it.” The elevator dinged, door opening to a hallway decorated with hand-signed paper stars. He sighed, looking up at the the delicate matrix of lights winking like fireflies all along the ceiling. ”It’s all rainbows and glitter here.”
~
They separated at the ninth floor, Jin trudging up two extra flights of stairs because it was healthier than taking the elevator, but really so he could prolong entering the recording studio as much as possible. He still hadn’t learned how to play the guitar well enough to satisfy anybody.
After that was an interview with some magazine -- Oricon Style, perhaps? (Jin stumbled through it with half a mind hidden away in a field of Ken’s feathers, answering “I think chicken and turtles make for a wonderful dish” to the interviewer’s question of “how did the other members react to the news of your solo debut?”
“They’re very supportive of Akanishi’s solo endeavors,” his handler for the day said, all slick black hair and strict suit.) and then filming, which Jin had come to dread with an unrelenting passion.
“I don’t care if you hate me,” Shono Jiro said eight hours later when the scene had to be rewritten as taking place in the complete dark and the film crew's annoyed looks had turned into practical daggers. “But at least turn that hate into something I can use. All I’ve gotten from you is a blank stare and another blank stare and more blankness. Are you bored? Am I boring you with my very long pleads for some emotion?”
Jin’s costar was asleep behind the director’s chair, huddled beneath several layers of thermal blankets. How she could sleep through the racket was beyond him. Jin focused on that instead of on the rising vein on Shono Jiro’s forehead, on how unfair it was for him to bear the brunt of the man’s anger day in and day out when both of them wanted, and couldn’t get, the same thing: for Kame to play the male lead. Because if he thought about how filming should have ended two hours ago and how he had finally convinced Kame to meet him at the party that had started three hours ago, Jin was going to do something that he was going to regret.
He was an adult and had more self-control, Jin told himself. Plus, according to Shono Jiro, he was bored; bored people didn’t punch their directors in the face even when they were practically asking for it.
For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he ran out onto the street and looked around wildly for his beloved.
(“Wildly,” Shono said. “Not dazedly.”)
Jin was thoroughly sick of running, wildly or otherwise, by the time he got off from work, taking a detour to Nakamaru’s on the faint hope that the party was still in full swing, that Kame was still there and had not noticed his lateness.
Nakamaru opened on the third knock, looking harried and disheveled. “It’s practically over,” he said in greeting. “There’s still some crackers and a bottle of beer --” a crash sounded in the background -- “No beer left. But come in if you want.”
The smell of cooking oil and candle wax drifted out the door. Jin shoved his hands in the pockets of his wool coat, hunching in his shoulders to keep out the cold. “Is Kame here?”
“Kame? He left when it was still polite to do so.” Nakamaru looked at Jin hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’re in the mood to play ‘roll the drunks out the doorway’?”
Jin wasn’t. He left Nakamaru at the doorway, yelling “Don’t touch that. It’s my mother’s, she’ll --” as he slammed the door shut, shrieks and faint crashes chasing Jin down the sidewalk.
There was a slice of cake, smudged and gone stale at the corners, waiting for him on the kitchen table, a note with Kame’s precise handwriting beside it that read: Nakamaru only had carrot cake. Hope that doesn’t offend your carnivorous inclinations.
The door to his bedroom was closed, which was an unspoken rule between them that meant Kame didn’t want company, needing more personal space than anybody Jin knew. It hadn’t been much of a problem for the past few weeks because Kame seemed to have let Jin inside his defenses, however grudgingly, Jin finding Kame asleep most times on the twin bed in the living room (“I only need two hours of sleep anyways,” Kame had assured him).
Jin wondered if Kame was mad at him for missing the party, for insisting Kame go anyways despite Kame’s admission that he hated those parties. It was hard getting Kame to admit to hating or loving anything beyond “I love my family and KAT-TUN and, most of all, the fans for supporting us all these years” and possibly Kame hated him now for not listening.
Jin didn’t think he could stand Kame hating him now.
Even Ken, beak buried in the small of his back, shifted so that his tail faced Jin as Jin stripped off his clothes, not bothering to fold them correctly or put on pajamas.
He shivered in the dark. The sheets were ice cold without Kame’s body heat to create a nest of warmth, the blinds stuck when Jin tried to lower them, showering his bed with silver moonlight. Jin couldn’t bring himself to fight with it.
There were lines to learn, answers to memorize for talk shows and Music Station, appearances to be shot with nothing besides the pounding of his own heart in his ear. They could all wait, Jin thought, looking at his watch, because starting now he had a day off. An entire day without being told what a horrible actor he was and a horrible guitar player and a horrible person.
The minute hand lurched over to the twelve. Three hours past midnight. Christmas was officially over.
“Happy holidays,” Jin said to the empty air and rolled over.
~
He woke to the smell of coffee brewing. In the kitchen, Kame dropped something and swore.
The sun was overhead, shining into Jin’s eyes when he cracked them open.
“Oh good, you’re awake. I thought I was going to have to pour this over your head.” Kame waddled -- there had to be a better term for the slightly encumbered walk Kame had adopted that Jin didn’t know about -- into the living room, holding a steaming cup in each hand.
Jin took one gratefully. “What time is it?”
“Half past one. You slept the day away,” Kame said with a critical air as if Jin’s laziness offended him on a personal level. “You missed the grand delivery of my Christmas present from Nakamaru. I was tempted to start on it alone.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen when Jin blinked at him in confusion. Curious, Jin peeked past Kame. He had to close his eyes and take another look to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
“Is that --” he whispered in awe.
“Isn’t it brilliant?”
Jin nodded, starring wide-eyed at the sushi tree. There was really no other name for it -- twelve consecutively smaller plates stacked higher and higher on one another, held together by a pole running through the center like a trunk. Sushi sat on all twelve layers: white slices of squid sprinkled like fake snow, tiny purple octopuses with their tentacles trailing down like garlands, fish roe and sashimi and green seaweed for that holiday effect. On the very top sat a dried starfish.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to eat that,” Kame said, eyeing it with distrust. “But the rest of it’s fair game.”
Jin got up and approached it slowly, half afraid that he could startle it out of existence. Kame made a sound of annoyance and grabbed one of his sweaters and Jin's pants from last night off the couch, throwing it at him.
Sheepishly, Jin got dressed.
“It’s huge,” he said, circling the tree. Kame's sweater was unexpectedly comfortable and warm, smelling rather like wet bird. Ken clucked despondently from his crate.
"I was afraid he'd try to eat some," Kame said. "You're lucky you slept through that part."
“How are we going to finish it?”
Kame patted his stomach. “I’ve had a craving for sushi for days that you certainly weren’t going to help satisfy.”
“So you asked Nakamaru?” Jin asked, feeling just the slightest bit jealous.
Kame shrugged. “He’s easier to manipulate.”
Up close, Jin realized the leaves were actually carefully crafted dabs of wasabi. He swiped one and put it on his tongue.
“What happened to being rich enough to buy things for ourselves?” Jin asked through the tears that sprung up.
“That involves going out, which is more of a hassle than it’s worth.”
Oh. Jin accepted the plate Kame handed him, plucking a salmon roll from beneath slices of pickled ginger. He looked up at Kame from beneath his bangs. “So, um, how was the party last night?”
“Fine.” Kame ate a piece of squid. “Great.” He refused to look Jin in the eyes. “I got you a piece of cake.”
~
They ended up moving the tree by the coffee table (spilling a few pieces of tuna when Jin pushed too hard) so they could lie on the sofa and Jin’s bed and still reach the sushi with little difficulty. It became impossible to stand up after a while; Jin was too full of food.
“We’re going on a diet right after this,” Kame said, Jin’s pillow stuffed beneath his hips. It made his stomach stand out even more, the faint outline of his bellybutton poking out from stretched fabric. “Only vegetables and water. Christmas is no excuse for getting fat.”
Jin grunted from his position on the sofa. “I think I’m dying.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“I am dying.”
Kame rolled his eyes. “You’re not.”
“I am,” Jin said, clambering onto his bed beside Kame, pulling Kame back into his stomach. “See? My stomach’s about to burst.”
Kame shot him a glare over his shoulder. “If this is some joke about my condition...”
Jin assured him that it wasn’t, and Kame turned back slightly appeased. He didn’t complain about Jin’s position, however, and Jin buried his nose in Kame’s hair, basking in the touch of Kame’s body all along his.
Kame jostled him. "Did you die?"
Jin sighed contently. "No. I could fall asleep though."
"You just woke up."
"Hm," Jin murmured, closing his eyes. He tightened his grip around Kame's middle. It was almost like hugging a stuffed animal that had swallowed a beach ball though Kame would certainly hurt him if he told Kame. Jin grinned into Kame's neck.
To his mortification, his penis stirred, awakened by warm heat and a body pulled close to his. There was no way Kame couldn’t have felt it.
“Sorry,” Jin whispered. “Sorry. I just --”
Kame squeezed his hand when Jin would have rolled away. “It’s ok,” he said, wrapping Jin’s arms around his waist.
He shifted so that Jin’s cock nestled between his buttocks, whispering reassurances all the while.
They stayed like that for a time - Jin pretending he wasn’t aroused by the scent and feel of Kame. He might have been able to - he had certainly had enough practice - if Kame didn’t start fidgeting ever so slightly, body brushing against Jin’s penis, which liked it far too much. Jin thought Kame was just uncomfortable until he became aware of the flush spreading along Kame’s neck.
“Are you--”
“Sorry,” Kame said. “It’s been a while. It’ll go away.”
“I could --” Jin slid his hand down in a blatant proposition, taking heart when Kame only drew in a breath and tilted his head back onto Jin’s shoulder. Jin’s hand skirted over Kame’s chest to the hardened nub of a nipple, the rounded slope of Kame’s belly, lingering on that gentle warmth before going down further to --
Kame gasped.
He was hard there and wet, leaking enough precome to seep through the cotton of his pants, a small wet spot against Jin’s palm.
“There?” Jin asked. “Is that --”
Kame pressed up against him, catching Jin in the chest with a bony elbow. “Yeah. That’s good.” His hips undulated between Jin’s hand and his body, trembling with tension. “Just like that.”
Jin bit his lip, focusing on how Kame twisted at a particular flick of Jin’s wrist, how he moaned, long and breathy, when Jin’s hand finally delved beneath his boxers to find hard, eager flesh. So concentrated was he on watching Kame’s pleasure that he forgot about his own, only remembering with a sharp shock when Kame fumbled one hand back, brushing clumsily against Jin’s erection. Jin groaned and pushed up against the back of Kame’s thighs, finding the valley where they met hot and delicious and perfect.
"Ow," Kame grumbled softly when his hair caught on the wristband of Jin's watch.
Jin took it off and threw it across the room. "Sorry," he said, grinding his hips into Kame's, urging him not to lose focus. He guided Kame's hand back to cup his erection. It had been too long since anybody had last touched him there.
They settled in a slow rhythm -- Jin humping against Kame, Kame, into Jin’s hand, pushing back just as Jin pushed forward.
“Oh god,” Kame said, hand falling away. “Ohgodohgodohgod.”
Jin laved the side of his neck, his jaw, the side of his mouth, catching Kame in a half kiss. Their clothes tangled between them, Jin’s shirt riding up with every thrust of his hips, the waistband of Kame’s pants trapping Jin’s hand inside Kame’s boxers. There didn’t seem to be enough room to move. Jin wrapped his leg between Kame’s, finding a better angle for his cock, rubbing against his day-old pants and Kame’s body, finding enough friction in the slow buildup despite all that separated his flesh from Kame’s.
Kame’s hand found Jin’s unoccupied hand, threading their fingers together as their bodies moved in tandem, nipping at what little of Jin's lips he could reach.
This was what Jin wanted, what he was missing, what he had meant to ask for when he’d been given that one precious wish. The bite on his thumb, dormant for so long, began to throb again to the beat of his heart, the pulse of his cock, the pounding in his ears, overtaking everything until Jin was just a bundle of sensation merging against Kame, trying to drown himself in Kame. He would wish for this to never end if he ever caught another djinn.
A vision of yellow eyes popped into his mind, blocking out everything. Pain flared in his thumb, as intense as when the djinn had first bitten him.
Jin gasped, losing his delicate hold on control, coming in short spurts against Kame. His hand tightened around Kame’s cock and then Kame was following him to the edge, hips jerking erratically.
Jin realized he was crying as darkness overtook him.
~
The sun had disappeared over the horizon by the time Jin woke again, sheets laying sweaty and tangled all around him. The space beside Jin was empty and cold.
He sat up, startling Ken off the sofa. The rest of the apartment was silent.
“Kame?” He asked. “Kame?”
Long shadows stretched through the room. The heater rumpled on.
Jin shivered and pulled his sweater back down his chest, moving gingerly with semen caked all along the inside of his thighs. The tangible evidence of what they had done hit him then, and he felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he might have ruined this like he'd done everything else.
What really scared him, if Jin allowed himself to be perfectly honest, was that Kame might have regretted it -- might be regretting it.
“Kame?” he called again, trying to keep the whine from his voice.
Ken clucked gently.
The bedroom door was locked (Jin didn’t know why he didn’t think to check there first instead of driving all the way to the JE building and running around inside like a mad man).
Jin pounded on it softly. “Kame? Are you in there?”
He could hear rustling when he plastered his ear against the door, then a horrible screeching as if Kame was rearranging all the furniture in the room.
“If it’s about the se--” Jin choked on the word. “We can talk about it. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me to do? Talk about it?” he directed at the crack where door met frame, drawing loopy hearts with his fingers. What did one say at such a moment? “Was it me?”
There was a stomping of feet and then the door opened, sending Jin momentarily off balance.
“I can’t think with all the noise you’re making,” Kame complained. He looked normal if only a little bit mussed and red around the eyes. Jin peeked over his shoulder where bags and clothes were flung in every direction.
Kame pushed past him. “You’d think, listening to you carry on, that you can’t survive without me.”
“I can’t,” Jin said, following Kame into the kitchen. It pleased him just the slightest to see Kame falter before he squared his shoulders and continued on.
Kame threw a look, best suited for concerts and millions of rabid fangirls, at Jin. “Save the sweet talk for somebody who believes it.”
“I --” Jin began, watching Kame lean down gracefully, tight shirt he’d changed into clinging to his body in all the right places, stretching across his nonexistent stomach and --
He choked. “Kame. You.”
Kame straightened up and looked down, sighing.
“It was gone when I woke up,” he said, glancing significantly at Jin’s rumpled bed.
Jin felt a flash of heat, which disappeared as Kame rested his hand on his painfully flat stomach. Jin realized in a gut wrenching moment of vertigo that he wasn’t surprised. Pained, yes. Hurt and sad and pained like a physical punch to the stomach, but not surprised.
The djinn bite on his thumb was gone too, smoothed over with pristine, unbroken skin.
Kame scrubbed a hand across his eyes and held up a bottle of wine. “So there’s really no reason for me not to drink this anymore.”
~
Jin poured the wine with deliberate care, sloshing only a little bit onto the table.
“You’re not doing it right,” Kame said. “Give it here.” He grabbed the bottle and brought it up to his mouth, drinking the mouthful that was left before abandoning it with the stack of other empty bottles.
Jin studied it mournfully before reaching over for an unopened beer, fumbling with the cap.
“You have to twist it,” Kame supplied helpfully. He was building a pyramid with their leftover sushi, but the roll refused to stay on top of the octopus’ head, messing up the entire arrangement. Kame frowned and ground it into the octopus.
“I don’t think this is helping,” Jin said, referring both to their endeavors and the larger issue at hand.
Kame switched the octopus with a slice of sashimi. “Of course it isn’t.” He opened the bottle with a quick snap of his wrist and drank deeply from it.
Jin made a faint noise in the back of his throat.
Kame handed the beer to him. Empty. “So when did you know?”
“When we read the book.” The answer rolled surprisingly easily from him. Jin blinked, merging the two Kame's in his vision back into one. “When did you?”
“Maybe before that. It didn’t feel right. It felt like...” Kame frowned, placing a finger over his mouth. “Nothing, sometimes. Like it wasn’t a part of me. And now it’s gone and I miss it,” he finished sadly.
Jin stared at him. “You’re drunk.”
Kame began building another pyramid beside the first. “Am not.”
“You are.” Jin reached over to help him but ended up squishing a tuna roll beneath his palm. The rice stuck to his hand when he lifted it up.
“I am not. If I were, I’d tell you that the party was horrible and I didn’t know what to do because working the room is just impossible when half of them are too busy getting drunk to talk about their latest magazine interview and latching on to Koki is just plain desperate.”
Jin licked the rice off his skin. “You are drunk.”
“I...” Kame thought about it. “I am. God, I’m a jobless, unpregnant lightweight.”
“I don’t think drinking --” Jin turned to count the bottles -- “Um, a lot. Makes you a lightweight.”
Kame stuffed a piece of sushi in Jin’s mouth. “When are you the voice of reason?”
“Not,” Jin said through the rice. It was chewy and tasted almost like cotton. “You don’t have to...” He paused, unable to think of the right word, mind grasping desperately in the dark. Kame squished another piece of sushi on the table. Jin abandoned the struggle with a sigh. “Stay. I mean. Stay. Here.”
A piece of squid was dangling from Kame’s lips. “Don’t stay?”
“No. Stay. We’ll make new babies.”
“Can’t.” Kame gestured, knocking over one of his pyramids of sushi. “We’re out of djinns.”
“I’ll still make babies with you. We can take turns and get pregnant together. Save the world from feather-pulling roosters. They’ll put us on the covers of all the magazines: world saviors, heroes to chicken everywhere.”
Kame laughed. “You are drunk.”
“We’re drunk together,” Jin pointed out. He liked the word. “Together together together.”
~
Kame leaned against the wall, watching Jin bundle himself up to leave for work. He was groggy and grumpy and nursing an even worse hangover than the one that was pounding against Jin's head.
Jin opened the door and turned back to Kame. “I mean it,” he said.
Kame squinted up at him. “Whatever are you talking about?”
He was gone by the time Jin got home. The door to the bedroom stood wide open, bed stripped bare of Kame’s plaid sheets, closet foreign with only Jin’s possessions. The bottles of alcohol were gone as was the sushi tree -- everything cleaned and straightened and utterly devoid of life. Kame had even gotten rid of the fruit basket by the shoe rack.
The note on the coffee table read: Motohiro came by and picked Ken up this morning. I threw the rest of the sushi away. You shouldn’t eat expired food.
~
Kame went back to work on a Wednesday, which might have been a coincidence if not for the schedule on Jin’s nightstand Jin knew Kame had seen. Jin wasn’t there. He heard about it only three days later -- not from Nakamaru or Ueda or, god forbid, Kame himself -- but from his makeup artist who had been gossiping with the hairstylist about Kame’s new cut.
“It’s black,” she said, stick of lipstick waving in the air. “Pure black. He says it’s heavenly.”
Jin wanted to go back to Tokyo. Osaka was lonely without the guys, without Kame, and he wanted, more than anything, to lay Xmas Miracle to rest.
The day after Kame left, Jin moved back into his parents’ house, unable to stand the sudden emptiness of his -- their -- apartment. He had his mother’s cooking to fill what few hours he wasn’t working, his dogs, Reio, who was going through that period of sullen teenage rebellion that Jin found amusing if only because it reminded him of Koki when KAT-TUN was first formed. Which invariably led him right back to Kame.
His parents had learned not to question his moods, not even when he fell asleep in the attic more times than in his room, complete with dragon figurines and Ultraman posters. His father only said, “It will work itself out, son. You’ll be fine,” when he found Jin curled around his picture book the very first time.
Filming moved to Osaka and the book went with Jin.
Management took the opportunity to get him on a few local radio stations because, while Tokyo may have all the major studios, Osaka was still the second largest city in Japan. Xmas Miracle enjoyed a week of being number one on the charts there before Kanjani8 pushed it down to number two, though, on Oricon, it remained at the top spot for three consecutive weeks, breaking some tenuous record.
The other members sent him a fruit basket in celebration. Ueda and Nakamaru, back from Hong Kong, wedged a hideously large t-shirt of a giant panda between the pineapples.
Don’t blame me for this costly and useless gift. We both know you’re not going to eat any of it, Koki’s card said. For the record, I wanted to get you a poster of a naked woman.
Kame’s card only said: How’s the takoyaki? An apple a day keeps the idol healthy.
Jin almost wrote back: You would have made a great father.
~
Then one day, for no apparent reason, Jin woke in his hotel room without the usual ache in his chest and joined his coworkers at a karaoke bar.
Kame wrangled his first movie role (“They haven’t announced it officially yet,” Nakamaru warned when Jin called him because he was still too much of a coward to call Kame. “Don’t go blabbing it to anyone.”) with another big name director with a reputation for harshness.
Jin sometimes caught himself rubbing the spot where the bite had been and taking long, scenic walks in the dark. For the atmosphere, he told himself, not because he wanted to see the djinn one last time and ask it what everything had been for. In place of that, he looked at the storybook every night before falling asleep until he began to worry that its binding was coming undone. The last page, however, remained stubbornly stuck.
Ratings for Roses in December fell then rose then fell again, which was all perfectly normal yet sparked another flurry of articles on the prescience of Johnnys because Kame’s acting career couldn’t possibly have withstood another flop.
Like his could, Jin thought wryly. He anticipated a mountain of newspaper clippings when he opened his cubby in Tokyo, but found that it didn’t fill him with the same frightful dread it once did. It was rather sad and amusing all at once, he decided, for somebody to spend so much time fixated on trying to make him miserable. He hoped they got to debut soon.
Slowly, Jin went from missing Kame like crazy to hating him for not being strong enough to stay to finally wanting him to be happy. Just...happy. That warm glow hung, new and unexpected, in the part of him that used to be broken.
Then, on the eve of his return to Tokyo, the last page fell open.
~
“Fifteen minutes. You’re on stand by.”
Jin ducked around a sound microphone, a rack of clothes and a pair of stilts (who thought extra tall people would be fun to have on set?), getting his wires tangled in the brass buttons of his shirt. Several staff members and little Juniors flattened themselves along the wall as he passed, making way in the narrow hallway.
The costume closet was behind the second door to the right, Jin recited, nearly crashing into a pushcart. Second door to the right.
Kame looked up when he burst in, stopping his progress on a rack of spangled spandex. Kame was dressed in a matching silver and orange costume, hair meticulously curled and sprayed into place. He was sitting on top of a hill of old outfits -- boas and fur and the occasional lace peeking out in a chaotic rainbow. The entire room shone with sparkles.
Aside from trying to blind himself with past Johnnys outfits, Kame looked ready to perform.
“We have fifteen minutes,” Jin said.
Kame cocked his head. “Nakamaru forced you to come tell me?”
Jin looked down. Kame had, upon his return, only spoken about work with him, making sure to always have at least one other person in the room as if he was afraid of what may come out otherwise. And Jin had tried to honor his wish because -- because he was trying for selflessness. It was a sign of how bad he was at it when Nakamaru could so easily quilt him into abandoning his resolve.
“I think he’s hoping I’ll apologize. He thinks I messed things up again. They all do.”
“You didn’t,” Kame sighed. “I’ll talk to them. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for --” He turned away. “I’ll be out in a second.”
Jin sat down beside him instead, close enough for Kame to touch if he wanted to, far enough to avoid if he didn’t. “How are you?” Jin asked, genuinely curious.
“Great. Happy. Excited to be back on Shounen --”
Jin shifted. A silver skull-shaped buckle poked him in the thigh. “You’re doing it again,” he complained.
Kame shrugged. “I’m me,” he admitted finally, making it sound like it wasn’t nearly enough.
“I think just you’s more than good enough.”
“Because this is all about you.”
“Yes,” Jin said confidently, smiling when Kame shot him a look of amusement. He licked his lips, finding courage in the arch of those carefully trimmed brows. “I want to tell you something but I don’t. Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s just that nobody else would understand and I -- I need to tell somebody.”
Kame looked at him curiously. “Well, go on then.”
“The man had a family,” Jin blurted out. Confusion danced across Kame’s face. “A wife and kids and a dog. He just. He just thought gold was more important. And the djinn knew he was confused and that he really did love his family and --”
“The man was happy at the end,” Kame finished for him.
“They were all happy at the end.”
Kame buried his face in his hands. “The man’s stronger than me.”
“I --” Jin said, startled by Kame’s admittance of weakness. He shouldn’t have told Kame, not even when he thought he’d burst from keeping the discovery silent, because a tiny, shameful part of him had envisioned them running off into the sunset together. Selfish. “You get things done. Always. Even when you’re tired and you don’t want to. You know what needs to be done and you do it and. You’re the strongest person I know.”
Kame sighed. “I need a moment.”
~
He rejoined them with only five minutes to spare, looking calm and collected despite his previous words. Jin had been going over the dance with Ueda but stopped when Kame made a beeline over to him. Ueda excused himself.
“Be careful what you wish for?” Kame asked, seemingly at random.
Nakamaru was drinking water and pretending, at the same time, not to be watching them out of the corner of his eyes. He spilled all over his jacket when Jin put a hand on Kame’s elbow.
“Djinns aren’t evil,” Jin said.
“Most people would disagree.”
“I don’t believe they’re evil.”
“Because this is all about you?” Kame asked again, voice light enough to be almost teasing.
Jin smiled back. “Yes. That old fortune-teller practically said so.”
ABC were filing off the stage to the sounds of loud applause. Jin held up his hand for them to slap as they walked past each other, KAT-TUN moving closer to the edge of the curtains. Kame was vibrating in place beside him, never more alive than before a live audience.
He said to Kame, “So, what were you doing back there?”
Kame’s lips curved up into a half-smile as if he could see something wonderful in the distance. “Trying to catch a djinn.”
“Oh,” Jin said, feeling suddenly lighter. He thought he would collapse from the giddiness. Certainly, he could no longer feel his toes, tingling with pure joy, and the dance -- the lyrics. He was going to make a fool out of himself. Which didn't matter when Kame leaned against him and Koyama, on stage, swept his arms out.
“Xmas Miracle - special KAT-TUN version!”
Kame put his hands on Jin’s shoulders, close enough that Jin could feel his breath on the side of his cheek, and whispered, “Just like at rehearsals. Go on, we’ll be right behind you,” and pushed him into the light.
The End
A/N: There are probably numerous grammatical and other mistakes in here but I cannot stand to look at this fic any longer. I do not guarantee, however, that modifications won't be made when I've gained a sufficient distance.
~ Comments and critiques always welcomed. Please don't be offended if I don't reply straight away as I'll be away for a few days.
~ Title taken from lyrics from Travis' Love Will Come Through. I was going to name it that but decided it was entirely too sappy, even for Christmas.
Word Count: 5,556
Story info, disclaimers, and part 1
Part 2
There were three more articles waiting for him in his cubby that day, taken from various gossip columns. They made the one from before seem tame in comparison, outright accusing him of being ‘selfish’ and ‘difficult to work with’ and ‘egotistical’.
“Really,” Ueda said, coming up from behind him. He grabbed the clippings and threw them in trash before joining Jin in the elevator.
Jin made room for Ueda and his oversized duffel bag, which banged against Jin’s thigh, all soft cloth and hard leather, as Ueda leaned over to press the button to the ninth floor.
“I’m going on a trip,” Ueda explained, shifting the bag to the left. “Nakamaru and I are thinking Hong Kong. Get away from all those rumors.” He waved in Jin’s general direction.
Jin frowned. “Somebody put them in my cubby.”
“Congratulations, someone’s jealous of you.”
Jin didn’t understand what he meant.
Ueda sighed. “It’s the most unoriginal trick in the book. They did that to Kamenashi too during Nobuta and Sapuri and --” He glanced at Jin. “But then I supposed you wouldn’t know. He got handfuls.”
“He never said --” Jin blinked, a thought occurring to him. “But then Yamapi...”
Ueda shrugged. “Nobody likes talking about it.” The elevator dinged, door opening to a hallway decorated with hand-signed paper stars. He sighed, looking up at the the delicate matrix of lights winking like fireflies all along the ceiling. ”It’s all rainbows and glitter here.”
~
They separated at the ninth floor, Jin trudging up two extra flights of stairs because it was healthier than taking the elevator, but really so he could prolong entering the recording studio as much as possible. He still hadn’t learned how to play the guitar well enough to satisfy anybody.
After that was an interview with some magazine -- Oricon Style, perhaps? (Jin stumbled through it with half a mind hidden away in a field of Ken’s feathers, answering “I think chicken and turtles make for a wonderful dish” to the interviewer’s question of “how did the other members react to the news of your solo debut?”
“They’re very supportive of Akanishi’s solo endeavors,” his handler for the day said, all slick black hair and strict suit.) and then filming, which Jin had come to dread with an unrelenting passion.
“I don’t care if you hate me,” Shono Jiro said eight hours later when the scene had to be rewritten as taking place in the complete dark and the film crew's annoyed looks had turned into practical daggers. “But at least turn that hate into something I can use. All I’ve gotten from you is a blank stare and another blank stare and more blankness. Are you bored? Am I boring you with my very long pleads for some emotion?”
Jin’s costar was asleep behind the director’s chair, huddled beneath several layers of thermal blankets. How she could sleep through the racket was beyond him. Jin focused on that instead of on the rising vein on Shono Jiro’s forehead, on how unfair it was for him to bear the brunt of the man’s anger day in and day out when both of them wanted, and couldn’t get, the same thing: for Kame to play the male lead. Because if he thought about how filming should have ended two hours ago and how he had finally convinced Kame to meet him at the party that had started three hours ago, Jin was going to do something that he was going to regret.
He was an adult and had more self-control, Jin told himself. Plus, according to Shono Jiro, he was bored; bored people didn’t punch their directors in the face even when they were practically asking for it.
For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he ran out onto the street and looked around wildly for his beloved.
(“Wildly,” Shono said. “Not dazedly.”)
Jin was thoroughly sick of running, wildly or otherwise, by the time he got off from work, taking a detour to Nakamaru’s on the faint hope that the party was still in full swing, that Kame was still there and had not noticed his lateness.
Nakamaru opened on the third knock, looking harried and disheveled. “It’s practically over,” he said in greeting. “There’s still some crackers and a bottle of beer --” a crash sounded in the background -- “No beer left. But come in if you want.”
The smell of cooking oil and candle wax drifted out the door. Jin shoved his hands in the pockets of his wool coat, hunching in his shoulders to keep out the cold. “Is Kame here?”
“Kame? He left when it was still polite to do so.” Nakamaru looked at Jin hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’re in the mood to play ‘roll the drunks out the doorway’?”
Jin wasn’t. He left Nakamaru at the doorway, yelling “Don’t touch that. It’s my mother’s, she’ll --” as he slammed the door shut, shrieks and faint crashes chasing Jin down the sidewalk.
There was a slice of cake, smudged and gone stale at the corners, waiting for him on the kitchen table, a note with Kame’s precise handwriting beside it that read: Nakamaru only had carrot cake. Hope that doesn’t offend your carnivorous inclinations.
The door to his bedroom was closed, which was an unspoken rule between them that meant Kame didn’t want company, needing more personal space than anybody Jin knew. It hadn’t been much of a problem for the past few weeks because Kame seemed to have let Jin inside his defenses, however grudgingly, Jin finding Kame asleep most times on the twin bed in the living room (“I only need two hours of sleep anyways,” Kame had assured him).
Jin wondered if Kame was mad at him for missing the party, for insisting Kame go anyways despite Kame’s admission that he hated those parties. It was hard getting Kame to admit to hating or loving anything beyond “I love my family and KAT-TUN and, most of all, the fans for supporting us all these years” and possibly Kame hated him now for not listening.
Jin didn’t think he could stand Kame hating him now.
Even Ken, beak buried in the small of his back, shifted so that his tail faced Jin as Jin stripped off his clothes, not bothering to fold them correctly or put on pajamas.
He shivered in the dark. The sheets were ice cold without Kame’s body heat to create a nest of warmth, the blinds stuck when Jin tried to lower them, showering his bed with silver moonlight. Jin couldn’t bring himself to fight with it.
There were lines to learn, answers to memorize for talk shows and Music Station, appearances to be shot with nothing besides the pounding of his own heart in his ear. They could all wait, Jin thought, looking at his watch, because starting now he had a day off. An entire day without being told what a horrible actor he was and a horrible guitar player and a horrible person.
The minute hand lurched over to the twelve. Three hours past midnight. Christmas was officially over.
“Happy holidays,” Jin said to the empty air and rolled over.
~
He woke to the smell of coffee brewing. In the kitchen, Kame dropped something and swore.
The sun was overhead, shining into Jin’s eyes when he cracked them open.
“Oh good, you’re awake. I thought I was going to have to pour this over your head.” Kame waddled -- there had to be a better term for the slightly encumbered walk Kame had adopted that Jin didn’t know about -- into the living room, holding a steaming cup in each hand.
Jin took one gratefully. “What time is it?”
“Half past one. You slept the day away,” Kame said with a critical air as if Jin’s laziness offended him on a personal level. “You missed the grand delivery of my Christmas present from Nakamaru. I was tempted to start on it alone.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen when Jin blinked at him in confusion. Curious, Jin peeked past Kame. He had to close his eyes and take another look to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
“Is that --” he whispered in awe.
“Isn’t it brilliant?”
Jin nodded, starring wide-eyed at the sushi tree. There was really no other name for it -- twelve consecutively smaller plates stacked higher and higher on one another, held together by a pole running through the center like a trunk. Sushi sat on all twelve layers: white slices of squid sprinkled like fake snow, tiny purple octopuses with their tentacles trailing down like garlands, fish roe and sashimi and green seaweed for that holiday effect. On the very top sat a dried starfish.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to eat that,” Kame said, eyeing it with distrust. “But the rest of it’s fair game.”
Jin got up and approached it slowly, half afraid that he could startle it out of existence. Kame made a sound of annoyance and grabbed one of his sweaters and Jin's pants from last night off the couch, throwing it at him.
Sheepishly, Jin got dressed.
“It’s huge,” he said, circling the tree. Kame's sweater was unexpectedly comfortable and warm, smelling rather like wet bird. Ken clucked despondently from his crate.
"I was afraid he'd try to eat some," Kame said. "You're lucky you slept through that part."
“How are we going to finish it?”
Kame patted his stomach. “I’ve had a craving for sushi for days that you certainly weren’t going to help satisfy.”
“So you asked Nakamaru?” Jin asked, feeling just the slightest bit jealous.
Kame shrugged. “He’s easier to manipulate.”
Up close, Jin realized the leaves were actually carefully crafted dabs of wasabi. He swiped one and put it on his tongue.
“What happened to being rich enough to buy things for ourselves?” Jin asked through the tears that sprung up.
“That involves going out, which is more of a hassle than it’s worth.”
Oh. Jin accepted the plate Kame handed him, plucking a salmon roll from beneath slices of pickled ginger. He looked up at Kame from beneath his bangs. “So, um, how was the party last night?”
“Fine.” Kame ate a piece of squid. “Great.” He refused to look Jin in the eyes. “I got you a piece of cake.”
~
They ended up moving the tree by the coffee table (spilling a few pieces of tuna when Jin pushed too hard) so they could lie on the sofa and Jin’s bed and still reach the sushi with little difficulty. It became impossible to stand up after a while; Jin was too full of food.
“We’re going on a diet right after this,” Kame said, Jin’s pillow stuffed beneath his hips. It made his stomach stand out even more, the faint outline of his bellybutton poking out from stretched fabric. “Only vegetables and water. Christmas is no excuse for getting fat.”
Jin grunted from his position on the sofa. “I think I’m dying.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“I am dying.”
Kame rolled his eyes. “You’re not.”
“I am,” Jin said, clambering onto his bed beside Kame, pulling Kame back into his stomach. “See? My stomach’s about to burst.”
Kame shot him a glare over his shoulder. “If this is some joke about my condition...”
Jin assured him that it wasn’t, and Kame turned back slightly appeased. He didn’t complain about Jin’s position, however, and Jin buried his nose in Kame’s hair, basking in the touch of Kame’s body all along his.
Kame jostled him. "Did you die?"
Jin sighed contently. "No. I could fall asleep though."
"You just woke up."
"Hm," Jin murmured, closing his eyes. He tightened his grip around Kame's middle. It was almost like hugging a stuffed animal that had swallowed a beach ball though Kame would certainly hurt him if he told Kame. Jin grinned into Kame's neck.
To his mortification, his penis stirred, awakened by warm heat and a body pulled close to his. There was no way Kame couldn’t have felt it.
“Sorry,” Jin whispered. “Sorry. I just --”
Kame squeezed his hand when Jin would have rolled away. “It’s ok,” he said, wrapping Jin’s arms around his waist.
He shifted so that Jin’s cock nestled between his buttocks, whispering reassurances all the while.
They stayed like that for a time - Jin pretending he wasn’t aroused by the scent and feel of Kame. He might have been able to - he had certainly had enough practice - if Kame didn’t start fidgeting ever so slightly, body brushing against Jin’s penis, which liked it far too much. Jin thought Kame was just uncomfortable until he became aware of the flush spreading along Kame’s neck.
“Are you--”
“Sorry,” Kame said. “It’s been a while. It’ll go away.”
“I could --” Jin slid his hand down in a blatant proposition, taking heart when Kame only drew in a breath and tilted his head back onto Jin’s shoulder. Jin’s hand skirted over Kame’s chest to the hardened nub of a nipple, the rounded slope of Kame’s belly, lingering on that gentle warmth before going down further to --
Kame gasped.
He was hard there and wet, leaking enough precome to seep through the cotton of his pants, a small wet spot against Jin’s palm.
“There?” Jin asked. “Is that --”
Kame pressed up against him, catching Jin in the chest with a bony elbow. “Yeah. That’s good.” His hips undulated between Jin’s hand and his body, trembling with tension. “Just like that.”
Jin bit his lip, focusing on how Kame twisted at a particular flick of Jin’s wrist, how he moaned, long and breathy, when Jin’s hand finally delved beneath his boxers to find hard, eager flesh. So concentrated was he on watching Kame’s pleasure that he forgot about his own, only remembering with a sharp shock when Kame fumbled one hand back, brushing clumsily against Jin’s erection. Jin groaned and pushed up against the back of Kame’s thighs, finding the valley where they met hot and delicious and perfect.
"Ow," Kame grumbled softly when his hair caught on the wristband of Jin's watch.
Jin took it off and threw it across the room. "Sorry," he said, grinding his hips into Kame's, urging him not to lose focus. He guided Kame's hand back to cup his erection. It had been too long since anybody had last touched him there.
They settled in a slow rhythm -- Jin humping against Kame, Kame, into Jin’s hand, pushing back just as Jin pushed forward.
“Oh god,” Kame said, hand falling away. “Ohgodohgodohgod.”
Jin laved the side of his neck, his jaw, the side of his mouth, catching Kame in a half kiss. Their clothes tangled between them, Jin’s shirt riding up with every thrust of his hips, the waistband of Kame’s pants trapping Jin’s hand inside Kame’s boxers. There didn’t seem to be enough room to move. Jin wrapped his leg between Kame’s, finding a better angle for his cock, rubbing against his day-old pants and Kame’s body, finding enough friction in the slow buildup despite all that separated his flesh from Kame’s.
Kame’s hand found Jin’s unoccupied hand, threading their fingers together as their bodies moved in tandem, nipping at what little of Jin's lips he could reach.
This was what Jin wanted, what he was missing, what he had meant to ask for when he’d been given that one precious wish. The bite on his thumb, dormant for so long, began to throb again to the beat of his heart, the pulse of his cock, the pounding in his ears, overtaking everything until Jin was just a bundle of sensation merging against Kame, trying to drown himself in Kame. He would wish for this to never end if he ever caught another djinn.
A vision of yellow eyes popped into his mind, blocking out everything. Pain flared in his thumb, as intense as when the djinn had first bitten him.
Jin gasped, losing his delicate hold on control, coming in short spurts against Kame. His hand tightened around Kame’s cock and then Kame was following him to the edge, hips jerking erratically.
Jin realized he was crying as darkness overtook him.
~
The sun had disappeared over the horizon by the time Jin woke again, sheets laying sweaty and tangled all around him. The space beside Jin was empty and cold.
He sat up, startling Ken off the sofa. The rest of the apartment was silent.
“Kame?” He asked. “Kame?”
Long shadows stretched through the room. The heater rumpled on.
Jin shivered and pulled his sweater back down his chest, moving gingerly with semen caked all along the inside of his thighs. The tangible evidence of what they had done hit him then, and he felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he might have ruined this like he'd done everything else.
What really scared him, if Jin allowed himself to be perfectly honest, was that Kame might have regretted it -- might be regretting it.
“Kame?” he called again, trying to keep the whine from his voice.
Ken clucked gently.
The bedroom door was locked (Jin didn’t know why he didn’t think to check there first instead of driving all the way to the JE building and running around inside like a mad man).
Jin pounded on it softly. “Kame? Are you in there?”
He could hear rustling when he plastered his ear against the door, then a horrible screeching as if Kame was rearranging all the furniture in the room.
“If it’s about the se--” Jin choked on the word. “We can talk about it. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me to do? Talk about it?” he directed at the crack where door met frame, drawing loopy hearts with his fingers. What did one say at such a moment? “Was it me?”
There was a stomping of feet and then the door opened, sending Jin momentarily off balance.
“I can’t think with all the noise you’re making,” Kame complained. He looked normal if only a little bit mussed and red around the eyes. Jin peeked over his shoulder where bags and clothes were flung in every direction.
Kame pushed past him. “You’d think, listening to you carry on, that you can’t survive without me.”
“I can’t,” Jin said, following Kame into the kitchen. It pleased him just the slightest to see Kame falter before he squared his shoulders and continued on.
Kame threw a look, best suited for concerts and millions of rabid fangirls, at Jin. “Save the sweet talk for somebody who believes it.”
“I --” Jin began, watching Kame lean down gracefully, tight shirt he’d changed into clinging to his body in all the right places, stretching across his nonexistent stomach and --
He choked. “Kame. You.”
Kame straightened up and looked down, sighing.
“It was gone when I woke up,” he said, glancing significantly at Jin’s rumpled bed.
Jin felt a flash of heat, which disappeared as Kame rested his hand on his painfully flat stomach. Jin realized in a gut wrenching moment of vertigo that he wasn’t surprised. Pained, yes. Hurt and sad and pained like a physical punch to the stomach, but not surprised.
The djinn bite on his thumb was gone too, smoothed over with pristine, unbroken skin.
Kame scrubbed a hand across his eyes and held up a bottle of wine. “So there’s really no reason for me not to drink this anymore.”
~
Jin poured the wine with deliberate care, sloshing only a little bit onto the table.
“You’re not doing it right,” Kame said. “Give it here.” He grabbed the bottle and brought it up to his mouth, drinking the mouthful that was left before abandoning it with the stack of other empty bottles.
Jin studied it mournfully before reaching over for an unopened beer, fumbling with the cap.
“You have to twist it,” Kame supplied helpfully. He was building a pyramid with their leftover sushi, but the roll refused to stay on top of the octopus’ head, messing up the entire arrangement. Kame frowned and ground it into the octopus.
“I don’t think this is helping,” Jin said, referring both to their endeavors and the larger issue at hand.
Kame switched the octopus with a slice of sashimi. “Of course it isn’t.” He opened the bottle with a quick snap of his wrist and drank deeply from it.
Jin made a faint noise in the back of his throat.
Kame handed the beer to him. Empty. “So when did you know?”
“When we read the book.” The answer rolled surprisingly easily from him. Jin blinked, merging the two Kame's in his vision back into one. “When did you?”
“Maybe before that. It didn’t feel right. It felt like...” Kame frowned, placing a finger over his mouth. “Nothing, sometimes. Like it wasn’t a part of me. And now it’s gone and I miss it,” he finished sadly.
Jin stared at him. “You’re drunk.”
Kame began building another pyramid beside the first. “Am not.”
“You are.” Jin reached over to help him but ended up squishing a tuna roll beneath his palm. The rice stuck to his hand when he lifted it up.
“I am not. If I were, I’d tell you that the party was horrible and I didn’t know what to do because working the room is just impossible when half of them are too busy getting drunk to talk about their latest magazine interview and latching on to Koki is just plain desperate.”
Jin licked the rice off his skin. “You are drunk.”
“I...” Kame thought about it. “I am. God, I’m a jobless, unpregnant lightweight.”
“I don’t think drinking --” Jin turned to count the bottles -- “Um, a lot. Makes you a lightweight.”
Kame stuffed a piece of sushi in Jin’s mouth. “When are you the voice of reason?”
“Not,” Jin said through the rice. It was chewy and tasted almost like cotton. “You don’t have to...” He paused, unable to think of the right word, mind grasping desperately in the dark. Kame squished another piece of sushi on the table. Jin abandoned the struggle with a sigh. “Stay. I mean. Stay. Here.”
A piece of squid was dangling from Kame’s lips. “Don’t stay?”
“No. Stay. We’ll make new babies.”
“Can’t.” Kame gestured, knocking over one of his pyramids of sushi. “We’re out of djinns.”
“I’ll still make babies with you. We can take turns and get pregnant together. Save the world from feather-pulling roosters. They’ll put us on the covers of all the magazines: world saviors, heroes to chicken everywhere.”
Kame laughed. “You are drunk.”
“We’re drunk together,” Jin pointed out. He liked the word. “Together together together.”
~
Kame leaned against the wall, watching Jin bundle himself up to leave for work. He was groggy and grumpy and nursing an even worse hangover than the one that was pounding against Jin's head.
Jin opened the door and turned back to Kame. “I mean it,” he said.
Kame squinted up at him. “Whatever are you talking about?”
He was gone by the time Jin got home. The door to the bedroom stood wide open, bed stripped bare of Kame’s plaid sheets, closet foreign with only Jin’s possessions. The bottles of alcohol were gone as was the sushi tree -- everything cleaned and straightened and utterly devoid of life. Kame had even gotten rid of the fruit basket by the shoe rack.
The note on the coffee table read: Motohiro came by and picked Ken up this morning. I threw the rest of the sushi away. You shouldn’t eat expired food.
~
Kame went back to work on a Wednesday, which might have been a coincidence if not for the schedule on Jin’s nightstand Jin knew Kame had seen. Jin wasn’t there. He heard about it only three days later -- not from Nakamaru or Ueda or, god forbid, Kame himself -- but from his makeup artist who had been gossiping with the hairstylist about Kame’s new cut.
“It’s black,” she said, stick of lipstick waving in the air. “Pure black. He says it’s heavenly.”
Jin wanted to go back to Tokyo. Osaka was lonely without the guys, without Kame, and he wanted, more than anything, to lay Xmas Miracle to rest.
The day after Kame left, Jin moved back into his parents’ house, unable to stand the sudden emptiness of his -- their -- apartment. He had his mother’s cooking to fill what few hours he wasn’t working, his dogs, Reio, who was going through that period of sullen teenage rebellion that Jin found amusing if only because it reminded him of Koki when KAT-TUN was first formed. Which invariably led him right back to Kame.
His parents had learned not to question his moods, not even when he fell asleep in the attic more times than in his room, complete with dragon figurines and Ultraman posters. His father only said, “It will work itself out, son. You’ll be fine,” when he found Jin curled around his picture book the very first time.
Filming moved to Osaka and the book went with Jin.
Management took the opportunity to get him on a few local radio stations because, while Tokyo may have all the major studios, Osaka was still the second largest city in Japan. Xmas Miracle enjoyed a week of being number one on the charts there before Kanjani8 pushed it down to number two, though, on Oricon, it remained at the top spot for three consecutive weeks, breaking some tenuous record.
The other members sent him a fruit basket in celebration. Ueda and Nakamaru, back from Hong Kong, wedged a hideously large t-shirt of a giant panda between the pineapples.
Don’t blame me for this costly and useless gift. We both know you’re not going to eat any of it, Koki’s card said. For the record, I wanted to get you a poster of a naked woman.
Kame’s card only said: How’s the takoyaki? An apple a day keeps the idol healthy.
Jin almost wrote back: You would have made a great father.
~
Then one day, for no apparent reason, Jin woke in his hotel room without the usual ache in his chest and joined his coworkers at a karaoke bar.
Kame wrangled his first movie role (“They haven’t announced it officially yet,” Nakamaru warned when Jin called him because he was still too much of a coward to call Kame. “Don’t go blabbing it to anyone.”) with another big name director with a reputation for harshness.
Jin sometimes caught himself rubbing the spot where the bite had been and taking long, scenic walks in the dark. For the atmosphere, he told himself, not because he wanted to see the djinn one last time and ask it what everything had been for. In place of that, he looked at the storybook every night before falling asleep until he began to worry that its binding was coming undone. The last page, however, remained stubbornly stuck.
Ratings for Roses in December fell then rose then fell again, which was all perfectly normal yet sparked another flurry of articles on the prescience of Johnnys because Kame’s acting career couldn’t possibly have withstood another flop.
Like his could, Jin thought wryly. He anticipated a mountain of newspaper clippings when he opened his cubby in Tokyo, but found that it didn’t fill him with the same frightful dread it once did. It was rather sad and amusing all at once, he decided, for somebody to spend so much time fixated on trying to make him miserable. He hoped they got to debut soon.
Slowly, Jin went from missing Kame like crazy to hating him for not being strong enough to stay to finally wanting him to be happy. Just...happy. That warm glow hung, new and unexpected, in the part of him that used to be broken.
Then, on the eve of his return to Tokyo, the last page fell open.
~
“Fifteen minutes. You’re on stand by.”
Jin ducked around a sound microphone, a rack of clothes and a pair of stilts (who thought extra tall people would be fun to have on set?), getting his wires tangled in the brass buttons of his shirt. Several staff members and little Juniors flattened themselves along the wall as he passed, making way in the narrow hallway.
The costume closet was behind the second door to the right, Jin recited, nearly crashing into a pushcart. Second door to the right.
Kame looked up when he burst in, stopping his progress on a rack of spangled spandex. Kame was dressed in a matching silver and orange costume, hair meticulously curled and sprayed into place. He was sitting on top of a hill of old outfits -- boas and fur and the occasional lace peeking out in a chaotic rainbow. The entire room shone with sparkles.
Aside from trying to blind himself with past Johnnys outfits, Kame looked ready to perform.
“We have fifteen minutes,” Jin said.
Kame cocked his head. “Nakamaru forced you to come tell me?”
Jin looked down. Kame had, upon his return, only spoken about work with him, making sure to always have at least one other person in the room as if he was afraid of what may come out otherwise. And Jin had tried to honor his wish because -- because he was trying for selflessness. It was a sign of how bad he was at it when Nakamaru could so easily quilt him into abandoning his resolve.
“I think he’s hoping I’ll apologize. He thinks I messed things up again. They all do.”
“You didn’t,” Kame sighed. “I’ll talk to them. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for --” He turned away. “I’ll be out in a second.”
Jin sat down beside him instead, close enough for Kame to touch if he wanted to, far enough to avoid if he didn’t. “How are you?” Jin asked, genuinely curious.
“Great. Happy. Excited to be back on Shounen --”
Jin shifted. A silver skull-shaped buckle poked him in the thigh. “You’re doing it again,” he complained.
Kame shrugged. “I’m me,” he admitted finally, making it sound like it wasn’t nearly enough.
“I think just you’s more than good enough.”
“Because this is all about you.”
“Yes,” Jin said confidently, smiling when Kame shot him a look of amusement. He licked his lips, finding courage in the arch of those carefully trimmed brows. “I want to tell you something but I don’t. Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s just that nobody else would understand and I -- I need to tell somebody.”
Kame looked at him curiously. “Well, go on then.”
“The man had a family,” Jin blurted out. Confusion danced across Kame’s face. “A wife and kids and a dog. He just. He just thought gold was more important. And the djinn knew he was confused and that he really did love his family and --”
“The man was happy at the end,” Kame finished for him.
“They were all happy at the end.”
Kame buried his face in his hands. “The man’s stronger than me.”
“I --” Jin said, startled by Kame’s admittance of weakness. He shouldn’t have told Kame, not even when he thought he’d burst from keeping the discovery silent, because a tiny, shameful part of him had envisioned them running off into the sunset together. Selfish. “You get things done. Always. Even when you’re tired and you don’t want to. You know what needs to be done and you do it and. You’re the strongest person I know.”
Kame sighed. “I need a moment.”
~
He rejoined them with only five minutes to spare, looking calm and collected despite his previous words. Jin had been going over the dance with Ueda but stopped when Kame made a beeline over to him. Ueda excused himself.
“Be careful what you wish for?” Kame asked, seemingly at random.
Nakamaru was drinking water and pretending, at the same time, not to be watching them out of the corner of his eyes. He spilled all over his jacket when Jin put a hand on Kame’s elbow.
“Djinns aren’t evil,” Jin said.
“Most people would disagree.”
“I don’t believe they’re evil.”
“Because this is all about you?” Kame asked again, voice light enough to be almost teasing.
Jin smiled back. “Yes. That old fortune-teller practically said so.”
ABC were filing off the stage to the sounds of loud applause. Jin held up his hand for them to slap as they walked past each other, KAT-TUN moving closer to the edge of the curtains. Kame was vibrating in place beside him, never more alive than before a live audience.
He said to Kame, “So, what were you doing back there?”
Kame’s lips curved up into a half-smile as if he could see something wonderful in the distance. “Trying to catch a djinn.”
“Oh,” Jin said, feeling suddenly lighter. He thought he would collapse from the giddiness. Certainly, he could no longer feel his toes, tingling with pure joy, and the dance -- the lyrics. He was going to make a fool out of himself. Which didn't matter when Kame leaned against him and Koyama, on stage, swept his arms out.
“Xmas Miracle - special KAT-TUN version!”
Kame put his hands on Jin’s shoulders, close enough that Jin could feel his breath on the side of his cheek, and whispered, “Just like at rehearsals. Go on, we’ll be right behind you,” and pushed him into the light.
The End
A/N: There are probably numerous grammatical and other mistakes in here but I cannot stand to look at this fic any longer. I do not guarantee, however, that modifications won't be made when I've gained a sufficient distance.
~ Comments and critiques always welcomed. Please don't be offended if I don't reply straight away as I'll be away for a few days.
~ Title taken from lyrics from Travis' Love Will Come Through. I was going to name it that but decided it was entirely too sappy, even for Christmas.