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ninoexchange2012-06-19 10:08 am
nino-mod.livejournal.com) wrote in ninoexchange2012-06-19 10:08 am
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astrangerenters
For: astrangerenters
From:satsumatsu
Title: One, two, three, come back to me
Pairing/Focus: Ninomiya Kazunari / Matsumoto Jun
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Summary: songwriter who falls for the guy/girl he writes music for
Notes: Lots of awesome prompts, lots of half written fics and this one made it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun reminiscing all the songs (as I tried to choose the ones Nino actually wrote himself).
kako
He can recognize him from afar simply from the way he walks—like the Chuo Street is a catwalk, a stage made only for him, long strides, subtle rhythmic swings of his hips, a flip of his hair... and it's one of those days when he turns up in unbelievable flashy clothes. Nino always wishes he would be prepared for it.
He follows him from camera s-23 to f1-6 and loses him shortly at the Armani jewelry case because he senses a presence behind him, thinking it must be his supervisor, breathing down his neck. He turns around, an innocent apology already on his lips for slacking off, but it's only Ohno. And Ohno is not even looking at him, his gaze set straight on the monitors. Nino can see the eyeballs flitting surprisingly fast from screen to screen before Ohno settles, briefly, commenting, "Ah, pretty."
Nino doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to see, he knows what he means.
Matsumoto Jun. Idol, model, talent, Johnny's.
Nino writes songs for him—well, actually for the agency—but recently they end up a lot as singles or couplings for Matsumoto. Nino doesn't know if he should be flattered, thankful or annoyed.
Flattered, because Matsumoto obviously likes his lyrics and Nino knows he can choose from a wide range.
Thankful, because it does bring him some extra money, though not enough to make a living as to why he has to observe surveillance cameras at Hankyu Men's six hours a day, five days a week--but then again it is far better than the jobs he had before. He shudders at the thought of the gyuniku shop (strange customers late night) or the little konyaku shop in Mitaka (too early in the morning and far away). The job at Hankyu suits him just fine. He can observe people all day, writing down all the odds and ends and accumulate excellent material for his songs.
In the end, however, feelings like flattered or thankful get washed away by annoyance, whenever he gets to listen to the song the very first time, because, honestly, Matsumoto can't sing.
gimmick game
It's him, Nino thinks, his heart speeding up for no reason at all, because seriously he never gets all the hype about idols. Yes, they are pretty, but they aren't very talented; most times they shouldn’t be allowed to sing or act and Nino can't see what there is to idolize. But in the entertainment world, only prettiness matters and Matsumoto is pretty. So pretty, even in person, that when he realizes the idol is sitting next to him, all stylish in jeans, white crisp shirt, big, black rimmed glasses and hat, he can't help but feel some spark of excitement.
He keeps his eyes firmly on his DS, though, only casting side glances from time to time. Matsumoto drums a melody with his hand on his thigh to the music in his ear, a melody Nino soon realizes as his own. Gimmick game, a song long released before his contract with Johnny's. He is surprised that Matsumoto even knows this one.
He watches the slender digits move relentlessly to his beat and almost misses his station if it isn’t for Matsumoto who suddenly looks up briefly to the display and gets up in a fluid motion. Nino looks up so hastily to the screen, that his knuckles crack. The kanji for Tamachi Station are blinking at him, his stop—wait, they must have the same goal, the recording studio close to the Rainbow Bridge. He scrambles up and follows the idol out of the train onto the track.
Nino walks behind him, fascinated how the idol manages to merge into the crowd, how no one notices him. But on the contrary, Matsumoto notices, as if feeling Nino's curious gaze on him. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder before turning into the side street leading to the small studio. He stops at a vending machine to get a drink and most possibly to let Nino pass him.
Nino grins amused. He is so very tempted to just play the role Matsumoto gives him unconsciously that he just has to concede and stops behind him.
He can see how Matsumoto tenses, throwing in some coins. He takes his sweet time to choose, most probably still hoping Nino would just pass by; but in the end no one moves... And then they move at the same time. It's almost funny. Just when Matsumoto finally decides to turn around, annoyance suppressed but still clear on his features, Nino leans forward and with a muttered, "This one looks good," he presses the button for the Georgia mix. The can falls down with an audible clong but Matsumoto is frozen in place so Nino squats to pick it out.
Shock suits him, he thinks when he looks up, taking in Matsumoto’s rigid posture and baffled expression. He grins, asking, "Matsumoto Jun, right?" just for the heck of it.
Matsumoto quickly scans the area before bowing almost insignificantly, his eyes so guarded, so distrustful, and so hunted (he must think Nino is some kind of shady reporter) that Nino immediately drops his facade.
"Ninomiya Kazunari," he introduces himself and pauses until it dawns Matsumoto, his eyes growing huge in an almost comically way. He bows quickly in a straight 45° angle and settles within a blink of an eye into a professional idol smile, all neatly lined up teeth, white and perfect that Nino hands him the drink slightly dazzled. "Take it as a recommendation. It's good, not only because it has my name on it."
Matsumoto stares at the can, reading the name of the drink – Kazu-Style – and laughs, highly amused.
That suits him too, and Nino is mesmerized and a little pissed how someone can be so handsome in every aspects of life. "I suppose we head into the same direction."
Matsumoto nods. "I guess," he says, somewhat shy and smiles a little softer around the edges, playing with the can in his hands.
And suddenly Nino finds himself highly interested what other emotions he could draw out of the idol, after shocked, dazzling and shy within seconds. Who would have thought that the nationals treasure would be this intriguing?
niji
They begin to run into each other rather often the next few weeks, or rather, Matsumoto notices him: when Nino sponges off a smoothie from Aiba at the fresh court on the 7th floor during his brunch break, Matsumoto strides in and they end up with two mango smoothies on the metallic chairs at a tiny table in a far corner with Aiba waving every time he is in sight. Matsumoto asks a lot about his writing process, questions Nino is reluctant to answer because he doesn’t want to sound like a creep stalking people through surveillance cameras.
They run into each other when Nino steps by the agency for renewing his contract and Matsumoto steps out of the doors. They end up next to the 7-Eleven nearby, eating fresh meat buns in a side street, conversing about the power of words.
And when Nino is about to dig into the deliciously cheap tempura covered with curry powder, he chokes, because Matsumoto just entered the tiny restaurant, a stall no idol should frequent, even if it’s in Ginza. He bows almost apologetically but Nino just waves and gestures for the empty seat in front of him. In the end Matsumoto buys him fruits over at Lumine (extending his lunch break unnecessarily), saying he needs the vitamins. Nino hates fruits and vitamins, and he tells Matsumoto as much, but eats them anyway.
The idol turns out to be unexpectedly caring, interesting when fed up and when pleased, oddly serious about his work, and always trying to improve. Nino starts to like him, starts to appreciate the passion he has for his work. He finds himself taking breaks at the oddest times whenever Matsumoto comes by Hankyu Men's, and they have a smoothie in the refreshment court (Aiba is delighted.) or curry at Monocles on B1 (Ohno joins a lot, mumbling “pretty” occasionally between messy bites. Nino wants to hide somewhere every time, but Matsumoto always blushes that he just skims in with a “Isn’t he?”).
They way Matsumoto carries himself in private and in the spotlight is completely different, Nino soon notices. Never does the idol let Nino know just how much he has on his plate—he always appears carefree and (most probably) involuntarily dorky in front of him. Just from the way their encounters end, Nino realizes Matsumoto is the idol. His manager, Sakurai-the-Schedule, fetches Matsumoto for the next location in person or through phone. Both look apologetic, and a little stressed.
And then, over a coffee at the A to Z café, a place Ohno had recommended once, Matsumoto becomes Jun, because he insists that all friends call him that and Nino doesn't even know when they started to be friends in first place. But he can’t help but feel the same, because of all the sides he gets to discover, all the effort Jun puts into simply everything, but Nino still hates what he is doing to his songs. It's not like he can tell Jun that, though. Not after his confession of being a huge fan of his writing and how he would always make ridiculous grabby hands whenever he sends something new in. The laugh, following that statement, full of embarrassment and boyish youth makes it hard to be straightforward with him.
"I'm glad," Nino just says. "That Jun-kun likes me so much."
Jun fakes a cough, looking anywhere but him. "Don't flatter yourself."
He traces the picture by Yoshitomo Nara on the surface of their table and shoves his coffee mug a little more to the right so he can see it better, arranging the sugar bowl and milk can along with it, a habit Nino finds endearing.
He scribbles down random phrases while talking with Jun because the best lines come with the best surroundings and it's indeed quite beautiful on the fifth floor, on the sun flooded terrace somewhere in Omotesando.
“Is it like or love,” He continues to tease after a moment of silence and sees how Jun gets flustered by the minute. He grows serious, however, musing, “I wonder why people can't say it easily.”
Jun laughs, a little taken aback by the switch of topics but earnestly tries to think about it. He holds his coffee mug in both hands, already close to his lips. “Isn't it too much trouble? Forcing your feelings on someone?” He asks, taking a sip.
Nino frowns. “Then you aren't honest.”
Jun looks startled and Nino tries to explain. “Wouldn't you like to hear it, once in a while? The phrase, 'I love you'?”
Jun laughs, then. “I hear it all the time,” He says jokingly.
Nino lets it pass. It's obvious that Jun's uncomfortable with the topic. Still, he wonders what it would be like to hear these words from this national treasure, sitting right in front of him. He shakes his head. Or rather, what it would be like to hear them from Jun.
attack it
Nino knew at some point his own lines would come back at him one day on endless repeat. Due to a damn shuffle accident, “Attack it” stuck to him all day long, and Jun's voice with it, nasal and hitched.
Even when there is a call at 11 in the evening and “the idol” is blinking on his screen, he finds himself humming the lines Jun sings quite confidently, I am a criminal for stealing your heart.
He picks up the call, his fingers continue the rhythm on the floor.
“Join me,” Jun demands and Nino wonders if he has already had a few; Jun always becomes a troublesome leech when drunk.
He sighs, humming, god, that damn song. “Where are you?”
“Y&M KISLING, Ginza.”
Nino frowns. When he hears Ginza it always comes along with table charge.
"You pay," he snaps.
Jun laughs huskily, huskily—now Nino is sure he has had a few. "I always pay."
There is a short silence, only filled with the sound of ice cubes hitting glass and Nino imagines Jun drowning another shot, head thrown back, throat deliciously exposed, wanton—and then the line pops in again, I am a criminal for stealing your heart.
He should stop writing—"...I'll be there in 30 minutes."
He hears Jun chuckling before hanging up, a noise coming deep from his throat and Nino shivers, curses and gets up.
In the end, he never felt so insecure before. When he takes the elevator up the 7th floor and sees himself in the huge mirrored walls, he becomes very much aware how much Jun earns and how less he does. Suddenly, he thinks of his 500 Yen coin saving box at home and wonders how long it would last if he lived a life like Jun. Probably not a week.
He joins the idol, who is chatting pleasantly with the bartender, ordering the most expensive whisky they have as compensation. And honestly, the faster he gets drunk, the easier he can live the social differences.
The next thing he knows, it's three in the morning, his head is buzzing; Jun's smile is lazy but all the more charming. Nino slurs something like, "It's time to go home", only to escape into his thoughts of how it would be more appropriate if Jun closes just this one button of his shirt, but he would so not appreciate it. And how he likes how their knees are touching under the bar table. And how he can’t help but watch Jun’s digits curling around the wine glass... I am a criminal for stealing—fuck this. He never realized how oddly fittings his lyrics for Jun are. It’s not like he wrote this song for the idol exclusively. Come cling to me—he groans, defeated and Jun looks him over, up and down and up and Nino gulps, his heart speeding up and—fuck indeed.
Jun responds with a tipsy, intoxicated "Take me."
For a moment Nino forgot what they had been talking about, before Jun breaks into a grin, childish and silly. "No seriously, I don't think I can make a move." He stops suddenly, his eyes as big as saucers. Nino stares. "I can't move," Jun corrects himself, "I can’t move without falling over."
"Jun-kun," he manages to sound amused, if not exasperated, but his heart betrays him. "Seriously."
His mouth is dry, his palms sweaty so he wipes them on his slacks before nodding, lending Jun a hand, dragging him to the elevator.
Then they are out on the street. They get into a taxi, and Jun's head rolls onto his shoulder, his breath reeking of alcohol. But when Jun seems to sober up during the ride, the pressure on his shoulder is suddenly gone, Nino gets worse. The combination of whisky, wine and sake on empty stomach starts to kick in and he feels sick. In fact, he feels ready to throw up in front of the stylish mansion they stop at, somewhere near Tokyo Tower, but he can't.
Now it's Jun dragging him along, mumbling apologies while fishing out his keys. Nino groans as he wants to take off his shoes properly, feeling dizzy, his stomach turning over and—Jun grabs him then, swearing when he sees him in the light of the genkan.
Then all of sudden Nino finds himself in the bathroom, squeamishly clean with a scent of citrus he can't take at all. He's fairly aware of Jun behind him, but what happens next is a blur. Jun's fingers on his jaw, on his cheeks, turning his head carefully but then everything is turning, fingers on his mouth, two of them nudging it open, sliding inside and—
Nino opens his eyes abruptly, jerking up, groaning at his pounding head. He feels around for his alarm, always somewhere in the midst of his sheets but the sheets under him are way too soft to be his own, and the room way too bright.
Fuck.
He remembers Y&M KISLING, he remembers tasty sake and he remembers Jun. And then it clicks.
He must be at Jun's place. Consequently in Jun's bedroom. In Jun's bed.
How the hell did that happen?
He swings his feet onto the cold, wooden floor, cursing with each movement and tiptoes to the bathroom, searching around for a spare toothbrush, finding too many cleaning products hindering his goal. He looks like shit in the mirror; his body screams for a shower with that massage shower system he just noticed Jun had. So he does. He supposes Jun won't mind, considering he gave up his bed.
When he steps into the kitchen in his freshly washed clothes he found neatly folded on the chair next to the bed, Jun is making coffee. He leans against the doorframe, watching him for a while in loose sweat pants and tank top, before asking, "Did you stick your fingers down my throat last night?"
Jun jumps visibly, cursing under his breath and Nino grins.
"A simple good morning would do," Jun retorts without turning around but Nino can see the tips of his ears getting red.
"You did, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And I threw up in your apartment."
"Not without assistance if that's any relief for you."
It doesn’t, in fact Nino wants to dig a hole and die. When he does not reply, Jun turns around, a soft smile on his lips which soon stretches into a grin and Nino is sure the sheer embarrassment must be evident on his face.
"If it helps, you only got rid of 20,000 Yen worth of drinks I had to pay for…” He pauses, grinning painfully. “I know you like to keep count."
By now he knows him so well that Nino can’t help but smirk, "... that indeed does help," he answers, taking the few steps forward before sliding up to place a kiss on Jun's jaw, because he is not a person to hide his affection when it bubbles up—not even if it’s an idol, the idol—, since that's what he feels right there and then, pure affection for the other.
The way Jun nudges him away, surprised but kind of pleased makes him think he should have these bubble moments more often.
"Get your toast out of the oven." Jun retorts, nonplus adding up to all the emotions suddenly displayed on his features.
Nino smacks him again before doing so, whistling.
doko ni demo aru uta
Eventually, it must come down to this, Nino thinks upset and beaten at once. His digits hit one key after another in fake concentration as if to determine the notes new. The sun rays on his back, flooding the piano keys partially, are too hot but he doesn’t move from his spot. Instead he follows the sharp edges of shadow and light, highlighting the corner of the studio where he had been squatting down with Jun no hour before, going excitedly through the new song. They were so immersed that Nino didn’t even mind or question the presence of the photographers; he can’t even remember what pictures they took. But he can remember Jun’s huge smile while reading through the lyrics before he stood, dragging the idol with him over to the mike.
From then on it went downhill.
Nino is professional where it counts. He chuckles mirthlessly. And of course the fact that he falls head over heels for an idol does not mean he forgets about his work. And this song in particular means a lot to him. For the first time, he was offered the chance to be involved in the recording process. And of course he has wanted to make Jun sing. He just forgot, in his own passion, that Jun is all eager to please but also impatient with himself when he does not succeed.
And this time, Nino has been close to smashing his keys because Jun could just not deliver what he wanted. He has thought he has given precise instructions but Jun grew more and more furious at himself, or at Nino, he couldn't tell.
He just wished he would sing the lines like he means it and when Nino has stated, for countless times that day, that you need to level your voice. And at this point there will be only your voice, Jun-kun and nothing to cover up, Jun has smashed his pencil onto the board, hard. “You know what, sorry but I don't get it.”
Never has Nino experienced this anger directed at him but he’s not someone holding back, not when it’s finally coming down to the topic. “That is why you shouldn’t choose songs because they are from me but because they fit you and so far, Jun-kun—” He stops dead. For a brief second there is hurt, so visible that Nino shuts his mouth instantly.
He watches Jun gripping the note stand so hard that his knuckles turn white, he narrows his eyes at him, anger obviously winning over hurt. “If it’s not what you expect, you should show me what you want. Because so far your instructions weren’t very precise.”
He can remember how he had raised an eyebrow at Jun, thinking how stupid the idol was for challenging him to sing his own creation, but he wouldn't let it pass, not for Jun. So he did show him, his voice rough and raw, but of course he knows how to feel the song, it's his, after all.
At a side glance, Jun had looked so very small, so out of place that Nino had wanted to reach out. But Jun just stared at him, utterly defeated as silence settles around them. Nino had wanted to speak up but he didn’t even get the chance to stand up from his piano because Sakurai had knocked and Jun had been out of the door within seconds.
The song never gets released.
mukae ni iku yo
As suddenly as it started, it ends.
Jun is good at avoiding him. If Nino ever wondered how he does it, there is no answer, he just can.
At first he simply misses Jun. He thought he was the easy going type, but he found isn’t. He is far from it. Sure, Jun hasn't been the easiest person in the world, but he probably is the most interesting one in Nino's. So he does the only thing he can do in his position, calling out through songs.
He sits day by day in his dark surveillance room, scribbling and scratching:
call me call me, first try through the radio / I close my eyes and I keep seeing things / Rainbow waterfalls / sunny liquid dreams / confusion creeps inside me rainin' down / got to get to you / but I don't know how.
He frowns. He looks at the freshly bought SPUR magazine, right now in Ohno’s slender hands, skimming through it, sighing deeply. On the cover, Nino can see Jun balancing on a handrail somewhere in the countryside, leaning against a traffic sign, looking up the sky, but he also catches glimpses of cherry trees inside, while Ohno turns page after page letting out soft hums in appreciation now and then.
Ohno reads him interesting bits of the interview occasionally, whistling when Nino is mentioned, as a skilled and favorite song writer, admired for his work with words and so on. Nino just smiles painfully. Obviously the interview took place before he treated Jun like an amateur.
call me, call me, / let me know it's all right. / call me, call me, / don'cha think it's 'bout time?
He writes song, upon song, the words spilling almost from themselves. He never wrote better, the agency says, but Jun's next single still turns out to be from another songwriter. He pre-orders it anyway, feeling stalkerish as he fills in the form in Tsutaya. And when he sees the cover some weeks later, a lonely Matsumoto Jun stares back, standing in the middle of an empty street with night lights reflecting everywhere. He is barely visible, dressed in black from head to toe but he looks stunning as always, drawing in the viewer’s attention solely by his eyes.
And he sounds stunning. His voice almost raw with emotion, he must have trained a lot, taken Nino's advices seriously which makes him kind of proud but Jun could... just show up already.
He doesn’t, though.
But from then on, he sees Jun everywhere. When he steps into a bookstore, Jun greets him on too many magazine covers to count. He watches him in his new summer drama, on variety shows, game shows, talk shows. He appears so often he must work like a machine, as if he wants to prove something.
And he looks better than ever, there is no sadness to see and it pisses Nino off.
1992*4##111
And just when he was about to give up already there is mail in his box, the familiar shape of a Johnny's package whenever they released one of his songs. A single yet again. He opens it on the way to his apartment but stops dead when the package paper comes off.
There is Jun. It hasn’t been Jun in a long time.
His hands shake a bit.
Jun. Jun up-close, Jun with a look directed far away, his eyes golden in the sunlight, his long eyelashes brown and then whitish at the tips. His mouth curls barely into a smile as if he has the answer to all unasked questions.
He is beautiful. So beautiful that Nino does not register the song title for a long time but his eyes shift eventually and it's "1992*4##111". Hastily he turns the CD around, looking for the coupling and his eyes widen. It's the song, the song they fought about. He rips the foil from the case, dashing into his apartment, his left hip crashing painfully into his kitchen counter before he can reach his CD player. He almost throws the CD in, reaches for his earphones and sets the volume on the highest.
And then there is Jun's voice; like he always wanted to hear it. He melts, little by little. And he's smiling like an idiot.
When he reaches the instrumental version he looks into the small booklet and his heart almost stops, because suddenly he sees himself, next to Jun. He can remember, of course he can. It's the sunny flooded studio, when they went through the song before recording. He stares at the printed version of himself, hunched over the lyrics, Jun mimicking his posture, but biting his lower lip in concentration. Nino can't even remember such a honesty in his feature when he pointed at a line and—
Then there is a shadow over him and a tap on his shoulder and he jumps, out of his skin and around.
Jun is standing over him and mouths something he can't hear because the melody is still playing. Irritated, when Nino just stares up, unresponsive, he reaches out to take them from his ears.
"The door was open," he says rather uncomfortable. "Thought something happened." Then he hears the piano blasting out of the earphones and his eyes fall on his single in Nino's hand.
"Do you like it?" He seems aloof, because practically he could be; he worked hard for it but Nino knows he is as insecure as back then, in the studio, recording with him.
For a long moment Nino only stares because he hasn’t seen Jun in a long time, real and alive in front of him; and for a moment he gets carried away, forgetting about how angry he is—Jun has no right to treat him like that, ignoring him completely for months and then suddenly turning up. But he is there and Nino is so overwhelmed that he drags him down nose to nose by his slim, silk tie, before he even realizes what he is doing. He stops dead when he sees Jun’s eyes growing huge in surprise, though the idol does not draw away immediately.
“What are you doing here?” Nino asks and to his astonishment, Jun stays close, hovering in an awkward position above him.
“Do you like it?” Jun asks again, shifting forwards, as if to ease the angle he is bend down. His lips are close now, so close to Nino’s that he can feel the faint, damp breath the words bring along. From this proximity he could also count the eyelashes if he just tried. He doesn’t, though, too engrossed in the question why his opinion even matters so much to Jun. And because it seems to matter so much to him, he is tempted to just give in and to tell him how it’s beautiful beyond words, his voice in connection with his song. But then all the months of waiting kick in, along with Jun’s silence in stark contrast to Nino pretty much confessing through his lyrics with no reply until today.
"You improved," is what he settles for.
Jun draws back then, searching in his face and Nino holds his breath. But then Jun grins, lopsided and a little haughty before he answers cheekily, "Well, it's not like I've come this far on my own."
Nino deflates, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the use of his own line. Most probably that is Jun’s own way of confessing. Nino can live with that. He wants to jerk him closer again but he doesn’t even get the chance because it is Jun leaning in without missing a beat for a kiss, chaste, soft, one after another. It’s not Nino’s style, but it’s Jun kissing him.
“There's one more thing I haven't told you,” Jun starts to hum, against his skin as he kisses his way to his jaw, down to his neck. His hands travel lower on Nino's back, too which leaves Nino a little lightheaded from too much contact all at once. “and that is—”
Nino coaxes Jun into a real kiss then just to shut him up. He has a feeling.
astrangerentersFrom:
satsumatsuTitle: One, two, three, come back to me
Pairing/Focus: Ninomiya Kazunari / Matsumoto Jun
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Summary: songwriter who falls for the guy/girl he writes music for
Notes: Lots of awesome prompts, lots of half written fics and this one made it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun reminiscing all the songs (as I tried to choose the ones Nino actually wrote himself).
kako
He can recognize him from afar simply from the way he walks—like the Chuo Street is a catwalk, a stage made only for him, long strides, subtle rhythmic swings of his hips, a flip of his hair... and it's one of those days when he turns up in unbelievable flashy clothes. Nino always wishes he would be prepared for it.
He follows him from camera s-23 to f1-6 and loses him shortly at the Armani jewelry case because he senses a presence behind him, thinking it must be his supervisor, breathing down his neck. He turns around, an innocent apology already on his lips for slacking off, but it's only Ohno. And Ohno is not even looking at him, his gaze set straight on the monitors. Nino can see the eyeballs flitting surprisingly fast from screen to screen before Ohno settles, briefly, commenting, "Ah, pretty."
Nino doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to see, he knows what he means.
Matsumoto Jun. Idol, model, talent, Johnny's.
Nino writes songs for him—well, actually for the agency—but recently they end up a lot as singles or couplings for Matsumoto. Nino doesn't know if he should be flattered, thankful or annoyed.
Flattered, because Matsumoto obviously likes his lyrics and Nino knows he can choose from a wide range.
Thankful, because it does bring him some extra money, though not enough to make a living as to why he has to observe surveillance cameras at Hankyu Men's six hours a day, five days a week--but then again it is far better than the jobs he had before. He shudders at the thought of the gyuniku shop (strange customers late night) or the little konyaku shop in Mitaka (too early in the morning and far away). The job at Hankyu suits him just fine. He can observe people all day, writing down all the odds and ends and accumulate excellent material for his songs.
In the end, however, feelings like flattered or thankful get washed away by annoyance, whenever he gets to listen to the song the very first time, because, honestly, Matsumoto can't sing.
gimmick game
It's him, Nino thinks, his heart speeding up for no reason at all, because seriously he never gets all the hype about idols. Yes, they are pretty, but they aren't very talented; most times they shouldn’t be allowed to sing or act and Nino can't see what there is to idolize. But in the entertainment world, only prettiness matters and Matsumoto is pretty. So pretty, even in person, that when he realizes the idol is sitting next to him, all stylish in jeans, white crisp shirt, big, black rimmed glasses and hat, he can't help but feel some spark of excitement.
He keeps his eyes firmly on his DS, though, only casting side glances from time to time. Matsumoto drums a melody with his hand on his thigh to the music in his ear, a melody Nino soon realizes as his own. Gimmick game, a song long released before his contract with Johnny's. He is surprised that Matsumoto even knows this one.
He watches the slender digits move relentlessly to his beat and almost misses his station if it isn’t for Matsumoto who suddenly looks up briefly to the display and gets up in a fluid motion. Nino looks up so hastily to the screen, that his knuckles crack. The kanji for Tamachi Station are blinking at him, his stop—wait, they must have the same goal, the recording studio close to the Rainbow Bridge. He scrambles up and follows the idol out of the train onto the track.
Nino walks behind him, fascinated how the idol manages to merge into the crowd, how no one notices him. But on the contrary, Matsumoto notices, as if feeling Nino's curious gaze on him. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder before turning into the side street leading to the small studio. He stops at a vending machine to get a drink and most possibly to let Nino pass him.
Nino grins amused. He is so very tempted to just play the role Matsumoto gives him unconsciously that he just has to concede and stops behind him.
He can see how Matsumoto tenses, throwing in some coins. He takes his sweet time to choose, most probably still hoping Nino would just pass by; but in the end no one moves... And then they move at the same time. It's almost funny. Just when Matsumoto finally decides to turn around, annoyance suppressed but still clear on his features, Nino leans forward and with a muttered, "This one looks good," he presses the button for the Georgia mix. The can falls down with an audible clong but Matsumoto is frozen in place so Nino squats to pick it out.
Shock suits him, he thinks when he looks up, taking in Matsumoto’s rigid posture and baffled expression. He grins, asking, "Matsumoto Jun, right?" just for the heck of it.
Matsumoto quickly scans the area before bowing almost insignificantly, his eyes so guarded, so distrustful, and so hunted (he must think Nino is some kind of shady reporter) that Nino immediately drops his facade.
"Ninomiya Kazunari," he introduces himself and pauses until it dawns Matsumoto, his eyes growing huge in an almost comically way. He bows quickly in a straight 45° angle and settles within a blink of an eye into a professional idol smile, all neatly lined up teeth, white and perfect that Nino hands him the drink slightly dazzled. "Take it as a recommendation. It's good, not only because it has my name on it."
Matsumoto stares at the can, reading the name of the drink – Kazu-Style – and laughs, highly amused.
That suits him too, and Nino is mesmerized and a little pissed how someone can be so handsome in every aspects of life. "I suppose we head into the same direction."
Matsumoto nods. "I guess," he says, somewhat shy and smiles a little softer around the edges, playing with the can in his hands.
And suddenly Nino finds himself highly interested what other emotions he could draw out of the idol, after shocked, dazzling and shy within seconds. Who would have thought that the nationals treasure would be this intriguing?
niji
They begin to run into each other rather often the next few weeks, or rather, Matsumoto notices him: when Nino sponges off a smoothie from Aiba at the fresh court on the 7th floor during his brunch break, Matsumoto strides in and they end up with two mango smoothies on the metallic chairs at a tiny table in a far corner with Aiba waving every time he is in sight. Matsumoto asks a lot about his writing process, questions Nino is reluctant to answer because he doesn’t want to sound like a creep stalking people through surveillance cameras.
They run into each other when Nino steps by the agency for renewing his contract and Matsumoto steps out of the doors. They end up next to the 7-Eleven nearby, eating fresh meat buns in a side street, conversing about the power of words.
And when Nino is about to dig into the deliciously cheap tempura covered with curry powder, he chokes, because Matsumoto just entered the tiny restaurant, a stall no idol should frequent, even if it’s in Ginza. He bows almost apologetically but Nino just waves and gestures for the empty seat in front of him. In the end Matsumoto buys him fruits over at Lumine (extending his lunch break unnecessarily), saying he needs the vitamins. Nino hates fruits and vitamins, and he tells Matsumoto as much, but eats them anyway.
The idol turns out to be unexpectedly caring, interesting when fed up and when pleased, oddly serious about his work, and always trying to improve. Nino starts to like him, starts to appreciate the passion he has for his work. He finds himself taking breaks at the oddest times whenever Matsumoto comes by Hankyu Men's, and they have a smoothie in the refreshment court (Aiba is delighted.) or curry at Monocles on B1 (Ohno joins a lot, mumbling “pretty” occasionally between messy bites. Nino wants to hide somewhere every time, but Matsumoto always blushes that he just skims in with a “Isn’t he?”).
They way Matsumoto carries himself in private and in the spotlight is completely different, Nino soon notices. Never does the idol let Nino know just how much he has on his plate—he always appears carefree and (most probably) involuntarily dorky in front of him. Just from the way their encounters end, Nino realizes Matsumoto is the idol. His manager, Sakurai-the-Schedule, fetches Matsumoto for the next location in person or through phone. Both look apologetic, and a little stressed.
And then, over a coffee at the A to Z café, a place Ohno had recommended once, Matsumoto becomes Jun, because he insists that all friends call him that and Nino doesn't even know when they started to be friends in first place. But he can’t help but feel the same, because of all the sides he gets to discover, all the effort Jun puts into simply everything, but Nino still hates what he is doing to his songs. It's not like he can tell Jun that, though. Not after his confession of being a huge fan of his writing and how he would always make ridiculous grabby hands whenever he sends something new in. The laugh, following that statement, full of embarrassment and boyish youth makes it hard to be straightforward with him.
"I'm glad," Nino just says. "That Jun-kun likes me so much."
Jun fakes a cough, looking anywhere but him. "Don't flatter yourself."
He traces the picture by Yoshitomo Nara on the surface of their table and shoves his coffee mug a little more to the right so he can see it better, arranging the sugar bowl and milk can along with it, a habit Nino finds endearing.
He scribbles down random phrases while talking with Jun because the best lines come with the best surroundings and it's indeed quite beautiful on the fifth floor, on the sun flooded terrace somewhere in Omotesando.
“Is it like or love,” He continues to tease after a moment of silence and sees how Jun gets flustered by the minute. He grows serious, however, musing, “I wonder why people can't say it easily.”
Jun laughs, a little taken aback by the switch of topics but earnestly tries to think about it. He holds his coffee mug in both hands, already close to his lips. “Isn't it too much trouble? Forcing your feelings on someone?” He asks, taking a sip.
Nino frowns. “Then you aren't honest.”
Jun looks startled and Nino tries to explain. “Wouldn't you like to hear it, once in a while? The phrase, 'I love you'?”
Jun laughs, then. “I hear it all the time,” He says jokingly.
Nino lets it pass. It's obvious that Jun's uncomfortable with the topic. Still, he wonders what it would be like to hear these words from this national treasure, sitting right in front of him. He shakes his head. Or rather, what it would be like to hear them from Jun.
attack it
Nino knew at some point his own lines would come back at him one day on endless repeat. Due to a damn shuffle accident, “Attack it” stuck to him all day long, and Jun's voice with it, nasal and hitched.
Even when there is a call at 11 in the evening and “the idol” is blinking on his screen, he finds himself humming the lines Jun sings quite confidently, I am a criminal for stealing your heart.
He picks up the call, his fingers continue the rhythm on the floor.
“Join me,” Jun demands and Nino wonders if he has already had a few; Jun always becomes a troublesome leech when drunk.
He sighs, humming, god, that damn song. “Where are you?”
“Y&M KISLING, Ginza.”
Nino frowns. When he hears Ginza it always comes along with table charge.
"You pay," he snaps.
Jun laughs huskily, huskily—now Nino is sure he has had a few. "I always pay."
There is a short silence, only filled with the sound of ice cubes hitting glass and Nino imagines Jun drowning another shot, head thrown back, throat deliciously exposed, wanton—and then the line pops in again, I am a criminal for stealing your heart.
He should stop writing—"...I'll be there in 30 minutes."
He hears Jun chuckling before hanging up, a noise coming deep from his throat and Nino shivers, curses and gets up.
In the end, he never felt so insecure before. When he takes the elevator up the 7th floor and sees himself in the huge mirrored walls, he becomes very much aware how much Jun earns and how less he does. Suddenly, he thinks of his 500 Yen coin saving box at home and wonders how long it would last if he lived a life like Jun. Probably not a week.
He joins the idol, who is chatting pleasantly with the bartender, ordering the most expensive whisky they have as compensation. And honestly, the faster he gets drunk, the easier he can live the social differences.
The next thing he knows, it's three in the morning, his head is buzzing; Jun's smile is lazy but all the more charming. Nino slurs something like, "It's time to go home", only to escape into his thoughts of how it would be more appropriate if Jun closes just this one button of his shirt, but he would so not appreciate it. And how he likes how their knees are touching under the bar table. And how he can’t help but watch Jun’s digits curling around the wine glass... I am a criminal for stealing—fuck this. He never realized how oddly fittings his lyrics for Jun are. It’s not like he wrote this song for the idol exclusively. Come cling to me—he groans, defeated and Jun looks him over, up and down and up and Nino gulps, his heart speeding up and—fuck indeed.
Jun responds with a tipsy, intoxicated "Take me."
For a moment Nino forgot what they had been talking about, before Jun breaks into a grin, childish and silly. "No seriously, I don't think I can make a move." He stops suddenly, his eyes as big as saucers. Nino stares. "I can't move," Jun corrects himself, "I can’t move without falling over."
"Jun-kun," he manages to sound amused, if not exasperated, but his heart betrays him. "Seriously."
His mouth is dry, his palms sweaty so he wipes them on his slacks before nodding, lending Jun a hand, dragging him to the elevator.
Then they are out on the street. They get into a taxi, and Jun's head rolls onto his shoulder, his breath reeking of alcohol. But when Jun seems to sober up during the ride, the pressure on his shoulder is suddenly gone, Nino gets worse. The combination of whisky, wine and sake on empty stomach starts to kick in and he feels sick. In fact, he feels ready to throw up in front of the stylish mansion they stop at, somewhere near Tokyo Tower, but he can't.
Now it's Jun dragging him along, mumbling apologies while fishing out his keys. Nino groans as he wants to take off his shoes properly, feeling dizzy, his stomach turning over and—Jun grabs him then, swearing when he sees him in the light of the genkan.
Then all of sudden Nino finds himself in the bathroom, squeamishly clean with a scent of citrus he can't take at all. He's fairly aware of Jun behind him, but what happens next is a blur. Jun's fingers on his jaw, on his cheeks, turning his head carefully but then everything is turning, fingers on his mouth, two of them nudging it open, sliding inside and—
Nino opens his eyes abruptly, jerking up, groaning at his pounding head. He feels around for his alarm, always somewhere in the midst of his sheets but the sheets under him are way too soft to be his own, and the room way too bright.
Fuck.
He remembers Y&M KISLING, he remembers tasty sake and he remembers Jun. And then it clicks.
He must be at Jun's place. Consequently in Jun's bedroom. In Jun's bed.
How the hell did that happen?
He swings his feet onto the cold, wooden floor, cursing with each movement and tiptoes to the bathroom, searching around for a spare toothbrush, finding too many cleaning products hindering his goal. He looks like shit in the mirror; his body screams for a shower with that massage shower system he just noticed Jun had. So he does. He supposes Jun won't mind, considering he gave up his bed.
When he steps into the kitchen in his freshly washed clothes he found neatly folded on the chair next to the bed, Jun is making coffee. He leans against the doorframe, watching him for a while in loose sweat pants and tank top, before asking, "Did you stick your fingers down my throat last night?"
Jun jumps visibly, cursing under his breath and Nino grins.
"A simple good morning would do," Jun retorts without turning around but Nino can see the tips of his ears getting red.
"You did, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And I threw up in your apartment."
"Not without assistance if that's any relief for you."
It doesn’t, in fact Nino wants to dig a hole and die. When he does not reply, Jun turns around, a soft smile on his lips which soon stretches into a grin and Nino is sure the sheer embarrassment must be evident on his face.
"If it helps, you only got rid of 20,000 Yen worth of drinks I had to pay for…” He pauses, grinning painfully. “I know you like to keep count."
By now he knows him so well that Nino can’t help but smirk, "... that indeed does help," he answers, taking the few steps forward before sliding up to place a kiss on Jun's jaw, because he is not a person to hide his affection when it bubbles up—not even if it’s an idol, the idol—, since that's what he feels right there and then, pure affection for the other.
The way Jun nudges him away, surprised but kind of pleased makes him think he should have these bubble moments more often.
"Get your toast out of the oven." Jun retorts, nonplus adding up to all the emotions suddenly displayed on his features.
Nino smacks him again before doing so, whistling.
doko ni demo aru uta
Eventually, it must come down to this, Nino thinks upset and beaten at once. His digits hit one key after another in fake concentration as if to determine the notes new. The sun rays on his back, flooding the piano keys partially, are too hot but he doesn’t move from his spot. Instead he follows the sharp edges of shadow and light, highlighting the corner of the studio where he had been squatting down with Jun no hour before, going excitedly through the new song. They were so immersed that Nino didn’t even mind or question the presence of the photographers; he can’t even remember what pictures they took. But he can remember Jun’s huge smile while reading through the lyrics before he stood, dragging the idol with him over to the mike.
From then on it went downhill.
Nino is professional where it counts. He chuckles mirthlessly. And of course the fact that he falls head over heels for an idol does not mean he forgets about his work. And this song in particular means a lot to him. For the first time, he was offered the chance to be involved in the recording process. And of course he has wanted to make Jun sing. He just forgot, in his own passion, that Jun is all eager to please but also impatient with himself when he does not succeed.
And this time, Nino has been close to smashing his keys because Jun could just not deliver what he wanted. He has thought he has given precise instructions but Jun grew more and more furious at himself, or at Nino, he couldn't tell.
He just wished he would sing the lines like he means it and when Nino has stated, for countless times that day, that you need to level your voice. And at this point there will be only your voice, Jun-kun and nothing to cover up, Jun has smashed his pencil onto the board, hard. “You know what, sorry but I don't get it.”
Never has Nino experienced this anger directed at him but he’s not someone holding back, not when it’s finally coming down to the topic. “That is why you shouldn’t choose songs because they are from me but because they fit you and so far, Jun-kun—” He stops dead. For a brief second there is hurt, so visible that Nino shuts his mouth instantly.
He watches Jun gripping the note stand so hard that his knuckles turn white, he narrows his eyes at him, anger obviously winning over hurt. “If it’s not what you expect, you should show me what you want. Because so far your instructions weren’t very precise.”
He can remember how he had raised an eyebrow at Jun, thinking how stupid the idol was for challenging him to sing his own creation, but he wouldn't let it pass, not for Jun. So he did show him, his voice rough and raw, but of course he knows how to feel the song, it's his, after all.
At a side glance, Jun had looked so very small, so out of place that Nino had wanted to reach out. But Jun just stared at him, utterly defeated as silence settles around them. Nino had wanted to speak up but he didn’t even get the chance to stand up from his piano because Sakurai had knocked and Jun had been out of the door within seconds.
The song never gets released.
mukae ni iku yo
As suddenly as it started, it ends.
Jun is good at avoiding him. If Nino ever wondered how he does it, there is no answer, he just can.
At first he simply misses Jun. He thought he was the easy going type, but he found isn’t. He is far from it. Sure, Jun hasn't been the easiest person in the world, but he probably is the most interesting one in Nino's. So he does the only thing he can do in his position, calling out through songs.
He sits day by day in his dark surveillance room, scribbling and scratching:
call me call me, first try through the radio / I close my eyes and I keep seeing things / Rainbow waterfalls / sunny liquid dreams / confusion creeps inside me rainin' down / got to get to you / but I don't know how.
He frowns. He looks at the freshly bought SPUR magazine, right now in Ohno’s slender hands, skimming through it, sighing deeply. On the cover, Nino can see Jun balancing on a handrail somewhere in the countryside, leaning against a traffic sign, looking up the sky, but he also catches glimpses of cherry trees inside, while Ohno turns page after page letting out soft hums in appreciation now and then.
Ohno reads him interesting bits of the interview occasionally, whistling when Nino is mentioned, as a skilled and favorite song writer, admired for his work with words and so on. Nino just smiles painfully. Obviously the interview took place before he treated Jun like an amateur.
call me, call me, / let me know it's all right. / call me, call me, / don'cha think it's 'bout time?
He writes song, upon song, the words spilling almost from themselves. He never wrote better, the agency says, but Jun's next single still turns out to be from another songwriter. He pre-orders it anyway, feeling stalkerish as he fills in the form in Tsutaya. And when he sees the cover some weeks later, a lonely Matsumoto Jun stares back, standing in the middle of an empty street with night lights reflecting everywhere. He is barely visible, dressed in black from head to toe but he looks stunning as always, drawing in the viewer’s attention solely by his eyes.
And he sounds stunning. His voice almost raw with emotion, he must have trained a lot, taken Nino's advices seriously which makes him kind of proud but Jun could... just show up already.
He doesn’t, though.
But from then on, he sees Jun everywhere. When he steps into a bookstore, Jun greets him on too many magazine covers to count. He watches him in his new summer drama, on variety shows, game shows, talk shows. He appears so often he must work like a machine, as if he wants to prove something.
And he looks better than ever, there is no sadness to see and it pisses Nino off.
1992*4##111
And just when he was about to give up already there is mail in his box, the familiar shape of a Johnny's package whenever they released one of his songs. A single yet again. He opens it on the way to his apartment but stops dead when the package paper comes off.
There is Jun. It hasn’t been Jun in a long time.
His hands shake a bit.
Jun. Jun up-close, Jun with a look directed far away, his eyes golden in the sunlight, his long eyelashes brown and then whitish at the tips. His mouth curls barely into a smile as if he has the answer to all unasked questions.
He is beautiful. So beautiful that Nino does not register the song title for a long time but his eyes shift eventually and it's "1992*4##111". Hastily he turns the CD around, looking for the coupling and his eyes widen. It's the song, the song they fought about. He rips the foil from the case, dashing into his apartment, his left hip crashing painfully into his kitchen counter before he can reach his CD player. He almost throws the CD in, reaches for his earphones and sets the volume on the highest.
And then there is Jun's voice; like he always wanted to hear it. He melts, little by little. And he's smiling like an idiot.
When he reaches the instrumental version he looks into the small booklet and his heart almost stops, because suddenly he sees himself, next to Jun. He can remember, of course he can. It's the sunny flooded studio, when they went through the song before recording. He stares at the printed version of himself, hunched over the lyrics, Jun mimicking his posture, but biting his lower lip in concentration. Nino can't even remember such a honesty in his feature when he pointed at a line and—
Then there is a shadow over him and a tap on his shoulder and he jumps, out of his skin and around.
Jun is standing over him and mouths something he can't hear because the melody is still playing. Irritated, when Nino just stares up, unresponsive, he reaches out to take them from his ears.
"The door was open," he says rather uncomfortable. "Thought something happened." Then he hears the piano blasting out of the earphones and his eyes fall on his single in Nino's hand.
"Do you like it?" He seems aloof, because practically he could be; he worked hard for it but Nino knows he is as insecure as back then, in the studio, recording with him.
For a long moment Nino only stares because he hasn’t seen Jun in a long time, real and alive in front of him; and for a moment he gets carried away, forgetting about how angry he is—Jun has no right to treat him like that, ignoring him completely for months and then suddenly turning up. But he is there and Nino is so overwhelmed that he drags him down nose to nose by his slim, silk tie, before he even realizes what he is doing. He stops dead when he sees Jun’s eyes growing huge in surprise, though the idol does not draw away immediately.
“What are you doing here?” Nino asks and to his astonishment, Jun stays close, hovering in an awkward position above him.
“Do you like it?” Jun asks again, shifting forwards, as if to ease the angle he is bend down. His lips are close now, so close to Nino’s that he can feel the faint, damp breath the words bring along. From this proximity he could also count the eyelashes if he just tried. He doesn’t, though, too engrossed in the question why his opinion even matters so much to Jun. And because it seems to matter so much to him, he is tempted to just give in and to tell him how it’s beautiful beyond words, his voice in connection with his song. But then all the months of waiting kick in, along with Jun’s silence in stark contrast to Nino pretty much confessing through his lyrics with no reply until today.
"You improved," is what he settles for.
Jun draws back then, searching in his face and Nino holds his breath. But then Jun grins, lopsided and a little haughty before he answers cheekily, "Well, it's not like I've come this far on my own."
Nino deflates, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the use of his own line. Most probably that is Jun’s own way of confessing. Nino can live with that. He wants to jerk him closer again but he doesn’t even get the chance because it is Jun leaning in without missing a beat for a kiss, chaste, soft, one after another. It’s not Nino’s style, but it’s Jun kissing him.
“There's one more thing I haven't told you,” Jun starts to hum, against his skin as he kisses his way to his jaw, down to his neck. His hands travel lower on Nino's back, too which leaves Nino a little lightheaded from too much contact all at once. “and that is—”
Nino coaxes Jun into a real kiss then just to shut him up. He has a feeling.