(one-shot) smiles, smiles, smiles.
Title: Smiles, Smiles, Smiles.
Author: mustenentwined3
Pairing: Akame
Genre: Romance, angst, friendship, fluff.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer(s): All Johnny's people.
Summary: Kame wonders if it's possible for his face to break into a million little pieces from smiling too hard.
A/N: Based loosely off of recent concert reports. A bit fluffier and more direct than my usual writing style, but altogether still the same - mostly just because my Akame is getting rusty :x anyways, enjoy! Comments are, of course, always appreciated! ♥
It’s been years since he felt like this. He can just barely remember - lazy, languid summer days, with the sunshine on their shoulders, in their eyes. There was always the scent of something new and exciting lingering around the corner, the feeling that there would be something better. He remembers skin brushing against skin (accidental touches, fingers interlacing with his), the feeling of having somebody mean the world to him.
It’s been years since then - work-filled, sweat-filled, angst-filled years. What they tell you when you sign your name at the bottom of the paper, twelve years old, all sparkly eyed and bunches of fluttering nerves, is nothing. Long hours, long practices - always a goal, always something you haven’t achieved, something you need to achieve. They tell you that (almost like they care) - you’ll be okay, though. You’ll be great. You were chosen, after all. Everything gets better after you become famous.
Standing in the midst of spotlight, in the midst of fifty-five thousand screams and water pooling into the fabric of his clothing, Kame thinks that they couldn’t be more wrong.
The presence beside him is distracting - long lashes, dark brown hair curved at the ends. Kame remembers when it was still short and light, when he used to run his fingers through it, laughter rising up in his chest (smiles, smiles, smiles). He remembers feeling the exact same way he does right now - uncertain, unsure, and aware (warm, way too warm, though he’s not sure if it’s from the inside or out).
He tells himself they’re grown up now - but they’re not, not really. Because even as he laughs (a scripted laugh, is it?) and jokes, even as he pokes fun at that overwhelming presence standing beside (a million light years away from) him, he feels the same way he did ten years ago.
And then Jin surprises him. We’ll end up going to L.A. together, he says, and time freezes around Kame (all he can feel is warmth, inexpressibly ridiculous warmth). He laughs it off, nods his head and lets the audience scream. He can see T-TUN glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes (are you okay, they want to ask, and he almost wants to say no, but he’s Kamenashi and he never says no) - he can see the sweat glistening on Jin’s neck, the ring of Jin’s laughter in his ears (smiles, smiles, smiles). Koki saunters over and slings an arm around his shoulder, lets him slide into the comfort of a friend’s embrace, secretly, blocks his view from Jin’s face.
(Smiles, smiles, smiles.
Kame wonders if it’s possible for his face to break into a million little pieces from smiling too hard.)
---
It’s late when they return to the dressing room, lights dimmed and clothing scattered in heaps all over the floor (what a mess, somebody comments, but Kame is too tired to figure out who). He only nods in absent agreement, dropping onto his knees on the hardwood floor in front of his bag, beginning to stuff materials in.
“See you,” Ueda yawns at them, out the door first. “ ‘Night.”
“ ‘Night,” Junno repeats after him, closing the door behind them, but he doesn’t manage to close it completely when Koki stops it, albeit clumsily, with a foot.
“Leaving,” he announces, and pulls Nakamaru up with him. “Bye, Akanishi, Kame.”
Kame looks up with a tired smile (smiles, smiles, smiles), acutely aware of Jin’s eyes on him from across the room. “Good night,” he articulates, even in his half-asleep stupor, and manages to look competent enough at packing his bag as the door closes behind the four other members. As soon as their footsteps disappear down the lobby, though, he lets out a silent groan, burying his throbbing head into an old T-shirt lying nearby.
Suddenly, there’s a press of fingers against his forehead, making him almost jump back in surprise, but he quickly regains his composure (smiles, smiles, smiles). Jin is staring back at him nonchalantly, cool fingers rubbing the exact right spot at his temple - it makes Kame swallow any protests from the tip of his tongue, and he relaxes into the touch, closing his eyes briefly.
“Feel better?” Jin’s voice is low, soft (not caring, no).
Slightly uncomfortable, Kame settles for a slight nod, and moves to resume his bag packing when a hand reaches out, clasping around his wrist.
“Let me.” Kame watches mutely as Jin packs his bag for him, tucking the makeup into all the right places. He marvels at how expertly the older man does it, as if he’s never stopped (it was something he used to do for Kame, all those ten years ago). And then, curiously, Jin holds up his hand, a shiny object in the middle of his palm, his lips quirked upwards. “Still have this?”
Kame’s eyes widen a bit when he realizes what it is (smiles, smiles, smiles) - Gokusen ring. “Why shouldn’t I,” he bites out, more harshly than he intended (he refuses to watch the way Jin’s face falls back into place, the light from his eyes gone).
“I was just. Surprised,” with a shrug, Jin drops the ring back into its pocket and zips Kame’s bag up, sliding it over to Kame’s feet smoothly. “There.”
“Thanks,” Kame stares down at the bag, but makes no move to take it.
A silence settles between them (smiles, smiles, smiles) - Kame tries not to think about it, the fact that he wants to scream (and throw himself into Jin’s arms), or run away (nestle against the crook of Jin’s shoulder like he used to, so easily), or -
“I meant it.”
Jin’s gaze is still focused on him, eyes dark beneath the rim of the fedora. Kame swears he can still see a flicker of the old Jin in those eyes - the sunshine, the blur of sweetness and heartbreak and tears and melting and fleeting touches all wrapped into one.
“I meant it,” Jin repeats at him, eyes averted now. “You know, L.A.”
It takes Kame a second to comprehend, but he does. “Oh,” is all he can muster, before Jin’s hand is gripping his, tightly, fingers skidding across his skin (smiles, smiles, smiles). He lets Jin tug on his hand, lets himself sprawl awkwardly into an embrace, contours fitting at all the wrong angles. The tips of Jin’s hair tickle his face as he buries into the heavy scent (cologne, Jin, mint, Jin, Jin, Jin), sunshine and smiles behind his closed eyelids.
“Kame,” comes Jin’s voice, and it vibrates through him. “Kazuya. Kazu-chan.”
“Shut up,” Kame replies, and slips upwards against Jin’s body to rest his chin on the older man’s shoulder. There’s a chuckle from the other, and Kame grimaces. “What.”
“Still the same,” Jin says, and Kame moves to let him unfold his legs, settling into a more comfortable position with his back leaned against the wall, fingers stroking through Kame’s hair. “Always the same.”
“Bring me to L.A. next time and maybe I’ll change with you.”
The fingers in his hair freeze, and Kame lets out a whoosh of air, waits for the insulted response (smiles, smiles, smiles). All he gets is a thumb underneath his chin, tilting his gaze up to meet Jin’s - solemn, deep. “Kame.”
Sighing, Kame relents. “Jin,” he whispers softly, hand clinging onto the older man’s shoulder, strands of hair falling into his eyes. “Jin,” he says again, a breath of air.
And then there are lips on his, chapped, familiar lips that taste faintly of cigarettes and mint, and everything, and Jin. He doesn’t let go of his hold on that shoulder, doesn’t pull away. He’s too tired, and it’s been ten years since this first happened, and there’s a smile and sunshine in his eyes - there’s Jin, and it’s okay.
So when the older man pulls away to rest their foreheads together, breaths shallow, Kame smiles, and smiles, and smiles - real, sunshine smiles, because it’s okay, because it’s great, because he was chosen and Jin was chosen. And for once, Kame thinks, there’s something right about being famous after all.
(Smiles, smiles, smiles.
Kame thinks he could never smile enough.)
Extra note: If you do this for me, I would really love you forever. Thanks, guys :)
Author: mustenentwined3
Pairing: Akame
Genre: Romance, angst, friendship, fluff.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer(s): All Johnny's people.
Summary: Kame wonders if it's possible for his face to break into a million little pieces from smiling too hard.
A/N: Based loosely off of recent concert reports. A bit fluffier and more direct than my usual writing style, but altogether still the same - mostly just because my Akame is getting rusty :x anyways, enjoy! Comments are, of course, always appreciated! ♥
It’s been years since he felt like this. He can just barely remember - lazy, languid summer days, with the sunshine on their shoulders, in their eyes. There was always the scent of something new and exciting lingering around the corner, the feeling that there would be something better. He remembers skin brushing against skin (accidental touches, fingers interlacing with his), the feeling of having somebody mean the world to him.
It’s been years since then - work-filled, sweat-filled, angst-filled years. What they tell you when you sign your name at the bottom of the paper, twelve years old, all sparkly eyed and bunches of fluttering nerves, is nothing. Long hours, long practices - always a goal, always something you haven’t achieved, something you need to achieve. They tell you that (almost like they care) - you’ll be okay, though. You’ll be great. You were chosen, after all. Everything gets better after you become famous.
Standing in the midst of spotlight, in the midst of fifty-five thousand screams and water pooling into the fabric of his clothing, Kame thinks that they couldn’t be more wrong.
The presence beside him is distracting - long lashes, dark brown hair curved at the ends. Kame remembers when it was still short and light, when he used to run his fingers through it, laughter rising up in his chest (smiles, smiles, smiles). He remembers feeling the exact same way he does right now - uncertain, unsure, and aware (warm, way too warm, though he’s not sure if it’s from the inside or out).
He tells himself they’re grown up now - but they’re not, not really. Because even as he laughs (a scripted laugh, is it?) and jokes, even as he pokes fun at that overwhelming presence standing beside (a million light years away from) him, he feels the same way he did ten years ago.
And then Jin surprises him. We’ll end up going to L.A. together, he says, and time freezes around Kame (all he can feel is warmth, inexpressibly ridiculous warmth). He laughs it off, nods his head and lets the audience scream. He can see T-TUN glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes (are you okay, they want to ask, and he almost wants to say no, but he’s Kamenashi and he never says no) - he can see the sweat glistening on Jin’s neck, the ring of Jin’s laughter in his ears (smiles, smiles, smiles). Koki saunters over and slings an arm around his shoulder, lets him slide into the comfort of a friend’s embrace, secretly, blocks his view from Jin’s face.
(Smiles, smiles, smiles.
Kame wonders if it’s possible for his face to break into a million little pieces from smiling too hard.)
---
It’s late when they return to the dressing room, lights dimmed and clothing scattered in heaps all over the floor (what a mess, somebody comments, but Kame is too tired to figure out who). He only nods in absent agreement, dropping onto his knees on the hardwood floor in front of his bag, beginning to stuff materials in.
“See you,” Ueda yawns at them, out the door first. “ ‘Night.”
“ ‘Night,” Junno repeats after him, closing the door behind them, but he doesn’t manage to close it completely when Koki stops it, albeit clumsily, with a foot.
“Leaving,” he announces, and pulls Nakamaru up with him. “Bye, Akanishi, Kame.”
Kame looks up with a tired smile (smiles, smiles, smiles), acutely aware of Jin’s eyes on him from across the room. “Good night,” he articulates, even in his half-asleep stupor, and manages to look competent enough at packing his bag as the door closes behind the four other members. As soon as their footsteps disappear down the lobby, though, he lets out a silent groan, burying his throbbing head into an old T-shirt lying nearby.
Suddenly, there’s a press of fingers against his forehead, making him almost jump back in surprise, but he quickly regains his composure (smiles, smiles, smiles). Jin is staring back at him nonchalantly, cool fingers rubbing the exact right spot at his temple - it makes Kame swallow any protests from the tip of his tongue, and he relaxes into the touch, closing his eyes briefly.
“Feel better?” Jin’s voice is low, soft (not caring, no).
Slightly uncomfortable, Kame settles for a slight nod, and moves to resume his bag packing when a hand reaches out, clasping around his wrist.
“Let me.” Kame watches mutely as Jin packs his bag for him, tucking the makeup into all the right places. He marvels at how expertly the older man does it, as if he’s never stopped (it was something he used to do for Kame, all those ten years ago). And then, curiously, Jin holds up his hand, a shiny object in the middle of his palm, his lips quirked upwards. “Still have this?”
Kame’s eyes widen a bit when he realizes what it is (smiles, smiles, smiles) - Gokusen ring. “Why shouldn’t I,” he bites out, more harshly than he intended (he refuses to watch the way Jin’s face falls back into place, the light from his eyes gone).
“I was just. Surprised,” with a shrug, Jin drops the ring back into its pocket and zips Kame’s bag up, sliding it over to Kame’s feet smoothly. “There.”
“Thanks,” Kame stares down at the bag, but makes no move to take it.
A silence settles between them (smiles, smiles, smiles) - Kame tries not to think about it, the fact that he wants to scream (and throw himself into Jin’s arms), or run away (nestle against the crook of Jin’s shoulder like he used to, so easily), or -
“I meant it.”
Jin’s gaze is still focused on him, eyes dark beneath the rim of the fedora. Kame swears he can still see a flicker of the old Jin in those eyes - the sunshine, the blur of sweetness and heartbreak and tears and melting and fleeting touches all wrapped into one.
“I meant it,” Jin repeats at him, eyes averted now. “You know, L.A.”
It takes Kame a second to comprehend, but he does. “Oh,” is all he can muster, before Jin’s hand is gripping his, tightly, fingers skidding across his skin (smiles, smiles, smiles). He lets Jin tug on his hand, lets himself sprawl awkwardly into an embrace, contours fitting at all the wrong angles. The tips of Jin’s hair tickle his face as he buries into the heavy scent (cologne, Jin, mint, Jin, Jin, Jin), sunshine and smiles behind his closed eyelids.
“Kame,” comes Jin’s voice, and it vibrates through him. “Kazuya. Kazu-chan.”
“Shut up,” Kame replies, and slips upwards against Jin’s body to rest his chin on the older man’s shoulder. There’s a chuckle from the other, and Kame grimaces. “What.”
“Still the same,” Jin says, and Kame moves to let him unfold his legs, settling into a more comfortable position with his back leaned against the wall, fingers stroking through Kame’s hair. “Always the same.”
“Bring me to L.A. next time and maybe I’ll change with you.”
The fingers in his hair freeze, and Kame lets out a whoosh of air, waits for the insulted response (smiles, smiles, smiles). All he gets is a thumb underneath his chin, tilting his gaze up to meet Jin’s - solemn, deep. “Kame.”
Sighing, Kame relents. “Jin,” he whispers softly, hand clinging onto the older man’s shoulder, strands of hair falling into his eyes. “Jin,” he says again, a breath of air.
And then there are lips on his, chapped, familiar lips that taste faintly of cigarettes and mint, and everything, and Jin. He doesn’t let go of his hold on that shoulder, doesn’t pull away. He’s too tired, and it’s been ten years since this first happened, and there’s a smile and sunshine in his eyes - there’s Jin, and it’s okay.
So when the older man pulls away to rest their foreheads together, breaths shallow, Kame smiles, and smiles, and smiles - real, sunshine smiles, because it’s okay, because it’s great, because he was chosen and Jin was chosen. And for once, Kame thinks, there’s something right about being famous after all.
(Smiles, smiles, smiles.
Kame thinks he could never smile enough.)
Extra note: If you do this for me, I would really love you forever. Thanks, guys :)