Hide and Seek
Title: Hide and Seek
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho
Summary: Sho has always needed him more.
Notes/Warnings: Non-AU, shockingly enough. Drama/angst/sex, not so shocking. Ah, but I’ve missed them!! Apparently enough to overcome writer’s block!!
Sho has always needed him more.
It’s taken him a long time to come to this realization. He remembers long nights twisting his awkward teenage body into his bedsheets to keep himself from getting up, grabbing the phone, dialing a number known by heart. He remembers indifferent replies to invites. He remembers the sheer thrill of getting a “yes” instead. He’s always been stupid where Sho is concerned.
But Sho has always needed him more. It’s just that Sho never says the words “I need you.”
Instead he skirts and dodges. He’s indirect, always has been. Sho has always regimented his life, partitioning even the most mundane things into digestible pieces. Work. Sleep. Eating. Leisure time. Everything, every moment in its right place. A person like Sho doesn’t set aside time to be lonely or needy. He fills his hours, always, never a minute wasted. So when he actually is lonely, when he needs Jun to help him ease that loneliness, when he aches for Jun with a quiet desperation, he simply allots the required amount of time and calls it anything but need.
-
When Sho goes through break-ups, it takes him a strange amount of time to talk about it, to admit that it’s hurting him to be alone again. He fills his hours for as long as he can until he burns out. He takes the hours that would have been spent with a girlfriend having meals, talking, having sex, and just rearranges the schedule. He has meals with his manager instead, talks with his family. He embraces his inner masochist by taking little trips with friends of his, a happily married couple who don’t mind a third wheel. He works. He fills the time until he can no longer lie to himself that he’s okay.
And that’s when he calls on Jun.
The first few times Jun voiced objections, not wanting to be used. Offended at the idea that he was nothing more than a rebound or a placeholder. But it’s more than that, it’s much more than that and always has been.
He’s not a placeholder.
He’s a constant.
When Sho’s system of time management fails him, Jun is still there. These days, provided that Jun himself is unattached, it lasts for a few weeks and then gently dissolves by silent, mutual agreement. Sho’s never asking for forever, something Jun doubts he could ever give. It just feels gratifying to be needed.
Relationships wax and wane, work is busy or even busier. Jun’s grown up now and merely has Sho’s number programmed into his phone, not carved into his heart. Few things are constant and stable in their lives. Arashi is Arashi, but the higher they rise, the harder it’ll be to cope when there’s a reversal. They’re getting older. Friends are marrying, starting families. But Jun is steady. Jun understands, has the same worries and fears. Jun gets it.
-
It’s just before Hawaii that Sho and his latest girlfriend break up. Jun learns this via Nino, as Sho is unlikely to come out and say so himself. Nino’s always been good at ferreting out the truth. The last several years Sho has been in and out of relationships, somehow managing to find women to date who are as busy, if not busier than he is. There’d been a lawyer for a while, and the latest was in banking, traveling the world to meet with clients. Neither of them in a position to criticize the other for being absent, lacking in commitment.
But still this break-up saddens Sho in a way that isn’t revealed for quite some time. Sho rearranges that part of his life successfully for several months, touring with a smile, taking kohai out for meals, third wheeling with his friends and doting on their young child so often that Aiba starts teasing that they ought to “pay him for being a nanny.”
It’s a third of the way into the new year before the cracks appear, and Sho starts reaching out in his indirect manner. “Matsujun,” comes a text message out of the blue, “want to play a game?”
Sho has always needed him more, but he still makes Jun work for it. But that’s just because Jun prefers it that way. Sho remembers the Jun who kept him up until 4:30 in the morning on the phone. Sho remembers the Jun who would eagerly grasp any scrap thrown his way. Sho probably doesn’t think of Jun as a satellite in his orbit any longer, but there’s still a pull. Jun has always liked a challenge. Sho can ease his loneliness without having to lay his soul bare and beg for it. He just has to tug that familiar tether.
“What kind of game?”
-
“Tokyo Station, 30 minute time limit” are the instructions he receives, and he’s not surprised by Sho’s method of reaching out this time. His new Arashi ni Shiyagare segment is all about attempting to blend into a crowd, to travel the country without being detected. It’s something Sho’s long excelled at, concealing himself.
It’s Jun’s mission, today on their shared day off, to find him. Sho’s given him no indication about what he’s wearing, if he’s in a disguise or stupidly walking around Tokyo Station in broad daylight with just a baseball cap. Jun feels a childlike giddiness when he slips into the massive building through the Yaesu central entrance. He wonders how long he can stay undetected himself.
A flurry of people, normal people with normal jobs, go through the ticket gates, hundreds in motion with destinations in mind. Would Sho go far enough to actually go through the gates himself? Would he do that, tapping his Suica card to stand on one of the platforms and wait for Jun to come find him? If Jun was the one running the game, he’d buy a shinkansen ticket and make Sho suffer the financial burden of finding him. But he has a feeling this is more about the pursuit than the hiding place.
He sends Sho a message, a simple “I’m here” and the reply tells him that the game is afoot.
“Your 30 minutes starts as soon as you read this.”
Jun grins, grateful to be hiding his excitement behind the face mask he’s wearing. He takes note of the time and gets moving. Deciding to abandon the entire center of the station, the shinkansen and JR tracks, he knows there’s still plenty of places Sho could be hiding. He knows Sakurai Sho up close and knows him just as well at a distance. How many years has he worked alongside him, watched him from across an arena? There’s no way Sho has thought deeply enough about concealing the way he walks, carries himself. Jun will know him easily.
He moves quickly, though not so quickly as to draw attention to himself. He circles around, the rush of footsteps making his heart pound. Sho’s here, Sho’s here, but where? As the minutes drain away, his nervousness builds and he shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans, his thumbs impatiently tapping against denim as he turns another corner without seeing any vaguely Sakurai-shaped people in his line of sight. Maybe he should have asked if there’s a penalty for not finding him within the time limit.
By his estimates, there’s about 45 seconds remaining on the clock when he’s bypassing a group of lockers near the Marunouchi north gate and sees someone standing at the end, leaning against them with a newspaper in his hands. Jun swears he’s come this way already, but he’s been naive to think that Sho was going to stand in place for half an hour and wait him out.
He gives the newspaper a tap. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, barely audible over the station noise. “But aren’t you Arashi’s Sakurai-san?”
Sho’s got on a Yankees cap and black glasses. There’s friendly mischief in his smile. “You’re late.”
Jun pulls his phone out, shows him the timestamp on their last messages. “I’m not.”
“Cutting it awfully close.” Sho looks just past his shoulder. If they don’t get moving soon, they’ll be caught. Sho slides the glasses down his nose, offers him a sly wink. “Thanks for your hard work today.”
-
Sho’s already gone ahead and made them reservations at a restaurant nearby, and because Jun found him in time, it seems Sho will pick up the check without complaint. The private room is almost too quiet after the rush of being in Tokyo Station, unencumbered and manager-less. The food is incredible though, and their companionable silence is interrupted here and there with the slurp of noodles and mumbled noises of appreciation for a good meal.
They’re on the dessert course when Jun tells Sho that he knows. “I was sorry to hear about Akiko-san.”
Sho’s so content from his massive midday meal that he doesn’t flinch, digging his spoon back into the jelly he’s scarfing down. Sho knows that Nino passes information along to keep everyone on the same page, to keep everyone from putting their foot in their mouth.
“My mother never liked her,” Sho admits freely a few moments later, tapping his spoon against his bottom lip.
“She’s always liked me.”
Sho just smiles gently, unable to meet Jun’s eyes. The subject of Akiko-san is closed.
-
It’s only 2:00 PM when they finish up at the restaurant, but Sho’s never been fond of fucking when the sun’s still out. Instead he follows Jun home to discover the mysteries of a Matsumoto Jun off day. It’s not very interesting, and he goes about his business as though Sho’s not a shiftless lump on his couch, hugging a pillow and watching some variety programs that Jun’s recorded.
He pays bills, does laundry, cleans the kitchen, tackles the bathroom. Sho only gets up to piss or liberate some whiskey from Jun’s liquor cabinet. It’s always strange seeing him this way, not actively using his brain, a zombie on his couch absorbing stale variety show patter.
“I could open some wine,” Jun offers.
“You’re so cultured, Matsujun,” Sho replies in a strange accent, and it makes him laugh.
He lets Sho nap on and off until around 8:00, turning on a lamp or two as he sits down next to the couch, wondering how long it’ll last this time. How long Sho will need him to keep his head above water. Sometimes he hopes it’ll be over quickly, if he’s on the verge of falling for someone new. Sometimes he hopes it’ll last decades, when his commitment to work pushes another wife-that-will-never-be out the door. Tonight Jun’s simply open to whatever Sho wants.
He strokes his fingers through Sho’s soft, messy hair, having stopped himself from leaning close and attempting to count Sho’s eyelashes. “Hey.”
Sho doesn’t even open his eyes. “Hey.”
It really only takes a kiss, but then again, Jun knows that nobody kisses Sho the way he does. His breath is a little sour from sleep and alcohol, but it’s worth it to feel him stir under his touch. To know the power he has to restore what’s broken in Sho.
It’s slow progress to the bedroom, as Sho gradually comes to terms with the fact that this is not a feverish dream, but reality and that he does in fact have to contribute his share. Sho’s hands are clumsy with Jun’s belt, with the zipper of his jeans, but Jun likes that, the way Sho’s nervousness manifests. It’s always a little awkward the first time, remembering the way they fit, how they best collide. In a few days Sho will be confident again, his fingers and lips having relearned the choreography by heart. In a few days Sho will trace Jun’s spine with his fingertips, gentle for just a short while before burying himself deep inside him.
Tonight Jun’s mostly responsible for the driving, hand at Sho’s nape and nipping at Sho’s mouth with his teeth. Waking him, giving him what he needs but can never ask for. You need me, you need me, you need me, Jun wordlessly reminds him. Soon Sho’s on his back, gasping. Jun’s pinning him to the mattress, hearing the bed creak from the weight of them both. He smiles.
You need me, Sho-kun?
Here I am.
-
He’s annoyed when the bedroom lamp’s switched on sometime after 1:00 in the morning. Sho with his cell phone, the glow of it forcing Jun to pull the blanket over his head. Sho’s planning for the near future.
Sho reaches over, the touch of his hand warm through the blanket as he attempts to ruffle Jun’s hair. As Jun grunts out responses, Sho pencils him into the slots he’s opened up. After filming here, a night together there. Never a minute wasted.
Eventually he puts the phone away, and the room descends back into silence. Sho’s mouth pressing quickly to his shoulder in the dark is a “thank you” without words.
Sho has always needed him more. And that’s fine.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho
Summary: Sho has always needed him more.
Notes/Warnings: Non-AU, shockingly enough. Drama/angst/sex, not so shocking. Ah, but I’ve missed them!! Apparently enough to overcome writer’s block!!
Sho has always needed him more.
It’s taken him a long time to come to this realization. He remembers long nights twisting his awkward teenage body into his bedsheets to keep himself from getting up, grabbing the phone, dialing a number known by heart. He remembers indifferent replies to invites. He remembers the sheer thrill of getting a “yes” instead. He’s always been stupid where Sho is concerned.
But Sho has always needed him more. It’s just that Sho never says the words “I need you.”
Instead he skirts and dodges. He’s indirect, always has been. Sho has always regimented his life, partitioning even the most mundane things into digestible pieces. Work. Sleep. Eating. Leisure time. Everything, every moment in its right place. A person like Sho doesn’t set aside time to be lonely or needy. He fills his hours, always, never a minute wasted. So when he actually is lonely, when he needs Jun to help him ease that loneliness, when he aches for Jun with a quiet desperation, he simply allots the required amount of time and calls it anything but need.
-
When Sho goes through break-ups, it takes him a strange amount of time to talk about it, to admit that it’s hurting him to be alone again. He fills his hours for as long as he can until he burns out. He takes the hours that would have been spent with a girlfriend having meals, talking, having sex, and just rearranges the schedule. He has meals with his manager instead, talks with his family. He embraces his inner masochist by taking little trips with friends of his, a happily married couple who don’t mind a third wheel. He works. He fills the time until he can no longer lie to himself that he’s okay.
And that’s when he calls on Jun.
The first few times Jun voiced objections, not wanting to be used. Offended at the idea that he was nothing more than a rebound or a placeholder. But it’s more than that, it’s much more than that and always has been.
He’s not a placeholder.
He’s a constant.
When Sho’s system of time management fails him, Jun is still there. These days, provided that Jun himself is unattached, it lasts for a few weeks and then gently dissolves by silent, mutual agreement. Sho’s never asking for forever, something Jun doubts he could ever give. It just feels gratifying to be needed.
Relationships wax and wane, work is busy or even busier. Jun’s grown up now and merely has Sho’s number programmed into his phone, not carved into his heart. Few things are constant and stable in their lives. Arashi is Arashi, but the higher they rise, the harder it’ll be to cope when there’s a reversal. They’re getting older. Friends are marrying, starting families. But Jun is steady. Jun understands, has the same worries and fears. Jun gets it.
-
It’s just before Hawaii that Sho and his latest girlfriend break up. Jun learns this via Nino, as Sho is unlikely to come out and say so himself. Nino’s always been good at ferreting out the truth. The last several years Sho has been in and out of relationships, somehow managing to find women to date who are as busy, if not busier than he is. There’d been a lawyer for a while, and the latest was in banking, traveling the world to meet with clients. Neither of them in a position to criticize the other for being absent, lacking in commitment.
But still this break-up saddens Sho in a way that isn’t revealed for quite some time. Sho rearranges that part of his life successfully for several months, touring with a smile, taking kohai out for meals, third wheeling with his friends and doting on their young child so often that Aiba starts teasing that they ought to “pay him for being a nanny.”
It’s a third of the way into the new year before the cracks appear, and Sho starts reaching out in his indirect manner. “Matsujun,” comes a text message out of the blue, “want to play a game?”
Sho has always needed him more, but he still makes Jun work for it. But that’s just because Jun prefers it that way. Sho remembers the Jun who kept him up until 4:30 in the morning on the phone. Sho remembers the Jun who would eagerly grasp any scrap thrown his way. Sho probably doesn’t think of Jun as a satellite in his orbit any longer, but there’s still a pull. Jun has always liked a challenge. Sho can ease his loneliness without having to lay his soul bare and beg for it. He just has to tug that familiar tether.
“What kind of game?”
-
“Tokyo Station, 30 minute time limit” are the instructions he receives, and he’s not surprised by Sho’s method of reaching out this time. His new Arashi ni Shiyagare segment is all about attempting to blend into a crowd, to travel the country without being detected. It’s something Sho’s long excelled at, concealing himself.
It’s Jun’s mission, today on their shared day off, to find him. Sho’s given him no indication about what he’s wearing, if he’s in a disguise or stupidly walking around Tokyo Station in broad daylight with just a baseball cap. Jun feels a childlike giddiness when he slips into the massive building through the Yaesu central entrance. He wonders how long he can stay undetected himself.
A flurry of people, normal people with normal jobs, go through the ticket gates, hundreds in motion with destinations in mind. Would Sho go far enough to actually go through the gates himself? Would he do that, tapping his Suica card to stand on one of the platforms and wait for Jun to come find him? If Jun was the one running the game, he’d buy a shinkansen ticket and make Sho suffer the financial burden of finding him. But he has a feeling this is more about the pursuit than the hiding place.
He sends Sho a message, a simple “I’m here” and the reply tells him that the game is afoot.
“Your 30 minutes starts as soon as you read this.”
Jun grins, grateful to be hiding his excitement behind the face mask he’s wearing. He takes note of the time and gets moving. Deciding to abandon the entire center of the station, the shinkansen and JR tracks, he knows there’s still plenty of places Sho could be hiding. He knows Sakurai Sho up close and knows him just as well at a distance. How many years has he worked alongside him, watched him from across an arena? There’s no way Sho has thought deeply enough about concealing the way he walks, carries himself. Jun will know him easily.
He moves quickly, though not so quickly as to draw attention to himself. He circles around, the rush of footsteps making his heart pound. Sho’s here, Sho’s here, but where? As the minutes drain away, his nervousness builds and he shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans, his thumbs impatiently tapping against denim as he turns another corner without seeing any vaguely Sakurai-shaped people in his line of sight. Maybe he should have asked if there’s a penalty for not finding him within the time limit.
By his estimates, there’s about 45 seconds remaining on the clock when he’s bypassing a group of lockers near the Marunouchi north gate and sees someone standing at the end, leaning against them with a newspaper in his hands. Jun swears he’s come this way already, but he’s been naive to think that Sho was going to stand in place for half an hour and wait him out.
He gives the newspaper a tap. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, barely audible over the station noise. “But aren’t you Arashi’s Sakurai-san?”
Sho’s got on a Yankees cap and black glasses. There’s friendly mischief in his smile. “You’re late.”
Jun pulls his phone out, shows him the timestamp on their last messages. “I’m not.”
“Cutting it awfully close.” Sho looks just past his shoulder. If they don’t get moving soon, they’ll be caught. Sho slides the glasses down his nose, offers him a sly wink. “Thanks for your hard work today.”
-
Sho’s already gone ahead and made them reservations at a restaurant nearby, and because Jun found him in time, it seems Sho will pick up the check without complaint. The private room is almost too quiet after the rush of being in Tokyo Station, unencumbered and manager-less. The food is incredible though, and their companionable silence is interrupted here and there with the slurp of noodles and mumbled noises of appreciation for a good meal.
They’re on the dessert course when Jun tells Sho that he knows. “I was sorry to hear about Akiko-san.”
Sho’s so content from his massive midday meal that he doesn’t flinch, digging his spoon back into the jelly he’s scarfing down. Sho knows that Nino passes information along to keep everyone on the same page, to keep everyone from putting their foot in their mouth.
“My mother never liked her,” Sho admits freely a few moments later, tapping his spoon against his bottom lip.
“She’s always liked me.”
Sho just smiles gently, unable to meet Jun’s eyes. The subject of Akiko-san is closed.
-
It’s only 2:00 PM when they finish up at the restaurant, but Sho’s never been fond of fucking when the sun’s still out. Instead he follows Jun home to discover the mysteries of a Matsumoto Jun off day. It’s not very interesting, and he goes about his business as though Sho’s not a shiftless lump on his couch, hugging a pillow and watching some variety programs that Jun’s recorded.
He pays bills, does laundry, cleans the kitchen, tackles the bathroom. Sho only gets up to piss or liberate some whiskey from Jun’s liquor cabinet. It’s always strange seeing him this way, not actively using his brain, a zombie on his couch absorbing stale variety show patter.
“I could open some wine,” Jun offers.
“You’re so cultured, Matsujun,” Sho replies in a strange accent, and it makes him laugh.
He lets Sho nap on and off until around 8:00, turning on a lamp or two as he sits down next to the couch, wondering how long it’ll last this time. How long Sho will need him to keep his head above water. Sometimes he hopes it’ll be over quickly, if he’s on the verge of falling for someone new. Sometimes he hopes it’ll last decades, when his commitment to work pushes another wife-that-will-never-be out the door. Tonight Jun’s simply open to whatever Sho wants.
He strokes his fingers through Sho’s soft, messy hair, having stopped himself from leaning close and attempting to count Sho’s eyelashes. “Hey.”
Sho doesn’t even open his eyes. “Hey.”
It really only takes a kiss, but then again, Jun knows that nobody kisses Sho the way he does. His breath is a little sour from sleep and alcohol, but it’s worth it to feel him stir under his touch. To know the power he has to restore what’s broken in Sho.
It’s slow progress to the bedroom, as Sho gradually comes to terms with the fact that this is not a feverish dream, but reality and that he does in fact have to contribute his share. Sho’s hands are clumsy with Jun’s belt, with the zipper of his jeans, but Jun likes that, the way Sho’s nervousness manifests. It’s always a little awkward the first time, remembering the way they fit, how they best collide. In a few days Sho will be confident again, his fingers and lips having relearned the choreography by heart. In a few days Sho will trace Jun’s spine with his fingertips, gentle for just a short while before burying himself deep inside him.
Tonight Jun’s mostly responsible for the driving, hand at Sho’s nape and nipping at Sho’s mouth with his teeth. Waking him, giving him what he needs but can never ask for. You need me, you need me, you need me, Jun wordlessly reminds him. Soon Sho’s on his back, gasping. Jun’s pinning him to the mattress, hearing the bed creak from the weight of them both. He smiles.
You need me, Sho-kun?
Here I am.
-
He’s annoyed when the bedroom lamp’s switched on sometime after 1:00 in the morning. Sho with his cell phone, the glow of it forcing Jun to pull the blanket over his head. Sho’s planning for the near future.
Sho reaches over, the touch of his hand warm through the blanket as he attempts to ruffle Jun’s hair. As Jun grunts out responses, Sho pencils him into the slots he’s opened up. After filming here, a night together there. Never a minute wasted.
Eventually he puts the phone away, and the room descends back into silence. Sho’s mouth pressing quickly to his shoulder in the dark is a “thank you” without words.
Sho has always needed him more. And that’s fine.