je_prompts #01 nine
TITLE: Life Begins
FANDOM: Johnny's Entertainment
PAIRING: Koyama Keiichiro/Yuichi Nakamaru
WORD LENGTH: 1,167
SUMMARY: Their time on the Shounen Club is over but life really isn't so bad.
DISCLAIMER: Not real, not mine, don't sue, etc.
NOTES: A spur-of-the-moment thing to congratulate the two on five awesome years of hosting.
"I guess it's over then."
"Yeah." The silence that was usually so easy and light between them felt heavy and oppressive. Nakamaru cleared his voice. "So, do you want to go for a drink or something?"
Koyama leapt out of the chair and grabbed his jacket. "Yeah, let's go."
They took one last look at their shared green room where they had spent the past five years rehearsing jokes and testing each other on the names of the all the juniors that were to appear on the Shounen Club. The room seemed to deflate and the lights looked dimmer, as though the entire building was sagging a sigh at their departure. Then Nakamaru hefted his rucksack onto his shoulder, flipped off the switch and shut the door behind them. The noise echoed in his heart.
Barely out of the building, Koyama said, "I'm going to miss that gig. It was kind of cushy but fun."
Nakamaru grinned. "Remember that time in rehearsal where you accidentally called me mum?"
"And you -- you were such a professional and just carried on like nothing was wrong."
"--until after we finished the script--"
"--and couldn't stop laughing for about an hour."
Chuckling, Koyama climbed into Nakamaru's car where the passenger seat still had that familiar dent from the time they'd pulled over at the side of the road at three o'clock in the morning and kissed, drunk but happy, and Nakamaru's knees had crushed the springs inside the flimsy cushion. It was a shit car, really, but the interior was just large enough for the two of them and small enough so that it warmed up quickly on winter nights.
"I really thought the producer was going to fire us," said Nakamaru, sliding in and starting up the car. It rumbled under his hands, gurgling premium petrol contently. "It was the angriest I've ever seen him, and that's including the time Koki decided to punch Ueda in the face two minutes before we were due on stage."
"I totally don't get you guys."
"We used to be a pretty complicated bunch, I guess. Not like us." Nakamaru threw a quick glance in Koyama's direction then turned to focus his attention back onto the road. The collection of familiar shops and streets blurred by in a journey that went past faster than it had ever done. The night fell with a speed and grace that caught them by surprise.
"Yeah, no. We were pretty lucky that we got along from the start," replied Koyama, staring out the window. He lowered his voice until it was just above a whisper. "I was too grateful to be given the hosting position anyway to want to rock the boat. You helped, obviously."
Laughing, Nakamaru came off the highway and pulled into the quiet suburban streets. "You're not giving yourself enough credit, seriously. Anyway, it's not like we've ever had anything to argue about."
"True."
After a while, Nakamaru turned on the car radio to a station that played records from independent bands, where the DJ alternated between slurring and giggling, and introduced each track with "And this ... this one is brilliant..." Koyama hummed along to unfamiliar melodies and Nakamaru occasionally scattered in some beatboxing.
There were fewer and fewer cars on the streets. It was past dinner time.
They stopped in front of Nakamaru's house.
"Shit. I forgot. We were supposed to go for a drink."
Koyama shrugged and got out of the car anyway. "Not going to share your secret stash?"
"I haven't had a chance to replenish it since last time." Nakamaru clambered out and locked up the car fastidiously before making his way into the flat. It was tidy but most things were covered by a thin layer of dust. Only the dining room table showed signs of activity: university textbooks piled high in between mugs of tea, lecture pads with small, stiff handwriting splayed over chocolate wrappers and yesterday's takeaway dinner sat next to an open laptop. "There's enough though. Enough for tonight."
"It's all right," said Koyama, his arm circling around Nakamaru's waist as he followed him into the hallway. "I don't really want to get too drunk tonight anyway. We've got some magazine thing in the morning."
"Ten o'clock start?"
"As if. Nine."
Nakamaru sucked in a breath and shook his head. "Better get to bed early then."
"No, no," Koyama grinned and pulled Nakamaru onto the couch with him. He switched on the television to a lifestyle channel and they watched a travel journalist introduce exotic foods from Morocco. Nakamaru placed his head onto Koyama's shoulder, his hand resting lightly across the other man's stomach, fingers stroking absently through the fabric.
Some time during the explanation of regional variations of kefta, Nakamaru had heated up yesterday's dinner, made two cups of tea, found a can of beer behind his army of sauces in the refrigerator, sourced the half-empty bottle of whiskey left over from his birthday, and produced two bags of okonomiyaki-flavoured crisps, and was methodically polishing it all off while trying to remain curled up around Koyama. His legs were thrown over Koyama's lap, his forehead pressed up against Koyama's chin, and his hands offering food the entire while.
"The tea's a bit cold, sorry," said Nakamaru, squirming to go turn the kettle back on but Koyama placed his hands squarely around Nakamaru's hips and kissed him until he relaxed.
"It's fine, really," he said, turning down the volume on the television and climbing on top of Nakamaru, his legs sliding either side of him. He bent down to press another kiss on Nakamaru's soy-sauce flavoured lips. "I really don't mind."
***
At seven thirty in the morning, Nakamaru woke up in his bed with Koyama's hair tickling his cheek. The sun was already flitting through the blinds and the sounds of traffic were steadily building on the street outside. If he held his breath, he could almost hear the sound of footsteps hitting the pavement and the rustle of starchy business suits as people began their work lives. There was something rhythmically calming about the predictability.
He craned his head forward and whispered, "Hey, you have to go to work."
Koyama stirred, wriggled in protest, and retreated to the other end of the bed, coiling onto his side.
Nakamaru crawled over and draped himself over Koyama's shoulder. "Magazine thing, remember?"
"All too well," came the reply.
"Go sell some singles."
Koyama finally opened his eyes and glared at Nakamaru, attempting to feign annoyance but ruining it by smiling. "I'm the competition, you know."
Nakamaru laughed, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling -- so much for being a team against the juniors -- but as he looked at Koyama who was busy rubbing his eyes and yawning away exhaustion, it didn't feel much like a loss. Sort of the opposite, really.
"Well," he said, graciously leaning in for his first sloppy, distracted kiss of the day. "A bit of healthy fraternisation never hurt anyone."
-- end --
FANDOM: Johnny's Entertainment
PAIRING: Koyama Keiichiro/Yuichi Nakamaru
WORD LENGTH: 1,167
SUMMARY: Their time on the Shounen Club is over but life really isn't so bad.
DISCLAIMER: Not real, not mine, don't sue, etc.
NOTES: A spur-of-the-moment thing to congratulate the two on five awesome years of hosting.
"I guess it's over then."
"Yeah." The silence that was usually so easy and light between them felt heavy and oppressive. Nakamaru cleared his voice. "So, do you want to go for a drink or something?"
Koyama leapt out of the chair and grabbed his jacket. "Yeah, let's go."
They took one last look at their shared green room where they had spent the past five years rehearsing jokes and testing each other on the names of the all the juniors that were to appear on the Shounen Club. The room seemed to deflate and the lights looked dimmer, as though the entire building was sagging a sigh at their departure. Then Nakamaru hefted his rucksack onto his shoulder, flipped off the switch and shut the door behind them. The noise echoed in his heart.
Barely out of the building, Koyama said, "I'm going to miss that gig. It was kind of cushy but fun."
Nakamaru grinned. "Remember that time in rehearsal where you accidentally called me mum?"
"And you -- you were such a professional and just carried on like nothing was wrong."
"--until after we finished the script--"
"--and couldn't stop laughing for about an hour."
Chuckling, Koyama climbed into Nakamaru's car where the passenger seat still had that familiar dent from the time they'd pulled over at the side of the road at three o'clock in the morning and kissed, drunk but happy, and Nakamaru's knees had crushed the springs inside the flimsy cushion. It was a shit car, really, but the interior was just large enough for the two of them and small enough so that it warmed up quickly on winter nights.
"I really thought the producer was going to fire us," said Nakamaru, sliding in and starting up the car. It rumbled under his hands, gurgling premium petrol contently. "It was the angriest I've ever seen him, and that's including the time Koki decided to punch Ueda in the face two minutes before we were due on stage."
"I totally don't get you guys."
"We used to be a pretty complicated bunch, I guess. Not like us." Nakamaru threw a quick glance in Koyama's direction then turned to focus his attention back onto the road. The collection of familiar shops and streets blurred by in a journey that went past faster than it had ever done. The night fell with a speed and grace that caught them by surprise.
"Yeah, no. We were pretty lucky that we got along from the start," replied Koyama, staring out the window. He lowered his voice until it was just above a whisper. "I was too grateful to be given the hosting position anyway to want to rock the boat. You helped, obviously."
Laughing, Nakamaru came off the highway and pulled into the quiet suburban streets. "You're not giving yourself enough credit, seriously. Anyway, it's not like we've ever had anything to argue about."
"True."
After a while, Nakamaru turned on the car radio to a station that played records from independent bands, where the DJ alternated between slurring and giggling, and introduced each track with "And this ... this one is brilliant..." Koyama hummed along to unfamiliar melodies and Nakamaru occasionally scattered in some beatboxing.
There were fewer and fewer cars on the streets. It was past dinner time.
They stopped in front of Nakamaru's house.
"Shit. I forgot. We were supposed to go for a drink."
Koyama shrugged and got out of the car anyway. "Not going to share your secret stash?"
"I haven't had a chance to replenish it since last time." Nakamaru clambered out and locked up the car fastidiously before making his way into the flat. It was tidy but most things were covered by a thin layer of dust. Only the dining room table showed signs of activity: university textbooks piled high in between mugs of tea, lecture pads with small, stiff handwriting splayed over chocolate wrappers and yesterday's takeaway dinner sat next to an open laptop. "There's enough though. Enough for tonight."
"It's all right," said Koyama, his arm circling around Nakamaru's waist as he followed him into the hallway. "I don't really want to get too drunk tonight anyway. We've got some magazine thing in the morning."
"Ten o'clock start?"
"As if. Nine."
Nakamaru sucked in a breath and shook his head. "Better get to bed early then."
"No, no," Koyama grinned and pulled Nakamaru onto the couch with him. He switched on the television to a lifestyle channel and they watched a travel journalist introduce exotic foods from Morocco. Nakamaru placed his head onto Koyama's shoulder, his hand resting lightly across the other man's stomach, fingers stroking absently through the fabric.
Some time during the explanation of regional variations of kefta, Nakamaru had heated up yesterday's dinner, made two cups of tea, found a can of beer behind his army of sauces in the refrigerator, sourced the half-empty bottle of whiskey left over from his birthday, and produced two bags of okonomiyaki-flavoured crisps, and was methodically polishing it all off while trying to remain curled up around Koyama. His legs were thrown over Koyama's lap, his forehead pressed up against Koyama's chin, and his hands offering food the entire while.
"The tea's a bit cold, sorry," said Nakamaru, squirming to go turn the kettle back on but Koyama placed his hands squarely around Nakamaru's hips and kissed him until he relaxed.
"It's fine, really," he said, turning down the volume on the television and climbing on top of Nakamaru, his legs sliding either side of him. He bent down to press another kiss on Nakamaru's soy-sauce flavoured lips. "I really don't mind."
***
At seven thirty in the morning, Nakamaru woke up in his bed with Koyama's hair tickling his cheek. The sun was already flitting through the blinds and the sounds of traffic were steadily building on the street outside. If he held his breath, he could almost hear the sound of footsteps hitting the pavement and the rustle of starchy business suits as people began their work lives. There was something rhythmically calming about the predictability.
He craned his head forward and whispered, "Hey, you have to go to work."
Koyama stirred, wriggled in protest, and retreated to the other end of the bed, coiling onto his side.
Nakamaru crawled over and draped himself over Koyama's shoulder. "Magazine thing, remember?"
"All too well," came the reply.
"Go sell some singles."
Koyama finally opened his eyes and glared at Nakamaru, attempting to feign annoyance but ruining it by smiling. "I'm the competition, you know."
Nakamaru laughed, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling -- so much for being a team against the juniors -- but as he looked at Koyama who was busy rubbing his eyes and yawning away exhaustion, it didn't feel much like a loss. Sort of the opposite, really.
"Well," he said, graciously leaning in for his first sloppy, distracted kiss of the day. "A bit of healthy fraternisation never hurt anyone."
-- end --