Prompt 11: A Tour of Six - Team AU
Title: A Tour of Six
Rating: PG
Pairing: V6, faint Sakamoto/Nagano
Summary: Every passenger has a story
Prompt: Kinki Kids - Garasu no Shounen
Notes: Inspired by the story within the song wherein a man’s memories of his boyhood love is crushed when he sees his love with someone else at the rainy bus stop. That is, at least, how I think the translation goes.
The bus broke forty minutes outside of Tokyo just as they left the last of the city lights behind. The sudden stop was met with little more than a few grumbles; nobody was ever in much hurry heading from the city, not in the same manic, heads-down way business was conducted in Tokyo. Time slowed down beside the rice fields. The rain seemed to agree.
It never rained so hard in Tokyo, so much that the water ran up to their ankles and mud caked to their shoes. Okada could see it swirling around them in the moonlight and hugged his briefcase closer to his chest, shivering though surprisingly not feeling any cold. His shirt - beneath a jacket and sweater his last girlfriend had given him (“Take care of yourself, Junichi”) - was getting soaked through. Miyake pointed into the dark and squeaked, “Look, there’s a building.”
So they made a run for it.
Inside the abandoned train station, they wrung their clothes out and draped them over the backs of hard plastic chairs. It felt odd standing around in one’s undershirt with a group of strangers. After the last pickup, Inohara had made them introduce themselves. Sakamoto, still standing with two bags over his shoulder and a bowler’s hat half off, had said, “Sakamoto Masayuki. Nice to meet you,” concisely before sitting down.
He was standing closest to the windows now, rubbing his arms and grimacing, showing off entirely too much of his nostrils in the process. They were visible only as two dark spots on his face, only obvious because he was standing beneath the moonlight as if it carried a bit of warmth. The muscles on his back moved with each shiver, descending into a pair of long tiger boxers.
Okada tore his gaze away and ended up face to face with Inohara who was smiling like a loon. “Ah,” Inohara said. “I see you’ve recognized our celebrity.”
~
“Sakamoto Masahiro!” Miyake exclaimed. Okada jerked and almost stabbed himself with the flashlight. “I remember now. My mother was always talking about him. Sakamoto,” he said. His voice became even higher. “He’s such a good actor, that Masahiro.”
“It’s Masayuki,” Okada said.
Morita stifled a laugh. “Yeah, Ken. Get it right.”
“At least I know who he is.”
“Like knowing a small-time actor is so special.”
“He was an idol,” Miyake said. “Get it right.”
Okada sighed and continued down the hallway alone. When they’d boarded the bus at Ikebukuro, the two had been arguing about sneakers with the same warm, enthusiastic air of friends who had been engaged in the same unending, circular debate for years. Morita, it seemed, preferred gold sneakers with embroidery and writing. Miyake was convinced it was all the decorations that made Morita prone to tripping over thin air.
“We’re going to Osaka for the takoyaki,” Morita told them. “Then we decided, might as well sample the rest of the food between here and there.”
The hallway ended at a locked door that held tight despite Okada’s best efforts. He swept the light over it, trying to see if it was labeled switch room. They were in trouble if it was.
“Is it stuck?” Miyake asked, coming up behind him.
Further down the hall, Morita was saying, “He was in…Lion King, right? Or Cinderella? And there was that Footfree. Man, those things are ancient.”
“It’s Tarzan and Footloose,” Okada said, pocketing his light. “We should head back.”
~
In the end, Inohara found the switch but there was no electricity so they stayed in the dark. “Sorry,” Inohara said. A torrent of water fell from his hat when he took it off. “My fault. As your tour guide and bus driver, I take full responsibility. I’ll think of something soon, don’t worry.”
And then he grinned.
Sakamoto groaned and sat beneath the windows again. He had screamed when he’d found a spider, and was afraid, Okada knew from memory, of bugs, ghosts, and heights. The dark made all those scarier.
Nagano sat beside Sakamoto, a bemused smile on his face. (“I love food,” he’d said for his introduction. “We’re doing something of a food tour as well.”)
“Hey,” Morita hissed. “He never released any albums, right? That’s why I don’t know him.”
“He never did,” Okada said. “Then he just left. Nobody knows why.”
“Well, I would too. An idol who never gets to release anything? That’s not an idol at all.”
Okada was only half listening. He was studying Nagano, who looked kind and gentle and about the same age as Sakamoto, which meant that he was going to have to worry about those smile lines at the corner of his eyes soon. Okada wondered how they’d met.
(“We’re thinking of starting our own restaurant,” Nagano had said. “I didn’t want to say because it’s just a possibility, and there’s this fear that saying it won’t make it come true, but we’re going to Osaka to look at places. We’re going to be co-owners.”)
“I’d be pissed if I were a fan,” Morita said.
“More like shocked,” Okada murmured, standing up. “Excuse me.”
~
He brought his briefcase into the next room where Inohara was sitting with his head propped up on his hands. The manic smile was absent on his face.
Inohara looked up when Okada entered. “Sorry. Just clearing my head.”
“Did you contact the travel agency?”
Inohara shrugged. “The engine’s busted. Nobody’ll be able to get through in this weather. We just have to make do until morning.” He brightened and kicked the metal bucket by his feet. “I figure we can start a bonfire, camp out by it and tell some stories. It’ll be fun.”
“I can supply the kindle,” Okada said, working the lock on his briefcase. He scooped up the paper within it - hundreds of multicolored sheets, glossy magazines shots - and threw them into the bucket.
Inohara hesitated, picking up a headshot. He frowned and looked into the other room. “Are you sure?”
Sakamoto was pacing beneath the windows, stripes of shadows playing tricks with his face as he moved. Nagano reached out as they watched and stopped him with one hand, pulling him to sit down beside him. His hand remained wrapped around Sakamoto’s wrist.
Okada nodded. “It’s just a childhood fancy.”
~
“I’m Okada Junichi,” Okada said. “I carve wooden figurines. I am taking this bus tour to put some loose ends to rest.”
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Poll Team AU - A Tour of Six
Rating: PG
Pairing: V6, faint Sakamoto/Nagano
Summary: Every passenger has a story
Prompt: Kinki Kids - Garasu no Shounen
Notes: Inspired by the story within the song wherein a man’s memories of his boyhood love is crushed when he sees his love with someone else at the rainy bus stop. That is, at least, how I think the translation goes.
The bus broke forty minutes outside of Tokyo just as they left the last of the city lights behind. The sudden stop was met with little more than a few grumbles; nobody was ever in much hurry heading from the city, not in the same manic, heads-down way business was conducted in Tokyo. Time slowed down beside the rice fields. The rain seemed to agree.
It never rained so hard in Tokyo, so much that the water ran up to their ankles and mud caked to their shoes. Okada could see it swirling around them in the moonlight and hugged his briefcase closer to his chest, shivering though surprisingly not feeling any cold. His shirt - beneath a jacket and sweater his last girlfriend had given him (“Take care of yourself, Junichi”) - was getting soaked through. Miyake pointed into the dark and squeaked, “Look, there’s a building.”
So they made a run for it.
Inside the abandoned train station, they wrung their clothes out and draped them over the backs of hard plastic chairs. It felt odd standing around in one’s undershirt with a group of strangers. After the last pickup, Inohara had made them introduce themselves. Sakamoto, still standing with two bags over his shoulder and a bowler’s hat half off, had said, “Sakamoto Masayuki. Nice to meet you,” concisely before sitting down.
He was standing closest to the windows now, rubbing his arms and grimacing, showing off entirely too much of his nostrils in the process. They were visible only as two dark spots on his face, only obvious because he was standing beneath the moonlight as if it carried a bit of warmth. The muscles on his back moved with each shiver, descending into a pair of long tiger boxers.
Okada tore his gaze away and ended up face to face with Inohara who was smiling like a loon. “Ah,” Inohara said. “I see you’ve recognized our celebrity.”
~
“Sakamoto Masahiro!” Miyake exclaimed. Okada jerked and almost stabbed himself with the flashlight. “I remember now. My mother was always talking about him. Sakamoto,” he said. His voice became even higher. “He’s such a good actor, that Masahiro.”
“It’s Masayuki,” Okada said.
Morita stifled a laugh. “Yeah, Ken. Get it right.”
“At least I know who he is.”
“Like knowing a small-time actor is so special.”
“He was an idol,” Miyake said. “Get it right.”
Okada sighed and continued down the hallway alone. When they’d boarded the bus at Ikebukuro, the two had been arguing about sneakers with the same warm, enthusiastic air of friends who had been engaged in the same unending, circular debate for years. Morita, it seemed, preferred gold sneakers with embroidery and writing. Miyake was convinced it was all the decorations that made Morita prone to tripping over thin air.
“We’re going to Osaka for the takoyaki,” Morita told them. “Then we decided, might as well sample the rest of the food between here and there.”
The hallway ended at a locked door that held tight despite Okada’s best efforts. He swept the light over it, trying to see if it was labeled switch room. They were in trouble if it was.
“Is it stuck?” Miyake asked, coming up behind him.
Further down the hall, Morita was saying, “He was in…Lion King, right? Or Cinderella? And there was that Footfree. Man, those things are ancient.”
“It’s Tarzan and Footloose,” Okada said, pocketing his light. “We should head back.”
~
In the end, Inohara found the switch but there was no electricity so they stayed in the dark. “Sorry,” Inohara said. A torrent of water fell from his hat when he took it off. “My fault. As your tour guide and bus driver, I take full responsibility. I’ll think of something soon, don’t worry.”
And then he grinned.
Sakamoto groaned and sat beneath the windows again. He had screamed when he’d found a spider, and was afraid, Okada knew from memory, of bugs, ghosts, and heights. The dark made all those scarier.
Nagano sat beside Sakamoto, a bemused smile on his face. (“I love food,” he’d said for his introduction. “We’re doing something of a food tour as well.”)
“Hey,” Morita hissed. “He never released any albums, right? That’s why I don’t know him.”
“He never did,” Okada said. “Then he just left. Nobody knows why.”
“Well, I would too. An idol who never gets to release anything? That’s not an idol at all.”
Okada was only half listening. He was studying Nagano, who looked kind and gentle and about the same age as Sakamoto, which meant that he was going to have to worry about those smile lines at the corner of his eyes soon. Okada wondered how they’d met.
(“We’re thinking of starting our own restaurant,” Nagano had said. “I didn’t want to say because it’s just a possibility, and there’s this fear that saying it won’t make it come true, but we’re going to Osaka to look at places. We’re going to be co-owners.”)
“I’d be pissed if I were a fan,” Morita said.
“More like shocked,” Okada murmured, standing up. “Excuse me.”
~
He brought his briefcase into the next room where Inohara was sitting with his head propped up on his hands. The manic smile was absent on his face.
Inohara looked up when Okada entered. “Sorry. Just clearing my head.”
“Did you contact the travel agency?”
Inohara shrugged. “The engine’s busted. Nobody’ll be able to get through in this weather. We just have to make do until morning.” He brightened and kicked the metal bucket by his feet. “I figure we can start a bonfire, camp out by it and tell some stories. It’ll be fun.”
“I can supply the kindle,” Okada said, working the lock on his briefcase. He scooped up the paper within it - hundreds of multicolored sheets, glossy magazines shots - and threw them into the bucket.
Inohara hesitated, picking up a headshot. He frowned and looked into the other room. “Are you sure?”
Sakamoto was pacing beneath the windows, stripes of shadows playing tricks with his face as he moved. Nagano reached out as they watched and stopped him with one hand, pulling him to sit down beside him. His hand remained wrapped around Sakamoto’s wrist.
Okada nodded. “It’s just a childhood fancy.”
~
“I’m Okada Junichi,” Okada said. “I carve wooden figurines. I am taking this bus tour to put some loose ends to rest.”
Finished reading? Rate this fic!
Poll Team AU - A Tour of Six