Prompt 4: One day you’re in and the next you’re out - Team What-If
Title: One is Silver and the Other Gold
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: KoyaPi
Summary: It’s not that he doesn’t like the ramen shop. It’s just that he almost had something more, and it’s hard to go back.
Prompt: One day you’re in and the next, you’re out.
Warnings: Just some pretty mild language.
Notes: This fic was originally supposed to be about twice as long, but once I hit the 6,000 word mark, I decided it was time to do some cutting.
The room is completely silent save for the droning hum of the air conditioning unit and a soft whisper of voices from the hallway. The five of them sit stiffly in uncomfortable plastic chairs around a large conference table, afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. Nishikido scratches idly at a stray pen mark, trying to act calm despite the tense atmosphere. Tegoshi and Masuda are huddled at one end of the table, shoulders pressed together, but eyes blatantly refusing to meet. Shige’s face is pinched and pale with worry. Koyama stares at the three empty chairs and feels the lump that’s been settling in his throat for the past two weeks grow exponentially larger.
The door swings open and two unfamiliar men in grey suits (they probably work for the company) walk in, followed by their manager, and last of all Yamashita. He doesn’t seem able to look directly at any of them, and his eyes are rimmed with red.
Their manager guides Yamashita to a seat with a firm hand on the shoulder before sitting down beside him. One of the company men shuts the door as the other turns to the five downcast boys to speak.
“As you all know,” he begins, “Your group has been through several, what shall we call them, rough patches recently. Unfortunately, Uchi-kun had to be removed due to his own poor choices, and now Kusano-kun has gotten himself into a similar situation. You understand that this puts our agency into quite a difficult position.”
Here he pauses, as if to let all of them feel properly guilty for their band mates’ actions.
“We feel that it is necessary to take some kind of action. We must preserve the good name and standing of the company by any means necessary,” another pause, this time for dramatic effect, “Given the situation, Johnny-san has decided that it is best for NewS to be disbanded…permanently.”
Five pairs of equally shocked eyes shoot up. Five mouths release five simultaneous gasps. They’d been expecting something. They hadn’t been expecting this.
“Furthermore,” the man continues, as if he hasn’t just delivered devastating news, “Johnny-san has selected Yamashita-kun to begin a solo career. He feels that this is a solution which both the fans and the company can be content with.”
It’s like a sharp punch to the gut. Yamashita’s gaze drops even lower until all they can see is the crown of his head and the shake of his shoulders.
“Johnny-san has yet to decide what to do concerning the rest of you. He sees no reason why Nishikido-kun shouldn’t continue to participate with Kanjani8, but for now the remaining four members will be considered trainees again.”
At this point the man fixes them all with a look that may have meant to be pitying, but in reality is nothing more than condescending and apathetic.
“Should any of you wish to hand in resignations, Johnny-san will be sad to see you go, but he understands the difficulty of the situation into which you’ve been placed. That is all.”
And with that the two men in suits exit the room, leaving behind a handful of crushed dreams in their wake. Their (former) manager at least stops to spare them a sympathetic glance before he too leaves, ushering Yamashita out as well. Yamashita still refuses to look them in the eyes, though now they understand why.
Five awestruck boys gape at one another, trying desperately to process what’s just happened. It’s over.
“Keiichiro.”
It’s all over.
“Keiichiro! Wake up, honey.”
Koyama jolts awake. For a moment he’s disoriented, but then he realizes where he is. In his house, in his bed, with his mother standing in the doorway, smiling brightly at him as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.
“Are you okay?” She asks, “You were tossing around a lot. Must have been having a nightmare. Hurry up and get ready. I need you to help clean the tables before we open.”
Koyama clambers out of bed as his mother heads back down to the ramen shop below their apartment. His head is still fuzzy with sleep, but the dream plays over and over in his mind as he readies himself for work.
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Koyama whispers to himself while he searches for a matching pair of socks, “More like a memory.”
He pulls on his shoes and heads downstairs to his life of washing dishes and waiting tables and never getting to stand in the spotlight.
***
It’s not that Koyama doesn’t like the ramen shop, because he does. It’s his home. As far back as he can remember, his mother has been running the restaurant. As a young child he used to spend hours there, talking to the customers, trying not to spill the broth as a he carried big steaming bowls of noodles. His dream was to take over the shop when he grew up and make it the best ramen place in all of Tokyo (his mother used to pat him on the head and smile so proudly). So it’s not that he doesn’t like the ramen shop. It’s just that he almost had something more, and it’s hard to go back.
Koyama works several hours in the shop, helping his mother get everything set up and then serving the customers as they start to trickle in. During that time, he brings one rather unpleasant woman a new bowl of ramen because the first one was too salty (“well, you ordered salt ramen” Koyama mutters under his breath). Then a mother comes in with a cranky baby, and he has to listen to it wailing for a full fifteen minutes before she finally decides to leave. But towards the beginning of the lunch rush a little girl draws him a messy picture of a flower (“thank you for the yummy ramen, mister”) that he immediately hangs on the wall next to the register.
All in all, it’s a pretty good day. At least until a group of four high school girls (obviously skipping school) come in, giggling in squeaky, high-pitched voices and crowding around a magazine. Koyama can hear their conversation as he comes over to take their order.
“Isn’t he handsome?” one asks, jabbing her finger repeatedly at a particular page.
Koyama cranes his neck to see who their talking about and he instantly recognizes the face.
“He is!” another agrees, “I love his new song.”
“Me too! I can’t wait for his concert. I already have tickets.”
Koyama clears his throat loudly, and all four girls turn to look at him.
“Can I take your order?” he asks politely.
The first girl looks at him for a minute, as though she’s trying to figure out where she might have seen him before, but she just can’t place it. Finally she gives up, probably chalking it up to déjà vu.
“We’ll have four tonkatsu, please,” she says, then turns back to her friends, and they starting giggling excitedly again.
Koyama looks around the shop. There are only one or two other people still eating. The lunch rush has pretty much passed.
“Is it okay if I take a break now?” he asks his mom as he passes on the girls’ order, “I’m meeting Shige for lunch and I don’t want to be late.”
“Go ahead,” she says, “Tell Shige hi for me.”
He takes off his apron, grabs his wallet, and ducks out the front door. As he’s leaving, he catches one final snippet of the girl’s conversation.
“Yamapi is the best! He’s so cool!”
Sighing, Koyama turns left and slowly walks toward the bus stop.
***
Koyama and Shige always eat together on Thursdays. It works out well because Koyama can’t leave the shop until after the rush and Shige has a class at noon, so it’s easy for them to meet for a late lunch. Their usual place is a small yakiniku restaurant (Koyama blatantly refuses to eat at any ramen shop which his mother does not own) a few train stations down from Shige’s university. It’s a slightly longer bus ride for Koyama to get there, but he doesn’t really mind. Shige always has less time to spare anyway.
When Koyama hops off the bus in front of the restaurant, he can already see Shige seated at a table next to the front window. He has his nose stuffed deep in a heavy-looking textbook, completely oblivious to the outside world. Koyama deftly sneaks up to the window and raps his knuckles against the glass right next to Shige’s head. Shige jumps (it looks like he might have yelped too), and Koyama greets him by waving and laughing hysterically at the same time.
“You could have just come in and said hi like a normal person,” Shige huffs as Koyama sits down across from him.
“It’s nice to see you too Shige,” Koyama says, still grinning like mad, “Have you ordered already?”
“Yes. Hope pork is okay with you.”
It’s sort of a pointless sentiment. They order the same thing every week.
Once the food arrives, Koyama takes charge of grilling the meat and vegetables. It makes him feel useful, and honestly Shige’s hopeless at any kind of cooking that doesn’t involve fish. They chat while the food’s cooking; the same questions as every other week. How are your classes? Fine, how’s the shop? Fine, my mom says hi. Tell her I say hi as well. There’s something inherently comforting about routine and regularity, but there’s something undoubtedly boring about it too.
“Did you happen to watch Nishikido-kun’s new drama?” Koyama asks, cautiously because it’s not part of their usual conversation.
Shige’s face darkens almost imperceptibly, but Koyama catches it. It’s still a tense subject for them, even after four years.
“Didn’t catch it,” Shige replies, trying too hard to be casual as he scoops a piece of pork into his mouth, “Was it any good?”
Koyama nods (it was actually very good, but that’s to be expected from Nishikido-kun).
“I heard Tegoshi and Masuda are releasing something new,” Shige says slowly.
Koyama nods again, “Concert tour actually. We could go if you want?”
But Shige immediately shakes his head no. Koyama didn’t expect any different, but he always asks anyway. It’s hard for Shige still. Even though he loves university and studying law, it still hurts somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. Koyama knows, because it’s still hard for him too.
Koyama comes close to mentioning the group of girls from the shop, but he decides not to. That would definitely be crossing an invisible line. They don’t speak to or about Yamashita. Not for the past four years.
It’s Koyama’s week to pay, so of course he makes Shige pay anyway (“I forgot to put more cash in my wallet, Shiggy-chan”). They bid each other goodbye outside the front door. Shige walks back to the train station. He’s got a 3:30 class he can’t be late for. Koyama watches him go, and then he too turns and walks back. Back home. Back to the shop.
***
This is Koyama’s daily routine:
8:00: Wake up. Shower. Dress. Help open the shop.
10:00-1:00: Work.
1:00-2:00: Lunch (Unless it’s Thursday, in which case he gets Shige allowance time)
2:00-8:00: Work.
8:00-9:00: Evening run.
9:00-11:00: Work.
11:00: Get ready for bed. Sleep.
Friday through Wednesday, the evening run is Koyama’s favorite part of the day (Shige takes precedence over running, but only by a little). For that one hour every evening, he gets to be alone with his thoughts, away from the shop, away from annoying customers, away from his wonderful (but sometimes nagging) mother, away from everything. Just jogging through the side streets of Tokyo, dodging bikers and moms pushing strollers. Just Koyama.
He goes different places every night; tries never to run the same path twice. He likes to take random side streets and darkened cut throughs. On three separate occasions he’s gotten himself completely lost. For Koyama, the running isn’t really about exercise. It’s more like an escape. Like taking comfort in the knowledge that, even though Tokyo is still Tokyo, there’s always something new to see and somewhere new to go; that there can somehow be excitement in stillness.
***
It happens on a street corner in a small club district pretty far from the ramen shop. Koyama’s been running for about half an hour and now, yet again, he has absolutely no idea where he is. He keeps running anyway. One way or another he’ll find his way back home.
As he’s rounding the corner where a side street merges into a larger road, he bumps into something. Or someone as it turns out. All Koyama knows is that one second he’s feeling his heart pump in time with the faint sound of club music, and the next he’s sprawled out on the hard cement, palms stinging from the fall.
“I’m so sorry,” Koyama nearly shrieks as he scrambles up, frantically wiping off his shorts and extending a hand to the other man, “I wasn’t really paying attention where I was going. Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?”
“I’m fine,” the stranger says, ignoring Koyama’s hand and pushing himself up, “Don’t worry about it.”
Koyama freezes. That voice. He knows that voice. It’s deeper than he last remembers it, but there can’t be any mistaking.
The other man is dressed in a large jacket (it’s only October, too early for that), over-sized sunglasses that cover almost his entire face, and a black beanie pulled low over his brow. But now that Koyama’s looking, even that can’t mask his features: the pronounced jaw line, that small, rounded mouth.
“Yamashita-kun?” Koyama breathes, barely loud enough to hear.
Yamashita looks immediately panicked, glancing around as if expecting a horde of fans and paparazzi to burst out of the surrounding buildings. But no one heard. It was hardly a whisper anyway. Once he’s determined that there is no imminent danger, Yamashita turns back to Koyama, eyes moving behind the tinted glasses, trying to figure out who this person is.
“Oh,” Yamashita says after a moment, “Koyama-kun?”
Koyama nods.
“It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you,” Yamashita continues, cautiously slipping his sunglasses off, “It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”
Again Koyama nods. His brain can’t come up with any words. It feels so surreal, seeing Yamashita in person after so many years. His mind races desperately to catch up, to tell him what to do, because right now all he feels is shocked and numb.
“How are you?” Yamashita asks, because Koyama’s been gaping at him like a fish for nearly half a minute.
Koyama shakes his head a little, and the words start to come back, “Fine. I’m fine. And you?”
“Fair.”
“Oh.”
It’s awkward; incredibly so. Koyama can’t stop staring, and Yamashita looks like a deer, nervous and ready to bolt at even the slightest disturbance. Finally Koyama manages to string something substantial together.
“Congratulations on your newest song,” he says, flashing a half-forced smile, “I heard it did very well.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Yamashita replies with a slight bow, “What have you been doing? I haven’t heard anything about you lately.”
“Oh yeah, I’m not in the industry anymore,” Koyama says, pointedly not meeting the other’s gaze, “I’m just a normal guy now. I help run my mom’s ramen shop.”
“Oh,” is Yamashita’s response. He looks a strange combination of embarrassed, apologetic, and pitying. It makes Koyama feel sick to his stomach.
They stand there uncomfortably for another minute or so, not speaking, eyes refusing to meet. Finally, Koyama gets sick of it.
“Well, it was good to see you,” he says, stepping to the right and moving to pass by Yamashita’s side, “Take care.”
And with that he walks by, shoulder brushing ever so slightly against Yamashita’s. Just as he’s about to start jogging again, a voice rings out.
“Wait, Koyama-kun,” Yamashita calls, and Koyama drinks in the voice because he probably won’t hear it again for a long time, “Should we…umm…want to exchange numbers? We could meet up some time or something.”
Koyama stops, turns back around, and he knows he’s gaping like a fish again.
Ten minutes later, Koyama’s back to running, still no idea where he is. His feet make muted thumps as they pound against the concrete sidewalk. His cell phone rattles in his pocket, Yamashita’s number newly stored in the contact list, probably never to be used.
What a weird day, Koyama thinks.
He stops suddenly at a large intersection, looking for several seconds at the street sign and down both roads. He pulls out his cell phone and opens the phonebook. He scrolls down to the Y’s just to make sure it’s still there, that it wasn’t some passing daydream. Then he calls Shige. He needs to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to get home from here.
***
He’s been staring at his phone for at least the last three minutes. More specifically, he’s been staring at his contact list. More specifically still, he’s been staring at a particular name on his contact list. He pushes the up button and the name is highlighted: Koyama.
Yamapi still doesn’t know why he did it: why he asked for Koyama’s number or why he gave Koyama his in return. Was it out of guilt? Koyama looked so out of place there, hair unbleached, blending into the shadows of the buildings, talking about his mom’s ramen shop like he was always supposed to work there, like he hadn’t ever thought about being anywhere else. Even now, after four years, the memory of that day, of those five faces gawking at him, still twists Yamapi’s stomach into knots.
He pushes the down button. Exits the phone book. Opens it back up. Scrolls to the name again.
Maybe he did it because he misses him, misses all of them, misses the feeling of being part of a group. It’s the little things, the ones you take for granted, the constant background chatter in the dressing room, always having someone to borrow hair wax from, catching your breath when someone else is singing. It’s the little things you end up missing the most.
“Just suck it up and call him if you want to so bad.”
Yamapi’s head shoots up like he’s coming out of a trance and he glares pointedly at Jin from over the table.
“What the hell do you know,” Yamapi snaps back, closing his phone and shoving it in his pocket, hyper-aware of its weight against his thigh.
“All I know is you’ve been glued to your phone ever since you bumped into that guy last week,” Jin replies lazily, “I’m getting sick of you mooning over what’s-his-name instead of paying attention to me.”
“I’ll pay attention to you when you have something interesting to say,” Yamapi retorts, “And I have not been mooning over anyone, least of all Koyama. I just can’t decide if I should call him or not. I mean, I did sort of ruin his dream.”
“Not this again,” Jin sighs and rolls his eyes, “How many times do I have to say this? You didn’t ruin anyone’s dream. You have talent. Obviously they didn’t, or at least not enough for Johnny to keep them around. Get over it.”
“Just shut up Jin,” Yamapi says, something flashing in his eyes that lets Jin know he’s gone too far, “It’s more complicated than your tiny brain can comprehend.”
“Whatever,” Jin huffs and stands up to get another round of beers.
Yamapi looks down and notices that he’s pulled his phone out again without even realizing it. Deep down, he knows Jin and everyone else are right, that it wasn’t his fault, that he needs to move on, but he can’t help feeling responsible.
Impulsively, Yamapi opens a new message and plugs Koyama into the send to box.
To: Koyama
You remember Jin right? Well, I really hate him sometimes, he types.
Then he hits send before he has the chance to chicken out. Jin comes back with more beer, and Yamapi hastily shoves the phone back into his pocket. Jin shoots him a suspicious glance.
A couple minutes later, Yamapi can feel his phone vibrate against his leg. He pulls it out and flips it open: You have 1 new mail.
From:Koyama
Then why do you spend time with him?
Yamapi can feel Jin’s eyes watching him as he types out a response.
To:Koyama
I ask myself that same question every day. Send.
This time, the reply is almost immediate.
From: Koyama
XD
“What are you smiling about?” Jin asks as Yamapi tucks the phone away again.
“Nothing,” he replies, but he keeps grinning as he takes a huge swig from his beer.
***
That first mail catches Koyama completely off guard. Honestly, he’d almost completely forgotten about bumping into Yamashita that evening. He’d certainly never expected to actually hear from his former band mate. Exchanging numbers is just the polite thing to do, he’d told himself. Doesn’t mean he’ll ever call. If he’d wanted to talk, he would have called a long time ago, not waited until some chance meeting on the street. And with that bit of logic, Koyama had pushed Yamashita and his phone number to the back of his mind.
But then his phone buzzes one night while he’s ringing up a customer and when he checks he has a mail and it’s actually from Yamashita. It says so right there at the top of the screen: From: Yamashita-kun.
It’s weird, getting a mail from someone he hasn’t seen or spoken to in years, especially when the words make them sound like they’ve been friends for a long time. But somehow Koyama finds himself responding, playing along, acting the part of the close friend. It’s really, really weird, but fun too, and a little exciting, like that rush you get when you do something you know you’re not supposed to.
So the next afternoon, when a toddler spills a steaming hot bowl of noodles all over Koyama’s legs, he pulls out his phone and types off a quick message to Yamashita while he changes his pants.
To: Yamashita-kun
A kid just dumped Tonkatsu all over me...great now I smell like broth.
When he checks his phone over dinner, he’s only about half-shocked to find a reply.
From: Yamashita-kun
Poor Tonkatsu. :’(
Koyama can’t help laughing.
It continues on like that for several weeks. Every day or two Koyama will receive a mail from Yamashita or vice versa. They’re just little messages, complaining about work, funny things they read in a magazine, what the woman on the bus kept talking about. Just little, unimportant things, but Koyama finds himself really enjoying the conversation.
He thinks it’s hilarious how Yamashita feels the need to describe, in detail, almost every meal he eats. When a particularly annoying customer gets on his nerves, Yamashita is the first person he vents to. Koyama even goes online and actually listens to Yamashita’s newest song, just so he can offer a genuine opinion on it. It’s fun, this playing along like they’re actually friends.
Until one day Koyama catches himself right before he sends Yamashita a message about how sick he is of working every day in the ramen shop. Suddenly he realizes that maybe he’s not really playing along anymore. Maybe they actually are friends.
To: Yamashita-kun
Want to meet up for lunch tomorrow? I know a really good ramen place. >_<
Koyama waits anxiously for a response. After ten long minutes of nothing it starts to set in how ridiculous what he’s just done is. They haven’t spoken in years. They just happened to bump into each other on the street. They send each other a few mails. It’s not like they’re suddenly friends again.
His phone buzzes.
From: Yamashita-kun
Sorry. I’m busy tomorrow.
He tells himself not to feel bad, that he was stupid to get his hopes up, but Koyama still feels the disappointment course through his veins like ice.
His phone buzzes again.
From: Yamashita-kun
Can we do Wednesday instead?
Koyama sends back the fastest “yes” he’s ever typed. And even though he’s just meeting a friend (he thinks) for lunch, and even though he knows it will probably be weird and awkward, and even though he doesn’t even begin to know what to tell Shige, he still feels excited. More excited than he’s probably felt for the past four years.
It takes him another hour and a half before he’s finally able to fall asleep.
***
“You did what?!?!”
“Calm down, Ryo. I just had lunch with Koyama. It’s not the end of the world or anything.”
Ryo glares at Yamapi as though he doesn’t quite believe him about that last part. Ryo’s in Tokyo for drama filming so, in accordance with tradition, he and Yamapi are sharing lunch and catching up before he has to head back to Osaka. They’re eating at an outdoor café because the weather’s still pleasantly cool for late October, although Yamapi sort of wishes they were eating somewhere more private, especially considering Ryo’s rather obtrusive outburst.
Yamapi tries to ignore the passersby staring and pointing at him, and instead refocuses on Ryo, who’s looking at him like Yamapi just kicked his puppy.
“I didn’t even know you two still talked,” Ryo says with a slightly accusatory tone, “I haven’t heard from Koyama or Kato since…”
The sentence goes unfinished. They both know the rest.
Yamapi shrugs in reply.
“We haven’t really been talking, exactly,” He says, searching carefully for the right words, “It’s more like mailing. Yesterday was the first time we actually talked face to face. I don’t really know how it happened. One day we just…well, literally we bumped into each other. Things sort of went from there.”
Ryo nods, seems to accept this answer. Maybe he’s just used to Yamapi’s weird tendencies by now. It’s quiet for a few minutes, but Yamapi can tell Ryo has something more he wants to say, so he waits patiently for Ryo to piece it together in his mind.
“How is he?” Ryo finally asks, trying and miserably failing to feign indifference, “Like I said, I haven’t heard anything about him.”
“That’s because there hasn’t been anything to hear,” Yamapi explains, “He left the entertainment industry. Kato too, I think. Now he works in his mom’s ramen shop. You remember. He talked about it a lot.”
Ryo falls silent again. Yamapi suddenly notices how tired he looks. He’s thin, too thin, and he has dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in years (which he probably hasn’t). It must be exhausting, Yamapi thinks, to be constantly ferried between two cities: Osaka, where his band is, and Tokyo, where his work is. Forced to live in both worlds, but unable to be home in either. Yamapi realizes he can’t remember the last time he saw Ryo look relaxed, like he wasn’t bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“He seems happy though,” Yamapi continues, even though Ryo didn’t ask for more information, “Same old Koyama. You know how he is. You could lock him in a cell and he’d still be smiling and thanking you for the room.”
That has Ryo cracking a grin, a little one, but it’s definitely there.
“You’ll be here week after next right?” Yamapi asks, and continues when Ryo nods ‘yes’, “You should come eat with us. Like a reunion or something.”
For a second, Yamapi thinks he can see the old Ryo. For just the tiniest of moments Ryo looks energized and fresh and happy. But then it’s gone, so fast it could have been a trick of the light, and Ryo’s shaking his head.
“I don’t think so,” he sighs, “You do what you want, but I still think it’s weird. And awkward. Plus I already have a mother. I don’t need Koyama hopping around telling me I need to eat and sleep properly.”
Yamapi knows it’s an excuse, but he doesn’t push it. He can see the real reason in Ryo’s expression, the guilt. That same guilt he still feels sometimes. That they made it, but others (Koyama) didn’t.
***
“You did what?!?!”
The waitress glares at Shige from across the room, and he suddenly realizes his mistake, bowing sheepishly. But when he turns back to Koyama, his expression is stern.
“I knew something was up with you,” he hisses, “You’ve seemed distracted for the past few weeks. But I would never have guessed you were meeting up with Yamashita.”
“Actually yesterday was the first time we met,” Koyama explains, mood still unwaveringly bright, “We were mailing each other a lot before. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal, though.”
“Because…because…” Shige fumbles around for a reason, but eventually he just sighs and collapses against the back of his chair, “It’s just kind of weird. And totally out of the blue.”
“I know,” Koyama agrees, “I thought it was strange at first too. It’s nice though, getting back in touch with someone you haven’t seen in awhile. I thought it would be awkward, but actually he’s really cool. It’s easier to talk to him now than it was when we were in a band together.”
Shige doesn’t have a response to that, but Koyama can tell he still disapproves.
“Shige, don’t be so uptight,” Koyama groans, “We did used to be band mates remember? All three of us.”
Shige fixes Koyama with a look, “But that was a long time ago. We’re not band mates anymore. I hate to have to say this, but Yamashita’s different from us. He’s a big celebrity still. We’re just normal people.”
“So that means we can’t be friends?”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying,” Shige says, sharply, “I just think you should be careful.”
“You sound so dramatic, Shige,” Koyama replies, laughing because he doesn’t want to think seriously about what Shige’s trying to say, “It was just a little lunch between friends.”
“Don’t put all your hopes on Yamashita again, Koyama,” Shige pleads, and the way he says it, the gravity in his voice, stops Koyama’s laughter immediately, “You remember what happened last time.”
Koyama nods. He does.
“Thanks Shige,” he whispers, “But you really don’t have to worry. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
Shige doesn’t look convinced.
***
Despite their friends’ reactions, Yamapi and Koyama keep mailing each other, keep meeting up here and there, until it almost becomes routine. Sometimes it’s lunch, sometimes dinner. Yamapi even begins to make semi-regular appearances at the Koyama household for late night movies or video game marathons.
Koyama’s mother develops the embarrassing habit of baking desserts (cookies mostly plus the occasional cake) and sending them with her son whenever he goes to meet Yamapi. Koyama apologizes profusely for his mother, but Yamapi assures him that it’s fine. Koyamama’s cooking is absolutely delicious, so he definitely isn’t complaining.
The first time Koyama manages to convince Shige to join them for lunch is more than a little uncomfortable. It feels almost like bringing a girl home to meet his family and having his father silently evaluate her to determine whether or not she’s worthy enough for their son. Shige doesn’t say much beyond a brief greeting, instead fixing Yamapi with a stare that falls somewhere between challenging and hostile.
Finally, after fifteen minutes of awkward small talk, Yamapi brings up the subject of photography, saying that Koyama mentioned his interest once and asking about some of the specifics. Almost instantly Shige jumps into the conversation, explaining to Yamapi about the differences in lenses and exposure techniques. And even though Yamapi knows next to nothing about cameras, he’s sat through enough photo shoots to be able to keep his end of the discussion going.
By the end of the meal, all three are chatting back and forth easily, like they haven’t skipped out on four years of their relationship. Yamapi picks up the check (“don’t mean to be rude but I know I make more than you two”) and while he’s paying Shige shoots Koyama an approving look. It makes Koyama disproportionately happy.
In fact, the only worrying part of being friends with Yamapi is how much Koyama has come to depend on it. In early December, Yamapi flies to Hawaii for a week to shoot a commercial. Four days without hearing from him, and Koyama’s suddenly reminded of how lonely it is, working in the ramen shop all day without getting random messages or silly phone calls. He misses Yamapi, misses the low rumble of his voice and the way he tilts his head to the side when he’s confused.
For the first time in a month, Koyama goes on an evening run, trying desperately to get his mind away from Yamapi. He isn’t very successful.
***
During the second week of January, Yamapi releases his first new single in three and a half months. It’s as overly-synthed up dance track with incomprehensible English lyrics that get jammed in Yamapi’s mouth. First week sales turn out dismally low. Two programs end up cancelling his live performances. All in all, it’s not a good start to the new year.
From: Keii
Cheer up. It wasn’t….completely terrible. You’ll do better next time!
The message cheers Yamapi up, but only a little.
Jin decides the answer to Yamapi’s problem is to get outrageously drunk, so drunk he can’t think about how much his life sucks. And while this is Jin’s answer to pretty much everything, Yamapi’s willing to give it a shot.
They end up going to some club in Roppongi. The whole place is dark, and the bass from the speakers pounds across the floor and up through Yamapi’s feet.
“Have a beer,” Jin says, shoving a bottle into Yamapi’s hand.
He downs it in two long gulps, and almost immediately Jin’s passing him another one.
“Drink up man,” Jin insists, yelling to be heard over the loud music, “Tonight you need to get drunk off your ass.”
So Yamapi does. He loses track of how many beers he’s had somewhere around seven. He loses track of where the hell Jin is several beers after that. The club seems like it’s titling in circles around him. The music combined with the loud shouts and catcalls are starting to give him a headache.
He feels his phone shift in his pocket as someone brushes past him, and suddenly Yamapi needs to talk to Koyama, physically needs to hear the other man’s voice.
Before he’s really had time to process the idea (not that his brain is capable of much processing at the moment) Yamapi’s stumbling outside the club, slumping against a wall, and pulling out his cell phone. He presses 1 on the speed dial and holds his breath as the phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Hello?” a rough, scratchy voice filters through the line and into Yamapi’s ear.
“Kei?” Yamapi says, or maybe whines, “Kei, can you come here?”
“Yamapi?” Koyama asks, “What are you…”
“Please,” Yamapi interrupts, because any second he thinks he might start crying and that would just be embarrassing, “Please come. Kei, I need you.”
A pause.
“I’ll be there soon.”
***
Getting to where Yamapi is isn’t too difficult. Getting Yamapi into the car and back to his apartment is significantly more so.
When Koyama pulls up in front of the club, he sees Yamapi leaning against the outside wall, no sunglasses, no hat, eyes hazy and red.
“Yamapi, are you all right?” Koyama asks, because honestly he looks like shit.
“Kei?” Yamapi mumbles in reply, “S’that you?”
“God, how drunk are you?” Koyama groans, “C’mon. Let’s get you home before anyone sees you like this.”
Koyama grabs one of Yamapi’s arms and heaves him up off the wall. Yamapi leans all of his body weight against Koyama’s side, and they both almost go down before Koyama manages to steady himself. Koyama coaxes Yamapi into the passenger seat of the car (“But Kei, I wanna dance, let’s dance”) and somehow manages to buckle him in.
“We’re going to have to go to your apartment, Yamapi,” Koyama says as he climbs into the driver’s seat, “My mom will kill me if I bring you home like this. What’s your address?”
It takes three tries for Yamapi to properly give Koyama his address and describe where his apartment is. During the drive, Yamapi hums along with the radio and his hands keep finding their way to Koyama’s left knee.
Koyama parks in front of Yamapi’s apartment complex, then spends another ten minutes trying to drag Yamapi up the front stairs. They make it to the elevator in one piece. Yamapi lazily pushes the correct button and leans back against the metal wall, gazing at Koyama with a faraway look in his eye.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” he whispers.
The doors ding open before Koyama can say ‘you’re welcome.’
Yamapi walks unsupported to his front door (he sways a little bit, but Koyama thinks the alcohol must be wearing off). The lock is too much for him though, so Koyama opens it for him. He also helps Yamapi slip off his shoes and make his way through the first door on the right into the bedroom.
Yamapi collapses onto the bed, burying his head tightly under a pillow. Koyama decides it’s probably fine to let him stay in his clothes, or at least not worth the trouble of trying to get them off, so he leaves Yamapi in the bedroom and crosses the medium-sized apartment into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later with a glass of water and a couple of headache pills, laying them on the side table before turning to leave. He thinks he hears another muffled ‘thank you,’ but he can’t be sure.
The clock in the living room flashes 1:15am. It’s too late to drive all the way home, Koyama thinks. Plus he’s dead tired. Surely Yamapi won’t mind if he borrows the couch for the night, especially considering all the trouble he’s been through. Koyama doesn’t give it another thought, just falls boneless onto the couch. He’s asleep before his head even touches the cushion.
***
Koyama awakens to the soft murmur of the TV. He groans. It feels like it’s too soon to be getting up. He cracks one eye open, expecting bright light. Instead he sees only the faint glow of the screen illuminating another person sitting on the end of the couch next to his curled up feet.
“Pi?” he murmurs sleepily, “Why’r you wake?”
Yamapi turns to look at him, smiling faintly.
“Sorry I woke you up,” he whispers, “Go back to sleep.”
But Koyama can tell something’s wrong with the other man, so he stretches and sits up, turning to watch the TV too, waiting patiently for Yamapi to tell him what’s wrong.
“You’re lucky,” Yamapi says after a long while.
The words catch Koyama off guard. They aren’t what he was expecting.
“I’m lucky?”
“Yeah,” Yamapi says, smiling a bit but not looking at him, “You’re lucky. You don’t have to deal with this crap anymore. You don’t have to worry about what others think of you. You can just be you. Just Kei.”
Koyama gapes as Yamapi finally turns towards him. He isn’t surprised to see that the smile doesn’t reach Yamapi’s eyes.
“You’re lucky,” he says again.
Koyama can’t help but think Yamapi looks weirdly beautiful in the flickering glow of the TV. The lights move across the planes of his face, creating abstract shapes and shadows. Koyama can’t help but think Yamapi looks sort of ethereal, sort of like he doesn’t belong on Earth. He can’t help but think maybe Yamapi’s right. He is kind of lucky.
“You’re beautiful,” Koyama breathes, and he can’t take the words back so he does the next best thing, leans forward and kisses Yamapi square on the mouth.
Yamapi doesn’t pull away, so he does it again. And again. And again, until he’s sure Yamapi’s kissing back. Until he can feel a hand curled like a lifeline into the back of his t-shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Yamapi says against his lips, and for the life of him Koyama can’t figure out whether he’s sorry for waking him up or sending him that first mail or getting drunk or kissing him or leaving NewS behind to crumble like the pages of an old book. Any way it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.
“Apology accepted,” Koyama says, just to get Yamapi to shut up, and pulls him back in for another sound kiss.
***
The next morning, Yamapi is dragged into consciousness by the sound of talking in his kitchen. His head hurts from a hangover, his neck hurts from sleeping on the couch, and his back hurts from other, non-sleeping related activities, which also took place on the couch. Even though his whole body feels like it’s thrumming in pain, Yamapi can’t help but sigh contentedly. This is the best morning he’s had in a long time.
He hauls himself to his feet, stretching his aching muscles, and follows the sound of the voice into the kitchen. He sees Koyama talking into a phone, bare back facing the door, clad in what Yamapi immediately recognizes as a pair of his own boxers. It’s a nice sight, he thinks. One he could certainly get used to. He finally tunes in to Koyama’s phone conversation just as he’s about to hang up.
“Well, as you can clearly tell, I’m fine,” Koyama’s saying, gesticulating wildly with his free hand, “Don’t worry, mom. Yes. I’m at Yamapi’s place. I’ll be home later. Yes. Sorry for worrying you. Okay, bye.”
Koyama hangs up the phone, and Yamapi finally lets loose a loud snort of laughter. Koyama spins around, obviously surprised by Yamapi’s presence.
“Morning,” Koyama greets shyly, and Yamapi can tell he’s nervous and unsure.
“Hope you didn’t worry your mom too much,” Yamapi says, nodding at the cell phone as he crosses the room and stops a breath away from Koyama, “I don’t want her to stop making me those delicious cookies.”
“She’ll get over it,” Koyama grins, and that’s all he can say before Yamapi tilts his chin into a good morning kiss, the first of (hopefully) many more to come.
“Why did you send me that first mail?” Koyama asks later when they’re sprawled across the sofa again, TV playing some variety show that they aren’t paying attention to, “Really, why did you even ask for my number that night when we bumped into each other? We went so long without talking…”
It’s the question everyone, Jin, Ryo, Shige, has been asking Yamapi over and over again. It’s the question he’s been asking himself every day for the past three and a half months. He figures it’s probably about time he answered it. If anyone does, Koyama deserves to know.
“I guess…”Yamapi starts slowly, “I guess I missed it.”
“It?” Koyama repeats.
Yamapi’s fingers begin tugging through Koyama’s hair as he thinks of a way to explain it properly.
“Being part of something,” he finally says, “I missed belonging to something other than myself. When you’re by yourself, there’s no one to fall back on. No one to toss you a bottle of water, or sing your line when you forget the words. It’s just you.”
Koyama nods because he understands. Yamapi knew he would. When it comes right down to it, that’s the reason he’d asked for Koyama’s number that night on that dark street corner. He and Koyama are the same: two parts of a bigger circle that got ripped apart four years ago, just trying to keep moving forward, figuring they might be able to if they can only rejoin, melt and mesh back together.
“You know,” Koyama mumbles against Yamapi’s bare shoulder, lips skimming lightly across the skin until it feels like they’re a part of Yamapi’s own body, “It’s not just me. You’re pretty lucky too.”
Yamapi thinks he’s probably right on that one.
END
Poll Team What-If
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: KoyaPi
Summary: It’s not that he doesn’t like the ramen shop. It’s just that he almost had something more, and it’s hard to go back.
Prompt: One day you’re in and the next, you’re out.
Warnings: Just some pretty mild language.
Notes: This fic was originally supposed to be about twice as long, but once I hit the 6,000 word mark, I decided it was time to do some cutting.
The room is completely silent save for the droning hum of the air conditioning unit and a soft whisper of voices from the hallway. The five of them sit stiffly in uncomfortable plastic chairs around a large conference table, afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. Nishikido scratches idly at a stray pen mark, trying to act calm despite the tense atmosphere. Tegoshi and Masuda are huddled at one end of the table, shoulders pressed together, but eyes blatantly refusing to meet. Shige’s face is pinched and pale with worry. Koyama stares at the three empty chairs and feels the lump that’s been settling in his throat for the past two weeks grow exponentially larger.
The door swings open and two unfamiliar men in grey suits (they probably work for the company) walk in, followed by their manager, and last of all Yamashita. He doesn’t seem able to look directly at any of them, and his eyes are rimmed with red.
Their manager guides Yamashita to a seat with a firm hand on the shoulder before sitting down beside him. One of the company men shuts the door as the other turns to the five downcast boys to speak.
“As you all know,” he begins, “Your group has been through several, what shall we call them, rough patches recently. Unfortunately, Uchi-kun had to be removed due to his own poor choices, and now Kusano-kun has gotten himself into a similar situation. You understand that this puts our agency into quite a difficult position.”
Here he pauses, as if to let all of them feel properly guilty for their band mates’ actions.
“We feel that it is necessary to take some kind of action. We must preserve the good name and standing of the company by any means necessary,” another pause, this time for dramatic effect, “Given the situation, Johnny-san has decided that it is best for NewS to be disbanded…permanently.”
Five pairs of equally shocked eyes shoot up. Five mouths release five simultaneous gasps. They’d been expecting something. They hadn’t been expecting this.
“Furthermore,” the man continues, as if he hasn’t just delivered devastating news, “Johnny-san has selected Yamashita-kun to begin a solo career. He feels that this is a solution which both the fans and the company can be content with.”
It’s like a sharp punch to the gut. Yamashita’s gaze drops even lower until all they can see is the crown of his head and the shake of his shoulders.
“Johnny-san has yet to decide what to do concerning the rest of you. He sees no reason why Nishikido-kun shouldn’t continue to participate with Kanjani8, but for now the remaining four members will be considered trainees again.”
At this point the man fixes them all with a look that may have meant to be pitying, but in reality is nothing more than condescending and apathetic.
“Should any of you wish to hand in resignations, Johnny-san will be sad to see you go, but he understands the difficulty of the situation into which you’ve been placed. That is all.”
And with that the two men in suits exit the room, leaving behind a handful of crushed dreams in their wake. Their (former) manager at least stops to spare them a sympathetic glance before he too leaves, ushering Yamashita out as well. Yamashita still refuses to look them in the eyes, though now they understand why.
Five awestruck boys gape at one another, trying desperately to process what’s just happened. It’s over.
“Keiichiro.”
It’s all over.
“Keiichiro! Wake up, honey.”
Koyama jolts awake. For a moment he’s disoriented, but then he realizes where he is. In his house, in his bed, with his mother standing in the doorway, smiling brightly at him as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.
“Are you okay?” She asks, “You were tossing around a lot. Must have been having a nightmare. Hurry up and get ready. I need you to help clean the tables before we open.”
Koyama clambers out of bed as his mother heads back down to the ramen shop below their apartment. His head is still fuzzy with sleep, but the dream plays over and over in his mind as he readies himself for work.
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Koyama whispers to himself while he searches for a matching pair of socks, “More like a memory.”
He pulls on his shoes and heads downstairs to his life of washing dishes and waiting tables and never getting to stand in the spotlight.
***
It’s not that Koyama doesn’t like the ramen shop, because he does. It’s his home. As far back as he can remember, his mother has been running the restaurant. As a young child he used to spend hours there, talking to the customers, trying not to spill the broth as a he carried big steaming bowls of noodles. His dream was to take over the shop when he grew up and make it the best ramen place in all of Tokyo (his mother used to pat him on the head and smile so proudly). So it’s not that he doesn’t like the ramen shop. It’s just that he almost had something more, and it’s hard to go back.
Koyama works several hours in the shop, helping his mother get everything set up and then serving the customers as they start to trickle in. During that time, he brings one rather unpleasant woman a new bowl of ramen because the first one was too salty (“well, you ordered salt ramen” Koyama mutters under his breath). Then a mother comes in with a cranky baby, and he has to listen to it wailing for a full fifteen minutes before she finally decides to leave. But towards the beginning of the lunch rush a little girl draws him a messy picture of a flower (“thank you for the yummy ramen, mister”) that he immediately hangs on the wall next to the register.
All in all, it’s a pretty good day. At least until a group of four high school girls (obviously skipping school) come in, giggling in squeaky, high-pitched voices and crowding around a magazine. Koyama can hear their conversation as he comes over to take their order.
“Isn’t he handsome?” one asks, jabbing her finger repeatedly at a particular page.
Koyama cranes his neck to see who their talking about and he instantly recognizes the face.
“He is!” another agrees, “I love his new song.”
“Me too! I can’t wait for his concert. I already have tickets.”
Koyama clears his throat loudly, and all four girls turn to look at him.
“Can I take your order?” he asks politely.
The first girl looks at him for a minute, as though she’s trying to figure out where she might have seen him before, but she just can’t place it. Finally she gives up, probably chalking it up to déjà vu.
“We’ll have four tonkatsu, please,” she says, then turns back to her friends, and they starting giggling excitedly again.
Koyama looks around the shop. There are only one or two other people still eating. The lunch rush has pretty much passed.
“Is it okay if I take a break now?” he asks his mom as he passes on the girls’ order, “I’m meeting Shige for lunch and I don’t want to be late.”
“Go ahead,” she says, “Tell Shige hi for me.”
He takes off his apron, grabs his wallet, and ducks out the front door. As he’s leaving, he catches one final snippet of the girl’s conversation.
“Yamapi is the best! He’s so cool!”
Sighing, Koyama turns left and slowly walks toward the bus stop.
***
Koyama and Shige always eat together on Thursdays. It works out well because Koyama can’t leave the shop until after the rush and Shige has a class at noon, so it’s easy for them to meet for a late lunch. Their usual place is a small yakiniku restaurant (Koyama blatantly refuses to eat at any ramen shop which his mother does not own) a few train stations down from Shige’s university. It’s a slightly longer bus ride for Koyama to get there, but he doesn’t really mind. Shige always has less time to spare anyway.
When Koyama hops off the bus in front of the restaurant, he can already see Shige seated at a table next to the front window. He has his nose stuffed deep in a heavy-looking textbook, completely oblivious to the outside world. Koyama deftly sneaks up to the window and raps his knuckles against the glass right next to Shige’s head. Shige jumps (it looks like he might have yelped too), and Koyama greets him by waving and laughing hysterically at the same time.
“You could have just come in and said hi like a normal person,” Shige huffs as Koyama sits down across from him.
“It’s nice to see you too Shige,” Koyama says, still grinning like mad, “Have you ordered already?”
“Yes. Hope pork is okay with you.”
It’s sort of a pointless sentiment. They order the same thing every week.
Once the food arrives, Koyama takes charge of grilling the meat and vegetables. It makes him feel useful, and honestly Shige’s hopeless at any kind of cooking that doesn’t involve fish. They chat while the food’s cooking; the same questions as every other week. How are your classes? Fine, how’s the shop? Fine, my mom says hi. Tell her I say hi as well. There’s something inherently comforting about routine and regularity, but there’s something undoubtedly boring about it too.
“Did you happen to watch Nishikido-kun’s new drama?” Koyama asks, cautiously because it’s not part of their usual conversation.
Shige’s face darkens almost imperceptibly, but Koyama catches it. It’s still a tense subject for them, even after four years.
“Didn’t catch it,” Shige replies, trying too hard to be casual as he scoops a piece of pork into his mouth, “Was it any good?”
Koyama nods (it was actually very good, but that’s to be expected from Nishikido-kun).
“I heard Tegoshi and Masuda are releasing something new,” Shige says slowly.
Koyama nods again, “Concert tour actually. We could go if you want?”
But Shige immediately shakes his head no. Koyama didn’t expect any different, but he always asks anyway. It’s hard for Shige still. Even though he loves university and studying law, it still hurts somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. Koyama knows, because it’s still hard for him too.
Koyama comes close to mentioning the group of girls from the shop, but he decides not to. That would definitely be crossing an invisible line. They don’t speak to or about Yamashita. Not for the past four years.
It’s Koyama’s week to pay, so of course he makes Shige pay anyway (“I forgot to put more cash in my wallet, Shiggy-chan”). They bid each other goodbye outside the front door. Shige walks back to the train station. He’s got a 3:30 class he can’t be late for. Koyama watches him go, and then he too turns and walks back. Back home. Back to the shop.
***
This is Koyama’s daily routine:
8:00: Wake up. Shower. Dress. Help open the shop.
10:00-1:00: Work.
1:00-2:00: Lunch (Unless it’s Thursday, in which case he gets Shige allowance time)
2:00-8:00: Work.
8:00-9:00: Evening run.
9:00-11:00: Work.
11:00: Get ready for bed. Sleep.
Friday through Wednesday, the evening run is Koyama’s favorite part of the day (Shige takes precedence over running, but only by a little). For that one hour every evening, he gets to be alone with his thoughts, away from the shop, away from annoying customers, away from his wonderful (but sometimes nagging) mother, away from everything. Just jogging through the side streets of Tokyo, dodging bikers and moms pushing strollers. Just Koyama.
He goes different places every night; tries never to run the same path twice. He likes to take random side streets and darkened cut throughs. On three separate occasions he’s gotten himself completely lost. For Koyama, the running isn’t really about exercise. It’s more like an escape. Like taking comfort in the knowledge that, even though Tokyo is still Tokyo, there’s always something new to see and somewhere new to go; that there can somehow be excitement in stillness.
***
It happens on a street corner in a small club district pretty far from the ramen shop. Koyama’s been running for about half an hour and now, yet again, he has absolutely no idea where he is. He keeps running anyway. One way or another he’ll find his way back home.
As he’s rounding the corner where a side street merges into a larger road, he bumps into something. Or someone as it turns out. All Koyama knows is that one second he’s feeling his heart pump in time with the faint sound of club music, and the next he’s sprawled out on the hard cement, palms stinging from the fall.
“I’m so sorry,” Koyama nearly shrieks as he scrambles up, frantically wiping off his shorts and extending a hand to the other man, “I wasn’t really paying attention where I was going. Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?”
“I’m fine,” the stranger says, ignoring Koyama’s hand and pushing himself up, “Don’t worry about it.”
Koyama freezes. That voice. He knows that voice. It’s deeper than he last remembers it, but there can’t be any mistaking.
The other man is dressed in a large jacket (it’s only October, too early for that), over-sized sunglasses that cover almost his entire face, and a black beanie pulled low over his brow. But now that Koyama’s looking, even that can’t mask his features: the pronounced jaw line, that small, rounded mouth.
“Yamashita-kun?” Koyama breathes, barely loud enough to hear.
Yamashita looks immediately panicked, glancing around as if expecting a horde of fans and paparazzi to burst out of the surrounding buildings. But no one heard. It was hardly a whisper anyway. Once he’s determined that there is no imminent danger, Yamashita turns back to Koyama, eyes moving behind the tinted glasses, trying to figure out who this person is.
“Oh,” Yamashita says after a moment, “Koyama-kun?”
Koyama nods.
“It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you,” Yamashita continues, cautiously slipping his sunglasses off, “It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”
Again Koyama nods. His brain can’t come up with any words. It feels so surreal, seeing Yamashita in person after so many years. His mind races desperately to catch up, to tell him what to do, because right now all he feels is shocked and numb.
“How are you?” Yamashita asks, because Koyama’s been gaping at him like a fish for nearly half a minute.
Koyama shakes his head a little, and the words start to come back, “Fine. I’m fine. And you?”
“Fair.”
“Oh.”
It’s awkward; incredibly so. Koyama can’t stop staring, and Yamashita looks like a deer, nervous and ready to bolt at even the slightest disturbance. Finally Koyama manages to string something substantial together.
“Congratulations on your newest song,” he says, flashing a half-forced smile, “I heard it did very well.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Yamashita replies with a slight bow, “What have you been doing? I haven’t heard anything about you lately.”
“Oh yeah, I’m not in the industry anymore,” Koyama says, pointedly not meeting the other’s gaze, “I’m just a normal guy now. I help run my mom’s ramen shop.”
“Oh,” is Yamashita’s response. He looks a strange combination of embarrassed, apologetic, and pitying. It makes Koyama feel sick to his stomach.
They stand there uncomfortably for another minute or so, not speaking, eyes refusing to meet. Finally, Koyama gets sick of it.
“Well, it was good to see you,” he says, stepping to the right and moving to pass by Yamashita’s side, “Take care.”
And with that he walks by, shoulder brushing ever so slightly against Yamashita’s. Just as he’s about to start jogging again, a voice rings out.
“Wait, Koyama-kun,” Yamashita calls, and Koyama drinks in the voice because he probably won’t hear it again for a long time, “Should we…umm…want to exchange numbers? We could meet up some time or something.”
Koyama stops, turns back around, and he knows he’s gaping like a fish again.
Ten minutes later, Koyama’s back to running, still no idea where he is. His feet make muted thumps as they pound against the concrete sidewalk. His cell phone rattles in his pocket, Yamashita’s number newly stored in the contact list, probably never to be used.
What a weird day, Koyama thinks.
He stops suddenly at a large intersection, looking for several seconds at the street sign and down both roads. He pulls out his cell phone and opens the phonebook. He scrolls down to the Y’s just to make sure it’s still there, that it wasn’t some passing daydream. Then he calls Shige. He needs to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to get home from here.
***
He’s been staring at his phone for at least the last three minutes. More specifically, he’s been staring at his contact list. More specifically still, he’s been staring at a particular name on his contact list. He pushes the up button and the name is highlighted: Koyama.
Yamapi still doesn’t know why he did it: why he asked for Koyama’s number or why he gave Koyama his in return. Was it out of guilt? Koyama looked so out of place there, hair unbleached, blending into the shadows of the buildings, talking about his mom’s ramen shop like he was always supposed to work there, like he hadn’t ever thought about being anywhere else. Even now, after four years, the memory of that day, of those five faces gawking at him, still twists Yamapi’s stomach into knots.
He pushes the down button. Exits the phone book. Opens it back up. Scrolls to the name again.
Maybe he did it because he misses him, misses all of them, misses the feeling of being part of a group. It’s the little things, the ones you take for granted, the constant background chatter in the dressing room, always having someone to borrow hair wax from, catching your breath when someone else is singing. It’s the little things you end up missing the most.
“Just suck it up and call him if you want to so bad.”
Yamapi’s head shoots up like he’s coming out of a trance and he glares pointedly at Jin from over the table.
“What the hell do you know,” Yamapi snaps back, closing his phone and shoving it in his pocket, hyper-aware of its weight against his thigh.
“All I know is you’ve been glued to your phone ever since you bumped into that guy last week,” Jin replies lazily, “I’m getting sick of you mooning over what’s-his-name instead of paying attention to me.”
“I’ll pay attention to you when you have something interesting to say,” Yamapi retorts, “And I have not been mooning over anyone, least of all Koyama. I just can’t decide if I should call him or not. I mean, I did sort of ruin his dream.”
“Not this again,” Jin sighs and rolls his eyes, “How many times do I have to say this? You didn’t ruin anyone’s dream. You have talent. Obviously they didn’t, or at least not enough for Johnny to keep them around. Get over it.”
“Just shut up Jin,” Yamapi says, something flashing in his eyes that lets Jin know he’s gone too far, “It’s more complicated than your tiny brain can comprehend.”
“Whatever,” Jin huffs and stands up to get another round of beers.
Yamapi looks down and notices that he’s pulled his phone out again without even realizing it. Deep down, he knows Jin and everyone else are right, that it wasn’t his fault, that he needs to move on, but he can’t help feeling responsible.
Impulsively, Yamapi opens a new message and plugs Koyama into the send to box.
To: Koyama
You remember Jin right? Well, I really hate him sometimes, he types.
Then he hits send before he has the chance to chicken out. Jin comes back with more beer, and Yamapi hastily shoves the phone back into his pocket. Jin shoots him a suspicious glance.
A couple minutes later, Yamapi can feel his phone vibrate against his leg. He pulls it out and flips it open: You have 1 new mail.
From:Koyama
Then why do you spend time with him?
Yamapi can feel Jin’s eyes watching him as he types out a response.
To:Koyama
I ask myself that same question every day. Send.
This time, the reply is almost immediate.
From: Koyama
XD
“What are you smiling about?” Jin asks as Yamapi tucks the phone away again.
“Nothing,” he replies, but he keeps grinning as he takes a huge swig from his beer.
***
That first mail catches Koyama completely off guard. Honestly, he’d almost completely forgotten about bumping into Yamashita that evening. He’d certainly never expected to actually hear from his former band mate. Exchanging numbers is just the polite thing to do, he’d told himself. Doesn’t mean he’ll ever call. If he’d wanted to talk, he would have called a long time ago, not waited until some chance meeting on the street. And with that bit of logic, Koyama had pushed Yamashita and his phone number to the back of his mind.
But then his phone buzzes one night while he’s ringing up a customer and when he checks he has a mail and it’s actually from Yamashita. It says so right there at the top of the screen: From: Yamashita-kun.
It’s weird, getting a mail from someone he hasn’t seen or spoken to in years, especially when the words make them sound like they’ve been friends for a long time. But somehow Koyama finds himself responding, playing along, acting the part of the close friend. It’s really, really weird, but fun too, and a little exciting, like that rush you get when you do something you know you’re not supposed to.
So the next afternoon, when a toddler spills a steaming hot bowl of noodles all over Koyama’s legs, he pulls out his phone and types off a quick message to Yamashita while he changes his pants.
To: Yamashita-kun
A kid just dumped Tonkatsu all over me...great now I smell like broth.
When he checks his phone over dinner, he’s only about half-shocked to find a reply.
From: Yamashita-kun
Poor Tonkatsu. :’(
Koyama can’t help laughing.
It continues on like that for several weeks. Every day or two Koyama will receive a mail from Yamashita or vice versa. They’re just little messages, complaining about work, funny things they read in a magazine, what the woman on the bus kept talking about. Just little, unimportant things, but Koyama finds himself really enjoying the conversation.
He thinks it’s hilarious how Yamashita feels the need to describe, in detail, almost every meal he eats. When a particularly annoying customer gets on his nerves, Yamashita is the first person he vents to. Koyama even goes online and actually listens to Yamashita’s newest song, just so he can offer a genuine opinion on it. It’s fun, this playing along like they’re actually friends.
Until one day Koyama catches himself right before he sends Yamashita a message about how sick he is of working every day in the ramen shop. Suddenly he realizes that maybe he’s not really playing along anymore. Maybe they actually are friends.
To: Yamashita-kun
Want to meet up for lunch tomorrow? I know a really good ramen place. >_<
Koyama waits anxiously for a response. After ten long minutes of nothing it starts to set in how ridiculous what he’s just done is. They haven’t spoken in years. They just happened to bump into each other on the street. They send each other a few mails. It’s not like they’re suddenly friends again.
His phone buzzes.
From: Yamashita-kun
Sorry. I’m busy tomorrow.
He tells himself not to feel bad, that he was stupid to get his hopes up, but Koyama still feels the disappointment course through his veins like ice.
His phone buzzes again.
From: Yamashita-kun
Can we do Wednesday instead?
Koyama sends back the fastest “yes” he’s ever typed. And even though he’s just meeting a friend (he thinks) for lunch, and even though he knows it will probably be weird and awkward, and even though he doesn’t even begin to know what to tell Shige, he still feels excited. More excited than he’s probably felt for the past four years.
It takes him another hour and a half before he’s finally able to fall asleep.
***
“You did what?!?!”
“Calm down, Ryo. I just had lunch with Koyama. It’s not the end of the world or anything.”
Ryo glares at Yamapi as though he doesn’t quite believe him about that last part. Ryo’s in Tokyo for drama filming so, in accordance with tradition, he and Yamapi are sharing lunch and catching up before he has to head back to Osaka. They’re eating at an outdoor café because the weather’s still pleasantly cool for late October, although Yamapi sort of wishes they were eating somewhere more private, especially considering Ryo’s rather obtrusive outburst.
Yamapi tries to ignore the passersby staring and pointing at him, and instead refocuses on Ryo, who’s looking at him like Yamapi just kicked his puppy.
“I didn’t even know you two still talked,” Ryo says with a slightly accusatory tone, “I haven’t heard from Koyama or Kato since…”
The sentence goes unfinished. They both know the rest.
Yamapi shrugs in reply.
“We haven’t really been talking, exactly,” He says, searching carefully for the right words, “It’s more like mailing. Yesterday was the first time we actually talked face to face. I don’t really know how it happened. One day we just…well, literally we bumped into each other. Things sort of went from there.”
Ryo nods, seems to accept this answer. Maybe he’s just used to Yamapi’s weird tendencies by now. It’s quiet for a few minutes, but Yamapi can tell Ryo has something more he wants to say, so he waits patiently for Ryo to piece it together in his mind.
“How is he?” Ryo finally asks, trying and miserably failing to feign indifference, “Like I said, I haven’t heard anything about him.”
“That’s because there hasn’t been anything to hear,” Yamapi explains, “He left the entertainment industry. Kato too, I think. Now he works in his mom’s ramen shop. You remember. He talked about it a lot.”
Ryo falls silent again. Yamapi suddenly notices how tired he looks. He’s thin, too thin, and he has dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in years (which he probably hasn’t). It must be exhausting, Yamapi thinks, to be constantly ferried between two cities: Osaka, where his band is, and Tokyo, where his work is. Forced to live in both worlds, but unable to be home in either. Yamapi realizes he can’t remember the last time he saw Ryo look relaxed, like he wasn’t bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“He seems happy though,” Yamapi continues, even though Ryo didn’t ask for more information, “Same old Koyama. You know how he is. You could lock him in a cell and he’d still be smiling and thanking you for the room.”
That has Ryo cracking a grin, a little one, but it’s definitely there.
“You’ll be here week after next right?” Yamapi asks, and continues when Ryo nods ‘yes’, “You should come eat with us. Like a reunion or something.”
For a second, Yamapi thinks he can see the old Ryo. For just the tiniest of moments Ryo looks energized and fresh and happy. But then it’s gone, so fast it could have been a trick of the light, and Ryo’s shaking his head.
“I don’t think so,” he sighs, “You do what you want, but I still think it’s weird. And awkward. Plus I already have a mother. I don’t need Koyama hopping around telling me I need to eat and sleep properly.”
Yamapi knows it’s an excuse, but he doesn’t push it. He can see the real reason in Ryo’s expression, the guilt. That same guilt he still feels sometimes. That they made it, but others (Koyama) didn’t.
***
“You did what?!?!”
The waitress glares at Shige from across the room, and he suddenly realizes his mistake, bowing sheepishly. But when he turns back to Koyama, his expression is stern.
“I knew something was up with you,” he hisses, “You’ve seemed distracted for the past few weeks. But I would never have guessed you were meeting up with Yamashita.”
“Actually yesterday was the first time we met,” Koyama explains, mood still unwaveringly bright, “We were mailing each other a lot before. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal, though.”
“Because…because…” Shige fumbles around for a reason, but eventually he just sighs and collapses against the back of his chair, “It’s just kind of weird. And totally out of the blue.”
“I know,” Koyama agrees, “I thought it was strange at first too. It’s nice though, getting back in touch with someone you haven’t seen in awhile. I thought it would be awkward, but actually he’s really cool. It’s easier to talk to him now than it was when we were in a band together.”
Shige doesn’t have a response to that, but Koyama can tell he still disapproves.
“Shige, don’t be so uptight,” Koyama groans, “We did used to be band mates remember? All three of us.”
Shige fixes Koyama with a look, “But that was a long time ago. We’re not band mates anymore. I hate to have to say this, but Yamashita’s different from us. He’s a big celebrity still. We’re just normal people.”
“So that means we can’t be friends?”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying,” Shige says, sharply, “I just think you should be careful.”
“You sound so dramatic, Shige,” Koyama replies, laughing because he doesn’t want to think seriously about what Shige’s trying to say, “It was just a little lunch between friends.”
“Don’t put all your hopes on Yamashita again, Koyama,” Shige pleads, and the way he says it, the gravity in his voice, stops Koyama’s laughter immediately, “You remember what happened last time.”
Koyama nods. He does.
“Thanks Shige,” he whispers, “But you really don’t have to worry. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
Shige doesn’t look convinced.
***
Despite their friends’ reactions, Yamapi and Koyama keep mailing each other, keep meeting up here and there, until it almost becomes routine. Sometimes it’s lunch, sometimes dinner. Yamapi even begins to make semi-regular appearances at the Koyama household for late night movies or video game marathons.
Koyama’s mother develops the embarrassing habit of baking desserts (cookies mostly plus the occasional cake) and sending them with her son whenever he goes to meet Yamapi. Koyama apologizes profusely for his mother, but Yamapi assures him that it’s fine. Koyamama’s cooking is absolutely delicious, so he definitely isn’t complaining.
The first time Koyama manages to convince Shige to join them for lunch is more than a little uncomfortable. It feels almost like bringing a girl home to meet his family and having his father silently evaluate her to determine whether or not she’s worthy enough for their son. Shige doesn’t say much beyond a brief greeting, instead fixing Yamapi with a stare that falls somewhere between challenging and hostile.
Finally, after fifteen minutes of awkward small talk, Yamapi brings up the subject of photography, saying that Koyama mentioned his interest once and asking about some of the specifics. Almost instantly Shige jumps into the conversation, explaining to Yamapi about the differences in lenses and exposure techniques. And even though Yamapi knows next to nothing about cameras, he’s sat through enough photo shoots to be able to keep his end of the discussion going.
By the end of the meal, all three are chatting back and forth easily, like they haven’t skipped out on four years of their relationship. Yamapi picks up the check (“don’t mean to be rude but I know I make more than you two”) and while he’s paying Shige shoots Koyama an approving look. It makes Koyama disproportionately happy.
In fact, the only worrying part of being friends with Yamapi is how much Koyama has come to depend on it. In early December, Yamapi flies to Hawaii for a week to shoot a commercial. Four days without hearing from him, and Koyama’s suddenly reminded of how lonely it is, working in the ramen shop all day without getting random messages or silly phone calls. He misses Yamapi, misses the low rumble of his voice and the way he tilts his head to the side when he’s confused.
For the first time in a month, Koyama goes on an evening run, trying desperately to get his mind away from Yamapi. He isn’t very successful.
***
During the second week of January, Yamapi releases his first new single in three and a half months. It’s as overly-synthed up dance track with incomprehensible English lyrics that get jammed in Yamapi’s mouth. First week sales turn out dismally low. Two programs end up cancelling his live performances. All in all, it’s not a good start to the new year.
From: Keii
Cheer up. It wasn’t….completely terrible. You’ll do better next time!
The message cheers Yamapi up, but only a little.
Jin decides the answer to Yamapi’s problem is to get outrageously drunk, so drunk he can’t think about how much his life sucks. And while this is Jin’s answer to pretty much everything, Yamapi’s willing to give it a shot.
They end up going to some club in Roppongi. The whole place is dark, and the bass from the speakers pounds across the floor and up through Yamapi’s feet.
“Have a beer,” Jin says, shoving a bottle into Yamapi’s hand.
He downs it in two long gulps, and almost immediately Jin’s passing him another one.
“Drink up man,” Jin insists, yelling to be heard over the loud music, “Tonight you need to get drunk off your ass.”
So Yamapi does. He loses track of how many beers he’s had somewhere around seven. He loses track of where the hell Jin is several beers after that. The club seems like it’s titling in circles around him. The music combined with the loud shouts and catcalls are starting to give him a headache.
He feels his phone shift in his pocket as someone brushes past him, and suddenly Yamapi needs to talk to Koyama, physically needs to hear the other man’s voice.
Before he’s really had time to process the idea (not that his brain is capable of much processing at the moment) Yamapi’s stumbling outside the club, slumping against a wall, and pulling out his cell phone. He presses 1 on the speed dial and holds his breath as the phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Hello?” a rough, scratchy voice filters through the line and into Yamapi’s ear.
“Kei?” Yamapi says, or maybe whines, “Kei, can you come here?”
“Yamapi?” Koyama asks, “What are you…”
“Please,” Yamapi interrupts, because any second he thinks he might start crying and that would just be embarrassing, “Please come. Kei, I need you.”
A pause.
“I’ll be there soon.”
***
Getting to where Yamapi is isn’t too difficult. Getting Yamapi into the car and back to his apartment is significantly more so.
When Koyama pulls up in front of the club, he sees Yamapi leaning against the outside wall, no sunglasses, no hat, eyes hazy and red.
“Yamapi, are you all right?” Koyama asks, because honestly he looks like shit.
“Kei?” Yamapi mumbles in reply, “S’that you?”
“God, how drunk are you?” Koyama groans, “C’mon. Let’s get you home before anyone sees you like this.”
Koyama grabs one of Yamapi’s arms and heaves him up off the wall. Yamapi leans all of his body weight against Koyama’s side, and they both almost go down before Koyama manages to steady himself. Koyama coaxes Yamapi into the passenger seat of the car (“But Kei, I wanna dance, let’s dance”) and somehow manages to buckle him in.
“We’re going to have to go to your apartment, Yamapi,” Koyama says as he climbs into the driver’s seat, “My mom will kill me if I bring you home like this. What’s your address?”
It takes three tries for Yamapi to properly give Koyama his address and describe where his apartment is. During the drive, Yamapi hums along with the radio and his hands keep finding their way to Koyama’s left knee.
Koyama parks in front of Yamapi’s apartment complex, then spends another ten minutes trying to drag Yamapi up the front stairs. They make it to the elevator in one piece. Yamapi lazily pushes the correct button and leans back against the metal wall, gazing at Koyama with a faraway look in his eye.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” he whispers.
The doors ding open before Koyama can say ‘you’re welcome.’
Yamapi walks unsupported to his front door (he sways a little bit, but Koyama thinks the alcohol must be wearing off). The lock is too much for him though, so Koyama opens it for him. He also helps Yamapi slip off his shoes and make his way through the first door on the right into the bedroom.
Yamapi collapses onto the bed, burying his head tightly under a pillow. Koyama decides it’s probably fine to let him stay in his clothes, or at least not worth the trouble of trying to get them off, so he leaves Yamapi in the bedroom and crosses the medium-sized apartment into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later with a glass of water and a couple of headache pills, laying them on the side table before turning to leave. He thinks he hears another muffled ‘thank you,’ but he can’t be sure.
The clock in the living room flashes 1:15am. It’s too late to drive all the way home, Koyama thinks. Plus he’s dead tired. Surely Yamapi won’t mind if he borrows the couch for the night, especially considering all the trouble he’s been through. Koyama doesn’t give it another thought, just falls boneless onto the couch. He’s asleep before his head even touches the cushion.
***
Koyama awakens to the soft murmur of the TV. He groans. It feels like it’s too soon to be getting up. He cracks one eye open, expecting bright light. Instead he sees only the faint glow of the screen illuminating another person sitting on the end of the couch next to his curled up feet.
“Pi?” he murmurs sleepily, “Why’r you wake?”
Yamapi turns to look at him, smiling faintly.
“Sorry I woke you up,” he whispers, “Go back to sleep.”
But Koyama can tell something’s wrong with the other man, so he stretches and sits up, turning to watch the TV too, waiting patiently for Yamapi to tell him what’s wrong.
“You’re lucky,” Yamapi says after a long while.
The words catch Koyama off guard. They aren’t what he was expecting.
“I’m lucky?”
“Yeah,” Yamapi says, smiling a bit but not looking at him, “You’re lucky. You don’t have to deal with this crap anymore. You don’t have to worry about what others think of you. You can just be you. Just Kei.”
Koyama gapes as Yamapi finally turns towards him. He isn’t surprised to see that the smile doesn’t reach Yamapi’s eyes.
“You’re lucky,” he says again.
Koyama can’t help but think Yamapi looks weirdly beautiful in the flickering glow of the TV. The lights move across the planes of his face, creating abstract shapes and shadows. Koyama can’t help but think Yamapi looks sort of ethereal, sort of like he doesn’t belong on Earth. He can’t help but think maybe Yamapi’s right. He is kind of lucky.
“You’re beautiful,” Koyama breathes, and he can’t take the words back so he does the next best thing, leans forward and kisses Yamapi square on the mouth.
Yamapi doesn’t pull away, so he does it again. And again. And again, until he’s sure Yamapi’s kissing back. Until he can feel a hand curled like a lifeline into the back of his t-shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Yamapi says against his lips, and for the life of him Koyama can’t figure out whether he’s sorry for waking him up or sending him that first mail or getting drunk or kissing him or leaving NewS behind to crumble like the pages of an old book. Any way it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.
“Apology accepted,” Koyama says, just to get Yamapi to shut up, and pulls him back in for another sound kiss.
***
The next morning, Yamapi is dragged into consciousness by the sound of talking in his kitchen. His head hurts from a hangover, his neck hurts from sleeping on the couch, and his back hurts from other, non-sleeping related activities, which also took place on the couch. Even though his whole body feels like it’s thrumming in pain, Yamapi can’t help but sigh contentedly. This is the best morning he’s had in a long time.
He hauls himself to his feet, stretching his aching muscles, and follows the sound of the voice into the kitchen. He sees Koyama talking into a phone, bare back facing the door, clad in what Yamapi immediately recognizes as a pair of his own boxers. It’s a nice sight, he thinks. One he could certainly get used to. He finally tunes in to Koyama’s phone conversation just as he’s about to hang up.
“Well, as you can clearly tell, I’m fine,” Koyama’s saying, gesticulating wildly with his free hand, “Don’t worry, mom. Yes. I’m at Yamapi’s place. I’ll be home later. Yes. Sorry for worrying you. Okay, bye.”
Koyama hangs up the phone, and Yamapi finally lets loose a loud snort of laughter. Koyama spins around, obviously surprised by Yamapi’s presence.
“Morning,” Koyama greets shyly, and Yamapi can tell he’s nervous and unsure.
“Hope you didn’t worry your mom too much,” Yamapi says, nodding at the cell phone as he crosses the room and stops a breath away from Koyama, “I don’t want her to stop making me those delicious cookies.”
“She’ll get over it,” Koyama grins, and that’s all he can say before Yamapi tilts his chin into a good morning kiss, the first of (hopefully) many more to come.
“Why did you send me that first mail?” Koyama asks later when they’re sprawled across the sofa again, TV playing some variety show that they aren’t paying attention to, “Really, why did you even ask for my number that night when we bumped into each other? We went so long without talking…”
It’s the question everyone, Jin, Ryo, Shige, has been asking Yamapi over and over again. It’s the question he’s been asking himself every day for the past three and a half months. He figures it’s probably about time he answered it. If anyone does, Koyama deserves to know.
“I guess…”Yamapi starts slowly, “I guess I missed it.”
“It?” Koyama repeats.
Yamapi’s fingers begin tugging through Koyama’s hair as he thinks of a way to explain it properly.
“Being part of something,” he finally says, “I missed belonging to something other than myself. When you’re by yourself, there’s no one to fall back on. No one to toss you a bottle of water, or sing your line when you forget the words. It’s just you.”
Koyama nods because he understands. Yamapi knew he would. When it comes right down to it, that’s the reason he’d asked for Koyama’s number that night on that dark street corner. He and Koyama are the same: two parts of a bigger circle that got ripped apart four years ago, just trying to keep moving forward, figuring they might be able to if they can only rejoin, melt and mesh back together.
“You know,” Koyama mumbles against Yamapi’s bare shoulder, lips skimming lightly across the skin until it feels like they’re a part of Yamapi’s own body, “It’s not just me. You’re pretty lucky too.”
Yamapi thinks he’s probably right on that one.
END
Poll Team What-If