Gift fic for yuumei_nata
Title: Defining Bravery
Pairing/Characters: Subaru/Yasu
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Appearance by Yasu's tears
Notes: A glorious thanks to my beta. yuumei-nata, I hope you enjoy it! :)
Summary: In Kanjani∞, it’s an unspoken agreement that the subject is off-limits for discussion.
05:20AM - At the request of two fans in Korea, a hacker in China works into the system of a Japanese tabloid’s archives and manages to remove two and a half photos from a locked folder before the connection shuts down.
05:29AM - The hacker emails the partial image to the fans, who negotiate a fee for the two full photos.
5:33AM - The fans wire funds to the hacker.
5:36AM - The hacker emails the photos.
5:38AM - The hacker erases the email account.
5:43AM - The fans publish a locked blog post containing the photos.
5:48AM - The photos appear in several public blogs.
By 6:20AM, almost six thousand fans have seen the photos.
Sho glances at them, makes a vague noise of annoyance, and goes back to sleep.
Within the hour, the owners of the twelve blogs that hosted the photos are sent official emails from Johnny’s legal staff informing them that their blogs have been shut down for using protected material, and Arashi’s publicists have included the photos on a prank show that could use the ratings.
It’s not the first time Johnny’s staff have dealt with a gay scandal, but it’s the first time one has made it to the public eye.
What makes the situation even more difficult is that no one one on Johnny’s staff can pinpoint which tabloid originally had the photos, which are racier than most material the paparazzi usually manage to get of Johnny’s idols. To help with damage control, someone from the legal department issues a blanket email, carefully worded, to all the tabloids with whom Johnny’s has good relations, requesting their continued loyalty. An additional email is sent moments later with the offer of a staged photo of Sho leaving a cab with an up-and-coming half-Brazilian model. Shukan Bunshun buys the photo for an obscene amount and releases it in their next issue.
It’s a temporary solution.
Two months later, Katori Shingo holds a press conference, announces his new drama, and comes out as gay.
He smiles at the crowd of baying reporters, waves once, and leaves the stage with a bounce in his step.
SMAP’s publicists don’t quite know what to make of that, and their manager just seems amused.
“At least he wasn’t naked,” Michi tells Johnny.
He sighs and rubs his temples until the ringing stops.
Word’s already reached every debuted group and Junior by the time the first article appears online. The reporter is very careful to remain neutral in her wording, but it’s clear by the end of the short piece that she didn’t want to write any of it.
When Johnny’s board doesn’t show any sign of disapproval against the first newspaper, a couple of bolder articles make small digs at Shingo’s character Shingo Mama and imply that this isn’t breaking news to anyone.
SMAP doesn’t talk about it, and whenever a fan gets up the courage to shout something encouraging Shingo just lifts his eyebrows and smiles with an air of cluelessness. The unhappy fans say nothing, letting their expressions communicate for them instead.
Within the jimusho, most conversations on the subject begin with, “Since it’s SMAP,” and end in agreement that no one else in the jimusho has enough power to make such an announcement and survive.
A few Juniors give Takki side glances, but none of them dare say what they’re thinking and Takki avoids the subject whenever it comes up.
By Wednesday, three days after the first article was published, most people agree to pretend it never happened.
Then, on Thursday, Yoko can’t help but talk about it on Recomen. He marvels at length about Shingo’s balls, repeating himself again and again with a tone of reverence and astonishment.
“Don’t say the word!” Hina yells, laughing.
“I’m just saying I’m impressed is all,” Yoko says sullenly. “He’s not what I think of when I think of g-”
“Don’t say that word either!”
While they play the next song, they get a call from Kimutaku himself. “Stop talking about it,” he says, then hangs up.
Yoko apologizes in a high-pitched voice to the dial tone. Hina hits him and sighs.
Each group reacts in their own way. In KAT-TUN, no one talks about it; in NEWS, Koyama takes each of them aside one by one and tells them NEWS is home to them all, no matter what; in TOKIO, Nagase drunkenly tries to get Taichi to ask Shingo onto Shounen Club Premium.
Meanwhile, in SMAP, everyone ignores it until Nakai can’t take it anymore and stands up from the couch in their green room. He does it so fast and so purposefully that everyone in the room - SMAP and staff alike - stop what they’re doing to stare at him. “Come on,” he says to Shingo, and walks out the door.
Shingo takes his time in following him, and they meet up in a vacant room across the hall.
“First of all,” Nakai says, locking the door, “that was dumb.”
Shingo’s small smile - the one that’s been pissing Nakai off every day since he saw the press con - gets a small twist at the corner of his mouth. It gives Nakai a small stress headache.
“Second,” Nakai continues, “what the fuck were you thinking?”
Shingo seems to think about his options before responding and settles on tipping his head in what could graciously be called a bow. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the group first,” he says.
“You did, though,” Nakai says, stabbing his finger at Shingo. “You absolutely did. You thought, ‘Oh, being in SMAP will make this okay,’ but it’s not, and fuck you, too.”
Shingo’s small smile becomes a small frown. Everything about him seems small now.
“You could at least be open about it now,” Nakai says, scowling. “You went to all the trouble of saying it and now you’re pretending you didn’t.”
“I’m not pretending,” Shingo says. “It’s no one’s business but mine.”
“So being gay is everyone’s business,” Nakai snaps, “but sex isn’t?”
Shingo lifts his eyebrows. “Well, yeah,” he says.
…It sounded better in Nakai’s head. He takes a deep breath, exhales, “Fuck,” and, “Why did you do it at all?”
Shingo has an answer ready for that, and just before he speaks, his smile finally grows large and familiar. “For my partner,” he says.
- ∞ -
In Kanjani∞, it’s an unspoken agreement that the subject is off-limits for discussion. After Kimutaku’s call in to Recomen, Yoko’s too nervous to talk about it anywhere and Hina’s decided it’s in poor taste, so they spend the next three days shouting down any member who tries to comment on the controversy.
Luckily, they’re in the middle of a tour and there are cameras everywhere, so it would be stupid to talk about it anyway. The few Juniors they’ve got loitering around seem tempted to talk to each other about it, especially when Subaru turns on SMAPxSMAP Bistro in the green room one day just to be contrary, but Hina keeps them in line with a few well-aimed acidic scowls (and by hitting Subaru with the remote before he turns off the TV).
They manage three days of not talking about it, and then Yasu and Maru sit down together in the green room to watch TegoMass on a live variety show. Tegoshi answers a question with a thin reference to Shingo’s press conference, and Yasu and Maru look at each other, eyebrows high, until the host changes focus and asks Massu about his unusual T-shirt. Tegoshi listens to Massu’s answer, attentive and prim, and gives the host’s next question a careful, generic response. It’s not until the end of their segment when the host makes a crack about the rainbow streak in Tegoshi’s hair that Tegoshi smiles and says, “I stayed up late last night thinking of ways to show support for the community. The gay community.”
The host and the audience take a second to react, and during that long moment of flummoxed silence, Maru looks over at Yasu and can’t remember the last time he saw so much aged solemnity there.
In Nagoya the next day, the hesitance to talk about anything to do with being gay lifts during the afternoon concert’s MC. For the first five minutes it’s little more than Maru and Hina recounting a trip they took together to a hot springs, and then Ohkura’s particularly loud laugh calls Yoko’s attention to him.
“Ohkura’s been making really bizarre sounds in his sleep recently,” he says. “It sounds like he’s having wet dreams, but then he’ll blurt a word like ‘radish’ or ‘gel pen.’”
“What the hell?” Hina laughs. “When is this?”
“All the time!” Yoko insists. “It’s been going on for weeks! You haven’t heard him?”
“I’ve had sex dreams about gel pens,” Subaru says, then lowers his mic.
“I didn’t need to hear that!” Hina yells.
“What color?” Ryo asks, smiling awkwardly.
“It’s not funny!” Hina yells. “Don’t encourage this! It’s just going to get all of us fired!”
Ryo wraps one arm around his chest and, in a high, offended tone, complains, “If coming out as gay won’t get us fired-”
“Oi!” Yoko and Hina bellow together. “Shut up!”
“Saying you’re gay’s not the worst you could do,” Subaru says.
“Subaru!” Hina shouts. “We’re done, let’s move on.”
“Proving it would be worse, right?”
“Subaru!”
“You’d have to go pretty far to prove it, though,” Subaru continues over Ohkura and Maru’s forced laughter. “And why bother? You could go forever being gay as long as you didn’t admit it. Plenty of Japanese live happily that way.”
Hina snaps, “Subaru!” and crosses the stage at a near-jog.
“This isn’t the time, Subaru!” Yoko yells, fidgeting with his shirt.
Subaru shuffles behind Yasu, gripping his arms and shouting, “Why admit it, anyway? It’s fine if you keep it a secret, but as soon as people know, they act cold because it’s gross to think about.”
Hina grabs Subaru by the collar and opens his mouth to shout, and then Yasu lifts his mic.
“What if you can’t be happy?” he asks quietly.
“Let’s just move on,” Hina says. There’s a thread of real fury in his voice, and his hand is hovering near Subaru’s microphone, like he’s tempted to take it. “This is way too heavy a subject for a Johnny’s concert.”
Somewhere in the arena, a fan yells, “Yasu, do your best!”
Yasu’s found a spot on the stage and he stares at it as he speaks. “I just think…” he pauses, but no one says a word. Not even Hina. “I think happiness is in knowing who you are, and believing the core of yourself.”
Yoko bursts into a tiny, hysterical giggle. “That doesn’t make sense!”
Maru puts a finger to his lips, smiling.
Yasu either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He licks his lips, downturned and trembling, and goes on, “If you can’t…tell yourself to the-the people you love, explain your…explain who you are, then no one can be happy that way. Y-you need freedom, or you’ll feel like a lie.”
He trails off, uncertain, and when Subaru walks across the stage to stand next to him, the screens above the stage switch focus to Ryo and stay there.
The audience shouts.
“I just think you have to be brave,” Yasu says, focused on the stage, and then the sound on his mic is turned down low.
Yoko, paler than usual, yells, “You need a writer! That could have been really moving but instead it was just confusing!”
Ohkura laughs, and a decent portion of the audience does, too. The rest are silent.
As Hina segues them into “Wahaha,” everyone onstage tries to ignore the death grip Subaru has on Yasu’s hand.
Yasu avoids the newspapers and the internet after the concert. They’re meant to travel immediately following the concert, but a typhoon warning convinces them to stay in Nagoya for another night.
Yasu goes back to the hotel in the van with Ohkura, who doesn’t ask him anything and lets him pretend to nap for the six minutes it takes to drive there from the venue, and he locks the door to his hotel room for the first time in years. He starts and abandons four different songs and spends two hours playing his guitar. Around four, he sprawls face-down in bed and opens his eyes two hours later, unsure if he slept or not.
Their newest manager Hamada calls Yasu’s room while he’s thinking about showering and tells him that their bus is waiting downstairs. Yasu hurries through the motions of brushing his teeth and washing up, then repacks his bag and heads down the hall to the elevators. He couldn’t hear any difference in Hamada’s voice, but he doesn’t know Hamada well enough yet to know the subtleties of his moods.
The bus is idling in the hotel garage, flanked by suited men who nod at Yasu as he walks past them. Hina and Yoko are already in the back, Yoko curled around a pillow and Hina complaining at him in a high, annoyed voice.
“You have to wash the pillowcase!”
“I did wash it,” Yoko says, groaning. “Shut up.”
“You washed it with water in the hotel room sink,” Hina says, tsking. “That’s not good enough. You need soap, too.”
“Leave me alone.”
Yasu murmurs, “Good morning,” and slides into a window seat near the middle. He quickly searches out his iPod and tries to ignore the deafening silence in the back of the bus.
“Yasu.” Hina’s voice, suddenly very close, makes Yasu jump. “Are you okay?”
Yasu nods, flushing, and focuses on unraveling his earbud cords.
“Okay,” Hina says. He puts his hand on Yasu’s head, his fingers tense and splayed over Yasu’s hair, then leaves to continue nagging Yoko.
Maru arrives next and claps Yasu on the shoulder as he passes. Yasu wonders where he’ll sit when he feels his seat tugged back and he hears Maru flop into the seat directly behind him.
Next is Ohkura, who smiles and sits in the aisle seat across from Yasu, and then Ryo, who sits in the seat directly in front of Yasu. Subaru’s last, hidden behind a face-mask and tucked deep into a black sweatshirt. He flings his bag up into an overhead compartment, then slouches into the seat next to Yasu’s. He doesn’t look at anyone or speak, and as soon as the bus door shuts, he pushes in a pair of earbuds and sinks even lower into his seat.
The four of them have made a bracket around him, and their silence combined with Yoko and Hina bickering in the back feels like home, warm and unquestionable. Yasu curls his fingers into fists and breathes in, forcing his face still and trying to keep from crying. He almost manages to get through it, but then Subaru wraps his pinky around Yasu’s and squeezes. In retrospect, he didn’t have anything like a chance, Yasu thinks, sniffling.
Three minutes later, Yoko yells, “I feel like a dick being back here!”
When the day finally ends sixteen hours later, Yasu crawls into bed and sobs until his body aches and his throat is hoarse.
Dozens of phone calls, three hurried meetings with their managers, one call from Johnny, several emails from Julie, and one phone mail each from Higashiyama, Matchy, and Takki. After those, a concert, during which pockets of fans shouted against him, and even more refused to look at him. The only saving graces of the day were the staff, who have remained mostly professional, and the other members.
He knows he shouldn’t have said anything.
He doesn’t hear Subaru come in, and even when he recognizes the hand in his hair, Yasu shakes him off and moves farther away.
He muffles the small sounds he can’t help into the mattress and strains to keep his eyes tightly closed against any more tears.
“It wasn’t everyone,” Subaru says.
After the concert, Ohkura muttered, “They’re all so fickle,” and disappeared into the showers looking tired and angry.
Yasu breathes in through his nose and winces when his exhale comes out loud and shaky.
“It wasn’t everyone,” Subaru says. “And it wasn’t us.”
Yasu feels like he should nod, but he just wants Subaru to leave.
And so he does.
There’s a four-day break between concerts, and then they’re scheduled to perform in Fukuoka. Yasu has to cancel the plans he’d made so he can be flown back to Tokyo and meet with Julie and her staff in person.
When he leaves the four-hour meeting, he runs into Nakai in the elevator.
“Oh, good,” Nakai says, hooking his thumbs in his jeans. “I was on my way to look for you.” He leans past Yasu and presses the button for the lobby.
Yasu gives him a small bow, frowning, and asks, “Why?” in a voice he doesn’t recognize as his own.
“Because,” Nakai says. “Have you eaten?”
Yasu shakes his head.
Nakai hums. “Good,” he says. “Let’s go eat.”
It’s easier, Yasu’s learned, to say less rather than more with Nakai. So he keeps his mouth shut and follows Nakai out to his car.
“How was the meeting?” Nakai asks as he slides into the driver’s seat.
Yasu tries to suppress the fear that swarms him when he touches the door handle on Nakai’s car. He pulls on it, nervous, and almost sighs with relief when the door swings open without any damage done to the car. “It was fine,” Yasu says, carefully neutral. He sits in the passenger’s seat and furtively studies everything he can see with his peripheral vision.
“It sucked,” Nakai says. “You pretty much came out and the company’s furious and a lot of the fans are grossed out and you might lose your job and probably any chance of getting a job where you can stay closeted. Therefore, it had to have sucked. Unless you wanted to get fired.”
Yasu shouts, “No!” and inhales a sharp, anxious breath. “S-sorry, I’m sorry,” he stammers.
Nakai shakes his head. “You’re just as stupid as him,” he sighs.
Yasu ducks his head and says nothing until they pull into an underground parking garage of a building Yasu’s never seen before. The restaurant is simple and nearly empty, and when Nakai walks in, the seating host gives him a familiar smile and leads them to a table that’s been sectioned off by two tall bamboo fences.
They order drinks (sake for Nakai, water for Yasu) and food (Nakai orders for both of them), and then Nakai leans over the table on his elbows.
“I appear on four shows regularly right now,” he says. “I’m going to put you on one of them, and I’m going to fix this.”
Yasu stares, overwhelmed by the whole brunt of Nakai’s focus. In his experience, it’s never led to anything good for him. “How?” he asks, trying not to squirm.
“I don’t know,” Nakai says. “I just will. You’re not my priority, though,” he adds. “Katori is. But to fix his situation, I have to fix what you and Tegoshi and Tsubasa did first.”
Yasu frowns. “What did Tsubasa-kun-”
“You’ll find out,” Nakai says. “You’re appearing on my show. Do you accept?”
Yasu can’t find any intonation at all that would make that a question. “Yes,” he says, terrified.
When Nakai drops him off at his building, Yasu goes through his mail and finds a message from Maru-
Tsubasa-kun just said, “I’m gay,” at a concert!!!
And five other mails from friends which are all variations on:
Did you hear about Tsubasa?
Yasu looks up and watches Nakai’s car turn the corner, his breath stuck in his chest.
It’s going too far, Yasu thinks. How could anyone fix this?
The downfall, when it finally happens, is harsh.
First, a public apology is released. It’s vaguely-worded and names no one, but it runs the gamut from “unpleasantness” to “unfortunate circumstances” and, the lowest hit, “perversion.”
Second, they’re all called in, every talent under Johnny’s name. They’re sat down in a venue close to headquarters and talked to solemnly and seriously by Julie, Mary, Michi, and finally Higashiyama.
It’s the feeling that every person around him is angry or hurt or even more stressed than usual and he’s partly to blame. Unnamed but known, unblamed but guilty.
When they chose seats, Subaru wormed his way through Maru and Ohkura so he could sit next to Yasu and he keeps trying to hold Yasu’s hand in spite of Yasu whispering, “Stop.” Finally, Yasu just sits on his hands and focuses on Mary’s low, carefully-worded speech.
Only once during her speech does Julie look at Yasu, and she looks so betrayed and annoyed that Yasu feels sick. While Higashiyama speaks, Yasu finds himself searching out Shingo and Tegoshi and Tsubasa just so he doesn’t have to see disappointment from him, too. They’re scattered around the room, sitting with their respective units. Shingo is sitting upright, chin high, his face settled and calm; Tegoshi looks rattled and angry; Tsubasa’s eyes are red.
Subaru’s fingers brush Yasu’s thigh.
Yasu makes eye contact and barely keeps his voice low as he says, “Subaru,” with careful emphasis on every syllable.
Subaru withdraws his hand like he’s been burned. His face turns into something ugly and angry and just as guilt starts to coil in Yasu’s gut, Subaru turns back to the stage, jaw set. When they’re dismissed, he jumps over Yasu’s legs and ducks under Hina’s arm to get to the aisle, just to avoid the apology stuck in Yasu’s throat.
Afterwards, Yasu sits down alone with Julie in her office, far above the noises and smells of Tokyo. “You’re in the shallow end,” she tells him. “What you’ve said can be turned around during your next scheduled TV appearance. There’s something admirable in supporting an ostracized minority, and that’s the position we’d like you to take.”
Yasu nods.
“From this point on, you’ll be especially careful in the answers you give and the image you promote.”
“I understand,” Yasu murmurs.
“We’ve given the venue reservations for your solo concert to another group. You’ve been rescheduled to perform alone in the spring after next, if your numbers recover.”
Yasu nods again and ignores the shiver working its way through his body. “I’m so sorry,” he manages. He bows as low as he can, trying to keep his voice quiet so it doesn’t crack. Relief and a cold wash of nausea rush up and down his throat.
She dismisses him after a long moment of silence, and Yasu almost vomits as soon as the door is shut behind him. His eyes are hot and wet and he winces as one tear and then two and three slick down his cheek.
Subaru’s message is succinct.
Come over.
Yasu writes back, I can’t, I’m sorry.
Subaru doesn’t reply.
Yasu doesn’t know Tsubasa gets through it. All he hears are rumors that Matchy called in favors on his behalf and that Takki turned in a letter of resignation to Johnny in person when it seemed like he was going to dissolve their unit.
“Takki’s so cool,” Yoko says on Recomen.
“Shut up, fuck,” Hina replies.
The next time Yasu sees them together at Countdown, Takki has Tsubasa’s hand in a vice grip and Tsubasa looks exhausted and wrecked and happy.
The first episode of SMAPxSMAP Bistro in which SMAP actually talks about what happened airs on Yasu’s day off. He makes plans to watch it with Maru and brings a full dinner of beer and Thai food with him to Maru’s apartment. Yasu’s chosen to stick close to the members for now, because they never ask him to explain or act happy.
On the show, Nakai calls Shingo an instigator and makes him bend down so he can slap him in the head with his cue cards. Shingo accepts the treatment with a wry smile, and at the end of the program he scratches his nose for fifteen seconds, flashing a gold band on his fourth finger.
It turns out Tegoshi is scheduled to join Yasu for his guest appearance on Nakai’s show, and it does a lot towards tamping down the loudest complainers. Yasu doesn’t really understand why until later, when he watches the show with Ohkura over doubled servings of yakisoba. Nakai’s questions, which felt invasive and dangerous to answer at the time, make the audience laugh in a way that’s almost warm, and Nakai’s other guests reach out to pat Yasu’s and Tegoshi’s shoulders in sympathy after the interrogation.
Tegoshi gives a thoughtful, well-articulated speech about honesty and courage, during which Yasu cries next to him. Once he finishes, there’s a smattering of applause, and then one of the comedians next to Yasu makes a low dig about beautiful words covering up filth.
Nakai scowls and says, “Shut up,” in a cold voice that’s far more intimidating than any of his shouting.
The comedian holds up a hand and offers a plastic apology; he says nothing more for the rest of the program.
When the credits stream across the screen, Ohkura asks, “Do you want to watch a movie?” and absently thumbs a tear off Yasu’s chin.
“Yes,” Yasu says, and puts his head on Ohkura’s shoulder for the first twenty minutes.
When he gets home, Subaru is in his apartment.
“You told me the combination,” Subaru says, defiant and annoyed and taking up most of Yasu’s bed with a mountain of clothes and CDs. “I went shopping. I hate all of these. Have them.”
Yasu frowns. “You can’t break in here, Shibuyan, and-”
Subaru breaks into a smile so abruptly it steals the rest of Yasu’s sentence straight from his mouth.
The smile he gives back feels like a balm.
They hang up the clothes Yasu likes and cram the rest into plastic bags to try and foist off on Hasshi or some other Juniors who’d appreciate them. By midnight, Yasu’s bed is littered only with CDs and so Yasu brings his computer over to the floor so he can see which ones he wants to keep and which he just wants to rip and give away.
Halfway into an indie rock group Yasu’s sure he’s heard somewhere before and can’t remember where, Subaru’s lips touch his ear.
“You’re still brave,” he whispers. “You’re the bravest person I know. You said what I couldn’t. What a lot of people couldn’t and wouldn’t.”
Yasu’s breath sticks. He reaches up and over his shoulder and holds his fingers splayed open until Subaru threads his own through them.
“Thank you,” Yasu whispers back. Over the music, it’s barely comprehensible.
Subaru kisses his neck. “Tell me what you wanted to say.”
Yasu looks back and meets Subaru’s old, cautious eyes. “When?” he asks. He squeezes Subaru’s fingers.
“All this time,” Subaru answers. His breath touches Yasu’s mouth in a hot, damp brush. “Write it for me, and I’ll sing it for you.”
The tone of his voice curls warmth in Yasu’s heart like the turn of a key in an aged, rusted lock.
Pairing/Characters: Subaru/Yasu
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Appearance by Yasu's tears
Notes: A glorious thanks to my beta. yuumei-nata, I hope you enjoy it! :)
Summary: In Kanjani∞, it’s an unspoken agreement that the subject is off-limits for discussion.
05:20AM - At the request of two fans in Korea, a hacker in China works into the system of a Japanese tabloid’s archives and manages to remove two and a half photos from a locked folder before the connection shuts down.
05:29AM - The hacker emails the partial image to the fans, who negotiate a fee for the two full photos.
5:33AM - The fans wire funds to the hacker.
5:36AM - The hacker emails the photos.
5:38AM - The hacker erases the email account.
5:43AM - The fans publish a locked blog post containing the photos.
5:48AM - The photos appear in several public blogs.
By 6:20AM, almost six thousand fans have seen the photos.
Sho glances at them, makes a vague noise of annoyance, and goes back to sleep.
Within the hour, the owners of the twelve blogs that hosted the photos are sent official emails from Johnny’s legal staff informing them that their blogs have been shut down for using protected material, and Arashi’s publicists have included the photos on a prank show that could use the ratings.
It’s not the first time Johnny’s staff have dealt with a gay scandal, but it’s the first time one has made it to the public eye.
What makes the situation even more difficult is that no one one on Johnny’s staff can pinpoint which tabloid originally had the photos, which are racier than most material the paparazzi usually manage to get of Johnny’s idols. To help with damage control, someone from the legal department issues a blanket email, carefully worded, to all the tabloids with whom Johnny’s has good relations, requesting their continued loyalty. An additional email is sent moments later with the offer of a staged photo of Sho leaving a cab with an up-and-coming half-Brazilian model. Shukan Bunshun buys the photo for an obscene amount and releases it in their next issue.
It’s a temporary solution.
Two months later, Katori Shingo holds a press conference, announces his new drama, and comes out as gay.
He smiles at the crowd of baying reporters, waves once, and leaves the stage with a bounce in his step.
SMAP’s publicists don’t quite know what to make of that, and their manager just seems amused.
“At least he wasn’t naked,” Michi tells Johnny.
He sighs and rubs his temples until the ringing stops.
Word’s already reached every debuted group and Junior by the time the first article appears online. The reporter is very careful to remain neutral in her wording, but it’s clear by the end of the short piece that she didn’t want to write any of it.
When Johnny’s board doesn’t show any sign of disapproval against the first newspaper, a couple of bolder articles make small digs at Shingo’s character Shingo Mama and imply that this isn’t breaking news to anyone.
SMAP doesn’t talk about it, and whenever a fan gets up the courage to shout something encouraging Shingo just lifts his eyebrows and smiles with an air of cluelessness. The unhappy fans say nothing, letting their expressions communicate for them instead.
Within the jimusho, most conversations on the subject begin with, “Since it’s SMAP,” and end in agreement that no one else in the jimusho has enough power to make such an announcement and survive.
A few Juniors give Takki side glances, but none of them dare say what they’re thinking and Takki avoids the subject whenever it comes up.
By Wednesday, three days after the first article was published, most people agree to pretend it never happened.
Then, on Thursday, Yoko can’t help but talk about it on Recomen. He marvels at length about Shingo’s balls, repeating himself again and again with a tone of reverence and astonishment.
“Don’t say the word!” Hina yells, laughing.
“I’m just saying I’m impressed is all,” Yoko says sullenly. “He’s not what I think of when I think of g-”
“Don’t say that word either!”
While they play the next song, they get a call from Kimutaku himself. “Stop talking about it,” he says, then hangs up.
Yoko apologizes in a high-pitched voice to the dial tone. Hina hits him and sighs.
Each group reacts in their own way. In KAT-TUN, no one talks about it; in NEWS, Koyama takes each of them aside one by one and tells them NEWS is home to them all, no matter what; in TOKIO, Nagase drunkenly tries to get Taichi to ask Shingo onto Shounen Club Premium.
Meanwhile, in SMAP, everyone ignores it until Nakai can’t take it anymore and stands up from the couch in their green room. He does it so fast and so purposefully that everyone in the room - SMAP and staff alike - stop what they’re doing to stare at him. “Come on,” he says to Shingo, and walks out the door.
Shingo takes his time in following him, and they meet up in a vacant room across the hall.
“First of all,” Nakai says, locking the door, “that was dumb.”
Shingo’s small smile - the one that’s been pissing Nakai off every day since he saw the press con - gets a small twist at the corner of his mouth. It gives Nakai a small stress headache.
“Second,” Nakai continues, “what the fuck were you thinking?”
Shingo seems to think about his options before responding and settles on tipping his head in what could graciously be called a bow. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the group first,” he says.
“You did, though,” Nakai says, stabbing his finger at Shingo. “You absolutely did. You thought, ‘Oh, being in SMAP will make this okay,’ but it’s not, and fuck you, too.”
Shingo’s small smile becomes a small frown. Everything about him seems small now.
“You could at least be open about it now,” Nakai says, scowling. “You went to all the trouble of saying it and now you’re pretending you didn’t.”
“I’m not pretending,” Shingo says. “It’s no one’s business but mine.”
“So being gay is everyone’s business,” Nakai snaps, “but sex isn’t?”
Shingo lifts his eyebrows. “Well, yeah,” he says.
…It sounded better in Nakai’s head. He takes a deep breath, exhales, “Fuck,” and, “Why did you do it at all?”
Shingo has an answer ready for that, and just before he speaks, his smile finally grows large and familiar. “For my partner,” he says.
- ∞ -
In Kanjani∞, it’s an unspoken agreement that the subject is off-limits for discussion. After Kimutaku’s call in to Recomen, Yoko’s too nervous to talk about it anywhere and Hina’s decided it’s in poor taste, so they spend the next three days shouting down any member who tries to comment on the controversy.
Luckily, they’re in the middle of a tour and there are cameras everywhere, so it would be stupid to talk about it anyway. The few Juniors they’ve got loitering around seem tempted to talk to each other about it, especially when Subaru turns on SMAPxSMAP Bistro in the green room one day just to be contrary, but Hina keeps them in line with a few well-aimed acidic scowls (and by hitting Subaru with the remote before he turns off the TV).
They manage three days of not talking about it, and then Yasu and Maru sit down together in the green room to watch TegoMass on a live variety show. Tegoshi answers a question with a thin reference to Shingo’s press conference, and Yasu and Maru look at each other, eyebrows high, until the host changes focus and asks Massu about his unusual T-shirt. Tegoshi listens to Massu’s answer, attentive and prim, and gives the host’s next question a careful, generic response. It’s not until the end of their segment when the host makes a crack about the rainbow streak in Tegoshi’s hair that Tegoshi smiles and says, “I stayed up late last night thinking of ways to show support for the community. The gay community.”
The host and the audience take a second to react, and during that long moment of flummoxed silence, Maru looks over at Yasu and can’t remember the last time he saw so much aged solemnity there.
In Nagoya the next day, the hesitance to talk about anything to do with being gay lifts during the afternoon concert’s MC. For the first five minutes it’s little more than Maru and Hina recounting a trip they took together to a hot springs, and then Ohkura’s particularly loud laugh calls Yoko’s attention to him.
“Ohkura’s been making really bizarre sounds in his sleep recently,” he says. “It sounds like he’s having wet dreams, but then he’ll blurt a word like ‘radish’ or ‘gel pen.’”
“What the hell?” Hina laughs. “When is this?”
“All the time!” Yoko insists. “It’s been going on for weeks! You haven’t heard him?”
“I’ve had sex dreams about gel pens,” Subaru says, then lowers his mic.
“I didn’t need to hear that!” Hina yells.
“What color?” Ryo asks, smiling awkwardly.
“It’s not funny!” Hina yells. “Don’t encourage this! It’s just going to get all of us fired!”
Ryo wraps one arm around his chest and, in a high, offended tone, complains, “If coming out as gay won’t get us fired-”
“Oi!” Yoko and Hina bellow together. “Shut up!”
“Saying you’re gay’s not the worst you could do,” Subaru says.
“Subaru!” Hina shouts. “We’re done, let’s move on.”
“Proving it would be worse, right?”
“Subaru!”
“You’d have to go pretty far to prove it, though,” Subaru continues over Ohkura and Maru’s forced laughter. “And why bother? You could go forever being gay as long as you didn’t admit it. Plenty of Japanese live happily that way.”
Hina snaps, “Subaru!” and crosses the stage at a near-jog.
“This isn’t the time, Subaru!” Yoko yells, fidgeting with his shirt.
Subaru shuffles behind Yasu, gripping his arms and shouting, “Why admit it, anyway? It’s fine if you keep it a secret, but as soon as people know, they act cold because it’s gross to think about.”
Hina grabs Subaru by the collar and opens his mouth to shout, and then Yasu lifts his mic.
“What if you can’t be happy?” he asks quietly.
“Let’s just move on,” Hina says. There’s a thread of real fury in his voice, and his hand is hovering near Subaru’s microphone, like he’s tempted to take it. “This is way too heavy a subject for a Johnny’s concert.”
Somewhere in the arena, a fan yells, “Yasu, do your best!”
Yasu’s found a spot on the stage and he stares at it as he speaks. “I just think…” he pauses, but no one says a word. Not even Hina. “I think happiness is in knowing who you are, and believing the core of yourself.”
Yoko bursts into a tiny, hysterical giggle. “That doesn’t make sense!”
Maru puts a finger to his lips, smiling.
Yasu either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He licks his lips, downturned and trembling, and goes on, “If you can’t…tell yourself to the-the people you love, explain your…explain who you are, then no one can be happy that way. Y-you need freedom, or you’ll feel like a lie.”
He trails off, uncertain, and when Subaru walks across the stage to stand next to him, the screens above the stage switch focus to Ryo and stay there.
The audience shouts.
“I just think you have to be brave,” Yasu says, focused on the stage, and then the sound on his mic is turned down low.
Yoko, paler than usual, yells, “You need a writer! That could have been really moving but instead it was just confusing!”
Ohkura laughs, and a decent portion of the audience does, too. The rest are silent.
As Hina segues them into “Wahaha,” everyone onstage tries to ignore the death grip Subaru has on Yasu’s hand.
Yasu avoids the newspapers and the internet after the concert. They’re meant to travel immediately following the concert, but a typhoon warning convinces them to stay in Nagoya for another night.
Yasu goes back to the hotel in the van with Ohkura, who doesn’t ask him anything and lets him pretend to nap for the six minutes it takes to drive there from the venue, and he locks the door to his hotel room for the first time in years. He starts and abandons four different songs and spends two hours playing his guitar. Around four, he sprawls face-down in bed and opens his eyes two hours later, unsure if he slept or not.
Their newest manager Hamada calls Yasu’s room while he’s thinking about showering and tells him that their bus is waiting downstairs. Yasu hurries through the motions of brushing his teeth and washing up, then repacks his bag and heads down the hall to the elevators. He couldn’t hear any difference in Hamada’s voice, but he doesn’t know Hamada well enough yet to know the subtleties of his moods.
The bus is idling in the hotel garage, flanked by suited men who nod at Yasu as he walks past them. Hina and Yoko are already in the back, Yoko curled around a pillow and Hina complaining at him in a high, annoyed voice.
“You have to wash the pillowcase!”
“I did wash it,” Yoko says, groaning. “Shut up.”
“You washed it with water in the hotel room sink,” Hina says, tsking. “That’s not good enough. You need soap, too.”
“Leave me alone.”
Yasu murmurs, “Good morning,” and slides into a window seat near the middle. He quickly searches out his iPod and tries to ignore the deafening silence in the back of the bus.
“Yasu.” Hina’s voice, suddenly very close, makes Yasu jump. “Are you okay?”
Yasu nods, flushing, and focuses on unraveling his earbud cords.
“Okay,” Hina says. He puts his hand on Yasu’s head, his fingers tense and splayed over Yasu’s hair, then leaves to continue nagging Yoko.
Maru arrives next and claps Yasu on the shoulder as he passes. Yasu wonders where he’ll sit when he feels his seat tugged back and he hears Maru flop into the seat directly behind him.
Next is Ohkura, who smiles and sits in the aisle seat across from Yasu, and then Ryo, who sits in the seat directly in front of Yasu. Subaru’s last, hidden behind a face-mask and tucked deep into a black sweatshirt. He flings his bag up into an overhead compartment, then slouches into the seat next to Yasu’s. He doesn’t look at anyone or speak, and as soon as the bus door shuts, he pushes in a pair of earbuds and sinks even lower into his seat.
The four of them have made a bracket around him, and their silence combined with Yoko and Hina bickering in the back feels like home, warm and unquestionable. Yasu curls his fingers into fists and breathes in, forcing his face still and trying to keep from crying. He almost manages to get through it, but then Subaru wraps his pinky around Yasu’s and squeezes. In retrospect, he didn’t have anything like a chance, Yasu thinks, sniffling.
Three minutes later, Yoko yells, “I feel like a dick being back here!”
When the day finally ends sixteen hours later, Yasu crawls into bed and sobs until his body aches and his throat is hoarse.
Dozens of phone calls, three hurried meetings with their managers, one call from Johnny, several emails from Julie, and one phone mail each from Higashiyama, Matchy, and Takki. After those, a concert, during which pockets of fans shouted against him, and even more refused to look at him. The only saving graces of the day were the staff, who have remained mostly professional, and the other members.
He knows he shouldn’t have said anything.
He doesn’t hear Subaru come in, and even when he recognizes the hand in his hair, Yasu shakes him off and moves farther away.
He muffles the small sounds he can’t help into the mattress and strains to keep his eyes tightly closed against any more tears.
“It wasn’t everyone,” Subaru says.
After the concert, Ohkura muttered, “They’re all so fickle,” and disappeared into the showers looking tired and angry.
Yasu breathes in through his nose and winces when his exhale comes out loud and shaky.
“It wasn’t everyone,” Subaru says. “And it wasn’t us.”
Yasu feels like he should nod, but he just wants Subaru to leave.
And so he does.
There’s a four-day break between concerts, and then they’re scheduled to perform in Fukuoka. Yasu has to cancel the plans he’d made so he can be flown back to Tokyo and meet with Julie and her staff in person.
When he leaves the four-hour meeting, he runs into Nakai in the elevator.
“Oh, good,” Nakai says, hooking his thumbs in his jeans. “I was on my way to look for you.” He leans past Yasu and presses the button for the lobby.
Yasu gives him a small bow, frowning, and asks, “Why?” in a voice he doesn’t recognize as his own.
“Because,” Nakai says. “Have you eaten?”
Yasu shakes his head.
Nakai hums. “Good,” he says. “Let’s go eat.”
It’s easier, Yasu’s learned, to say less rather than more with Nakai. So he keeps his mouth shut and follows Nakai out to his car.
“How was the meeting?” Nakai asks as he slides into the driver’s seat.
Yasu tries to suppress the fear that swarms him when he touches the door handle on Nakai’s car. He pulls on it, nervous, and almost sighs with relief when the door swings open without any damage done to the car. “It was fine,” Yasu says, carefully neutral. He sits in the passenger’s seat and furtively studies everything he can see with his peripheral vision.
“It sucked,” Nakai says. “You pretty much came out and the company’s furious and a lot of the fans are grossed out and you might lose your job and probably any chance of getting a job where you can stay closeted. Therefore, it had to have sucked. Unless you wanted to get fired.”
Yasu shouts, “No!” and inhales a sharp, anxious breath. “S-sorry, I’m sorry,” he stammers.
Nakai shakes his head. “You’re just as stupid as him,” he sighs.
Yasu ducks his head and says nothing until they pull into an underground parking garage of a building Yasu’s never seen before. The restaurant is simple and nearly empty, and when Nakai walks in, the seating host gives him a familiar smile and leads them to a table that’s been sectioned off by two tall bamboo fences.
They order drinks (sake for Nakai, water for Yasu) and food (Nakai orders for both of them), and then Nakai leans over the table on his elbows.
“I appear on four shows regularly right now,” he says. “I’m going to put you on one of them, and I’m going to fix this.”
Yasu stares, overwhelmed by the whole brunt of Nakai’s focus. In his experience, it’s never led to anything good for him. “How?” he asks, trying not to squirm.
“I don’t know,” Nakai says. “I just will. You’re not my priority, though,” he adds. “Katori is. But to fix his situation, I have to fix what you and Tegoshi and Tsubasa did first.”
Yasu frowns. “What did Tsubasa-kun-”
“You’ll find out,” Nakai says. “You’re appearing on my show. Do you accept?”
Yasu can’t find any intonation at all that would make that a question. “Yes,” he says, terrified.
When Nakai drops him off at his building, Yasu goes through his mail and finds a message from Maru-
Tsubasa-kun just said, “I’m gay,” at a concert!!!
And five other mails from friends which are all variations on:
Did you hear about Tsubasa?
Yasu looks up and watches Nakai’s car turn the corner, his breath stuck in his chest.
It’s going too far, Yasu thinks. How could anyone fix this?
The downfall, when it finally happens, is harsh.
First, a public apology is released. It’s vaguely-worded and names no one, but it runs the gamut from “unpleasantness” to “unfortunate circumstances” and, the lowest hit, “perversion.”
Second, they’re all called in, every talent under Johnny’s name. They’re sat down in a venue close to headquarters and talked to solemnly and seriously by Julie, Mary, Michi, and finally Higashiyama.
It’s the feeling that every person around him is angry or hurt or even more stressed than usual and he’s partly to blame. Unnamed but known, unblamed but guilty.
When they chose seats, Subaru wormed his way through Maru and Ohkura so he could sit next to Yasu and he keeps trying to hold Yasu’s hand in spite of Yasu whispering, “Stop.” Finally, Yasu just sits on his hands and focuses on Mary’s low, carefully-worded speech.
Only once during her speech does Julie look at Yasu, and she looks so betrayed and annoyed that Yasu feels sick. While Higashiyama speaks, Yasu finds himself searching out Shingo and Tegoshi and Tsubasa just so he doesn’t have to see disappointment from him, too. They’re scattered around the room, sitting with their respective units. Shingo is sitting upright, chin high, his face settled and calm; Tegoshi looks rattled and angry; Tsubasa’s eyes are red.
Subaru’s fingers brush Yasu’s thigh.
Yasu makes eye contact and barely keeps his voice low as he says, “Subaru,” with careful emphasis on every syllable.
Subaru withdraws his hand like he’s been burned. His face turns into something ugly and angry and just as guilt starts to coil in Yasu’s gut, Subaru turns back to the stage, jaw set. When they’re dismissed, he jumps over Yasu’s legs and ducks under Hina’s arm to get to the aisle, just to avoid the apology stuck in Yasu’s throat.
Afterwards, Yasu sits down alone with Julie in her office, far above the noises and smells of Tokyo. “You’re in the shallow end,” she tells him. “What you’ve said can be turned around during your next scheduled TV appearance. There’s something admirable in supporting an ostracized minority, and that’s the position we’d like you to take.”
Yasu nods.
“From this point on, you’ll be especially careful in the answers you give and the image you promote.”
“I understand,” Yasu murmurs.
“We’ve given the venue reservations for your solo concert to another group. You’ve been rescheduled to perform alone in the spring after next, if your numbers recover.”
Yasu nods again and ignores the shiver working its way through his body. “I’m so sorry,” he manages. He bows as low as he can, trying to keep his voice quiet so it doesn’t crack. Relief and a cold wash of nausea rush up and down his throat.
She dismisses him after a long moment of silence, and Yasu almost vomits as soon as the door is shut behind him. His eyes are hot and wet and he winces as one tear and then two and three slick down his cheek.
Subaru’s message is succinct.
Come over.
Yasu writes back, I can’t, I’m sorry.
Subaru doesn’t reply.
Yasu doesn’t know Tsubasa gets through it. All he hears are rumors that Matchy called in favors on his behalf and that Takki turned in a letter of resignation to Johnny in person when it seemed like he was going to dissolve their unit.
“Takki’s so cool,” Yoko says on Recomen.
“Shut up, fuck,” Hina replies.
The next time Yasu sees them together at Countdown, Takki has Tsubasa’s hand in a vice grip and Tsubasa looks exhausted and wrecked and happy.
The first episode of SMAPxSMAP Bistro in which SMAP actually talks about what happened airs on Yasu’s day off. He makes plans to watch it with Maru and brings a full dinner of beer and Thai food with him to Maru’s apartment. Yasu’s chosen to stick close to the members for now, because they never ask him to explain or act happy.
On the show, Nakai calls Shingo an instigator and makes him bend down so he can slap him in the head with his cue cards. Shingo accepts the treatment with a wry smile, and at the end of the program he scratches his nose for fifteen seconds, flashing a gold band on his fourth finger.
It turns out Tegoshi is scheduled to join Yasu for his guest appearance on Nakai’s show, and it does a lot towards tamping down the loudest complainers. Yasu doesn’t really understand why until later, when he watches the show with Ohkura over doubled servings of yakisoba. Nakai’s questions, which felt invasive and dangerous to answer at the time, make the audience laugh in a way that’s almost warm, and Nakai’s other guests reach out to pat Yasu’s and Tegoshi’s shoulders in sympathy after the interrogation.
Tegoshi gives a thoughtful, well-articulated speech about honesty and courage, during which Yasu cries next to him. Once he finishes, there’s a smattering of applause, and then one of the comedians next to Yasu makes a low dig about beautiful words covering up filth.
Nakai scowls and says, “Shut up,” in a cold voice that’s far more intimidating than any of his shouting.
The comedian holds up a hand and offers a plastic apology; he says nothing more for the rest of the program.
When the credits stream across the screen, Ohkura asks, “Do you want to watch a movie?” and absently thumbs a tear off Yasu’s chin.
“Yes,” Yasu says, and puts his head on Ohkura’s shoulder for the first twenty minutes.
When he gets home, Subaru is in his apartment.
“You told me the combination,” Subaru says, defiant and annoyed and taking up most of Yasu’s bed with a mountain of clothes and CDs. “I went shopping. I hate all of these. Have them.”
Yasu frowns. “You can’t break in here, Shibuyan, and-”
Subaru breaks into a smile so abruptly it steals the rest of Yasu’s sentence straight from his mouth.
The smile he gives back feels like a balm.
They hang up the clothes Yasu likes and cram the rest into plastic bags to try and foist off on Hasshi or some other Juniors who’d appreciate them. By midnight, Yasu’s bed is littered only with CDs and so Yasu brings his computer over to the floor so he can see which ones he wants to keep and which he just wants to rip and give away.
Halfway into an indie rock group Yasu’s sure he’s heard somewhere before and can’t remember where, Subaru’s lips touch his ear.
“You’re still brave,” he whispers. “You’re the bravest person I know. You said what I couldn’t. What a lot of people couldn’t and wouldn’t.”
Yasu’s breath sticks. He reaches up and over his shoulder and holds his fingers splayed open until Subaru threads his own through them.
“Thank you,” Yasu whispers back. Over the music, it’s barely comprehensible.
Subaru kisses his neck. “Tell me what you wanted to say.”
Yasu looks back and meets Subaru’s old, cautious eyes. “When?” he asks. He squeezes Subaru’s fingers.
“All this time,” Subaru answers. His breath touches Yasu’s mouth in a hot, damp brush. “Write it for me, and I’ll sing it for you.”
The tone of his voice curls warmth in Yasu’s heart like the turn of a key in an aged, rusted lock.