[JE] Industrial Uprising
Title: Industrial Uprising
Pairing: Kame x Jin
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Hurt/comfort
Warnings: Illness, non-graphic vomiting
Word count: 3,428
Disclaimer: Not mine, damnit.
Summary: Inspired by episode 116 of Cartoon KAT-TUN - the one where they have to eat giant food. Jin was ill at the time, so this is a look at what might've happened when they made him eat the enormous hamburger.
A/N: Written for
hc_bingo's 'job-related trauma' square. I was looking through
threewalls's list of fic preferences in search of something short to write for hc_bingo, and figured this episode would go quite nicely with her like of #tummypetting. I didn't expect it to go in quite this direction, however. Please note the warnings.
Crossposted at AO3
Industrial Uprising
Jin doesn't have to fake his look of horror when the giant hamburger is set down in front of him. The damned thing's the size of twelve normal burgers, and he's somehow supposed to make a dent in it without bringing it back up all over himself, his bandmates, the two comedians and their sensei for the episode, who can probably put away more food than all the members of Kanjani8 put together. He knew it was going to be a bad day when they advised him not to eat breakfast before dragging him out to Shinjuku - not that he'd have eaten it, in any case. Not with the way he's feeling today.
He hasn't said anything, of course. They're already cutting him more slack than he deserves by not making him climb mountains every other week - Kame's happy to conquer the mountains, so surely Jin can handle a little food?
Any other day, sure. But not when his head's so stuffed with cold he can barely breathe, and what little air does make it through his blocked up nose is heavily scented with the aroma of cooked meat, enough to turn his stomach before the food even appears. His glasses help to hide puffy eyes, but there's no hiding how he feels from the camera. There never has been.
He starts off slow. They're supposed to strike a good balance between the bun and the patty but he's never eaten a burger big enough to require a knife and fork before and there's nothing for it but to start slicing away, hoping he can kill enough time fumbling with his cutlery that they'll make him stop before he takes up the entire episode. This thing's got to be the size of his head, at least.
There's no way to put it off any longer. The first bite's like munching on a tyre, and he's already half a dozen mouthfuls behind. It's no easier going down. His stomach starts gurgling in anticipation, a lab just full of dangerous chemicals bubbling away as it waits for chunks of meat and bread. He doesn't need to swallow the tasteless glop in his mouth to know that eating is a really bad idea.
This is definitely ruining hamburgers for him forever. He's eaten a lot of nice things on television over the years, but normally in reasonable portions, not large enough to use as a football.
It's as much as he can do to remember to look at the camera occasionally, make all the right noises for the audience while he struggles with the meal from hell. The fever has him burning hotter than the food, sweat trickling down his forehead, down the back of his neck, under the arms of his T-shirt. Maybe he should've worn his hair up. He wishes he had a towel instead of a flimsy napkin; wishes even more for a long, cool shower, anywhere that's not here, and maybe something to numb his stomach so he can't feel it churning inside.
He should've asked to sit on the end. Easier to run to the bathroom, if he has to, though all movement sloshes through his stomach and makes him feel that much worse. Looking inside the monstrous burger doesn't help either, all the relish spilling out on the plate where it looks like someone's just...
Ugh. No, he could do without his thoughts going in that direction. Cut, chew, swallow, repeat. That's all he has to do. He's getting paid to look ridiculous for the fans and promote the restaurant. It's not that hard. Not for someone who isn't melting into a puddle of his own sweat, who doesn't have cotton wool where his brain should be and can sit up without feeling a desperate need to clutch his stomach.
Once he talks himself into it, it's easier to take larger bites. There's still no way he's going to finish this but now he's started, it's not as though he can feel much worse.
Or so he thinks until he's a quarter of the way through. With a breath that's half-laugh, half-sob, he gives up. The others tease him while he sips his water but he can't possibly continue. This is his limit, and when Shoji throws in the towel after only eating a quarter of his own portion, it doesn't look so bad. Their sensei, of course, has completely finished.
She wants to move on immediately. Jin sits at the back, clutching his stomach during the bus ride and hoping they don't brake suddenly. Nakamaru keeps giving him wary looks, like he thinks Jin's going to throw up on the way, which isn't too far off the mark. Junno just wants to know when it's going to be his turn to eat - he didn't get to eat breakfast either.
They make it to the curry place without incident. Jin's not trapped in a booth this time. That helps. If the sight of Nakamaru struggling to conquer a massive plate of curry sends his queasiness over the limit, he can escape without climbing over anyone. He closes his eyes when he can, trying to block out the sights and smells of the restaurant, frequently brushing hair away from his glasses to cover himself.
It's Shoji's turn to eat again and he's not doing much better with the curry than he did with the monster burger. Jin takes pity on him and gets up to pour the poor man a glass of water. Gives him something to do, helps to remind the audience that he's there. Not that anyone will notice, with Nakamaru and Shoji trying to outdo each other with dorky dances. Neither of them can clean their plates.
When they go to Akasaka Ramen he's back in a booth again, crossing his arms over his still-gurgling stomach, though he has to move when Junno takes delivery of a giant bowl. He's off-camera for most of the meal, which means he can make as many pained expressions as he likes and no one will notice. Still, he can't help but watch the ramen disappear down Junno's throat until he, too, has to give up, and gets Shinagawa to change with him.
That's cheating. Jin didn't get to bring in a substitute.
At least it's almost over. They don't have anything left to film and he'll be free to go home. Shinagawa jokingly suggests that they go out for dinner afterwards and Jin almost punches him. There's no room for food, not for a good long while yet. Jin's still uncomfortably full. He can't win. Sipping water makes his stomach bubble worse than ever, but without it his mouth's a desert and he can barely swallow.
The drive back to the studio takes forever. Jin can't face the thought of hitting the trains afterwards. Crowding in with curious strangers can't possibly end well. The tabloids would love it, probably assume he's been drinking all day, maybe still suffering from a binge the night before. Akanishi Jin, professional party animal, scourge of the subway. He could feel worse, but not by much.
At least if he takes a taxi, that's just one person.
Fortunately, he's spared the risk by Nakamaru, who drove in today and is kind enough to offer him a ride home on the understanding that if he throws up in the car, he pays to have the whole thing cleaned, inside and out. It's worth the possible financial penalties to accept. Jin curls in on himself on the back seat and tries not to think about anything.
He's mostly successful, but it's a good thing there's no one else in the lift on the way up to his apartment. The walls are mirrored - the faces he's making would give children nightmares.
It's a quick march inside, kicking off his shoes without regard for where they might land, tossing the glasses onto the couch on his way to the bathroom. The air con's been off all day; the place is far too warm inside but he doesn't stop to switch it on. Doesn't dare stop for anything...
...Until the door goes. Jin curses under his breath, turning back to see who it is. It can't be his mother; she's got a key. If it's another starry-eyed fan wanting an autograph, he's going to be having strong words with building security.
It turns out to be Kame, with one arm curled around a large plastic tub.
"I tried to catch up downstairs," Kame says, "but with this I couldn't make it to the lift in time. You're in a rush today."
"I'm...um..." Jin's really not in the mood for conversation, but Kame doesn't appear to be in any great hurry to leave.
"I made too much curry to use by myself, so I brought you some. The spices should help chase your cold away." Kame tugs the lid off the bowl and holds it out under Jin's nose. "Deep breath."
Despite Jin's congestion the curry scent makes its way inside, searing his sinuses with spice. Food. It's the last thing he needs today. One breath's enough to set his stomach spasming again and he whirls around, not caring that he's leaving Kame bewildered in the doorway while he dashes to the bathroom.
He can't even close the door before he drops to his knees by the toilet. Kame's seen him ill before, knows enough to shut the front door behind him so the neighbours can't catch a glimpse of one of Japan's top idols losing his unwanted lunch. Chunks of things Jin doesn't even want to be able to identify hit the bowl. He props himself up with one hand on the sink, using the other to keep the hair away from his mouth as his stomach violently ejects its half-digested contents.
His brain rattles inside his aching head when he sits back on his heels, fumbling for a piece of toilet paper with fingers shaking too badly to grip. He can't even see the roll through the hair covering his eyes.
"Here." Kame presses a handful of soft white tissue to his chin, doing what Jin's not coordinated enough to do for himself, not right now. "I guess the curry wasn't as good a batch as I thought."
Jin giggles through a mouthful of tissue. His mouth and throat have been dry all day but now they're sour, too - slick with slime, tangy in a way the burger hadn't been, and all he wants to do is rinse out his mouth. He takes the tissue from Kame, who picks up a facecloth and begins wiping the sweat from Jin's forehead.
"I...I can do that."
"I know," Kame says, but he doesn't stop. He hits the flush, then pulls one of the brightly coloured bands from his wrist and uses it to fasten Jin's hair back in a messy ponytail. "There. You didn't do that on camera, did you?"
"Give me credit for being at least a little professional," Jin mumbles. He doesn't feel professional. He feels like world's worst landlubber on a stormy sea, ready to spill his guts the second the ship begins to move. If he tries to stand up he'll come crashing back down.
Kame doesn't bother trying to help him up, disappearing for a moment to return with a plastic cup of water. "Slowly," he warns as he helps Jin hold it to his mouth. "Don't want to set you off again."
One sip, two sip, slow and careful, but it doesn't do much to dispel the awful taste. "I think it'll happen again anyway," Jin says, "whether I do anything or not. You didn't see the size of the giant hamburger they made me eat."
Kame sighs. "How far did you get?"
"Not very. This thing could've kept us both fed for a week." Jin groans, regrets talking about it when his stomach lurches again at the memory. He's still churning inside.
"Okay, let's...just stay here for a bit, then." Kame sets the water down by the sink. He joins Jin on the floor, leaning against the bathtub.
"What about your curry?"
"I thought we could eat it together this evening. Now, I'm thinking it can live in your fridge till another day."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault you got sick." Kame leans forward, passes a hand lightly over Jin's stomach. "Still unsettled?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe this'll help?"
Jin's confused for a moment until Kame shuffles in behind him, pressing them chest-to-back like Kame's some kind of sentient armchair, there to help him relax. Leaning back against Kame feels okay, feels comfortable, not as wobbly as Jin expects and it doesn't have him lunging for the toilet immediately, which is a positive sign.
"Tell me if I'm making it worse," Kame says, right before he nudges Jin's sweat-soaked white T-shirt over his stomach and settles his hand against the skin below. Jin's burning up; Kame's cool in comparison. The difference is jarring at first, eliciting a shudder from Jin.
"It's- it's fine." Jin swallows it down, that thick, horrible sensation rising in his throat; keeps swallowing till it goes away.
When it does, he relaxes his shoulders a fraction. It's bad enough he's got a witness now, but to vomit while being held by the aforementioned witness would just be rude - not to mention, humiliating. Kame's always discreet, of course, but there's no erasing that kind of memory. Their relationship, complicated and chaotic as it is, has withstood many awkward moments already. Jin doesn't want this one to be the latest.
Maybe this is what it's like to be Ran-chan. Kame's dog gets her tummy petted when she's got her period; evidently, Jin's stomach cramps, though different in origin, are enough to merit the same treatment. Could be worse - he could be bleeding. He's been spared that indignity, at least.
Kame's touch isn't always gentle but he knows when Jin needs it to be. There's a time for aggression and this isn't it. This is for smooth, even strokes over Jin's belly, so rhythmic he could sing along. Kame's fingers don't press. They skim feather-light across the skin, careful not to push, not to upset the delicate balance he's got going beneath. No pressure, and no tickling.
Jin's happy to sit there all afternoon, if Kame keeps touching him like this. His churning stomach starts to settle, adapting to the patterns of dancing fingers, slowing down till its anger subsides.
"Is that any better?"
"Mmm..." Jin turns his head enough to meet Kame's eyes. "A bit. But I'm still not going anywhere near your curry, sorry."
"I won't hold it against you."
"Safest if you don't hold anything against me..."
Kame ducks his head and laughs. "Trust me, I'm no more keen on seeing what you had for lunch than you are. I happen to like these jeans."
"I like these jeans too," Jin says. "Especially when you're taking them off." Not that he can think about such things now. He desperately wants a shower - alone - and time to settle, clean and fresh against cool sheets. "Some other day."
"Some other day," Kame agrees.
He keeps stroking, holding up Jin's shirt with the other hand, not disengaging even though it can't be the most comfortable of situations. Jin feels absolutely disgusting, inside and out, and he's sure he's sticking to Kame all over the place. It's only sweat but even so, the bathroom's warm and it won't be long before the two of them are glued together. He owes Kame one for this. Maybe a nice dinner somewhere...
...Oh, that's a bad idea. He grabs Kame's hand, holding it away from his stomach.
"Jin?"
"Uh..." Jin would very much like to say something coherent about how Kame should probably move away from him now, but fears opening his mouth to do so. The results won't be pretty.
"Okay, I get it." Kame extracts his hand from Jin's, not going far, just enough to give him space to move when he needs it. "I can leave the room, if you want?"
Privacy doesn't seem to matter anymore. It's been trumped by nausea. Jin can't bring himself to care about whether or not Kame sees him like this when his head and stomach are conspiring against him, sending spirals rippling through his system till he wants to rip his insides out so they'll stay still for a second. Everything's moving. Everything's spinning, everything's hot, and liquid, and...
"Easy, easy," Kame murmurs. "If it's going to happen, let it happen. You'll feel better if you let it out."
But Jin can't. He waits for it, for that final burst that makes all the difference between feeling sick and being sick, but it never comes. All that emerges from his mouth is a moan, tired and miserable, nothing like the ones he used to make on the stage to get the fans worked up. Nothing like the ones he makes in bed, either, but Kame's had plenty of experience with those and he can tell the difference.
"I can go?" Kame offers again, holding out his hand. "Just tag me if you want me to leave."
"It's not that." Jin risks opening his mouth; it doesn't seem like anything messier than a poorly-constructed sentence is about to come out. "I can't...I mean, I feel like I'm going to, but it's not happening."
"Isn't that good? Maybe it'll pass?"
"I don't think so." Another wave of nausea has his digestive system doing backflips and he gasps, half-expecting to be proven a liar on the spot. Still nothing, though.
"Given that this is you, I don't think sticking your fingers down your throat is going to help much." Kame edges forward and sits up straight, so he's not so much a cosy armchair as a hard board against Jin's back, penning him in on both sides as he closes his arms around him. Jin gulps when Kame starts applying pressure to his stomach. "Let's give this a go."
Kame's not squeezing hard enough to hurt but with Jin's stomach bubbling away, the pressure instantly increases his discomfort beyond tolerable levels. The lab's being invaded by giant snakes, shattering all the equipment as they slither around, mixing chemicals with their tails to create minor explosions in his gut. The effects travel all the way up to his mouth, where the sourness returns full force and suddenly Jin's straining forward to reach the toilet in time.
This second bout's more embarrassing than the first, with Kame still behind him, waiting with more tissue and open arms. It's also easier and Jin feels relatively certain, afterwards, that he won't be going for a third round. There's nothing left to come up, so he hopes.
He remains on the floor, rubbing his arms to try stop the shaking, while Kame gets up and fusses around him: handing him tissue, flushing the toilet, spraying the room with the apple-scented can on the shelf so the smell doesn't linger. That's Kame, always with an eye to keeping the place tidy and beautifully aromatic.
When he's done he drops back down. Jin hasn't moved.
"Finished?" Kame asks.
Jin nods. "Yeah. I hope so." He slumps to the side, head on Kame's shoulder, and closes his eyes.
"Hey! No going to sleep on me - not here. You'll do both our backs in."
"I know, but..."
Jin needs to rinse out his mouth, take a shower, and crash somewhere comfortable that's nowhere near food. Eventually. The way he's feeling now, he's liable to trip and crack his head open in the shower stall. He doesn't need to tell Kame that; Kame already knows.
"Then, want to stay here for a bit?"
Jin does, though they stick together worse than ever. A fine sight they make, Kame leaning against the bath, Jin sitting between his outstretched legs and pressing a cool, damp facecloth to his forehead. This is better than any concert high he's ever had, better than a night in his favourite club, better than sex with someone he loves: this, right here, this is care. Kame could've walked out at the start; no one would've blamed him for leaving.
But he's still here, holding this exhausted, messy wreck of a man, for no better reason than that he wants to.
Kame's running soothing hands over Jin's arms, Kame's pressing gentle kisses to Jin's sweat-soaked hair, Kame's...laughing?
"What's so funny?" Jin asks.
"This wasn't quite how I'd planned it," Kame says, "but in the end, my curry did make you feel better!"
Pairing: Kame x Jin
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Hurt/comfort
Warnings: Illness, non-graphic vomiting
Word count: 3,428
Disclaimer: Not mine, damnit.
Summary: Inspired by episode 116 of Cartoon KAT-TUN - the one where they have to eat giant food. Jin was ill at the time, so this is a look at what might've happened when they made him eat the enormous hamburger.
A/N: Written for
hc_bingo's 'job-related trauma' square. I was looking through
threewalls's list of fic preferences in search of something short to write for hc_bingo, and figured this episode would go quite nicely with her like of #tummypetting. I didn't expect it to go in quite this direction, however. Please note the warnings.
Crossposted at AO3
Industrial Uprising
Jin doesn't have to fake his look of horror when the giant hamburger is set down in front of him. The damned thing's the size of twelve normal burgers, and he's somehow supposed to make a dent in it without bringing it back up all over himself, his bandmates, the two comedians and their sensei for the episode, who can probably put away more food than all the members of Kanjani8 put together. He knew it was going to be a bad day when they advised him not to eat breakfast before dragging him out to Shinjuku - not that he'd have eaten it, in any case. Not with the way he's feeling today.
He hasn't said anything, of course. They're already cutting him more slack than he deserves by not making him climb mountains every other week - Kame's happy to conquer the mountains, so surely Jin can handle a little food?
Any other day, sure. But not when his head's so stuffed with cold he can barely breathe, and what little air does make it through his blocked up nose is heavily scented with the aroma of cooked meat, enough to turn his stomach before the food even appears. His glasses help to hide puffy eyes, but there's no hiding how he feels from the camera. There never has been.
He starts off slow. They're supposed to strike a good balance between the bun and the patty but he's never eaten a burger big enough to require a knife and fork before and there's nothing for it but to start slicing away, hoping he can kill enough time fumbling with his cutlery that they'll make him stop before he takes up the entire episode. This thing's got to be the size of his head, at least.
There's no way to put it off any longer. The first bite's like munching on a tyre, and he's already half a dozen mouthfuls behind. It's no easier going down. His stomach starts gurgling in anticipation, a lab just full of dangerous chemicals bubbling away as it waits for chunks of meat and bread. He doesn't need to swallow the tasteless glop in his mouth to know that eating is a really bad idea.
This is definitely ruining hamburgers for him forever. He's eaten a lot of nice things on television over the years, but normally in reasonable portions, not large enough to use as a football.
It's as much as he can do to remember to look at the camera occasionally, make all the right noises for the audience while he struggles with the meal from hell. The fever has him burning hotter than the food, sweat trickling down his forehead, down the back of his neck, under the arms of his T-shirt. Maybe he should've worn his hair up. He wishes he had a towel instead of a flimsy napkin; wishes even more for a long, cool shower, anywhere that's not here, and maybe something to numb his stomach so he can't feel it churning inside.
He should've asked to sit on the end. Easier to run to the bathroom, if he has to, though all movement sloshes through his stomach and makes him feel that much worse. Looking inside the monstrous burger doesn't help either, all the relish spilling out on the plate where it looks like someone's just...
Ugh. No, he could do without his thoughts going in that direction. Cut, chew, swallow, repeat. That's all he has to do. He's getting paid to look ridiculous for the fans and promote the restaurant. It's not that hard. Not for someone who isn't melting into a puddle of his own sweat, who doesn't have cotton wool where his brain should be and can sit up without feeling a desperate need to clutch his stomach.
Once he talks himself into it, it's easier to take larger bites. There's still no way he's going to finish this but now he's started, it's not as though he can feel much worse.
Or so he thinks until he's a quarter of the way through. With a breath that's half-laugh, half-sob, he gives up. The others tease him while he sips his water but he can't possibly continue. This is his limit, and when Shoji throws in the towel after only eating a quarter of his own portion, it doesn't look so bad. Their sensei, of course, has completely finished.
She wants to move on immediately. Jin sits at the back, clutching his stomach during the bus ride and hoping they don't brake suddenly. Nakamaru keeps giving him wary looks, like he thinks Jin's going to throw up on the way, which isn't too far off the mark. Junno just wants to know when it's going to be his turn to eat - he didn't get to eat breakfast either.
They make it to the curry place without incident. Jin's not trapped in a booth this time. That helps. If the sight of Nakamaru struggling to conquer a massive plate of curry sends his queasiness over the limit, he can escape without climbing over anyone. He closes his eyes when he can, trying to block out the sights and smells of the restaurant, frequently brushing hair away from his glasses to cover himself.
It's Shoji's turn to eat again and he's not doing much better with the curry than he did with the monster burger. Jin takes pity on him and gets up to pour the poor man a glass of water. Gives him something to do, helps to remind the audience that he's there. Not that anyone will notice, with Nakamaru and Shoji trying to outdo each other with dorky dances. Neither of them can clean their plates.
When they go to Akasaka Ramen he's back in a booth again, crossing his arms over his still-gurgling stomach, though he has to move when Junno takes delivery of a giant bowl. He's off-camera for most of the meal, which means he can make as many pained expressions as he likes and no one will notice. Still, he can't help but watch the ramen disappear down Junno's throat until he, too, has to give up, and gets Shinagawa to change with him.
That's cheating. Jin didn't get to bring in a substitute.
At least it's almost over. They don't have anything left to film and he'll be free to go home. Shinagawa jokingly suggests that they go out for dinner afterwards and Jin almost punches him. There's no room for food, not for a good long while yet. Jin's still uncomfortably full. He can't win. Sipping water makes his stomach bubble worse than ever, but without it his mouth's a desert and he can barely swallow.
The drive back to the studio takes forever. Jin can't face the thought of hitting the trains afterwards. Crowding in with curious strangers can't possibly end well. The tabloids would love it, probably assume he's been drinking all day, maybe still suffering from a binge the night before. Akanishi Jin, professional party animal, scourge of the subway. He could feel worse, but not by much.
At least if he takes a taxi, that's just one person.
Fortunately, he's spared the risk by Nakamaru, who drove in today and is kind enough to offer him a ride home on the understanding that if he throws up in the car, he pays to have the whole thing cleaned, inside and out. It's worth the possible financial penalties to accept. Jin curls in on himself on the back seat and tries not to think about anything.
He's mostly successful, but it's a good thing there's no one else in the lift on the way up to his apartment. The walls are mirrored - the faces he's making would give children nightmares.
It's a quick march inside, kicking off his shoes without regard for where they might land, tossing the glasses onto the couch on his way to the bathroom. The air con's been off all day; the place is far too warm inside but he doesn't stop to switch it on. Doesn't dare stop for anything...
...Until the door goes. Jin curses under his breath, turning back to see who it is. It can't be his mother; she's got a key. If it's another starry-eyed fan wanting an autograph, he's going to be having strong words with building security.
It turns out to be Kame, with one arm curled around a large plastic tub.
"I tried to catch up downstairs," Kame says, "but with this I couldn't make it to the lift in time. You're in a rush today."
"I'm...um..." Jin's really not in the mood for conversation, but Kame doesn't appear to be in any great hurry to leave.
"I made too much curry to use by myself, so I brought you some. The spices should help chase your cold away." Kame tugs the lid off the bowl and holds it out under Jin's nose. "Deep breath."
Despite Jin's congestion the curry scent makes its way inside, searing his sinuses with spice. Food. It's the last thing he needs today. One breath's enough to set his stomach spasming again and he whirls around, not caring that he's leaving Kame bewildered in the doorway while he dashes to the bathroom.
He can't even close the door before he drops to his knees by the toilet. Kame's seen him ill before, knows enough to shut the front door behind him so the neighbours can't catch a glimpse of one of Japan's top idols losing his unwanted lunch. Chunks of things Jin doesn't even want to be able to identify hit the bowl. He props himself up with one hand on the sink, using the other to keep the hair away from his mouth as his stomach violently ejects its half-digested contents.
His brain rattles inside his aching head when he sits back on his heels, fumbling for a piece of toilet paper with fingers shaking too badly to grip. He can't even see the roll through the hair covering his eyes.
"Here." Kame presses a handful of soft white tissue to his chin, doing what Jin's not coordinated enough to do for himself, not right now. "I guess the curry wasn't as good a batch as I thought."
Jin giggles through a mouthful of tissue. His mouth and throat have been dry all day but now they're sour, too - slick with slime, tangy in a way the burger hadn't been, and all he wants to do is rinse out his mouth. He takes the tissue from Kame, who picks up a facecloth and begins wiping the sweat from Jin's forehead.
"I...I can do that."
"I know," Kame says, but he doesn't stop. He hits the flush, then pulls one of the brightly coloured bands from his wrist and uses it to fasten Jin's hair back in a messy ponytail. "There. You didn't do that on camera, did you?"
"Give me credit for being at least a little professional," Jin mumbles. He doesn't feel professional. He feels like world's worst landlubber on a stormy sea, ready to spill his guts the second the ship begins to move. If he tries to stand up he'll come crashing back down.
Kame doesn't bother trying to help him up, disappearing for a moment to return with a plastic cup of water. "Slowly," he warns as he helps Jin hold it to his mouth. "Don't want to set you off again."
One sip, two sip, slow and careful, but it doesn't do much to dispel the awful taste. "I think it'll happen again anyway," Jin says, "whether I do anything or not. You didn't see the size of the giant hamburger they made me eat."
Kame sighs. "How far did you get?"
"Not very. This thing could've kept us both fed for a week." Jin groans, regrets talking about it when his stomach lurches again at the memory. He's still churning inside.
"Okay, let's...just stay here for a bit, then." Kame sets the water down by the sink. He joins Jin on the floor, leaning against the bathtub.
"What about your curry?"
"I thought we could eat it together this evening. Now, I'm thinking it can live in your fridge till another day."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault you got sick." Kame leans forward, passes a hand lightly over Jin's stomach. "Still unsettled?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe this'll help?"
Jin's confused for a moment until Kame shuffles in behind him, pressing them chest-to-back like Kame's some kind of sentient armchair, there to help him relax. Leaning back against Kame feels okay, feels comfortable, not as wobbly as Jin expects and it doesn't have him lunging for the toilet immediately, which is a positive sign.
"Tell me if I'm making it worse," Kame says, right before he nudges Jin's sweat-soaked white T-shirt over his stomach and settles his hand against the skin below. Jin's burning up; Kame's cool in comparison. The difference is jarring at first, eliciting a shudder from Jin.
"It's- it's fine." Jin swallows it down, that thick, horrible sensation rising in his throat; keeps swallowing till it goes away.
When it does, he relaxes his shoulders a fraction. It's bad enough he's got a witness now, but to vomit while being held by the aforementioned witness would just be rude - not to mention, humiliating. Kame's always discreet, of course, but there's no erasing that kind of memory. Their relationship, complicated and chaotic as it is, has withstood many awkward moments already. Jin doesn't want this one to be the latest.
Maybe this is what it's like to be Ran-chan. Kame's dog gets her tummy petted when she's got her period; evidently, Jin's stomach cramps, though different in origin, are enough to merit the same treatment. Could be worse - he could be bleeding. He's been spared that indignity, at least.
Kame's touch isn't always gentle but he knows when Jin needs it to be. There's a time for aggression and this isn't it. This is for smooth, even strokes over Jin's belly, so rhythmic he could sing along. Kame's fingers don't press. They skim feather-light across the skin, careful not to push, not to upset the delicate balance he's got going beneath. No pressure, and no tickling.
Jin's happy to sit there all afternoon, if Kame keeps touching him like this. His churning stomach starts to settle, adapting to the patterns of dancing fingers, slowing down till its anger subsides.
"Is that any better?"
"Mmm..." Jin turns his head enough to meet Kame's eyes. "A bit. But I'm still not going anywhere near your curry, sorry."
"I won't hold it against you."
"Safest if you don't hold anything against me..."
Kame ducks his head and laughs. "Trust me, I'm no more keen on seeing what you had for lunch than you are. I happen to like these jeans."
"I like these jeans too," Jin says. "Especially when you're taking them off." Not that he can think about such things now. He desperately wants a shower - alone - and time to settle, clean and fresh against cool sheets. "Some other day."
"Some other day," Kame agrees.
He keeps stroking, holding up Jin's shirt with the other hand, not disengaging even though it can't be the most comfortable of situations. Jin feels absolutely disgusting, inside and out, and he's sure he's sticking to Kame all over the place. It's only sweat but even so, the bathroom's warm and it won't be long before the two of them are glued together. He owes Kame one for this. Maybe a nice dinner somewhere...
...Oh, that's a bad idea. He grabs Kame's hand, holding it away from his stomach.
"Jin?"
"Uh..." Jin would very much like to say something coherent about how Kame should probably move away from him now, but fears opening his mouth to do so. The results won't be pretty.
"Okay, I get it." Kame extracts his hand from Jin's, not going far, just enough to give him space to move when he needs it. "I can leave the room, if you want?"
Privacy doesn't seem to matter anymore. It's been trumped by nausea. Jin can't bring himself to care about whether or not Kame sees him like this when his head and stomach are conspiring against him, sending spirals rippling through his system till he wants to rip his insides out so they'll stay still for a second. Everything's moving. Everything's spinning, everything's hot, and liquid, and...
"Easy, easy," Kame murmurs. "If it's going to happen, let it happen. You'll feel better if you let it out."
But Jin can't. He waits for it, for that final burst that makes all the difference between feeling sick and being sick, but it never comes. All that emerges from his mouth is a moan, tired and miserable, nothing like the ones he used to make on the stage to get the fans worked up. Nothing like the ones he makes in bed, either, but Kame's had plenty of experience with those and he can tell the difference.
"I can go?" Kame offers again, holding out his hand. "Just tag me if you want me to leave."
"It's not that." Jin risks opening his mouth; it doesn't seem like anything messier than a poorly-constructed sentence is about to come out. "I can't...I mean, I feel like I'm going to, but it's not happening."
"Isn't that good? Maybe it'll pass?"
"I don't think so." Another wave of nausea has his digestive system doing backflips and he gasps, half-expecting to be proven a liar on the spot. Still nothing, though.
"Given that this is you, I don't think sticking your fingers down your throat is going to help much." Kame edges forward and sits up straight, so he's not so much a cosy armchair as a hard board against Jin's back, penning him in on both sides as he closes his arms around him. Jin gulps when Kame starts applying pressure to his stomach. "Let's give this a go."
Kame's not squeezing hard enough to hurt but with Jin's stomach bubbling away, the pressure instantly increases his discomfort beyond tolerable levels. The lab's being invaded by giant snakes, shattering all the equipment as they slither around, mixing chemicals with their tails to create minor explosions in his gut. The effects travel all the way up to his mouth, where the sourness returns full force and suddenly Jin's straining forward to reach the toilet in time.
This second bout's more embarrassing than the first, with Kame still behind him, waiting with more tissue and open arms. It's also easier and Jin feels relatively certain, afterwards, that he won't be going for a third round. There's nothing left to come up, so he hopes.
He remains on the floor, rubbing his arms to try stop the shaking, while Kame gets up and fusses around him: handing him tissue, flushing the toilet, spraying the room with the apple-scented can on the shelf so the smell doesn't linger. That's Kame, always with an eye to keeping the place tidy and beautifully aromatic.
When he's done he drops back down. Jin hasn't moved.
"Finished?" Kame asks.
Jin nods. "Yeah. I hope so." He slumps to the side, head on Kame's shoulder, and closes his eyes.
"Hey! No going to sleep on me - not here. You'll do both our backs in."
"I know, but..."
Jin needs to rinse out his mouth, take a shower, and crash somewhere comfortable that's nowhere near food. Eventually. The way he's feeling now, he's liable to trip and crack his head open in the shower stall. He doesn't need to tell Kame that; Kame already knows.
"Then, want to stay here for a bit?"
Jin does, though they stick together worse than ever. A fine sight they make, Kame leaning against the bath, Jin sitting between his outstretched legs and pressing a cool, damp facecloth to his forehead. This is better than any concert high he's ever had, better than a night in his favourite club, better than sex with someone he loves: this, right here, this is care. Kame could've walked out at the start; no one would've blamed him for leaving.
But he's still here, holding this exhausted, messy wreck of a man, for no better reason than that he wants to.
Kame's running soothing hands over Jin's arms, Kame's pressing gentle kisses to Jin's sweat-soaked hair, Kame's...laughing?
"What's so funny?" Jin asks.
"This wasn't quite how I'd planned it," Kame says, "but in the end, my curry did make you feel better!"